A/N full disclosure, this story no longer has any real direction... but I do keep on thinking of things that can happen now that they're "stuck" together at the safe house. (and no, not the kind of things that require a ratings change :D)

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At first she'd been a bit apprehensive but it hadn't taken long to get used to having Weller around. Coming home to delicious smells emanating from the previously neglected kitchen, having someone there to talk to, just be with. It was bliss compared to her previous existence, even if it had resulted in an argument or two.

It turns out Jane had been really lonely. Of course she knew that, somewhere deep inside. But she was so good at pretending, even to herself. That all she had was okay, her well deserved penance.

Living with Weller fills the emptiness that sits in her soul, ever since she found out who she really was. Yet he naively thinks she's the one taking care of him, even as he tends lovingly to her emotional needs.

Jane opens the door to the safe house, expecting the aroma of dinner cooking, Weller bustling around trying to do too much with his injured shoulder, his broken hand. But when she steps inside, her nose doesn't register anything on the stove and it's dimly lit, as quiet as it used to be.

She thinks Weller must have gone out, knows how bored he's been. He keeps trying to come up with reasons to show up at the NYO, then has to be physically escorted out of the building by one of the team members before he'll leave. At the moment it's still somewhere between amusing and frustrating to all of them watching Weller seethe with inaction. She can only hope that his wound heals before he starts really losing his patience.

Jane takes her coat off and is walking over to the kitchen when she's startled by a movement in the living room, her heart leaping into her throat. For a moment she stands there frozen in the past. The last time someone had been there waiting for her all her nightmares had come true.

But this time Kurt isn't waiting with cold eyes, a hard tone. Instead, he's lying on the couch, tries to hide a grunt of pain as he turns to look in her direction, not bothering to sit up.

Jane frowns and forces herself not to overreact; she's learned that Weller does not want to be treated like he's hurting, even when it's obvious he is. But she's already noted that he is quiet and lethargic compared to the past couple of days, wonders what he got up to after they finally kicked him out of the office that afternoon. She hopes he just pushed himself too hard walking home and needed a nap. But when she gets closer she sees a barely-contained expression of pain on his face, a dazed sheen over his blue eyes.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" she asks, tilting her head at him as she turns on the light and approaches the couch.

Weller gives her a small nod, a valiant attempt at an easy grin.

"Yeah, just a little tired," he says. "How was the rest of your day?"

"Pretty standard, nothing Sandstorm-related happened," she replies. "But there was a series of bombings in this area. We were almost called into investigate but then the guy was caught by NYPD, did you hear about that?"

Kurt nods, says he heard about it on his way home. Then he closes his eyes, exhales a long slow breath.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she tries, not sure how hard to push.

"I'm fine, Jane," Weller mutters. "Just a little sore."

"Okay then sit up," she replies. "I should check your wound anyways. It's been more than twenty-four hours."

Weller raises an irritated eyebrow at her and she can see him go through his options before he scowls and pushes himself up stiffly, grinding his jaw with the effort it takes. Slowly he swings his legs off to make space for her, then leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed once again.

Jane sits beside him, watching as his features shift from a grimace to a tight smile. Worry travels up her neck as she studies him from up close, sees the tension and tiredness written all over his body.

"Did something happen today?" she asks, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He had looked a bit pale when he'd dropped by the office but nothing to indicate he was feeling this rough.

Weller groans and tilts his head towards her slowly.

"Um. Maybe," he finally admits, after a very long pause.

Jane squints at him, bites her lower lip in consideration. Immediately her mind latches onto one ridiculous idea and she blurts it out without thinking.

"Did you stop a bomb attack on your way home from the NYO?" she asks, the words sounding as absurd out loud as they had in her head.

But when Weller doesn't immediately say no, she just sits there shaking her head at him while he starts sputtering about how he was just going for groceries when the bomber happened to run right by him. Then, because he'd been unarmed due to his current inability to wield a weapon, of course he'd been obligated to tackle the guy in order to retrieve the detonation trigger for the next bomb.

"So you chased him down and hit him with your cast," Jane says, wanting to hug him and shout at him all at once. Even thinking about one-handed, broken Kurt taking on an armed assailant makes her heart bounce jarringly in her chest.

"Yeah," Weller replies. "But I'm fine, Jane. Just a little scraped up."

Her brow furrows at his words, concern sitting on her shoulders.

"Let me see," she says, her words soft but beseeching.

Weller grumbles at his fate but raises his injured arm slowly and gingerly pulls his shirt off with his broken hand, shivering a little when the air hits his bare skin. He looks away from her, head hanging as she sighs at the fresh road rash and bruising on his shoulder.

"Oh, Kurt," Jane groans. "That looks really painful. You've been lying here all afternoon like this? Why didn't you call?"

"It's just a scrape," Weller replies, but the slight gasp in his tone as she touches his new wounds belies his words.

"Actually, I think you might have torn a few stitches too," Jane says, eyeing the dark splotches on his shoulder bandage as she removes it.

Jane's frown deepens as she gets a look at his sutures and the dark fluid oozing out from between the missing sutures. The wound had already been a bit red the previous day but she'd hoped it was just part of the healing process. Now, however, she's fairly certain it's gotten infected, that he's going to need antibiotics.

She puts the back of her hand up to the wound and it definitely feels hotter than it should. Then she moves her hand up to Weller's forehead, grinds her teeth when she compares his temperature to her own.

"I don't have a fever," Weller mutters. "Just tired."

"I think you're running a temperature but I don't have a proper thermometer here," Jane says. "And your wound needs to be looked at, Kurt. We should go to the hospital."

"No way," Weller says, still facing away from her but shaking his head vehemently. "It's just a couple ripped stitches, it'll still heal fine. Please, can't you just put on some of that antibiotic cream?"

Jane groans, knows she would be just as bad but it's different when it's Kurt who's at risk. She ghosts her thumb over his angry red skin, feels the heat radiating off of him.

"I still think you need to get cleared by a doctor. We could just call medical here," she tries.

"It's after hours, Jane," Weller grumbles. "I don't want to call a FBI doc all the way over here to tell me I need to take it easy and get the wound rechecked if it's not healing right."

"It isn't healing right," Jane fires back. "And I can't let you put yourself through more pain just because you're a stubborn ass."

Kurt finally looks at her, scowls at being called a donkey and shakes his head irritably.

"Okay, if it doesn't improve by tomorrow morning I'll come with you to the NYO and get medical to take a look," he says. "But please, not now. I just want to sleep."

Jane lets out a breath of relief, is okay with the compromise. She doesn't want to drag Kurt anywhere either; or argue with him more when his shoulders are sagging with weariness, his eyes flashing a desperate plea.

"Deal," she replies, tracing her fingers along his fiery sutures once more before reaching over for the first aid supplies.

First she cleans everything off with an antiseptic wipe, wincing in solidarity as it touches Weller's fresh road burns. Then she covers it all with the antibiotic ointment before re-bandaging his wound, her fingers pressing comfortingly into his skin as she applies the new gauze.

Weller looks away from her while she works, only turns when she finishes the job, spontaneously brushes her lips against the bandage.

"No wonder I'm so hot," he murmurs.

Jane feels herself turn red, has the urge to pull away but Weller's dopey self-satisfied smile is enough to make her grin despite herself, roll her eyes in mock exasperation.

"You are impossible," she says into his skin. "I can't believe you took down a serial bomber on your way to the store. What if he'd drawn his weapon before you tackled him? You'd be dead, Kurt. And I'd be broken, all over again."

Weller brings his casted right hand up to her cheek, turns until he's holding her face too close to hers.

"You would be fine, Jane," he says, much too surely. "You are incredibly resilient."

Jane shakes her head, feels a deep frown settle in.

"I would definitely not be fine," she replies. "Just thinking about it makes my heart ache. I couldn't do this without you."

It sounds stupid to say out loud, admit this truth she's always known but never voiced. Weller owes nothing to her, she'd planned to fuck with his mind, use him as a tool. And though she has gotten over the idea that he only tolerated her presence due to necessity, she was certain he had learned his lesson about getting too close to her.

So she wasn't sure what her awkward declaration would mean to him, if he'd see her words trying to knit them together in a way that didn't work anymore.

But the blue of his eyes is soft and inviting, the curve of his mouth absolutely adoring as he trails his lips up her orbital bone, plants a kiss on her temple.

"You don't have to," he says, barely a whisper. "I'm right here."