Author's Note: Happy new year, Blindspot fans! My muse decided my first update in 2020 should be Reller, so here we go! Trigger warning for mentions of sexual assault in this chapter (none of the characters have actually gone through any of that, I promise).

It annoyed her that Weller seemed to be enjoying his meal—which Remi had to admit was pretty good, for vegan food. If it wasn't for what else he might be able to tell her about Roman, she'd have left this facsimile of a date the moment he had kissed her wedding ring. But now that her brother was dead and the FBI files beyond her reach, Weller was her only source of information about Roman's final years of life.

It just meant she had to endure his pathetically hopeful questions about her memory. What had she remembered about Jane's life since she'd left the US? How was she even meant to answer that?

"We made a deal," Weller reminded her. "If you want me to answer any more of your questions, you have to answer mine."

She sighed and stabbed her fork into her lasagne, wishing it were Weller's eyeball. "Uhhh…mainly snippets. Nothing more than a few moments long. Shooting Cade. Not shooting Roman in DC. You playing with your kid. Small parts of cases. Nas Kamal being a bitch. Zapata being a bitch. Roman attacking Jane. Reade wearing a stupid bow tie. Patterson being drunk on a team night out…"

He waited, showing no sign that he considered the question answered.

You telling Jane you love her. You fucking Jane. You making Jane so goddamn happy it makes me want to curl up into a ball and die.

She'd never admit to any of that, not even if he sat there and waited for the rest of the night.

"How much longer do you want me to go on, Weller? There are a million tiny moments that add up to a lot of cases at the FBI, the slow but total destruction of my life and everyone in it, and Jane having fun with you and your friends, when you weren't all giving her the cold shoulder."

Weller looked down at his plate at that last part, and Remi fought unexpected guilt. I want him to feel bad. He and his team ruined my life.

"Does that satisfy your curiosity? Is it my turn now?"

He watched her for a long moment, then gestured with his fork. "Go ahead."

Remi ate another mouthful of pasta, mulling over her options. She could ask what had happened after Jane and Weller had lost Roman, but there was still a chance she might remember that on her own, since she'd already remembered seeing Kurt clinging to Roman's speedboat. If she had a limited amount of information she could pull out of Weller, it was better to use it on things she was less likely to recall.

And his comment about her keeping to the 'forsaking all others' part of her vows was really bugging her.

"Was Jane ever sexually assaulted? Did she have intimacy issues?"

Weller froze, as though the question was the last thing he'd ever expected her to ask. Then he slowly put down his fork. "Why do you ask?"

Damn it. She'd left herself open to that one. Luckily, she had a way to deflect. "You didn't answer my question."

Weller's jaw clenched, as though he was struggling to hold himself in check. After a moment, he said, "No. To my knowledge and belief, Jane never had to deal with that. And she was always open and enthusiastic in the bedroom. I never got any kind of trauma vibe from her in that sense."

Damn it. I was so sure it was Jane. But if it's not Jane, then it's me. And that means—

"Remi." Weller's focus on her was intense and unwavering. Her question had obviously unsettled him. "What made you ask me that?"

Remi eyed the exit with longing, wanting out of this conversation. But if she had to answer Weller, to keep him willing to share information about Roman, she could at least twist the knife a little.

When she looked back at him, though, and saw the pain he was trying to hide, she knew she couldn't insinuate she remembered Jane being attacked. As much as she hated the guy, even she had limits to her cruelty.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," she snapped. "I didn't remember Jane being forced or anything."

The relief in his eyes was hard for her to face. Remi focused on her food, eating a couple of mouthfuls before Weller prompted, "Then why'd you ask?"

Screw it. In a few hours he'll be gone from my life forever. And maybe he can see an angle to this that I can't. It's not like I have anyone else to talk to about this. Or about anything else. "Because every time I decide to break that 'forsaking all others' vow that I didn't even make, I can't even get as far as kissing the guy. I figured that was because Jane went through something."

Weller didn't respond, and finally Remi grew impatient enough to tear her gaze from her plate. "What?"

He clearly thought he had the upper hand again, seeming more calm and collected than he had since they'd started eating. Just seeing that made a ball of rage swell in Remi's chest. "What?" she demanded again.

"Since I'm assuming you had no extra time to look for men while you were plotting to free Shepherd, this must have started after you left New York."

His unspoken words pissed her off more than the ones he'd spoken: You didn't have this problem when you fucked me.

It wasn't like she could deny it. She'd been the one to kiss him first, and to goad him into more.

"I answered your question because that was the agreement we made. Let's move on." She put down her fork, feeling too vulnerable for her appetite to return.

"Happy to. It's your turn to ask a question."

Have you been forsaking all others, Weller?

But she didn't really want to know that. She didn't care. Jane's marriage to Weller was between them.

"I need to think about it." She pulled her napkin off her lap and stood up. "I'm going to the restroom."

"If you're running out on me, you might as well just admit it." He was tense, but his voice was deceptively relaxed. Anyone else might have been fooled.

"I don't break my word."

Weller leaned back in his chair. "I must be remembering things wrong, so refresh my memory. You didn't tell me you'd come back to the apartment with me, but then stick me with a needle full of sedative and drive off alone?"

"That was different. You assumed what you wanted to assume, and I didn't dissuade you from doing that. This time, we made a deal, and I'll stick to it."

His expression was sceptical as he waved her off, and a childish part of her wanted to do exactly what he expected her to do—slip out of the restaurant's back door instead of hitting the restroom. For a brief instant, with her hand on the bathroom door, she hesitated, looking at the emergency exit that was already propped open with a crate. It would be so easy to leave him behind again.

But he was the first person she'd seen in almost a year who actually knew something about her, and about Roman. She hated him, but being around him was almost…cathartic.

Growling under her breath, she shoved open the door to the ladies' room and stalked inside, happy to see that no one else was around.

So what the hell should she ask Weller when she got back to the table? Something else about Roman, but what? She didn't know exactly where the gaps in her memory were when it came to the FBI casefiles she'd read. The ZIP had been wreaking havoc on her brain by then, and she must have only retained half of what she'd read.

Maybe the ZIP had left some kind of residual brain damage, because now Kurt Weller knew she hadn't had sex since she'd fucked him, and that was the last thing she'd imagined telling him.

Or maybe you wanted him to know. Maybe you want him to make a move on you, so you can see if you're too skittish to fuck him now. Because if you can fuck him, but not those other guys, it means you want him. Only him.

Remi scowled and banished that thought from her head. While she used the bathroom and freshened up, she tried to run through the details of what she remembered reading about Roman. There had to be something else she could ask that would make sticking around for the rest of the night worth it.

On her way to the door, Remi's eyes fell on the twin dispensers mounted on the wall—one for tampons, and the other for condoms. And why was she stopping? Why the fuck wasn't she just walking past?

She'd been taking Jane's birth control back when she'd been Remi, but since she'd been out of the States, she'd long since run out of pills. Not that it mattered, because no matter what happened, she was not fucking Kurt Weller tonight. Under any circumstances. Because she hated him.

She hated him.

This? This isn't hate, Remi.

Just the memory of his words, delivered so antagonistically as she'd ridden his cock, made a shiver of remembered lust sweep through her. Before she could stop herself, she'd slotted coins into the dispenser—and now she was the very pissed off owner of a condom that would probably go out of date before she managed to find someone to use it with.

Because she wouldn't need it tonight.

Feeling as though the details of her purchase were branded on her forehead, she shoved the condom deep into her pocket, checking it didn't leave a raised, condom-shaped indentation in the fabric of her cargo pants. Then she left the restroom, ignoring the part of her that knew exactly how much she was lying to herself.

Kurt somehow managed to finish the last few bites of his lasagne, despite the anxiety that churned in his gut. If he was underestimating how lonely Remi had been over the past ten months, she was getting a hell of a head start on him back to the hotel, and he was just sitting here.

Even so, he stayed where he was. If she was that determined to renege on their deal, he wouldn't have a chance in hell persuading her to keep in touch with him after tonight.

After the waiter had taken away their plates, just as Kurt was beginning to think he'd gambled and lost, Remi returned to the table. She looked just as angry as—or maybe even angrier than—she had when she'd left.

Relief stole the tension from his limbs, though he made sure he didn't let her see how worried he'd been. "Welcome back."

Taking her seat, she glanced at the empty table and said, "Finished eating? Let's get going, then."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You're that eager to skip dessert?"

The connotation wasn't lost on Remi, and though he hadn't thought it possible, she grew even tenser, her fingers curling into fists. "No, dear. Please, order some dessert and choke on it," she murmured for his ears only, her tone syrup-sweet.

Kurt took the dessert menu the waiter offered, amused when Remi fumbled her Jane impression in the process of refusing hers. She was more rattled than he'd expected, and the part of him that still grieved for Mayfair found more satisfaction than it should in that. Another part—the part that had realised how lonely and afraid she was underneath the anger—wanted to put her at ease somehow.

He ended up focusing on the menu, ordering the most chocolate-laden cake on the dessert list for himself and an espresso for Remi, without checking whether or not she wanted it. She was already bitter enough without the coffee, but he wanted her to have something to do with her hands besides drive her nails into her palms while she fantasised about killing him.

While they waited for their order, Kurt tried not to stare at the woman who had once been his wife. He'd missed Jane so much, and having her in front of him—in body, if not in spirit—was both a joy and a torment. He ached to hold her, and to have her embrace him in return, but there were still only occasional flashes of Jane in Remi's demeanour.

"You still don't have anything you want to ask me?" he said, after a couple of minutes of silence.

She shrugged. "Yes and no. I want as much information about Roman as I can get, but I don't know which parts of the file I've forgotten, and neither do you. I don't want to waste my questions on things I already know."

Though that was part of it, he sensed she was also guarding against personal questions, having already left herself open to his demands about why she'd assumed Jane had been sexually assaulted. Her answer had been given so grudgingly that he'd been sure it was the truth—and Remi actually being honest with him had thrown him off balance a little.

Her intimacy issues with other men, along with the fact that she still wore her wedding ring, gave him hope that he could still reach the Jane part of her. Maybe it was stupid to think that way, and he was only setting himself up for heartbreak once again, but he couldn't help himself.

The waiter brought over their dessert—at least the cake wasn't vegan, and had enough chocolate to recharge the reserves of his patience when it came to Remi. She scowled at her coffee, but didn't comment upon it, gazing into the steam rising from the small cup as though it held more answers than he did.

"Want me to ask some no-strings-attached questions about what you remember reading about Roman? Help you narrow down what you don't know?"

Remi gave him a suspicious look. "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged, cutting into the slice of cake with his spoon. "I can't ask you anything else unless you take your turn first."

That seemed to appeal to her sense of logic, though truthfully, he wanted to give her the details she was missing. Wanted to help her regain lost memories, not just because it would make her more inclined to stay in touch with him after tonight, but because he genuinely wanted to ease her pain.

God knew why that was. He shouldn't give a damn about what Remi was going through, not after everything she'd done to him. Maybe it was just because when he saw glimpses of her fear and loneliness, they looked identical to those emotions on Jane.

"You remember how Roman died, right?"

Genuine agony flared through her expression for a moment, before she smoothed it away. "Yeah. What I don't remember for myself, I read in the file."

He nodded, deciding not to push it. He hadn't been there when Roman had died, hadn't been the one to gently persuade Jane to let go of her brother's body and let the Cape Town authorities process the scene. He'd been unconscious, fighting for his life on an operating table after being shot in the stomach, but Reade had described the way he'd driven up to find Jane curled under a tree, holding Roman's lifeless body as though they'd been close friends over the past year, instead of bitter adversaries.

Maybe that was what had prompted Remi to resurface: the moments that Jane had grieved for her dead brother as intensely as Remi would have. Less than forty-eight hours later, Jane had collapsed in their apartment, and when she'd woken up, she'd been Remi again.

Strange to think that the last time he'd really seen his wife was in the moments before she'd lost consciousness, standing at the edge of their living room, around fourteen months ago.

He shook off the melancholy thought and focused on the task he'd set himself, working backwards through the timeline of the second set of tattoo cases. Remi's focus sharpened as he asked her if she remembered the hits Roman had put out simultaneously on the entire team.

"No, I don't remember that. You said a hitman for each of us? And none of them actually managed to get the job done? Who the hell did he hire, a bunch of kindergarteners?" She actually looked amused, reminding him how ruthless Remi was compared to Jane.

Kurt recounted what he could remember of each assassin, and how the team had individually managed to thwart them. "He wanted you to know we were all dead before the assassin who had you finished the job."

Remi snorted. "Bullshit. He was waiting for Jane to get free. It's pretty obvious from what I remember that he could never actually kill her. Not even when he thought he wanted to."

"Maybe you're right. But we didn't know that at the time—and they did come pretty damn close to killing us all."

The edge to his tone seemed to make her remember who she was talking to, and the amused nostalgia faded from her face, her guard rising again.

"I guess this means it's your turn to ask a question."

He sighed, looking down at the empty plate where his cake had been. Despite the chilling turn the conversation had taken, Remi could be just as easy to talk to as Jane was, if she allowed him past her defences. He'd barely noticed when he'd taken the last bite.

"I need a few minutes to decide what I want to ask." And as much as he hated to leave her side, with nothing more than her word that she'd still be there when he returned, his bladder had other ideas. "Give me enough time to find the restroom and then settle the bill. Then we can get out of here."

She nodded, then rolled her eyes when he hesitated. "If I didn't run out on you earlier, why would I do it now?"

"I don't take anything for granted when it comes to you," he told her, and got up from the table.

As he washed his hands after leaving the urinal, his gaze fell on the condom dispenser reflected in the mirror. When he and Remi had fucked last year, they hadn't used a condom, since he'd seen Remi faithfully taking Jane's birth control pills every morning. But there was no guarantee that she had access to oral contraception these days.

Why the hell are you even thinking about that? Part of him had never stopped blaming himself for sleeping with the enemy, and that same part was incensed at where his mind was straying.

Would he sleep with Remi again to stop her from walking out of his life and slamming the door behind her?

Fuck, yes.

Fuck, no! It didn't help last time, and it won't help now. She's a goddamn terrorist. She has nothing but contempt for you. She's going to run the second the clock strikes midnight, and you're an idiot if you think you can bring Jane back to you by fucking Remi out of her.

Despite his inner monologue, he found himself sorting through the unfamiliar coins in his pocket, cursing his conflicted desires as he found the right one and purchased a condom. Briefly, he considered buying a second, but realism stopped him in his tracks. Even if Remi did allow him to postpone her departure with sex, she'd never stick around for round two.