In the morning, I wake up to Liam's rummaging.

Mr. Warren's still asleep. He's probably had his own share of sleep deprivation, due to his extensive business duties.

We've slept fifteen hours in total. That's really something. I don't even have the time to go home and change. But I don't mind either.

I finally feel good enough to go on with my life. As if nothing happened.

And it works perfectly. I do my job. I chat with Ollie. I catch up with Ben. I feel alive.

It works perfectly until the night arrives.

I fall asleep after a long battle with terrifying pictures. Just to wake up half an hour later, to even more terrifying ones.

I've been dreaming of my old colleagues. The ones I worked with on preventing the war. The ones I failed with. The ones who stayed there until the very last minute. The ones I left to die.

We were a team. A very different one than the nice people here. We were a bunch of failed politicians, renegade lawyers, shady businessmen, and burned-out intelligence agents, united for a cause. A lost cause. A cause which led us to inevitable failure.

But still a team. And now they are accusing me of abandoning them. And they are right. I escaped, and they are dead. They were executed. Just like I would have been if I had stayed.

I did it for my son. At least that's what I tell them in my dream. But they don't believe me. They had families too. Alas, they had high hopes as well. Hopes, that they were keeping up for too long. Longer than logical. Not noticing the last moment possible, when they could have left the country. I told them.

"You weren't listening to me," I whisper in the dark, in my own language. "I told you it was all over. And now you're dead."

They are, but my brain shows me otherwise. I'm awake, so it can't be a simple nightmare anymore, the way they surround me, looking almost palpable.

I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open my eyes again, the hallucinations are gone, but I still can't breathe.

I'm looking for something to keep me from screaming. Crying is not an option either. Ben doesn't sleep very well either since I turned into a lunatic.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I groan, and tiptoe to the bathroom. I search the laundry, looking for the dress I wore to work. I put it on my pillow. It makes my panic a bit better. But it's not enough to provide me with sleep. I stay wide awake all night.

In the morning, I look like shit again.

Ben reminds me of my promise. I remind him of the fact that yesterday I was able to pick him up from school, and the good time we had together. I also promise him the same for today. He's so happy, it almost makes me tear up.

But my smile is only a mask. My posture is only a result of my strained self-control. My composed state is only a facade. The moment I arrive at work, I fall to pieces.

I spend an hour staring at my monitor again, trying to come up with a solution to get myself together until the afternoon. After that one hour, I slowly walk to Mr. Warren's office, and I knock on his door.

"Bad night again?" he asks, sitting behind his desk.

"Terrible," I admit.

"It must have been terrible if you came here of your own accord. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually," I tell him, watching my shoes. "You could let me sleep here for a few hours. I have a promise to keep, so it's very important."

"What promise?" he asks.

"Without asking questions," I answer, looking up.

He simply gestures towards the couch. It's already opened.

It feels weird, to lie down there, in front of his eyes. He turns the darkening on. For a moment I worry that he's going to leave too. I really don't feel like explicitly asking him to stay, though it's clear now that it's him who works as a repellent against bad dreams.

I can kind of understand those nightmares. He has that quality. The quiet strength you don't mess with. The kind that doesn't need to take action, and can solve a conflict just by being present. The only quality, to be honest, that can be called strength at all. Everything else is just a male form of hysteria.

My philosophical musings are still not enough to lull me to sleep. Luckily, the bearer of this very handy quality sits back at his desk and starts to read something, without even looking at me.

I sigh and turn my back on him. The couch is not the coziest thing in the world. I try to arrange my limbs in a more comfortable position. Then, in a different one. No use, sleep still eludes me. I sigh. I turn around. Sigh again. Turn around again. And so on.

I toss and turn around for some ten minutes, feeling more and more desperate. When I'm on the verge of giving up, I hear Mr. Warren standing up and walking to the couch.

"Is it a problem, if I rest a bit too?" he asks, with a deep sigh.

"No," I whisper. His weight makes the springs creak when he lies by my side.

"You should ask," he murmurs, before putting his arms around me.

"I can't," I admit. Because it oversteps charity by such a huge distance, that it's not even funny. This, I refuse to admit, of course.

"Okay," he sighs. "No problem. Just tell me when you want me to go."

"I don't want you to go," I tell him, feeling my eyelids growing heavier. "You're good at making me sleep."

"I have the practice," he says. "Carol had nightmares too after mum died. And Amy, she's always been a bit too sensitive. A true artist."

"Do you miss them?" I ask him.

"Yes," he sighs. "We meet whenever we can, but I was more a parent to them than a brother. And it's normal, you know, for parents to be left behind."

I rub my face against his arm. He presses his face against the back of my neck. Claus doesn't object yet.

"They were lucky to have you," I sigh.

"Because I'm good at making people sleep?"

"Because you know how to hit without a warning," I giggle. "I bet it was more useful back then."

"It was," he agrees. "It made them feel safer."

"Me too," I admit.

"Is there a chance of anyone coming for you?" he asks, with his mouth against the nape of my neck. It makes me shiver. In an impossibly sensual way. My arms are suddenly covered in goosebumps. And I don't want to admit even to myself what else it does to the other parts of my body.

What he asked, on the other hand, also makes me shiver, but in a much less pleasant way.

"A slight chance," I tell him. "I'm not hunted, as far as I know. If I was, I wouldn't put you all at risk."

"If there's any sign of it, I want to be the first to know," he says, without even trying to sound polite. "Not the usual handling it yourself bullshit. Understood?"

"Do you still have a few of the old connections?" I ask him, not sounding any less rude.

He grunts and pulls me in an even tighter embrace.

"I don't," he answers. "But I know who to ask if I needed to. Now it's your turn. Understood?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Now once again, as if you mean it," he orders me.

"Yes," I repeat, as if I mean it.

"Good," he sighs, breathing against the sensitive skin of my neck, making me shiver in delight again. I don't know if he does it on purpose or not, but it doesn't make sleeping any easier. It makes other things easier. Like thinking of turning around, and wrapping my legs around his hips. But I'm afraid Claus wouldn't approve. And I'm even more afraid that Mr. Warren himself wouldn't approve either.

He's silent for a few moments. Then he hums. Very thoughtfully. Again, my entire body is turned into a shivering mess in a second.

"Listen," he says. "As comfortable as this couch is, and as gladly as I postponed all my meetings for today, counting on a possibility like this... and... last but not least, as salacious as all the gossip will be, circulating in the building, starting from today... I have an idea."

"What?" I sigh.

"You could move in," he says. "You and Ben. With me. Temporarily. Just until your PTSD goes away. This way, you can come to my bed whenever you want. Uh... not exactly the best choice of words. Of course, not like that, I mean—"

"I know what you mean," I moan, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Okay," he says. "Let's put it another way. You can abuse my magical sedative skills at any time. Without asking. Without owing me an explanation. I know you'd rather be dead than dependent, so... you don't even need to say a word. You can skip greetings too if you want to."

"Very tempting," I yawn. I feel closer to sleep again, with every passing second. Finally. It was time.

"I won't harass you, or anything," he promises, sounding completely oblivious of the effect he has on me. But I can't enlighten him on the issue. Not only because I'd rather bite my tongue off, but also because I'm half asleep already.

"I suspect you simply have this personality type," I mumble. "This provider, or whatever. Ollie initiated me into this mystical knowledge. Mine is the egoist, by the way."

He chuckles, rubbing his forehead against my hair.

"And," I go on, with my speech more and more slurred, "just so you know, ugly women are not afraid of being raped. They are afraid of being killed."

He answers something, but I don't hear it. I'm already asleep.