Hey guys! Just thought I'd post my little submission for the BS hiatus project that's been happening on tumblr (though admittedly, this prompt is a couple of weeks later than it should be. Oops).

In case you're wondering, I am definitely still working hard on Judgement Day— just got a last bit of editing to do and then I'll be getting it to you guys!

Anyhow, hope you like this little oneshot!

Her jaw was beginning to hurt.

She should try to relax, she knew; should unclench her teeth, should take some deep breaths and let the tension seep from her taut muscles.

But she couldn't, not with the cold metal of the handcuff forming a ring of ice around her wrist, its small weight somehow feeling impossibly heavy, leaving her incapable of focusing on anything else.

She'd truly thought she was done with handcuffs, with chains and cages. She'd thought that being back on the team— slowly proving herself to be worth their trust again, worth them again— would mean that she would no longer have to fear being shackled and bound, being locked up and held captive like a wild and unpredictable animal.

She'd thought that that feeling would now exist only in the nightmares that still haunted her sleep, thought that at least by day she could somehow start to feel safe.

But of course, as always, she'd thought wrong.

It didn't matter that it was for a mission. It didn't matter that the handcuff was simply connecting her to a briefcase, rather than binding her hands together. She still wanted it off, wanted it gone, and would have certainly already found a way to manage just that, if not for the other person who was also currently attached to the briefcase.

Weller.

With their hands both cuffed to the briefcase handle— his left, her right— they were forced to stick close, his sheer proximity only exacerbating the razor-sharp tension in her body. They'd only been stuck like this for half an hour so far, and she'd already lost count of how many times she'd mentally cursed the operatives that they were posing as, repeatedly wishing that Reade and Tasha could have been the ones that most closely matched the description that the target had received, the two of them definitely far better suited to being in this situation.

Honestly, she didn't actually know who was less pleased with the current arrangement; her or Weller. Since they'd been cinched to the briefcase, he'd barely said more than a few words to her, mostly just grunted commands as they tried to manoeuvre in and out of vehicles and through buildings to get to this spot.

Aside from those few instances, though, the silence between them had been thick, both all but ignoring each other as they waited for their target. And worse, they didn't even have Patterson's trademark chatter to break the stillness, all comms forbidden due to their target's known paranoia surrounding electronic surveillance.

Which meant that, while babysitting a briefcase full of government secrets was certainly one of her easier missions, it was far from an enjoyable one.

Beside her, Weller lifted his free hand to check his watch yet again, his ever-present frown becoming marginally deeper. She didn't have to ask to know why; their mark was late, and in this situation lateness didn't just mean suffering through a longer period of forced proximity. Lateness meant something was off.

Lateness meant things could be about to go very badly, very quickly.

And then, they did.

His head was already half-turned toward her, his mouth opening to speak, when she saw the tranq dart abruptly pierce into the flesh of his neck, his eyes going wide a fraction of a second after it struck, his free hand reflexively lifting to grasp it and pull it free.

"Jane—" he rasped, swaying, and she cursed, lurching forward to wedge herself under his right armpit, her own right hand yanking the briefcase up just in time to hear the next tranq ping off its hard metal casing.

Her eyes rapidly scanning around for the threat, she swore again, hyperaware of their vulnerability— Weller was fading fast, his body slumping more heavily on her, taking up the only free hand she had. If their attacker came at them now, she couldn't protect either of them.

So she needed to find cover, right now.

Craning her neck, she did another hasty sweep, assessing her options; then, gripping Weller a little more securely, she began to shift back, moving towards the nearest doorway, away from the shooter.

"Come on, Weller," she bit out, molding her body even closer to his, his weight growing heavier by the second.

"Jane, stop. Pocket," he groaned, his cuffed hand sluggishly trying to reach for his pants pocket as he stumbled beside her.

"Shut up and move," she growled, fear and adrenaline coursing through her like liquid fire, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Dragging him along with her, she staggered through the first doorway— barely managing to kick it closed behind them— and found them in a dim hallway with several doors on either side. Feeling Weller flagging, she pulled him across the hall and into the first small office, shoving the door closed and supporting him around the far side of the desk before at last letting him slump to the floor, dropping into a controlled crouch before him so their cuffed hands wouldn't yank her over.

Propped against the desk, he blinked slowly at her, his hand clumsily digging in his pocket once more— only to withdraw a moment later, a small silver key clutched in his trembling grasp.

"Jane," he breathed, his voice slurring as he pushed the key at her. "Go."

For a second she simply stared at him, saw the spark of urgency in his hazy eyes, his gaze carrying an undercurrent of true fear.

Fear for her.

Clenching her jaw, she took the key, making quick work of both her handcuff and his. Then, pulling his backup piece from his ankle holster, she stood, staring down at him for a long moment before seeing him give a tiny, weak nod.

"Go," he whispered faintly, and then his eyes fluttered shut, his head drooping as his body finally lost the battle for consciousness. Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Jane left him where he was and crossed back over to the door, listening closely for any movement outside.

After another minute, she heard it; the muted footsteps of at least two people, moving slowly and carefully down the hallway, opening doors as they went. Listening to them draw steadily closer, Jane tightened her fingers around the gun's grip, refusing to look back at its owner, to let herself be distracted.

Right now, Weller was fine. But if she failed here, he wouldn't be.

So she'd just have to make sure she didn't fail.

Hearing their pursuers still several yards away, she tensed her muscles, then yanked the door open and sidestepped out, gun up and ready as she swiftly assessed her opponents.

Caught off-guard, the two masked men scrambled to lift their weapons, the first barely getting his gun to waist height before she put two rounds in his chest. The second was faster, his bullets slamming into the wall beside her as he raced for cover, throwing himself through the open doorway beside him.

Cursing quietly, Jane ducked back behind her own doorway, checking her gun with a grimace. She couldn't win in an extended shoot-out; she'd seen the backup pieces in his shoulder and thigh holsters, and knew that her single incomplete clip would never be enough.

Instead, she'd have to end this quickly.

Sucking in a breath, she shot a quick glance around the doorframe, then moved fast, staying low as she swiftly covered the distance to the room he'd disappeared into. Her eyes registered the tiny hint of movement in a split second, her body diving and rolling as his arm appeared around the doorway, bullets raking the hallway around her. Then, before he'd even had a chance to fully withdraw his arm, she was launching herself through the doorway, both of them crashing hard to the floor.

Even half-winded from the fall, she didn't falter, didn't give him an opening. Grunting, she grappled for his gun as they rolled and struggled on the carpeted floor, momentarily stunning him as she slammed her forehead into his, his grip slackening for a split second.

It was enough.

Wrenching the gun from his hand, she levelled it at his chest and pulled the trigger again and again, feeling his body jerk against hers before finally falling still. Panting, she pushed herself away from him and stood on shaky legs, pausing to scoop up her own gun— or rather, Weller's gun— from where it had landed by the wall, tucking it into the back of her waistband.

Then, leaning against the wall for a moment, she scrubbed a hand wearily across her face— and it came back bloody, her fingers finding a split through one eyebrow, a small stream of blood oozing its way past her eye.

Carelessly wiping her hand on her jacket, she pushed away from the wall and moved back out into the hallway, glancing carefully around before hooking her hands under the first man's arms, dragging him back into the office with his teammate before firmly shutting the door. There was nothing she could do about the bullet holes in the walls or the blood stain on the dark carpet, but the fewer things pointing to her and Weller's location, the better.

Finally reentering the office where she'd left Weller, she found him still slumped against the desk, her eyes simply taking him in for a moment before she bent down, gripping his shirt and gently tugging him sideways, laying him slowly down onto the floor. Then, she pulled the desk across the room and shoved it firmly up against the closed door, jamming it as effectively as she could.

Now that the room was as secure as she could make it, she returned to Weller, kneeling close by his side as she rechecked his breathing and pulse, then carefully resettled him onto his side, her fingers stroking involuntarily over his stubbled cheek, the gentle touch lingering as she simply watched him breathe.

She knew it then, finally; knew that they would get out of this, knew that no matter what, he was going to be okay.

Feeling her eyes begin to burn, her throat suddenly tight, she blinked hard and looked away, rising to her feet and taking up a ready stance above him, gun tight in her hand and eyes on the doorway, all her senses on alert. According to Weller's watch, they were due for check-in in less than an hour— and when they didn't show, the team would come.

For now, though, she would keep watch over him, keep him safe.

Just as she planned on doing for the rest of her life.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to share any thoughts/comments!

-Laura