It took an eternity for me to fall asleep.

The whole time I kept fighting with myself, wondering whether I should put more distance between Noah and I, or if I should just say to hell with it and go down the hall to join him in his bed. With his ribs still healing, there was only so much we could do, but feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, hearing my name fall from his lips in a moan as I brought him to the edge... it was the most right thing I'd experienced in a long time.

And somehow, it was also the most wrong.

Anybody who happened to stumble into the warzone that was my head right now would've run away screaming. Everything was a mess of wants and needs and a whole slew of contradictions. Lots of shoulds, even more shouldn'ts. At the center of it all was Noah, and those violet eyes looking up at me more unsure than I'd ever seen him.

I wanted to reassure him. Pull him into my arms and hold him for the rest of the night. But I had no idea if that was what he wanted. Maybe I'd come across as just another john desperate for affection. That was the last fucking thing I wanted, so I'd just retreated to the shower like it was my own personal bunker. I washed off the smell of him, the feel of his hands and mouth all over my body, and I instantly regretted it.

I'd had every chance to skip my bedroom and go to his, but I hadn't taken it. Instead I'd just shut myself away with my tablet propped on my chest as I tried to find something to help me get my mind off Noah. Nothing had worked, and it was maybe three or four in the morning before exhaustion finally got a foothold.

I wasn't sure how long I slept, but it was long enough to have three disjointed dreams about Afghanistan. Two of them involving Riggs, and one where Noah was there with me, caught out in the line of fire. I heard him yell for me, the sound of it so haunting, so painful that it echoed through my mind, somehow reaching my conscious brain.

I woke with a start, realizing that sound wasn't in my dream at all. Noah was shouting. Screaming. Begging for help.

Yanking open the bottom drawer of the bedside table so hard that it came off the track, I pulled my gun from its case and loaded it quickly. Striking a balance between swiftness and stealth, I made my way down the hall. Memories hit me hard--abandoned, ruined buildings where the enemy could be lurking just around the corner--but I pushed them down and kept on.

Noah needed me, and even if I hadn't been able to get my shit together before, I'd be damned if he got hurt on my watch.

Slamming against his door, gun held out straight in front of me and already cocked, I scanned for the threat. I expected Brett to be there on top of him, even if my rational mind knew there was no way he could've gotten into my home without me noticing. But there was no one there. It was just Noah, kicking and thrashing so hard he'd already lost both the blanket and the comforter and was well on his way to throwing himself off the bed.

"Noah," I called to him, clinking the safety back on the gun and setting it aside.

He didn't rouse, so I went over to his bedside and gently put my hand on his shoulder, trying to shake him. Still he thrashed, his head whipping from one side to the other. His voice was hoarse, the words so slurred in sleep that it took me a few moments to figure out what he was actually saying.

"No. Please, I don't want this. I'm not doing it. Not again."

My blood froze in my veins, and suddenly that desire to wake him--to save him from whatever his mind was putting him through--grew a thousandfold. I sat on the edge of the bed, my body blocking him from throwing himself over the side. Both of my hands rested on his shoulders and I spoke to him as soothingly as I could manage.

"Noah. It's Cam. You're safe, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Still he was trapped, and my heart cracked straight down the middle as I watched. If there'd ever been a better example of just why I wasn't the right guy for Noah, this was it. Here he was, obviously in need of help, and I couldn't help him. No matter what I tried, I couldn't help.

No. I wasn't going to accept that. Noah needed me, and I was going to find a way to be what he needed.

Sliding into bed beside him, I fought the urge to wrap him in my arms and hold him to me. Whatever he was fighting off in his dream, I didn't want to contribute to it. Instead, I just lay there, stroking the sweat-dampened hair back from his face.

"It's just a dream, baby," I whispered. "Whatever's happening, it's not real." The thrashing stopped, but still he moaned as if in pain. "Come back to me, Noah. Come back to me."

Slowly the sounds eased, replaced by his breathing as it became more regular. He inhaled, and his dark blue eyes met mine as he finally started to wake, eyelids fluttering a few times. I just kept stroking his face, laying there beside him without touching him in any other way.

"Cam...?"

"I'm here," I said softly, my thumb tracing the soft swell of his lips. "You were crying out in your sleep."

He let out a shuddered breath, his eyes closing briefly. "Sorry."

My hand cupped his face, and I held it there until he looked at me again. "You don't have a damn thing to be sorry for."

A small smile touched his lips, but I could tell he still wasn't convinced. Giving in to my earlier urge, I moved my hand down his bare arm, fingers tracing smooth, pale skin as I worked my way to his back. My touch was gentle, just the suggestion of movement; of pulling him near. But Noah leaned into it, leaned into me, and I took his silent consent and did what I'd longed to do since I rushed in here and saw him in pain.

I pulled him into my arms and just held him. He didn't cry--not that I could tell, at least--but his body shook as if he had nowhere else to displace the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. I knew that feeling all too well, and I would've given anything to have someone near when I woke from one of my dreams. Just touching Noah, holding him close, feeling his heartbeat against mine was enough to ground me and chase away all of my earlier thoughts.

It must have been enough for him, too, because he snuggled closer against me, burying his head against the crook of my neck, his breaths slowing to something far more restful than before.

"I haven't had a dream that bad in a long time," Noah murmured against my skin, the touch of his lips making me shiver.

"You wanna talk about it?"

The question rested there in the silence for several long moments. Finally he drew in a long breath, letting it out in a shaky exhale.

"I was dreaming about something that happened when I..." Another breath, and his eyes cast away from mine. "When I started working."

My heart clenched, squeezing almost painfully in my chest. I knew I hadn't been fair to Noah. For years he'd tried to make me understand the how and why of his career, but I'd never listened. Even now, part of me expected him to tell me some tragic story of how he'd gotten into sex work. Something about his family or an older man in his life abusing him.

I hated myself a little more as those thoughts tangled with the reality of what he'd said.

"I thought I was invincible back then, you know? Men wanted me. All kinds of men. And they were willing to pay a hell of a lot to have me."

I bristled a little, imagining the kind of men Noah spoke of. But right now wasn't the time for my preconceived notions. All I needed to do now was listen. I owed him that much, at the very least. Settling against the pillows, I moved my hand to his back and gently stroked, shutting out that aggressively protective part of me that wanted to intervene at every turn.

"I was eighteen," he said with a humorless laugh. "Barely graduated high school. Couldn't stay with my parents anymore, not unless I wanted to pretend to be something I wasn't. I sure as hell hadn't gotten any scholarships, so college was out of the question." His shoulders rose in a small shrug. "A friend of mine told me he found work on Aurora Ave. I wasn't so naive I didn't know what that work was, and I'd thought about doing some cam stuff before. The idea of fucking men for a living never bothered me."

I swallowed down my reply, telling myself my thoughts weren't wanted or needed. It didn't matter if I thought Noah was "better" than that; better than those men. It was Noah's body, his choice. There was no "better than." Only what Noah consented to, and what he didn't. Judging from the things he'd said in his sleep, I was pretty sure the line was about to blur.

"He said it was like a buffet out there. Not enough men to service male clients, so we could choose who we dealt with. And he was mostly right. But... I needed cash. I wanted to make it on my own; to show my parents I didn't need them or anyone else." Another dry, humorless laugh. I couldn't say I cared for those much. "So I took most clients. Anyone who was willing to pay. Most were fine, but the top dollar ones... they wanted more."

He licked his lips and averted his gaze, nestling his head deeper into the pillow. I pulled him closer to me, hoping I could at least give him some comfort.

"There was one guy in his thirties. Never told me his name, wouldn't tell me what he wanted me to do. He just handed over a grand up front, and I wasn't going to turn it down, you know? So I went home with him, and at first things were pretty normal. Some light BDSM, nothing I couldn't handle. I told him what my safe word was, though I didn't think I'd have to use it."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and I drew in a breath, preparing myself for what I knew was coming.

"It was just a little pain at first. Then more pain, and lots of humiliation." His eyes closed briefly. "I said my safe word maybe a half hour into the worst of it, but he didn't stop. He ignored me, and even gagged me so I couldn't say anything at all. Everything started to bleed together after that. All the pain, everything he did to me, how much he got off on hurting me without me having a say in it."

My hand shook with the effort to keep myself from forming a fist. I'd known a few men like that in the military. They weren't as hardcore as this one had been, but it was clear they were using a gay man to work out their own frustrations and insecurities, and that was never okay. I couldn't imagine doing anything without someone's consent. Even casual sex was an exercise in trust, and fucking that up for the sake of getting off no matter what your partner wanted... it was one of the biggest abuses of trust I could imagine.

"It took a lot for me to ever do it again. I had to block it out of my mind and set up my own terms for every encounter. I screen clients now, make sure they're safe and mentally able to handle what they're agreeing to. I guess I haven't done as good a job as I thought, since Brett slipped through the cracks, but..."

"I don't know how you do it," I said.

Noah stiffened immediately, and I realized what that sounded like.

"It takes a brave man to trust anyone again after being violated like that."

He blew out a breath, his next words so quiet I barely heard them. "Or a stupid one." His eyes closed again and tears escaped the corners. "Sometimes I think you're right. Maybe there is something wrong with me. I shouldn't like this work. I shouldn't be okay with selling myself, knowing what's out there when I do."

The shakiness of his voice felt like a dagger twisting straight into my heart. I knew I wasn't the only one who'd caused that insecurity, but I was a big part of it. I'd been so fucking stupid, so fucking selfish I hadn't realized what I was doing to Noah every time I voiced a concern.

"You're not stupid," I said firmly. "I may not understand it, Noah, but I don't need to. It doesn't matter what I think, or what anybody else thinks. If your work makes you happy, if you're good at it and it gives you a means to feel safe, then you should be proud of that. I just... I worry. And that's my deal. It's got nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me."

I hadn't been able to save Riggs, and I knew I'd never "save" Noah from this, either. It was different. Deep down, I knew that. But something inside of me saw the threat, the danger as black and white, and all I wanted to do was take care of it.

"You're not responsible for my decisions, Cam. Good or bad," he said, eyes meeting mine.

"I know. But I still want to be able to protect you; to keep you from ever having to deal with someone like that again. It's... fucking impossible for me to lie here and not want to beg you to give it up. Because the idea of someone hurting you, I just... I can't..."

My voice broke, and tears suddenly stung my eyes. I didn't bother to swipe them away, and when one slid over my face, Noah reached out to brush it away. Looking at him then, at the sudden spark of sadness in his eyes, I knew I'd been the cause of it. I knew how to make it go away, too, if I could just figure it out. If I could just be... someone who wasn't broken beyond all hope of repair.

"My life's a fucking mess, Noah," I admitted, leaning into his hand as he stroked my face.

Fuck. Somehow I'd made even this about me, when it should've been about him. Maybe right now it was about both of us, and maybe that was okay.

"I want..."

Emotion choked me again, and I just looked at him; looked into those beautiful eyes. I wanted this. I wanted him. Not just for tonight, but for as long as he'd have me. But I knew I wasn't the sort of man who could offer that. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

Noah must have understood what I wasn't saying, because he curled closer, tilting his forehead against mine. My arms wrapped tight around him, pulling him flush to me. It could have easily turned into something else, but the fulfillment I got from having him near in that moment had everything to do with my heart and the conflicting emotions that surged through it, and not nearly as much to do with my body.

"Just hold me?"

His voice was so soft, so quiet, but in the stillness it washed over and through me until that gentle resonance became a part of me. I held him even tighter, my eyes closing as I rested my forehead back against his. This time, when my breathing stilled, I couldn't mistake the rhythmic thumping of his heart as it beat in time with mine.

"That I can do."