A/N hmm, quelle surprise, it got angsty again...

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Jane had never considered food to be much more than an irritating essential, mostly consumed on the run at the NYO or alone at the safe house, after a long day of action. Without any memory of tastes she enjoyed and little time to discover new ones, she hadn't bothered to explore the culinary world too far. Even her life before the black site had been a steady diet of cereal and cheap takeout. Then she had spent three months forcing down just enough of the CIA's gruel to keep herself alive. So even after she escaped and got dragged back into the FBI, Jane hadn't bothered to eat more than the bare minimum. It had seemed like a waste of time, nourishing herself when she felt so wretched inside. So she had gotten by on toast, peanut butter, salad in a bag.

It had all been fine, or so she thought. At a time when she had so little control over her own fate, it felt good to whittle down her needs, be in charge of at least one thing. She had liked how her body had hardened too, it felt like a reflection of how her time at the black site had changed the rest of her.

But apparently, Weller does not feel the same; seems determined to force feed her three hearty meals a day, despite her protestations. It had started out with a grocery shopping mission where he bought more food than she had ever had in the house the entire time she'd been there, cumulatively. All sorts of interesting items, some of which she'd never heard of or seen before.

And then the initiative had begun, though she hadn't realized it at the time. He'd started simple, with pancakes. Somehow convinced her to eat a whole stack when she would have otherwise considered a single pancake to be sufficient. The extra food had made her feel uncomfortably full and slightly regretful but the satisfied grin on his face as he watched her smash through her breakfast had made her chest flash with grudging warmth.

Then there were the packed lunches of various fresh veggies and sandwiches in containers that he checked at the end of the day, frowning whenever he found them uneaten. It made her feel guilty, knowing the effort he'd put in and how much it meant to him. So Jane had started sneaking the food to the younger FBI agents, though obviously not to anyone who would accidentally tell Weller about it. She thinks he's suspicious though, has to remember to sometimes come home with leftovers, especially on busy days when they're out in the field.

Dinnertime had changed the most though. At first, coming home to mysterious smells and new tastes had been elating, something to look forward to at the end of the work day when previously she had hated returning to the empty safe house. But as the days passed, Jane started to feel a niggling anxiety when seated at the table with Weller, could feel him silently evaluating the amount she ate, furrowing his brow in displeasure when she wasn't very hungry.

Case in point, she had arrived home that day exhausted and a bit nauseous from an impromptu boat chase. If the safe house had been dark and lonely like normal she would have gone straight to bed in order to have the energy to get up the next morning for her usual early workout. But of course, Weller had baked a lasagna which made the place smell amazing and filled the air with hominess. So she didn't have much choice but to sit with him at the table, get served a huge piece.

Jane sits, staring at the pasta and salad on her plate. She can feel Weller's eyes on her from across the table, waiting for her to start eating. But she's tired and irritable, sick of feeling pressured to eat when all she wants to do is crawl into bed. Then, as soon as she starts to feel resentful about Kurt's silent judging, Jane spirals into the shame of being mad when he's trying to help. A month ago she would have given anything to have Weller cook for her, care about her. But at the moment it's too much, more than she can handle.

Her stomach curdles, clenches with angry anxiety. Jane pushes away from the table, ironically realizing, even then, that she's overreacting because she's exhausted and hasn't eaten since breakfast. But still she's about to lose it, so taut she's going to snap.

"I'm not hungry," she mutters, trying to stalk away so quickly that Weller doesn't have time to argue.

But of course he isn't so easily defeated, stands and tells her that she needs to eat.

Which is the worst thing he could have said, pushes all of her overly sensitive buttons. Jane turns around, can't help but engage.

"No Weller, you may be in charge at the NYO but you don't get to control my life outside of work," she snarls. "So stop trying to force feed me when I don't want to eat."

Weller puts on his grumpy disapproving face but his eyes show only worry, no anger at all. Which just pisses Jane off even more, makes her feel guilty as hell.

"You must be hungry. I know you've been out in the field all day," he grumbles. "You don't eat enough."

Jane groans, rolls her eyes at him.

"I do now," she says.

"Only because I rag you endlessly about it," he replies.

"Which drives me crazy," she states, her voice hard-edged. "What the hell is your problem, Weller?"

"My problem is you're not taking care of yourself," he fires back, his tone now more angry, less worried than before.

"That is not your problem," she says, glaring at him.

"Yes it is!" Weller explodes, slamming his broken hand down on the table with a bang.

Jane winces when his cast hits the table and makes Weller grimace. Even while angry her first instinct is still to reach for him, ask him if he's alright. Then sympathy for him sneaks in as she watches him try to swallow his pain, act as if he's fine.

Shit, she thinks. She hadn't meant to make Weller so upset. Nor should he think her self-care is somehow on him.

"Whoa," she says. "What the hell, Weller. I can take care of myself."

"No you can't," he grumbles. "You're way too thin."

Jane frowns, wonders what her weight has to do with anything if she's able to do the job, isn't a liability to the team.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asks.

"It means that I fucked up Jane!" Weller snaps back. "It means I've been doing a shit job of making sure you're okay."

What the hell, she thinks. Anger flares in her gut at the idea of Weller being in charge of her well being when he'd been so distant and cold until just recently. She'd been alone with her sins for so long before he decided to care again. What gave him the right to put himself in that role?

"Well, it's a good thing it's not actually your job Kurt, because you're right. I'm not okay. I was tortured for three months. Then none of you trusted me; I didn't even trust myself. I come from a family of terrorists and they don't trust me either. I don't have anything or anyone. Just a hope that I can help stop this attack before Shepherd figures out that I'm a traitor and kills me. So you don't need to worry that I'm not eating enough because we both know I'm probably not going to around long enough for it to matter."

Oh shit. She hadn't meant for any of that to come out. But apparently being tired and starving had made her emotions more volatile than she thought.

At least her outburst had paused the argument, stopped Weller in his tracks and turned his eyes from fire to stone. He stares at her blankly with a furrowed brow as his face falls and his entire body sags, the anger visibly seeping out of him.

"Please don't say that," he says, low and slow.

"Why not, it's the truth," she snipes back.

"I know, but I don't want to face it," Weller growls, looking into her with muddled eyes. "It was my job to take care of you, Jane. And I screwed it up."

Jane sighs, irritated that a simple thing like dinner had escalated into a full on drama. She should be relishing her time with Weller, after how things had been between them. But all his guilt and his concern for her is also stifling, too much to bear.

"It wasn't your job, Kurt. You don't owe me anything. I'm not Taylor," she says.

Surely that should end the conversation, she thinks. All of this is just a misplaced sense of responsibility, Weller holding onto something that was never there.

"No. You're Jane. And whether you want to be or not, you're my responsibility. I just didn't realize it at the time. I thought that feeling was so strong because you were Taylor. But it turns out, I can't stop feeling it, even when it isn't my place anymore."

Jane pauses, her chest freezing with Weller's forlorn tone, his heartfelt admission. It isn't his place; that's what she's been trying to tell him. So why does she feel so sad hearing him say it out loud?

Weller gazes into her for a long uncomfortable silence, waiting for her response. But when she doesn't come up with any words for well over a minute, he frowns and starts walking towards the door.

"I knew this was a bad idea. I should go," he mutters.

Jane's startled into action by his movement, scurries to head him off.

"You're not going anywhere," she says, blocking his way to the door.

He's too close, she can feel the heat of him on her own skin. His eyes pose a question that she doesn't know how to answer.

She's learned in her short new life that she's ultimately alone, has to take care of herself. Trusting her safety to anyone else has only led to torture and heartbreak. But it's exhausting to always be on edge, wary of any kindness. And she wants to trust Weller, but it's taking some adjustment.

"I'm sorry," Jane says. "I'm just not used to anyone caring if I eat or if I'm okay."

Of course Weller's response is to look deep into her, his eyes shimmering with emotion. He frowns just slightly at what he sees, reaches out with his broken hand to tug at her fingertips.

"I see you Jane. I know you're hurting and some of it is my fault. So yeah, I guess I'm going overboard because I want to make up for having my head stuck up my ass and not noticing before."

She almost smiles at his self-deprecating comment, the flicker of his fingers against hers. Maybe it wasn't so bad being observed, being known.

"But if you want me to stay, I don't think I can stop it," he continues. "I know you don't need me to fight your battles. But I can't help wanting to."

He really does see her, somehow came up with the right thing to say. Jane suddenly realizes it was the assumption that she needed him to feed her, care for her that had pissed her off so much. Especially after she'd been fending for herself for so long. It was irritating to have someone come in and try to take charge of her life, even if it was well-meant.

So just knowing that Weller sees it too, that she is perfectly capable on her own, somehow makes it easier to accept his help. Viewing it as Kurt trying his best to atone for his own perceived sins is so much easier than seeing it as unnecessary coddling.

Jane looks up at Weller, breathes through the slight discomfort she feels at the adoring glint in his eyes.

"It's okay," she says. "You don't have to stop."

Kurt's face floods with a smile, his eyes twinkling with delight.

"So does that mean you going to have dinner with me?" he asks with a wink.

Jane laughs, shakes her head at him as she tugs him close and wraps her arms around him.

"You may be charming, Kurt Weller," she says into his chest. "But don't push your luck."