Surprise! I still exist, and sometimes still write things, though they generally only end up on my tumblr (idealisticrealism). But 2x19 inspired me, so I thought I'd put this out here before the new episode and let us all see just how far this ends up being from what they give us haha.

Hope you like it.

They didn't find their answers in round three.

Patterson was all for trying their luck on a fourth or even fifth, her face flushed and her voice rising higher with every insistent claim of her complete sobriety, her expression turning indignant as she fervently rattled off complex mathematic formulae that none of them had ever even heard of— which might have made for a reasonable argument, if only she hadn't been swaying slightly and slurring half of her words.

Jane herself was still nursing her third drink; despite the nervous dryness of her mouth, she was hesitant to take more than the occasional tiny sip, her head already spinning from far more than just alcohol. Even just having him beside her was enough to wreak havoc on her concentration, her nerves buzzing, her heart stumbling stupidly every time their eyes met.

Not to mention the most distracting part of all; the fact that his leg was right now pressed warmly against hers, his foot having shifted subtly just moments after Patterson and Zapata had returned to the table, joining them from the knee down, their own secret connection.

She'd never imagined that something so simple could drive her so crazy.

Initially, she'd thought it was an accident, an unintentional brush as he shifted in the booth— except then he'd never pulled away, instead just casually orienting his body so he could maintain the contact without any outward indication that it existed at all.

Of course, anyone paying attention would have caught the way her body had tensed for a split second, her eyes widening as she shot him a rapid, involuntary glance before dropping her gaze back to the table just as quickly, a faint flush rising steadily in her cheeks. Anyone paying attention would have also noticed the slightly distracted quality that now laced both her and Weller's contributions to the conversation, or the tiny, unconscious grins that had taken up permanent residence on both of their faces.

Zapata always paid attention. She'd been watching the two of them for months, could practically plot the build-up to this moment on a line graph, a few zigzags followed by a steady incline that could only lead to one place. She'd dragged Patterson away for more drinks based on a gut feeling, one she now knew had been right on target- but she'd slipped up. She'd been too focused on handing over the cash to prevent the already-buzzed Patterson from grabbing a couple of their glasses off of the bar and taking off, cheerfully oblivious to what she was walking into the middle of.

Zapata, on the other hand, could easily see the signs of a hastily-aborted private moment, their too-casual attitudes betrayed by the pink in their cheeks, her own mouth curving in both amusement and mild regret that their drinks couldn't have taken just a minute longer.

She would make up for it now, though; their promised third round was done, and so was Patterson, despite her insistence otherwise. Hauling her still-protesting friend to her feet, she winked at the others and promised to get her home safe and sound, valiantly resisting the urge to snort at how readily they agreed to breaking up the little party, completely certain that they had no idea just how eager they sounded.

Bidding a relaxed goodnight to Zapata and Patterson, Weller kept his fingers tight around his glass— it was the best way to remind himself not to reach for her— watching as Zapata whispered something in Patterson's ear, silencing her mid-objection as she seemed to process what she'd just heard. Given the way her eyes widened and darted in their direction, it wasn't hard to guess what the subject had been- and then the next moment she blurted an abrupt goodnight, throwing them a bright grin and a salute before spinning on her heel and marching away, Zapata following with an amused shake of her head and a wave over her shoulder.

And just like that, they were alone again, the warmth of her leg against his suddenly seeming to burn white-hot, his mind suddenly at a loss for what to do next- that was, until he looked over at her and found her gaze fixed on him, stark and hopeful and full of questions, and he simply knew.

Her eyes widened a little at his quiet are you ready, her breath stuttering but her nod quick and assured. Biting back his grin, he slid from the booth, then reached back a hand to help her do the same, squeezing her fingers slightly before letting go, their eyes meeting briefly as they silently pulled on their coats and scarves, a faint air of nervous excitement hovering between them.

When they were ready, he gestured for her to lead the way, following just a half-step behind her, his hand automatically coming to rest against the small of her back, a silent, instinctive message to everyone else around them.

A message that she seemed to receive as well, a tiny, shy smile flitting his way before she dropped her eyes to the floor, navigating them both out and onto the sidewalk, both of them unconsciously drawing closer together as the chill wind bit into their skin.

Reaching the curb, he stretched out his free arm, and just moments later was opening the cab door for her, her eyes meeting his with a smile before she slipped gracefully inside.

Already missing the warmth of his hand at her back, Jane settled into the backseat, eyes tracking his body as he rounded the back of the cab and slid in the other side, his gaze instantly meeting and holding hers. When he told her, almost shyly, that he wanted to take her somewhere, she could hear the question that lay beneath it, knowing that with a simple shake of her head he would take her straight back to the safehouse and say goodnight.

Instead, she nodded her assent, watching the lines around his eyes crinkle, a warmth in his expression that sent tiny shivers across her skin. Turning from her briefly, he gave the driver an unfamiliar address, one that was only a matter of blocks from his own.

Settling back, he drew a deep, even breath, and she watched, concerned, as a look of indecision flickered cross his face— until he shifted slightly and simply reached out his hand, laying it palm-up on the seat between them, a silent invitation.

One he didn't seem sure she would accept.

Relieved, Jane moved without hesitation, placing her hand in his, their fingers twining together; a simple connection that they hadn't shared since their short-lived undercover op at Rich's house all those months ago.

She couldn't believe how much she had missed it.

Kurt seemed to feel similarly; he let out a slow breath, his eyes on their joined hands as his thumb rubbed slowly over her skin, and she could see the hint of a smile still lingering on his face, a lightness in his expression that made the warmth inside her chest glow even brighter. She'd never expected that she'd ever get to feel this again, that overwhelming sense of home that she only felt with him, her heart only free when bound to his own.

She'd certainly never expected that he would feel it too.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he glanced up, his own eyes shining with both the reflected streetlights and with something else, something more. For a moment he simply returned her stare, before his gaze flicked to her lips and back again, a slow smile spreading across his face as he saw the effect it had on her. Breathless, Jane felt him squeeze her hand, his eyes glancing briefly to the front of the cab before meeting hers once more, his look full of meaning, his promise clear.

Next time, there would be no interruptions.

Even as her heart skittered wildly, a wry smile curved her mouth, thinking of that moment back in the bar; now, with a little more distance, she found she actually appreciated Patterson's terrible timing, knowing that they would have shared only the briefest brush of the lips before they would have been forced to pull back or risk being caught. She didn't want their next-first-kiss to be a guilty secret during a stolen moment; she wanted time to fully give herself over to it, to him, sharing a boundless moment that was just theirs alone.

From the look in his eyes, she knew he more than understood.

And in truth, it wasn't the almost-kiss that mattered most anyway; it was what had come before it, the moment when he'd looked her in the eye and made it clear that despite everything that had happened between them— despite all the pain and betrayal and heartbreak she had brought with her when she'd entered his life— he would still choose to do the same all over again, rather than live out his life without ever having known her.

Which meant that he would still choose her, even though she came at the price of Taylor, of his father, of Mayfair— and of his heart.

She didn't know how he could make that choice, how he could believe that she was worth all the chaos and devastation she'd caused, how he could forgive her when she couldn't forgive herself. But she did know that she would always choose the same— to climb out of that bag and do it all over again, even knowing the suffering that awaited her; the lies and the loss, the broken body and shattered heart. She would do it without a second of doubt or hesitation, just to one day get to be right here in this moment, in this cab with his hand around hers and his heart in his eyes.

She would always choose him, and tonight, she would make sure he knew it.

By the time the cab began to slow and pull up to the curb, they still hadn't exchanged a single word, their silent gazes saying enough. Weller didn't even know if he would have really been able to speak if he'd tried; not with Jane looking at him like that, like the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist, leaving nothing behind but the two of them, and she didn't miss any of it at all.

He sure as hell didn't.

There had been a time— after his anger had finally died out, revealing that what he had felt for her was still there inside him, simmering right at his core— that he'd believed that she could never feel the same, could never look at him the way she once had.

But, like with so many things, he'd been wrong.

For weeks he'd watched her soften, the tension slowly fading, the wariness replaced by trust as she once more found her place with the team— with him. He'd watched her smile more easily, begin to laugh and joke, to reach out with the same kindness and caring that had first drawn him to her, her armor slowly falling away, piece by piece. But even as she'd begun to treat him as a friend and partner again, there had always been a tiny trace of reservation, a sense that she was always still slightly on her guard.

He'd thought it was because she could no longer trust him completely, that the unwavering faith she'd had in him had been lost the moment he'd turned on her and thrown her to the wolves. He'd believed it, because he'd known without a shadow of a doubt that he deserved it, and worse— but now, he understood.

Now he knew what she had been holding back, because it was all there in her gaze, no longer hidden away but right there for him to see; a truth so clear that she was practically shining with it.

God, he wanted to kiss her.

Seeing her look curiously out the window as they finally came to a stop, he grinned a little, handing over the money and climbing out of the cab before rounding the trunk to join her on the sidewalk. Eyes on her face, he watched as she took in the building in front of them, clearly puzzled, then finally glanced questioningly at him, making him grin wider. Closing his hand around hers, he gently tugged her around to face the opposite side of the street, watching the realization dawn as her eyes registered the dark tree-shapes that marked the edge of the park.

His name escaped her lips on a wavering breath, her eyes suddenly bright— and for a split second he feared that he'd just made a mistake, that this would only serve as a reminder of the past rather than be a chance for a new beginning, a clean slate— but before he even had the chance to speak, she was already stepping off the curb, her hand tight around his as she pulled him with her, the two of them crossing the road and entering the park together.

With a squeeze of her hand, he led her along a path and down to near the waterfont, stopping at last at the bench that overlooked the city, his favorite spot.

He'd done a lot of thinking about her at this spot; not just on that night when he'd waited here for her, but before- and after, too. It seemed only right that it would be here that he would tell her everything.

Settling onto the bench, he drew her down beside him, giving her a minute to take in the view before reaching for her, his hands cradling both of hers as he drew a deep, steadying breath.

And then, he began to speak.

He told her, first, about the park; how he'd actually come here that night, how he'd lied when he'd told her otherwise, because he'd thought then that she hadn't felt the same way. When she swore to him with tears in her eyes just how much she'd wanted to come that night, he told her it was okay, told her he understood why she'd had to do the things she'd done. He told her how sorry he was for betraying her, for letting the CIA take her; how he'd never forgive himself for what they'd done to her and for how he himself had treated her on her return. He told her how stupid he'd been with Allie, and with Nas; how he'd used them to distance himself from her, and how completely and utterly he had failed at it. He told her how much she meant to the team, how she was family and would always have a place with them, no matter what happened with Sandstorm, or the tattoos, or anything else.

He stumbled in some parts, his throat raw and eyes burning, but he got it all out, forcing himself to look only at her as he did it, needing to make sure that she heard it all, believed it all.

Because then— when he'd confessed every other secret, brought it all out into the open with nothing held back— he told her that he loved her.

The tears that spilled silently down her cheeks almost broke him, her whispered response barely audible above the roaring in his ears.

I love you too, Kurt.

Then, within a few hard, desperate beats of his heart, she closed the gap between them, her lips pressing against his with the same combination of relief and need that he felt, his own tears at last slipping free as his eyes squeezed shut, one hand releasing hers to cradle her head, his fingers burying in her hair and holding her close.

But it wasn't like either of their previous kisses.

Jane knew it, could feel it right down to her bones; there was none of the surprise, none of the uncertainty, just a sense of rightness that she couldn't fully explain, the two of them finally on the same page, finally ready. And it most certainly wasn't like any other kiss she could remember experiencing— nothing with Oscar or Oliver had ever felt like this, could have ever felt like this. The depth of it should have scared her, should have made her want to run, but instead it made her pull him closer, her heart finally certain that it had found what it had been searching for her whole life, long before the memory wipe and the bag in Times Square.

Him.

It had always been him.

His mouth moved over hers with a tenderness that made her chest tighten, at first kissing her slowly and deeply until she trembled against him, then drawing back and brushing light, thankful kisses over her lips and jaw as he let her recover, waiting for her cue before deepening the kiss once more, the sensation flowing over her and through her like a wave, building and easing and building again, her mind and body aware of nothing but him.

Even as she let the kiss take her, though, she kept one hand pressed to his chest, his racing heartbeat directly beneath her palm— her starting point, but also her ending point, and everything in between.

He was all of it for her, just as she was for him.

When they at last drew back— of their own choice, though still as reluctantly as if they'd been interrupted— they simply let their foreheads rest against each other for several moments, just breathing together, before he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently into his side, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. Already wanting to be closer, she folded her legs up beside her and leaned into him, her fingers toying with his where they lay in his lap, feeling the tiny shift of his cheek against her forehead as he smiled.

And for some time, they simply sat there, holding each other, being together.

Then, suddenly, his phone began to ring.

Without moving his arm from around her shoulders, he fished out his phone with a frown, one that only deepened when he saw the caller ID, his reaction sending small flickers of amusement, curiosity, and concern through the blissful haziness of her thoughts. Glancing at her, he answered it with a wary tone, then listened for several moments before telling the caller that they would be right there, his entire body tense against hers as he hung up.

Straightening slightly, she met his gaze, seeing the deep creases in his forehead and the troubled look in his eyes, her fingers curling around his as she braced herself for news of Shepherd or Sandstorm or Phase 2.

But instead, when the words left his mouth— his voice rough with confusion and worry— they were ones she never expected.

"Tasha's been arrested."

Thanks for reading, and all comments are gladly accepted :)