Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.
A/N: A few days ago, I was just a little itchy, and then suddenly those itchy spots had turned into angry welts that itched so much they hurt. So off I went to the doctor and guess what? After thirty some years since the last time, I have poison ivy! (I didn't even know that that's what it was when I had it as a kid) So here I sit, itchy and absolutely miserable and unable to think about anything except how itchy and absolutely miserable I am. So I decided to take a little break from The Aftermath (I'll be back at work on it as soon as this one is done) and let Jane go through this with me. As they say, misery loves company!
This story is set early enough in season 1 that things were good between Jane and Kurt, without all the deception and secrets, but late enough that they were comfortable with each other – so somewhere between episodes 105 and 106, I think.
An enormous thank you to MonkeyPajamas, for being the best cheerleader/consultant/Blindspot twin and helping keep my mind off of the itching and on the writing… as much as is possible, anyway.
Jane woke up in the dark to a quiet house. Looking around, she wasn't sure what had woken her up. According to her clock, it was only just after 1:30 am, and her house was silent. What in the world was she doing awake? That's when she felt it. She felt… itchy. Not just in one spot, but in a whole bunch of them. She got out of bed and turned on the light, inspecting the itchy spots on her skin. They weren't just itchy, they were bumps. Not just bumps, but rather large ones. Where in the world did those come from? And what were they?
Her skin was more than a little bit lumpy under the ink of her tattoos in multiple patches on her arms and legs. Some of them were circular in shape, but many of them weren't. She had a feeling that it was the kind of thing that she wasn't supposed to scratch, and she tried her best, but when she turned off the light and got back into bed, she found that she could think of absolutely nothing else. After tossing and turning until a little after 2:00am, she reached for her phone, where it was charging on the nightstand beside her bed.
She held it in hand for a moment, staring at it. Should I? she asked herself. Weller always said that she should call if she needed him, no matter what time. No conditions of any kind. If she needed him, she could just call, he had said. But for some itchy bumps? It seemed silly to call someone because she was itchy. Besides, what was he going to do about it? Wave a wand and make them go away? Besides, she hated to wake him up in the middle of the night just because she had some kind of skin condition.
Then again, this wasn't just a little itchy. The more she thought about those bumps, the more she could think of nothing else. However, she also just kept thinking about how silly she'd feel when he told her to go back to sleep and that they would get her checked out in the morning. No, there was no need to call him. She replaced her phone on the nightstand and laid back down.
However, after tossing and turning for what felt like three hours, she turned back over and looked at her clock to see that it was only 2:26 am. It hadn't even been 25 minutes? Clearly, the going back to sleep thing was not working. She sat up again, feeling like the bumps were somehow growing more sensitive the longer they festered on her skin. Even though she was sure that it was only her imagination, she got up and turned the light back on to inspect them again. Even though it had been only less than an hour since the last time she looked at them, she swore that they were changing, that they were getting bigger.
You're delusional, she told herself. But no! One of them was even starting to resemble a small balloon, which she swore that it hadn't before. What that tiny, painful balloon was filled with, she certainly did not want to speculate about.
Picking up her phone again and staring at it, she finally decided that she couldn't stand it any longer. Unlocking the screen, she navigated to her Favorites list in her phone app, and pressed the button that said Kurt. She listened to her the ringing sound once, twice, three times, and just when she thought he wasn't going to answer, he did, just before the fourth ring.
"Jane? What's wrong?"
She was so relieved to have the chance to tell him about these stupid itchy bumps, and the words started tumbling out all at once. "Kurt, I'm sorry to bother you, I just—"
"It's okay, Jane. What is it?"
"Well, there's these bumps on my skin. On my arms and my legs. Last night they were just itchy. Now they're still itchy but… now they're so itchy they actually hurt. And I'm not scratching them, I swear! You always tell me scratching when you have a big bump of any kind is usually a bad idea. But I'm so uncomfortable, they actually woke me up at about 1:30, and I tried to go back to sleep but I can't. All I can think about is how itchy I am. And how much it's starting to hurt. I didn't know else what to do besides call you… So before I clawed my skin off, I thought I should check and see if there were any other options that would be less… dangerous to my health."
Her words had come out as a barrage, and he hadn't even been able to think about getting a word in edgewise. Now that she'd finally stopped, she could hear him chuckling. "It's going to be okay, Jane. I'll come over and take a look, okay? Will that make you feel better?"
Could she admit to him that having him there would make her feel better, whether he knew what those terrible bumps were, or not? No, she decided that she didn't need to say that. She'd feel really guilty if he came over, despite the fact that she actually did want him there… "No, Kurt, I… I mean, you don't have to do that. It's the middle of the night! I just… I was just hoping you could tell me what I need to do to get rid of them…"
"Well, it depends what they are. So I won't know that until I take a look. And no, you're right, I don't have to come over and look at them. Would I go over and check out strange bumps on Reade or Zapata or Patterson at…" he paused, glancing at the clock beside his bed, "2:34 in the morning?" It could have been her imagination, but he sounded a little extra tired when he mentioned what time it was. "No, definitely not. But for you…?" He chuckled again, but didn't finish his sentence.
Doesn't she understand yet that she's the exception? he wondered. "I'll see you in a little bit, Jane. Okay?"
"Okay," she whispered, trying not to feel guilty for waking him up and not to feel an immense sense of relief that she wouldn't be stuck wondering about those bumps alone for the next five hours or so – and despite these attempts, feeling both of those things at once. She also felt a little bit like a small child who couldn't take care of herself, and she disliked that feeling most of all.
"Hang in there, Jane," he told her in a voice that was still sleepy, even after holding a conversation with her. "I'll see you soon."
"Okay, bye," she replied before hanging up. Looking around the room, she took the soft, light green blanket that was laying at the end of her bed and stood up, wrapping it around herself over her pajamas – a pair of grey cotton pants and a black tank top – and wandered downstairs in the dark, the shadow of the streetlight from just outside the window lighting her way. In the living room, she turned on the small lamp that sat on the end table at the end of the couch, folding herself into the most comfortable position she could manage, considering that the itchy bumps seemed to be feeling itchier and bumpier every minute.
Not having the patience for doing much of anything while she waited for him to arrive, she decided to distract herself by instead talking to herself about staying awake. She'd heard someone say something about reverse psychology, and how it sometimes worked on people, so she decided to try it on herself and see if she'd have any luck.
Wow, she thought to herself first, it's a good thing I'm awake so early. I can get so much done today. I could read a book… She looked over at the small pile of books on the shelf across the room that Patterson had lent her. I could watch TV… She glanced at the TV set in the corner that she almost never turned on. There were more than 500 channels and yet, from what she could tell, not a single good show on to watch, no matter what time it was. At least, she hadn't managed to find anything she liked. But she spent most of her time working, so that wasn't much of a surprise. People kept talking about something called Netflix, but she hadn't yet gotten around to figuring out what that was all about. That would require her to be home for more than a few waking hours at a time, and for someone to explain it to her, and she met neither of those two criteria most of the time.
What else could I do? she wondered, trying to pretend she was actually interested in doing any of these things. This wasn't easy, considering that all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. I could… try and cook something. She laughed at that idea, since the last thing she'd tried to cook – chocolate chip cookies – had led to her almost burning down her safe house. Kurt had actually told her that maybe she should let someone help her when she decided she wanted to cook something, at least for the next few tries. She'd pretended to be offended at his remark, but really she agreed that it was for the best.
She was quickly running out of potential activities to pretend that she wanted to do to fill up her early morning, so she got up and went to the kitchen. At least she knew that she could make herself some tea without burning the house down. After switching on the burner to heat up the water, she leaned against the counter, still clutching her blanket around her and trying not to think about how itchy she felt. Or how much like a monster all those increasingly blistery bumps made her feel.
It's not bad enough that I'm covered in tattoos? she wanted to scream. Now I have be covered in horribly misshapen tattoos because these stupid blisters decided to just show up on my skin? She was beginning to feel angry and slightly irrational, partially from discomfort and partially from exhaustion, when two things happened almost simultaneously.
First, the kettle in front of her on the stove began whistling, and only seconds later, before she could even turn off the heat under the kettle, there was a knock on the front door. Flipping the switch and leaving the hot water exactly where it was, she strode through the dining room toward the door. Thanks to having her detail out front, she could answer the door without being too paranoid. Still, after that first break-in at her previous safe house, complete with a sniper attack, Kurt had insisted that she take extra precautions, detail or not detail.
Because of that, she paused inside the door and peeked through the peephole, seeing exactly who she expected to see – the handsome and scruffy face of Kurt Weller, still adorably sleepy-looking, even through the peephole. Opening the door, she looked out at him and tried her best to smile, but it wasn't happening. She was simply too uncomfortable.
"Hey," she said simply, standing back to let him pass by her into the entry way.
"Hey, Jane," he replied, his face already creasing with concern. "Are you okay?"
She closed the door and turned towards him. "I'm… Yeah I guess, but I'm so uncomfortable… it's not even that many bumps but it feels like it's everywhere. And now they hurt, too!" she told him miserably. "And if they brush against something…" She closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought. "Ouch," she summarized, looking back up at him and feeling more like a little kid every second.
"Okay, let's see what we're dealing with here," he said, waving her to stand over by the lamp so he could see better. "Now, show me these bumps."
There were none of these bumps on her hands, which Kurt took in his gently, just barely holding on to them, as she turned her arms over to reveal the offending bumps. His thumbs rested squarely in the middle of her palms, while his other four fingers supported her hands lightly. His touch was so gentle and she was so mesmerized by it, that she almost forgot that he was standing in front of her to look at itchy, and now aching, bumps that had kept her up half the night. She glanced up at him at the same time that he looked at her, and she could feel her cheeks growing warm. Sure that she was blushing, she tried to cover it up with a smile – not that she could really help but smile at him just then anyway. In his eyes was a question – Are you okay with this? – and in hers was the reply – Yes. They seemed to constantly dance on and around the line between them and which side of it they should be on.
He looked back down at the bumps on her arms, which ran from just above her wrists to just past her elbows. She'd been was right, there weren't so many of them, but the ones that were there seemed to be in various stages of development. Judging from the look on her face, now that she was focused on them again, she was a little scared, in a lot of pain, or possibly both. Several of the bumps looked like small balloons against her skin, as if they were ready to burst open at any time, expelling their unpleasant, light-colored contents. Several others were still very small and didn't yet have much height to them, while a few of them fell somewhere in between.
Luckily, Kurt knew exactly what this was, and he even had a few things in the small arsenal, which he'd quickly assembled for dealing with "itchy bumps" from the cabinets at home, that would give her temporary relief until she could get in to see a doctor in a few hours.
"Jane, you have poison ivy," he told her calmly, still holding onto her hands.
Poison ivy? she thought, beginning to panic. That sounds serious! And yet, Weller's so calm… She continued to stare at him nervously, waiting for an explanation.
He could see that his diagnosis wasn't helpful, since she obviously didn't know what that was, and the word poison probably wasn't helping. "It's not as bad as it sounds," he told her, "I promise." She still looked skeptical, and he couldn't help but be reminded of his sister, Sarah, the first time she'd had poison ivy when they were little. Sarah had been similarly nervous. "I know, it's easy for me to say, since I don't have it."
"Most people get it as kids, though anyone can get it. There's a specific plant that secretes a particular kind of oil, and if you touch it, you get a reaction which can look like this. You obviously managed to get it on your skin at some point recently. You're actually lucky, because some people are severely allergic to it. Sawyer got it last summer when we went out to the lake for the day, and three days later his whole face puffed up… he was a pretty miserable kid for a few days. But it went away. And yours will, too."
He smiled, looking back up at her. She was still digesting what he'd just said.
"You mean, it's going to be days before this goes away?" She looked crushed by this realization. He couldn't help but think that she reminded him of a little kid, and had to remind himself that this was likely the first time she had had any kind of rash, at least as far as she could remember. He imagined that she felt betrayed by her own skin.
"Yes, and it's going to be uncomfortable, but you'll be okay," he told her gently. "Now, I have a few things in my bag of tricks that might help." He let go of her hands slowly, letting their hands fall almost all the way to her side while still joined before actually letting go, then turned and walked back to the paper bag he'd put on the end table when he'd come in. He rummaged through it and pulled out three different things.
"Okay," he said, holding up the first one, a smallish tube with the word Zanfel in bold print, "this is a kind of scrub that you use on the skin where it itches. It's made specifically for rashes from poison ivy and a few other related kinds of plants. It might not take away all of the itch, but it should help. According to the instructions, the most important part of applying it is that you can rinse it off completely, so depending on where your spots are, you might need to do it in the shower…" He paused and handed it to her. "We had some left over from last summer, I think."
She just nodded, taking the tube and looking at it briefly. "After that, if you're still itchy," he continued, reaching back into the bag and pulling out a pink bottle, we have Calamine lotion. This stuff has been around forever, I'm pretty sure. I remember having my mom put it on me when I was a kid. I hated it, but it did the trick."
"Why did you hate it?" Jane asked curiously.
"Well, it had a very particular smell, which I didn't like, and it's pink, so Sarah would tease me that I had pink spots, and it dries on your skin and feels funny… or at least, when I was a kid I thought so. So all that together meant that I didn't like it at all," he told her. Jane smiled, trying to imagine a child sized version of Weller, trying to get away from his mom when she came after him with Calamine lotion. Of course, mentioning things that had happened that far in the past was like walking through a minefield, so neither of them commented on it further. Instead, they looked into each other's eyes for an extra few seconds before Weller turned back to the contents of the bag.
"And after that," he said, pulling out a flat, pink box, "you may or may not want Benadryl. It's used to control a lot of different allergies and allergic reactions. It works differently in different people, so it may help or it may not. The one thing that it does in almost everyone is that it makes you very tired. So, for example, if you're covered in achy bumps, you might have an easier time getting back to sleep."
Jane smiled at him, looking from the tube of Zanfel that she was holding to the Calamine lotion and Benadryl that he was holding, and then at Weller himself. He looked rather proud of himself. And why shouldn't he? she thought. I called him in the middle of the night with only a vague description of what was wrong with me, and he managed to bring three different things that could help me feel better.
"You're too good to me," she told him.
He smiled a little wider then, and she swore she saw him blushing just a little. "Not at all," he replied. "Everyone should have someone they can call at 2am when they have itchy bumps." She just shook her head, looking at him fondly, then finally back down at the Zanfel in her hands.
"Okay, well since I have these horrible bumps on my arms and my legs, I think the easiest thing to do is scrub them in the shower," she said, looking back up at him. "You don't have to hang out here. You should go back home and get a little more sleep. It's almost morning."
"Nope, I'm good," he insisted without hesitation. "This is your first poison ivy situation, and I, sadly, am a pro. I'll hang out here. Unless… you want me to leave, of course."
Smiling and rolling her eyes at him, she shook her head slightly. "No, you know I love your company. I just don't want you to feel like you have to stay."
"Got it," he said, flopping down on the couch. "So go shower and scrub as much of that stuff on you as you can… that little tube will go fast though, so just watch out. Do the itchiest ones first, because there's probably not enough. Then I'll give you 'pink dots on the itchy spots,' as Sarah used to say."
She didn't know why, but just the way he said that made it sound like fun. Or maybe it was just because she liked being around him. Either way, she had almost forgotten how uncomfortable those bumps were… almost, but not quite.
"Oh, Jane, one more thing," he called as she started up the stairs. "Poison ivy is spread by the oil that gets on your skin. It's contagious, and it's easy to spread. Since you don't want to spread it onto any more of your skin that it's already on, other than scrubbing them with the stuff in that tube," he pointed to the tube in her hands, "just try not to touch them… at all."
"Okay," she replied, and continued up the stairs. Weller leaned back into the couch and looked at his watch. 3:14am. Deciding that he could afford a little nap while Jane worked on scrubbing, his eyes were already closing before he told himself that he'd just rest his eyes for a few minutes.
What felt like a few seconds later, which was really more of five minutes or so, he awoke with a start, instantly alert. He only had to wait a few seconds before he heard the noise that had startled him awake once again. If he didn't know better, he'd say that it sounded like Jane… swearing at the top of her lungs. After what had happened in her first safe house, he preferred to err on the side of caution, and within seconds he was upstairs, sprinting into her bedroom, where he stopped short, realizing exactly where he was and what he was doing. Everything there looked fine. No open windows, no signs of trouble…
And then he heard it again. Jane yelling obscenities – words that he hadn't even know for sure that she had known – if not at the top of her lungs, then pretty close. He walked to the door of the bathroom and knocked on the door. Opening the door a crack, he was greeted by a wall of steam. He stood back, not wanting to invade her privacy. "Jane!" he called. "You okay in there?"
"What? Oh… yeah. I just… Weller, the water… it hurts like… like every bad word I can think of when it hits those stupid bumps! It burns. It's good, like when you scratch an itch, but at the same time, it's like… it's like someone set them on fire…" A few more obscenities escaped her as he stood there, shaking his head. He tried very hard not to be amused, but he simply couldn't help it.
"I guess I forgot to mention that, Jane, sorry… I just wanted to be sure you were okay up here. I'll see you downstairs," he called, and walked slowly back down to the living room. That little jolt had woken him up, but now he was feeling his lack of sleep once again. Wondering if Jane had any coffee, he walked into the kitchen.
There were a few mostly empty takeout containers in the fridge, a lone ice cube tray in the freezer, but not much else. He did manage to locate a coffee maker in the corner of the counter that looked like it had never been used – probably because there were no coffee or filters to be seen anywhere in the kitchen. He shook his head. Had he really never noticed this before? He needed to be a little more aware of what was going on with Jane, he thought to himself.
He settled for a glass of water, which was really the only thing in the kitchen besides leftover crumbs in takeout boxes. He had no right to judge, though, because he knew that his refrigerator would look exactly like this if he didn't have Sarah living with him to keep him stocked with food. He sometimes missed the quiet and the privacy that he'd had before she and Sawyer had moved in, but all in all, it was great having them around.
Going back to the couch, he put his glass on water on the end table and resumed the nap he'd been starting to take when Jane had started yelling obscenities in the shower. Shortly thereafter he was once again startled awake, but this time much more pleasantly. Instead of Jane yelling curse words from upstairs, he heard her ask him in amusement from only a few feet away, "Would you like a blanket?" Sitting up and chuckling, he shook his head.
"Just waiting for you to be ready for the pink spots," he told her, turning around to look in her direction. She was wearing a different tank top and what he could only describe as some very small shorts.
"I'm ready," she said, grimacing. Her face said that she was anything but ready. If he had to make a comparison, she looked like she was about as ready as she would be to face a firing squad. Seeing him notice her change of clothing, she added, "There's a bunch of spots on my legs, so… I figured after the pink spots dry, I can put on some pajama pants." And besides, it's not like you haven't already seen it all, she added in her head. It wasn't the same, of course, and she wouldn't have worn her current outfit in front of the rest of the team unless she had no other choice… but it was Weller… so it was just different.
He just nodded at her, smiling sympathetically, then asked, "Do the spots feel any better, despite having felt like they were being set on fire in the shower?"
"A little," she replied with a sigh. "It's still so uncomfortable, though."
"I know." He hadn't had poison ivy in many years, but he remembered the feeling well. "Hang in there," he told her as she came around the couch to sit beside him. Just before she did, however, she stopped, a look of concern on her face.
"Wait, you said this is really contagious," she said worriedly. "Won't you get it if I get too close?"
"Only if you plan to rub those spots up against me," he replied. Then, standing up and looking at her without smiling, and in a completely serious tone, he added, "Please don't do that."
Breaking out into a grin, she chuckled. "Why Agent Weller," she said with a mischievous look in her eyes, "are you saying that you thought I was planning to rub up against you?"
Kurt looked at her seriously, and without batting an eye, he said, "Not today you're not."
"So, you'll… take a rain check?" Jane asked, raising her eyebrows and biting her lip to keep from laughing.
"It seems wise, yes. Because as good as poison ivy looks on you, it doesn't look nearly that good on me, trust me," he replied, winking at her.
Jane rolled her eyes at him, grinning and shaking her head as she held out her arms for closer inspection. Finding the bumps, while certainly not impossible, was harder than it would have been on someone else because of the intricate patterns covering her skin. "You are not telling me that this looks good," she told him.
He leaned away slightly, looking down at her arms out of the corner of his eyes, pretending to think about it. "A little pus-filled for my taste today," he replied, once again with dead seriousness, "but even so, you make poison ivy look good." She chuckled, and punched him lightly in the arm until he laughed, too.
"So, where do you want me to be? Sitting? Standing?" she asked as he went back to the bag for cotton balls.
"I think it'll be better if you just stand up for now," he said. "That way we won't miss any, and the calamine lotion won't get on the couch."
"OK, so… here?" She had moved away from the furniture, into the open middle part of the room.
"Yep, perfect," he said, walking over with a bag of cotton balls, which he set down on the floor, and the bottle of calamine lotion. "So, all you have to do is show me where it itches." He was standing close, but not too close. "And remember, keep your pus-filled spots to yourself." His face was completely serious, except for his eyes, which were laughing.
"I'll try," she said, stifling a laugh herself.
It took about 15 minutes to cover all the spots, and several curses escaped Jane's lips on some of the ones that hurt, even when he tried to dab at them gently. "Stand there for another few minutes, just to be sure the last ones dry, okay?" he said gently. She was getting grumpier by the minute, he could tell. It was, after all, practically morning, so she was not only very uncomfortable, but also very tired.
"So what was the third thing again?" she asked him suddenly as she stood there. He was getting pretty tired himself, and it took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about.
"Oh, right. The third thing was Benadryl," he replied, getting it from the table where he'd put it down. "It's not made specifically for poison ivy, just generally for allergies and allergic reactions, really, so it may help, or it may not. The main thing it'll do," he told her with a smile, "is to help you get some sleep. One of its side effects is drowsiness."
"Yeah, I remember you saying something about that…" she yawned. "I mean, I'm pretty tired…"
"I know you are, but when you're as uncomfortable as you are, sometimes even being tired isn't enough. Plus, it may make you a little less itchy. Then, in the morning when the rest of the world is awake, we'll get you in to see a doctor."
Her mind was working slowly, so it only occurred to her as she nodded at his sentence that he'd said "we." A little confused, she stopped and looked at him. "We?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Would you rather I didn't come?" he asked. "I don't have to."
"No, I… I know that… it's just…" she was tired and confused, and… he wanted to come with her to the doctor?
He could see that she was having a hard time figuring out how to even get the words out, so he took pity on her. Smiling, he said, "Well, there's this thing people do when they care about each other, where they take care of them when they're sick. It's perfectly normal, even for adults, to let someone else take care of you…" He saw the thought forming in her mind before she could get it out, so he added, "And don't say But I'm not sick. It's the same idea,"
She smiled, blushing slightly because that had been what she'd been about to say. "Okay, okay," she replied. "It's just… you don't have to do all this for me."
"Of course I don't. But I do it anyway. Gladly," he told her, maintaining his distance from her but seeming to pull her in with his eyes.
"Thanks," she said simply.
"And now, here's your Benadryl, and water is coming right up," he told her, walking to the kitchen to fill a glass for her while she freed the tiny pink capsules from their foil enclosures. He handed her the glass and she finished the pills and the water, at which time he took the glass back from her and set it on the table against the wall. "Bedtime," he told her.
"You're bossy, today," she told him evenly, though both of them knew that she didn't mean it seriously.
"And you're grumpy, and you need to go back to bed," he replied in the same serious tone. "Besides, that Benadryl's gonna knock you out, and if you don't go to bed, you're going to wish you had."
"So, so bossy," she repeated, climbing the stairs as he followed her. "Am I allowed to go to the bathroom first?"
"Yep, but hurry up," he told her, the hint of a smile peeking through. She narrowed her eyes at him, again, without smiling, but knowing that they both knew that there was no malice behind it, as she closed the bathroom door behind her. Weller walked to the window and moved one of the blinds slightly so that he could look out, checking the view of the street. Everything was quiet.
Jane came back out of the bathroom then, and he let go of the blind and walked back around to where she was climbing into bed. "Are you going to stay and watch me sleep, too?" she asked, her tone finally showing a hit of laughter.
"Hmmm, that's an idea," he said, and for a second she wanted to slap herself for planting that idea in his head. But he smiled and shook his head. "Nope, I've gotta go out and get a few things, but I'll be back."
"You will?" she smiled at the idea as she put her head down on the pillow and pulled the blanket over her.
"Yep, probably before you wake up. Good thing I have a key," he said. "Unless you don't wait me to use it…?" He'd always felt a little weird about having a key to her place, less so after the break-in at her first safe house, but still… it just wasn't a normal arrangement between two adults who weren't in a relationship. But since part of his job was keeping her safe, it just made sense.
"Don't be silly, Weller, it's fine." Her eyes were getting heavy, he could tell. "See you later."
"Sleep tight, Jane. Feel better," he said as he walked quietly back downstairs, heading for the front door. It was almost 5:30am, and he knew that he was going to be hurting from this night later, but he didn't care. He slipped out quietly, into the early morning.
A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot... but apparently I suck at writing those, so there will be at least another chapter. Maybe two. We'll see.