A/N: I'm not sure if Jane is actually Taylor—I hope she is but I hope she isn't…sounds confusing, right? For the purpose of this story, she is Taylor Shaw and this would be set a few months after what we've already seen. This is super sappy, and will never happen on the show, but a girl can dream. Adele, "Hello," lyrics.

Unlived

XOX

Hello, can you hear me

I'm in California dreaming

About who we used to be

When we were younger

And free

I've forgotten how it felt

Before the world fell at our feet—

There's such a difference between us

And a million miles…

XOX

"How's the apartment search going?" Weller turned to ask her as they waited in line for coffee. Jane shot him an irritated glare, a pen in her mouth and the morning paper in her hands. Circles and X's in red ink featured prominently across the page.

She grabbed the pen from her mouth, tapping it on the paper in frustration. "How do you think? Everything is either too expensive or so cheap I can only assume something bad happened inside."

Kurt smiled, shaking his head. "Or it's a closet."

"You're not helping," She replied dryly.

"You won't let me!" He threw back. "Jane, why don't you just stay with me? Sarah found a place a couple blocks away, so she and Sawyer are out of my apartment. I have the room. We can split the rent and carpool to work. No more safe houses, no agents watching your door," He rattled off. "Fact is, we already spend seventy percent of our day together."

Jane sighed, unsure how to answer him. Their relationship already toed the line of more than professional—living together would almost certainly tip the scales. The lingering looks they shared and the way he treated her didn't go unnoticed by Reade, Zapata, or Mayfair. Reade took a particular derisive enjoyment in calling Jane and Kurt's weekly sessions with Dr. Borden "Couples Therapy."

If the team found out they were living together, well, she could only imagine the scrutiny.

She chewed on the end of the pen cap. "I'll think about it."

"Well, the offer stands. You're always welcome," He added softly.

It wasn't until an impatient customer behind them cleared his throat in agitation that they realized they were next at the counter.

"Uh, two black coffees, two cream and sugar, and a blueberry muffin, to go, please," Kurt told the barista, handing her a twenty, leaving two dollars in the tip jar when he received his change.

"You didn't have to get me a muffin," Jane chided him, smiling. She'd been doing what Dr. Borden told her to—making choices. Every day, she had tried a different type of baked good from the coffee shop. Turned out blueberry muffins were her favorite.

"Trust me, if you're looking for an apartment in New York, you'll need every penny," Kurt replied with an air of superiority. They'd been having this battle for weeks. This was just another one of his stunts, proving he was chivalrous while simultaneously pushing the issue of giving up her ridiculous search and staying with him. She rolled her eyes in response.

"I told you I'd think about it," She reminded him, a warning in her tone.

Kurt had to catch himself sometimes. Trying to resurrect the version of his childhood-friend-Taylor wasn't going to help the adult-Taylor. Separating the two was difficult. He tried to back off as much as he could, but he wanted so desperately for her to need him, as she had when they were children. This kind of logic usually left him feeling like a heel. She was fully capable of helping herself—as if that hadn't been proven more than once.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you. How about I help you look then, that will at least put me at ease?" He bargained.

Jane mulled the offer over. "Fine—but you can't be so…you…about it."

Kurt narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms defensively. "What does that even mean?"

"You know…you can be...I don't know, I can't explain it!" Jane shrugged, the words failing her as the barista placed the tray of coffees on the counter. "Look, coffee's ready."

"We'll finish this discussion later," he stated firmly, mumbling about her opinion of him as he went to grab the tray.

"Have a good day Kurt," their usual barista said sweetly, looking over at Jane and shrinking back a bit.

"You too Stacy, see you tomorrow," He replied with a nod.

Jane bit her lip to keep the grin from overtaking her face. "I think someone has a crush on you," she teased as they left the establishment.

Kurt handed her the muffin, pausing when he pulled her coffee out of the tray. It was his turn to laugh. "No, I think someone has a crush on you."

"What?"

In black marker, above her name, was a phone number. A '-S' next to it.

"I don't…but I don't…I…" Jane stuttered. One thing she'd learned about herself—if her attraction to Weller and the odd pull she had to the Bearded-Man she assumed was her friend before all of this—was that she certainly preferred men.

"You're a very attractive woman, and this is New York. Frankly, you could do worse," Kurt snickered as she jabbed him in the shoulder. "Or, you know, could be the way you dress."

Jane looked at him darkly. "What is wrong with the way I dress?"

"Nothing," He said, eyeing what he'd come to think of as her fairly typical ensemble—white tank top, black jeans, black boots, and a red sweat jacket. "But with the tattoos and the choppy haircut you kind of look like a singer in an indie band who reads slam poetry on the weekends and probably majored in philosophy in college," He mocked profusely.

She refused to talk to him for the rest of the drive.

XOX

Two days later they were walking through one of the apartments she'd circled.

"It's not very big," Kurt commented, warily investigating a curious looking hole in the kitchen wall. "Neighborhoods not great either."

"I don't even own anything to put in it. I don't think space matters to me," she shot back. "And really, the neighborhoods not great? From what we've gathered I'm a Navy Seal," Jane added tartly, letting Kurt finish the rest of her train of thought.

"My closet is actually bigger than this apartment. And you will care when you actually have stuff to fill it with."

Jane huffed, conceding. Onto the next one.

But the next one was too big, and too far out of her price range despite its better neighborhood.

"It's perfect for a growing family," The overly peppy realtor suggested with a wink, reading their situation incredibly wrong.

Jane flushed, all but fleeing the building and suddenly very concerned about her appearance.

Kurt caught up to her in the hallway, a spark in his eye. "Should take it as a compliment, she didn't think you were batting for the other team."

"That's your takeaway?" She said sarcastically, looking at her list. "Only six more to view today."

Her enthusiasm about finding her own place had waned considerably. Even though she was sick of the safe house she was feeling spiteful, and her pride wasn't allowing her to take up Kurt's offer yet.

Three hours later, she'd had enough. The fourth place they looked at still had remnants of a chalk outline and what she could only assume was blood spatter on the walls, the fifth had a tub next to a suspicious looking Murphy bed, and the sixth was only a bedroom for rent.

She was caving quickly, viciously chewing on her nails to stop the words spilling forth. Jane really didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Of needing him.

He looked over at Jane out of the corner of his eye. "Get your stuff together, I'll pick you up tomorrow. Room should be set up by then," Kurt answered her unspoken request.

"Thank you."

XOX

She'd already been to his apartment several times over the course of the last few months. The difference being she hadn't seen the spare bedroom since Sarah and Sawyer had initially occupied it. That, and the thought of living with him had never crossed her mind.

Jane followed him through his place with a mounting trepidation.

"Is this really a good idea?" She said aloud, neither willing to voice the elephant in the room. They were close. Maybe too close, if the awkward moment they'd shared in the safe house not four months ago was any indication of where things could lead if left unchecked.

They'd set their boundaries, drawn the proverbial lines in the sand. Got coffee together, eased into dinners with his family, sometimes went for drinks with the team—kept things light. They tried not to socialize with each other outside of work without the company of others unless it was job related. Both had managed to keep a respectful distance, slowly evolving into the friends they'd been as children. And it worked, most of the time. But that final temptation still lingered, and this was pushing it.

Kurt sighed, putting his hand on her shoulder encouragingly. "If it turns out not to be, we'll cross that bridge."

Jane nodded her agreement as they reached the threshold of the room.

"If you want, we can go shopping and you can pick out whatever you'd like for the room. Sarah kinda decorated the place for me, trade-off, I suppose, for letting her stay. It's yours now," He offered, eyeing her meager duffle bag.

"I'm fine, really. I don't need anything. Whatever you have is fine."

Kurt raised an eyebrow at her dismissive response. "You're not putting me out, you know."

She wasn't sure how to explain it to him. The crippling fear of getting too attached. The inexplicable knowledge that it all could be taken from her at anytime, like her memories, like the last thirty years of her life.

"What is it, Jane?" Kurt asked, concern prevalent in his voice. "Look, if it's too much—"

Jane swallowed thickly, squeezing the strap of the duffle bag.

It's yours now.

"No, no it's not that. All I have is a mashed up collection of half formed memories. There's nothing…I don't have anything that's mine," she admitted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

"Well, you do now," He said softly, leaving her feeling slightly breathless. She wasn't oblivious, double entendres were their bread and better.

This was a terrible idea.

"Guess I just got used to it, after awhile. People dictating everything for me. "

Kurt gave her a rueful look. She'd struggled to fit in, to form relationships, to be seen as something other than The Girl With The Tattoos. If he could do this, give her some semblance of a normal life, then he would have at least taken a step in the right direction. "Don't be afraid to ask for anything, Jane. I mean it, this place is yours, too."

He flipped the light switch on, guiding her into the room that now belonged to her.

The room was simple, practical. A dark mahogany bed sat in the center with crisp white sheets and a puffy, navy blue striped down comforter. There was a matching dresser across from the bed with a few picture frames scattered along the top. A reading lamp along with a stack of books sat on the bedside table. Thick red drapes hung heavily above the window. The room itself was painted a dreary kind of gray.

All of New York seemed to be shades of black and gray, like the tattoos on her skin. She was sick of gray.

"Okay, I…I kind of want to paint. And the curtains…I don't like red."

He laughed at her pinched expression, letting his hand fall from the small of her back. "We'll start tomorrow. Night, Jane."

Jane watched him retreat down the hallway, softly closing his door behind him.

"Good night."

XOX

The sun beamed cruelly through the window, adding its own form of torture to her sleepless night. Dreams she couldn't remember kept her awake. Dreams that slid through her fingers like tendrils of smoke—just gone. It was all leading her to something. Whatever that something was, she feared its arrival.

She glanced at the alarm clock with bleary eyes, its digital red numbers reflecting nine-fifteen. Jane groaned, before realizing it was Sunday.

The smell of pancakes assailed her nose.

"Can you make them into shapes?"

The memory surfaced, muddled but coherent.

A boy standing on a chair with his back to her at the stove.

Jane blinked, feeling tears well in her tired eyes. Memories like this were good, but painful. She'd only recently retained a few memories of her childhood, mostly of her abduction.

She was Taylor. That was proven beyond a shadow of doubt now. But a name didn't make the person, and she barely remembered Taylor Shaw. She'd been her for such a small window of time that it was hard for her to accept this abstract identity. She'd decided to continue to go by Jane for now, a decision she knew hurt Kurt more than he let on.

One day she'd be okay with it. Just…not yet. Not with so many unknowns hanging over her head.

Deciding to embrace the day, she stretched, throwing a thin sweatshirt on over her tank top and the shorts she'd grown accustom to wearing to bed. She heard heavy footsteps come to a halt outside her room, followed by a hesitant knock.

"Jane, you awake," Kurt asked, voice no louder than a stage whisper.

"Yeah, I'm up. I'll be out in a second," she called back. She ran a brush through her unruly hair—not that it did much. She mentally cursed whoever chopped her hair off. It had been long in her memory of the outside shooting course, made her appearance look softer and not so jarring. Jane supposed the intent was to make her as unrecognizable as possible, as if the tattoos didn't already do that.

Jane emerged from her room, following the smell of pancakes. She stopped short though, watching him work in the kitchen. The little boy at the stove forcing itself to the forefront of her mind. Did she tell him what she saw?

"Have a seat," Kurt said, flipping one of the pancakes. She shook the memory away, pulling a chair out at the table.

"Can you actually cook?" Jane wondered aloud.

Now Kurt turned to face her, his expression daring her to mock him. "Yes, I can, thank you very much. Sarah thinks she can cook, there's a difference. I'm honestly not quite sure how she's kept Sawyer alive this long," Kurt lamented.

"The dinner she made…it wasn't that bad," Jane said in Sarah's defense.

Kurt snorted. "You're a terrible liar."

"I wouldn't know if I was or not, so I'll take your word for it," she said, picking at an imaginary spot on her sweatshirt.

"Well, then you learned something about yourself today," he observed, trying to make light of her comment. "Alright, here we go," Kurt placed the platter of pancakes on the table before grabbing plates and silverware.

The smile slid off her face as she stared at what he'd offered.

"Can you make them into shapes?"

The boy at the stove, standing on a chair.

"I want heart shaped pancakes, with chocolate chips!"

The excited voice of the child her reverberated inside her head, a foreign sound.

They were lopsided, formed by hand and definitely misshapen—but they were hearts. With chocolate chips.

"Jane…hey, I promise they are edible," Kurt joked, nodding at the pancakes as he took the seat across from her. She wouldn't look at him, almost as if she hadn't heard him. "Jane, what's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing…it's nothing. Just um…they're hearts, sort of."

Kurt cocked his head to the side. "No they're n—" She shifted her plate so he could see the design. "They are. Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it, just kinda…happened, I guess. I used to make them like that for Sarah and—"

"Me. Yeah, I remember," she smiled almost nostalgically, pushing the pancake around with her fork. "You had to stand on a chair, to reach the stove."

She said it so casually; an ease he'd never heard her speak with before. He didn't know how to react. Even knowing she was his long lost friend, it still shook him when she recalled a fragment of that life.

She went about pouring syrup on the poorly crafted pancakes as if nothing had happened. Kurt still gaped slightly, watching as she bit into the fluffy, sugary mess.

"These are delicious." Her muffled compliment brought him back to reality.

"Uh, thanks. Always liked cooking, never had anyone to cook for."

"Well I've lived on takeout for the last five months. I'm not even sure if I know how to cook," she responded, feeling the sugar buzz rapidly kicking in.

"I could teach you, it's not hard," He offered, sipping his coffee.

Jane shook her head, scrunching up her nose. "I think I'll leave that particular skill to you. Besides, now you have someone to cook for."

They held each other's gaze a beat longer than what was probably acceptable. Kurt broke the connection first, clearing his throat.

"So, what color were you thinking about painting your room?"

Evasive. Safe. One-step forward, two back.

"I haven't really decided, but…I kind of like green. A dark green," Jane added, skillfully stabbing a loose chocolate chip with the prongs of her fork.

"Green is nice," Kurt agreed, mentally berating himself. He sounded like a teenager with a crush, stupidly repeating everything she said. It didn't help that even thinking of the color green conjured images of her vulnerable, tortured eyes. "We'll pick some stuff up once breakfast is done, if that's alright with you."

Jane took another bite, nodding. "Sounds good to me."

XOX

Unfortunately, any intentions of painting her room were pushed to the back burner as Monday came with surprises of its own.

"We'll need to increase your security, move you to another location, Jane," Mayfair said authoritatively as the team was briefed on the incident that occurred an hour after they'd all arrived at headquarters. Another compromised safe house. An agent from Jane's detail injured this time. "We don't need another Bearded-Man situation on our hands."

Jane glanced over at Kurt nervously, before her gaze hit the floor. Mayfair watched the interaction with interest. "Patterson, see what else you can dig up on this," their boss delegated, moving to Kurt and quietly muttering, "You two, my office," under her breath.

Once inside, she stared them down equally. "Something you need to tell me?"

"We actually were going to, then Patterson…" Kurt began, letting the sentence fall away as he ran a hand through his hair. Jane stood behind him, trying her best to blend into the background. "She's staying in my spare room."

"Jane can you give us a minute," Mayfair said evenly, making it sound more like a command than a question, her eyes never leaving Weller's.

Jane nodded, gladly departing the tension circulating the small office.

Once the door clicked shut, Mayfair was at his throat. "She's living with you now? Are you sure this is a good idea Weller? You're more than just close to this, you're deeply invested in this girl!" She reasoned, repeating words from the past ad nauseum. "I get it, you're trying to reclaim a part of your childhood, of the life you had with her then, but you're both adults now. She's never going to be that person, and playing house with her is tempting fate! I've already had to question your objectivity—"

"Then take me off her case!" He argued stubbornly. "Because I clearly can't be objective. I never could. I tried, and look how that turned out. We've had two of her safe houses compromised in five months! Tell me, when has that ever happened before? The only reason she wasn't there when this break-in occurred was because she'd moved into my guest room!"

Mayfair heaved a disgruntled sigh, considering his words.

Kurt looked out the office door, his eyes finding Jane immediately, voice softening as he turned back to Mayfair.

"She's living with an agent now, one that she trusts. That's security in itself. And I'll do anything to keep her safe. That's the whole point of this, right? To keep her safe?"

Mayfair huffed, defeated. "Fine. Tread very carefully, Agent Weller. I'd appreciate her continuing to be cooperative. If this tarnishes her trust in us in any way, it's your career on the line. And I'd strongly advise against making this arrangement public."

Kurt nodded. "Thank you."

His hand was on the doorknob when Mayfair spoke again.

"She's an asset, not an FBI agent, you know. The rules don't necessarily…apply," She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "Tell me, when you need to step down."

He looked back at her with a wry smile. "I will."

XOX

Kurt was more vigilant now that the second safe house had been comprised. He wouldn't let Jane so much as go downstairs to collect the mail by herself without him by her side. His overprotectiveness was endearing but incredibly stifling.

A week after the break-in, with no leads on DNA, prints left behind at the scene, or good camera angles, she finally snapped.

Having been invited to a game night with Patterson and her boyfriend, Jane told Kurt she was taking a taxi early since Patterson had asked her to pick up some obscure sounding beer from a small market a few blocks away from his—their—place.

To her credit, Patterson had figured out their living situation almost immediately. When they asked her how she knew, her cheeky response had been that they smelled the same. She was right, of course. Jane was now using Kurt's detergent after all. Luckily, Patterson vowed not to disclose this information to Reade or Zapata, scoffing good-naturedly, "I can't help that I'm a better detective than the two of them. If they can't figure it out, they don't deserve to be told."

"Jane, you're not going anywhere alone," Kurt said tersely, no room for argument in his tone. He barely looked up from the case file he studied.

Jane shook her head, fists clenching in exasperation. "You're my roommate, not my security detail. You don't get to dictate what I do or where I go, just because we live together! I'm not under house arrest, I'm not in witness protection, and I'm not your girlfriend!"

She startled even herself with the words that came tumbling from her mouth. Horrified and afraid to look him in the eye, Jane grabbed her jacket and walked out of the apartment before he had a chance to process.

Of course Kurt would follow after her.

Jane had at least a two minute lead as she navigated the sidewalk, brushing past people and playing her words over on repeat. Chalk this up to something else they wouldn't talk about, she thought bitterly.

When a hand shot out and gripped her shoulder almost painfully, Jane turned, an apology already falling from lips. "Look, Kurt, I—"

The hit came out of nowhere.

Stars exploded in her vision, throwing off her balance as she fell to the side. The unidentified hands pulled her into the alley; her own arms locked and brutally twisted behind her back. With his free hand, the man covered her eyes while also smashing her face into the alley's brick wall.

"What do you want?" Jane seethed, black spots popping in front of her.

"What do you know?" The male voice whispered next to her ear. Her cheek scraped across the rough brick, tearing skin. "About me."

The voice was both foreign and familiar. Her dizzy mind searched, but came up empty. "N-nothing…I don't…" Jane answered faintly, the black spots burning into white as they licked the edge of her vision.

"Hey!"

She heard Kurt's shout cut through the fog, heard him running. She wanted to yell back but her mouth wouldn't work and the words jumbled. The man pulled her head back before violently slamming it into the wall once more—this time creating the desired effect.

Everything went black.

Jane dropped to the ground. The hands that cradled her head now were known, safe, comforting. His muffled voice calmed her.

The man knew Kurt would stop for her, allowing his escape. It was the last thing she grasped with certainty before all went silent.

XOX

When she'd woken forty-five minutes later, alone in a white room, she nearly lost it. Kurt had barely stepped out to call Mayfair and update her once again when nurses and doctors rushed to her room. He'd hung up, racing after them.

"Not again!" She shrieked, trembling, as one nurse held her down and another tried to sedate her. It was like the night she crawled out of the bag all over again. Restraints and white rooms and metal tables.

"Hey! Stop!" Kurt roared, pushing through them while flashing his badge. "Back off!"

"Sir, we need—" One of the nurses started before his icy glare stopped him cold.

"I've got it. Get me her doctor," Kurt snapped, standing in front of Jane. Once they left, he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her in close. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left before you woke up."

"I sh-shouldn't have left at all," Jane whispered back, still shaking. "Y-you were right."

"Worry about that later. You're okay, that's enough for me," He replied. She could almost feel the fear and apprehension vibrating off of him.

The doctor arrived shortly after the nurses had departed. Kurt stood to greet her, and the doctor began discussing Jane's CT scans with him while Jane tuned in and out of the conversation.

"She has a pretty severe concussion. We'd like to keep her overnight for observation," the doctor—O'Reilly, or something—explained to them. Jane was already shaking her head anxiously, even though the motion shot crippling waves of pain across every nerve.

"Yeah, that won't be happening," Kurt responded sourly, his thumb drawing small circles where his hand rested between her shoulder blades unconsciously. The motion was soothing; all she wanted to do was sleep. Her eyelids were heavy, and a thick fog shrouded her mind.

"Well, if she has someone to stay with I suppose it would be fine, but she really should stay here."

"We live together, just let me know what I'm supposed to do, or look for," Kurt said, trying to mollify the doctor.

The doctor sighed, weighing her options as she checked the chart. "You're going to have to monitor your girlfriend for the next twenty-four hours at least. Try to keep her awake, check for any pupil dilation, slurred speech, seizures," She listed, pulling out a small flashlight and clicking the button. "Miss Shaw, can you follow the light for me?"

"What?" Jane questioned in confusion, her forehead wrinkling as the name penetrated the fog. Her eyes automatically followed the light…or at least, she tried.

"If anything changes, bring her back immediately," The doctor said dryly, still unconvinced.

"But…that's not my name…" Jane tried to tell her, but the doctor was already gone. And frankly, it was her name. She just didn't choose to go by it.

"Can't exactly write Jane Doe on a form without raising some red flags." Kurt said, a hint of that same hurt when she'd told him she wanted to continue to go by Jane present in his voice.

He placed his hands gently on either side of her face, minding the gash on her right cheek from its brush with a brick wall. "How are you doing? Are you sure you want to leave, Jane?"

"I just…I wanna go home," She pleaded, wanting to get as far from the hospital as she could.

He nodded. "Alright. I told Mayfair you were attacked, but I couldn't really give her much more than that. Your security detail is gonna sit outside the apartment tonight, just to make sure this guy doesn't come back. Did you recognize him, Jane?"

Jane sighed. "No, he didn't let me see him. His voice…it sounded familiar. I can't place it though."

His gaze lingered on her a bit longer, studying. She realized he was trying to figure out if she was keeping anything from him…again.

"I'm not lying," Jane accused, pulling his hands away.

Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, it was just…close, Jane. Too close."

Jane shivered in the cold, sterile room, and Kurt placed his jacket around her bare shoulders. She'd lost hers in the alley—one of her favorites, too.

When he pinched her arm out of nowhere, she shot him a nasty look. "What the hell was that for?"

"You can't sleep, Jane," he answered her apologetically.

This was going to be a long night.

XOX

Concussions were a bitch.

And right now, so was she. Every time her eyelids so much as fluttered, he would pinch her gently, or shake her shoulder, or poke her side. She knew it was for the best, but the violent throbbing in her head was making her feel absolutely murderous.

She was past the point of mental exhaustion—tired rage was quickly rounding the bend. When he reached out again to shake her, Jane grabbed his wrist, twisting it. "Touch me again, and I will break your hand!"

Kurt tensed, startled by her volatile words. He had to stop himself from reflexively disarming her. She saw the defensive maneuver pass across his face, and she released him quickly, gasping at her reaction.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," Jane breathed, moving away from him. The movie he'd put in earlier a distant hum in the background. They'd decided to catch her up on popular movies, but the films only served as monotonous white noise. "I didn't mean it."

Kurt massaged his wrist. "It's okay, no harm done. I know this is hard; I've had my fair share of concussions. Occupational hazard, I suppose," he tried to placate her, failing terribly if the look on her face was any indication of how awful she felt now. "Why don't we do something else."

"Like what?" Jane asked cautiously.

Kurt rose from the sofa, heading into the kitchen. He held up a paint can and two rollers.

Jane raised an eyebrow, tilting her head questioningly. "Am I even supposed to be doing strenuous activities at the moment?"

Kurt shrugged. "No, not really. But it's three in the morning, and if I have to be up all night, I'm at least going to be productive. You can watch. Or you can sit on the floor and paint the bottom half of the wall."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

It took an hour to move some of the bulky pieces of furniture into the hallway, and they ended up pushing the bed to the middle of the room. Kurt took the red curtains down and taped the ceiling, while Jane taped along the molding at the bottom of the wall.

It was five by the time they finally broke open the paint can.

The color was a beautiful, deep forest green. The minute the paint hit the wall, Jane knew she loved it. It was a refreshing change of pace from her world of gray. It conjured up images of trees and grass and the outside, a distant place in a faraway time when she played with the boy version of the man standing next to her.

The memory came as fast and hard as the one from a week ago. It was nothing more than a flash—a boy and a girl racing each other, a tall tree their finish line.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to distract her. The roller she held drifted to the right, knocking into Kurt's arm. She pulled the roller back quickly, but it had already left a giant splotch of forest green paint across his elbow.

"Really, Jane?" He queried, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"It was an accident, I swear!" She claimed, holding her hands up defensively.

"Yeah, I'm sure," He shot back, clearly unconvinced. Before she could say another word, he slowly, deliberately, smeared green paint across her shoulder.

Jane pursed her lips. "Okay, the first time was an accident. This," she said, rolling the paint down the front of the gray tee he'd changed into earlier, "is war. And I guarantee I'll win."

"What are the stakes then?" Kurt asked, raising his paint-laden roller up, as if to start a sword fight.

She shrugged, saying the first thing that came to mind. "A night out. Winner's choice."

The edge of Kurt's lip twitched.

"You're on."