A/N: Hey. So I've been incredibly busy recently, more so than before break, so writing fics have become difficult. I actually really wanted to write a holiday fic, which might be posted later this week *fingers crossed*. Hopefully this all settles down later this week, so I can write more and… continue Sacrifice's Bird. (I lost the words there.) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. Just borrowing their characters and messing around with them.
Can you forgive someone who forgot themselves? Forgive them, but forget what they were before?
Jane has asked herself those two questions over and over in her head ever since she had managed to sneak back into the safe house. And while her mind still reeled from pure overload of information (learning that your own self had erased your own memories on purpose took a long time to process), it was still able to ask these contradicting questions, able to destroy her feeling of stability and security.
Who would want to look her in the eye now, especially Weller, if they learned about Oscar? Worse, what if they learned about her former self?
Jane curls into a tighter ball on her couch as she lets her storm of thoughts plague her, taunt her. She's been curled up all night, at first shivering with cold, then shuddering with fear. What if Weller came in and found her in this state? What if he found out the truth? What if he kicked her off the team? Jane can't bear that last thought.
Her phone rings for the fourth time, cutting through the silence of her safe house like a hot knife through butter. And like all the others tonight, the call goes to voicemail.
"Jane, if you're home, give me a call. I need to know you're okay, or I'm heading over there myself."
Jane breathes out a shaky sigh. She knows that he'll come over anyway, even if she calls him back, because he can read her like a book. He'll know something's wrong if her voice is shaky, quivering.
So she doesn't call him back. Simply stares at her collage of sketched tattoos, her viridian eyes dull and empty.
She briefly wonders whether Patterson felt this way when she lost David. But she wouldn't have lost David if you hadn't shown up, with these tattoos all over you, she berates herself. She's mourning him, missing him, because it was all your idea. Your orders.
She flashes back to that one line that had pulled the floor out right under her feet.
"You did this to yourself."
Oh how she wished that it had been different. But deep down, she knew, that even if she hadn't been the mastermind behind her tattoos, even if she hadn't ordered Oscar to do whatever her former self had ordered him to do, Jane would still feel guilty for David's death. She would still feel responsible, because of these tattoos.
But it wasn't your fault! Her rational side (or rather, her brain) argues.
Yeah, it was, her heart answers. Because where would David be if these tattoos didn't exist? Definitely not six feet underground.
Jane wonders if this is normal, to have a conversation between your heart and your brain. She brushes that thought off, agreeing with Tasha's statement that nothing about her was ever normal. So, despite her feelings of insanity, her brain replies to her heart.
Patterson doesn't blame you. Kurt doesn't blame you. Tasha doesn't blame you. Reade doesn't, either. They all accepted that their jobs and this case particularly came with risks, her brain reasons.
That doesn't make it any less my fault. Yes, my current self didn't do anything, and I can't control what these tattoos do, but my past self had planned this. So, whether or not my past self and my current self are different, it's still my fault! Because my past self is still me! Her heart desperately cries out.
Would you say that if you told Kurt about all this? If he felt betrayed, would you still say this? Her brain asks, and Jane and her heart know the answer. Her heart feels defeated, while her brain buzzes with triumph.
No, I wouldn't say this.
A sharp knock jolts her out of her thoughts, sends a bolt of sound through her silent surroundings. Jane breathes out slowly, shakily. Kurt.
She makes no effort to get up, her energy suddenly drained, her legs feeling like jelly. Fear curls like a snake in her stomach, causing her head to spin. What was she going to say when he steps through the door? Sorry, but you had been a pawn in my former self's game, and I had nothing to do with it?
Jane could have laughed at how bad those words sounded in her head, if it were any other day, any other day when she hadn't been kidnapped by a bunch of CIA people and waterboarded, then told that she had been the cause of all of this.
Because then she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't have to face Weller or Patterson or Tasha or Reade. She wouldn't have to feel their feelings of betrayal.
An even sharper knock rips through the silent safe house, more insistent. Jane still makes no effort to get up, afraid of what she would have to tell Weller.
Maybe, just maybe, I can avoid telling him at all today. Maybe I can tell him another time, or not at all. Maybe I can just pretend I'm sleeping.
When she hears the lock click open, hears the footsteps of him, hears him calling out her name, she wonders if it's really possible to forgive someone who forgot.
A/N: So what'd you think? Likies? No? Any reviews on my writing would be appreciated! :)