She gets distracted by the scar on his leg, more than she should. At times she finds herself fixating on it, the turmoil of emotions that it stirs up in her.
Mostly it makes her angry, just knowing where it came from, what had happened that day. She'd read all about it on her way to discovering her own complicit actions and has desperately tried to recreate that day in her head, using just the terse field reports. The day that everything had gone to shit.
If only he'd died back then, she wouldn't be stuck in this situation, having to deal with it all herself. And yet the thought of Weller dying there, incinerated in a nuclear attack. Well, it didn't evoke the feelings it should.
Remi sighs, irritated at herself for ruminating about the past, all the things that her memory-less self had done. But it was still hard to accept how badly things had gone. At least Jane had let Roman go, that was the only thing she got any credit for. Not that it had done him any good in the end; condemned both by the ZIP poisoning and his traumatic rage, letting him go had just led to his ultimate demise. So she had killed him too, her own brother, in more ways than one.
Fuck, Remi thinks. Her mind wanders more than it should these days, drifts into these places of guilt for Jane's deeds. She tells herself it wasn't her, but it's hard to get around the fact that she went under and screwed things up royally by turning against her own family.
Similarly, she wants to blame her current emotional lapses on the ZIP poisoning, living a double life. But really she knows it's just hard to be so alone and full of regret, even for her. Stranded in enemy territory, with no one to rely on and a chest full of sorrow.
Her eyes flick up to look at Weller's face, make sure he's still sleeping soundly as usual, despite having taken himself off the pain meds he'd been prescribed. It wouldn't do to be caught staring at him so openly, eyeing the prominent scar on his leg as it slips out from under the duvet.
Remi sits in bed, watches Weller as he slumbers, thinks about how she could have killed him at any time, her cover already secure at the FBI without him. But there he was, recovering from multiple surgeries, still glaringly alive and getting closer to coming back to work.
Thinking about Weller makes her head hurt. Or possibly the pain is from the ZIP poisoning and she just thinks about him way more than she should. Either way, it pisses her off, having him in her head at all.
"Hey, you okay?" Weller asks with perfect timing and half-lidded eyes, somehow having caught her adrift, watching him sleep.
Remi forces down the impulse to turn away from him, put some space in between them.
"Yeah, just couldn't sleep," she replies, shifting her eyes away from his.
But she can still feel Kurt looking at her, can even picture the expression he's wearing as he pushes up onto one elbow, reaches up for her with his other hand.
She doesn't miss the almost inaudible gasp of pain he releases as he shifts his torso. Or how it makes her bite her lip and wince even though he deserves everything he's going through.
"Mm. Headache," he says sympathetically, not even framing it as a question.
She hates how well he can read her, the fact that he can see her pain. It's something she's learned to hide her entire life, a by-product of how she grew up. But Kurt Weller can see through all of her defences and it's somehow infuriating and comforting all at once.
Remi nods, has learned that it's pointless to deny it. He'll just be the same irritatingly sweet Kurt anyway and it's easier not to fight it. Or maybe it just feels good and she's figured out a way to explain it to herself.
He runs his fingers through her hair, rubs his thumb exactly in the right place, pushes away the endless ache for a gloriously long moment.
No wonder she's stopped resisting it, there's nothing like the feel of his fingers putting perfect pressure on her temples. She almost even doesn't hate herself for giving into it. Without the relief of Weller's hands, she would never escape the pain.
"Mm," she mutters. "Feels good."
He rubs her head for an extremely long while, until she's nearly asleep again. Then cradles her jaw for another moment before kissing her on the forehead.
"I'm going to make you some breakfast," he says.
The number of conflicting thoughts and feelings that arise in her with such a simple statement is a perfect example of the constant mindfuck of being married to Weller.
Her first thought is; you can't be for real. Even this far in, she still can't fathom it, that he can be so ridiculously giving. She wants to scorn it, did scorn it for a long time. But it's somehow grown on her along with so many of his other absurd traits. Like his absolute disregard for his own suffering, his propensity to push himself beyond what's reasonable.
So then she thinks how wrong it is, to be living Jane's life and enjoying any of it. But the concept of coffee and breakfast, Weller-style does make her headache seem more bearable.
Of course then her next thought is a flash of worry, an instinct to tell him that he's supposed to be taking it easy, staying off his feet as much as possible. She would just tell herself that it's an inevitable consequence of pretending to be Jane for so long except for the realness of the urge, how primal it is.
She feels it now, as she watches him ease his way out of bed, gasp in pain as he struggles to pull on his abdominal brace. Remi has to resist the desire to help him, knows that he will just try to do it himself anyways.
He's been an absolute idiot, keeps pushing himself in an effort to get back to work. His anxiety about being there for her powers this need and she tells herself it's a good thing, that he's just going to set himself back, give her more time without his constant gaze on her.
Remi watches him fight to get the brace on tight enough, finds herself scooting over and sitting on the edge of the bed as she helps him tug it around his torso firmly. He gasps when she gets it into place and she gives him a sympathetic look that's much too real.
But Weller isn't seeking comfort; sets his face in his usual stubborn frown as he limps out of the bedroom, determined to make her breakfast.
She doesn't bother to argue with him even though she feels like she should. He's being reckless, is supposed to be resting. Yet her head is throbbing and there's a voice inside her that tells her to leave him to his own ridiculous impulses. She thinks it could even be her own voice, but these days it's hard to entirely identify what's going on with her head.
Remi sighs to herself, lays back down and closes her eyes, trying to shut out both the pounding in her skull and the affectionate feeling she gets when hearing him putter around in the kitchen.
An absurdly short amount of time later, Weller limps back in carefully carrying coffee, along with a plate of banana pancakes and some of his irresistible strawberry sauce. He gingerly sits himself next to her in the bed, then lazes back in bed for a minute, adoringly watching her eat.
He really is too much, she thinks as she makes her way through a stack of pancakes. Mentally rolls her eyes at the expression on his face, idly wondering why he hadn't brought his own plate in too.
When she's done with her breakfast, Remi starts to get out of bed but he steals her plate when she's looking for her slippers, heads back out to clean up. So she sits on the edge of the bed instead, once more fighting the conflicting emotions he evokes in her.
She's just convinced herself, yet again, that she isn't worried about him when she's startled out of her reverie by the sound of a dish crashing to the floor, followed by another significant thud.
The panic that blooms as she runs out into the kitchen is unmistakably genuine; as is the anxiety that explodes in her chest when she sees him lying on the floor unconscious, his own breakfast in a heap on the floor.
Fucking idiot, is her initial thought as Remi rushes up to him, kneeling beside him as she checks his vitals. She grabs him and calls his name but he doesn't respond, though thankfully he's breathing fine and his pulse is strong and steady. Which relieves her worry to some extent, even though he still hasn't opened his eyes, no matter how much she shakes his shoulder, cradles his head in her hand.
"Kurt, wake up," Remi says on repeat, wondering how long she gives it before she calls the ambulance.
The panic in her throat tells her just to call the EMTs right away, that she can fight with Weller about it or send them off if he wakes up in the meantime. But her rational mind tells her that he probably just stood up too fast after not having eaten yet. A low blood sugar episode, which had been a warning the pamphlet had said to look out for post abdominal surgery. Or maybe she'd just read that somewhere searching the internet.
Either way, it's been less than a minute since he passed out and Remi tells the irritatingly emotionally reactive part of her that she'll give him up to five before calling it in. So she kneels on the floor instead, braces her arms against the sides of his head to hold it steady in case he injured his spine on the way down. Then from that position she runs her thumbs against his temples, calling to him quietly.
It feels like ages but it's only another minute or so before Weller starts to stir, his eyelids lifting slowly and his hazy blue eyes automatically searching for hers.
The smile she gives him and the feeling of relief in her stomach are entirely genuine. Remi swallows it all back hard, forces herself to remember she's only acting the part.
"Hey, Kurt," she says, right above his still-dazed face. "How are you feeling? Did you hit your head?"
Weller reaches for his head slowly, tries to shake it in her hands.
"I don't think so," he says thickly, trying to push into a sitting position. "What happened?"
"You passed out because you didn't eat. You're supposed to be watching out for low blood sugar, remember?" she chides, letting go of the C-spine position and helping him sit up, supporting his head and torso up against her own chest.
"Why didn't you just eat with me?" she asks, annoyed both that he hadn't looked after his own needs and that she hadn't insisted on it at the time. She'd even thought about it but just sighed it away as another instance of Weller being Weller.
"Sorry," Kurt mumbles, snuggling back into her. "I didn't mean to worry you."
But you did, you fucker, she thinks irritably. And now it's going to bother me all day, piss me off to no end.
"Oh Kurt," she sighs. "Let's get you some food okay?"
Weller shakes his head a little, somehow nestles in even deeper and closes his eyes.
"S'okay," he says. "Not hungry."
Remi feels the alarm in her chest set off once more, knows she needs to get some calories in him before he drops off again. But his breakfast is all around them on the floor and he doesn't exactly seem eager to eat. She wonders if she can convince him to drink some OJ at least, boost his sugar levels that way. Mentally she roots through the fridge, tries to come up with something quick and calorie-dense.
Suddenly she remembers her purchase the previous day and her body immediately floods with relief. Remi even has to bite back a little grin at the thought, despite how much it makes her want to cringe as well.
"I got something for you," she says, instinctively giving him a quick kiss on the temple before digging into the back of the fridge where she'd hidden it.
Weller's looking at her with dreamy anticipation when she presents him with the little box, opens it to show him what's inside. Remi again shudders to herself, is still dismayed that she had bought it at all.
But she'd seen it in the window of the local bakery and been instantly reminded of the time when Patterson had shown up with the chocolate cake for Weller. The few minutes it had taken him to inhale the thing had been the most relaxed he'd been since she met him. It was just a piece of cake but it had taken the worry out of his eyes for a short while, at least given him a brief carefree moment.
So of course Remi had found herself inside the bakery, buying a treat for the man she's plotting to murder. And now she's inexplicably sitting beside him on the floor of the kitchen, fighting the urge to smile as Weller's eyes light up with the prospect of chocolate cake for breakfast.