I want to say a big, big thank you to all the feedback I received for my previous fics. This is a three parter that will be completely uploaded before the new episode. And y'all can thank Maddy for her support on this fic. Caskett-inspired Jeller speculative fic for 1x15. Also I am trying to introduce another ship I am trash for on this show; Pattata. There won't be much of it, but if you guys like Pattata (Patterson x Zapata) let me know. Enjoy!

The rooms are large, larger than she had expected. In her time after awakening from the duffel bag in Times Square, she had explored many places around the city, along with the protective detail the FBI had appointed her. She had also seen many tourist-y sights while working on cases. For instance; The Statue of Liberty. In reality she hadn't had much time to admire the beauty of the most iconic place in New York, but from what she had seen, it was interesting. But she hadn't seen the inside of an art gallery, until now. She was hoping it would be under different circumstances, but she'll take what she gets.

It was where she acquired her first memory, The Statue of Liberty, although, the location really had nothing much to do with that. She had tried going places to see if any more of her deeply masked memories emerged from wherever they are stored. Much to Tasha's disgust, Patterson had reserved one out of two Girl's Nights a month for projecting sappy romantic movies onto a television screen. She would inform them that Jane hadn't much knowledge of anything around them and that romance movies were the best way to live a fairy tale, in complete comparison to what they work with every day. "And they're just fun," she defended, forcing Tasha to roll her eyes. There was one they had watched not too long ago, called Midnight in Paris. The art gallery that Gil and Inez go to, looks completely different to the one from which the Burning Rose painting has been stolen.

Kurt Weller had told the team to split up, wanting to cover more ground faster. Neither Jane nor Kurt liked those words the instant they were released from his mouth, but she had followed his orders knowing he was right. Her gun raised, she rounds a corner and inspects the area with cautious eyes for any anomalies. It had been quiet for a while, almost too quiet. Patterson was rambling on, talking in equations, probability and piecing mystery puzzle pieces together, so Jane tuned her out not turning the comm off so she could still stay updated with the team.

Zapata's raspy voice announces itself next, "Oh my gosh, girl, I can't concentrate with you babbling on with a foreign language in my ear." She sounds only mildly frustrated, and her voice is slightly hushed.

Patterson apologises, quieting her antics. The cogs in her brain churning are almost as loud as her talking. "Clear." It was Reade, keeping his voice low until the whole building was cleared.

"Yeah, same here. Clear." Zapata heaves a sigh, and holsters her sidearm. Her stomach tightens and rumbles, reminding her it had been starved for the past two days. "Patterson, how you doing over there?"

Her rambling picks up again, although it is quieter than before. She ignores her friend's question and continues to figure out why this was all happening. Tasha shakes her head and starts towards the centre of the building, closer to where Kurt had been searching. "All clear," Jane says.

Kurt follows the sound of an almost silent humming, or beeping even. He isn't quite sure which it is yet. Jane turns the corner she just passed, and heads back to meet up with the others. Her fingers go to her ear, to try and get better sound on the comm as she asks for Kurt's status update.

"Kurt, you good?" He doesn't reply, just walks towards what looks to be a stack of canvases, covered in red tape, literally. He can hear the beeping now, more rapid and pronounced than before. He reaches for the blade tucked into its sheath attached to his right calf.

The tearing of the canvases fills the eerie silence of the art gallery. The device lights up in flashes of blue, much like the blue of the deep sections of the ocean. Oh no.

Patterson emits a gasp of horror as her rambling stops. "No, this can't be."

At the same time Kurt announces there is a bomb, Patterson says to run, to get out of there. "It's Jane! Jane is the target," she cries.

Zapata and Reade are further away than Jane is from Kurt. The timer clicks on, and the menacing red numbers read that there are ten seconds remaining until detonation. Nine. Eight. Seven. Kurt turns and runs, runs away from the bomb toward his team members. Jane's face is full of terror. Six. Five. "Jane!"

He screams her name as loud as he can, he screams her name like it is the only thing on his mind. Jane is the target. "Run!"

And she does. Four. Three. Towards him. She can't let this happen. She can't let anything happen to the team, especially not Kurt Weller. Please, no. Not Kurt.

Two. His face comes into her eyesight, at least ten meters ahead of her. One. "JANE!" He screams as loudly as possible one more time. Zero.

The sound is unlike anything she had ever heard in her short existence, well the short memory of her existence anyway. As her body gets thrown backwards, she sees the force from the explosion treat him like a rag doll. His body flies in a forward motion, getting knocked around. The high pitched continuous tone echoing in her eardrums is nearly unbearable, and her hands fly to her ears cupping themselves over the top of them as if it would help relieve it. It reverberates in her ears, and it reminds her of the car bomb that left Reade injured months back. Only this one is louder, it is bigger. Scarier.

The scent of rubble and explosives invade her senses, and she splutters a few coughs out as the thick cloud of dust coats the inner lining of her lungs. "Kurt?" The screams of his name barely make it to her ears, and she stands on two wobbly feet, groaning as she feels an instant sharp pain in her right side.

"Reade? Zapata?" No response. She knows she should ask again if they are okay, but all she can think about is Kurt. And how this is all her fault. All she can think about is how none of this would have happened if she hadn't gone to him, if she hadn't tattooed her own body. No, she scolds. You are not her, you're just stuck in her body, with her muscle memory, and her instructions.

She hears the voice of three agents in her comm, she hears the voices of three agents telling her to stay where she is. But it's him. It's Kurt. And she just can't stay away, it isn't even an option. His lifeless body is strewn across the ground in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position, and her heart shatters at the very sight of him. She forces the tears threatening to spill back to where they came from. "Kurt," she whispers brokenly.

There is a small pool of blood seeping from a wound in his side, and his lips are turning blue. Falling to her knees, she slides across the polished tiles closer to him. Upon closer inspection, she notices a puddle of crimson liquid gushing from she can only guess the back of his head. It pours out, fast and her hand reaches out to his face. The stubble of his cheek scratches lightly at the palm of her hand in an attempted reassuring way. "No, please. Don't leave me, okay?"

Gunfire off in the distance makes her jump, and she then realises a whole conversation had been unfolding around her. She catches on quite quickly, Zapata and Reade had come across a man running away from the explosion, and started after him. Any shot at getting answers slipping through her fingers. Any chance at finding out anything about her past other than from some shady dude supposedly named Oscar, whom she had vivid memories about.

"Suspect is down. No pulse. He's gone." Edgar Reade turned on his feet and followed Tasha away from the dead body of the poor excuse of a man that had tried to harm one of their own.

"Kurt please, stay with me. I can't lose you." She moves her left knee to the other side of his body, basically straddling his hips. She has one hand on the wound in his side, and the other cradles his head and he unleashes a soft groan. His breathing is wheezy and jagged as he whispers her name. "Are -" gasp, "you okay?"

"I am, but I can't say the same for you," she chuckles softly. It is he with the rapidly weakening pulse. It is he that has a gaping wound in the back of his skull. It is he that is surrounded by litres of his own blood that shouldn't be anywhere but inside his body.

"Kurt, stay with me. I've got you." She tries her best to put on a brave face, forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. But he is fading, quickly. "Somebody help me!"

"Look at me, hey. I've got you. Look at me," she demands. He angles his head to get a better view of her angelic features. His airways are tightening, lungs filling with blood, and a horrible throbbing pain in the back of his head. "I've got you. Don't leave me please," she sounds like a broken record, but it's all she can say.

"Kurt, I love you. I love you, Kurt. I may not know many things about this world, but I know how I feel about you. Don't you dare die on me!" Her shouts are hushed and she can now hear clearly, footsteps are rapidly coming closer.

The last thing he sees is the love and panic on her face, and then, he is gone.