Sin título

Damn Ninjas 

She’d spent the better part of the past year sleeping alone - sleeping without him - and while she wouldn’t have categorized them as the best nights of sleep she’d had; still, she’d managed to sleep. But on their first night back in New York, in the first night back in their apartment, she found it impossible to fall asleep.

They’d arrived quite late, and exhausted; too exhausted to argue when he placed her bag in their bedroom and mumbled that he would take the couch.

And that was the thing, she couldn’t fall asleep in their bed without him. It was not like it is never happened before. They had spent nights alone - due to work or travel - but they had never spent a night under the same roof and not been wrapped in each other’s arms, not since that first night two years ago. She just couldn’t find peace lying in their bed while he slept on the couch in the living room just behind that wall that separated them.

He likes to hold her hand.

He threads his fingers through hers the first time they make love and keeps them there as he brushes his thumb across her cheek, kissing her softly.

The next morning, he takes her hand again, pulling her into the shower with him. When he has her backed up against the wall, his lips against her neck, he finds her hands with his and brushes his thumbs against her knuckles as he brushes his lips against hers.

He holds her hand as they walk to the restaurant for their first date, and reaches across the table to take it again as she sips her wine.

After they’ve carried in the last box of her belongings, he takes her out into the hall and slips his hand into hers so they can walk into their new home, together.

A few weeks later, when they get caught in the rain walking home from dinner, he pulls her under the awning of a nearby shop to wait it out. But this time, as he reaches up to brush her wet hair off her face, she takes his hand in hers, giving it a tug as she walks back onto the sidewalk. She grins as she tilts her head back, letting the rain hit her face, laughing as he leans down to kiss her.

He holds her hand the whole time on their flight to Johannesburg, bringing it up to his lips and holding it against his chest at any inkling of turbulence.

He holds it again as they stand in front of her birth parents’ graves, listening as she introduces herself and him and tells them about her life. He gives her hand a squeeze as he tells them what an amazing person their daughter is, how she is the person she was meant to be, the person they would have wanted her to be.

A few days later, as they watch the sun set over the desert on their safari, he takes her hand in his as he slides a diamond ring on her finger and asks her to be his wife, hoping she’ll let him hold her hand forever.

She finds him staring at her when she’s doing the most random things and she stops. She looks at him, a smirk on her lips, and says, “so is this another one of your favorite things about me?”

He chuckles lightly and takes a step forward, “no,” he whispers, placing his hands on her hips, “it’s one of the things I love about you.”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and she feels the heat in her cheeks.

“Is that so?” She asks, enjoying their little game, enjoying the way his thumbs where pressing into her skin, “so that’s higher on the scale than me seeing the best in people?”

He shakes his head. “No, I love that about you too,” he says, his lips finding the bird on her neck (another thing he loves about her).

“Oh,” she sighs, trying to regain some sense of brain power as his lips work their magic, “that’s not what you said a couple of weeks ago.”

“Ummm,” he says pulling back to look at her, “I think using the L word back then wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

“Why would you think that?” She chuckles.

“Well, you were seeing Oliver,” he reminds her.

“True,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down, “but it would have certainly saved us a lot of time and gotten us here faster.”

He chuckles slightly before her lips are on his.

summary: jane and kurt have their first date

A/N: as requested by @kate-dammit-run, a little continuation of one sweet love

stay for a while [or forever]

“You know, in order to pick me up for our date, you have to let me go home,” she said as his lips brushed against her neck.

Blindspot fanfic. Continuation of this one. Set after S2; speculative for S3.

The NYO was both familiar and different.

Someone else was sitting at the desk closest to Kurt’s office, the workstation that had been unofficially assigned to her before she’d left. It was a stupid thing to get upset about, she knew, when it had been her choice to leave. But she still looked away as she followed Kurt into the forensics lab to catch up on the information available on the three missing-person cases.

Her former coworkers were equally divided between coming up to her and welcoming her back or keeping their distance and shooting speculative looks in her direction– and in Kurt’s. Those made her wince. She’d tried to avoid thinking about the uncomfortable attention her disappearance would have focused on him. Her sudden reappearance could only make that worse for him.

Jane kept her head down and her attention focused on the information Stuart gave her, which wasn’t much. All three had disappeared on their way home after work, no sign of struggle. There was nothing even to connect the three cases except for the similarity of the lack of evidence, and the fact that Patterson had disappeared after leaving the NSA, Reade on his way home from Quantico the follow evening, Tasha sometime after leaving the NYO the day after that.

The box addressed to “JANE DOE FBI” had been delivered on the morning of the fourth day.

She finished reading the evidence reports– no fingerprints, no blood, nothing suspicious in any of their cars or in their apartments– by lunchtime. Kurt had disappeared into a meeting, and she wasn’t brave enough to face the cafeteria alone, so she bought a sandwich from the vending machine and ate it in the lab while reviewing the security footage from each location, which showed nothing of value. Patterson and Reade had both left work, climbed into their cars, driven home, parked in the parking lot in front of their apartments, and then vanished into thin air. Tasha had left the NYO, ridden home on the subway, and vanished somewhere between the subway station and her apartment.

Kurt reappeared about an hour after she’d finished eating. 

“We need to image the new tattoos,” he said without preamble.

Jane swallowed but nodded. She’d known that was coming. “Good thing I shaved my legs this morning.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile that disappeared just as quickly. “I’ve asked Caroline to do it.” Another lab technician who, along with Stuart and a third technician name Marta, had been given the impossible task of running the department after Patterson’s departure. Jane was certain Stuart would be relieved to not have to take pictures of his boss’s naked wife. Well, not wife, not ex-wife, not yet, at least.

“I’ll have to be in there with you to hold the… key,” he said, for lack of a better word.

Jane nodded again. She’d expected that, too. “When…?”

“As soon as we clear the lab. It will just be you, me, and Caroline in here.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry–” he started to say, but Jane cut him off.

“We need to know what they are.“ Her friends were missing, god only knew where. She could stand an uncomfortable photography session.

He inclined his chin. “Thank you.”

The stilted formality between them hit her suddenly then. Kurt moved away to speak quietly to Stuart, and she looked down at the suddenly blurry table top in front of her. You did this to yourself, she reminded herself. She’d done this to both of them.

She kept her head down, looking only at the tablet screen in front of her as the voices around her slowly diminished.

“Jane?” he asked quietly, when the others were gone.

She drew a deep breath and then slipped from the lab stool to follow him to the imaging machine.

She nodded to Caroline who bobbed her head nervously.

Kurt didn’t offer to leave, but he did turn away as she removed her clothing. She didn’t even try to pretend to herself that it wasn’t comforting to have him there. She felt terribly exposed and yet also protected.

She stepped in front of the imaging camera, Kurt right behind her, and turned to face him.

His gaze flickered downward and was wrenched resolutely back to her face, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.

Jane met his gaze head on, unblinking. She didn’t need to look down to know her body looked different now than it did when he’d last seen her naked. She was thinner, the muscles in her arms and shoulders more defined from months of climbing. 

If she’d ever, in the private recesses of her mind that she didn’t want to acknowledge, envisioned herself naked in front of him again, it definitely hadn’t been under these circumstances.

He stepped closer to her, holding the metal key in his hand. “Ready?” he asked softly.

She swallowed. “Go ahead.”

He reached out to rest the metal piece against her neck. It didn’t feel cold, and she wondered if he’d been holding it in his hand, warming it with his body heat. For that matter, the air didn’t feel cold on her bare skin either, and she wondered if he’d turned up the thermostat in the lab. It was the sort of thing he’d do.

She was still looking into his eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard Caroline’s muffled, “Whoa,” that she looked down, watching the tiny lights spread out across the surface of her skin.

“Does it…. feel like anything?” he asked, still not looking down.

“No.” It was just… weird. She was suddenly thrown back in time to her first visit to this lab, being poked and prodded and photographed and then sent to an unfamiliar safe house. Looking at the new patterns etched across the surface across her skin gave her the same sense of violation and despair she’d felt then. Had she done this to herself, too? Were they related to the other tattoos? What– if anything– could these new images have to do with her friends’ disappearances?

She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a deep breath, desperately reaching for the sense of peace and balance she’d learned from months of meditation but finding only a disorienting fog of fear and confusion instead.

And then Kurt’s free hand curled around hers, his fingers threading through hers. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “I’m right here with you, Jane.” 

She gripped his hand, feeling his warmth, his presence, seeping into her, chasing away her demons as he had always been able to do. She shouldn’t let herself lean on him, the more rational part of her brain insisted. She’d given up that right when she’d walked out on him. But no force on earth could have made her let go of his hand.

He squeezed her fingers, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his eyes fixed on hers. She knew that if it hadn’t been for the imaging camera, he’d have pulled her close until she could feel his heartbeat, just as he had the night before.

She’d awakened alone this morning. She would have thought she’d dreamed him, but she’d rolled over to find the imprint of his head on the pillow beside hers. He hadn’t said anything about it, but as she looked into his eyes now, she saw nothing but the same certainty he’d always had when he looked at her. I’m right here with you.

That knowledge left her feeling unsettled again, but with a different emotion, one so foreign to her now that it took her a minute to identify it.

Jane is in his bed.

He’s already fallen asleep, but in all fairness to him, it’s three in the morning and he only fell asleep a half hour ago. His room is dark now, lit only by the lights of the city through his window and it’s enough to see the way his chest rises and falls slowly, the way his lips part just a little. He snores but not loudly; it’s just an exhale with a soft sound attached to the end, really.

And he loves her.

She can’t say she’s surprised by his love; she isn’t, not now. Maybe she would have been months ago, but ever since the escape room, she’s known. What she’s surprised by is that he said it out loud. She remembers pretending to be married to him, remembers him declaring he’s too choosy for something serious, so she wonders quietly where this puts them. Those walls she’d managed to crumble; are they down forever at her feet? More than anything, she wants them to be. As she contemplates him sleeping, she reaches out to drag her thumb lightly across his forehead. He looks more peaceful asleep, like the weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders. Now, maybe it isn’t. With Shepherd out of play, the world saved, maybe he can look more like this all the time; loved and peaceful. She can at least help with one of those things.

He’s currently using her shoulder as a pillow, and Jane can feel her arm going numb, but she won’t dare displace him. The weight of him is warm and solid; it makes her feel safe somehow and she can feel his breath on her skin. His arm is across her bare stomach, two of their legs tangled, and she leans in, softly dragging her lips across his shoulder. Right then, she decides she’d rather walk around all day tomorrow with a sore arm than ever nudge him to move. The longer Jane watches him, the better he looks; well, he always looks good to her. More than good. Silently, she thinks she should tell him that sometime, and she smiles to herself, already imagining the look on his face in response, not saying anything in return before kissing the compliment from her lips. She’s always allowed herself glimpses of him in the office when he’s at his desk and she’s at the workstation she claimed as her own. But that’s all she allowed herself until now. Unassuming glances, committing him to memory because she never thought she’d get to this. 

Right now, she takes him in, all of him, the sheet low around his hips and giving her a view she’s taking in like a painting. His eyelashes are long and light, and it’s such a ridiculous, small thing to notice, but she counts them like other people count sheep. He has freckles; not many, but up close she can see them, hiding in the line between smooth skin and scruff. They’re all over his back and shoulders, and when he’s awake, she’s going to kiss each one. She’s wanted to kiss one that’s on his neck for so long, but it felt too soon back then, or the timing was fraught with tension and threats. Now, though, with nothing between them but love, she leans in and kisses that spot softly, lips feather light so she won’t wake him. That kiss, in that spot, means more to her than he knows, a wish fulfilled even while he sleeps. 

When he shifts, Jane freezes, hoping she didn’t wake him, not wanting to have actually disturbed him. She sighs in relief when she realizes he’s only changing positions, though he rolls onto his side, back to her, and she knows his thigh must be aching, needing to relieve some of the pressure on it from his previous position. Carefully, she aligns herself to this new angle, curving her body behind his so she doesn’t have to miss the warmth of him. Without trying to wake him, her hand curves around his hip, her knees find his shins, and she curls up, forehead against his back and tucked perfectly against him. Her lips find more freckles exposed to her now, nose softly grazing across his skin. Even as she does this, she feels as if she needs to express her love for him more, in some better way than physically. She isn’t sure how, but the words are there, burning in her chest. He saved her life, not just literally, and she wonders if he knows it.

When he moves again, Jane’s hand drifts from his hip to his stomach, holding him close against her, not wanting him to move. And then, she hears a low, quiet chuckle, his hand moving to cover hers.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jane.”

She smiles softly against his skin, and slowly, she presses kisses across his back. They’re soft, tender and warm, and she feels his sigh of pleasure which emboldens her, makes her shift until he’s on his back and she’s straddling him, looking down at his face. When he smiles up at her, Jane feels like she can do anything, so she continues to kiss him.

“Who is he?” the younger monk asks and looks up at Jane expectantly. The stranger has been with them for almost six months and has never spoken of where she came from or who she is. For her to get a visitor was very unexpected.

A small smile tries to draw itself on her lips but she manages to keep it buried. Jane takes a deep breath, looking back towards her tent briefly. Unconsciously her left thumb traces the bottom of her ring finger, out of habit, a habit she developed over the months when a wedding band had sat there.

“He’s my husband,” Jane whispers, her voice cracking. She has not said that word in so long she had forgotten how sweet it tasted on her lips, how every time she did say it, her heart would jump in her chest.

Jane doesn’t wait to hear or see the monk’s reaction. She quickly turns and walks away. But she can’t not hear when the older monk speaks. Her voice loud and clear in the dark night.

“Unakō ghara cha,” she says.

And Jane smiles then. A tear falls down her cheek. But still, she smiles.