Jane woke to pain under her ribs nudging her when she breathed. It was an uncomfortable tightness that squeezed as she inhaled, then relented. She rubbed at her ribs, pressing where it was tender, willing the pain to go away. When it didn't, she sat up, hoping the change in position would bring her some relief.
Was this what she had to look forward to? Pain traipsing through different areas of her body, leaving keys, shoes, and coats behind to weigh her down with exhaustion? Trying to hold herself together with tape and glue when she needed a miracle of modern medicine?
She kept looking at the clock: 1 minute, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes. When the pain still hadn't subsided at 20 minutes, she grasped Kurt's shoulder. 3:22AM. "Kurt," she spoke, shaking his shoulder, and repeated, "Kurt."
He raised his hand to his eyes, rubbing at them. "Hmm?" he mumbled, sleepiness winning.
"Kurt," she spoke one more time, squeezing his shoulder.
He pulled his hand back from his face and opened his eyes, following her arm up to where she sat. "What is it?" he responded, concerned, sitting up next to her.
Her hand returned to her ribs from his shoulder when he sat up, and she kneaded them softly. "It hurts when I breathe," she explained plainly, devoid of fear, downplaying the arrival of her latest symptom.
His heart leaped straight to protector mode, his alarm hidden in the darkness, yet peeking through his voice. "Do you want to go to the hospital?" he asked, his hand rising to cup her cheek.
"No," she quickly declined, not wanting to add that trip to her morning, "I'm just telling you."
Progress. "What can I do?" he reframed.
If she was listening to him, the least he could do was attempt the same, even though her agitation wakened his want to whisk her to a doctor who could ease her symptoms. Except they hadn't found that doctor; hadn't found that remedy that would prevent her body from teetering toward failure. And any time in a medical facility would make her anxious and downcast - worse.
"I need the heat pack again," she requested, breaking his tilting thoughts.
"I'll get it," he quickly returned, kissing the top of her head and swinging over the side of the bed to head to the kitchen.
She followed him, pacing the living room in her long t-shirt, again hoping that another change in position would soothe the tension. He watched quietly from the microwave, one of her hands pressed into her ribs as she walked in front of the couch. At its beep, he removed the cloth rice bag from the microwave, wrapped it in a towel, and crossed the room to Jane.
Before he could ask where she wanted it, she took his hand, guiding the heat pack up to where she had previously been pressing her ribs. Her other arm wrapped around his back and she rested her head against his chest, while his other hand rose to her hair, stroking it in a repetitive, soothing motion. He kissed the top of her head and supported her through her strained breaths escaping into his chest, willing her to feel better.
Jane shuddered against him, whimpering and tensing, her arm squeezing him tighter. Was one of the lost soles kicking until she dropped? Maybe there wasn't a position she'd be able to evade the discomfort. Maybe the hourglass filled by Sandstorm was running out.
"Think about Bethany coming soon and how much she's going to want to box with you," Kurt guided, gently swaying and trying to distract her, "her little jab-crosses, kicks, and tickle wars."
Between his injury and their ordeal, his daughter had been unable to visit for some time. They adored having her, and he hoped giving Jane their adventures to look forward to might help relinquish her brain's grasp of pain. "How she wants you to read every book at bedtime," he continued.
She found her voice somewhere beneath the pile of discarded effects burdening her. Maybe her husband could help extract her. "Convincing Daddy the only way to explore the city is on his shoulders," she said, thinking of the glee that crossed Kurt's face when she was on top of the world.
"Hugging every dog at the park," he remembered their many days of Bethany squealing "Puppy!" and one of them barely asking if she could pet the dog before she enveloped it in a hug.
"Requesting a sibling," Jane said wistfully, recalling Kurt's suggestive dip in his eyebrows at her over Bethany's head when she said she wanted a sister like her friend.
Regret wasn't a planned stop on the reminiscence trip. "When this is over," he assured, and they lapsed into silence.
Over time, her breathing slowed, her muscles no longer clenching in pain with each breath. She moved her hand from the heat pack and looped it around his back, relaxing further into his chest. He stopped stroking her hair and rested his hand at the base of her skull, lightly kneading it. "That feels good," she encouraged, her words muffled into his chest.
"How's your breathing?" he asked, checking on her.
"Okay," she responded.
She let a few more moments pass, comforted by his touch that had turned into a neck rub, and then suggested, "I think I'm okay. Let's try to get back to sleep."
He kissed the top of her head again, then led her back to the bedroom. She curled up on her side of the bed, hugging the heat pack for solace, and Kurt eased in behind her, running a soothing hand up and down her back. "Thank you," she spoke, her voice wispy.
"I'm always here," he replied, kissing her shoulder and holding her as they drifted off.
When Kurt woke, he carefully withdrew from the bed, leaving Jane to sleep.
He poked his head back in the room an hour later, her still form resting in the same place on the bed. He quietly watched her chest rise and fall for a few minutes, then turned to go back to the living room. "I'm awake," she spoke, yet didn't move.
He faced the room again and walked into it, kneeling beside her side of the bed. "Hi," he said softly, setting his hand on her upper arm.
Her eyes remained closed. "Hi," she returned, her voice hushed.
"Your head?" he asked.
"Yes," she confirmed, the hammer bringing its daily dose of disturbance.
He slid his hand up to the base of her skull, his fingers lightly pressing. "Can I?" he questioned.
"Yes," she agreed.
He lightly massaged the back of her head, neck, and scalp with his fingertips, an action that had become his first line of comfort. "What else can I can do?" he asked.
"I gotta get up so we can get going," she said, sitting up and stilling while she reoriented.
"You don't -" he started, yet she cut him off curtly.
"I'm going," she affirmed.
"How about some oatmeal?" he suggested, needing to offer something to bring things closer to balanced.
They were looking for a suspect who had become infatuated with a book about an FBI team and sought to capture one of them for his own. Their day progressed from a briefing, to research, to suits in the car on the way to murder mystery dinner theater in Long Island. Patterson drove with Rich shotgun, and Jane and Kurt in the back.
Jane leaned against the door with her eyes closed, her thumb pushing into her right thigh. Her energy had diminished throughout the day, yet she clung to the normalcy of seeking a suspect in a case. Kurt shifted closer to her, his hand covering hers, offering to take over. He rubbed her thigh, eliciting a hiss that prompted Rich's attention. "You beating up my girl?" Rich questioned in mock warning, his jacket glowing under the streetlights.
Kurt ignored him, focusing on his wife's well-being. She pushed his hand away when he hit another tender spot, and she shifted uncomfortably. "Give me your feet," he suggested, and she found herself spun in her seat, her legs resting across his suit pants.
"Ooo, getting kinky back there," Rich teased, twisting his head, "the seat folds down if you want more room to get busy. I'll sit right here and watch."
"Rich," Kurt warned.
"I can turn around," Patterson offered.
"No," Jane voiced, "it comes and goes."
"Yesss, come…" Rich started, attempting to keep the mood light.
"Rich!" the whole car cut off his antics, the team riding in silence the rest of the way to the venue.
Kurt and Jane hung back in the car for a moment when Patterson and Rich headed inside. "If you need a break, come back here," Kurt guided.
"I'll be fine," Jane assured.
"Please," he urged, "if you don't feel up to it…"
"Okay," she promised, wanting to get on with the mission.
He understood, even supported her need to remain in the field. He also knew it had been a rough day, his wife having been tossed from the seesaw under the weight of the ZIP poisoning. The mirage of bringing her home and holding her to heal her ills was appealing. "You look great in that jacket," he shared, giving her a brief kiss.
"You're pretty sexy in that suit yourself - so handsome you could unbutton every button," she returned, quoting the book, then added, "too bad I can't take you out for a date."
"Soon," he replied, quoting, "she was hard in leather, enough to make you…"
"Guys, comms," Patterson chided, trying to get them back on track for the mission.
"C'mon, that's the good part," Rich complained, having read the entire book of their suspect's obsession.
Jane opened her door and stood, straightening her jacket and heading for the venue, Kurt in tow.
They discovered their suspect among the group, taking a liking for Rich and following him throughout the game as he tried to get close enough to drug one of the team. It was nearly the end of the event when they finally caught their suspect emptying a capsule into Patterson's drink and moved to apprehend him.
Jane disappeared as soon as they returned from the field, leaving Kurt, Patterson, and Rich to debrief. She changed back into her long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, stripping her mystery persona, and sat, waiting for Kurt.
"There you are," Kurt said, finding her sitting on a bench in the locker room with her head lowered, "we're about to conduct the interrogation."
As much as she wanted to tag in, she was flagging, running out of tape and glue, the ZIP poisoning winning the battle for the day. "I need to go home," Jane spoke in defeat, and he dropped a hand to her shoulder.
"How's your head?" he asked.
"There," she said quickly, then added, "I can't get the pain to stop."
"I'll take you," he offered, "get you whatever you need."
"Sleep," she replied, "thank you."
Jane rose and stumbled toward the lockers, Kurt steadying her at the elbow. "Put your arm around me," he advised, wrapping his arm around her waist in turn.
He led her from the building and drove them home, dropping her at the front door before finding a place to park. Words of overdoing it went unspoken from both of them, and she collapsed into bed in fatigue.
