AN alright soooo this is my first fic ever... not really sure how to go about this. But I really like the tv show Blindspot.. so here we go. This is set in the end of S1 beginning of S2. Let's rock it and roll it shall we?

Disclaimer: I own nothing ︎

Dammit.

It was the only thought I had on my mind as I'm currently trying to find a way out of this whole entire fucked up situation...

What did I get myself into you ask? Well Let me paint this picture for you, I'm currently welled up in a dirty closet in a motel I've been working at for the past month. While my body is in better shape than when I first escaped from the black-site, I know my body isn't up to brawl with a 230 lb Kurt and friends. I can feel the anticipation sweat building in my palms. I re-grip the Glock in my hand, complements of the 'Best Pawn' a few block away.

Click

My breathing stops, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my ears perk trying to place where the intruders next step is going to be (it's not hard to guess who is clearing the rooms) my ears hear who I assume to be Kurt walk past the closet and murmer 'clear' into his comms. And lurks to the next room.

My body does not relax. I have to get the jump on him; if I want to have a slim chance of fighting my way outta here. I give a second to take a calming breath but also using that second to let my mind slip into fight mode.

Slowly I slid the closet door open letting my instincts take over. Not allowing my emotions or thoughts get invlolved. I still cared deeply for the team and understood their anger and reasonings behind their actions (for sending me to that hell hole) because when you have nothing but time, you tend to think a lot and with the promise of death I didn't want to die with a heavy heart full of grudges. And when the most inhuman things are being done to your body, you too would think about anything and everything else that will get the smell of burnt flesh off your mind.

Here goes nothin.. or everything...

the back of Kurt's head becomes visible as I round the corner and quickly I strike him with a blow to the back of the head. But it's not enough, I was hoping to know him out but it seems to have only phased him momentarily, partly because of the element of surprise I had on my side.

Kurt stumbles forward a bit, straightens and turns around. I can see the gears in his head turning reading him for the fight we're about to start. Our eyes meet and for a few seconds we study each other's souls... (I try to ignore the dark circles and his longer-than-usual hair, how tired he looks and how he looks like he's spent a lot of time at the gym) then a switch flips and we're both charging at eachother.

First few blows are aimed toward disarming me; not aimed towards the head, gauging how far we are both willing to take this. Hoping each other will just tap out, back down, save each other the effort. A particularly hard blow was thrown toards my face, I just barely got out of the way. Guess not

He must've forgotten my stubbornness matched his as much as it matched mine. I countered the attempted blow to my face with a foot sweep and a punch to the brow. He seemed to re-up and took me down trying to put me into a leg lock. But I slipped out and reversed so I ended up with my knee to his neck but all too soon I found meself thrown off him by Zapata...

"Hands up Jane" she's pissed. Her Latino accent slipping through I stop the glock was knocked out of my hand in the first few seconds. I look over to see Kurt regaining focus. And I have no choice but to concede.

"Jane" Kurt grunts out "give it up" and I already feel my hands coming up to the side of my head in surrender on their own accord.

My only thought? Dammit.

Alright a little cliffy.. so this is litterally my first fic ever. This whole thing was on a whim but I plan to finish any stories I start because I absolutely fuckin hate when authors do that. Especially when it's a good ass fic. But yeah so please let me know how I'm doing or if any questions comments concerns commentary or constructive criticism.