A/N-this is the angstier story I'm working on. I hope working on multiple Blindspot stories at once isn't too confusing, but as I said, I need to balance fluff and angst, for some reason. It picks up at the close of Season 2, and deals with what I would assume would be Kurt's pain, frustration and sense of abandonment after she left, and Jane's guilt and pain over leaving (and other things), more than the mysteries they need to solve and Jane's newfound bioluminescence, LOL.

Parts of this story will feature very angry, hurt, and frank conversation and interactions, and this may not work for some readers, but for those who choose to read, I confess, I'm ultimately a sucker for love.

Chapter 1: Scratching

Jane stepped slowly through the unfamiliar trees, her shoes popping as she yanked them from the thick mud with each step. Mist rose from the ground as rain that had fallen earlier in the day evaporated under the renewed heat of the sun. As much as she knew she didn't belong in this oddly sacred space, she had a mission, a purpose, even if she wasn't exactly sure what that was yet. Nearby she heard something, the sound of an object roughly scraping over wood, and knew that sound was calling her attention.

She was unarmed, but that didn't worry her, lost but not afraid, and driven by the need to find the source of the scratching sound that beckoned. "You don't belong here," a tiny, sweet voice mentioned behind her. Jane turned and the girl regarded her without malice or curiosity, as if she'd expected the intruder.

The girl gazed up with pretty green eyes and repeated, "You don't belong here."

"Yea…I know," Jane answered, sitting on the trunk of a felled tree so she'd be at eye level with the girl. She looked at the child and smiled at the odd yet undeserved nostalgia she felt when she looked at the little mud encrusted rain boots. "Those are really cool shoes," Jane complimented.

The girl gazed down at them, staring for a few moments as the toes of her shoes lifted alternatingly from the ground. The scratching sound returned suddenly, and Jane remembered that she had to follow it. She looked back toward the girl to tell her she had to leave, but the child was standing closer, and extended her tiny fingers out toward Jane. "Come on," she insisted with youthful innocence.

The child was quick, dashing through the woods without a second thought, knowing exactly where they were going. Jane felt, somehow, like she was struggling to keep up with the wispy girl ahead of her. Suddenly the girl paused, leaning forward and peering through a heavy curtain of brush and leaves. Jane stooped to follow the girl's line of sight, and saw a man, long and lanky, carving something into the wood of a feeble structure in the clearing. As Jane watched, she realized he must have been there for a while. A few empty food wrappers and cans sat nearby. His clothes were sagging off him, still wet from the rain that must have stopped hours ago.

"It's my fault he's trapped here," the girl confessed guiltily.

Jane shook her head, "I'm sure it's not."

"It is. He comes here all of the time. He waits for me. Even when he can't be here waiting for me, he's here in his mind."

"Taylor," Jane whispered, for the first time acknowledging the child's identity although she'd known all along, holding the girl's hands in hers, "it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't mean to hurt him. But I did."

"I know you didn't mean to hurt him, sweetie. It's not your fault. I know that. And so does he."

"But he's stuck here because of me…because he's looking for me."

"You can't think like that," Jane reassured. "He knows you never wanted to hurt him."

The child jerked her hands away suspiciously and stepped back, like Jane suddenly frightened her. "But you did," the child coldly stated.

"No," Jane shook her head, "I never wanted to hurt him. I love him…more than he knows."

"But he knows I didn't want to leave him. But you did. You chose to. You wanted to go. That's probably why it hurts so bad this time," the child calmly explained, sounding more adult than she looked. "Now he's stuck because of you."

"It's not like that," Jane argued.

"Do you ever wonder what he's doing? If he's okay since you left?"

Jane felt the tears pouring down her face and replied, "I think about him every second of every day."

"He doesn't know that," the child responded. "He blames himself, you know."

"It wasn't his fault," Jane defended.

"I know. But he thinks it's his fault. All of it. He thinks it's his fault that I died. And his fault that you left."

"None of it was," Jane whispered mournfully.

Jane's eyes flickered toward the man and when she looked back down, the child was gone, lonely empty rain boots left in her place. She heard him scratching, fervently digging into the post with a knife, so she approached. "Kurt?" she whispered.

His head snapped around, but he kept working. "What?" he asked without pretense.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

His face surprised her once she was close. He was younger than the man she knew, probably sixteen or seventeen. He was so unbelievably lanky, but obviously fit and already quite tall, a fact that seemed exaggerated by his lankiness. He was sweating profusely as he worked, his clothes hanging heavily off him from the earlier rain. He paused for a moment, wiping away the sweat with the back of his arm before he continued working. She saw his knuckles, bloodied and bruised from punching something recently, and there were older scars and scabs on his fists from things he'd hit before. She tried to look at what he was carving, but he turned, leaning his back against it to hide it from her. "It's a message, okay," he explained. "But it's not for you."

Although he scowled, his eyes full of rage and fury, sadness and loss, behind all of those scalding emotions, there was an innocence she had never seen. The innocence of youth sat tucked away deep behind his eyes, and for a second, when she looked at him, she thought there was a flicker of recognition. "Kurt," she said, reaching out a hand, but he backed quickly out of reach.

"Go away," he ordered, turning and continuing his work on the post.

She reached out again, feeling her hand shaking nervously as she touched his shoulder, and he flinched and pulled away like her fingers burned his flesh. She was desperate to hold him, just to hug him and tell him things would get better. She wanted him to know he wasn't alone, that someone loved him deeply, but he wouldn't let her near. "I'm so sorry if I hurt you," she offered.

"If you hurt me?" he growled. He shook his head, frustrated and nearing a complete breakdown. "Just go away. Leave me alone."

Jane shot up in bed as she did so many times since she'd left. Kurt haunted her dreams almost nightly. So did Taylor, the child she'd seen in pictures coming to life in her mind. She had no idea when she woke that in a few short hours, he'd be standing in front of her.

Jane easily agreed to come back to help their missing friends, there was no other choice. She couldn't believe Kurt was here, standing in front of her. She wasn't sure how he'd found her, but she knew he was probably the only one in the world who could have. After a few moments of awe over her previously unseen tattoos and the shock of his presence, he asked, procedurally, "How soon can you leave?"

"It won't take me long to get ready. A couple of hours."

"Forecast calls for storms tonight," he said, "sounds pretty bad. Wait for them to clear, then head out in the morning?"

"Yea," she said, glancing over him and realizing for the first time that even when he looked at her, he wasn't staring her in the eyes. He'd always done that, and it was strange not to feel that unyielding connection.

The playfulness had left his eyes, too. One of the things that had surprised her most once they were in a relationship was just how fun he could be. Behind the formality, Kurt Weller could be a hell of a lot of fun. It had shocked her how much they laughed, how often he teased her, chased her around, acted silly and full of life at home. She had enjoyed every single moment she spent learning about this side of the man she'd already loved.

He was a bit thinner now, somber, not as controlled and angry, but more uncertain and sad. Some things had changed, but some things were so familiar, and she missed them so much it made her ache. The moment she'd hugged him, his arms felt the same. He still smelled like sweat, detergent and his deodorant, the same one he'd worn every single day since she'd met him, and there was something about the way he smelled, something that reminded her of love and sex and sleepy mornings happily wasted in bed. He'd melted into her arms for a moment, but she felt the purposeful way he took her waist and ended the hug, lifting her back a few steps to give himself space. That wasn't like him.

She was swept up in memories of them, happy, warm, comforting memories, and then was startled when he cleared his throat, "Well, I guess I should—"

"Sit down," she offered, remembering herself, shuffling things out of the way to make room for him. "Want some tea?" she asked, searching in vain for another cup, but holding out hers to him in the hopes that they could talk.

"No, thanks," he answered, picking up the box labeled with her name and shoving it back in the bag.

He turned to leave, no other words or explanation, and she grabbed his wrist roughly with both hands, hanging on as if she were falling. "Wait, please," she asked, pulling him back inside.

"What is it, Jane?" he calmly asked, not even looking at her face anymore, much less her eyes.

"Stay here. I missed you so much. It's so good to see you again."

"You'll be seeing a lot of me," he answered quietly, "we'll be stuck together a few weeks until we get this all sorted out."

"Whatever brought us together…I'm happy it did," she said, offering a hesitant smile. He didn't answer, his face frustratingly inscrutable to her. She'd thought she could read him so well. "Aren't you?"

"I'm not happy that people are missing," he answered abruptly.

"No. I didn't mean that," she replied nervously.

"I need to go," he said, extracting his wrist from her hands. "If you decide not to run out on me overnight, I'll see you in the morning."

"Kurt, wait," she pleaded, turning him back toward her and trying to hug him. "I'm so sorry. Of course I will be here tomorrow."

"Jane, stop," he said, pulling her arms down from his shoulders and stepping backwards to increase the gap between them. "I need you to stop touching me."

"But—"

"The FBI will pay you for your assistance. We'll hire you on as a consultant," he interrupted. Digging through a pocket in his bag, he produced a thick stack of papers. "This is what we're offering you in terms of compensation. If the terms are acceptable—"

"Compensation?" she scoffed. "I don't want compensation. I'm doing this for them. And for you."

He insistently held the papers out, refusing to continue until she'd taken them.

"Thank you," she capitulated, taking the papers and tossing them on the table nearby. "Stay here tonight. You can sleep next to me. I know we can fit on that cot." She chuckled as she added, "Remember that night in Havana? When we stayed in that—"

"No thanks," he interrupted again, wincing at the loss of a pleasant memory that now caused him obvious pain. "I know you didn't choose to come back to me. I found you. You don't have to pretend that—"

"I'm not pretending, Kurt. I missed you so much. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well," he said, calmly, looking up above, "if that's true…you failed. Miserably. This is a professional arrangement. No need for personal entanglements when people's lives are on the line."

She nodded although her expression was one of disbelief, "If we're only here because you found me…because the team is missing, and that's the only reason…then why are you still wearing your ring?"

He stepped closer, finally staring her down, and said through a quivering voice, "Because my vows…meant something. Every word I spoke and promise I made when we got married…was real. I never wanted to get married until I met you. So yea, I'm still wearing my ring. Because I am still married to you. Although I'm pretty sure you aren't married to me anymore."

When she saw the way he couldn't fight his tears, it broke her heart, seeing the pain that he couldn't suppress, she understood how difficult the preceding months had been. "I am still married to you."

"I've been faithful to you, Jane. Every lonely night. I leave the bar alone. I leave work alone. There has been no one else. Since the first night we made love, I have never been with another woman. I haven't even wanted another woman."

"I have been faithful to you," she argued. "I promise, there is, and has been, no one else."

"How am I supposed to believe anything you say," he asked. "You promised to be with me to death, and you lied. I'm not sure I even know what the truth is anymore."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"Yea, you said that already. But I'm fucking hurt anyway," he said, his voice raising. "That's all I am anymore. Just hurt. It seems like I've spent my whole life chasing people who will always be out of my reach." She tried to speak but he shook his head. "When I say something, I mean it. I'll be here in the morning when the rain clears."

She stood there as he disappeared, dropping down to the floor in tears as her body shook with sorrow. She wasn't sure how to make him understand, and she could barely stand the guilt of wounding him so badly.

She'd slept fitfully, unable to get comfortable, wondering if she should go out and find him, especially once she heard the storms rolling in as the wind howled. When the door to her tent peeled back, she heard someone enter. She knew it was him immediately, his smell and the feeling of his presence filling her heart. "Come here," she whispered, moving on the tiny cot to make space for him.

As he stood over her, she felt his damp clothes and raised up on her knees, quickly undressing him as he shivered. She patted the cot and he lay down, and she lowered her body on his, trying to warm him. It warmed her, too, the feeling of his large form beneath hers. She'd missed him so much, too much. He relaxed gradually, one of his arms finally encircling her and holding her tight against him. His fingers dipped below her tee shirt and almost as soon as he became that brave, she pulled her shirt off and curled back up against his body.

She'd meant for this to be innocent, but she wanted him so badly she wasn't even sure how to explain it. She missed their connection, the familiarity of him, the feeling she had in his presence of being truly, thoroughly loved. Nuzzling her nose against his neck, she felt her heart flip-flutter at the closeness. "I love you so much," she whispered, her lips touching his neck as she spoke. When he didn't argue with her, she added, "I know it may be hard to believe, but I missed you."

He still didn't argue, but his hand began moving in long strokes, his fingers barely skimming over her skin from her shoulders, down her back, and just to the swell of her ass. She was touching his chest, her fingers over his heart, nose and lips casually finding skin at his neck and jaw and shoulder. She felt his cock stirring underneath her thigh, in some ways relieved that he was still attracted to her, and affirmed that maybe she hadn't broken him as much as she'd feared. Then he shifted away so she wouldn't feel his arousal.

"Don't pull away," she assured, allowing her hand to encourage his reaction.

She hadn't kissed his lips, hoping the spell wouldn't be broken and that maybe she could heal some of his broken heart by making love to him. She slipped out of her pants and straddled him, and without any real foreplay or urging, she guided him into her body and slowly began to ride him, desperate to hear him moan some sort of approval, but he was silent. He hadn't said a single word or made the faintest sound. "You feel so good," she gasped, feeling her body grow close to what she could feel would be an explosive orgasm. Just before the wave washed over her, a horrible crash shook her to her core.

Thunder roared loudly as thick drops of rain, or maybe hail, crashed down on her tent, waking her from her dream. She began to tear up again when she realized he hadn't come to her in the night, seeking shelter, comfort and warmth in her arms. She could almost feel his body beneath her, inside her, and the lack of him left her hollow and cold. She wasn't sure he would ever understand why she'd left, and if he did, she wasn't sure if he'd ever forgive her.

She wondered where he was and if he was safe, and in her mind, she heard that scratching, so much like she'd heard in her dreams when she'd imagined him younger, carving a secret message. The scratching in her brain was almost physically audible, and she knew she had to go. She stood, grabbing a thick cloak she'd gotten from the monks and flinging it over her shoulders, and went out into the night to find him.

First, Jane went to the temple. Often times visitors sought shelter there in poor weather or bad times, and monks were always ready to help those in need. There were a few huddled bodies in the temple waiting out the storm, although none were Kurt. She checked other tents and searched around, the hail hurting her head and skin even through the hooded cloak. She wasn't sure how she saw him…he was too far away, the night too dark, trees too dense and the storm too rough to really see that far, but she knew he was there. She hurried toward the cliff at the edge of the mountain and saw a solitary canvas tarp draped between two trees.

One of the monks, Jane's closest confidant there, hurried over with a few thick blankets. "You need to find him again," the monk ordered in her native tongue.

"I did. He's right there," Jane replied, pointing in his direction. She took the blankets, implicitly offering to deliver them.

"He is there," the monk answered calmly. "But it is not enough to locate him. You need to find him."

"I understand," Jane said, tucking the items she was given under her arm and running through the trees toward him.