This story is for Lizzabet, who created the cover for me for Fallen. This story has Blake in it, so it's set either last season or the one before. However, I don't remember much of season 8 and I didn't really watch season 9, so I'm pretty much ignoring anything that happened except Blake's presence. I do not own the characters or world and I certainly do not own the Emily Dickinson poem. And that isn't the full poem below. Thank you all for reading, and Lizzabet, I'm sorry it took me so long to start posting this story! It will be a long though, so hopefully that makes up for it.

Trigger warnings for domestic violence.

"He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,

Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool,-
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.

-Emily Dickinson

Emily didn't say a word on the drive to her apartment, and she was relieved that Clyde didn't try to initiate conversation. It was late afternoon as they drove, the sun shining down blindingly bright, an uncommon occurrence in London. The traffic was light, because it was a Thursday and most people were at work. They should have been at work. Emily should have been in her office, trying to complete paperwork through the constant barrage of phone calls and knocks on her office door. But they weren't at work, and Emily probably wouldn't be back at work for a while. Clyde wanted her out of the country for at least a month. Emily wasn't nearly as convinced that running away would help, but for once, Clyde was the one pushing her to go. He was afraid.

She was afraid. But she was also angry and exhausted and damn near broken.

They arrived at her building, parking in lot that, had it been later in the day, would have been filled with her neighbor's cars. Instead a handful of vehicles from the Metropolitan Police Service sat in the lot, parked haphazardly and taking up multiple parking spaces. Clyde stayed close to her as they walked to the building, both nodding at her doorman before walking toward the elevator. Emily had yet to start calling it a lift or calling her apartment a flat. She figured it came from how much moving around she had done in her life. If she'd picked up the terminology used by every place she had lived, no one would ever understand what she was saying.

The police presence didn't bother her until they got to her apartment. It was at the end of the hallway on the seventh floor, and once upon a time, she had liked the location because the hallway window was right there and made the space look cheery. Over the last few months, the walk down the narrow hallway had felt less like coming home and more like walking to the gallows. Or like the hotel in The Shining. Now the door to her apartment was wide open and two officers stood guard outside. Emily's body tensed, not at the memories from the last several months, but at the invasion. That was her home, her private life, and now it was laid bare.

Like she had done for the hours she'd spent at the hospital, Emily shut herself down. Her shoulders lowered and her fisted hands loosened. It can't hurt if you can't feel it.

She and Clyde flashed their IDs and entered the apartment. A young man that worked in Emily's office saw them and quickly made his way over. From his pocket he pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Emily. "Both locks were changed, ma'am. The locksmith said that the new deadbolt should keep out anything short of a missile. Please let me know if there is anything else that I can do."

Owen Gracie was a nice guy. Very young, but polite and didn't give Emily any shit. She figured being younger, he wasn't as bothered about answering to a woman. She expected to see pity in his eyes, but instead she found anger and even more surprising, pain. Then she remembered something he had said to her once, and knew exactly why Clyde had picked him. He'd been in a car accident last year that resulted in two fractured ribs, but had been back at work quickly. When Emily told him he could have more time, he'd shrugged and said he'd be fine, he'd had far worse as a kid.

She tried to smile, but doubted that she succeeded. "I'm fine, thank you, Owen."

"Why don't you pack your bags, Darling?" Clyde said.

Emily nodded. Ordinarily, she might have glared at him for using terms of endearment in front of their subordinates, but at the moment she didn't particularly care. And young though he was, Owen had worked under Clyde for years. The kid had to be used to it.

She had avoided looking at the rest of her apartment, which still had crime scene officers gathering evidence. She resisted the urge to order everyone out of her apartment. The curtain on her personal life had already been yanked up, there was no going back now. There was nothing left to hide. Instead she tapped an officer on the shoulder. "Can I get in the bedroom and pack my stuff?"

"Sure. We won't be too much longer in here."

"Thanks." Part of her did not want to go into her bedroom. She'd been trapped in that bedroom from Friday until earlier this morning. And then he'd only released her, because she had to work. Emily had prepared for work, but instead of going, she'd driven down the street and called Clyde.

Emily averted her eyes from the corner by the closet. Even in her peripheral vision, she could see that the officers had not removed it yet. She walked to the bed instead and reached a hand underneath it. Her go-bag was already packed, as it always was, and her fingers found the rough material easily. She pulled it free and tossed it on the bed, before sticking her hand back underneath it. It took her a minute, but she managed to find her suitcase that she hardly every used. She'd purchased it to use for vacations, and well, Emily didn't often go on vacation. That she tossed on top of the bed as well, and began to throw clothes, shoes, jewelry and other items into it. She'd almost finished filling it, and took one step toward the door to get he last few items she needed, when Clyde appeared with a small stack of books in his hands. He handed them over and Emily studied them, before looking up at him. "Should I even ask how you knew which ones to grab?"

Clyde smiled. "Your bookshelf is not that challenging to profile."

She actually smiled and rolled her eyes. Clyde's eyes drifted then and his gaze went dark. Emily followed it to the metal dog crate that was parked by the closet. A heavy chain collar sat on top of it. She tugged his arm, pulling his focus away. "Come on. I'm done here."

"Don't forget to throw the bastard's things in a box."

Emily reluctantly completed that task, storing away the things that four months ago brought a smile to her face. Seeing Reece's things around her apartment had made her feel warm and tingly four months ago; but now they just made her feel sick. When it was all over and the officers removed the last of the evidence from her apartment, Emily shut the door and turned her key in both locks. She let Clyde lead her down the stairs and back to his vehicle, and she tried to feel nothing.

Two days later, she was almost successful. She'd spent the previous nights at a hotel under an alias she hadn't used in fifteen years. Yesterday, she'd provided an affidavit in court, detailing every nightmare Reece had put her through over the last several months. Her misery was all on record, and so was her humiliation. The judge was an older guy, white haired and surly, but with a softness in his faded blue eyes that hardened as he granted the injunction. His voice was hard as he declared that Reece was not permitted to be within 100 metres of her home and was not permitted to contact her for the next six months.

Clyde had gone with her to court, though he'd been forced to wait outside, and he'd taken her to work afterward so she could sort through some things. This morning he'd picked her up again. Clyde had always had her back, something she hadn't doubted since their first assignment together, and that hadn't changed even with all the years that had passed. He'd hugged her when they got to the airport, which was very much not Clyde, but then the hug was barely a hug. Emily had waved and walked with her go bag and rolling suitcase to the plane. She passed through security and without hesitating or twitching, she handed the stewardess a passport with a different name on it. It was far from the first time, and it probably wouldn't be her last time doing so. Emily slid into her seat and tried not to think about Reece.

Morgan stretched and rested his hands on his bald head as he contemplated his pantry and fridge. He needed to make dinner. He ordered in too much; he had to cook for himself more often. The problem was trying to figure out what to make. He opened his freezer and studied the contents. Seriously freezer-burned fish was perched awkwardly on top a package of frozen green beans, some sort of rice mix was thrown haphazardly beside it, blocking off the last item that he had reach past it to grab. Chicken thighs, wings and legs. He took out the package and rummaged in his pantry, smiling when he found what he needed.

His father's mother had taught him how to make fried chicken, but his mother had adapted it to be more healthy and turned it into flavorful baked chicken. He also had some potatoes that he could mash and green beans would finish off a meal that would make his mama proud. And he'd have extras for the next few days. Of course, that meant that they'd almost certainly be called away on a case. Still, he shrugged and got to work, defrosting the chicken in the microwave and preparing the batter and bread crumbs. He'd finished the chicken and was working on peeling the potatoes when the doorbell rang. Morgan wiped his hands on a towel, and went to answer, expecting to find a couple Jehovah's Witnesses on his doorstep.

His initial surprise when he opened the door quickly gave way to a big smile. "Emily!"

She smiled back. "Sorry for the lack of notice. You up for a house guest for a few days?"

He saw the larger suitcase she had in addition to her go bag and knew that she was in the states for more than a few days, but didn't ask. Not yet anyway. But he did study her more carefully. Though her smile reached her eyes, there was something behind it that he didn't like. It was pain, maybe even fear. It was need. She was running from something. But he didn't interrogate her. Instead he smiled and opened his arms to envelope her. "Are you kidding? I'm thrilled to have you."

Her smiled widened and she stepped into his arms, wrapping her own around him. Something in her stance made him hold her tighter, eliciting a barely audible, though pained moan from her. He quickly stepped back. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "It's nothing, just a little banged up from a minor car accident."

"What?" He frowned. "What accident? When did that happen?"

"A couple days ago, but I swear that I'm fine. Injuries were very minor."

Morgan continued to study her and didn't believe a word she said. But he didn't press. Instead, he stepped aside so that she could come inside and took her larger suitcase from her. He tried to grab her go-bag too, but the look on her face made him release the strap. Some things did not change. Emily Prentiss being hellbent on her independence was one of those things. He led her up to the guest room, and told her to come join him in kitchen whenever she finished getting settled. He returned to his cooking, chopping the potatoes and putting them into boil, before grabbing the garlic and onions for the green beans.

With stellar timing, Emily walked into the kitchen as he was slicing the onion, tears rolling down his cheeks from the spicy bite of the vegetable. Emily grinned. "Imagine that, Derek Morgan, the quintessential tough guy crying over onions."

"It is a autonomic reaction, I can't help it," he insisted with a fake pout. Truth was he loved it. He had missed their teasing banter since even before she'd left. It hadn't really been the same since she had died. Maybe even earlier. Maybe since Doyle started stalking her and Emily began to spin-off into her private darkness. A darkness that he would have given anything to have been given the chance to help her out of, but Emily was extremely private.

Emily chuckled. "What are you making? And is there anything I can do to help?"

"Baked chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. And, not really, unless you want to peak in the oven and see if the chicken is ready to be turned."

She nodded and began walking toward the oven. "Do you usually cook for yourself like this?"

"No. I hardly even cook. You know how it is. I've been trying to order out less though, and chicken was about my only option, unless I wanted freezer-burned catfish."

He heard her open the oven. "Yum. Freezer-burn gives it all the flavor, doesn't it?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, just like cardboard. How's the chicken look?"

"It could probably use another minute before it's turned."

Morgan nodded and grabbed a pan, pouring in some olive oil. "So...what brings you to the states?"

"Uh, vacation actually."

He glanced up at her. "You just spontaneously decided to go on vacation?"

"Just needed a break, and I'm the boss, so I can take it whenever I want." She smiled.

He did too, though he knew her words weren't the truth, or at least the whole truth. "Well, either way, it's damn good to see you."

"Yeah, I've missed you guys." She was smiling when she pulled her cell phone out, but it dropped and her face grew white as she read what he assumed was a text.

"Em…everything okay?"

She snapped the phone shut and returned it to her pocket, her smile instantly reappearing. "Yeah, everything's fine."

He didn't believe her for a second.