Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize THEY own ME. :) I also do not own The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Well, I own a copy of the DVD, but that's it.
A/N: I apologize for taking a little longer with this chapter. This week was crazy, the chapter wasn't coming to me as easily as most of the others, and I also started writing the last chapter already, because inspiration struck. I don't think it's the next one, but I'm not 100% sure. It's coming soon, that's all I know.
When Jane heard the bathroom door open, she stayed where she was on the couch, trying not to look in his direction. She'd realized after he'd closed the bathroom door that without taking clothes in with him, which she was fairly sure he hadn't, he'd be coming back out of the bathroom in a towel. Again, not that that was a problem…
Her eyes flicked in his direction, and she found that he was standing midway between the bathroom door and the bedroom door, grinning at her. "Comfy?" he asked, standing there wearing, as she'd expected, just a towel, holding onto the edge of it firmly. Her surprise that he'd stopped to casually talk to her must have been evident on her face because he chuckled as she struggled to force herself to reply.
"Yeah," she sputtered, somehow even managing to ask a question of her own, despite how flustered she was. "Uh, good shower?"
"Yeah, it helped," he said with a nod. "Still sore, though, which I suppose is to be expected for quite a while." His hair was wet and adorably messy, she couldn't help but think. Pointing into the bedroom, he said, "I'll just go get dressed now…" She nodded, wondering if her face looked as pink as it felt, and looked back out the window. That may have been the weirdest conversation they'd had in a very, very long time. Again, she thought back to a week ago and shook her head. She would certainly never have believed it if someone had told her a week ago that that would have happened.
Now that he was out of the bathroom, it was her turn to shower – but she was in no hurry to move. After all, unlike him, apparently, she was going to make sure she had some clothes – either hers or his – before she headed into the bathroom. Hers weren't even done in the washer yet, which left his… which were in his room.
No hurry, she thought. She continued to stare absently out at the street, her thoughts wandering. When Kurt quietly wandered back into the living room a few minutes later, she was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice.
At first he assumed that she was pretending not to hear him, but as he moved across the room slowly towards her, he realized that she really hadn't noticed him. Considering how sharp her instincts usually were, this was very unlike Jane. When he sat down slowly in the middle of the couch, lowering himself almost without flinching, only then did she notice him in front of her and turn to look at him, smiling at him warmly.
He'd managed to put on his sweatpants, she noticed, but he had his t-shirt in his hand and his feet were bare. She was surprised to see a concerned look on his face as he looked at her.
"Everything okay?" he asked her. He leaned his back against the pillows on the back of the couch, just turning his head towards her.
"Yeah," she said distractedly. "I was just thinking…" Her eyes flitted back to the street outside, moving over what was, from what he had seen in a quick glance, the normal view of his street. "I don't know if I'm paranoid now, or what…" she said with a sigh. "Maybe I'm just incapable of relaxing."
"Did you see something? Or was it just a feeling?" he asked her seriously. It wasn't that she hadn't expected him to believe her, but even so, she was surprised that he seemed to be taking her so seriously.
"Just a feeling again," she replied with a sigh.
"Like you had at your place?" he asked, his eyes not leaving her.
"Yeah, I mean… I think so… but I don't know. I don't know if I'm just imagining it or what," she admitted.
"You have every reason to be suspicious. Your instincts are what has kept you alive this long, despite how many times you've been in danger," he told her soothingly. His left hand rested on her feet, which were still curled up beside him, rubbing gently. "With everything that has happened, it doesn't hurt to be extra cautious. As a matter of fact, it's probably the smart thing to do. So we'll keep our eyes open, a little more so than usual. Okay?"
Her eyes finally came to rest back on him now, and she smiled. "Okay," she replied with a smile, feeling reassured, at least for the time being, and trying not to focus too much on what was probably nothing. Instead, she focused on him.
"I mean… if we ever leave this apartment," he added with a grin.
"We have to leave eventually, don't we?" she asked, her worried expression having relaxed into a smile.
"I don't know, so far I'm perfectly happy to stay where I am," he told her. "I don't think I've ever been so content to stay home."
"Hmmm," she mused out loud, "I wonder why that is."
"I think I know," he told her, looking her directly in the eyes. "It must be… the chance to catch up on my sleep."
Her smile immediately widened as her eyes narrowed in a playful imitation of frustration. "Sleep, huh?" she asked, trying not to laugh.
"Why, what were you thinking?" he asked innocently.
"Oh, I don't know…" she began, looking up at the ceiling as if she was thinking hard. "I feel like there's something else." Her right hand had made its way up to his shoulders, and her fingers were slowly moving across the skin there, the same way he'd done on her tattoos except without the inked lines to follow.
"Hmm…" he said as he pretended to think hard about it. "I'm sure it'll come to me."
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes at him and decided to change the subject. "So, do you need help with that?" she asked him, looking at the t-shirt that laid in his lap. "Not that I'm complaining…"
"I think I've probably looked better," he said, looking down at himself and his color splotched abdomen. Shifting in his seat, he realized too late that he'd moved too much and too quickly. He winced slightly with the pain that immediately shot through him. Breathing through it, he waited for the feeling to subside before he added, "And besides, it's a little cold for this outfit."
"Well," she began slowly, suddenly serious, "I think I would be the last person to tell you to cover up, considering…" she replied, glancing at her own arms as she trailed off mid-sentence and uncurled her feet from beside her. She sat up and put her feet down on the floor, then moved to sit beside him, so that his right shoulder and right knee touched her left shoulder and left knee. "So wear it or don't, it's up to you," she told him. "Though you're right, it's probably the wrong season for you to be half naked. Too bad for me." She grinned at him mischievously.
Eyeing her as if he was genuinely trying to figure something out, he said, "See, I feel like if I replied to that with something like 'there's no bad season for you to be half naked,' somehow I'd get in trouble…" Smiling broadly, albeit slightly wide-eyed, she tried to decide how she would have reacted to that. She certainly hadn't expected the conversation to take that turn, that was for sure.
Her cheeks may have turned a little pink, but she didn't move away. Looking at the floor for a few seconds, she turned and looked back at him thoughtfully. "Well, I guess it depends," she said, pretending to think seriously about this. "It's not like I walked out here half dressed…"
"True," he admitted, "though I didn't have much of a choice."
"Also true," she agreed.
"So you're saying that I wouldn't be in trouble if I said that?" he asked. "I just want to clarify." He looked over his shoulder at her with a gleam in his eye, and she rolled her eyes at him.
"Shut up," she told him. "No fair taking advantage of the fact that I can't punch you."
Looking back at her innocently, he replied, "I have no idea what you mean."
"Also, I should clarify something, too," she told him. "The only reason I said it was the wrong season for you to be half naked is because I don't want you to be cold."
He grinned at her in amusement. "Thanks for clearing that up," he told her.
Shaking her head at him as she stood up, trying to keep a straight face, she simply said, "Of course you don't." Turning slightly so that she was standing directly in front of him, she took the shirt from his lap and unfolded it. The fabric was grey and soft from what she assumed had been years of wear and washings.
"Ready?" she asked. Then, pausing, she added, "Do you want the bandage back on first?"
"I think I'm okay without it for now," he replied.
"But would you tell me if you weren't?" she asked. "I know you, too, you know."
"Fair enough," he replied with a grin. "But what would I have to gain from saying I didn't need it when I did?"
"Beats me," she told him. "But what do you ever have to gain by insisting on acting like Superman? For example, checking yourself out of the hospital against medical advice when you're still injured and going right back to work?" She wasn't referring to this instance, but they both knew to which instance she was referring.
"Point taken," he said, raising in hands in front of him, conceding defeat. "I promise. If I need it, I'll tell you."
"You'd better," she said with a smile, stretching her fingers through the neck hole of his t-shirt and lifting it over his head. Pulling it down carefully over his hair, which was now only slightly damp, she tugged the shirt down onto his shoulders, and was unable to help but brush her fingers against his skin just a little more than necessary. As she did so, she noticed that the smile on his face seemed to match her one she felt on hers.
As she had before, she focused first on his right side, holding the fabric out as far as she could to make it easy for him to slip his arm though, then doing the same on his left side. The left was slightly harder, since the shirt had less space to move, with half of him already inside, but between the two of them, they made it work. He pulled the bottom of the shirt down the rest of the way and smiled up at her where she stood in front of him.
"Thanks," he said simply. Then, reaching down very slowly, he stretched towards a pair of white socks that were on the floor between his feet, where he seemed to have dropped them.
"You want me to…?" she asked, watching him slowly but surely reach for them.
"Nope, I'm good," he assured her, not taking his eyes off of them. She probably shouldn't have let him, she knew, but this time she let him try. It was slow, but a minute later, he was sitting back up triumphantly, socks in hand.
"And putting them on?" she asked. Though she wanted to be supportive, she really wasn't sure whether he could do it or not. If she had to guess, she'd have guessed no.
"We're about to find out," he told her with a grin. He began to shift and she stepped back to give him space, as he moved farther down to the left toward the end of the couch, stretching out his legs so that he could prop his feet up. Once she'd figured out how much room he needed, she sat down just past his feet, watching him carefully as he uncuffed the socks from each other, taking one and opening it then leaning forward, drawing his left foot toward him at the same time. Because he was being careful, it was like watching it all happen in slow motion.
He was about halfway to his goal when he stopped and sighed, looking up at her with an unamused look on his face and said only, "Alright, fine," as we handed her the socks.
Taking them from him with a sympathetic smile, she scooted herself closer to him as he slowly stretched his leg back out towards her, letting it finally rest gently in her lap. She opened the sock, then threaded it easily over his left foot, pulling it up slowly and then, not quite ready to let go, kneading the bottom of his foot with her thumbs before setting it back down against her leg.
"Oh, hey, don't let me rush you," he told her with a grin. "You're really good at that."
"Thanks," she replied as she picked up the other sock and she turned her attention towards his right foot, kneading the bottom with her thumbs the same way once his sock was on his foot.
"No, thank you," he said insistently, which made her chuckle. "You know you're not giving me much incentive to get better, right?"
"No?" she asked innocently. "So you're saying I should stop?" In the meantime, she continued rubbing his foot.
"Of course not," he replied. "Besides, I don't need more incentive to get better than I already have – like to be able to sleep on my side, or turn sideways on the couch or put on my own shirt. Although," he said, pausing to grin at her. "Your assistance with that makes the frustration bearable."
She couldn't help but smile, even as she rolled her eyes at him. As good as he'd been at shutting her out over those few long months, he was now equally good at letting her in. She set down his right foot and picked up his left again.
The washing machine had been spinning rhythmically for a while, but the noise now seemed to have stopped, and she wondered if it could be done already. Had enough time elapsed since they'd started it? She couldn't remember. Just when she thought about getting up and go and check, the noise began again. She sighed at what had apparently been a false alarm.
Once again, as if reading her mind, or maybe just happening to bring up the topic at the same time she was thinking about the issue of her clothes, he said, "I think you may need another shopping trip with Patterson and Zapata." He watched in amusement as a look of panic darted across her face, and she stopped rubbing his foot, setting it back in her lap. Shifting slowly to put his feet back on the floor so that he could turn and stand up, he moved back over to sit close beside her, their knees and shoulders touching once again.
"No, I really don't… I mean, it's fine, I can—" she wasn't sure exactly what to say to remove that idea from his head, all she knew was that she felt panic, and couldn't quite refute the idea coherently. At that moment, the idea of another shopping trip with the two women seemed completely overwhelming. They'd taken her out shopping a long time ago, before… well, before – since her life as Jane was divided into before and after. Before she'd been arrested, before the CIA, before she'd come back to the FBI, trapped and forced to be there with people who despised her, who she'd betrayed… before they'd gradually began to trust each other again. Before the party. Before… this.
They were okay now, the three women on the team. Maybe they were even more than okay, though Jane wasn't quite sure. Just like with Kurt, it would take time, and it might never be the same. Still, the idea of a daylong shopping trip with Patterson and Zapata (because it would inevitably be that long, if it happened) terrified her. Maybe someday, but just… not yet.
"Jane," he interrupted her sternly. "You have enough clothes for a few days, and nothing more. You need more than that, at least the basics. I'd take you myself, except that some bossy wanna be nurse keeps telling me I need to rest." She grinned at that last part in amusement as he continued. "I can understand why you might not be ready to go shopping with those two, or even with me, if that was an option… but you need to get something. At the very least, you need to buy some things online. You'll get them almost as fast, mostly likely, and you can get them sent here. And since I'm the one insisting, I'll pay for the stuff. Just—"
"What? No. You don't have to—" she began, but they seemed to be on a roll as far as cutting each other off went just then.
"Of course I don't have to," he told her. "I want to."
She looked back at him in surprise, the words suddenly having dried up in her mouth. Since she'd come back, she'd tried to spend as little money as possible. The little bit of cash that she had, that she'd been living off of for so long she didn't even remember where it had come from, had been enough so far. She'd been so concerned with being tracked by either side that she'd been trying to avoid using cards of any kind.
Besides, she wasn't even sure she was getting a consultant's stipend anymore. Did the FBI pay you if they were forcing you to work for them? Or was her payment supposed to simply be not going to jail? It was only now that she realized that she didn't know. How had she gone this long without knowing? It seemed impossible, and yet… she hadn't really been eating, she didn't want possessions anymore… so she'd barely spent any money at all. She'd been existing, these past months… but barely.
Suddenly, she found herself having to concentrate very hard on breathing evenly. It was a different sensation than she'd felt before when she'd been overcome by emotion, but she suspected that at the root of it, the cause was the same. Once again, it was too much.
"Okay," she managed, but nothing more, not trusting her voice. She felt his left hand settle on her right knee, making circles gently for a minute before it finally came to a stop. Then, his hand lying flat, his fingers curled around the sides of her leg and squeezed.
Once again she looked overwhelmed, and it was heartbreaking. After everything that she'd been through it made sense, and yet… it hit home to him once again just how badly he'd treated her. The team as well, of course, but he knew that he had been the most responsible. He was their leader, and he should have set a better example. What's more, he'd been the one with the connection to her, and he should never have abandoned her the way he did.
You're past that now, he told himself. Going back over it won't help. You both promised.
A feeling of calm descended over him, and his thoughts stopped racing. Guilt wouldn't change the person he had been back then – nothing would – not any more than it would change who she had been. They both had reasons to mistrust each other, and yet, here they were… and he had never trusted anymore more. But Jane had been betrayed on a grander scale, if that was possible. He couldn't ask himself to travel back in time and fix things, though if he could have, he would've done it. No, he had to fix them in the present, and the only thing he could to do was to be a better person now.
The words floated back to him from days ago and he smiled. Just do better from now on. That much, he could do. Suddenly, over the past week, being good to her had become easy.
There was a change in him that she couldn't identify, as he sat close beside her and squeezed her knee. Somehow, the feeling of building tension that she'd sensed seemed to suddenly flow out of him, vanishing into thin air. Instead, she felt him relax, leaning closer to her. In response, she felt herself leaning into him, though gently, so she didn't hurt him, turning to press her forehead against his shoulder. She knew that he couldn't really turn to face her completely, and she didn't want to make him stretch too far, but at that second she just needed to lean against him in order to be able to breathe normally.
When she'd tensed up a few minutes before, she'd unconsciously hunched forward until she sat perched on the edge of the couch. Now unsatisfied with the angle at which he was sitting beside her, he tried to identify what he could do, since turning ninety degrees to his left would probably end badly for him. One possibility, he realized as he let his hands fall from her, was to slowly pull his left leg up in front of him, carefully pushing it around the back of her and down on the other side. Without her having to move, Jane was now sitting directly in front of him.
Sitting behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, setting his chin gently on her left shoulder. "I knew there had to be a better angle," he said softly, at which he felt her shift, turning so that her left temple came to rest against the scruff on his chin.
She said nothing, but she knew that he understood her perfectly. The one thing she needed more than anything at that moment, really, was just to feel like she could breathe… like she could sit still, not have to say anything, not have to think, even, and just feel… this. She inhaled a slow, shaky breath. In response, his arms tightened around her. Still, in some deep corner of her mind, she could feel resistance to the notion that for the first time, it was okay, and it would be okay. Even as she relaxed against him, she could feel that tiny part of her that refused to stand down.
You'll thank me later, it whispered.
With a start, she couldn't help but wonder if that was Remi, somehow talking to her from her subconscious. It would be something that Remi would do, except that Remi wouldn't stop there…
No, she thought, Remi may not be gone completely, but she isn't in control anymore. What little part of her that might remain – the part that lets me suddenly fight off multiple assailants without knowing how I did it – she doesn't get a say. If anyone is going to help anyone, I'm going to help her. Or… I'm going to try. She has it backwards, after all. Maybe someday she'llunderstand… and even if she doesn't, I'll keep trying. What happened to her – to me – wasn't her fault. She kept me alive long enough to be here now. I owe it to her to remember that, even though she does scare me sometimes.
Coming back to the present, she realized that she felt calmer now, her breathing even as she leaned her temple against Kurt. Once again, she couldn't help but feel like he'd worked his magic on her. It was eerie, really, how easily he seemed to be able to do that, how easily he could calm her down. Turning her face slowly, just a little, without breaking contact with him, she kissed his cheek and then nuzzled her nose against him. In response, she could feel the muscles in his face contract as he smiled, and his head turned, dragging scruff across her skin so that still, their faces touched, until the tip of his nose pressed against the side of hers.
She thought he was going to say something, but to her surprise, he didn't. She considered saying something herself, as well… except that she realized that she didn't need to. And so they simply sat there on the couch, not moving, not talking, barely thinking, simply breathing.
It wasn't too long before a sharp buzz sounded through the apartment, breaking through the silence and then echoing in their ears for seconds afterwards. Neither of them moved right away, not wanting to acknowledge that the noise meant that at least one of them, probably Jane, would have to – or should, at least – stand up and deal with the laundry. After a few minutes of denial, however, Jane sighed and began to stand up, attempting to separate herself from him.
"I'll be right back," she whispered, almost afraid that breaking the silence would break the spell. "Stay right there." As she pulled herself up slowly, she saw him simply nod. In less than two minutes she had switched their laundry to the dryer and was walking back across the living room towards him. She couldn't help but grin, feeling overwhelmed with a wave of affection for him as she walked closer and closer, then folded herself back into the exact position in which she'd sat before getting up.
"There's something about doing laundry for both of us, here…" she murmured. "I like it."
"I'm going to quote you on that," he promised in a low whisper. "Except I'm going to tell everyone that you said you like doing my laundry." He felt her chuckle against him, shaking her head ever so slightly.
"You're impossible," she told him.
"Well that makes two of us," he replied, pressing his nose into her cheek playfully. "I learned from the best."
They sat quietly after that, content not even to make small talk, as the background noise of the dryer combined with their closeness lulled them into a sleepy state of happiness overload. There was nothing else except the two of them inside their little bubble, and it was absolutely perfect.
When the dryer finally buzzed, signaling that it, too, had finished, Jane sighed. Logically, of course, she knew that getting up and taking a shower was not the end of the world. She wasn't going home, they didn't even have to leave the apartment and they certainly didn't have to go to work – or anywhere else, for the matter. She would go and get clean and then sit right back down with Kurt, and it could all feel just that perfect all over again. The trick, of course, was convincing herself to move in the first place.
"Go on, go take a shower," he whispered into her ear without letting go of her. She chuckled, shifting towards him within his arms, which were wrapped tightly around her.
"Someone seems to be stopping me," she told him in amusement.
"That's terrible," he told her seriously, "You want me to take care of them?"
"That would be very interesting," she told him, trying not to laugh.
"I know, I need to let you go and shower," he told her. "But I have a problem."
"It's not serious, I hope," she replied, pretending to take him seriously, even though she was fairly sure she knew what this "problem" entailed.
"It's just…" he sighed with a grin. "I'm having trouble convincing myself to let go of you."
"Yeah, I noticed that," she said, finally smiling in amusement. "Which is funny because I really didn't want to get up, anyway."
Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes at him and leaned back to look him in the face. The change in her expression was immediate and dramatic, and he couldn't help but wonder what was going on in her head. However, he only had to wait a few seconds to find out. Turning all the way around to face him, she lifted herself off the couch and moved back so that she was sitting in front of him on the coffee table, his hands falling to his sides as she did.
"Have you had your meds since we left the hospital?" she asked, almost accusingly.
It was a change of subject that he certainly hadn't seen coming, that was for sure. A look somewhere between guilt and discomfort moved across his face then, and she knew that the answer was no. "Would you believe that I forgot?" he asked. It was fairly obvious that he hadn't forgotten, though Jane had. Otherwise, she would have insisted that he take them already, with breakfast.
"No," she said, her eyes still narrowed. "Because you didn't." He grimaced then, caught in the act, raising his hands in surrender.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I was just trying—"
"To be in pain?" she asked sharply. "Kurt…" Sighing in exasperation, she shook her head.
"I hate taking those things," he sighed, looking down and then back up at her again.
"You're on them for a reason," she argued. "You were seriously injured… in an explosion. You had surgery. You can't just stop taking them the next day. Did you forget what a close call it was?" She felt her eyes watering, and for a second she thought she was going to cry again. Something else occurred to her then, however, that distracted her from her thoughts of those horrible hours of worry. Looking at him accusingly again, her eyes widened slightly and she asked, "You're not going to even think about trying to go back to work before the end of next week, right? Because that is not happening…"
"I know, I know…" he said immediately, knowing that he'd pushed her too far.
"Because first of all, you need to follow the doctor's orders," she said firmly, still looking at him as though she expected him to argue. "That was the point of my being here, remember? To make sure you didn't… do what you usually do?"
"Which is what, exactly?" he asked, trying not to be amused at her because he knew that she was upset, but finding her concern completely endearing.
"Go straight back to work when you should be resting," she replied. Because he had done exactly that in the past.
"In my defense, the time that I think you're referring to… I was trying to protect you," he reminded her. "Cade was shooting at you, if you recall, and then you disappeared… with Oscar." For more than a few seconds he felt his chest tighten just from thinking back on that day. The fear had been real… fear that he had lost her. Of course, he'd thought that she was Taylor back then, so he had felt even worse, worried that he'd lost her again. Not that losing her once wouldn't have been too much for him by itself…
"You're telling me I shouldn't have broken that particular rule that time?" he asked her, not believing that she really thought that. "Because as hard as it is for me to stand by when something happens to anyone else I care about, if it's you… there's just no way. I won't apologize for doing whatever I have to do when it's you who's in danger."
His expression softened from one of defiance to reflect the fear that he'd felt that day, which came flooding back to him. "I thought I'd… that you were just… gone. That something had happened to you. That I'd lost you… again." He almost whispered the last word, and while he wondered whether she'd understand that his last fragmented thought had been referring to Taylor Shaw, he couldn't bring himself to explain it more clearly.
"Kurt," she began slowly. That had been back when he'd thought she was Taylor, she realized, and that had given it an extra sharp bite for him. Not that she was less important to him now that she wasn't Taylor. That much she knew.
She thought back to that day and now felt guilty for giving him such a hard time. It had been painfully recently, after all, that she had just come face to face with a feeling that was very similar to what he'd been feeling that time. "I'm sorry. I'm glad you didn't follow that rule that time… but this time I'm not in danger… I'm right here, and I'm here to try to protect you… from yourself. I just want you to have time to heal." She smiled weakly at him, hoping that she hadn't just made things worse.
He just nodded at her tiredly. "I know," he said. Something occurred to him then. "You said 'first of all' a minute ago," he said, changing the subject. "Is there a 'second of all?'"
A sheepish smile replaced her exasperation, and she suddenly looked a little bit embarrassed. "Yes…" she replied slowly. "Just… I don't want you going back to work early because… I like having you all to myself."
"Now that is a good reason not to go back to work early," he told her teasingly, to which she just grinned. "And I agree. I'm very happy having you here, all to myself, too," he added.
With a smile, she forced herself to stand up off of the coffee table. Without another word, she walked to the kitchen counter where the bottle of his pills sat, not far from where the two of them had stood when they'd made breakfast. She took out a glass and filled it with cool water, then walked back to the couch with both. Setting the water down on the coffee table, she read from the side of the bottle. Take one tablet every six hours for pain, it read. Pressing down, she opened the childproof lid and shook a pill out into her hand, replacing the lid on the bottle. Looking down at him, she saw that he was already holding out his hand to her, and she placed the single pill in the middle of his palm.
"Maybe you don't need it every six hours," she allowed, "but you also don't need to go off of it quite yet, or quite so suddenly." He smiled at her and picked up the glass of water, swallowing the pill and finishing the water in one long gulp.
"Yeah, guess that explains why I feel like I've been run over by a truck, huh?" he asked her hesitantly. "Or, more accurately, knocked on my ass in an explosion." He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he'd been feeling more and more uncomfortable as the morning had gone on, without the benefit of the drugs in his system. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to go off of them a little more slowly, after all. "But I took it. Do you feel better?" he asked.
All she could do was shake her head at him and his stubbornness. "Yes," she replied in satisfaction. Then, after dropping her hand onto his shoulder and squeezing gently for a few seconds, she managed to tear her eyes from him once again, forcing herself on to her next task. "I'm going to shower now," she told him, walking to the dryer to first retrieve her clothes. She took his and hers, all tumbled together, in a bundle in her arms and headed for the bedroom to put them down on the bed so that she could pull out what she needed.
He watched her walk into his bedroom, thinking about just how normal it felt to have her in his apartment, doing laundry and just hanging out doing nothing. This was strange, of course, because even he never hung around and did nothing here, and it was his own apartment! He was always on his way to work, or just coming home from work. Even though things had only just changed, somehow it felt as though Jane had always been there.
A tiny shadow of foreboding danced in the corner of his mind, as he wondered what it would be like when, after his recovery period ended next week, she went back to not being there all the time. The thought was so unpleasant, he didn't even want to think about it. No, there was another week before that happened, and considering everything that had happened in the past week, there was really no reason to think about that until it then… who knew what would happen between now and then, after all? Better to enjoy where they were now.
While Kurt had been lost in thought, Jane had sifted through the clean laundry and found enough clothes for one outfit, taking them into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Slowly pulling himself up from the couch, Kurt now walked into the bedroom and began sorting the clean clothes that Jane had dumped on the bed. He folded each piece, laying them in piles according to who they belonged to and what they were. Not only did he not mind finding Jane's few articles of clothing among his own, he found that he enjoyed it. He thought back to what she'd said a few minutes before.
"There's something about doing laundry for both of us, here…" she had murmured. "I like it."
He liked it, too, he admitted to himself. Or rather, more specifically, he liked finding her things mixed with his, because it meant that she was there. He felt as though it should have made him anxious, or overwhelmed, or something… but it didn't. It just made him happy.
When Jane emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, she found Kurt in the bedroom, just folding the last of the clean clothes.
"Hey," she said, standing in the doorway. "I would have done that. You're supposed to be resting."
"But now you don't have to," he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides, you were in the shower… so you weren't here to remind me to rest… you know I'm not good at it on my own." He grinned at her playfully, and she just shook her head, rolling her eyes but smiling all the while.
"What am I going to do with you?" she asked.
Not one to let an opportunity slip by, he turned and walked the few steps that separated them, replying, "You're going to kiss me, I hope," then leaning down towards her to do just that. Her smile as their lips met was even bigger than it had been a moment before, if that was possible.
When air became a necessity a few minutes later, she leaned back, looking up at him with affection before leaning her forehead against his chin. "Ready for a movie?" he asked her, kissing her forehead lightly just because it happened to be there, so close to his mouth.
"Yes," she told him.
"Then let's go get it started," he mumbled, turning her around and steering her towards the doorway. The clean laundry could continue to sit there until later.
After passing by the TV to put the DVD in, back at the couch, he told her, "I have an idea to try… for the best way to sit. Since I can't move all that well…"
"Okay," she replied, "just tell me where."
"Alright, so, let's see if this works as well as it did in my head," he said as he sat down near, but not at, the right end of the couch, leaving a space just big enough for her by the arm. "Now, you sit here," he told her, indicating the small spot beside him, "but with your back against the pillow at the end."
A smile spread across her face as she understood what he'd envisioned. "Okay," she agreed, lowering herself into the small spot and turning so that she was perpendicular to him, her legs draped over his. It felt very cozy this way, much more so than sitting next to each other with him not able to turn toward her. Almost immediately, her head fell against his shoulder and his left arm went around her back.
"I think it's a success," he announced, giving her shoulders an extra squeeze.
"Me, too," she purred quietly. "With or without a movie."
"Oh, right, the movie," he said, having forgotten the reason they were sitting there already. He couldn't quite reach the remote, which was closer to her feet. As she watched him stretching for it, she grabbed his hand to stop him, then leaned over just a little farther to pick it up. Sitting back, she handed it to him.
"Thank you," he told her. For some reason, all of a sudden, she felt like he was thanking her for more than just the remote.
"Thank you," she replied, knowing full well that if he had been thanking her for only the remote, then her response really didn't make sense. That didn't really matter, after all.
Chuckling at her and leaning forward to kiss her cheek, he clicked play on the remote, and the movie started.
From the beginning of the first scene, Jane felt a sense of calm that surprised her. It had to do with her surroundings, yes, because it was hard not to be happy as she snuggled up next to Kurt. But it wasn't just that. The movie wasn't full of action or explosions or chase scenes… and she found that for that, she was grateful. After all, her life was full of those things. No, here was a movie about a regular, average man with a problem and how he went about trying to solve it. Well, more than one problem, really.
When Walter, the main character, said, "I haven't really been anywhere or done anything," Jane found her breath catch in her throat for a second. Of course, she'd been many places and done many things, so it wasn't quite the same… but since she didn't remember any of them, in a way, it was the same. She related to Walter, who seemed so… was lost the right word? Maybe not in the same way that she had felt for so long, how she'd grown accustomed to feeling, but in his own way, yes.
The longer the movie played, the more she felt for this man. If he'd been a person instead of a fictional character, she would've liked to be his friend.
"Can you pause it there?" Jane asked suddenly. The screen was filled with a quote, which was clearly supposed to be significant, and she wanted to be sure she got to read the whole thing carefully. Kurt pressed the button on the remote as Jane sat up straight.
"To see the world, things dangerous to come to,
To see behind walls, to draw closer,
To find each other and to feel.
That is the purpose of life."
"Wow," Jane said in awe. To find each other and to feel. At that moment, her brain buzzed with awareness. Not many collections of words that she'd seen anywhere had struck quite such a chord with her as that one did. The purpose of life? Not having a very big collection of memories to draw from, she couldn't really remember ever considering the purpose of life.
You've been a little busy, she reminded herself.
"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing that she'd seemed to go off into her own little world somewhere.
"Yeah," she replied slowly, "I just… wow…"
Leaning towards her slightly, he tightened his left arm around her, winding his right arm around the front of her to pull her into a hug, holding on for several minutes as Jane continued to stare at the words on the screen.
Inches away from her, his own thoughts weren't all that different from hers. "To find each other and to feel. That is the purpose of life," he repeated in his head. It felt to him like those words summed up the present moment, this exact one that he was living in, just then. After all, wasn't she the thing that had been missing from his life for as long as he could remember? He'd thought that Taylor was the missing piece, and maybe she had been… but somehow, he saw now that what had been missing had been Jane, even before he knew that she existed.
"Ready to keep going?" he whispered in her ear, and she just nodded. She was eager to see how things turned out for Walter, whom she'd quickly become so invested in.
Over the next hour and change, the movie took them from New York to Greenland to Iceland. By that point, Walter had so few possessions with him, that even the thin cloth bag that he had strapped across his chest looked almost empty. Once again, Jane felt a kinship with him. He may have simply left his possessions at home when he'd begun his odyssey, while she actually owned almost nothing, but it was close enough for her to relate to him even better because of it.
As much as she related to Walter, she couldn't help but also feel jealous of him. His self-appointed quest, which was the biggest part of the plot of the movie, had already led him to several beautiful and very far away parts of the world. When, after another stop in New York, he ended up in the lower Himalayas, this time trekking with a full backpack through the snow, she couldn't help the knot that began forming in her stomach.
It's ridiculous to be jealous of a fictional character, she told herself. And yet… she had to admit, at least to herself, that she was – despite his awkwardness and his bad luck in what appeared to be most aspects of his life. He had just that, after all. A life. What she had… she wondered if it passed as a life. After all, as much as Walter clearly felt that his life was out of his control, he had more control of his than she did over hers.
However, when the guides who'd taken Walter into the mountains sent him on alone toward the man he sought, and he continued climbing a snow covered mountain completely alone, Jane's feelings of jealousy seemed to dissipate. This, after all, was how she had felt so many times since crawling out of the bag in Times Square. That is, that she was doing the impossible – like climbing a mountain, but not quite so literally – all alone. Yes, Kurt was there now, with his arms around her, but there had been enough times when he hadn't that the scene, while beautiful, also haunted her.
A little while later, as the last scene cut to the credits, Jane simply sat, staring at the TV. The song that began playing as the credits slid down the screen was a simple melody with lyrics that somehow fit Jane's mood exactly at that moment. The refrain of the song said over and over, "Do whatever just to stay alive," but not desperately – instead, the song was sung in the mellowest tone possible.
The only word for how she felt was overwhelmed. "Wow," she said, unable to come up with anything else.
Kurt leaned over, his arms still wrapped around her, brushing his chin against her forehead. "So you liked it?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," she replied quietly. "I don't even… Wow," she repeated. She almost felt like she, too, had been to the places that Walter Mitty had visited in the course of the movie. Then, shaking her head and sighing, she added, "That was the closest I think I've gotten to a real vacation."
"Wait, you don't count The Dark Isles?" he asked with a chuckle. She smiled at him and laughed quietly along with him. That had been anything but vacation. "And certainly not Clearfield…" he added.
"Well, that was better, at least… I mean, we didn't almost…" Her voice trailed off when she realized that what she'd been planning to say wasn't right.
"We didn't what? Almost die?" he asked. "Have you forgotten about the blizzard?" He may have been the only person who ever grinned at the mention of having almost died while stuck in a car in a blizzard, but he couldn't help it. Despite that whole near death experience thing, it hadn't been completely unpleasant.
"Oh, right… well…" she replied. They both purposely avoided any mention of Oregon. They could joke about the other two, but not that.
"Well," he said, kissing her temple, "we'll have to do something about that one of these days."
"Oh, yeah?" she asked him. She couldn't help but be surprised – not because it didn't seem like a perfectly normal thing for them to do, but because she wasn't thinking any farther ahead than the end of the following week, when Kurt would be allowed to go back to work and everything would change again. Or maybe it wouldn't… who knew, at this point?
"Definitely," he replied. "I happen to think we've earned a very nice vacation after this past year."
She smiled, but tilted her head up and asked skeptically, "And what are the chances that we could go anywhere and not be called to come right back? Or somehow have or vacation turn into an op?"
It would have been nice if he could have refuted her concerns as impossible, but then again, both scenarios that she'd mentioned seemed almost equally within the realm of possibility.
"I guess there's some situations where that would be more likely than others," he said slowly. "Maybe the answer is… we just need to go somewhere off the grid, where no one can find us." When she raised her eyebrows at him, he added, "We'd come back of course… eventually." Finally, she allowed herself to take in what he was saying. That he was talking about going on vacation with her… somewhere far away and remote… and that they would come back eventually… Was this real?
"How does that sound?" he asked, leaning his forehead against the side of her head and closing his eyes.
"It sounds…" she started, finding it hard to finish her sentence. The words were sticking in her throat because her emotions were once again threatening to come to the surface. "…too good to be true. Just like all the rest of this." She felt tears prickling in her eyes and told them defiantly that this was not the time.
He felt a tug in his chest and he smiled as she snuggled lower into the couch, leaning her head gently against his shoulder and closing her eyes for a minute. He pulled his arms around her tighter, leaning back into the cushions of the couch. His left hand came up off of her back then, and he stroked the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair and moving slowly in no particular pattern, just moving.
It wasn't quite lunch time, still more like late morning than mid-day, and there was literally nothing they needed to do, except possibly online shopping. The rest of the day stretched out in front of them, and he couldn't remember the last time sitting around his apartment and doing nothing sounded so very attractive.
"Jane?" he murmured, shifting slightly.
"Mmmmmm…" was her response, so he decided that, for the time being, they could stay exactly where they were. She seemed to be dozing off, for one thing, and for another, there was nowhere else they needed to go. All of this was, of course, completely okay with him. He leaned his head against hers, letting his eyes fall closed again as well.