Morgan heard the ringing of the phone, but chose to ignore it. He really wasn't in the mood for another case; he just wanted to get a full night's sleep for a change. Clearly that was not destined to happen any time soon. He groaned and felt around the nightstand for his cell. It was times like this when he asked himself why he ever thought being a cop was a good idea. Why couldn't he be a dentist or an accountant?

"Yeah," he mumbled into the phone.

"Agent Morgan?" He was greeted with a feminine voice that was not JJ or Garcia's.

"Who's this?"

"Emily Prentiss."

He shot up in bed. "Yeah, yeah, sorry what's going on?"

"You said you could protect us?"

"Yes, I can. Are you ready to give up Doyle?"

He was met with silence, and felt slightly annoyed that she may have woken him up for nothing. Then she finally spoke.

"I am."

Morgan scrambled for a pad of paper and a pen, knocking things from his nightstand in the process. "Tell me where I can find him."

"You have to promise me that you'll come in person. I don't want to deal with Clyde and Sean by myself," she said.

"You have my word, Emily. I'll get on a plane as soon as I hang up the phone."

He heard her inhale. "The island of Mauritius, in the capital city, Port Louis. At the end of Chateau D'Eau Street, near the park. It's a mansion, property records list it as owned by Seamus Flannery."

"Wait, you live on an island?"

"Yes. Their extradition laws aren't very clear and they speak French. Ian and I are both fluent." Her voice was level, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was turning in her husband.

"I'll be there tomorrow with the Port Louis Police, okay?"

"I guess, I'll see you then." She hung up without another word.

Morgan scrambled to call Hotch and find clean clothes. He was not looking forward to sleeping on the plane though. He crossed his fingers that he'd be allowed to take the jet; it was FBI business after all.

Emily knew not to expect anyone at her door until at least evening, so she took time to enjoy her family on their last Sunday together. Ian liked to have as many meals together as a family as they could, which meant all three on the weekends if he wasn't working. Today he was around, and she allowed him to cuddle their daughter and feed her both her morning and afternoon meals. Normally, Emily mostly breastfed, but Ian got little time with Moira, so she pumped so he could feed her on the weekends. The man was completely smitten with his infant daughter.

The boys chatted to each other as they ate lunch, though Ronan was still learning to string words together. He was a bit behind since Ian had him learning three languages at once, but then Conall had been behind too. She wasn't sure about Declan, but he was fluent in English, French and Gaelic, so she assumed he'd been slow as well. She and Conall had actually learned Gaelic together, since that was one language she'd hadn't yet learned. It was a difficult language since it wasn't rooted in Latin, but she found it easier to pick up than Arabic.

Emily played with the food on her plate, trying to eat when she wasn't hungry. She felt sick, but she couldn't let it show. Ian would know something was up, and when they came for him, he'd know that she was the one who'd arranged it.

"May we be excused?" Declan asked.

She checked over his and Conall's plates and nodded her head. "Go ahead, but if you're going out, put on more sun block."

Fair-skinned Irish boys weren't built for the harsh suns of Africa.

The boys nodded and raced off, leaving Ronan still working through his lunch, and looking longingly at his brothers. He still had a naptime though, and he really needed it. He was cranky as hell if he didn't sleep for a couple hours during the day.

Ian rested the bottle on the table, and gentle shifted Moira to his shoulder, using his napkin as a burping cloth. He tapped her back until she released a wet cough, and then wiped at her mouth.

"Why don't you let me put her down while you finish lunch?" She asked.

Ian looked between the baby and his plate and nodded. "I won't be long, Love."

Emily took the baby and kissed his cheek, before looking back at her youngest son. "Are you done eating, Ronan?"

He nodded, wiped his mouth his napkin, though Ian had to finish the job, and raised his hands so his father could help him out of his booster seat. He was still a bit too small to reach the table without it.

Ronan raced up the steps, Emily behind him. She let Ronan help her put Moira down in the master bedroom first, then they headed to his bedroom, where she read him a story. Ian appeared after only a few moments and stood by the door as she finished the story. After she finished, she kissed her son on the head and met Ian at the door.

Their Sundays followed a certain pattern, while the youngest napped and the oldest played outside with Louise supervising, she and Ian would take the opportunity of being free of children and make love. She didn't mind that it was pretty much planned; sex with them was never boring. Ian shut their bedroom door and kissed her hard on the mouth, his hands already sliding over her body.

Emily made every moment count, because each kiss, each touch, would have to last her a lifetime. And him as well. He just didn't know it yet.

She kissed down his chest, teasing his nipples with her teeth, and stroking her fingers along his abs. Ian was all hard muscle, every inch of him. She herself had softened over the last few years, unable to keep up with working out while being pregnant. After Conall, sure, but there wasn't enough time between Ronan and Moira for her get back in shape. Ian didn't mind though. The changes to her body from the pregnancies were an aphrodisiac to him, even the extra pudge she was still carrying around from Moira.

Emily pulled off his boxers and took him in her mouth. He was already getting hard and finished the process while her tongue danced over his soft skin. She could hear his gentle moans and muttering in Gaelic, and feel his fingers sliding through her hair. When his body began to tense on the bed, she eased up, and kissed her way back up his body. He was still panting when she reached his face.

"You are a devilish woman, Love."

She smiled, and leaned close to his ear, her tongue flicking over it. "That's why you love me."

Ian drew her face toward him, his eyes dark and intense, swirling with passion and something else. "One of many reasons," he said.

Then he suddenly leaned up, bring her with him so she was straddling his lap. He slid his mouth over her breast at the same time he slid a hand between her legs. Emily's back began to tense, and when his fingers slid inside her, she arched, pushing her groin into his hand. She whimpered.

Ian kept her upright with an arm around her waist as he continued sliding his fingers in and out of her, his thumb inching toward her clit. Emily leaned close to him again, grabbing his head with both hands and flicking her tongue over his neck. She teased him with her tongue and teeth until she couldn't any longer. She was panting and moaning, and he was bringing her closer and closer to climax.

When she was seconds from cumming, he stopped.

"Oh god, Ian – " she barely had time to say, before he was inside her.

He pulled her close to his chest, and rolled them over, so her back was flat on the bed. They'd achieved a steady rhythm without her even realizing it, and each thrust brought a whimper as he rubbed against her swollen and over stimulated flesh. It was damn near torture.

Emily ran her nails down his back, and felt a shiver run through him. Ian always liked nails, and it took every ounce of self-control for her to learn to stop biting them so she could use them on him. She reached his bottom, and ran her nails over each cheek, before dragging them back up his body. He was twitching and moaning and she knew he would be ready to go soon. One last time, she raked his nails down his back, and Ian's thrusting grew frenzied.

That lack of control brought her bare seconds before it finally took him.

Neither immediately moved.

Easter and his team and shown-up whether they were welcome or not. Hotch had called Easter after getting Morgan's call (and giving him enough time to get there before the Interpol team), insisting that fair was fair. So, it was Morgan, the locals and Interpol outside the house late at night.

They'd split into four teams.

Bravo team's mission was to protect the children.

Echo team was responsible for clearing the house.

Tango team was responsible for maintaining the perimeter, so they could get Doyle out.

Alpha's job was to get the man himself. Morgan was part of this team. He'd had to work with the American consulate to determine if Mauritius would respect the warrant and extradite the man. The Mauritius officials were surprisingly cooperative. But then it was a tiny Island, and it probably didn't want to get into a bitching match with any country, let alone one the size of the US.

So, Morgan hadn't fought to lead a team. Frankly, as long as Doyle was in cuffs and no one got hurt, especially the kids or their mother, he'd be a happy camper.

McAllister and Tsia Mosely were on Bravo team, as per their request. Tsia seemed conflicted, he got the impression that she and Emily had been close, once upon a time. Protecting the kids seemed like an innocuous enough position, he figured. Morgan wasn't sure why McAllister had chosen Bravo.

Easter was with him on Alpha.

Their final team member was outside with Tango, and he seemed to want to keep his distance from the whole thing.

The countdown was done in French, but Morgan followed it well enough. Alpha burst through one door, Bravo through another and Echo took the final door. They all swarmed toward the stairs, and Morgan couldn't be sure who was on what team. But they knew the layout of the house, had pulled the blueprints from public records, and he aimed toward the master bedroom.

They were greeted with an M-16, and grey-blue eyes flashing with anger.

"Port Louis Police, Monsieur Flannery. Lower the weapon and drop yours hands or we'll shoot you in front of your wife and children."

"Dad! Dad!" A boy, the oldest probably, screamed from down the hallway.

To his surprise, Doyle held up the gun in one hand, the other empty. He kept his eyes on them, but angle his head slightly toward the hallway. "Do as they say, Declan!"

Doyle then let his eyes settle on the cops. "Do not harm my children or wife. I won't resist you."

"We don't intend to harm them if you come peacefully," Easter said. They backed him into the room then, and Morgan saw Emily Prentiss. She had her back to the closet, and her daughter in her arms. He could see her chest heaving.

Doyle nodded. "I need a moment with my wife before you arrest me."

Morgan looked toward Emily, who actually looked surprised, as if she hadn't been the one to call him. Or maybe she didn't believe that Ian would actually ever be caught.

"Fine," Easter said, but his tone was nearly a snarl.

The lights suddenly came on, and both Doyle and Emily shrunk back from the light. She was wearing white shorts and a loose fitting white tank top. He could see, around her waist, traces of the baby fat she hadn't yet lost.

Doyle inclined his head toward them, and then dropped his arms, allowing one of the Port Louis officers to take the M-16. Then he turned and walked toward Emily, always with an eye in their direction. Morgan watched him pull her body close to his, his lips sliding gently over hers. Then he began to speak, his voice low and in a language Morgan had never before heard. Emily nodded and spoke the same language back, and Easter didn't stop them. Finally, Doyle pressed a kiss to his infant daughter's head, and pulled her mother against his chest. Morgan could see her eyes already growing glassy. When he pulled away, they exchanged a few more words in the strange language, and Ian Doyle turned toward them, hands up in surrender.

Two police officers pulled his arms behind his back, Easter glaring in the man's face, venom shooting from his eyes. Doyle spoke to one of the policeman in French, and the only word of response that Morgan could make out was "America". He assumed that Doyle was just told he'd be extradited.

Commotion at the door caught his eye, and he turned to see Mosely with the youngest boy in her arms, and McAllister with the next youngest in his. Two local officers walked with Declan between them. The Alpha leader spoke French and nodded toward Emily, and all of them headed over to her.

They led Doyle out, Easter with them, and Morgan moved over to Emily. He'd promised her she wouldn't be alone to deal with her people, and he intended to keep that promise.

Mosely spoke first. "Your kids are beautiful."

Emily nodded. "Thank you."

The boy in McAllister's arms wiggled, and ran to his mother as soon as the man set him down. The youngest boy did the same, calling for her. The oldest boy was sitting sullenly on the bed. All three were in pajamas and regarded the strangers with weary, untrusting eyes.

Easter came back in the room. "Doyle's on his way to Port Louis Police headquarters. They're going to process him." He turned to Morgan. "Interpol politely requests custody go to MI-6. They've the most thorough and damning case against Doyle for his crimes, and he's operated most from within their borders."

"The warrant is for the U.S."

Easter inhaled, but remained calm. He waived Morgan away from Emily. Derek looked at her until she nodded, and followed the spy across the room.

"If you put Doyle in an American prison, he will break out, and the first thing he'll do is find his wife and children. It will be a miracle if he hasn't figured out that it was she who turned him in, and if he has, he'll kill her. It won't matter that she gave birth to three of his children. If you let MI-6 take custody, he'll be transferred to a facility from which he'll never break free. She and those children will be safer."

"Which prison?" Derek asked.

"I can't say, but trust me, if the man can break out of there, no place will hold him."

Morgan knew Hotch might kill him for agreeing to that, but with innocent lives at stake, he had to make the best call he could. He sighed. "Alright, you can have him. But you make sure the bastard doesn't break free. I don't think either of us wants those kids to be motherless."

Easter nodded. "You have my word."

They shook hands, and returned to the small group, which was only slightly less awkward than when they'd left it. Easter turned his attention to Emily. "We'll be taking custody of Doyle, and I'm sorry, but MI-6 will likely seize your money, this house and the artwork and jewelry and such as ill-gotten profits."

Emily nodded and swallowed. "I think I want to go back to the States anyway."

"I came in the FBI jet. If you're ready by the time all the Doyle stuff is squared away, you can ride back with me," he said.

The corners of her lips rose slightly. "I think we can manage that."

Emily did not go back to sleep that night. After the cops dragged Ian out, she took the children to Conall and Ronan's room while the police tore apart their home, searching for anything to further damn him. She'd had to explain to her sons why their daddy had been taken away in handcuffs. Emily had to tell her children that they'd likely never seen their father again. Connall had cried, Ronan didn't seem to understand, and Declan had crossed his arms over his chest and glared in the general direction of the police.

The police didn't bother to question her, and she wouldn't allow them to question the kids. They did pester Louise, but she told them to go to hell. When they finally left, the house was a mess and the first light of dawn was breaking through the darkness. Conall and Ronan were asleep in Ronan's bed, and Declan was sleeping in Conall's bed. Agent Morgan had moved Moira's bassinette into the boys' room for her, and the baby had slept through most of the drama.

Emily left the kids to sleep, and in the master bedroom allowed herself to weep for several minutes. Then she dried off her eyes and picked up the phone. She dialed the number for the US Embassy in Belgium. After several Bureaucratic hoops, she was finally connected with the Ambassador. Her heart was pounding almost painfully in her chest.

"I don't know who this is, but my daughter is dead. I don't appreciate – "

"Hello, Mother."

"E – Emily?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you thought I was dead, but I…I've made some choices, and I couldn't contact you, and…I'm sorry." She struggled to hold back tears. She hadn't expected to be so emotional, since she had never been close to her mother.

"Emily, where are you? Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm fine. I'm moving back to D.C. I…I have children now."

"Children?" The Ambassador's voice rose an octave. "I have grandchildren?"

Emily nodded, even knowing her mother couldn't see it. Her voice shook when she spoke "Yes, three beautiful boys, and my daughter is only about two months old."

"Four? My god…when will you be back in Washington? I'll take some time, I…I'd love to see you Emily."

"By tomorrow I think. Give me a day to get the kids settled in?"

"Of course," she said. "Will I be meeting their father as well?"

Emily had to swallow to answer, tears pricking her eyes. "No. You'll never meet their father."

"Oh Emily, I'm so sorry."

"It's not…he's not dead, he…I'll explain it when I see you. In a couple days, right?"

"Yes, two days."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and then hung up, Emily feeling more emotionally drained than she had in longtime. A knocking on the door startled her. "Tsia?"

"Your housekeeper let me in, at least after I flashed my credentials at her," she said. "The kids sleeping?"

"Yes, I'm letting them sleep in, since they were woken up last night."

Tsia walked over and sank down on the bed beside her. "Em, I…what happened five and a half years ago? Why did you go with Doyle?"

She shook her head. "Even if I told you, Tsia, I doubt you'd understand. I barely understand it."

"Well, try me." When Emily didn't respond, Tsia nudged her. "Come on, I thought you were dead and it was our fault. You owe me."

She nodded. "I fell in love with him, Tsia. And when I found out I was pregnant…" She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "I couldn't have an abortion, and I already loved my baby, I couldn't give it up. I," she hesitated. "I had the opportunity to run away and raise my child with the man that I loved and the little boy that I adored. It should have been a harder decision, with what he was, but it wasn't. I was afraid he'd kill me after I gave birth to Conall, but instead he told me that he wanted more children."

Tsia sighed. "Ian Doyle never struck me as the paternal sort."

Emily smiled. "You would be surprised." Then her smile fell. "But then most fathers don't prep their children for lives of crime."

Tsia took her hand. "And you couldn't live with that."

"I love Ian, but I love my children more, and I couldn't let him turn them into him."

Tsia was silent for several minutes, then she inhaled. "Honey, you have made a hell of a mess of your life."

Emily snorted. "Yeah, tell me about it… thank you, Tsia." The other woman raised her eyebrows in question. "For not hating me, for being sympathetic when I probably don't deserve it, for not treating me like I'm the whore of Babylon."

Tsia chuckled softly. "I don't judge anyone's choices when it comes to love."

"Thank you," she said again. "I don't suppose you'd all be willing to give the kids and I a chance to say goodbye to Ian?"

"Maybe over Clyde's dead body. He's never letting that man anywhere near you again."

"I figured as much." Emily surveyed the room. "Then I guess all I have left to do is pack."

Footsteps cued them to Louise's arrival before they saw her. She walked toward them with a package. Emily got up and met her halfway. "It was just delivered from the jeweler's. It's addressed to Ian, but I assume it's meant for you."

Emily took the package. "Thank you, Louise."

Shortly after Tsia left, another figure appeared at her door. Their bags were packed against one wall, and the boys were eating a late lunch that was not quite dinner. She left them at the table, and Moira in her carrier, and went to answer the door. Louise was packing up her own belongings, and preparing to return to Ireland. She'd taken well to Mauritius, but she'd still missed her homeland. Emily didn't look through the peephole before she pulled the door open.

Her spine tensed. "Clyde."

"I have earned that icy reception, but I was hoping you'd allow me a moment before you flew back to America," he said. He looked worn-out, far more so than when she'd seen him mere hours ago.

Emily knew what that was, she knew what had made that change, and it was why she pulled the door open wider and allowed him to enter.

He didn't walk in very far, before turning to her. "I'm sorry for my behavior in Washington, D.C. I'm sorry for what I said about you and your children. But Em, I will not apologize for anything I said about him. He's an evil, manipulative bastard and I hope he spends the next fifty years rotting in a cage."

And there it was, the anger. Anger, probably vengeance for her death, had powered him the last five years. Clyde had believed her dead, they all had, and believed Ian responsible. That fury had been the thing keeping him going the last five years, and that anger had spiked in D.C. Mixed with confusion and hurt from her betrayal, it had spiked and spilled over onto her. Emily would admit that she'd earned some of it.

That anger had been satisfied when Ian was led out in handcuffs, and suddenly the juice powering Clyde the last five years was gone. Without that fury, he'd deflated. He was just a man, exhausted and ragged from a too-long chase.

"I wouldn't ask you to apologize for what you said about him. I know what he is, Clyde. I've always known."

He sighed. "I don't…I don't understand, Em, how could you build a life with him knowing that?"

"I fell in love with him." She shrugged. "I found out I was pregnant and all I wanted was to raise my baby with his family. It's the simplest thing for most people, but…" She trailed off and shook her head.

"Most people aren't undercover spies. Most people aren't in love with creatures like Ian Doyle. How did you forget what he was, Em?"

"He never brought his work home, and I never let him involve the boys. I could tell myself that he was really a good man, because he was a good man at home. It wasn't important how he acted outside our home, as long as he was good to the kids and I."

"And he was?" Clyde asked.

"He would lose his temper now and again, but he was a good father, and he was the only man that I've ever been with that's treated me like a princess." She said. Ian Doyle could torture people without even blinking at the ensuing screams, but he was very loving with her.

And that was cognitive dissonance. Her knowledge of his crimes didn't sync up with the man she saw at home, her knowledge of who he was didn't fit with how much she loved him and wanted to stay. So, she made his crimes matter less in his head, and told herself that if he was a good man to them, he was a good man.

"I am sorry, Emily," he said. "If I'd known what was going to happen, I'd have never made you the UC on this case."

Emily inhaled and met his eyes. "But then I wouldn't have my children."

They didn't get onto the plane until late that evening. As it turned out, Agent Morgan had to get clearance to take them along with him, something about fuel useage. One of his colleagues was able to push the paperwork through, and then it was just a matter of getting them loaded. That could be pretty complicated with four children on board. She tucked Conall and Ronan into one of the couches, hoping they'd sleep through the flight. Declan found a seat, and pulled open a book, and she buckled Moira's car seat into the seat beside her.

From the diaper bag she pulled out the jewelry box that had been delivered earlier that day, and gently pried the lid off. She'd looked at it before, but she wanted to see it again, the last gift Ian would give to his daughter. Emily fingered the small gold disc.

On the front it was delicately carved Celtic knotwork, and on the back it held a simple engraving: Mo Stóirín.

It was clearly handmade and expensive, easily 24 carat gold, like her own necklace. Emily fingered the ring with the small hands and delicate engraving inside: Tá mo chroí istigh ionat. My heart is within you.

"Hey, are you okay?" She started and looked up at the agent.

"Oh yeah, thanks."

He gestured to the box. "That's pretty. Celtic knot work, right?"

"Yeah, Ian had it made for Moira." Then she groaned. "You're not going to seize it, are you?"

He chuckled. "No, I hadn't planned on it. Not the one around your neck either." He sipped the coffee in his hand. "Gift from Ian?"

"Yeah, before…everything."

Morgan didn't press, but suddenly seemed to remember something as he patted his pockets. He pulled out a gold band. "He asked that we give this to you. I guess he figured it would be taken from him in prison anyway."

Emily caught Ian's wedding ring in her hand. A breath trembled down her throat, and she turned toward Declan, finding the boy fallen asleep while reading. She turned back to Morgan. "Is it wrong of me to hope he dies there?"

Morgan's eyebrows twitched up. "He's a bad man, so I'd say no. Though I am surprised you'd wish for that."

"If he ever gets out, even if he never finds out I turned him in, he'll want to raise our kids as criminals, and I can't…I can't allow that." She paused. "And I need to put him in the past and leave him there."

She set the ring in the box with Moira's necklace and closed it back up, before thinking better of it. She opened the box, and pulled off her own wedding ring, dropping that into the box as well. Then she closed it and shoved it back in the diaper bag.

"You're keeping the necklace on, but stashing the ring?"

Emily flicked her tongue over her top lip. "It's hard to explain. My marriage is over, my little fantasy life is over. That's all our marriage was anyway, a fantasy. There's no point to wearing the ring. But, what we had together, that was real."

"I think I get it…I'm sorry, I'm sorry you're going through all of this."

She smiled, but it was mirthless. "Thanks, but I kind of brought this on myself."

"I wouldn't say that." She offered him only a dubious look. He chuckled. "Someone very smart once told me something," he said. "She told me that you don't choose who you fall in love with."

Emily did smile then. "Thank you."

Okay, so when I started writing this it was meant to be happy and fun and Emily and Ian were going to still be together by the end. Then Morgan opened his damn mouth, and all of that went to hell. It is inevitable that Emily's inability to raise their children to be criminals would clash with Ian's determination to do so, and they'd combust. It would have been out of character to allow Emily to continue with the fantasy, so I completely changed the story I had in mind to keep her in character.

That is not the best definition of cognitive dissonance, but putting a textbook definition would have been awkward in the story. If you're curious just google it.

Thank you for reading, and reviews are always welcome!