A/N: As usual, I thought too hard about these characters and ended up with a scenario that I had to write… I give up even trying not to at this point.

Also, I'm still not sure I should feel so satisfied that I can write from Shepherd's POV so easily.

Thanks go to Vickie and Julie for all of their help with plot musings and for tolerating my whining when I had trouble with a few particular scenes.

Still not sure why FF doesn't have a character tag for Shepherd, seeing as how she is such a big part of the series. Borden doesn't have one either... Weird.

WARNING: This fic does contain a couple of death scenes. While they are NOT any of our core group of good guys, there are actual deaths described within, and I don't want to upset any of the more sensitive readers. Honestly, if you've seen the show, you're probably good, but I felt obligated to give you all a heads-up.

Standard disclaimers apply.

It was one of those warm spring days where the world is just coming out of its winter hibernation, and everything seems fresh and new. However, the scene brewing inside a nondescript home outside of the city was a direct contrast to the bright day outside.

"I'm telling you it's worth it!" Shepherd barked, her eyes alight with angry energy. "We can't risk them talking to the authorities."

The man on the other side of the table nodded. "Well, I'm not saying we shouldn't do something…" Borden chose his words carefully. "What I'm suggesting is that we be cautious how much attention we bring to ourselves in doing so. If we are going to move forward with phase two, we must make certain that we don't jeopardize our plan with paranoia."

"Are you calling me paranoid?" Shepherd bit out the question.

Borden paused. "All I'm saying is maybe we need to take a step back and reevaluate things," he said calmly. He was projecting as much confidence as he could but inwardly was starting to wonder just how far it was wise to push the woman right then. In all the years he had known her, she had always exuded an air of calculated intelligence, power, and control. Lately, however, he was growing less sure. "I know you're concerned with the number of our suppliers who have been… compromised recently."

"'Compromised'? You mean arrested?" Her laugh was harsh. "Yes, I am!" Shepherd pushed up from the chair behind the desk and ran a hand through her hair. "We never used to have this regular of a problem!"

"The FBI has been catching criminals for years," he pointed out. "Perhaps it just so happens that the ones arrested recently have been those on whom you relied as well. Stop reading so much into things."

Shepherd crossed her arms. "Oh, because I'm paranoid?"

Shaking his head, Borden stood as well. "You just need some air," he told her. "I mean, you've been spending most of your time indoors working on the back end of things. Maybe you need to do something outside of the plotting and planning you have been?" he added.

There was a pause as she considered his question. Then she nodded. "You know, that might just be it. I did receive some information this morning that Olriksen let himself get caught on camera and that the Bureau started circulating his picture to transportation hubs." She smiled coldly. "I think we need to set an example for our other suppliers." She could tell that Borden wanted to say something in protest, and she put up a hand to stop him. "I'll take care of this myself. Tell the men to ready enough material to bring down the warehouse. I'll be leaving in ten minutes." And then she turned and strode outside, leaving him no room to argue.

Borden watched her go. It didn't matter what he thought; Shepherd had always had her own agenda and was going to follow it whether or not anyone else agreed. He just hoped she was right this time. If she was, their cause would be one step closer to completion by the end of the day.

"What's going on? We have another tattoo?" Tasha asked, striding over with coffee cup in hand to join the rest of the team. Reade was leaning against one of the nearby desks, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and she hopped up to sit on the desktop next to her partner.

From where he was standing by the computer display at the front of the room, Kurt shook his head. "No tattoos at the moment. Patterson has a few she's working to crack, but for once, everything is quiet on that front."

"Okay, so…" Reade lifted his hands, palms up. "We get the day off?" he grinned.

Tasha snickered into her mug, and Jane's mouth tilted up in a laugh.

"No," Kurt replied, a bemused expression on his face. "We do still have jobs to do outside of working the tattoos. That's why our team is going to take on this new case." He nodded to Patterson, who was standing beside him with a tablet in her hands.

"Right," the blonde agent said, nodding. She tapped a few commands into her tablet, then swiped upwards to cast an image of a burly, dark-haired man onto the large screen. "Meet Jan Olriksen," she said, nodding to the picture. "We've had our eye on him for smuggling and weapons dealing for some time, but so far we haven't been able to catch him in the act. He's well-funded and is pretty impressive in his ability to stay off the grid." She glanced around and shrugged. "What? I can admire someone's skills even if I don't approve of their specific use."

Kurt shook his head as he continued Patterson's train of thought. "Until now. We've received viable intel that Olriksen is going to be here, today, making a trade with a buyer."

"So we catch him red-handed and bring him in?" Jane asked.

"Exactly." Kurt nodded.

Swiping another image onto the monitor, this one of a group of four men clustered around several crates, Patterson spoke up again. "We believe he'll have at least three of his guys with him. Olriksen seems to keep them close at all times. They're all ex-special forces of one kind or another. So be careful," she finished, looking around at the others.

"We'll have backup, so we're not going in alone," Kurt told them. "But still, everyone stay alert, okay?" When they all nodded, Kurt clapped his hands together. "Okay, gear up. We leave in ten minutes."

Half an hour later, Jane was pulling off of the interstate into a quiet, industrial area of the city. There were only a few vehicles passing on either side of the road, and in just a few more moments, they had reached the address Patterson had given them.

"Why is this place so quiet?" Kurt asked, looking around as Jane pulled into the rear parking lot of the rusty warehouse. For what was supposed to be an arms exchange between the supplier they were hunting and a customer, there was a distinct lack of activity around the building.

She shrugged. "Maybe they're parked in the front?"

"That's weird," Kurt replied, shaking his head. "Why would they draw attention to themselves like that?"

Jane was still looking around as she turned the wheel to drive slowly to the front of the parking lot. "I still don't see anyone… Do you think we got the wrong address?"

"Patterson, what do you think?" Kurt asked, knowing his teammate could hear him through the radio.

There was the rapid fire sound of typing from the other end of the line, then Patterson spoke up. "Well, it's possible… You're at 8630 right now; there is an 8360 down the block. Might be worth a try; we could have the exact address wrong."

"Okay," Kurt acknowledged. "Reade, Tasha, where are you?"

"Stuck in traffic," Reade replied. The blaring of car horns came through the line, interrupting whatever else he was about to say.

"Remember, no sirens," Kurt ordered. "We can't tip this guy off.

A growl from Tasha indicated just how frustrated she was with the whole situation, then Reade quipped, "Tasha's driving, so we'll get there sooner rather than later."

Kurt chuckled, then put a hand against the door to brace himself against the bump of the curb as Jane drove back onto the street. She accelerated slowly as both she and Kurt scanned the street in search of anything suspicious. They both saw it at the same time. There was a dark van parked against the loading dock of an abandoned-looking warehouse a quarter mile down the road. Another van, this one white and dirty, was parked across the lot. Neither was running nor seemed to have any occupants.

Kurt looked over to exchange a look with Jane. "That must be them," he said urgently.

She nodded in reply and pressed her foot down to increase their speed. Just then, a dark-clad figure darted from the back of the warehouse. There was something oddly familiar about the person, and the realization hit Kurt and Jane simultaneously.

"Was that Shepherd?" Jane exclaimed, leaning forward towards the dashboard to get a better look.

Kurt just grunted and threw his door open. Their vehicle was still moving, but it was a low enough rate of speed that he was able to hit the pavement in a roll and bounce back up in one smooth motion. He charged forwards towards the warehouse, his gaze fixated on the woman ahead of him.

"Kurt! Kurt, wait!" Jane slammed on the brakes, threw the SUV into park, and scrambled to undo her seatbelt.

"He wouldn't?" Patterson's voice held a slight tone of panic as if she was repressing her worry over what her boss was doing for focusing on her job. "I know he's obsessed with finding Shepherd, but why would he…"

Jane grunted. "One problem at a time, Patterson," she said, flinging her door open and breaking into a run as she started after her partner.

It was Kurt.

Of all the people to show up at this warehouse at this moment in time, it had to be him.

If Shepherd had noticed him just a second before, she might have had time to stay her hand, to keep herself from sentencing him to certain death. But as it was, she could only watch with growing dread at what she knew was coming. The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity as her finger depressed the button. She wanted to call to him, to run and pull him from danger, but she had hardly finished the thought before the entire building erupted into a ball of fire.

Kurt had just reached the side of the building when the explosion went off, and he was thrown backward from the concussive force of the blast, airborne before he hit the pavement feet from the warehouse and skidded to a stop. Shepherd was still for just a moment, willing him to get up and away from the flames, but he didn't.

Dropping the detonator, Shepherd leaped from her hiding place behind the van, panic lending speed to her feet as she ran to where Kurt was lying. Heat radiated from the building, but she ignored it; it was uncomfortable but still far enough away that immediate danger did not threaten. Her heart sank as she took in the sight before her. The man sprawled on the ground was completely still, his eyes closed and his arms and legs splayed out in different directions. There was a deep cut on his forehead and various smaller nicks where shrapnel from the blast had hit him. But that wasn't what concerned her the most. Her attention was on the distinct lack of a rise and fall of his chest.

"Kurt?" Shepherd knelt next to him, frantically feeling for a pulse. He couldn't be dead. She needed him! "Kurt, come on! Don't do this to me!" The feeling in the pit of her stomach grew as she vainly pressed her fingers to his neck. "No, no, no! You aren't even supposed to be here! Why were you here?" she cried, scrambling to find a pulse on his wrist, hoping that somehow she had just missed it before - and then the stickiness seeping into her pant legs caught her attention. She dropped her gaze to the ground where she was kneeling, feeling her dread growing more and more as she took in the red puddle that was seeping from underneath Kurt's still form.

A bullet whizzed past her ear, accompanied by a voice full of fury. "Shepherd!"

Shepherd would have recognized that voice anywhere. She looked up to see Remy rushing towards her, eyes spitting fire. Panic mixed with anger as the younger woman closed the distance between them. "What did you do?"

"It was an accident!" Shepherd scrambled to her feet. "Oh, Remy, I-"

But Remy shook her head firmly, making a valiant effort to bury her emotions even as she fell to her knees next to Kurt's still form. "Kurt! Come on; open your eyes!" She pressed her fingers to his neck, gaze wide and searching his face for any sign of recognition. Getting nothing, she put her hands on his chest and leaned over him, frantically pumping in an attempt to resuscitate him. "Come on! " she repeated.

Shepherd put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Remy jerked away and leaned down to breathe into Kurt's airway. She made no further move to acknowledge Shepherd's presence but just went back to pumping the prone man's chest.

The sound of screeching tires caught Shepherd's attention, and she suddenly realized just how close the rest of the FBI team must be. "Remy-" she began again, but the younger woman didn't even look at her. After a brief moment's further hesitation, Shepherd spun on her heel and fled to the van on the other side of the parking lot. She had to go, she reasoned to herself; there was work to be done, and she couldn't let the FBI bring her in. Not now. Not when she still had so much to do.

She couldn't shake the feeling that accompanied her, as much as she tried to ignore it. There would be hell to pay for what had just happened, and it was all on her.

When Kurt awoke, it was to a dimly lit room and an incessant beeping.

He lay still for just a moment, focusing on the ceiling above him and trying not to pass out again as it spun and weaved over his head. When he felt sufficiently in control of his faculties, he slowly moved his head to take in his surroundings. He immediately placed the digital beeping sound as coming from the heart monitor by his bed, and he briefly noted the other medical items, such as the IV bags above his head. Then he let his gaze drift farther down and around the room. It was nothing special, just a standard hospital room, but at least it was a private one.

Before he could process anything further, a low voice came from beside him. "Kurt?"

Kurt shifted to look to his left, where Jane was smiling in relief at him. "Hey," he managed to croak out, grimacing at the effort even that one word had taken.

"Hey yourself," she returned. She reached for something out of his sightline, then her hand reappeared with a cup in it. "Sorry, the doctor said I could only give you a few ice chips when you first woke up." She tilted several into his mouth, then put the cup down. "How are you feeling?" she asked, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"Oh you know, like I got hit by a train," Kurt told her.

She smirked. "Well, that's to be expected." Then her smile fell. "We were so worried. It-"

Any further conversation was interrupted by the creak of the door being pushed open. An older, gray-haired doctor stuck his head in and raised an eyebrow at Jane.

She turned back to Kurt and cleared her throat. "Sorry; they said to call as soon as you were awake," she told him, lifting her hand to wave the device with the call button that was attached to the hospital bed. "They need to check you out. I'll go get the others while they do." She paused just long enough to squeeze his hand, and a flicker crossed her face. "I'm… I'm glad you're back," was all she said before she ducked past the doctor.

After a flurry of activity with more doctors and prodding and questions and the promise of some really good drugs in just a few moments, Kurt's team was allowed in on the condition that he not get excited. The last nurse to leave wagged a stern finger at everyone in the room and told them that if she even heard what sounded like an accelerated heart beat on the monitor, she would come back and kick them all out for the night.

Reade and Tasha immediately took the couch against the wall while Patterson climbed onto the chair next to the bed and Jane chose a seat nearer to the door. The postures of his teammates were not lost on Kurt, and he looked between the four of them, shaking his head.

"I appreciate all of the concern, but I'm fine, guys. It's not like Shepherd tried to kill me on purpose; I'm sure she's not going to send anyone to finish me off."

They exchanged glances, prompting a furrowed brow from Kurt. "What?" he asked. "What are you not telling me?" He moved to push himself up into a sitting position, then winced as the action caused pain to shoot through his head.

Jane was quick to jump up and put a hand on his chest. "Stay put," she ordered sternly. "You died; it's going to take some time to recover."

He coughed. "Died?"

"Shh," Patterson exclaimed, waved her hands in the air. She darted a meaningful look at the heart monitor display, which was already starting to show an elevated rate.

Kurt drilled a look at each of the team. He was more concerned with getting an answer than he was in keeping his excitement level down at the moment. "What do you mean 'died'?" The lack of the word 'almost' was not lost on him, but it was taking enough effort just to formulate what he had managed to get out. He figured that his teammates would understand what he meant.

"She means 'died,'" Tasha spoke up. "As in, you quit breathing and had no pulse." She raised an eyebrow, although the look she leveled at him was one of pure relief.

He must have appeared surprised at that because Reade nodded and leaned in. "You had us worried, man," the other man said. "If it wasn't for Jane… the medics said you might not be here if she hadn't kept up CPR as long as she did. You're lucky the oxygen loss didn't affect your brain."

"Did we at least get Shepherd?" Kurt wanted to know.

"No," Reade replied grimly. He sighed. "If Tasha and I hadn't been stuck in that traffic…"

"Hey," Kurt interrupted. He was trying to sound stern, but his voice came out much weaker than he'd intended. "Hey, this isn't your fault. This is no one's fault, okay?" He looked around at the other four. "We'll get her; don't worry. How soon did they say I could leave?"

"What?" Patterson yelped. "Weller, you're in no shape to leave this bed for at least a week!"

Kurt frowned. "But Shepherd's out there." That was all the reason he needed; he most certainly was not staying in this hospital for any longer than a day or two. "I feel fine."

Four pairs of eyebrows went up at that.

"Uh, Kurt," Jane began, "even if you do get released - and that's a big if - you can't go back to the FBI."

Kurt blinked. "What?"

The others exchanged glances, then Patterson spoke up. "They… decided it was best if Sandstorm thinks you died."

"What?" Kurt knew he was repeating that word an awful lot, but nothing was making sense at the moment.

Jane nodded. "You're such an integral part of whatever Shepherd has planned. I saw her face at the warehouse, Kurt. She thought she had killed you." She sighed, and her voice softened. "And she did, technically," she added

"Anyway," Tasha continued, "the idea is that we can force Sandstorm's hand somehow if they think their golden boy is out of the picture completely."

Kurt grunted in displeasure. "So I'm just supposed to sit around and wait?"

"Basically, yes," Reade responded. "Most of your surgical team are agents with medical experience and the few who aren't have been sworn to absolute secrecy."

Jane took a deep breath before adding, "The funeral is tomorrow. You'll be given full honors."

"Wait." Kurt shook his head emphatically, and the others looked concernedly at the heart monitor as it began speeding up. "Does Sarah know?"

"Kurt…"

"Does my sister think I died?" he insisted. "Sawyer?"

Patterson looked like she was about to cry, which was all the answer he needed.

"No! No, my family has been through enough. They are not going to mourn a death that did not even happen!" Before any of the others could interject, another thought hit him and his eyes grew wide. "Oh no… Allie!" he exclaimed. The heart monitor started its beeping again, rising quickly in pitch and volume. "She can't find out! The baby…"

If it was possible, Patterson's face grew even paler. "The shock won't be good for either of them!" Her words started to run together in one long sentence of panic. "Oh, I hope she hasn't heard - I mean, I understand what we're trying to do with the whole 'let's pretend you actually died so we can take down Sandstorm' thing, but we can't just let Allie find out you died and have to go through all of that, because I mean, what if - No, I'm not calming down, Jane, this is an emergency!" she interrupted herself as Jane put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Patterson," Jane said gently, grinning when the others looked at her in confusion.

Kurt coughed. His accelerated heart rate was combining with his meds to the point where he felt like he was about to pass out, but concern for his family overrode any other impulses for the moment. "But this is Allie we're talking about. And my daughter."

"Right," Jane said simply. "Which is why I already handled it."

"What?" Patterson ventured, even as her eyes lit up hopefully.

Shrugging, Jane looked between Patterson and Kurt as she explained. "Well, I know Allie of all people is trustworthy, and I wasn't risking her or the baby over a cover story."

"Isn't that against orders?" Kurt asked, although his tone and expression told Jane his question was much more one of impressed clarification than protest.

"You said it yourself, Kurt; this is Allie we're talking about. She understood, and she agreed to act appropriately shocked and heartbroken when she gets the official call." She grinned. "I called her as soon as they decided on this plan of theirs, while you were still in surgery."

Patterson leaped up from the couch and threw her arms around Jane. "Oh, I'm so happy!"

"Shh, Patterson," Tasha chided, even while a smile danced at the corners of her mouth. "Someone might not believe he's dead if you go around celebrating."

Smirking mischievously, Patterson threw a look at the door. "And if I make too much noise, that nurse will probably come kick us out."

The others chuckled in agreement, even as Jane threw Kurt a meaningful look. "What do you want to bet this is going to throw a wrench in Sandstorm's plans more than anything else we've ever done?"

Something was wrong. Borden knew it as soon as he glanced out of the window and saw Shepherd stalking across the driveway. His years of experience as a psychologist gave him a pretty good sense of when someone wasn't acting as they should be. And there was definitely something off with Shepherd right now. Granted, she had always been slightly… off all along, but there was a method to her madness, and right now, it wasn't there.

There was a commotion of raised voices and slamming doors, and Borden quickly strode to the doorway to hear more clearly what was going on downstairs. Over the edge of the railing, he could see Shepherd pacing back and forth in the small entrance of the house, barking orders at a young man standing in front of her. "I want you to find out what hospital he's been taken to! I don't care how you find out, just find out. Call me as soon as you know his prognosis, and if they can't tell you right away, you wait there until they can." She paused and leaned forward threateningly. "I don't want to hear from you until you can tell me exactly when Kurt Weller will be released to go home, you got that?"

The man nodded wordlessly.

"Good. Now go!" she snapped.

He didn't have to be told twice but turned for the door as soon as he had been dismissed. After it swung shut behind him, Shepherd ran a hand through her hair and turned around, catching sight of Borden as he descended the stairs behind her.

"Everything all right?" he asked. He knew very well that it wasn't, but he was curious to see how she would reply.

She just shook her head. "It'll be fine," was all she said before striding towards the door at the far end of the room

"Hey!" he called, keeping his voice soft and non-confrontational but still putting enough insistence behind his words that the woman couldn't ignore him. "What is going on?" he asked. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the staircase, raising an eyebrow as he watched her.

Her shoulders slumped for just a fraction of a second, then she straightened them and turned back to face him. "I'm handling it."

"Mhm. Because that's not what I heard."

A flicker of a frown crossed her face, then she sighed. "Kurt Weller was taken to the hospital this afternoon."

Borden nodded slowly. "And you feel responsible?"

"Oh, don't pull your psychobabble crap on me," Shepherd growled. "I am not in the mood."

"So you do feel responsible."

There was a pause as she regarded him across the room. The only sound that could be heard in the interval was that of tires crunching on gravel outside of the house. "Is this connected to your taking care of the suppliers that you mentioned earlier?" he persisted.

When she finally spoke again, Borden could hear a slight difference in her tone; it wasn't much, but it was there - and it worried him. "How was I supposed to know he'd be there? We didn't create any tattoos that would point to Olriksen! There was no reason for him to have been at that warehouse!"

A sinking feeling was growing in Borden's stomach as he started to piece the situation together. "What happened?"

"I rigged the place to blow after I had left the exchange," Shepherd answered. "And… he ran past just before it blew."

Even though Borden was fully expecting the worst, he felt something drop inside of his gut at the news. And not so much because he particularly cared about Weller but because he cared about Shepherd's plan. Weller was a key piece - indeed, Shepherd might say the key piece - in their plans and his being dead would change everything. Borden had devoted so much of his life to this plan of Shepherd's. She had convinced him that he could make America pay for the airstrike that killed his wife, along with so many other injustices. The idea that it now might dissolve into smoke was something he was not going to sit by and let happen. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Weller's been through rough times before. He's always pulled through, though, right? He's tough; he'll be fine."

Shepherd shook her head, slowly at first, then faster as she repeated the gesture. "He was dead, Robert," she told him flatly. "I saw the look on her face…"

"Whose face?" Borden pushed back the panic that wanted to invade his mind. He couldn't let himself get carried away, not now. There was too much at stake. As leaders, both he and Shepherd needed to keep their wits about them.

"Remy. She was there… She…" Shepherd trailed off, lost in the thought of something.

Borden was willing to bet it had to do with the younger woman's response to finding Weller injured - or worse - from Shepherd's actions. "Okay, so she found Weller? She'll get him the help he needs, right? Just like before. We just need to concentrate on the plan." He gestured towards the front door. "Tompkins will report in from the hospital that Weller is expected to recover, and everything will be fine."

There was another pause as Shepherd eyed him, then she shrugged a shoulder and turned away. "Let's hope you're right," she said.