Author's Note: Glad some people are happy to see this fic series returning! Just before you get going on this chapter - I promise I haven't had Kurt spiral down into alcoholism. He's only got a hip flask today because he's actively planning to wallow in his grief over not knowing if he'll ever get Jane back. I do plan to have Remi comment on it during one of their snarking sessions in the next chapter.
St. Mark's Square hadn't changed much since Kurt's last visit. Tourists milled around the large, open space, staring up at the beautiful architecture and soaking in the ambiance and history of Venice, Italy. Every now and then, a lovestruck couple would wander past his vantage point, and Kurt's throat would tighten.
Jane. I miss you so much.
If the situation hadn't been so heart-breaking, he might have found it funny. When he'd first realised Jane had gone into hiding from bounty hunters, over three years ago now, he'd stood in this exact same spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of her familiar figure amongst the crowd. Now, here he was again. He'd taken the same room in the same hotel they'd checked into when they'd first visited together, hours before he'd gone down on one knee before her and asked her to be his wife.
Jane hadn't been here when he'd searched for her three years ago, and Remi wasn't here now. It had been a vain hope. Remi had dropped completely off the radar since she'd left the States at the end of September last year. Unlike the last time she'd disappeared, she'd vanished without a trace. When Jane had been in hiding, she'd surface for just long enough for the bounty hunters to find her, subdue whichever assassin found her first, then try to get information from her would-be killers to aid her in her task of finding the bounty contract's holder. It had never worked—right up until Roman had found the guy, after Jane had been on the run for eighteen months.
And for that whole time, on each occasion that Jane became traceable, Patterson or Keaton would let Kurt know. He'd get on a plane, hoping against hope that he could track her down before she vanished again, heedless of the expense or his own fatigue.
Roman was six feet under now, and Remi, unlike Jane, had no interest in becoming traceable. She'd left the country with a fake passport and flown to the Ukraine, though Kurt found it unlikely she'd actually stayed there, since he'd been able to trace her that far. With the whole of mainland Europe and Asia to hide in, she'd gone to ground very efficiently. He suspected she must have been covering most of her tattoos, as well—simple enough in the cold of winter, but likely more difficult in the summer months.
The worst thing was that Remi's past, pre-ZIP, had been mostly a blank page. Apart from the languages Jane had been able to speak, and the fact that Remi had done at least one tour in Afghanistan, he'd had no idea where she might be able to hide, and with whom. He'd gone to Pretoria and Cape Town, South Africa soon after she'd disappeared, though he'd known it was a vain hope to actually find her there. She was too smart to go back to her hometown. As for Afghanistan, it seemed reasonable to assume Remi would avoid it. The US military still had a presence there, and since Alice Kruger was presumed dead, her whole unit wiped out by the US government, she'd need to play it safe.
Since Remi didn't remember much of Jane's life, Kurt wasn't expecting her to be here, in Venice. With no leads to follow, he'd had to accept that, short of closing his eyes and sticking a pin in a map, he didn't have the first clue where to find her.
He was here for himself. To remember Jane, and to wallow in his grief.
Kurt unhooked the hip flask from his belt and unscrewed the top, gazing up at the bell tower where Roman had left the succinylcholine Jane had used to fake her death. A bittersweet smile crossed his face as he remembered how she'd determinedly plunged the syringe into her thigh through her jeans. He'd wanted to find another way—a safer way—to take down the guy who'd held Jane's bounty, but she'd overruled him without a word, then pleaded with him to do it her way once he'd had little choice in the matter.
He'd been so pissed off at her that day, as he'd bundled her 'dead' body into a bag—Roman's sense of humour left a lot to be desired—and slung it over his shoulder, transporting his precious cargo to the Abbey of Misericordia, where the fixer waited. The way she'd used the drug, with no regard for his wishes, had infuriated him, reminding him of the way she'd taken off without his input eighteen months earlier. But as the ninety minutes until she'd needed the antidote ticked by, with the fixer a no-show, he'd become more anxious than angry, then frantic when he'd almost been unable to get to her to revive her in time. But once they'd taken out the fixer and his security, working out their combined frustration on the men who'd taken eighteen months of their marriage from them, he'd left the building exhilarated, his wife safely at his side. If he hadn't been so unsure about the status of their relationship at the time, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her right then.
Kurt took a gulp of the Scotch within his hip flask, then replaced the cap as the alcohol burned his throat. Funny how life had conspired to keep him apart from Jane. It was almost as though their relationship were cursed. First three months in a CIA black site had kept her from his side. Then he hadn't wanted to spend any more time with her than necessary, their betrayals of each other's trust keeping them apart for months. Then, only a couple of months into their marriage, the bounty on Jane's head had ripped them apart again. The hunt for Roman and Crawford had driven yet more wedges between them, but they'd overcome it all, just in time for the ZIP poisoning to bring back Remi.
Maybe he and Jane just weren't meant to be. Would this separation be even longer than when Jane had been on the run? Was he just fooling himself that she'd ever come back at all?
Kurt had just replaced the flask on his belt when he got the sense he was being watched. Suppressing a frown, he took a long, casual look at his surroundings, wondering if he was imagining things. But then his gaze snagged on a dark-haired woman diagonally across the square from him, and he froze, his cynical despondency blinking into hope.
Jane.
Wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt despite the hot weather, her hair loose around her shoulders, his wife was staring straight at him, her expression stunned. Kurt hadn't realised his lips had silently formed the syllables of her name until her guard flew up and her jaw clenched, leaving him with no doubt that this was still Remi, not Jane.
She took a small step back, as though planning to vanish into the stream of pedestrians behind her, but for some reason, she hesitated, her eyes still on him. That gave him enough time to cut across the corner of the square to approach her, his hands held up as though he were trying to pacify an unpredictable suspect, showing he was unarmed. "Don't run, Remi, please. I just wanna talk."
Maybe she took pity on him because of his obvious desperation, or maybe she just wanted a drink. Either way, she relaxed a little and gestured at the one of the many small tables that had just been vacated nearby. "You give me a hit of whatever you're drinking, and I'll hear you out."
Kurt watched her carefully as they sat down. She didn't appear to be injured; there was no stiffness to her movements, and she didn't flinch. Handing over his hip flask, he said, "What brings you here?"
Remi sniffed the lip of the flask, then took a swallow of Scotch, staring over at the Doge's Palace. She handed back the flask before she answered. "July tenth, apparently."
Kurt tried to hide his smile, but it must have been unsuccessful, because she scowled. "I have no idea why I'm here other than that this place, on this day, is in my memory. I didn't know why, and it was bugging me, so I came to find out. I didn't know you'd be here."
Her memories were still coming back. Thank god.
"Look at the spot where I was standing. It doesn't bring anything back?"
Remi glanced back over her shoulder for a long moment, and he took the opportunity to drink in her features. She'd been taken aback to find him here, but not surprised enough that it was a total shock. She must have at least suspected this place was special to them, and that he might be here today. Yet she'd shown up anyway. That was a good sign.
Remi turned back to him, frustration in her eyes. "Nothing."
Kurt gazed back at that spot. The sun had been about to set—it had only been slightly earlier in the day than it was right now—and Jane had been leaning against a pillar, standing up so she could see past the crowds, as she'd sketched the Doge's Palace, the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore, and the Biblioteca Marciana. Kurt had taken a short walk down the Grand Canal while she'd worked, and when he'd returned, she'd been so absorbed in her drawing that she hadn't noticed his approach.
He'd had the idea that he'd propose during a gondola ride as the sun went down, but as he'd watched her from a few feet away, her hair curling against her jaw and her attention flicking critically between her subject and the sketch, he'd found himself taking the ring box from his pocket, overwhelmed with love.
"You were sketching the view, and I left you to it for a while. When I got back, you were focusing so hard that you didn't notice me until I stopped right in front of you, got down on one knee and asked you to be my wife."
For a split-second, something in Remi's expression wavered, but before he could analyse it, it was gone. "Jane. You asked Jane to be your wife."
Kurt shrugged. "You're the one who said you're not that different."
"And you're the one who said we're nothing alike," Remi said sharply.
Kurt backed off for the moment, looking back out at the breathtaking architecture around them. Unsurprisingly, Jane still seemed to be a very touchy subject for Remi.
After a moment, she sighed. "I'm assuming Jane said yes, and that's why I remember the date. You can spare me the details." Her tone indicated that she was anything but thrilled by the reason she was here, and Kurt couldn't help a twinge of annoyance at the dismissiveness in her tone.
"I'm surprised you remembered the date, but not what was special about it." Reminding himself that as long as she was here, there was hope, he kept his voice non-confrontational. "Anything else like that come back to you?"
Remi's gaze kept flicking down to his fingers, as he tapped them against the hip flask on the table. Something about the way she glanced at them stirred something in his memory, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it.
"Everything else I've remembered is pretty clear." Remi pushed back her chair and stood up. "Well, mystery solved. I'd say it was nice running into you, but—"
"Wait. Please." He grabbed her wrist as she began to turn, and she yanked her arm away as though his touch had burned her, a warning scowl on her face. "You promised to hear me out, and you haven't."
"You haven't said anything worth hearing," she told him, but sighed and resumed her seat. "What do you want?"
"Well, firstly, to tell you I'm glad you're still alive."
Despite her unwillingness to reveal it, he could tell that had touched her. Then her expression became steel again. "It's none of your business anymore if I'm alive or not."
He shook his head. "I don't accept that. We're connected, Remi, whether you remember it or not. I can't just let you walk out of my life like this, not without knowing if I'm ever gonna see you again."
She almost sounded like the Jane he knew when she leaned forward, telling him, "Kurt… I feel bad for you. I really do. If I were in your situation, I'd be out of my mind. But I don't know what your endgame is, here. I won't pretend to be someone I'm not anymore, and I can't change who I am just to please you, even if I wanted to. Getting back some of my memories didn't make Jane into me. Why would remembering Jane's memories turn me back into her?"
It was something he'd heard hesitantly voiced by his team—the only ones who knew Jane wasn't just 'travelling'—at various times over the past year. He had to admit, they had a point. Short of some kind of miracle medical procedure to bring Jane back to the forefront of Remi's brain, he was at a loss as to how he could ever get his wife back.
Remi was watching his hands again, and suddenly, he remembered a conversation he and Jane had had, not long after they'd admitted their feelings for each other.
At the black site, and…after, I was so lonely. Nobody touched me unless they were beating me or manhandling me from place to place, and when I got out of there, I had no one to talk to, no one to be close to. When I came back to the FBI… I don't know if you noticed, but I started fixating on people's hands when I talked to them, especially yours. Maybe you thought I was just avoiding eye contact, but I… I almost didn't feel real. I just needed someone to touch me. Not even in a sexual way; I just…needed to feel connected. Like it wasn't just me on my own, drifting through life.
When he'd first heard about it, it had bothered him to think that she'd felt so profoundly alone, but it had become a non-issue during their relationship, where they'd rarely spent a day without hugs, kisses and affectionate touches. He'd forgotten all about it until now.
Remi must be feeling that same isolation, if she was exhibiting the behaviour Jane had described to him. It was very unlikely that she'd regained that particular memory of Jane's.
Slowly, he reached across the table to where her right hand rested, and slid his palm over the hexagonal tattoo there. "Can we compromise?"
She pressed her lips together, staring down at his hand over hers, clearly conflicted. Tension radiated from her, but she didn't pull away. "What did you have in mind?"
He'd have to tread carefully to avoid triggering her contempt for him until after she'd agreed. He had no doubt that they'd end up tearing open old emotional wounds, throwing blame and recriminations at each other. It was the way Remi was wired when it came to him—and he'd already had to will his irritation to calm a couple of times during this conversation. But if she made an agreement, she'd probably stick to it, no matter how much they pissed each other off.
After a pause to consider his phrasing, he said, "Let's go get dinner, catch up on the last ten months. Then maybe take a walk, see if anything triggers memories for you. I'll fill in any blanks and answer any questions you have about the past. In return—"
"You stop looking for me when I leave. Stop waiting for Jane to come back, go back to New York, or Colorado, and move on with your life." Remi pulled her hand away, crossed her arms across her chest.
He kept his face impassive, but fear seized him at the thought of giving up on Jane. He'd sworn to her several times throughout her illness that he'd do anything he could to get them more time together, and even though Remi had been the recipient of those words, he'd addressed them to Jane. His wife. The woman he loved.
When he didn't immediately respond, Remi shook her head, clearly impatient. "You wanted a compromise, Kurt. These are my terms. I spend tonight trying to remember, and tomorrow, you let me go. For good."
Kurt took a second hit from his hip flask, knowing he was gambling his entire marriage on the next few hours. On the other hand, he'd gone ten months without even a hint of where she'd been. Remi must have thought he'd tracked her down, rather than their meeting being by accident, and that was why she was trying to get him to back off. If she didn't agree to keep in contact after this, he'd likely never find her again, no matter what he tried.
An old saying flashed through his mind. If you love something, set it free. If it returns, it's yours. If not, it wasn't meant to be.
"You have a deal." He held out his hand.
Her jaw set, Remi returned the gesture, the pressure of her hand firm and impersonal as they shook on it. "Deal."