#reller

Absently tracing the carving on the stone with her finger, Remi glanced over to the small vial of clear liquid on her nightstand. It sat on top of a small, leatherbound booklet—El Libro de la Eternidad—which she’d smuggled out of Peru, along with the stone brick from Machu Picchu. Maybe she should feel guilty that she’d stolen a couple of pieces of Peruvian history from its citizens, even if one of them was a loose brick, but after all the things she’d done in her short fuck-up of a life, her conscience was way past that. And the brick contained a carved message for her: RB 4 RB, Roman Briggs for Remi Briggs, along with binary code that pointed to Roman’s data caches, and a message that had made tears sting her eyes.

Hey, sis.

I got you something. I never solved this one.

 I hope you can. I did my best.

May you outlive this… for both of us.

Your brother, always,

Roman

Even during his bitter feud with Jane—Remi still flinched to think of him ZIPped and claustrophobic in his FBI cell, even though she now remembered Jane’s reasons, and her anguish at her brother’s state—Roman had still been looking for a cure for her. He’d had his own, the one she’d stolen from Dr. Roga and used to cure herself—after all, Roman had died before he’d had the chance to benefit from it. But still, he’d hunted down more Stanton cells, which meant that now, Remi had a cure for ZIP poisoning all lined up.

She had everything she needed. If Roman’s cache intel was right, New York billionaire hypochondriac Ken Lee would trade El Libro de la Eternidad for the Stanton cells. Dr. Roga could synthesise a new cure, if Kurt approached her. And Remi would need that cure, because the ZIP on the nightstand would be going into her body, as soon as she laid the plan out for Kurt.

There was just one more thing left to do.

Setting aside Roman’s carving, she accessed the video recording setting on her phone, and held it up so that her face was visible. She’d made a video for her future self once before, to further Phase One of her grand plan by introducing Jane to Oscar, and verifying his trustworthiness.

And you know how that turned out, her internal critic whispered.

Swallowing hard, Remi made herself focus on the task at hand, ignoring the guilt gnawing on the synapses at the back of her mind. How was she going to start this thing? Saying hello seemed redundant.

“I know you’re suffering right now, and I’m sorry for that. You don’t remember your old life, and that’s intentional. Please, trust me when I say you shouldn’t go hunting for the finer details. I’m sparing you a lifetime of pain and futility by taking the ZIP, even though you might not be able to appreciate that.”

She sounded whiny as hell, but how else could she put it? She had to make future Jane understand that this was for the best.

“The only options, as I see them, are suicide or ZIP. I’ve got enough here that I should be able to wipe out any trace of my old memories. You might get a few flashes, but I hope you don’t. You don’t need to go through this again.”

If you weren’t such a coward, you’d just put a shotgun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. Maybe Jane would think she was cowardly. But she wasn’t afraid to die. She just didn’t want Kurt to have to suffer, knowing his wife was dead along with Remi.

“I’m doing this, instead of killing myself, because you have good people around you, people I’ve already hurt enough, and don’t want to hurt any more by making them lose you. You have loyal friends. A husband who loves you very much. Things will be hard for you at first, but you’ll build a life again, like you did before. And this time, you’ll know who did this to you, and why, and you won’t have me telling you to disregard your instincts and undermine the people you care about. I was misled, and betrayed, but I made bad choices, too. I was too stubborn to see it for so long, but the first time we were ZIPped, Jane found happiness, and a new purpose, and even though I still don’t think law enforcement is the shining star of morality… If you’re working with Kurt and his team, you’ll be working towards good things. Hold onto that.”

She took a breath, picking up the ancient Peruvian brick again.

“The one thing I want to tell you about is my—our—brother, Roman. Or Ian. That was his birth name, just like yours was Alice. Ian Kruger. Later, Roman Briggs. He wasn’t perfect, as I’m sure Kurt will tell you. But he was a follower his whole life, not a leader. He followed me, and our adopted mother, because he loved us, and didn’t want to be rejected. Jane hurt him too much, and he turned on her, and on Kurt, but deep down, he was a good man. He just wanted a loving family, to belong somewhere.”

She held the brick up in the camera’s sight. “I want you to keep this. Take care of it. This points to his last message from him to me, on his data caches. To Remi, I mean. Not the old version of Jane.” How did things get so confusing? “I have the actual message saved on my phone, so you should be able to see the message itself there. As for the brick, I took it from Peru, along with something to bargain with for a cure for your ZIP poisoning. Roman was looking for a cure for me, even while he knew I—the old Jane—was working to bring him down. He just wanted his sister back, I guess.”

If she kept this up for much longer, she was going to get too damn emotional, and there was no way she was willing to break down and cry on video. She had to cut this short. “Roman and I went through hell together, and that’s one of the things I don’t want you to remember anything about, so I won’t go into it. But we survived our childhood by relying on each other, and then our teenage years were the same, in a different way. We used to pass a South African rand coin our parents gave us back and forth, giving it to each other as a gift. It wasn’t worth much back then—and it’d buy even less now—but its symbolic value for us was priceless. For Roman, it was a comfort object. Jane buried him with it, so I don’t have it now, but I wanted you to know about it.”

She dug her fingernails into her palm, a technique she’d first used at the orphanage to keep outwardly calm, while a torrent of emotions churned within her. The pain centred her, making the grief easier to bear.

“Things went so wrong, but I never stopped loving Roman, even as Jane. And he never stopped loving me.”

She sighed, knowing she should say more, should give Jane more closure, but knowing she’d never be able to get through it on camera. Maybe she’d write Jane a letter, before Kurt ZIPped her.

“I hope you can build a life again, and find happiness. You sure as hell couldn’t do worse than I did. Please, look forward, not back. There’s nothing here but pain. Good luck.”

She threw down the phone and buried her face in her hands, breathing deeply, striving for the numbness that could get her through the final days of this life. Soon she’d fly to New York, and wipe the slate clean.

The end of my memories can’t come soon enough. I can’t do this anymore.

*

Three days later…

Kurt stared from the vial and hypodermic needle to his wife, a rapidly growing pit in his stomach. What…is happening here? What the hell, Remi?

“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging as though this was a foregone conclusion, a logical end to everything they’d battled through on their way to this moment. “I’ve made my peace with it. There’s nothing left here for me now. This is Jane’s world, and I don’t belong in it. At least…at least this way, you can get her back. Or as close to it as it’s possible to get.”

“It’s okay?” he finally managed to say, his throat choked with an intense mass of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to analyse right now. “Your identity is what makes you you, Remi. You’ve fought to defend it so damn hard, it nearly drove us apart for good. You’ve spent over a year getting so many of your memories back, and now you want a clean slate again? I know you remember how hard it was for you after Times Square, and after Cape Town.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, still not meeting his eyes. “The first time, you didn’t know who Jane was. Nobody knew. This time, everyone will. And she’ll have you, and your friends. It’s…easier that way. Even though I hated you when I found out what had happened to Sandstorm, at least I had…” She shook her head. “Anyway—Jane will adjust quickly. You can get the woman you married back, as she was.”

The words shook him, in so many different ways. He rubbed a hand over his face, floundering to make sense of everything.

To get his Jane back…it was everything he’d dreamed of for so long. During those ten months that Remi had gone off the radar, he’d been desperate to find a way to bring Jane back to the forefront of her mind. Aside from Bethany and work, it had been all he’d thought about, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a spark of hope for that outcome now.

But it was all wrong. It was a fairytale. Jane had been a product of the situation she’d been in, from the bag in Times Square to not knowing who she was, to thinking she was Taylor Shaw and then discovering she wasn’t, to being tortured by the CIA—and then discovering she used to be Remi Briggs, daughter of the leader of a terrorist organisation. She’d become who she was because of the way things had been back then, the way her new life had unfolded, and there was no way to know how much of that would be replicated in a newly ZIPped Remi.

Remi. God… I… He swallowed hard, something akin to grief seeping into his bones.

“What about you? This is like…like mental suicide for a huge part of you. You really want to kill yourself that badly? Why not shoot yourself in the head? Jump off a building? Overdose on pills?” His voice was harsher than he meant it to come out—demanding, angry.

Terrified. He was goddamn terrified.

Remi flinched at his tone, finally looking into his eyes. “Because you don’t want to live without her. And if I did one of those things, you’d have to face that she’d never come back.”

He rose from the couch abruptly, the twister of conflicted emotions within him too much to handle if he stayed still. Tears filled his eyes as he stalked over to the kitchen, and he rested his palms on the worktop, his back to Remi, as he tried to breathe.

“So you really want to die?” he managed to ask.

“There’s nothing left for me. My mother, my brother, my friends, my cause, my convictions… Everything is gone, Weller. There’s no point in trying to rebuild. I’ve spent the past year not knowing what to do with myself, fucking things up…”

He turned on her, snarling, “There’s nothing left for you? Then what the hell am I? Why do you keep coming back? After everything that’s happened, you don’t care enough to stick around?”

She got to her feet, crossed the room, her eyes sad. “The only thing I care about in this life is you, and I hurt you constantly, just by not being Jane. This way, it kills two birds with one stone. My empty life goes away, and you get Jane back. You get to be happy, and I get to…forget.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and he dashed it away impatiently. “Remi…”

She reached up to brush another tear from the corner of his eye, her fingers gentle. “I don’t want either of us to hurt anymore. We’ve suffered enough.”

Staring down at her, he finally put names to the emotions within him. Fear and pain had been easy to identify on their own, but they were joined by a surge of something else, so strong and fierce and breathtakingly real that he could hardly bear it.

Remi… Fuck, I can’t lose you. I need you.

I love you.

Despite everything she’d done to him, all the mental torment she’d put him through, the bitter arguments they’d had, the misunderstandings and deceit that had shredded their trust in each other…he’d fallen for the whole of her, just as hard as he had for the Jane part of her. Remi was Jane, intensified. She’d called herself damaged goods, and he couldn’t disagree, but so was he. Remi understood him in a way Jane never could have on her own.

And he was suddenly, powerfully certain that she loved him just as much.

Unable to control himself, he pulled her into his arms, giving her a crushing kiss that seemed to shock the breath from her, even as she returned it just as ardently. Part of him wanted to reject this whole conversation, carry her to bed, fuck her until they were both too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep in each other’s arms.

But this was too serious to hide from, even temporarily. He had to make his position clear.

Wrenching away from her, he stalked over to the table, picked up the small bottle of ZIP and brought it to the kitchen sink. Unscrewing the lid, he poured the contents down the drain, then dropped the bottle and turned to Remi, who was staring at him as though he’d gone mad.

“What the hell?” she demanded.

“Listen to me,” he told her, his eyes locked on hers. “I will never use that stuff on you. Ever. It doesn’t matter to me that there’s a cure for ZIP poisoning all lined up. There’s no going back for us. I can’t just inject you and turn you back into the Jane you used to be. It wouldn’t work like that.”

She sighed, looking down at the splashes of ZIP remaining in the sink. “Better the devil you know than the angel you don’t?”

He cupped her face in both hands, making sure she couldn’t look away from his face. “You’re my devil, and my angel, and everything in between. Remi, the thought of losing you scares the hell out of me. You’re my wife, and you may not be the way you were when we got married, but you’re still the woman I fell in love with, deep down.”

She was frowning, shaking her head, and he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as she drew in a shaky breath.

“I love you, just as much as I did when you were Jane. You didn’t make it easy to get to know you, but every time you let me in a little more, I fell for you even further. I need you to stay you.”

“What?” She breathed the word, and he opened his eyes to find her visibly trembling. Her expression was a study in contradictions. Fear. Hope. Anger. Longing.

Kurt smiled sadly. “It’s too late. I already know you love me, too.”

She tore herself out of his arms, stepped out of his reach. “Stop it. This has gone far enough, Weller.”

“No. It hasn’t gone anywhere near far enough. You’re so scared of making yourself vulnerable, of being hurt again, that you’re hurting yourself so that I’ll never have that power over you.” He took a step closer, and she backed into the living room immediately.

He’d once mentally compared her to a trapped animal, defensively clawing and snarling out of fear. He saw that same distress in her now, and ached to hold her, even though it would only make the situation worse.

“I thought we were over this,” she said, her voice brittle. “I’m not Jane.”

“No, you’re not Jane. You’re Remi. I see you, the whole of you. I know exactly who you are, and I love you.”

She eyed the apartment door, her fists bunched at her sides and her jaw set.

“Don’t run from this. Please.” He took another slow, careful step, and though she backed up again, her eyes were on him once more.

“You never took off your wedding ring, even when you were telling me you hated me. You’ve opened up to me more than once. You’ve trusted me to keep you safe, and you’ve forgiven me for mistakes I’ve made, and I’ve done the same for you.”

She pulled at the ring on her finger, trying to remove it. “You can believe what you want to believe, but it’s not true. It was just about sex and anger, and then we became friends with benefits. That’s it.”

He caught hold of her left hand and held it between his, before she could take off the wedding band. “You didn’t even want to admit you wanted me, back when we first realised we still needed each other. Even when you were halfway to coming. Is it gonna be the same now?”

She snorted, but didn’t try to yank her hand free from his. “What, you think you’re gonna fuck a confession of love out of me? It’s not the same thing, Weller.”

“Is that what it’s gonna take?” He couldn’t pretend he was surprised. They’d resolved so many of their other issues through arguing their way into sex. Why would this be any different?

Her jaw trembled before she firmed it, glaring at him. “No, because it won’t work. It’s not true.”

With anyone else, he’d take that as their final answer. A rejection that he’d have to accept and move on from. But with Remi, things had never been straightforward and simple.

She tested him at every turn, refusing to take anything he said at face value, and this thing with the ZIP was likely a part of it. He wanted to believe that was all it was—a manipulation, a shock tactic designed to scare him into laying all his cards on the table—but his gut told him otherwise.

She would never have risked him saying yes to her offer to ‘become Jane again’ if she hadn’t been prepared to accept the consequences. She was too proud to back down from something she’d said she’d do. And that meant that she really was at a desperate end point, unable to find a way to move forward from the ruins they’d left of her pre-ZIP life.

Kurt needed her to see that he could help her find the path, if she’d only trust herself to walk it. But first, she had to know he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t just settling for a doppelgänger until he decided to stop clinging to Jane’s memory.

And they both had to be clear where they stood with each other.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Remi stared at him, for a moment seeming completely taken aback. Then her protective bravado and anger kicked in. “You say ‘jump’, I say ‘how high’? No!”

Even as he understood her reasons for refusing—knew she was just trying to protect herself—her words still stung.

“I love you, Remi.” He shrugged, standing straighter as he laid out his challenge. “If you don’t feel the same way, I need to know. So come on—break my heart.”

God, this is going to hurt.

Remi shudders, exhales the bad memory. There had been a lot of blood and it hadn’t been immediately obvious that none of it was life-threatening. Her heart had frozen in her chest until he sat up, tried to pretend he was okay. Of course all she could do then was hold him in pure relief, none of it an act.

However much she needs to get rid of him, Remi can’t deny the way it had felt to cradle his stupid heroic self. Her moronic pretend FBI husband who somehow survived an encounter with an armed giant intent on murder suicide. On Christmas Eve.

They’d gone to dinner and he’d saved their server’s life. She was almost glad he’d forgotten his gun or else he’d be insufferable about being right. As it was, he seemed to think his mistake nullified any reason to praise him and had kept apologizing for ruining their night. Even though she told him countless times that she wasn’t upset, kind of wanted to punch him in his already-concussed head for even thinking it.

Remi gets up, really hopes to find him sleeping in the spare room. But when she opens the bedroom door she sees him in the kitchen, making coffee and pulling out breakfast ingredients.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Weller says, looking up as her with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Remi sighs, shakes her head at him.

“You should be resting,” she admonishes. “I can make breakfast, you need to take it easy.”

Weller shakes his head at her then winces and frowns at the movement.

“I couldn’t sleep, and you needed the rest. We were at the hospital until past two and I know you didn’t fall asleep for awhile,” he argues. “Besides, Allie’s going to be here soon with Bee and I promised her French toast with berry sauce.”

Remi walks over to him, feels an almost primal need to touch him growing in her gut. Wraps her arms around his hips from behind, rests her head between his shoulders gently.

“Merry Christmas, Kurt,” she rumbles into his back. “I am so thankful you’re here.”

There’s still so much truth to that statement that she’s momentarily stunned. While Remi had come to accept that some part of her cared about Weller, she’d never been forced to confront the extent of it. But seeing a beast of a man about to break his head, that had made her react so strongly that it was impossible to ignore. And she hasn’t shaken it yet, the fear of losing him.

Kurt turns carefully until her head is just above his collarbone, lying on top of the bullet burn across his chest. It’s hard to even think about it. A bullet that close to his heart, the slightest change in angle and he’d be gone.

Remi looks up at his bruised face, the dried blood on the gauze over his stitches. He’s already developed quite a shiner on his left eye and makes him look soft yet hard, reminds her exactly what he’s like.

“Did you tell Allie what happened?” she asks, thinking of little Bee, how she’s going to react to Weller’s appearance.

“Yeah,” Kurt sighs. “She was pretty upset.”

“Hmmm,” Remi replies. “Yeah well, having to tell Bethany that her Christmas Day visit with daddy is cancelled because he’s dead would probably ruin a lifetime of Christmases for both of them. So I think she has the right.”

“She called me a dumbass about ten times in five minutes,” he groans.

Remi hides a grin into his chest, enjoys it that Allie can call Kurt on his shit so readily.

“And I couldn’t even defend myself. I forgot my gun!” he exclaims irritably. “I’m never going to live it down. I shouldn’t even be here.”

She can feel him suddenly tense up in her arms, become taut with self-blame, what ifs.

Oh Kurt, she thinks. Only Weller could feel bad about getting beat up in an alley while saving a woman’s life.

“Hey, hey,” she mutters into his ear. “Calm down, Kurt. You know she’s just worried about you and that’s how it comes out.”

Remi briefly pictures Allie spitting fire and tears, everyone sobbing. Yet again she is so glad he’s still there, that she isn’t spending Christmas crying with his family, mourning with his team. She’s also pretty darn thankful that her earlier self didn’t kill him back when she hated him more.

The truth is so glaring, it’s impossible to ignore. She had failed again. Made the same mistake twice. Apparently Kurt Weller was her fucking kryptonite.

And here she is, Christmas day, trying to comfort him, his pounding heart under her ear. Thinking how he can be so fragile with her, how it should make her feel disdainful. She has no time for emotions other than anger, hate.

But it’s Kurt, and it’s so sad to see him hurting. So maybe she has the time, a whole day in fact. With overly emotional Weller, who she inexplicably loves.

“Breathe,” she says. Rubs her hand up and down his spine, relishes the warmth of his body up against hers.

Weller must finally hear her because he takes five deep breaths and then lets out a tired sigh. Remi looks up at him, at his face pale and exhausted eyes.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asks, fairly sure she already knows the answer.

He shakes his head just slightly and she can tell he has a bad headache. No wonder he’s especially reactive; he hasn’t slept and is obviously still in pain. He is in no condition to deal with a toddler on Christmas Day, even one that is usually quite well-behaved. And he is going to be extremely upset with himself if anything goes wrong, that she already knows. Which she really doesn’t want.

Kurt deserves a nice day, Remi thinks uncharacteristically. He’s been trying so hard.

“Look, it’s just six am,” she says. “Allie isn’t due until eight, I’m going to text her and get her to bring Bee at eleven instead. You can make French toast for brunch if you insist but only if you get some sleep between now and then.”

She sees Weller forming a ‘no’ with his lips and she shushes him with a finger.

“She’s a toddler, Kurt. She won’t have any idea we started Christmas three hours later than planned. And you need some rest if there’s any hope that this day will turn out the way you want it to. So I’m going to clean your cut and you’re going to close your eyes and relax. Do you want to do this on the couch or the bed?”

Remi wears a look that brooks no argument and, for once, Weller doesn’t try to fight her.

“Couch,” he sighs.

She smiles her relief and takes his hand silently, leads him over to the couch. He is surprisingly docile considering how tense he still is and she thinks he must just be so tired he can’t bother to resist.

Remi starts by sitting him down on the sofa, helping him find a comfortable position for his sore body. Knows from experience the constant pain of broken ribs, how hard it is to get proper rest when it hurts just to lie down. When he’s finally settled, Weller leans his head against the back of the couch, closes his eyes when she can’t help but sift her fingers through his hair.

She fetches the first aid kit and a couple ice packs then returns to tend to Kurt. It’s strange, to want to take care of him, to not be pretending anymore, not even to herself. She remembers when he first got out of the hospital after that abdominal abscess surgery, being disgusted at having to change his bandages. How she had made sure to be ‘accidentally’ too rough as often as she could.

Now she gently wipes at his stitches until all the dried blood has loosened off, ensures that his cut is neat and clean before brushing her lips against his wound, another small soft moment that’s hard to reconcile with her usual hard self. It’s entirely worth it though when he dons a sleepy grin at the kiss, blindly reaches for her hand.

Remi responds automatically, grasps his hand tightly and weaves her fingers between his. She brings their hands up to her lips, plants a kiss on his thumb. Then impulsively she brings their matched hands to her own chest, holds them there against her heartbeat.

It’s a thing that Kurt does and it’s always made her feel uncomfortable. It’s much too intimate, more emotional than kissing or sex because she can feel how special it is to Jane. So of course she’s never thought to initiate it before, but at the moment Remi instinctively knows it will soothe him.

His eyes flicker open for a moment and settle on their hands against her heart. He’s wearing a soft satisfied smile, looks at with such love that she feels tears rise unexpectedly, turns to blinks them away before glancing back to see if Kurt’s noticed.

But thankfully he’s already fallen asleep, his lips still wearing a gentle upwards curve. So she kisses his hand one more time before letting it go, resists the urge to run her fingers through his scruffy hair again. Stands up and looks down at him fondly, so glad he’s getting some rest before the small whirlwind known as his daughter arrives.

There’s a chance she will still need to kill him. But first he’s going to have the Christmas he deserves with his daughter and a wife that loves him. Even if it’s not his wife.

***

Kurt wakes to a tender kiss, thinks it must be one of those dreams where you think you’ve woken up but you’re still dreaming.

He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, not wanting the experience to end. It feels so real, like a memory come to life. Jane wanting to touch him, initiating physical contact. A fragment of their lives before they found out she was sick.

Finally, he has to see for himself and opens his eyes, confirms that he’s curled up on the couch and Jane is leaning over him, her lips on his.

I should almost die more often, he thinks idly. It’s the closest she’s been for so long.

Of course that thought is immediately followed with a wave of guilt, the thought that she should not have to be worrying about him on Christmas. Especially considering it was all due to his own stupidity.

He tries to wipe away the negative mood, revel in the moment as Jane trails a line of kisses from his mouth to his jaw and then up to his bruised eye. She finishes with her lips against his left temple, her breath warm in his ear.

“Time to wake up,” she whispers. “Allie and Bee are going to be here in less than an hour.”

Jane stands up and he reaches for her reflexively, too aroused to think about his movements. Then immediately pays for it when his broken ribs remind him of reality, jolt him awake with a grunt of pain.

Jane passes him some ibuprofen and a glass of water without commenting on the pathetic noise he just made. She is being so good to him, he can’t help but revel in it. Even though he feels unmanly somehow, letting her take care of him while she’s sick. Especially because his injuries are entirely his own fault.

He forgot to bring his gun to a gun fight. It’s so ridiculous he can’t even think about it.

Vaguely he knows he’s being hard on himself when he should focus on the fact that it’s Christmas and he’s about to spend the day with his daughter and his wife, the two people he loves most. But it’s so easy to think about what could have been, how the hell Jane would have explained it to Allie and Bee.

“Kurt, snap out of it,” she says, as if she’s reading his mind. “Everything’s fine. Christmas is going to be great.”

Weller tries to focus on Jane, is thankful that the pounding in his head has ebbed to a minor throb after some sleep. He tells himself to believe her words, that he isn’t going to ruin the day by being a mopey bastard. That he has a wife who loves him, a daughter he adores.

“Do you want to try and shower before they come?” she asks.

As much as he likes the idea of coercing Jane into the shower with him, reality sinks in quickly when it takes all he has just to pull himself into a sitting position, get his feet on the ground. Every movement makes his broken ribs grate painfully and he wonders how he’s going to deal with Bee flinging herself at him the way she usually does.

“Uh, I don’t know if I can,” he admits.

“I thought you might say that,” Jane replies sympathetically. “So I started running the bath. I think that’ll be easier.”

Kurt looks up at her gratefully, takes the hand she’s holding out to him and lets her gently help him up from the couch. When he’s standing he expects her to let go but she keeps pulling him towards her until she can wrap her arms around him.

“Does your head feel better?” she asks, scrutinizing his eyes for clues.

He nods and manages not to wince, or feel sick. Definite improvement, he thinks.

“Good,” she sighs. “Now let’s see what a bath does for the rest of you.”

Jane turns and leads him to the washroom, sits him on the edge of the tub as she unbuttons and removes his pajama shirt. Then stands him up again to drop his pants to his ankles, help him step out of the and into the bath without jostling his ribs too much.

She lets him get settled in the tub before starting to bathe him, running a soapy washcloth over his lurid bruises, gently rubbing shampoo into his hair. Despite all his injuries, it feels fantastic to just sit there in the hot water, let it soothe his aching body as Jane scrubs him clean, rinses him off and then helps him stand up, wraps him in a giant towel.

Life with Jane is the best present he could ever imagine. On Christmas or any other day. Even when he’s an achy mess, feels down on himself.

Kurt lets her lead him into their bedroom, sit him on the bed and finish toweling him off. Then she lightly rubs analgesic muscle relaxant over his chest, frowning at the all mottled bruises already starting to darken.

He reminds himself not to tell her that it’s worth being in that much pain to have her touch him like that. No matter how true it is, it’s self-pitying, pathetic.

“That must hurt a lot,” she murmurs, running her fingers over the deep purple of his torso.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles.

“Liar,” she replies, a proud but exasperated look in her eyes. “I’ve put some clothes out for you then if you’re so fine. Get dressed, they’re going to be here in ten minutes.”

She leaves him to consider his mistake as he stares at the clothing, tries to mentally will it onto his body. Getting his boxers and a pair of sweatpants pulled up to his waist takes nearly five minutes and leaves him sweaty with the effort. He’s only managed to do up a few buttons on his shirt when there’s a knock at the front door and Weller’s suddenly filled with excitement, so ready to see Bethany that he forgets to worry about her being a human missile sometimes.

By the time he’s got his shirt done up Jane has already let Allie and Bee in and opens the door to their room to check on his progress, smiles when she sees he’s dressed.

“Looking good, Special Agent,” she teases as she steps aside to let him out the door.

His daughter must have been searching for him because she comes hurtling at him right as he steps out of the bedroom, clearly expecting to be swept up in his arms as usual. Kurt beams reflexively but then realizes his predicament, knows he’s going to end up shouting and scaring Bee if he tries to pick her up and that she’s going to be very disappointed if he doesn’t.

Thankfully Jane reads the situation perfectly and intercepts Bethany by sweeping her into a huge hug first before ‘flying’ her over to him and gently placing her in his arms. Even just supporting her toddler weight is a challenge but he manages to breathe through it as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes as hard as she can.

“Hi Daddy,” she screeches with glee. “Is Christmas!”

It’s insane that a drunken fuck up could have brought so much pure joy into his life. Maybe the only good thing to have come out of finding Taylor, arresting Jane.

“Hi Bee,” he replies enthusiastically. “Merry Christmas.”

He snuggles his daughter until his body screams and then Allie comes and pulls Bethany off of him, reminds her that they have to be gentle with daddy because he’s hurt.

“Daddy, owie,” Bee says, pointing at Kurt’s black eye and nodding seriously.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty big owie alright,” Allie agrees as she passes Bee off to Jane and steps forward to wrap him into a hug.

“We would have both been devastated,” she mutters into his ear. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

She holds him for a lot longer than expected and there’s a shimmer to her eyes when she finally lets go and runs her thumb over his bruised face.

“Now make us that goddamned berry French toast that Bee won’t shut up about,” she demands.

“Yes, ma’am,” Weller replies, still a bit stunned at how emotional everyone is being about him. He still feels guilty extracting sympathy for having made such a monumental error. But he can’t deny that it does feel good to be cared about, especially on Christmas.

He walks over to the kitchen and starts making a berry compote while Jane and Bee examine the ornaments on the tree and Allie quietly asks him for details on the previous night. He gives her the full blow by blow, knows she won’t let it go until he does. But at least she refrains from calling him any names, just shakes her head at him when he admits why he hadn’t been wearing his holster.

Weller serves up breakfast, but somewhat disastrously forgets he’s not supposed to laugh when Bethany’s eyes light up maniacally at the powdered sugar being dusted on her French toast.

The laughing leads to a moment of panicked pain, then some wracked coughing before his ribs stop screaming at him and his vision clears up.

He hadn’t even noticed Jane getting up to rub his back, Allie distracting Bethany by feeding her breakfast, telling her that there was nothing to be worried about. He feels so useless and horrible in the moment, frightening his little girl by sputtering in pain, unable to even laugh without screwing things up.

But then he hears Jane muttering in his ear, telling him to breathe, that the pain is only temporary, that he’s going to be okay. And, once his heart rate settles, the panic in his chest fades too, lets him look up and smile reassuringly at Bee, who instantly changes her little toddler frown into a matching grin.

“Sorry honey,” he apologizes, walking over to kiss his daughter. “I didn’t mean to scare you. How’s your French toast?”

“Yummy!” she shouts, any fear clearly already forgotten.

Bethany shows off her berry-stained smile, reaches up for another hug. He wants to pick her up but realizes it’s a bad idea just as Jane comes around and scoops Bee up towards him so she can wrap her sticky hands around his neck and he can hug them both without the risk of dropping his kid or crying out in pain.

Kurt stands there, one arm wrapped around his daughter, the other around his wife. Sees Allie smiling broadly as she takes a photo of their cute Christmas moment.

What would he do without the women in his life?

Certainly he’d be a mess. Probably miserable and alone, wallowing in guilt. Not feeding his daughter her favourite ‘bewwy’ sauce, stealing fruity holiday kisses from his wife.

Somehow his near fatal mistake hasn’t ruined things, and he feels so loved it brings tears to his eyes again. Which doesn’t make any sense to him, that he could screw up so badly yet things could turn out so perfectly. But for once he’s not going to overthink the issue, is just going to accept his incredibly good fortune. After all, it’s rather fitting that his best Christmas with Jane involves a life or death incident, broken ribs and a concussion.

***

She was raised on hardness, no time for sentiment. The only love she and Roman had ever experienced after the death of their birth parents was tough love, even for each other. A product of a life of harsh environments, intense competition, where affection was a rare commodity to be hoarded.

Remi always thought, was always afraid, that she didn’t know how to love. Even with all her boyfriends, even with Oscar. Because she was so steeped in hate, raised on it. She thought she’d loved Oscar, but then she had left him so readily, could have easily chosen not to. The mission had meant so much more than what she felt for Oscar, it was all that really mattered to her.

Somehow she knows it hadn’t been nearly as easy for Jane to leave Kurt, that she only managed to force herself away because her presence put them in danger. Jane left to save him, give him a life with his kid. Because he was what mattered to her, nothing else.

It’s what made her so jealous, angry. That Jane got the chance she never had. A blank slate. A chance at love.

Because how could Remi have learned love from a mother that was willing to sacrifice her own daughter?

She watches as Weller helps Bethany push a giant snowball through the park, makes her clap and shout with happiness as he picks it up gingerly and puts it on top of the one they had previously made.

“Okay, now we just need a head,” he comments. “One more snowball?”

“One more!” Bee hollers, already smashing snow together to get things started.

It is beyond obvious that there is nothing Kurt Weller would ever sacrifice his daughter for. That he would hurt anyone that even suggested it.

What’s troubling is that, right now, she feels the same way. She wouldn’t trade Bethany’s life for anything, not even to free Shepherd. It’s an unsettling feeling to realize that her terrorist goal of regime change can suddenly not mean anything when love is in play. That she will never be able to kill Kurt Weller, even if she keeps telling herself she will, even if her mission requires it.

As if to prove the point, Remi’s chest warms as she looks up to see Kurt and Bee charging up to her, all rosy cheeks and soggy gear. The moment of affection costs her as she realizes too late that it’s an ambush and can’t avoid the oncoming barrage of snowballs, takes hit after hit before finally managing to scoop up some ammunition of her own, start firing back.

Thankfully Weller can’t really throw hard due to his ribs and she ends up turning Bethany into a double agent, sends her in for a sneak attack that ends up with the three of them soaking, Kurt asking for mercy. He’s got the look of a fevered young boy, joyous but exhausted when she reaches up to kiss his snow-cooled lips, their breath all steamy around them.

After the snow battle she scoops the tired child up in her arms and they walk home, Bee still awake enough to remember that she gets presents next. The toddler babbles on about Santa while Kurt walks beside them and beams at his kid. It is all sickeningly cute. But Remi loves it anyways, can even admit it at the moment.

Of course there’s hot chocolate once they’re back inside and changed into dry clothes, the sugar in the drink breathing energy back into Bethany. She starts in on her stocking, marveling at all the trinkets in the way only a two year old can. And Kurt is so relaxed, all smiles as he gives his daughter way too many presents, everything her little heart desires.

Remi watches and thinks about her own gift to Kurt, all the anxiety she has tied up around it. He’s made no mention of anything for her yet either, which seems out of character for him.

She still wonders if she made the right choice; it had been really difficult to come up with what Jane would give him. Other than more of those crime novels he’s obsessed with, except he already has all of them, of course.

Remi’s still thinking about it nervously when there’s a knock on the door and she looks at Weller, surprised. They aren’t expecting anyone else for Christmas and Allie isn’t due back until dinner. But she notes that Kurt is looking at the door with a rather self-satisfied expression as she gets up to answer it.

When she opens the door and Avery is standing there shouting Merry Christmas, Remi realizes she should have guessed. Even though Avery didn’t know about Jane’s diagnosis, had been spending the holidays with a best friend from home. Kurt would have wanted Jane to have at least one Christmas with her daughter, would have found a way.

“Merry Christmas! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” Remi exclaims, her emotions all stirred up. She wraps Avery into a hug, bites down hard on her own lip. She had not expected this, has to blink away tears.

“Yeah, and I brought your other gift from Kurt too,” Avery replies cryptically. “Because he’s incapacitated. I just have to haul it in.”

Curiosity piqued, Remi stands there, feels Kurt approach from behind. He wraps his arms around her waist, leans into her gently.

“I didn’t tell her your diagnosis,” he whispers in her ear. “I just said you weren’t feeling well and it was her idea to come.”

“Sure it was,” Remi replies as she turns to face him.

Kurt grins, looks so fucking proud of himself.

“Merry Christmas Jane,” he says fondly.

“Thank you, Kurt,” she replies, the damn tears threatening again. She had never expected to meet her daughter, much less spend Christmas with her.

Avery returns with a gigantic beanbag chair and Remi grins genuinely at the ridiculous object. Kurt had found her lounging in one after an exhausting day arresting criminals ended in a furniture warehouse. She had been so comfortable she was almost asleep when Weller surprised her by leaping on top of her, then snuggling in beside her.

Now she can admit it had been pretty cute. Special Agent Weller all curled up on the job in a giant beanbag. The image comes back to her head, makes her smile again at the memory.

They pull the chair into the apartment and Bee looks at it with wide eyes, then shyly runs up to the big sister she’s only recently met. Avery pulls the toddler into a hug and then tosses her into the beanbag, much to Bethany’s delight.

“More!” she shouts, clearly an adrenaline junkie like her parents.

Remi takes over the task of entertaining Bethany to give Avery a chance to talk to Kurt. He seems to understand her daughter better than she does, gets on just fine with her even after Avery helped set him up, almost destroyed his marriage.

“I can’t believe you got shot on Christmas Eve,” Avery frowns, wrapping her arms gingerly around Kurt. “That is not cool.”

“I didn’t get shot, the bullet barely touched me,” Weller grumbles. “I’m fine.”

“If there was blood from a bullet, you got shot,” Avery argues. “And yea, you look so fine. How would you feel if I hugged you a little tighter?”

Remi grins at Avery’s demanding, worried tone, Weller’s useless attempts to deflect her concern. Finding her daughter as a result of ZIP-ping herself was the most unlikely result she could have ever imagined.  She had never let herself think about searching for her, Shepherd would have never allowed it. But the chance to meet her kid, see how she’d turned out. It meant even more to her than she realized.

A bit later, just before dinner, they’ve somehow all managed to squeeze onto the beanbag, even Weller and his sore ribs. Remi looks at her fake family and thinks she’s never had a Christmas like this. For her it’s been a childhood of stark loveless military style holidays, an adulthood that had no space for celebratory love.

She realizes it’s time to give Kurt her present, suddenly feels extremely anxious. Remi is not a timid person, yet she’s nervous about this, really hopes she got it right. It had been a real conundrum; one she couldn’t exactly ask anyone for help with. She had tried so hard to think like Jane, channel her hated alter ego for this one favour. And of course Jane would think about  about what matters most to Weller, would give him something straight from the heart.

Remi extracts herself from the heap of bodies, goes and gets the present from under the tree. Passes it to Kurt who’s just about managed to sit up in the big floppy chair.

“Merry Christmas, Kurt,” she says shyly.

He opens it carefully, looks a bit apprehensive himself. When it’s finally out of the wrapping, he stares at it wordlessly for a long time, then looks up at her with moist eyes.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

Remi feels all her worry fall away, warmth pumping through her heart.

“Daddy and Jane and Avewy and meeeeeee!” Bethany calls out, pointing at the framed drawing in Kurt’s lap.

Weller smiles broadly, his eyes still glistening.

“It sure is, Bee,” he replies. “It’s beautiful, Jane.”

It’s all Kurt Weller wants, what he loves best. His wife, his little girl. His big girl that he readily takes responsibility for, because that’s the kind of man he is.

And if she can give it to him, even just for a day? He deserves it. For Christmas.

Remi crawls back into the beanbag, snuggles up against Kurt who’s lying back, still staring at the picture with a satisfied smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” she says, settling in close beside him.

Weller passes the drawing over so Avery and Bethany can see, turns his attention to his wife. The look in his eyes is overly expressive, the way it always is for her.

“I love it,” he replies.

“And I love you,” he adds, with an air of reverence.

“She knows,” Avery groans. “You tell her all the time.”

Remi laughs, nuzzles her nose into the crook of Kurt’s neck.

“I know,” she murmurs. “I love you too.”

She could never have seen this coming, Love, a family. Making her teenager scurry off to check on dinner by kissing her husband too passionately on an absurd piece of furniture.

The thing is, it’s not her life. It doesn’t belong to her. She should be so very disdainful of it.

Remi had woken up six months ago with a husband she hated voraciously, alone and spiteful in a world gone wrong. But if someone came in tonight to try and tried to hurt him, she knows she would defend him to her last breath. Even though it would mean failing her mission, giving up on Shepherd.

Because he’s a good-hearted stubborn bastard, Mr tough guy Fed with a thoughtful loving soul. And right now she wants this more than anything. For him and for herself. Their family all together on a perfect Christmas day, Kurt at peace with himself, feeling loved.

Even if it isn’t really her family, even if she has to give it all back to Jane one day. This is her Christmas present to her other self.

I saved him for you, Jane, she thinks as he trails pre-dinner kisses up her neck. And gave him the Christmas he deserved.