dustofstars | for endingpoint

"That's something," Taylor murmurs, going back to her plate of spaghetti. She feels out of place, like she's imposing. She can see he way he won't look at her for long, so she tries not to bother him too much, eating quietly before getting up and finding her way to the kitchen, washing her plate and fork and setting them, dry, on the counter neatly since she doesn't know where they go.

"Thank you, for the food. I think I'm just going to go back to bed," she decides, offering him just a small, barely there smile.

"Yeah. You should sleep," he nods, though he doesn't return the smile. "Just get me if you need anything."

He sleeps on the couch rather than in his bedroom, in case she wakes up and needs something. He wants to be right there.

She takes a shower first, trying to wash away the feeling of confusion and being completely overwhelmed. She doesn't know it, but it's better than the first time, less traumatic. But she still has no idea what to do.

When she goes to bed she lays there for a while, staring up at the ceiling before finally falling asleep. The next few days she's polite, but she gets the feeling she should keep her distance, so she does, trying not to ask him too much, trying to understand her own life that she knows nothing about. She's tattooed from head to toe, and she has no idea why, but she doesn't think he knows either. She does sit with him though in the evenings after dinner, not closing herself off, just quiet because he can't even look at her when they talk.

Kurt just doesn't even realize how quiet he's been, and how uncomfortable it might make her. He's just trying to protect himself and he's not thinking that this is awkward for her. They've ordered takeout - Thai food - and Kurt is just eating silently. He doesn't know what to say to her, he's just lost in his own head, eating slowly.

When the entire meal goes by and he never says anything to her, Taylor looks over at him. "Is there...someone at the FBI I can talk to about maybe...having my own place?" she asks, assuming he'll be relieved to hear her say it. "I can get out of your space and try to...figure out my life, I guess."

She has no idea where she'd start with that, but maybe she has to jump into the deep end of the pool.

"...what?" That snaps him out of it and he picks his head up, looking confused with a frown on his face. "Why would you-" And then he thinks about it, how he's been acting with her. It's been so unconscious and he hasn't even realized the damage he's done until now. Setting his fork down, he reaches out to cover her hand.

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to leave, and I'm sorry if I...made you feel like you needed to." He squeezes her hand, taking a deep breath. "I'll fix this."

She looks at him, his hand over hers, then back up at his eyes. "I...see the way you look at me when you actually manage to," she says quietly.

"If this is too hard for some reason..."

"No, it's okay," he shakes his head, squeezing her hand one more time before pulling back. "I want you to be here and I'll make sure you feel at home here from now on. I promise."

Taylor nods a little then, and decides to test this by finally asking questions.

"Do you know...why I'm like this? The tattoos I mean. I...in the mirror, I...your name. It's tattooed on my back," she says, forehead creasing.

"No. We're still trying to figure that out." And that, at least, he can be fully honest about. There's still a lot they don't know about her tattoos, who put them there and how they knew which ones to put there in the first place.

"But they wanted you to find me, whoever it was. You and I, we're...connected, somehow." She's looking at him intently now, eyes raking over his features, and she reaches out, then pulls her hand back, unsure of herself and not wanting to ruin what small progress she's made with him actually talking to her.

Everything in him is screaming not to touch her again, and yet another part of him sees that same scared person looking at him desperately for answers like she did her first day at FBI headquarters. He clears his throat, holds his hand out if she wants to take it, so she knows she can.

"We knew each other once. A long time ago."

Tentatively, Taylor takes his hand, and it's the first time she's had a connection, a real, physical connection, as far as she knows.

"And...you've been looking for me. Haven't you?" she asks quietly, putting two and two together.

He squeezes her hand and nods. "My whole life," he tells her, like he already told her before. "You were...my best friend. When we were kids."

The look of awe on her face is so apparent, and Taylor's entire face softens. More makes sense now (at least she thinks) and she's speechless for a moment.

"I've been...your whole life?"

"Yeah. You have." She lost so many memories, and it occurs to him now that she lost the memories from the hot springs, too; something they'd shared together, of a life where they'd been married. It hadn't been real, but he'd loved having those memories with her. She'll never get those back, he knows.

She doesn't know what to say, her thumb moving under his wrist. But she takes a breath and finally lets him go , though she stays close to him.

"This is...it's a lot," she admits, clearing her throat.

When she lets go of his hand, he pulls his hand back, resting in his lap. "I know. We don't have to talk about it." He doesn't know what she wants to talk about, how much she wants to talk about.

"I feel like..." And she can't explain this, not rationally, because she doesn't know him. "I feel like I just want you to be okay. I want you to be okay."

He can't just be okay with the snap of his fingers. He has so much guilt and pain he hasn't ever dealt with, and now there's more guilt and pain heaped on top of it. All the walls she'd knocked down are up again around his heart and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

"I'm fine," he smiles a little, lying to her. "Really. I'm fine."

She smiles just a little in return, a knot in her stomach; she doesn't feel good about this, not at all. But she has no choice other than believing him for now.

"I think for tonight, I'm ready to let it rest and go lay down. But...thank you, Kurt I know this isn't easy. It can't be. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," he nods, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder for a moment. "If you need anything, I'm here."

This time, he sleeps in his own bed, though he only manages a few hours, mostly tossing and turning and dreaming of her smiling, laughing, kissing him.

The days pass, and Taylor's starting to feel stir crazy, never really leaving the apartment. So, one evening when he gets home from work, she looks up at him. "Can we go somewhere? Anywhere, just...somewhere."

It's right around dinner time, so he nods. "I could take you out to eat. There's a place around the corner I love." It's a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, very Authentic, casual and relaxed. Afterwards, they can walk around a little if she wants. "Just grab a coat, it'll get cold out by the time we're doing eating." He nods at the closet by the front door so she can grab any coat she wants in there.

Moving to the closet, she opens the door and pulls out a black one, draping it over her arm and letting him lead the way.

"Not that I want to...complain, it's just...being cooped up all day gets harder than you'd think."

for endingpoint

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