Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)
It was the thing she had missed most about him, she realized. Seeing him smile at her. Even when his mouth wasn't smiling at her, there was something about his eyes that gave her almost the same feeling. It had been there… had it been there since the very beginning? It was hard to remember. That first day was so fuzzy now, after all this time and so much emotional upheaval. In any case, if it hadn't been there since the first day, it hadn't taken long. The way he looked at her had always been one of the two most important parts of their connection.
The other part, of course, was touch – which sounded a little weird, she knew, but it was the truth. They'd been strangers that first day, and even so, when she'd put her hand up to his face, so desperate to remember, she'd felt something. Again, it was almost surreal to think of that day now. To think of the person she'd been when she had had literally nothing – not even a name – and how far she had come. Some days, she almost felt normal. Almost.
And even though she'd been called Jane Doe simply because the FBI had needed to call her something, it had grown on her. Never mind the strange reactions that it got because the only time anyone heard the name Jane Doe, it referred to a dead woman without an identity. She'd been just that, for all intents and purposes. But it had grown on her in no small part because she simply couldn't grow tired of hearing Kurt say it. "Jane."
Well, she liked that way he said it most of the time, anyway. There had, of course, been plenty of times when he'd said her name and it had not come out as music to her ears. Especially in what she referred to as the middle part of… well, whatever it was they had. Before he'd arrested her, but when she'd told him so many lies, he would say her name in the same warm tone as ever, but it had killed her a little bit inside because of how much she hated lying to him. That, of course, had paled in comparison to what had come next.
When she'd escaped from the CIA only to be dragged back to the FBI, that had been the worst part, at least as far as the way Kurt said her name was concerned. The venom that was audible when he referred to her was like a knife to her heart. She shuddered inside each and every time. Really, he would have preferred that he simply not say her name at all, rather than to say it with a tone that told her in no uncertain terms exactly how he felt about her. She'd known that she'd deserved it, of course, and she'd been equally angry with him. Even so, and even knowing very well that she'd done this to herself… that hadn't made it easier to hear.
And now… well… things had stabilized again, even though it had felt like they never would. There was no fire in his voice anymore, thank goodness. No ice. Not a hint of anything in his voice that suggested what they had been through, nor was there any in his eyes or his touch. Things were better. Not the same as they'd been at the beginning, but also not the same as they'd been in the middle… this was now, and it was simply… different. Better.
She'd been staring out the window, the cloudless blue sky almost making her forget how cold it was outside. It didn't look frigid… but when she leaned her forehead against the glass, she felt the cold. It was a pleasant, she found, one that made everything that much more real – and she when things felt too good to be true, that was very helpful.
When she heard the knock on the door, she realized that more time had passed than she'd noticed. Last time she'd looked at the clock, there had still been twenty minutes left until he was due to arrive. Lifting her head off of the glass, she couldn't help but smile. Even before she'd crossed the room to the door, she could see the warmth of the expression that she knew she would greet her when she opened the door. Seconds later, when she made it across the room and he was standing in front of her, she saw exactly the gleam in his eyes that she had been anticipating. Suddenly, any other thoughts evaporated from her mind.
"Hey," she said, feeling heat rush to her face and stepping back so that he could come in, cold air rushing in along with him. "Come on in." She tried to peek into the shopping bag that he carried, but couldn't identify any of the many items inside. He'd said that he was going to come over and teach her to make soup – one of those cooking lessons that he'd promised her so very long ago, in that other lifetime… before everything had so quickly fallen apart. And now, here he was. It had been a long time coming, but as he stepped past her into the entryway and she closed the door behind him, none of that mattered. After all, he was here now.
He stopped a few feet inside, closer to her than she'd expected, and when she turned around after closing the door, she was surprised to find him right in front of her. Grinning self-consciously and feeling her cheeks heat up, she looked up at him. He'd set the bag he'd been holding down beside him, and was just standing there looking at her with that smile. The one that made her knees weak.
Damn him and that smile, she thought. No one should have so much power over someone else with simply a smile.
"It's cold out there," he remarked casually, and she noticed that his cheeks were pink from the cold. Unlike hers, which were pink because she was already flustered.
"Looks like it, you're all pink," she smiled. Before she could stop herself, she lifted a hand to his cheek, confirming that his skin was, indeed, very cold. Shock shot through her as she realized what she'd done, what she was still doing, without even thinking. She did this sort of thing in her head sometimes, imagining how things could have been between them. Or she dreamed about it. But she would never have even considered doing it in real life.
Her thoughts stalled.
Things between them just weren't there, and probably never would be. She'd accepted it. After all, how could she ever expect him to overlook what she'd done? So many things that she'd done…
Tuning back into what was happening in front of her, it had really only been a split second since her hand had gone to his face, and she'd frozen so quickly, she hadn't been able to move it away. Looking up at him, now, she saw a glimmer in his eyes. His hand came up to cover hers, and for a few blissful seconds he pressed her fingers against his cheek, looking at her playfully. All too soon, it was over, his hand falling back down slowly, and hers following almost immediately. She looked down at the floor, flustered, and he chuckled softly, reaching down to pick up the bag where he'd set it on the floor.
They both began walking in the general direction of the kitchen, Jane searching her brain for something to talk about – anything that would help ease the discomfort that she now felt.
What in the world was I thinking? she wondered, feeling a little bit frantic. The last thing she needed was to go back to things being awkward between them again… They'd come too far for that.
They both walked towards the kitchen, Kurt setting the bag he'd brought on the counter and then turning to face her. "Ready for your first cooking lesson?" he asked, grinning at her. If she didn't know better, she'd have said that there was amusement in his face, and she could only wonder if it was at her expense, from what had just happened. Still, his smile was almost hypnotic, to the point that she quickly decided that she didn't care if he was amused at her expense, as long as he kept looking at her the way that he was just then.
"I don't know how successful it's going to be, but… yeah, I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she replied hesitantly.
Now he chuckled, looking genuinely amused.
"You mean you think there's something that you can't do?" he asked, taking a half step closer to her.
"Oh, come on," she sighed, "there's plenty of things I'm bad at…" she looked down, suddenly at a loss for words. It was one of those moments where the past bubbled up inside her and she felt as though she had ruined everything. After all, if not for everything in their past, everything that had happened because of her poor choices… well, who knows what might have been.
"And none of them matter," he told her, his voice suddenly serious. She looked up in surprise at the change in his tone, feeling her stomach flip flop unexpectedly as she saw the intense look in her eyes. They stood there, their eyes locked on each other for a few long seconds, neither of them moving. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that he looked like he wanted to reach for her, and yet, he didn't. She tried not to be disappointed, but she couldn't help it. Once upon a time, he would have, after all.
Of course he didn't, she reminded herself, why would he? That's not how things are between you two.
Looking in his eyes just then, she couldn't help but wonder if that could change, however. This felt… different somehow. Slowly, her lips curled into a smile.
"Okay?" he asked her simply.
"Okay," she replied in a whisper, only then realizing that she'd been holding her breath for the past few seconds. She knew that she needed to get a hold of herself, but this feeling was just so addictive… really, she didn't want to get a hold of herself. Turning slowly back to the bag, he began to unpack the contents. Pasta. Lots of different vegetables. Spices. Even a large spoon and what looked like an oversized pot came out of the bag.
She leaned against the counter with her right arm, standing on his right and simply watching. "Wow," she said when he'd emptied the bag and folded it up, setting the box of pasta on top of it, "this is quite an operation."
"Well," he said, in the same way that he'd said that word so many times. There was something so endearing about the way he said it… with a small shrug and a grin. It was just so damn cute…
She told herself to stop appreciating it, appreciating him, because it was simply not going to help her, only hurt her later. Though she knew that that thought should distress her, she found that she liked the feeling it gave her too much to bring herself to care.
"I knew you weren't exactly stocked up for cooking," he told her, looking sheepish.
This was dangerous territory they were veering towards. After all, the reason she had basically no possessions was because it had all been confiscated when she'd been arrested. By him. As she watched, she could see just how carefully he was choosing his words, and how hard he was working to keep his tone light. The conversation could easily have gone bad from there, if they hadn't been as attuned to each other as they were. Luckily, that didn't seem to be a problem they were having that day. The way he handled the comment so perfectly, with such sensitivity, just made her heart ache. He hadn't deserved what she had done to him. To them.
Careful, the voice in her head told her sharply. You know you're dancing awfully close to the fire, and you're the one who's going to get burned.
She knew that, and yet, at that moment, she didn't care. If this was all that there was going to be between them – this seeming emotional limbo that felt on the verge of something, and yet… not – while it wasn't what she wanted, she would have to settle for what she could get. She knew better than to hope for more. That would only lead to disappointment.
Are you sure about that? the voice in her head asked uncertainly. Because from where I'm sitting, this doesn't look like not.
Ignoring the voice, she focused on Kurt. "Who has time to learn to cook when you're always having to save the world?" she said with a smile and a shrug. "And I've survived this long without cooking."
"You're right, you have," he said, suddenly looking thoughtful. "You know… Some people say there's more to life than just surviving." His eyes danced with light, as once again he stared into hers, and she couldn't help but wish that he wouldn't tease her this way. It was almost painful, the way he was looking at her, because she knew that nothing would come of it.
I'll say it again, the voice in her head asserted, It doesn't look like nothing from my angle…
"Maybe," she admitted slowly, wondering if maybe he was trying to tell her something, while at the same time trying to retain control of her emotions, "but surviving is a pretty good start."
"It is," he confirmed with a nod. "And now that we hopefully have a handle on that part, at least for the moment, maybe we can work on the next step. Beyond just surviving."
She shrugged, feeling her cheeks heat up yet again, and wondering whether she should be taking his words to mean more than he was actually saying, or not. It was making her anxious, to be honest.
"I don't know what that feels like," she said. After all, it was the truth. For as long as she could remember, she'd just been trying to survive. The words came out in a whisper, to her surprise, and it was only after the words had left her mouth that she realized that she had said the same ones to him long ago, on her first night in her original safe house, after he'd assured her that she would be okay.
She thought that he may have remembered it too, because his expression changed, a knowing smile spreading silently across his face.
"We can work on that," he said, still looking at her intently. She wasn't sure how much more staring into his eyes her heart could safely take before it burst, and she looked away then out of necessity. The feeling of his eyes on her remained for a few more seconds, before he turned to look at the ingredients. She glanced at him, then looked in the direction of the counter, as he was.
"So what's the first step?" she asked.
"Clean hands," he said, turning sideways to grin playfully at her. She couldn't help but be grateful for the change in his tone, because as much as she liked it, she wasn't sure that she could take any more of the serious way he'd been looking at her. Not just then, anyway.
"What are you trying to say?" she replied, pretending to pout.
"Nothing," he said innocently, watching her with that playful smile. Feeling more than just a little self-conscious again, she stepped around him, to the sink. Again, she could feel him watching her, but deliberately didn't look at him as she washed her hands and then dried them on the one clean dishtowel that hung off of the cabinet door below the sink. Stepping aside, she gestured to the sink.
"Next," she told him. Shaking his head and smiling at her, he stepped forward to wash his hands, drying them on the same towel.
For the next ten minutes they worked on chopping vegetables, Kurt showing Jane the proper technique, as they made friendly small talk, working side by side. Occasionally their arms brushed against each other, causing them to glance at each other and smile awkwardly. She apologized, as did he, as if for some reason she thought that it had bothered him.
He certainly doesn't look like someone who's bothered by brushing up against you, the voice in her head pointed out, but again she ignored it. She needed to keep her mind from running away with her.
Jane was almost finished chopping mushrooms when the knife strayed just a little too close to the end of her left index finger. Inhaling sharply as she felt the stab of pain when the blade pierced her skin, she quickly dropped the knife on the cutting board, looking at her finger as blood quickly began flowing from the almost invisible but very painful opening. For a second she just stared at it in surprise.
Kurt, of course, had looked over at her as soon as she'd gasped, and he saw exactly what had happened. "Run it under the water," he told her. "I'll find you a band aid." Then, realizing that he was at Jane's place and not his, he added, "Do you have a band aid anywhere?"
"Oh, uh… I'm really not sure…" Jane said as she moved to the sink. "I don't think I've ever looked." Suddenly she felt ridiculous. How had she managed to live here so long and not know this? In the time that she'd lived there she'd been shot, but hadn't ever had a paper cut?
From his expression, she guessed that he regretted asking the question. "That's okay," he said calmly. "Keep running it under the water and I'll take a look." Smiling gratefully, she watched him disappear around the corner to the bathroom. A minute later, she heard him walking further away still, no doubt on the way to look in the cabinet in the bathroom that was off of her bedroom. If it had been anyone else, the thought of them just walking straight into her bedroom would probably have made her uncomfortable. It was rare that anyone else was even in her house at all, much less in her bedroom, after all.
But like everything else, because it was Kurt, it was different. Granted, she still felt a little funny about it, but in a different way. She focused on staring at her finger under the cool water, trying not to think about it. He was getting her a band aid. There was no reason to feel weird about that.
Another minute later, he returned with a small box, smiling triumphantly. "You did have band aids! A whole first aid kit, in fact. You really didn't know?"
She just shrugged, honestly surprised. "Nope. Where was it?" she asked, figuring that she should probably know for the future.
"Under the sink in your bathroom… the one in your room," he replied. She couldn't help but think that he looked slightly embarrassed when he said it. He tore off a paper towel from the roll next to the sink, and then pressed the handle down on the faucet, turning off the water. Without a word, he held out his hand and took hers, patting it dry.
Once again, she was amazed just how gentle he could be, like she had been many times before. They had sparred on many occasions, and fought for real that one time that she didn't like to remember – in the middle. She knew that he could easily take down an opponent with deadly force, just like she could. And yet, the way he held onto her hand at that moment, she would never have known it. Folding the paper towel, he pressed it slightly against the tiny cut at the end of her finger with just the right amount of pressure, his fingers wrapping gently around her hand.
It wasn't the first time her hand had been in his, of course, but from the way her stomach flip flopped, she would've thought that it was. They stood there in front of the sink, turned toward each other, her hand now cradled gently in both of his.
I wonder if he can hear how loud my heart is beating, she couldn't help but think, looking up at him slowly. She swore it was beating that loudly. He was still holding the folded paper towel against her finger, the box of band aids lying ready on the counter nearby.
Breathe, she reminded herself.
Slowly he withdrew the paper towel from her finger and looked down at it. The red slowly reappeared, and he pressed the paper towel against it once again. "Hold onto that for a second, okay?" he asked, his voice much quieter than it had been before. Nodding, she brought her other hand up to hold the paper towel as Kurt's hands released hers. Watching as he took a band aid out of the box and unwrapped it, she couldn't help miss the sensation of his hands around hers.
Seriously, stop it, she warned herself. You're not doing yourself any favors here. Quite the opposite, actually. It's going to be worse if you let yourself hope.
Leaving the wrapper from the band aid on the counter, he lifted his hands to hers again, motioning for her to remove the paper towel from her finger. She did just that, exposing the cut so that he could wrap the band aid carefully around her finger. His fingers lingered on hers for a few seconds, and then a few more, slowly moving back around them until he was cradling her hand just like he had at first. Again, her stomach flip flopped, this time more uncomfortably.
What's he doing? she wondered, suddenly panicking.
Really, you haven't figured it out yet? the voice in her head asked her incredulously.
"Better?" he asked, looking at her with an expression in his eyes that she'd been denying she saw until this point.
What is it? she wondered. Because it couldn't be…
"Yeah," she said, finding suddenly that she was having trouble thinking of anything else to say. "Thanks," she added, and then, "I could have done that, you know."
"I know," he assured her with a calm smile, one that seemed to imply that he knew something that she didn't. "But you didn't have to." Besides, you didn't even know that you had band aids. He shrugged, as if to assure her that it was no big deal, looking down at her hand. She looked down too, to where he was still cradling it lightly in both of his.
"Of course," he said after staring at their almost intertwined fingers for a few seconds, "If I hadn't come over, you wouldn't have been chopping anything, including your finger, so you wouldn't have needed a band aid."
There was a warning bell sounding somewhere in the back of her head, growing louder and louder as the seconds passed.
Not trusting herself to look up at him, she shrugged. "It was worth it," she assured him quietly, and felt him looking at her. Really, she was thinking more about everything that had happened between them than just cutting her finger, but she didn't think it would help to even think it, much less to say it out loud.
She wondered if she looked as terrified as she suddenly felt. At that same time, whatever it was that was happening felt so completely perfect, she didn't want it to stop. To say that her emotions were confused would have been quite an understatement.
If she was being honest, she had forgotten all about the soup they were making, and when she saw him glance sideways at the ingredients for the soup, it took her a few seconds to tune back in to what he was looking at. The liquid part of the soup sat on the stove, apparently now ready for them to put in the vegetables and chicken. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and turned to face the counter, picking up the cutting board that he'd filled with chopped ingredients and then moving toward the pot. As she watched him use the knife to push everything slowly into the pot, and then rinse off the cutting board in the sink, she tried to convince herself to calm down. When he was done, he nodded toward the cutting board she had been using before she'd cut herself, still lying on the counter.
"Go ahead and put everything in," he told her.
After cutting the last few pieces that she'd had left when she'd cut herself, she did the same thing that Kurt had, using the knife to carefully push everything off the cutting board into the soup, then walked around him to the sink as he took her spot by the stove to do the last few steps of the recipe.
"We need to add a few spices," he said, consulting the recipe on the counter and then pointing out the measurements he was using as he added each one. "Now we turn it down a little so that it doesn't boil over," he told her as she rinsed off the cutting board, "and set the timer for ten minutes." He stood back and smiled at her, and again she heard alarm bells in the distant recesses of her mind. "But we can't go too far, because in ten minutes it should be done. We'll at least need to check on it."
Nodding slightly, she replied, "But we could go sit down, at least. That's not too far, right?"
"Nope, that's perfect," he said, and when she moved out of the kitchen toward the living room couch, he followed her. They settled themselves on the couch side by side, Kurt sitting down a little closer than Jane expected. She didn't dislike it at all, but again, she got the sense that she probably should be concerned… and she might have, if her willpower hadn't just completely vanished as she looked into his eyes.
You know what's happening, right? the voice in her head asked.
Yes, I'm afraid I do, and it's probably going to backfire on me, she replied. But right now I don't care.
They both turned slightly, so that they were facing each other. Her right elbow leaned against the pillow on the back of the couch casually, her hand up in the air, and Kurt extended his left arm along it as well, so that his fingers touched her elbow gently. Suddenly, it was as though everything started moving in slow motion.
"So what did you think of your first cooking lesson?" he asked her. Looking down at her left hand in her lap, focusing on her injured finger, his right hand moved to hers, taking it between his fingers and gently turning it over. Everywhere that his fingers traced across her skin left a trail that felt like electricity, so that after only a few seconds, her whole hand was tingling. She stared down at it and then slowly raised her eyes to meet his, finding him looking at her with a calm smile. She felt anything but calm, and her expression was more nervous than smiling.
Letting out the breath that she'd been holding without knowing it, her lips slowly curled into a smile as well. Despite the fact that her heart was hammering in her chest, his smile somehow seemed to melt away the nervous energy, leaving only a feeling that this was exactly where she was supposed to be. No matter how much she might have worried about whether or not she would regret anything that might happen next, at that moment it seemed impossible to believe that it wasn't the right thing to do… because it just felt like the right thing to do.
"It was pretty good, cooking related injury notwithstanding," she replied. "I have a good teacher." She watched as the skin around his eyes crinkled adorably when his smile widened at her compliment, then lowered her arm down flat on the pillow beside her. Her arm was now extended the same way his was, back towards him, and his fingers immediately moved to her arm and began tracing the ink lines of her tattoos. It was impossible not to smile at the sensation. It felt like so long since he'd done that, even just on her hand. Without even realizing it, she leaned closer to him, looking down at his fingers.
His left hand now on her forearm and his right hand holding her left, running his thumb over it almost reverently, she realized that she was now in uncharted, dangerous territory. She couldn't say that she didn't want to be here, and yet, it was a little bit terrifying at the same time.
Looking back up at him slowly once again, she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Once again, his smile centered her, calming her just enough that the world momentarily stopped feeling like it was tipping dangerously out of balance. The hand that had been tracing tattoos on her forearm now slowly moved to her cheek, his thumb swiping back and forth gently several times. She was fairly sure that her heart was going to burst just then from the sheer amount of emotion she felt. He kept looking into her eyes, and she found herself now unable to look away. Somehow she felt nervous and calm all at the same time.
It occurred to her that he was about to kiss her just before he actually did. The realization had made her smile, and as she moved forward slightly to meet him partway, any thoughts that she might have had that this wasn't absolutely the right thing to do vanished into thin air. Of course it was the right thing to do. She'd been fooling herself when she'd told herself that she could ever be happy with anything less than this, and she was relieved to learn that it wasn't too late for the two of them, after all.
When they broke apart a few minutes later, after a sweet, unhurried kiss, the first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was that he was already looking at her, his expression almost one of wonder. He smiled at her uncertainly, and even though she'd been the one who had been feeling uncertain, his expression was so endearing at that moment, she couldn't help but smile back broadly, watching as he appeared relieved. His hand was still on her cheek, and now it moved to the back of her neck, tugging her head slightly forward, as their foreheads fell gently against each other, as did their noses, which made them both chuckle.
"I think I might like cooking," she told him in a whisper. She was rewarded with his quiet laughter, and his left arm squeezing her neck and then moving down to pull his arm tightly around her shoulders, tugging her into a hug that she returned gratefully. She shifted slightly so that she was sitting more comfortably against him, both of his arms now around her. "And I definitely like the waiting for the food to be done part."
"Me, too," he whispered, kissing her forehead, and then leaning his face against the spot where he'd just kissed her.
This is too perfect, she thought, blissfully happy.
And then just like that, the moment was over. The timer blared from the kitchen, and they both looked over at the offending noise maker in annoyance.
Except, the noise wasn't a timer, and suddenly, the perfect world around her faded away, dissolving like chalk in a rainstorm until there was nothing left.
Jane turned over, moaning slightly as she awoke to realize that it had happened again. She pressed her face into her pillow as hard as she could and counted down from ten, then started again at twenty and did the same thing. Once she got to zero for a second time, she turned her head, her cheek feeling the wetness on her pillow that her eyes had just left there.
Goddammit, she thought, trying to breathe deeply and begging herself not to fall apart.
The noise of her alarm hadn't stopped, of course, and she pushed herself wearily out of bed to shut it off, her head now pounding. It figured that she had finally fallen asleep barely an hour before her alarm went off after tossing and turning most of the night. And of course she dreamed about him again. It seemed to happen a lot these days… the dreams were blissful, and yet, that just made waking up more painful each and every time, having been reminded one more time of what she didn't have. What she might have had, had she made different decisions. And now, what she would never have.
But you didn't make different decisions, she told herself. And you missed your chance. You didn't really think you deserved that kind of happiness, did you?
Feeling weary, sad, and slightly sick to her stomach, she pushed herself out of bed to walk across the room and turn off her alarm. At that moment she just needed the noise to stop, and just maybe that would help the aching in her heart stop, as well – though she doubted it.
With the room finally silent, she walked slowly back and perched at the end of her bed, holding her head in her hands, her elbows pressed into her knees. Don't cry, she ordered herself, but it was already a lost cause. She had had so much, and she had lost it all.
You did this to yourself. The words rang out tonelessly in her head. It was the truth, she had done this to herself. Nothing would change that. There wasn't much else she could do, except to try her best to atone for her sins, even though it would never be enough. She still owed the team – owed him – that much.
How can you say that you owe them, after what they let happen to you? the voice in her head asked in disbelief. She was still so conflicted about it all.
I don't think I deserved that, she replied, forcing her breathing to slow down by sheer willpower. But being angry doesn't help. She wasn't very good at not being angry, at least not yet, but dammit, she was trying. After all, she did have to face them all every day. They had enough anger with her for everyone, and when she thought about it, she could understand why. There was nothing she could do about it. Really, this was just a different kind of punishment than what the CIA had put her through, and she would bear it the best she could.
Standing up again, she pushed herself toward the bathroom. She would shower, and get dressed, and go into the FBI and work to try to bring down Sandstorm. Just like she did every day. That was all she had left. After that… after Sandstorm was finally out of the picture? Well, she couldn't think that far ahead. There was no future to look forward to beyond taking down Sandstorm, so why bother even thinking about it?
These dreams had plagued her for the past week, and she'd decided that they were just another form of punishment. The pain in her heart when she woke up from them almost made her wish that she could trade them for the kind of physical torture that the CIA had used. Her body, she knew, could withstand a lot. Her heart, on the other hand… Well, she wasn't sure how much her heart could take.
Focusing on forcing herself to go through the motions of getting ready for the day, she reminded herself that she could not afford to indulge in thinking about these dreams once they ended, as she forced the feeling she'd felt at the end, that blissful happiness, from her memory. It wasn't going to happen, and thinking about it would only make her feel worse.
Pushing the dream from her mind, because she had no other choice, she went on with her day.
A/N: Okay, I know, I know, don't kill me! I know the end is not exactly happy, but here's the thing… this story isn't over. I had this idea to write a series of these "horribly happy" dreams (i.e. the ones that must have – at least as far as I'm concerned – tortured Jane during s2, when the team hated her, just like that one that we actually saw on TV). So let's say that's true - it justifies writing all kinds of random Jeller fluff without regard for a real plot (because let's be honest, who needs plot when there's Jeller fluff? Okay, I know that justification is also not necessary… but never mind). I even have an idea how to tie it all together when I decide to end it, but again, there can be lots of fluff before that happens, because who knows how many of these dreams she had? And because there's not a real plot and therefore not a distinct number of chapters before the plot ends… It goes on until I decide it stops. I didn't want to put all this in the description because at least for the first chapter, I wanted the dream part to be the twist at the end. So I hope you're not too mad at me, and that you'll read the next one when I get it written. :)