A/N: Hi all,

I know it's been AGES – nearly 2 months, and I'm sorry. Unfortunately, all I have to give are the usual study and work excuses, but I apologise nonetheless.

Anyway, now I'm on holidays, I really want to try and get back into this story. Which has been harder than I thought. I actually had to re-read all the previous chapters before I could write this one.

So, in conclusion, I hope you like it, and I hope you don't hate me for my absence.

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It was 3 days later when the night terrors started.

Not hers. His.

Once again, she found herself at the kitchen table putting in extra hours for her job – anything really to get this fundraising gala back on track…

Squinting her eyes against the bright light of her laptop screen, she let out a weary sigh as she thought longing of the comfortable bed waiting for her just down the hall. It would be so easy just to call it a night, especially since she still had to go to work tomorrow morning…

Siding with sleep, she checked the time on her computer: 2:13am. Yeah, definitely time to call it a night.

Slowly she rose from her spot at the table, stretching as she went, trying to work out the stiffness in her joints from staying seated for too long. She had just reached the final stages of shutting down when she heard it… or rather, heard him.

The first thing that crossed her mind was confusion. He wasn't yelling, as such; the sound was more akin to… struggling – and it wasn't overly loud either. In fact, she had to strain her ears to make it out properly.

In the week and a half he'd been with her, she'd never known him to have sleep disturbances like the kind he seemed to be having now. Or maybe… "Oh God" she whispered to herself.

…Maybe he wasn't having sleep disturbances – maybe someone had broken into her apartment to find him. He was a wanted man, after all.

Grabbing a butcher's knife from the kitchen, Grace did her best to soundlessly creep down the hall towards James' room. Glancing down at the knife in her hand, she internally berated herself. She didn't know how to brandish a knife! She knew how to use a gun, but her 9mm was currently securely stowed away in her safe where it belonged.

She briefly contemplated swapping weapons but decided that opening her safe in the darkness would generate far too much noise, and waste far too much time. No, she'd just have to hope that whoever had broken in would buy the bluff she was about to sell.

Her heart rate quickened as she approached the door; grasping the knife firmly in her right hand, she reached out for the door handle with her left. Taking a moment to steel herself she heard the tortured sounds of her roommate.

Her heart clenched in her chest as she listened to him from the other side of the door.

"No, please! …. You don't need to… Ah!"

Slowly, realisation dawned on her. As she heard the sound of him begging and crying out in pain, she knew without a doubt that there was no intruder in her home. She pushed back the tears threatening to come forth, retreating to the kitchen as she did. He had begged, actually begged.

She hadn't thought such a thing was possible.

Dumping the knife in the kitchen, she grabbed two glasses and set them down on the counter before filling one with water and the other with something a great deal stronger. She was just about to head back down the hall when a thought suddenly occurred to her – even though she was sure he would refuse them, she went to her medication cabinet and pocketed some sleeping pills anyway.

Both glasses in hand she silently opened the door, admitting herself entry to his room. For a moment she allowed herself to think of the novelty of the title – a week and a half ago it had been "the spare room", and now she couldn't help but think of it as "his room". Funny how quickly things can change…

Soundlessly she placed the glasses on the bedside table before turning to look at him. He was still asleep and was still being tormented by his own dreams – or were they nightmares?

The small window off to the side illuminated the room just enough for her to get a good look at him.

He was lying on his back, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Both his face and chest shone with a thin layer of sweat; his hair was completely tousled, as were the bed sheets – he had clearly been tossing and turning. Anything to escape the horrors in his head, she supposed.

She noted briefly that his hands were desperately clutching at the mattress, his metal one actually seemed to have created a hole in the hard foam. She couldn't help but wonder if it was the only one, or merely the latest in a long line.

Finally, her gaze rested on his face. Even with his eyes closed, he was the picture of fear and pain. And it looked wrong.

The man she knew was strong, tortured? …Yes. But strong nonetheless. He was smart, and inquisitive, and had an unexpectedly quick wit about him. Those things, those qualities were the ones that belonged on his face, all of which were supposed to be topped off by a signature smirk that he seemed to be getting the hang of. Not these. Not pain. And certainly not fear.

These didn't belong. Or at the very least, they shouldn't.

A wave of determination washed over her then, and she took a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come. Slowly, he reached out her hand towards him; upon making contact with his right shoulder she offered a slight shake as she softly called to him.

Anything to make waking up as gentle as possible.

Nothing happened.

Taking a step closer to the bed to give herself more leverage, she tried again, firmer this time.

"Hey, James. It's me. You need to wake up."

He didn't wake, but his whimpering seemed to increase – almost as though he thought she was there to hurt him.

Propping her knee up on the mattress, she attempted once more to soothe him.

"Hey, shhh... it's okay. You're safe. I'm not here to hurt you, I'm trying to help-"

His eyes snapped open, and in a flurry of movement that her eyes weren't quite able to follow in the dim light, she promptly found herself pinned underneath her tenant with a gun rested against her temple.

It all happened too fast for her to scream, and now, in her current position, she found herself too shocked to say anything.

She looked up into his face. It was like he couldn't even see her.

His eyes were burning with hatred, and his entire face was a mask of cool steel – and suddenly she understood why he had once been called names like "asset" and "soldier". The face she saw right now… it was barely human.

Her heart rate sped up, and for the first time ever she could honestly say that she was afraid. Not of James. James didn't scare her – he would never hurt her. But this man. This wasn't James.

It became clear to her that she still needed to wake him up – because even though his eyes were open, he still wasn't living in the same reality as her.

"You said wouldn't hurt me"

Despite the situation her voice came out strong and unafraid – something she could be proud of later. If there was a later.

A few seconds passed before she saw him begin to blink furiously, almost as if someone had turned the lights on too quickly and his eyes needed to adjust. When his blinking stopped she could see that the hatred had gone from his eyes, and she heaved a sigh of relief knowing that he was himself again.

He, on the other hand, took one look at their position, and practically threw himself off the bed in a state of panic. Quickly regaining his footing on the floor, he dismantled the gun still in his hand and let the pieces drop to the floor, turning to stare at her wide eyed when the task was done.

"What… What are you…"

The stress was clear in his voice and his breathing was laboured, as though he'd just run a marathon.

She sat up on the bed, "James…" she tried.

"I could've killed you… No, more than that…"

"James, it's fine-"

"It's not fine!" he practically shouted at her. "I nearly killed you, Grace! How could you think that's fine?!"

She stood up from the bed and tried to approach him. "Okay, just calm down – that wasn't you."

He laughed harshly, "No, Grace. That's just it. That was me, no - it is me. That's what I do. That's who they made me."

"That might be what they trained you to do, but it's not who you are, okay?" she was close to him now, close enough to touch him. She attempted to reach out to him – to soothe him once more.

Before she could reach him, he saw what she was doing and gently batted her hand away. "No, don't touch me. It's not safe."

This time, she was the one who laughed.

"Bullshit." She countered, as she continued to move towards him.

With nowhere else to go, he found himself backed into the wall. Feeling the hard surface against his skin, he slid down the wall to the floor, bringing his knees into his chest. It was as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible – if not for the setting, she would have found it funny.

Someone as tall and as broad as him could never be considered small.

Kneeling next to him, she went on.

"And do you know why that's bullshit? …Because you're right, James. You could've killed me, you had a prime opportunity. But you didn't. You hesitated. If you hadn't we wouldn't be having this conversation. Now, I'm not an expert, but somehow I don't think they – whoever they are, trained you to hesitate…"

He didn't reply. He didn't even look in her direction.

She must've waited a good 5 minutes before she realised he wasn't going to. Still, she refused to give up. If he wanted to play this game, then she would play it too.

Resting back on her feet, she moved to sit next to him against the wall, bringing her knees towards her chest as she went – mirroring him as best she could.

There was nothing to do now but wait him out.