A/N: Okay, this is my first fanfic, so forgive me if it's awful. Still being in school doesn't help, so I'd appreciate helpful comments to improve my writing. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot or any of its characters. I'm just messing around with them.
She watches from the third floor, knowing today was the day she was going to be free. Maybe. Going to federal agents probably was stupid, but it was her only choice. A last resort. Her handler would kill her if he knew of her plan, her plan of betrayal, but she wouldn't die that way. Not if she could help it. She sees the team enter, sees them spread out, and knows that if she doesn't do this in her style, he would be suspicious. One of his best, going down to a few measly FBI agents? Not a chance. He would track her down, torture her in ways who knows how, and eventually she would break. She knows that, because she's not the adult that everyone thinks she is.
She's only thirteen.
Thirteen, nameless, and completely alone. Should be an easy capture for the feds, no?
She draws out her blades, worried that her plan relies almost entirely on luck. Though, she reminds herself, there's always Plan B.
She waits until the team draws nearer to the stairs, noting a heavily tattooed woman among them, and sucks a breath in. No time to think about it. No time to remember. Just act.
Waits until they all begin to ascend the stairs.
Then she strikes.
Weller ascends the stairs cautiously, his team trailing behind him. He has a nasty gut feeling about this place, yet he's not quite sure why. Yes, he and his team were in a mansion with a highly dangerous suspect, but it's not like he hasn't been in other dangerous situations. Yet, he can't shake the feeling off. He glances back at his team, seeing their own expressions of unease, and knows he's not the only one.
As he faces forward again, a dagger spins out of nowhere, pinning his jacket to the banister before he and his team even have the chance to react. His team immediately aims their guns up at the third floor landing, dodging daggers, trying to see the attacker. They didn't get as far as two feet, before they were all pinned to the banister, Jane included.
Nobody moves.
A lithe girl emerges from the shadows. She's barely a teenager, but holding lethal knives, she looks much older. A smirk slowly spreads its way across her face. Though none of the team would admit it, they were all struggling to stay composed, despite the shock all of them just went through, seeing a girl barely in her teens, holding weapons she shouldn't have even known where to find them.
"Well, well, well. Look what we have here. A few feds, all trussed up and on the stairs. An early Christmas present for me," she sneers, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But the sender was just a wee bit early. Now, would you like to explain why you are here in my cosy little home?"
Weller holds his hands up, a gesture of submission. "Now, ma'am, I'm Kurt Weller, from the FBI. I don't know why you're here, but you just attacked FBI agents. You could be arrested for that. Kindly explain why you are in Alyona Romanova's home."
The girl hisses, a curling whisper of a snarl. "Now, dear agent, wouldn't that give me away? After all, who would want to put a scrawny little teenage girl in prison? I was just defending myself. There are many bad people out there, so why should I trust you?"
She made a sound argument, and while Weller was trying to come up with an answer, Jane jumps in. "Who are you?" It was a fundamental question.
The girl watches Jane like a cat, cocking her head to the side. "And who the hell are you?" She asks in Greek.
Weller looks to Jane, as if silently asking her what the girl was saying, but Jane only shakes her head. "I don't know what you're saying."
A lethal smile forms. "I said, who the hell are you?" She repeats herself, this time in Spanish, and she looks towards Zapata.
Zapata gives the girl a long, withering glance before she replies, "FBI. That's all you need to know."
The corner of the girl's mouth curls. "Really? I don't need to be worried about terrorists? Can I let you go, FBI agents? Should I trust you?" She taps a finger against the hilt of the dagger in her gloved hand, appearing to be debating with herself.
Snapping her fingers, she hisses, "Fine. Go and do your little search." Holding out her palms, her daggers pinning the agents to the ground fly up and into her hands. The agents' ears pick up a quiet whining noise, before she curls her fingers around the hilts of her daggers. Giving them one last glare, she whirls around, and melts back into the shadows.
Weller abruptly gets up and starts to climb the stairs again. In a gruff voice, he says, "Anyone think that's our suspect?"
Jane scrambles up and follows him, drawing out her gun. "Why do you think she let us go?"
Weller glances at her, then looks forward again. "I don't know, Jane." Reade and Zapata follow them, their own guns drawn.
Jane follows him, and when they reach the dark landing, they see a slight movement. Immediately, they bring up their guns and move cautiously, watching the darkness for anymore signs of movement.
Someone taps her on the shoulder, lightly, calmly. Jane whirls around and points her gun, but sees nothing. Confused, she starts to turn around, but she hears a quiet voice that stops her.
"Get in here. I need to explain." The voice sounded so lost, but firm.
Jane moves to the wall discretely and feels for an opening. A pair of hands turn her sideways and drag her into a hidden room, lit with a fireplace, complete with a table, chairs, and futon. She turns around, looking for the owner of the voice, when she comes face to face with the same teenage girl from earlier. She brings up her gun, and aims at the girl's chest.
"I know you're feeling defensive. Please listen," the girl lays out her assortment of daggers, guns, ammunition, and compact throwing knives on the table beside her. Jane's eyes widen at the amount of weapons the teen carried. More than an average FBI agent, as far as she knew.
The girl simply raises an elegant eyebrow at her silent question. "When you're the famous Alyona Romanova, you have to bring your stock of weapons."
A/N: Cliffhanger? No? This ending kind of reminds me of the little cliffie the Blindspot writers did in episode 10. You could see it coming.