"I don't know who she is."
The words echoed in Kurt's head, and he wasn't sure if it wasn't going to drive him crazy by the end of the night. Of all the things Jane had made more complicated in his life, this was supposed to be the simple part. She was supposed to be Taylor, he had been so sure. And now, he couldn't even be sure if he could trust his gut anymore. He threw his keys on the kitchen table, then poured himself some bourbon. He didn't know how to process what Patterson had just told him, and while he wasn't usually someone who turned to alcohol to solve his problems, today was an exception. He didn't know what to do, how to tell Jane, if to tell her. How could he tell her if he didn't understand it himself? Hell, even Patterson didn't know what it meant. He downed his glass in one long gulp and immediately refilled it, thanking whatever deity in power that his sister and nephew were visiting friends for a couple of days. He didn't think they needed to see this.
Kurt was a very sensible person who trusted the establishment and usually followed logic and reason over emotion. But this, this was different. He was an agent, and he was trained to trust the evidence, which he had done. The evidence had told him that Jane was Taylor Shaw. And now the evidence was telling him she wasn't. Or she was.
That and the overwhelming feeling he'd had, the certainty in his heart that she was indeed Taylor, that she was finally back. This overwhelming hope that maybe they could have another chance, that he finally had a possibility for closure. And now, all he had was more questions, and he was sure this was going to drive him crazy.
After some time he stopped counting the drinks he'd had, though he was sure it was at least 6. Kurt Weller was someone who could definitely hold his liquor, but even he had his limits, and he was quickly beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol set in, along with the overwhelming desire to talk to Jane. He didn't know what he thought he would achieve by calling her, but a part of him was hoping he would be able to know, that he should know. Why didn't he know? Wasn't it his job to know? He was an investigator, his instincts had saved his life several times over. So why couldn't he tell?
He knew that if he asked anyone that, he would get answers like 'too close to it' and 'due to your personal involvement', but that should make it easier. She was his best friend, he should just know. He also knew that it was because deep in his heart, he wanted her to be Taylor, but didn't know what to do with that either. He didn't know how to deal with the girl he lost and the woman he got in her place. Didn't know how to handle all the memories and emotions he had effectively buried all these years for a good reason.
He wasn't quite sure how the next part happened, and he would probably try and never mention it again, but next thing he knew, he was pressing speed dial to call Jane. Neither was he sure what he had intended to achieve with this call, nor was he sure he wanted to know. He barely heard what the answer phone said, but when the beep sounded he started talking.
"Hey Jane", he slurred. How had he even had so much to drink he was slurring? He didn't remember having that much. He was convinced it had only been a few drinks.
"I just wanted… ehm, I just wanted", he swallowed, then nervously cleared his throat.
"I just wanted to say you were great today, and I'm really proud of you, and thanks for saving my ass today, again." He was silent for a few seconds, and he suddenly felt a lump rise in his throat, and it hit him. Just how much he cared for her. Just how much it meant to him that she could be Taylor, that he might get a second chance at all he had ever dreamed of with her. And just how much it hurt him to think she might not be Taylor. It wasn't even that he wouldn't like her, because she was special either way, but he just…he just wanted his best friend back.
"It just means a lot to me that I have you now, that you're back." He whispered the last sentence then quickly hung up the phone, knowing he had already said too much, too soon, knowing how uncomfortable she was with the pressure put on her to be Taylor Shaw. The pressure he put on her.
Silent tears were running down his face, and for a moment he was just a little boy again, missing his best friend, and all the things they could have had.
So he cried. For the boy who lost his best friend and whose life was determined and changed forever by the guilt he would carry around for the rest of his life. He cried for the little girl who was abducted, taken away from everyone she loved, from the safety of her home.
He cried for his father, whose life was ruined by a rumour and a suspicion. He cried for the two families destroyed by the loss of Taylor Shaw.
And he cried for Jane, the woman who didn't have anything to call her own, no memories, permanently looking for answers to find out who had done this to her. The woman with no name.
He fell asleep in his work clothes on the couch, silent tears still streaming down his face. All the pain that had built up over the years of holding it back and burying it deep down coming up until he thought it was going to choke him, his heart tight and his face hurting from crying so much, his body wracked by sobs.
When he woke the next morning, it was not only with a piercing headache and the knowledge that he was going to have a sore back for the rest of the week, it was to a text message from Zapata.
Look bro, I get that you were drunk, but if you drunk dial someone and stuff, at least check it's the person you actually wanna talk to. Just saying. But, just so you know, if you ever wanna propose to her, that's the way to do it, even though you should probably wait a bit, maybe ask her out first. I'll see you at work, Z.
P.S. it would be quite unfortunate if Reade were to accidentally see this, right?;)
Kurt groaned and only nearly resisted the urge to chuck his phone across the room, resorting to instead bury his head in the pillows on the couch quite violently, something he quickly regretted when his head protested. This was going to be a long week. And he was never drinking bourbon on his own again. Ever.