Author's Note: I don't own Blindspot or these characters or anything. I'm just playing with them and trying to understand this amazingly complex world they've created. I believe this story is canon compliant, but then again, I am human, mistakes are not only possible, but likely.
Many thanks for my betas VanillaAshes and MixedBerryJam and everyone else who gave me encouragement as I tried this crazy piece – you know who you are.
NOTE:
I know Jane's name is not Jane before the memory wipe.
But until September 14th, we won't know what it actually is. I have guesses, as I am sure you all do also.
But for the sake of this story, I'm calling her Jane.
Why?
Because you can instantly picture her. If I used my guess – it would take you out of the story remembering who xxxx is.
Because using a physical description, such as "the woman with black hair" doesn't exactly work when you want people to address her using her name.
I didn't know how else to approach it. Maybe in September, I'll come back and edit it and make it all canon compliant again.
But for now, she's Jane.
Please just accept it.
(and if her name was Jane before the memory wipe also, I will laugh so hard!)
Shepard paced around the room, looming large in front of them. They had all arrived hours ago, the message was simple. It was time. They had spent years talking. Now was the time to act. Phase one was about to start.
"We need to get their attention. Something big, drastic. Something they can't ignore."
"Phone calls and emails can be traced," Kendall started, brainstorm ideas.
"Well, emails I could bounce around the world, it would be impossible to trace." Ryan said, but then his voice dropped as he realized the problem. "But the sheer volume. Every additional email would risk them tracing it, figuring out the VPN. It's too much of a risk…"
"Letters?" Andre suggested.
"Letters? Are we living in the 20th century? What's next, carrier pigeons?" Katy laughed.
Shepard carried on, his voice rising, "It has to be bigger! Bigger than letters or emails! They have to realize the importance! One singular message, so big they can't ignore it!"
"How are we supposed to get all the information into one message?" Luma questioned.
Shepard paused, looking up surprised, as if only just now noticing the other people in the room. "We're going to need someone on the inside."
"So, wait, we need a person to be the message?"
"Yes!" Shepard shouted, "That's it! Exactly! We'll get someone on the inside and deliver the message at the same time!"
"But how?" Marcos questioned. "How can someone safely deliver the message? They'll get thrown in jail the instant they start talking. We can't go in there spouting off and demanding an overthrow of the government!"
Jane spoke for the first time since they had arrived, her voice calm, rational. "Tattoos. We tattoo the message on someone. Cover their entire body."
"Yes! Tattoos!" Shepard shouted.
"This can't work. We can't just tattoo a list of our enemies on someone and say here, FBI, we don't like these people, will you arrest them for us?" Cade said calmly. "It's not going to work, there's got to be a better way."
"No, subtler than that. Make it a game, like cat and mouse. Hide the names in ciphers. Use pictures instead of words. They won't know what to make of it. They'll keep our mole around until they solve them all. We'll get continued access to the inner workings of the FBI."
"No it won't! They'll still throw whoever it is in jail. They'll get access, but we won't. It still ends with one of us in jail."
"Not if the person is innocent, a victim." Aimee's soft voice rose from the back of the room.
"What, taking a person off the street? We can't do that, we're not like them. Besides, there's no way we could control what happens afterwards."
"No. Not a random person – one of us. There's a drug – a PKM zeta inhibitor. It's been tested on soldiers – bringing them back from the dead, flooding their system with it and other drugs, turning them into super soldiers. We don't need that, exactly. But in low doses, it's used to treat victims of PTSD by erasing selective memories. If we can find the middle ground, we could erase someone's memory so completely that they won't remember who they are, who we are."
"But if they don't know who they are, how will that help us? It's the same as kidnapping. We can't control it; we can't get the access we need."
"We leave this person with the FBI. He'll be treated as a victim, get close to the investigators. The tattoos will be the clues; they'll take down our enemies. And when the time is right, we'll reveal ourselves to him, and then move on to Phase Two."
…
"And he works at Aldebaran, so we just use the eye of the bull to represent him," Laura said excitedly. She held up a paper with the constellation drawn on it, surrounded by the rough sketch in the shape of a bull. "Obviously, it will look better when it's finished, but the idea is to line it up perfectly. Taurus the constellation, represented by the bull, the star is Aldebaran, it's perfect!"
"Wait, what?" Jane questioned. "Aldidaron?"
"Aldebaran," Laura repeated. "He named his store after the star, Aldebaran. I mean, it wouldn't be my first choice; it's kind of strange, well, really strange. But it works out great for us."
"Fine, but, seriously, how are they supposed to solve it, if we can't even pronounce it?"
"It's a star! It's common knowledge," Laura said, defensively. "Okay, maybe not common, but either way. The bull will be one color. We highlight the eye some way, maybe using another color or something - anything to draw attention to it. They'll connect the dots – literally." Laura laughed at her own joke, gesturing to the constellation. "What's better is that Aldebaran is rare outside of astronomy. There's only like two or three places in the entire state that use it in their names. And one of those places just happens to be where Owen Lyman has set up shop. It will lead them right to him!"
"What if they can't solve it? What if his brother interferes? There are too many variables; we can't plan for all of this with a drawing!" Brent exclaimed. "What if they can't solve any of these?"
"They will," Jane said. They had to. There was no turning back now. It had to work.
…
"Chao, it has to be you," Shepard demanded. "You will start your mission the next day. That will give you 24 hours to gather the explosives and get to the Statue of Liberty."
Chao nodded his acceptance, but Kendall looked unconvinced. "Why him? Why sacrifice one of our own? This is all real, they'll connect it. Why does Chao have to kill himself?"
"我接受的風險. 我願意付出我的生命來報復我媽的損失." Chao replied. (I accept the risk. I am willing to give my life to avenge the loss of my mother.)
"But are we even sure our mole will remember how to speak Chinese? Especially Wenzhou?" Luma asked.
"The medicine is designed to only target the hippocampus and temporal lobe. He'll have no narrative memory, no knowledge of who he is, who we are. Everything else will be unaffected, language skills included. Our mole will be able to translate the tattoo just as easily then as they can now."
"But how will the mole even be able to see the tattoo? This one is small, hidden. Why would they show it to him? If he doesn't know who it is, why would they expect he could speak Chinese? It's too much of a risk."
"And why him?" the Aimee pleaded. They all knew they may die; they all knew the risks associated with this mission. But to purposely send someone to their death seemed cruel.
"我告訴過你. 我理解的風險. 我願意以死來幫助的原因." (I told you. I understand the risks. I am willing to die to help the mission.)
"It's not necessary to translate the message beforehand. At some point, they will decode it. It's simple, straight forward. It should be one of the first. By that point, the deed will be done, and they will understand the importance of these messages. There will be no doubting the connection." Shepard's word was final. Chao would sacrifice himself for the good of the mission.
…
A few weeks later, Jane found Oscar alone in his apartment, sketching. He was always busy sketching these days. Ever since they had decided to use tattoos, Oscar, Laura, and Andre were busy, planning it down to the last detail.
Andre was the coordinator. He was second in command under Shepard. He was the one who decided who the targets were.
Laura was the designer. She took the information from Andre and thought of the visual clue that could lead them to the target, designing the puzzles and ciphers that would cover the moles body.
And Oscar, well, Oscar was the artist.
Jane watched his hands gliding across the paper. It was so graceful, peaceful even, that she couldn't stop watching. She loved the way he got lost in thought as he drew. He would bite his lip in concentration, his eyes focused on the paper below. It was almost as if he became one with the drawing, as if it was just an extension of his soul. She knew it was tearing him up inside to be drawing such dark pieces – he would wake up in the middle of the night, sweating; shouting at demons only he could see.
She sat down next to him, trying to catch a glimpse of the drawing. "Which one is that?" she asked quietly, not wanting to disturb him more than she already had.
"Hourglass," Oscar mumbled, not looking up from the drawing.
The delicate form was already taking shape, the deep cracks crisscrossing the surface, the hand reaching around, almost grasping it. Jane was transfixed as she stared at the drawing. It was beautiful, but hauntingly so. She didn't know what it represented – she was almost afraid to even ask. Even now, some things were better left unknown.
Moments later, Oscar paused, staring at the drawing as if he couldn't comprehend what he had just drawn.
"Are you guys going to be able to finish in time?" she asked, worried.
Oscar sighed, putting down the drawing. "Well, we've got about 50 planned and sketched. And maybe a few dozen ideas ready. But it's not enough." He flipped through the sketchbook, looking over the drawings and related notes. Pages and pages were filled, but he knew they were barely halfway finished.
"How many do you think we'll need?" her voice was quiet. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer.
"To cover someone's whole body? At least 150, probably 200 or more," Oscar replied. Two hundred tattoos to design. Two hundred puzzles to encode. Two hundred people to implicate.
"We're only at… what, 80? 90? Will you guys really be able to double that?" They had been planning this for years, but now that it was officially starting it seemed unbelievable. Could they really do this? Were things really this bad? Would it actually work?
"A lot of things need to happen. A lot of people need to go." Oscar said simply. "We'll run out of time before we run out of targets." He looked at Jane quietly, before his eyes dropped back down to the paper and he continued shading in the drawing.
…
They all stared at the paper. The list of names – of potential targets, written as plain as day for all to see, for all to judge.
Nathaniel Wahler
Elana Benjamin
Daniel Newton
Sebastian Keil
Bethany Mayfair
Justin Woods
It was easy to get lost in the list, and forget that these were actual people. They forced themselves to think of them as a list of statistics, to remember what skeletons were hiding in their closets. And one by one, they were all eliminated, until all that was left was Bethany Mayfair, Assistant Director of the FBI's New York Field Office. She was it.
Sofia fought against it. She was sure Bethany could be saved, brought over to their side. She wasn't dirty, Sofia insisted. Daylight was just one bad example.
But the fact remained – Bethany Mayfair was the target. She was a prime example of government corruption at its worst. She was in too deep. She had to be removed.
Choosing Mayfair's replacement was harder. There had to be a clear, logical replacement – someone whose rise to the top wouldn't be looked upon as suspicious. Someone they could control.
And that's how they decided upon Kurt Weller.
He was already a rising star in the department, working directly underneath Bethany Mayfair. He was known for his work ethic and dedication to the job. He had a strong moral compass and a desire to do right. He was someone that deserved to be in charge.
And he would have been, one day. There was no doubt that he would have slowly risen through the ranks of the FBI. The tattoos would only accelerate it. They would help him take down terrorists, expose corruption at all levels of the government. He would be looked upon as a hero.
But his past is what made him the perfect target.
His history with the missing child, the neighbor from all those years ago. He still attended the yearly memorial services. He would drive the four hours to Clearfield just to check in on the girl's mother throughout the year. But most importantly, the body was never found. No one was ever charged in her disappearance. The mystery remained, all these years later. And to Kurt Weller, it was just as important now as it was then. It affected every aspect of his life, his career choice, the cases he took, even his relationships.
So if Taylor Shaw suddenly reappeared… his world would be complete. There would be no stopping him.
And that's how they knew they could control him. By bringing the dead back to life.
…
"It's gotta be me!" she insisted. "I'm the only one that could be Taylor Shaw. Laura is out – her blue eyes would betray her before the mission even starts. Sam has blonde hair, they would certainly see through a dye job. Aimee and Luma are out because of their skin tone. Katy's too young. It has to be me."
"No, please, Jane, I couldn't even…" Oscar started. "You know the risks. Don't do that to yourself, to us."
"Then who, Oscar? Who? Because if we can't get him to believe it's really Taylor Shaw, then the mission's over! They'll never let her into the building, never let her get close, and then all of this is a waste! Everything we've worked for is gone!"
"But, Jane… you know what these drugs will do to you!" Oscar pleaded.
Jane sighed. "I know. And that's why I think…" she pulled off the engagement ring. He'd proposed less than 2 months earlier. She'd said yes instantly. But now... "It's easier this way."
"You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do…" Jane walked away, refusing to let Oscar see the tears in her eyes.
…
"Just do it, Oscar. Or I can ask Shepard for another handler." Jane took another swig of bourbon straight from the bottle.
Oscar gently brushed her hair aside, letting it fall over her shoulders, revealing the tender white skin on the back of her neck. The only mark on the otherwise perfect skin was a faint black line, drawn there just hours before. Marking what needed to be done, where he needed to cut. "Jane, I'm holding a very sharp knife inches away from your spinal cord. I think a little hesitation is in order."
Taylor Shaw would have a scar. All the missing person reports mentioned it. It wasn't much trouble to get the medical records which detailed the exact location, length, and treatment (7 stitches). They knew they would have to replicate the scar in order to have any chance of passing Jane off as Taylor.
"All we need is a scar. It's not an exact science. Just cut the damn line. The wait is killing me!"
"And if I hurry, I may actually kill you." He picked up the knife carefully. He had sharpened it for hours the day before, and then sterilized it repeatedly. He knew he was being overly cautious. She was right; all they needed was a scar. Scars change, fade over time. As long as she had a mark on the back of her neck, there wouldn't be any questions. But still, he was about to slice her neck, cutting deep into the skin, trying to emulate a wound from years ago. She insisted it wouldn't be too bad, she'd had worse before. But this time, he was the one hurting her. He needed it to be as safe and painless as possible.
Jane sighed. She knew why he was hesitant. They – she – had just called off their engagement a week ago. Things had been awkward ever since. He was still her handler. He had insisted upon that. Their feelings hadn't disappeared once she returned the ring, and he was truly the most qualified of them all. She trusted him with her life. She knew he would do anything to keep her safe. And that is why he was the one cutting her neck. Not Marcos, who had actual medical experience, but Oscar. She knew he wouldn't let anything happen to her. Even if the bourbon was making her a bit spiteful.
They had talked about waiting until closer to the mission start date. There was still so much to be done. They hadn't even switched the DNA samples, or finalized the tattoo locations and designs. But the scar needed time to heal. There was no way they could age it 25 years, but they needed to give it as much time as possible. And that's why they were doing this today, less than a week after they had decided she would become Taylor Shaw.
Suddenly, she felt the sharp pain on the back of her neck. Her head jerked forward. "Shit! Oscar, give some warning next time!"
Oscar pulled back immediately, afraid the sudden movement caused a mistake. What if he had accidently cut her deeper than planned? It still looked okay though, but there was already a lot of blood. "You just told me to hurry! Hold still this time; I'm not done."
Jane took another sip of bourbon, feeling the burning alcohol running down her throat. She hoped it was already working. She couldn't feel much pain yet, but she could feel the blood running down her back. Or maybe Oscar really was just that good. She closed her eyes, bracing herself. Once again, she felt the sharp, stabbing pain as the knife sliced her skin.
Seconds later, Oscar was done. He dropped the knife instantly, hearing it clatter to the floor. He grabbed the nearby towel, pressing it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
"Just do the damn stitches now," Jane insisted, through gritted teeth. "It already hurts like hell; I'm not going through this again after the bourbon wears off."
Oscar narrowed his eyes. "I need to stop the bleeding first. Hold this, let me get another cloth."
When he came back, he gently removed Jane's hand from her neck. He lifted the towel, and then began to gently wipe away some of the blood. It still hadn't fully clotted, but at least it was slowing down. It wasn't as deep as he had wanted. He almost wondered if he should try again; force it a little more this time. But he knew he wouldn't be able to. The first time had already made him feel sick to his stomach. Having to do it again would be more than he could bear. Besides, she was right – all they needed was a scar.
"How's it look?" she asked, her voice pained.
"You'll survive," he answered, his voice light. He paused, applying a new clean cloth to her neck. "It should be fine. It'll scar for sure, especially after the stitches. Just a little longer, and I'll start. Want more?" he asked, gesturing to the nearly empty bottle in front of her.
Jane closed her eyes and nodded. Oscar's gentle touch as surely helped with the cutting, but it wasn't going to do a damn thing for the stitches. She would feel it every time the needle pierced her skin. She was going to need a lot more to get through this.
…
They thought that switching out the DNA samples would be the hard part. There was no public record of what they had collected from the crime scene in 1990. They had to cover all their bases, or risk breaking in a second time. They ripped hair from her scalp. They took vials of blood, collected her saliva. Any possible DNA source that could have been collected, they had to replicate.
The Police Department in Clearfield was small and understaffed. They had staked out the place for days, even reported 'suspicious activity' incidents to better observe the building and police procedure. And the results were always the same. Clearfield was a small town, with an even smaller police force. The evidence locker wasn't guarded most of the time, the lock was easy enough to pick.
The age of the crime worked to their advantage. The box was nearly empty – only the sheets from her bed, a few personal items from her bedroom in terms of evidence. There were a few pictures and fingerprints collected, but none of it was deemed useful enough to replace. DNA wasn't even on the radar twenty four years ago. There was no blood to try and type, and they just didn't think of collecting anything else. They were just lucky that there was a brush in the evidence – at least there was something that would have DNA. They replaced Taylor's brush with the brush from Jane, and scattered a few loose hairs on the sheets.
And with that… Jane officially became Taylor Shaw.
…
They had just finished training. Any moment not spent working on tattoos or planning the logistics of the mission was spent training. They both had to keep their skills up.
Their plan demanded that Jane be able to fight. She had to prove herself to be an asset to the bureau, not just a victim. And with Oscar as her handler, he would be the one to first identify himself to her. They all expected her to try and fight him when he did. He had to be able to defend himself against her.
More than that though, this was their time alone. So much of their time was spent working on the mission, working with other people; they hardly got to see each other these days. Just because they were no longer engaged didn't mean they weren't in love. In fact, they seemed to be closer now than they were before. These were the moments they could just be themselves.
Oscar stopped, pausing. He needed to try, one more time. "I can't lose you," he pleaded. He knew nothing would change. But he had to try, for them.
"We've talked about this," her voice was calm, unwavering.
"No! You've talked about this! Why does it have to be you?" Oscar's voice grew more desperate. He wanted her to be able to see his side, to see how much all this was hurting him.
"You know why."
"I love you."
"And I love you, more than anything. But this is bigger than all of us."
Oscar walked closer, holding her gaze. "Please don't let him inject you with that poison. What if you don't come back? Have you thought about that?"
"That's a risk every soldier takes."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it." He nearly spat the words out. He was only inches from her, staring into her eyes. They were clouding over, she was conflicted. She knew the mission, but his words were having an effect. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "What happens if you – you don't come back? Ever? What happens then?"
Jane closed her eyes, remembering what was important, remembering the mission. She couldn't get distracted. This is why she had called off the engagement. They couldn't be clouded by emotions. She quickly shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "I think we need to talk to Shepard."
Oscar hung his head. The moment was gone. "No, no, that's –"
"Yes. This was a mistake. I don't think you should be my handler."
"No, I can handle it," he assured her. He shook his head, as if trying to shake out any last remaining hope. "If you're doing this, I'm doing it. I'm not letting you go out there alone."
…
Today was the day – the day that would change everything.
"This feels like the end." His eyes were pained. They both knew they were out of time. In less than an hour, Jane would be put under, drugged, tattooed, and then dropped in the middle of Times Square.
They had done it. This was the last step. They all knew the target and the mission. The DNA was switched. The tattoos were sketched and placed. The drugs were procured. The room was set up. Everything was in place. All that was left was to say goodbye.
"I love you. You know where I come from, how I grew up. I never thought any of this would be possible for me. Shepard kept telling me that it would happen one day, but I didn't believe it." She grasped his hands in hers. "This isn't the end. We'll find each other again on the other side of this, I promise."
He nodded, afraid that if he spoke, he would tell her to run away, forget the mission, just be with him.
She leaned up for one final kiss. There was so much left unsaid between the two of them. She kissed him deeply, trying to communicate everything words couldn't. How she loved him. How much she'd miss him. How glad she was that he would be there with her every step of the way. His hands were in her hair, hers running along the scruff of his face. The door opened, but still they lingered. Even if they found each other again, there was no guarantee they would ever have this again. This was their ending.
Once she walked out the door, she would cease to be Jane. When she next opened her eyes, she would be Taylor Shaw, a victim, in the FBI Headquarters in New York City.
"Are you ready?" Marcos asked, the mask covering his face.
"Ready."
Fun factoid –the title is actually taken from a story I read backwards with the kid. (Before long, the…) I always thought it was an interesting title, and this just seemed like the perfect story. So, note to self, read more books backwards.
Otherwise, this was just an attempt at getting my headcanon straight before Martin Gero tells us all what really happened. Because I am under no illusion that any of this is true.
Thoughts? Do you like? Did I get it all wrong? As always, favorites, follows, and especially reviews are much appreciated.