A/N: Apparently I have a thing for making them cranky at dinnertime :P

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Dinner arrives and Weller puts in a valiant effort at mind over matter. His body aches everywhere, starting at the fire in his injured shoulder and steadily emanating out from there until he hurts from head to toe.

Part of him says that this isn't right, that Jane's desire to take him to see a doctor is entirely reasonable. But then the louder voice in him argues that he's just suffering the consequences from pushing himself too far that afternoon, that he'll feel better in the morning.

It had been fairly stupid to attempt a take down on his own, he can see that in hindsight. He certainly would have given her shit for doing the same thing in his condition. But in the moment Kurt had just reacted based on experience and muscle memory. And with the adrenaline rush that came from the action, his shoulder hadn't even felt that bad. Definitely bearable considering the alternative was letting a criminal get away, risk more bombing casualties.

Afterwards however, once he'd convinced the cops he didn't need to see EMS, the epinephrine had drained out out of his system and Weller had crashed hard; barely making it to the couch in the safe house before falling on his face.

Of course he'd meant to be up and fine by the time Jane arrived home but ended up sleeping straight through and didn't even feel much better for it. Which had predictably led to an argument about calling the doctor, one he had won with pure stubbornness, a semi-sincere promise.

Thankfully having Jane around bolsters him physically and emotionally. The way she drifts her fingers over his wounds is so intensely intimate he forgets to breathe as she's touching him. Then hearing her say she needs him makes his chest fill with warmth, despite his best intentions.

It's pitiful but Kurt has almost come to terms with the effect she has on him, how needy she can make him feel. At least he's aware of it, does his best to counter his inner desires with some semblance of self control.

But having her touch him and not respond inappropriately is hard enough even when he's got it together. So of course he had gotten too close on the couch, after she'd changed his bandage, left her imprint on his skin. It had felt so alarmingly good that his hands and lips had taken over for his paralyzed brain, just barely resisted the sad curve of her mouth, glancing against her eyebrow instead.

Even that had set his every nerve ending on fire, possibly why she thought he was feverish. At the time he'd brushed off his chills as latent fatigue, sure it was just due to an afternoon of action. But now, just over an hour later, the shiver is still there and a deep ache is settling in all throughout his body.

Weller sits at the table, fighting the urge to just slump back and close his eyes. He doesn't want to make Jane any more worried than she already is, give her any reason to re-start the hospital argument.

He takes a few calming breaths, pushes away the compounding waves of tiredness and pain. Then he looks at his dinner, even manages to choke down a few bites before deciding that food is definitely not the answer to his problems. The introduction of a new element to his system sets off all sorts of internal alarm bells, a queasy feeling that starts at his gut then slides up his esophagus. But Weller manages to clench his jaw, breathe through it until the wave of nausea has passed. He even thinks he's done a fairly good job at hiding his discomfort until he sees Jane studying him from across the table.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay?" she asks, giving him a scrutinizing look that he loves and hates all at once.

"Yeah, I guess I'm just not hungry," he says, thinking how it's not technically a lie.

Jane narrows her eyes at his statement, glances down at his barely touched meal then back up at him. For a moment Kurt feels ten years old again, sitting at the dinner table, avoiding his father's anger. All that age old guilt and shame comes rushing at him, that depressing feeling of being powerless.

Damn. Where the hell had that come from?

It's as if he's suddenly slipping streams emotionally, too physically weak to keep his mind attuned to the here and now. Jane's worry somehow becomes an age-old accusation and he feels anxious anger rise in his throat, about to erupt.

Weller bites down hard on the emotion, struggles to keep it under control. He's irritated because he doesn't even know what he's upset about anymore, genuinely feels like a cranky kid in the moment. He's exhausted and supposed to eat when he hurts everywhere, just wants to hide away and sleep for a long time.

He's hitting a low blood sugar, high emotion moment when Jane walks over and startles him out of his brooding with a hand on his shoulder.

"If you're not hungry, I'll put it away and you can have it later," she says, like nothing is amiss. But she also gives his neck a little rub, an encouraging squeeze.

"You look like you're going to fall asleep at the table," Jane continues. "Why don't you go lie down. I'm going to finish eating and clean up. I'll come check on you when I'm done."

He doesn't know how she does it, both invokes and defuses emotion in him so dramatically. At the moment he's immensely grateful that she read him so well, managed to say exactly what was needed to turn his mood around.

All the anxiety and angst suddenly evaporates from his body and he feels himself physically sag in relief. Jane must feel it as well because she gives his neck another stroke with her thumb, making his skin tingle with her touch.

"Yeah, thanks. That sounds good," Weller says, trying not to purr his appreciation. "But you don't need to come check on me, I'm just going to sleep."

He can almost hear her roll her eyes, which makes his lip quirk upward just a bit.

"I'm still going to come check on you, Weller," Jane says, predictably.

Kurt looks up at her with a rueful grin, sees that she's definitely still worried but letting him have his way for now. Or just giving himself enough rope to hang himself with, he muses. Either way, it's not something he's going to question.

Weller gets up and Jane's hand drifts down to his shoulder, ghosts against his wound before letting him go. Instantly cold without her warmth he struggles to walk away and not just turn around, knowing that he'd look so lost she would immediately collect him into her arms.

Forcing himself away, Kurt drags himself to bed, barely making it through the toothbrushing portion of the evening. By the time he's struggled into PJs and crawled under the covers he's so relieved and exhausted that his eyes slam shut immediately.

Sleep doesn't take him though, the discomfort of his body too much to escape from. It's enough to make him wonder again if Jane is right, if the achy exhaustion he feels is more than just the natural cost of overdoing things that afternoon.

Kurt shivers a bit, pulls the blankets up higher. Takes deep breaths as he tries to find a position that doesn't rub against his injured shoulder. Then groans when he realizes there are very few options that don't leave him in distinct discomfort.

He hadn't hurt that badly in awhile, not since the first few days after he'd somehow foisted himself on Jane. Even then, things had been improving steadily and it was just a matter of bearing the pain. Now though, he feels both physically and emotionally compromised. So fragile he almost lost it for no reason at dinner, still feels undefinably needy even now.

In the depths of his heart he knows what he wants. To open up, let her in. Allow himself to be vulnerable, actually let Jane take care of him, soothe the ache that won't leave him alone. But he's not at all sure he can do it, if he has the strength to break down those walls.

He can hear her start to clean up, put things away. Even that makes his heart flutter for a moment, the still new idea of co-habitating with Jane. Having her so close makes him question everything, all of his ancient hurts, all of his old habits.

Weller lies there, trying to focus on the Jane sounds coming from the kitchen instead of the clammy discomfort of his body. For a while his mind drifts between his usual dilemma; both eagerly awaiting her nightly check in and admonishing himself for desiring the comfort of her touch. Even when she checks his temperature like he's a little boy, he's only feigning indignance. Which is both pathetic and all too true for his liking.

Kurt is partway through admonishing himself for the millionth time when alternating waves of hot and cold start crashing through his body. At least it leaves him incapable of thinking anymore, unable to do anything other than clench his muscles, grind his jaw.

All he wants to do is sleep, is sure that he will wake up feeling better. But his body is in pain and his head is stubbornly determined to ride it out. Which leaves him lying there huddled in a cold sweat, moaning softly when he finally hears Jane approach his room.

Weller tries to shift so he can watch her come in, take in every moment of her. But there isn't enough energy in his body to move at all and he's breathing hard just from the attempt.

Or maybe that's just his heart skittering perilously as he hears her slip in through the door, approach on quiet feet. Even while half-delirious, his instinct tells him to resist any sort of comfort. But then she sits on the edge of the bed and rests the back of her hand to his forehead, runs her fingers all over his fiery skin. And all Kurt can think is how blissful it feels, how glad he is that she's there to take care of him.