Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)
When he didn't hear anything, he felt a twinge of worry. "Jane?" he asked. Still nothing. "You know that I can't see if you're nodding your head, right?" he said, wondering if that was actually what she was doing. Even if she wasn't talking, the fact that she'd called him at all was pretty damn amazing, considering that it meant admitting that she needed help… that she needed him, for whatever reason.
"Sorry." Her voice through the speaker was so quiet that he almost didn't hear her.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes, maybe less, okay?" he told her gently. He could only assume that she was nodding again, or that she simply spoke too softly for the microphone to register it, because he couldn't hear a response. "Hang in there, Jane," he said, and then before he could decide whether he should leave the line open, the call disconnected. He would have worried if it wasn't for the fact that he had heard her. If she'd been screaming, it would have been different. But she'd been quiet, which meant that she wasn't in physical danger. If he had to guess, he'd say that she'd probably had another nightmare.
Why did we bother trying to do this on our own? he wondered. He had to smile as he was reminded of the first night in Clearfield, when they'd slept separately, though only feet apart, and both had nightmares… only to sleep better than he had, at least, in years when she curled up beside him.
Because you're an idiot, Weller, he thought to himself. You're both idiots.
He pulled into the same parking spot his car had occupied hours before, reaching for a small bag on the seat next to him and then closing the door behind him as he jogged to Jane's door. Not bothering to knock, he used the flashlight on his phone to illuminate his keyring, so that he could find his copy of the key to her house. He hadn't let himself into any safe house of hers in a very, very long time, but if he had to guess, he'd say that she was probably huddled in a corner at the moment, and it just seemed easier to go to her instead of making her come to the door.
As he'd expected, the first floor was dark and silent. The only faint light came from under the door to Jane's bedroom at the top of the stairs, where he assumed that she was. He slipped off his shoes, locked the door behind him, and then shrugged out of his coat, leaving it on a hook by the door. Taking the stairs two at a time, he only slowed when he got to the top. Stopping at her door, he knocked softly and then, when there was no answer, he turned the knob and slowly pushed it open. She didn't even look up as he stepped inside the room and, out of habit, closed the door behind him. What he saw was very much what he had imagined that he would find.
There sat Jane, the covers pulled up tightly around her in one hand as she sat with her back to the headboard. One arm was wrapped tightly around her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. Her chin rested on her left knee, and her eyes were closed. As he'd pretty much expected, she'd rolled herself into as tight a ball as she could, her shoulders hunched forward tightly. Her breathing was slow but very deliberate, giving away just how not okay she was, as far as he was concerned. He felt an ache in his chest at the sight of her like that, and his only thought was that he needed to figure out which angle would be the best from which to approach her. After all, he knew instinctively that the way to help her was for him to get closer to her.
"Jane," he whispered, but she didn't open her eyes. Somehow he knew that she knew he was there, even though she didn't acknowledge it.
Of the three options available to him, whether to approach her from the right, the left or the front, he decided to try her right, which meant walking around to the far side of the bed, since she was sitting on the left side, closest to the door. He had also noticed that her arms were bare, as were her shoulders with the exception of what looked like the top of a sports bra, and he wondered if getting close to her when she appeared to be in her underwear would make her uncomfortable. Spotting her t-shirt on the floor, he picked it up and draped it beside her on her side of the bed, so that she could easily reach it if she decided that she wanted it, then walked quietly around to the other side.
She'd gathered the blankets tightly towards her, pulling them off most of the rest of the bed. Because of the way she held them in front of her, when he reached her right side, he was faced with a lot more of her skin than he'd seen in person before that. He could now confirm that she was indeed wearing only a sports bra and her underwear. Of course, he certainly had no problem with that, he only worried that it would bother her. However, as he moved closer to her, she made no effort to cover herself any more than she was already doing, so he didn't focus on it as a problem for the moment. First things first, after all.
With so much of her skin exposed, including almost her entire back, he could see some of the remnants of her scars, which made him cringe. Not because he was disgusted by her, of course. No, on the contrary, he was even more enraged with Keaton than he already had been. Keaton, who'd somehow felt no qualms about disfiguring her this way, again and again. It was inhumane.
Kurt sat facing her, the door straight ahead of him, Jane facing the wall that was now to his right. Attempting to settle as close to her as he could, he knelt on the bed, his knees barely touching her right hip, with only the fabric of his sweatpants separating his skin from hers.
"Jane," he said again, reaching his left hand to her right shoulder, and then slowly sliding it across to her left shoulder, pulling her towards him. For a split second he felt her tense at the contact, but almost immediately she relaxed again, allowing him to tug her closer. His right arm wrapped around the front of her, so that his hands met near her left shoulder, so that he was now holding onto her tightly. He could feel her shaking, and he leaned down to kiss the top of her bare right shoulder, then back up again so that he could pull her more tightly to him. Almost immediately, the right side of her head fell against his chest, as he rested his chin against the top of her head.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I shouldn't have left you here by yourself."
She scoffed, her breath catching in her throat, and she shook her head against him. "No," she replied, her voice filled with misery. "Don't beridiculous. It's my…" She couldn't bring herself to say "It's my home," or even "It's my house," because her safe house really didn't feel like either one. It was just where the FBI was keeping her, a collection of four walls. So instead, she started her sentence over again. "I mean… I livehere. Of course you left me here… Why wouldn't you?I'm the one who's sorry…" It seemed like she'd intended to say more, but he felt her shudder and she fell silent.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Jane," he told her evenly. "Besides, you weren't the only one having a bad night. I was already in my car when you called me." Her breathing seemed to stabilize as she turned her face slowly towards him and opened her eyes, looking at him in confusion.
"You were? But… Why?" she asked.
He smiled then, looking at her with affection. "Well, I couldn't sleep. Not even a little bit," he replied slowly. "My apartment felt… different, all of a sudden. Empty." He shrugged, looking away from her for a second, feeling slightly self-conscious but knowing that saying exactly how he felt just then was an important step towards reassuring her. "I was worried about you. Which, obviously, I was right to be. I could tell that something wasn't right when I left, I just… I should've stayed, but I didn't want to impose on you. This is your space. And… well… I didn't want to assume that you wanted me here… And, well… I guess… it sounds crazy, maybe, but… I missed you…"
A sound escaped her that was halfway between laughter and a choked sob, and she shook her head at him, slowly realizing exactly what had happened. That they had been thinking almost the same thing, but neither of them had said anything.
"For the record," she said, managing to laugh at the absurdity of it all even as tears stung her eyes, "I have never once, so far, wanted to be alone here. I spend way too much time alone here as it is. I don't think that will ever happen, but if it ever does, I'll let you know. So please, always assume exactly the opposite."
He chuckled, shaking his head, his arms relaxing slightly abut still holding onto her as he asked, "Why didn't you just say something, Jane?"
She sighed, now feeling ridiculous. "I mean… I knew I would probably have nightmares, which was why I wasn't exactly acting excited to go home all evening… but I didn't want you to feel like… like you had to stay just because of me…" She bit her lip, hating to say it. "You deserved to go home and sleep in your own bed. I've lived here for a while… I'm… used to it." Staring down at the blankets in front of her, she hated how pathetic she sounded. She had worked so hard not to show any weakness since she'd come back to the FBI, and now she was flat out confessing all of her weaknesses. It felt wrong.
Staring at her profile as she refused to look at him, he shook his head in amazement. Once again, she had him at a loss for words. "Jane… I… I don't do things for you because I have to. I know that I haven't done a good job of showing you that, maybe until a few days ago, but I… all the things I'm doing are things that I want to do for you. I didn't want to crowd you. We've spent a lot of time together this weekend, and we work together… I didn't want you to feel like it was too much. After all, even if you get sick of me, we'll still have to work together, and we already know what awkwardness feels like between us…"
She turned towards him and they shared a knowing look then, both of them all too familiar with that feeling after the past few months. "But if you want me around, then… well, that's where I'd rather be, anyway. So there's no problem. Okay?"
She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking back at the wall. "So… what you're saying is… we're both idiots?" After her words had had a minute to sink in, she turned to look at him again, and he could see that she was now smiling tiredly.
Breathing a sigh of relief because she was smiling, he shook his head. "Basically, yeah… I think we are," he replied. His right hand moved to clasp her right hand, which was still clutching the blankets tightly, and his left hand moved down slightly from her shoulder onto her back. In the light of the lamp on her bedside table, he could see some of the scars that she was so self-conscious about. He couldn't see all of them from his angle, of course, but the ones he could see in one quick glance were significant, though they were obviously healing. Without even thinking about it, his fingers moved to the one closest to his hand, just to the right of her left shoulder blade.
She stiffened when his fingers moved onto the spot that he'd never before been able to see, only now realizing how very little she was wearing. Somehow, however, her discomfort only lasted a few seconds. All of the spots were extra sensitive, if not physically, than psychologically, but Kurt's fingers were gentle, and she relaxed again, surprised that she didn't mind the sensation. It was even relaxing, she was surprised to find. After all, what he was doing was the opposite of the way she'd gotten those scars in the first place.
He hadn't really even realized what he'd done until she flinched. His fingers stopped moving where they were, as if they were frozen against her skin while he tried to figure out what to do. "Sorry," he whispered, even though he felt her relaxing again. "Should I stop?" he asked hesitantly. She turned and looked at him then, her face a mixture of happiness and sadness that he couldn't untangle.
She shook her head slightly, then as if on a delay, she added a quiet, "No," almost as an afterthought.
Why does she look like she's about to cry, then? he wondered.
They stared at each other for what felt like a very long time, but which was actually only about a minute, before she turned her head and leaned her left cheek against her knees, so that she was still watching him, but with her head down. Her eyes were still happy and sad at the same time, but it was as though she was going back into her shell again in a way. He wished he could understand how this combination of emotions was even possible.
His fingers moved again, as if in slow motion, so gently she almost didn't feel the touch as it moved carefully along that same scar. "Does that… hurt?" he asked with concern.
Her head was shaking before she even realized it, and she picked her head up once more so that she could look at him straight on. The expression on her face, the sadness of which he couldn't even think of a word that would adequately describe it, made his chest hurt.
"Exactly the opposite," she said, once again in a whisper.
"So… then why are you crying?" he asked quietly, trying to understand. He released her right hand, still holding the blankets, and brought his own hand up to her cheek. There, his thumb swept back and forth, wiping a few stray tears as they fell.
She smiled, even as tears continued to fall from her eyes. Her breathing became and faster as she tried to catch her breath. Watching her smiling and crying at the same time, he wished he could understand what was going on in her head. Moving his left hand slowly across her back, he found various blemished spots on her skin, some large and some small, solely by touch. And though she'd said that it didn't hurt her, when her smile finally disappeared and her face slowly crumpled, he had trouble believing that he wasn't hurting her.
After kneeling for so long, he could feel his feet beginning to tingle, and if they weren't asleep yet, they soon would be unless he changed position. Unwilling to remove either of his hands from where they were, he shifted slowly so that his legs stretched out to the side from under him, turning to his right and pushing himself back so that his back was against the headboard and his legs were out in front of him. He was now behind her on her right side, and she immediately turned towards him to correct the change in his position, keeping them almost at the same angle towards each other at which they had been.
Her grip on the blankets had loosened, but she still held them in front of her with her right hand, now more because she was a little bit self-conscious… though not self-conscious enough to find and put on her shirt – especially not while his hand was trailing over her back. Somehow, despite her whole breakdown in the locker room because of those very scars only a few days before, she was suddenly okay with him seeing the state that the CIA had left her in. How much of that was because things had changed between them in the past few days, and how much of it was due to her exhaustion – to the point where she was suddenly fine with him seeing what had become of her – that she wasn't sure.
To his credit, she couldn't help but notice that his reaction had been a surprise so far, pretty much the exact opposite of what she'd expected. As she sat there, crying, she tried to figure out why she was reacting the way she was. All she could come up with was that there were so many emotions inside her that she'd held in for so long, and now that she felt safe with him she was suddenly releasing them, albeit unexpectedly. Maybe that wasn't it at all, or maybe that was only part of it, but it was all she could come up with. Because sitting there with Kurt, realizing yet again the depth of his feelings for her, she was, in fact, very happy. She only looked distraught.
He's going to think I'm crazy, she told herself.
Hush, the voice in her head replied. If he didn't think so already, he never will. And if he already did, well, he obviously didn't mind. So either way, don't worry about it.
She hadn't answered his question about why she was crying, she now realized. As she pulled herself back out of her thoughts, she saw him watching her carefully, a worried expression on his face. Her breathing had slowed back to normal, and she did her best to smile at him, suddenly feeling calmer. Or maybe she was just exhausted. All she did know was that one of his hands was still on her cheek, and the other was still moving gently along her back, and both of those things were way more than okay with her.
"I don't like to see you cry," he told her sincerely, an unhappy look in his eyes. Her smile was suddenly completely genuine, and she immediately felt tears forming in her eyes again, against her will. They were happy tears, however, and at the same time, she felt a tug on her heart.
"Sorry," she said in the loudest voice she could muster – which was barely a whisper. "I didn't even know all that was inside me."
Shaking his head and now smiling again, he told her, "And that's why you can't hold everything in, and pretend you're fine when you're not. Because eventually, it all has to come out. It's easier to let it out a little at a time, along the way, so you don't have to explode."
"That only works if there's someone there to help you let it out," she replied seriously, knowing she was being gently chided for her stubbornness. But because it was Kurt she was talking to, she didn't even mind. Besides, it was the truth and she knew it.
"Well, there may or may not have been someone like that around at any given point before," he replied slowly, despite the fact that both of them knew exactly what the times periods were when he had and had not been there for her, "But there definitely is now," he told her, staring into her eyes. "Okay?" She smiled then, knowing that they understood each other exactly.
"Okay," she replied softly. His message was clear: From now on, he was telling her,you're going to let me help you. No question about it. While some may have considered his declaration a little bossy, she felt warmth spread out inside of her because of it. It meant that he cared. Not that she hadn't already known that he cared, but it made it that much more real.
He looked across the room at the clock on her dresser, shaking his head. "It's almost 4:30, Jane," he told her. "What do you say we get some sleep now?" Her eyes remained on him steadily and she didn't reply, just watched him as if looking for clues about exactly what he meant. Shaking his head with a laugh, he asked, "Really? You think I'd try and go anywhere else?" Her features immediately relaxed again, and she leaned closer to him and smiling sheepishly at the fact that he'd read her mind.
"I think we've already proven that there's only way we're going to get to sleep," he said quietly, scooting down further onto the bed so that his head lay on the pillow, his right hand finally leaving her cheek as they shifted. He folded his right arm behind his head, watching her as she also moved into a position that was more conducive to sleep, to the left of him. She propped her head up on her right arm, laying on her side and looking intently at him there in front of her, only a few inches away. For a second, she almost looked shy, as if they hadn't already curled up together in the small bed in Clearfield numerous times – or the even smaller sleeping bag, for that matter.
Then, finally realizing that she was still clutching most of the blankets in the front of her, now in her left hand, she slowly released them, lifting them so she could spread them over him as well. This, of course, made her state of undress much more obvious. He kept his eyes on her face, trying to read her expression for any trace of discomfort.
"I put your shirt on the bed by your feet, if you want it," he told her, his eyes still not leaving her face.
"That's sweet of you," she told him, lifting her head and threading her arm under her pillow, laying her face against it and then snuggling closer to him, moving little by little. "But I'm okay like this."
"Just okay?" he asked, pretending to be surprised. "Then you must not be close enough."
Suddenly grinning broadly, she shook her head at him. "Is that so?" she asked.
"Well, that's just my opinion. You know, you do whatever you're comfortable with," he told her, not wanting her to feel pressured either way. "But…" he added shyly, "There's only one way to find out for sure…"
Rolling her eyes at him and smiling in pretend annoyance, she slowly moved closer to him, letting her head fall on his shoulder. His left arm was now around her back, moving slowly across far more exposed skin than he'd had access to before tonight.
"Mmmmm, you're right," she told him. "This is better." Then, after thinking for a minute, she added, "Though… I feel a little underdressed."
"Nah, you're perfect," he replied quickly, pulling his arm tighter around her. "Though… you know… you should wear whatever you want to."
She noticed that he said 'perfect' and not 'perfectly dressed,' though she knew that he'd claim innocence if she'd mentioned it. "And anytime you want me to take something off, you say the word. Alright?" he added.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she punched him gently in the side. "I'm kidding," he grinned in obvious amusement.
"Oh please," she told him, "you're not at all kidding." At that he blushed, and she could see it even with the scruff on his face. "Busted," she whispered, pushing herself up on her elbow and then, positioning herself just above him, leaning down to kiss him. In her exhausted state, the kiss felt that much more breathtaking, and for a few seconds, her mind was empty of everything except the two of them, there in that second.
As much as she would have liked to continue kissing him for the foreseeable future, she pulled herself back up a minute later, leaning back to lay on his shoulder again. The combination of exhaustion and the kiss had left her a little bit dizzy, but in a good way. Sleep, however, had become a non-negotiable need at this point. "I guess we need to set an alarm if we want to wake up before noon," she whispered, suddenly feeling very tired.
"Already set, in my phone," he said, nodding towards the bag he'd set on the floor by the door when he'd come in. "So neither of us has to move."
"That's the best news I've heard in… Uh… I don't know. I'm too tired to think," she said, feeling giddy with exhaustion.
Chuckling, he kissed her forehead and moved his arm up and down slowly along her back. "Let's try sleeping again, before we run out of night completely, okay?" he asked. She nodded her head against him, already feeling drowsy. "Somehow I think it's going to work better this time," he added.
As tired as they both were, and now possessing the thing that had been missing when they'd each tried to sleep earlier that night – each other – they both drifted off almost immediately.
It felt like only a few minutes later when a loud noise pierced the silence. Kurt's alarm thundered unrelentingly in Jane's ears, and she wondered if he'd set it that way on purpose, to be sure they woke up. At that moment, she hated the noise more than any other sound she'd ever heard. Groaning, she tried to turn towards the offending sound, only to find herself pulled back down. For half a second, she felt panic shoot through her, before the details of where she was and who she was with came back to her.
"No," Kurt groaned, his arm clamped around her back. "Stay."
"I have to make it stop," she insisted groggily. "Before my head explodes."
Making a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a grumble, he leaned down to kiss her lightly on the top of her head, then whispered, "Don't move. I'll get it."
"Hurry up, Weller," she mumbled, pulling a pillow over her head and rolling onto her side, moaning incoherently. He moved as quickly as he could, but not quickly enough for Jane, whose head continued to feel like it was splitting open. "Make it stop," she called from under the pillow that was still clamped over her head. And then suddenly, blissfully, there was silence. Seconds later, he slipped back into the bed beside her, his arm threading around her waist to pull her closer, his other hand pulling the pillow off of her head.
"Let's try waking up again, without the part where our heads feel like they're exploding," he mumbled, pulling her back to the spot where they'd woken up a few minutes before, her head on his chest and her left arm and left leg draped over him.
"Okay, now let's skip the waking up part and go back to sleep," she grumbled, completely serious.
"Can't," he said, his voice sleepy but insistent. "Gotta get up and go save the world."
"Can't someone else save the world today?" she mumbled in pretend annoyance. She knew they had to get up, but it was so tempting to stay exactly where they were and go back to sleep… or at least talk about doing it… even though she knew that it wasn't going to happen. Not that day, anyway.
"That's just how important we are, Jane," he told her quietly, kissing the tip of her nose. This made her smile despite her exhaustion and her annoyance.
"Speak for yourself," she told him, clamping her eyes shut. "I'm perfectly happy to be unimportant, so I can go back to sleep."
"Are you kidding me?" he asked her, pretending to be shocked. "You're the most important one of all." Even without opening her eyes, she scowled at him, and he couldn't help but laugh. Then she peeked her eyes open in order to see that she wasn't imagining it, he really was laughing at her.
"Covered in tattoos, some of them are site specific so I have to be out in the field, blah blah blah," she mumbled, which made Kurt laugh again.
"You are so funny when you're grumpy," he told her. "Besides, you fought with me to go out in the field with us from the first day," he reminded her gently. "You wouldn't take no for an answer, as I recall." He was sitting up beside her now, having slipped out from under her once again.
"I take it back," she groaned, picking up the pillow beside her and putting it back over her head, right there on his shoulder. "I resign from the FBI, now let's go back to sleep."
Gently prying the pillow off of her face and tossing it away, he leaned his face down toward hers. "You're not allowed," he whispered to her, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. "I'm getting up, and so are you." He pressed his lips lightly to hers, leaning back before she even had time to react.
"You don't play fair," she told him, still scowling at him as she finally opened her eyes again.
"Come on," he grinned, leaning back and holding out his hand, offering to help her up. "Since I know that there's no food in this house, I'll buy you breakfast. Including a very large coffee."
"How do you know there's no food in the house?" she asked, trying to act offended but not even able to keep a straight face.
Shaking his head at her and doing his best not to laugh in her face, he tried to think of a clever response, but nothing came to mind.
"Okay, okay, that was ridiculous," she admitted, now laughing along with him. Reaching out to take his hand, she let him pull her up until she was sitting upright.
"So, now that you're awake, do you accept my invitation?" he asked with a charming smile, sitting beside her.
"What invitation?" she asked. She knew it was something she should remember, but couldn't put her finger on it.
"Breakfast," he laughed.
"Oh… right. Of course," she grinned tiredly, shaking her head at herself. She was sitting cross legged, looking at him only a few inches away, and suddenly she glanced down and remembered what she was – and was not – wearing. Blushing immediately, but at the same time still too tired to think it important to do anything about it, she looked back at his, her expression suddenly shy again.
It was amusing for him to watch how her face changed when she remembered that she wasn't quite as dressed as she'd been when she'd shared a bed with him over the past few days, and while she blushed, it didn't appear that it actually bothered her. The fact that she didn't try to cover herself or even shift to obstruct his view of her at all told him quite a bit, and he was pleasantly surprised by it. Not simply because she was beautiful – though she certainly was that. No, what really made him smile just then was that he knew that the fact that she didn't attempt to cover herself, even now that she wasn't deliriously tired, meant she was taking a risk and trusting him, even more than he had expected her to anytime soon.
Before they could move toward the edge of the bed, his hand landed on the bare skin of her lower back, and she shivered slightly. Not because his fingertips had found a small burn mark, which they had, but simply because she liked the feeling more than she had expected.
He leaned towards her and kissed her cheek sweetly, then said, "Come on, we'd better get up."
"You think what you're doing is encouraging me to move?" she asked with a grin.
Making a thoughtful face, he nodded slowly and then removed his hand from her back. "You're right," he admitted. "That probably wasn't helping."
"Dammit," she mumbled, "I shouldn't have said anything."
"Now get up," he grinned at her from only inches away. "You need coffee."
"Mmmmmm, that I do," she agreed, looking into his eyes without moving.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a smile, he moved himself past her to the edge of the bed, standing up slowly and then turning around to face her. It was only then that she thought about what he was wearing – a t-shirt and sweatpants – and the fact that he kept talking about going to work.
"Is that what you're wearing to the office?" she asked in amusement, turning and scooting herself forward slowly towards the edge of the bed.
He made a face at her and replied, "Actually, no, I brought something slightly more work appropriate." When he glanced over his shoulder at his bag, from which he'd retrieved his phone when the offending alarm had been ringing.
"Wow," she said slowly as she took the hand he offered to help her to a standing position. "So you had this planned… staying over here."
"Well," he shrugged, "if you'd kicked me out, I would've gone back home… but it's good to be prepared. This way I don't need to go back home before we go to work." Her hand was still in his, and he ran his thumb over the back of it.
"I have trouble believing that you would have left last night," she said quietly, taking a step toward him, which closed all of the empty space between them. His arms automatically wound around her waist as she stood so close to him. He felt overwhelmed – in a good way – by the amount of her bare skin he suddenly felt again the skin of his arms. The feeling was something like a head rush, and all he could do was pull her tighter. "Yeah… so do I…" he admitted. "Unless that was what you really wanted, and you were really okay. Which… you weren't, I might add."
"But let me guess. There was nothing I could have said that would have convinced you to leave," she grinned.
"Well…" he grinned. "I might have gone as far as the couch…" She smiled easily, leaning her face into his neck and sighing tiredly.
"Alright," he said, clearing his throat, "I'm going downstairs so you won't be distracted, and you can take a shower and get ready. I need to investigate exactly what sort of empty kitchen situation you have happening down there, anyway," he told her. Jane just nodded, wishing that he didn't have to let go of her for those things to happen.
He turned back around to look at her from the door, noticing that she was just standing and watching him. "Stop distracting me, Weller," she told him, to which he grinned and walked through the doorway.
"You're so bossy," he called over his shoulder.
"And you must like it," she called back as she heard him walk down the stairs. As she dragged herself to the bathroom, she couldn't help but smile. With him around, after all, it was hard to stop.
By the time she showed up downstairs, he'd done a complete investigation of the contents of her kitchen. Not that it took very long, because a "complete investigation" went startlingly quickly. After pulling four unidentified and suspicious looking containers out of the refrigerator, all of which appeared to be growing mold, he discovered two ice cube trays in the freezer, only one of which had ice in it. The pantry contained no more than 10 random non-perishable food items, though nothing that could be put together to make an actual meal.
He shook his head with a sigh. The only "useful" food item he'd found in her whole kitchen was coffee, which he supposed, knowing Jane, shouldn't surprise him. There was nothing that could be done about the past, but there was a lot that could – and would – be different from now on, and the thought was comforting.
When he made his way back out into the main living area, she was walking down the stairs. She looked tired, but she was awake, and as far as he was concerned, she looked beautiful.
"Your turn," she told him with a smile. "And then breakfast."
"Right," he said with a nod, brushing past her closer than was necessary at the bottom of the stairs. She just smiled at him, shaking her head. "Don't fall asleep before I get back," he told her with a grin, already halfway up the stairs.
"No promises," she called back. "Hurry up!"
She sat down on the couch, a smile still on her face from their exchange, and looked around. Even though she was currently alone in the room, her whole safe house seemed different. Not so empty. Thinking back over the past few days, she couldn't help but wonder if she had imagined it all. After all, there was just so much good in her memories of those recent days, and she wasn't used to that.
That was when she remembered something Kurt had said to her before they'd left for Clearfield, back at his apartment.
"It's going to take a while to balance it all out, but I think it's possible. Now you just need a whole lot of things to go right, for a change..."
I'm already off to a good start, she thought, unable to help but feel surprised. She'd just assumed that this feeling – happiness – would continue to allude her. And yes, there had been plenty of times when one or both of them had broken down over the past few days. It was really to be expected, with all of the baggage they both carried with them. But that was the thing – even the memories that stung a little weren't really bad. Not in the way that so many of her other memories were. Besides, every time one of them had been upset, it had been a chance for the other one to jump in and comfort them, and having someone who was ready and willing to do that was a completely new and completely amazing thing, as far as she was concerned. Simply the fact that she wasn't in this place alone – physically or emotionally – meant everything to her.
She looked around the room slowly, almost as though she was seeing it for the first time. No, there wasn't much here. After having everything that meant anything to her taken away, this time she'd been careful not to make the mistake of personalizing a place that she had known all too well wasn't hers, and was only temporary.
I'm only here until the FBI no longer has any use for me. She had told herself this so many times, it was almost embedded in her brain. Now, of course, she allowed herself to hope that this wasn't the case. She didn't know what the future held, and nothing was certain, of course, but she allowed herself to believe that if nothing else, Kurt would fight for her. It wasn't a guarantee, but it was a starting point.
Unconsciously, her hand went to the small pendant around her neck, pulling it out from under her shirt and pressing it between her fingers.
The thing is, if I can get this back, she thought, meaning the necklace,then maybe there's hope… After all, that small piece of metal was the most precious thing she owned. It had been before, and it was once again, now. Looking around, she imagined her sketches and the other small things that had made her safe house feel almost like a real home before everything had gone wrong and she'd lost it all. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future that did not involve sacrificing herself to take down Sandstorm. The idea that she would help the FBI defeat them and then she would go on with her life was beyond what she'd allowed herself to hope for in the past.
Yes, she had a long way to go to get to any kind of "normal," if she would ever manage to get there, and it was daunting and a little bit scary to let herself start all over again, after everything, knowing how much it hurt to lose it all. Still, suddenly she couldn't help but feel like this time would be different. Besides, she had everything that was really important already.
Well, except food, of course. But she had a feeling that Kurt wouldn't let her kitchen remain empty for long. Besides, if she had him – which she did – she didn't really care if she ever got to "normal."
Looking up when she heard a noise, she saw him coming down the stairs, clean and dressed for work and watching her with a smile.
Yes, she thought, there's definitely hope.