He wakes up to find her side of the bed empty. Reaching out a hand, he discovers that the spot where she should have been laying has gone cold. This isn't the first time he's woken up this way. Ever since she'd returned from London she'd had trouble sleeping. Luckily, he has enough experience to know exactly where to find her.

Just as he'd suspected, she's sitting at the kitchen counter, clutching a mug of tea in her hands. Her iPod is hooked up to the speaker, playing a soft, slow song he can't quite remember the name of. He smiles internally as he notices she's wearing one of his button down shirts and nothing else.

She's staring straight ahead with her back to him and doesn't seem to notice his presence. He clears his throat quietly in the hopes of not startling her. She jumps anyway.

"The nightmare again?" he asks, pulling out a stool and joining her at the counter.

"It's always the same. We fight, I think I've got him, the table leg goes in. It's all so real." Her voice is monotonous and she's still not looking at him. He can tell she's doing her best to push everything back into those little boxes as she has every time he found her this way. Based on the dried tears on her cheeks, things aren't fitting quite so nicely tonight.

He reaches over to take the mug from her white-knuckled grasp. This finally prompts her to look at him. "Emily," he says gently "I know you want all of this to just go away. But it's not that easy. You have to let me help. Everything you went through, that's too much for one person to handle. Even you can't do it alone."

By the time he's done she's started to cry again. He can't ever recall seeing her cry so hard. "How can I let you help? I loved him, Aaron. " she whispers, almost impossible to understand through her tears. "How can I ask you to help me get over the man who killed me?" her last question comes out as a wail and she buries her face in her hands, allowing the sobs to overtake her body.

Unsure of what to say, yet unable to watch her be in so much pain, he hops off the stool. Gently prying a hand away from her face, he pulls her to her feet. She immediately throws her arms around his neck and presses her face in his shoulder. Without really thinking he wraps his own arms around her waist and begins to sway to the music. To his surprise, she follows suit. Neither of them speak for a while, just letting the music surround them. Eventually her tears subside and she allows him to twirl her around. Her laughter echoes through the kitchen, chasing away the ghost of Ian Doyle, if only for tonight. He knows that her pain is far from over, but for now she's alright. And that's good enough for him.