DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own any of the characters from "Blindspot" or the show itself.

Jane sat in the back of the FBI SUV hands behind her back, handcuffed. Kurt had pulled them especially tight. Every part of her hurt, physically, and emotionally. She'd fought to the death, well Oscar's death, and barely escaped not only getting her memory wiped again, but also from perishing in the burning barn. The cough she kept trying to stifle was a constant reminder. As were the cuts on her face, her knuckles, and she was pretty sure her back if the pain was anything to go by. And her ankle. She must have done something to it during the fight, given the throbbing in it, but she couldn't remember; the adrenaline rush to stay alive had kept her busy. But nothing was worse than the emotional pain.

Kurt had practically thrown her in the backseat of the SUV, then locked her in while he called the FBI to go over her "safe house". The place she had started to think of as home. Just one more thing gone and destroyed, she thought. She wished the tears would stop leaking from her eyes, but she couldn't stop replaying all that had happened, not only that day, but more importantly what had just happened with Kurt. The scene between them was on a loop. A loop that just wouldn't stop. Her stomach roiled again and she swallowed the extra saliva the nausea created. Don't throw up, she willed herself. She'd felt sick on and off for two days, but there was a lot to be upset about.

Jane closed her eyes and slumped down into the seat the cuffs tweaking even more, something she barely noticed. Her arms were already throbbing from the fight in the barn and the fact Kurt had tightened them to the point of pinching her skin. "Don't get sick," she whispered to herself, her voice full of tears and pain. She barely recognized it.

She wasn't sure how long she sat in that vehicle, her eyes shut, silently crying as tears streamed down her face, making pathways in the soot and blood. She was hoping beyond hope that she could be numb. Numb to everything that had happened. Numb to Kurt.

She heard voices coming closer to the SUV, but she didn't open her eyes. She hoped that keeping them closed would stop the tears, plus she didn't want to see anyone look at her like Kurt had. Although they didn't speak she knew it was Zapata and Reade as the driver and passenger doors opened. They said nothing to her as the car began to move. She could tell it was Reade driving, because she could feel his anger in every turn, every stop, and every time he put his foot on the gas. Kurt had merely pushed her into the backseat; he hadn't put any kind of seatbelt on her. Jane didn't even stop her body from hitting the side windows or lurching forward. In all honesty she didn't even notice. And if she had, she would have just wished one of the hits would knock her out.

She recalled the time Kurt told her that it didn't matter who she was before, he believed her to be a good person now. She was pretty sure that was a lie. Not only that he believed her to be good, but that she was good. Her biggest fear had been realized. She was a bad person, a horrible one. She had killed Oscar today. She had gotten Mayfair killed. She had lied to her team for the past month. And she had lied, unknowingly, to Kurt about being Taylor Shaw. She felt the nausea again. Don't throw up, she silently ordered herself.

Jane could tell they were in the garage at the FBI by the sounds and turns the car was making. Suddenly it lurched to a stop and her face first hit the back of the passenger seat and then her body came crashing backwards. "Reade," Zapata whispered, lightly chastising. "Enough." Jane hadn't reacted to any of it. Why does it matter? I deserve it, she told herself. Although she had heard Zapata, she also knew she felt angry and betrayed. If she hadn't she would have made sure she was buckled in, or at least said something to Reade before they parked.

As the front doors opened, she willed and forced the tears still falling down her cheeks to stop. She couldn't enter the building in tears. She heard other cars arrive and knew Kurt was in one of them. The rear passenger door opened. "Come on, Jane." It was Reade. She opened her eyes. She hadn't realized they'd been shut the entire time, but apparently they had because she squinted as she became acclimated to the light of the parking garage. Apparently she wasn't fast enough to Reade's liking because he grabbed her right arm and pulled her from the car. Although she wanted to cry out from the pain it caused in her arm, shoulder, and handcuffed wrists, she didn't. She just went with it, knowing she deserved it. However, she wasn't expecting him to let go suddenly causing her to go careening to the ground. I deserved that too, she told herself, falling deeper into a well of self-loathing.

"Seriously, Reade?" Zapata scolded as she neared Jane. However there was no way Jane was going to let her help her up. Face down on the pavement of the FBI parking garage with her hands overly secured in handcuffs behind her back, she rolled to her left side. She didn't have to look to know he was there watching her, along with many others, doing nothing. Her stomach rebelled again. Don't look, she ordered herself. But for some reason, she couldn't not look, and her eyes found Kurt's. Gone was the hurt in his. Instead she saw the anger and what looked to be hate. Don't cry and absolutely don't throw up, she told herself as she fought the urge to gag. She looked away, forced her gaze to the ground far in front of her and used her shoulder and core to get to her knees. From there she popped to her feet. Maybe a bit too quickly because she staggered forward, the pain in her ankle making itself known. She immediately felt a set of hands on her, steadying her. She refused to look, although she knew it was Zapata, worried she'd see the same look she'd just seen in Kurt's. She felt Reade take her other arm as they began walking her toward the building entrance. She coughed, the smoke still in her lungs as she did her best to hide the limp.

Jane had been trying her best to stifle the coughs during the drive, but she found herself unable to anymore. They came more often. I must have inhaled more smoke than I realized, she thought. Too bad I didn't burn in that barn. I should have just stayed.

As they entered the elevator, she felt Kurt join them as well as a few other agents. She looked at no one. She barely even registered what was going on as everything that had happened in the last two days continued to play on a faster and faster loop in her mind. Mayfair. Oscar. Kurt. Taylor. Kurt. It always came back to him. She coughed again, this one deeper. "I'll get you some water when we get you settled," Zapata quietly told her. Settled, Jane thought. In an interrogation room. Her stomach lurched again and she fought the urge to throw up as she remembered her first time in that room…with Kurt. She'd felt drawn to him from the beginning. She clenched her jaw. Don't think about it. He hates you.

The elevators doors opened and she nearly threw up. The hallway was lined with people she'd been working with for the last couple months. They stared at her in anger and betrayal as Zapata and Reade led her out, Kurt in front of them and the other agents close by. They must think I'm going to try something, she decided. She wasn't. She felt she deserved all that was happening and more, although it didn't make it any less painful.

As they neared the interrogation room, Jane's coughing was barely spaced out. The adrenaline rush from the entire night having come to an end. Her body suddenly felt so heavy. And she felt so sick, literally. Right before they got to the door to interrogation, her eyes met Patterson's watery ones and Dr. Borden's confused ones. She had to look away from the pleading look in Patterson's. The one saying "tell me this isn't right".

Her coughing worsened as they entered the interrogation room. She was just so suddenly tired and felt so sick. She wished they'd let her go to the bathroom because she knew it was only a matter of time before she threw up, but there was no point in asking. She knew that.

Reade pulled out a chair and pushed her down into it. "You're not going to try anything stupid as we take these handcuffs off for a second now are you, Jane?" he seethed. She merely shook her head lightly. If he hadn't been watching he would have missed it. It was the first time she'd acknowledged them or anything that was happening.

Jane leaned forward slightly as Zapata unlocked the cuffs. "Damn, your bleeding. These were on tight." As she leaned back she could see Zapata look at the one-way mirror, knowing she was looking at Kurt.

Jane made no effort to move her hands as they dangled at her side. "Put them back on," Reade told Zapata, as he grabbed Jane's right arm with more force than was necessary, and held it to the table.

"Reade, her wrists are raw and bleeding. Besides, she's not going to go anywhere," Zapata argued. There was a hard knock from the other side of the glass. Kurt, Jane thought, coughing. Being gentler than Reade, Zapata followed the order and brought Jane's left hand to the table. She then fastened the cuffs back on her, but much looser, through the loop on the top of the table. Jane only continued to stare straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as she coughed.

"Let's go," Reade said, holding the door open.

"I'll be back with some water, Jane," Zapata said as she made her way to the open door. The door slammed behind her two ex co-workers.

Jane knew he was watching her, but she forced herself not to think about it. Currently, she had more to worry about. Like somehow stopping the cough from the smoke she inhaled, and not throwing up. However, the cough was only getting worse and before she knew it she gagged from coughing so hard. That's all it took. That one gag and the few contents in her stomach emptied out on the table.

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