First, thank you very much everyone that reviewed, Ruby Tuesday, I honestly didn't expect many people to be interested so that was awesome!

So, I wrote Ruby Tuesday first, and then heard a power ballad, and somehow my mind turned that into Doyle should really have his say. Yeah weird, but it was interesting to write, and difficult. Writing pure evil is far easier than trying to humanize evil, especially since we criminal activities Doyle was involved in yet. So, I hope at least a few of you like it, and please, let me know what you think. The title was stolen from the Rolling Stones' song of that name, I do not own it.

This is set the day after Doyle and Prentiss meet-up in Coda.

She looked tired as she made her way down the block, and pale, like she didn't get enough sun anymore. She was still in her work clothes, a black pantsuit that did nothing to show off the wonderful figure he knew she had under it. He wondered if it was work tiring her out, as he knew that she now worked for the FBI apprehending serial killers and the like. Part of him hoped her exhaustion was due to his reappearance in her life, that he had her all wrung out.

Doyle liked to watch her from a distance. He could pretend that his Lauren was still alive, could see her beautiful face again. But, this wasn't his Lauren. Lauren was vibrant with an airy wardrobe of light and bright colors, and a healthy sunkiss in her ivory skin. That woman, the free spirit that he loved so much he'd given her his father's ring, that woman was dead. Because this woman, familiar as she was, beautiful as she may be, was not his Lauren, and watching her was pleasure and torture at once.

He let his gaze drift to the photo in his hands. It would be her birthday next week, and this was the first year he'd be able to light a candle for her.

Doyle had spent the first few years in prison dreaming of Lauren, of the day he'd see her again, whether that happened to be in heaven or hell it didn't matter. He'd gotten word of her death within his first month of incarceration, and it had sliced through his heart and left his whole body aching with an agony he'd never even fathomed possible. Still when the guards came for him and abused him, when the torture was particularly excruciating, it was her face he lost himself in. The scent of her hair, the feel of her soft skin, and her beautiful brown eyes, shining with love for him.

It was his fourth year in the prison that one of his men sent further word about Lauren. While tracking down the agents that had apprehended Ian, they'd discovered something highly disturbing. Lauren Reynolds was nothing more than an undercover ID. The woman he'd made love to, that he'd held in his arms and wished for an eternity with, she wasn't real. The skilled actor that had deceived him was an Interpol agent named Emily Prentiss.

If the agony of her death was unfathomable, the pain of her betrayal was so intense it was numbing.

And then, he'd figured it out. His beautiful Lauren would never betray him, but Emily Prentiss, she could and without remorse. Lauren was the woman he knew, the one he'd loved, the single most important thing in his life, and she was also dead. And, Emily Prentiss was the reason she was dead, why he'd never again hold her or kiss her or make love to her. He had to think this way, or be crippled by the betrayal.

Ian Doyle was not a man to be crippled by emotions.

So, he watched this woman that looked so much like his Lauren but wasn't her. She was very different from Lauren, as if they were really twins, not a woman and a part she played. Emily Prentiss did not seem very happy, and she spent far too much time alone. And, there was a darkness in her eyes, about her demeanor, that spoke of things in her past that had tested her, secrets that she hid from everyone. He assumed he was one of those tests, one of those secrets.

Lauren would have been happy, he'd have seen to that. She would never have been alone either. Even if he couldn't be with her, there'd have been children. It was one of the fantasies he'd lost himself in while locked up: Lauren swollen with their child, with his newborn son nursing at her breast, the happy squeals of their children as she chased them around the grounds behind the villa. It would have been a happy, beautiful life. He had never had the desire for fatherhood before he met Lauren, and he supposed he didn't much when they were together, but he wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see her radiate with that soft maternal glow of a new mother. And, he knew she definitely would have glowed.

But, Lauren was gone. He wouldn't see her again, even in heaven or hell.

And now, Emily Prentiss walked out of the convenience store she'd stopped in, a plastic bag dangling from her hand. She stowed her phone in her pocket, and he could only imagine she was speaking to her contacts. Doyle was pretty sure he'd spooked her last night, and that knowledge gave him the slightest satisfaction. Not that she'd showed much fear, though she did show a lot of anger.

Speaking to Emily Prentiss for the first time, it wasn't entirely what he expected it to be. He had allowed himself the luxury of believing that what he'd seen in Lauren's eyes seven years ago hadn't completely been a lie. He let himself consider that maybe she'd be happy to see him, that she'd have missed him, and that she'd be apologetic for her deception. Doyle, of course, found none of those beliefs to be true.

He'd be met with cold resistance, no shame or apology for her actions. She'd been defensive and nervous, but completely convinced that she'd been in the right. There was no admission of guilt. Emily Prentiss had used and betrayed him, taken the one special, beautiful thing in his life away from him, and sent him to that hellhole in North Korea. Yet somehow, she still believed that none of this was wrong.

And, as much as he hated this woman he knew and yet hadn't really met until last night, that one short moment touching her was nearly intoxicating. When his fingers had touched her, he'd had a fleeting vision of beautiful Lauren staring up at him with soft brown eyes as he prepared to make love to her. How could this woman have faked it all so well?

She made it back to her building, turning abruptly at the sound of a car door, as did he. Derek Morgan. He was tall, muscular and dark skinned, and as far as Doyle knew, a coworker and a friend to Emily. This was interesting though, he wondered if they were lovers. The woman certainly had plenty of experience mixing business and pleasure. He rolled down the window, and pulled out the small sound amplifier one of his younger crew members had obtained. It wasn't terribly useful for gathering intel, but it served his voyeuristic needs well.

The boys watched her teammates for him, but he much preferred to observe Emily. Liam said it was dangerous, that he was overly involved with her, that he couldn't be professional about it. His response had been very angry and left no room for argument. Emily Prentiss was all his.

"What's going on?" Ian listened as she stopped in front of her steps, and addressed her colleague.

"You tell me. Something is going on with you, Prentiss." Definitely not lovers.

She sighed, jaw tensing in aggravation. "I thought we went over this already?"

His turn to tense and look annoyed. "That was last week. I tried to let it go...I can't." She didn't respond and he groaned. "I just wished you'd talk to me."

She looked away, toward the street, toward the ground, anywhere but his eyes. When she finally did meet the man's eyes again, she began to lie. Gracefully, never tripping over her words or hesitating.

Emily Prentiss was indeed one of the most talented liars he'd ever met.

He removed the amplifier, he didn't need to hear that, he had 18 months of listening to her lies, far more painful ones than she was feeding her friend now.

Doyle glanced at the photo in his hand, worn from seven years of being stowed in his pockets and caressed by his fingers. Lauren stretched out on in the lush grass behind the villa, a contented smile on her face, her green summery dress ridden up, exposing much of her long, silky legs.

"I miss you, my love," he whispered, thick fingers running over the photo.

Lauren was dead, and soon Emily Prentiss would feel the pain he had suffered.