Author's Note: Just a little drabble written for lurkingwhump for a combination of the prompts 'tired' and 'close call'. :) I haven't given up on Torture Without You - this is just a brief foray into season three since I'm watching the new DVDs (this is only the second time I'm watching season three, the first time being during my three-seasons-in-two-weeks binge watch back in May, when I first discovered the show!). Anyway, there's no plot, just a little moment in time. No plans to continue it. Enjoy!
Their job was dangerous. They both knew that. But watching each other cheat death over and over and over again…That took a toll.
Kurt was stretched out on the couch, trying to focus on late-night TV despite the dressing over the wound above his left eyebrow. The gunshot wound in his upper arm throbbed, but not as badly as his head. The industrial-strength painkillers the doctor had prescribed were just starting to kick in, but for the next few minutes, he'd just have to wait and suffer.
Things hadn't gone as badly as they could have today. While he'd been fighting off two armed thugs—with another three appearing as reinforcements not long after—Jane had taken off at a sprint after the brains of the operation, a drug runner with aspirations toward terrorism. Kurt had been distracted by the sound of an explosion as he'd been fending off the last two assailants, and one of them had sent him reeling with an indirect hit from a metal bar, then grabbed a gun that had clattered to the floor earlier in the fight. Luckily for Kurt, he'd been heading towards the sound of the bomb blast by the time the hired muscle had gotten his hands on the weapon—the guy had only winged him.
Jane had almost been caught in the blast, though miraculously, she'd come away with only a few bruises and scrapes. She'd been covered in dust and grime, though, and after making sure Kurt was settled and medicated, she'd headed for the bathroom.
Come to think of it, she'd been in there longer than usual. Fighting wooziness, Kurt slowly got to his feet, bracing himself against the arm of the couch for a second, before dragging himself into the bedroom.
He didn't expect to find his wife—clean, damp-haired and dressed in one of the tank top and underwear combinations she usually wore to sleep in—crying silently on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"Jane?" Forgetting his own pain immediately, he crossed the room to kneel beside her. "What's up? Are you hurt worse than they thought?"
Jane dried her tears hastily, trying to smile. "No, no, I'm fine, I…"
Kurt gathered her into his arms, regretful for a moment that he was getting his freshly showered wife covered in the residues of their mission again. Holding her was too important for him to worry about that. "Tell me what's wrong."
Jane let him hold her for a few moments, snuggled against him the way he loved. He stroked her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo, hoping the painkillers wouldn't knock him out before he found out what was going on.
"Ugh, I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see me getting upset like this. You need to rest, Kurt."
He drew back to cup her face in his hand. "Jane. Just tell me."
She sighed. "I just hate it when you almost die. I've lost count of the number of times you've gotten hurt on missions, and every time I just think, 'What if next time, he's not so lucky? What if next time, I lose him?'"
"It's a through-and-through gunshot wound in the arm and a hit on the head, Jane. I didn't almost die. Nowhere close." He held her tightly again, ignoring the discomfort of his wounded arm, relieved that she wasn't in physical pain or in serious difficulty. "You got shot in the arm the very first case we worked, remember? You were fine. I'll be fine."
"Just a few inches up and over, and that could have been a headshot. Or they could have cracked open your skull with that bar. People die from head trauma all the time."
Kurt kissed the top of her head, frowning. "I don't understand. You've seen me in far worse shape without freaking out, Jane. And today? You were in more danger than I was. If you hadn't gotten out of that hallway in time…" His throat tightened, and he swallowed, shaking his head. Not wanting to think about the possibilities.
"I know. We're fine. We're both fine. I know." Jane gave a deep, shuddering sigh before continuing, "I just… With every close call, I just think, 'One day, we're gonna run out of luck.' I know, it's stupid. We're both highly trained, we know how to survive in the field. But this job is so high-risk… I just can't help but think that one of us is gonna die on the job sooner or later."
A chill went through Kurt. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't had the same thoughts, the same worries. When he'd learned she'd taken high-risk mercenary jobs when she was on the run from bounty hunters, he'd been illogically incensed—not because he had any doubts that she could handle herself, but because her backup seemed to have been far from reliable. He needed her to stay safe, even as another part of him accepted that she'd never step back. If anyone had to watch her back in the field, he'd rather it be him.
"We make our own luck, Jane. And we have each other's backs. It could all end tomorrow, for either of us, or for both of us. But we know that. Always have."
"Even before we got together." Jane nodded, her cheek rubbing across his shirt. "I know. And most of the time, I can deal with it. Just every now and then, I need a moment to be terrified, I guess."
He understood. He'd dealt with his own moments of pure, unrestrained worry—usually when she was missing and his imagination rioted, feeding him a million different scenarios of what could be happening to her. She'd already been through most of them at the hands of the CIA, not that that made it any easier to cope.
"I love you, Jane. And I will fight to my last breath to stay with you."
She looked up at him with eyes shining with tears. "I love you, too. And I know I've been away, but I will always fight, to my last breath, to come back to you. Alive and safe."
He kissed her softly, pushing away the sickening thought at the back of his mind that if she ever found out about Berlin, she'd fight to get away from him. He couldn't think about that, not now. Not when the painkillers might lower his inhibitions enough for him to accidentally say something.
Taking his sudden tension for pain, Jane got up and pulled him to his feet after her. "Come on. You need to get some sleep. I wouldn't mind a little myself."
Wearily, Kurt stripped down to his boxers, Jane threw his ruined shirt in the general direction of the trash can as he dropped the rest in the laundry hamper, then they slid under the covers together. Their usual bedtime snuggle position was impossible right then, since Kurt usually had some of Jane's weight on his arm while they spooned together. After a moment of indecision, Jane smiled. "Turn over. I'll be the big spoon for once."
He was used to burying his nose in her hair before they slept. Not having her in his arms felt strange, making him recall the lonely nights spent in their empty bed, or in empty hotel beds all around the world as he'd searched for her.
Then Jane draped her arm over his waist and reached up to lay her hand over his heart. Her warmth against his back made him smile. Maybe it was just the painkillers, but he felt lighter with her so close to him. Her breath tickled against the bare skin of his shoulder blades, as if she were leaving her own invisible tattoo right in the same spot where, on her body, his name was inked.
"I love you so much," he mumbled hazily. Everything felt far away right now, except for her.
"I love you too, Kurt. And our life? The danger and the chaos? I wouldn't change it. Not really. I love what we do. I love how we help make people safe."
"And you're an adrenaline junkie," he added, smiling into the pillow.
"And that." Jane laughed softly at his accurate assessment. "Goodnight."
Silence fell over the room; Kurt was already asleep.