Jane got shot exactly 7 days after joining CIRG as a full Special Agent, 10 days after graduating from Quantico.

Not that it really qualified as a bullet wound, she decided, eyeing the scratch on the outside of her left arm critically.

The dock around her was a buzz of activity, now that the drug traffickers had been subdued and their FBI backup had finally shown up to haul the surviving members into custody.

"You okay?" asked Tasha, breathless after dashing across the dock to her side.

"I've had worse," Jane muttered and then realized what she'd said– and to whom.

Both women regarded each other with identical "oh crap" expressions for a heartbeat, and then they both cracked up.

"Agent Doe?"

Jane looked up to find Special Agent Will Brady, who had joined the team two months earlier, regarding her and Tasha with a frown.

She stifled a sigh. "Jane, please, Brady," she said for the dozenth time. He was an experienced agent, she knew, with a sterling reputation. And even though he'd been excessively polite, Jane was sure he didn't like her. And given that it was his fault– albeit indirectly– that she'd gotten shot, she wasn't a particularly big fan of his at the moment, either.

Tasha grimaced and yanked the comm out of her ear, letting it dangle in the front of her collar.

"Kurt?" guessed Jane.

Tasha just rolled her eyes, and Jane bit her lip, stifling another laugh. Kurt had yelled in all the comms the second Tasha had announced, "Jane's hit," and Jane had yanked her comm out then. Kurt was going to yell about it, she knew, and she wasn't sure she wanted to sit through it more than once.

"How badly are you injured?" asked Brady.

She opened her mouth to assure him it was just a scratch, but was interrupted by Kurt's arrival.

"Jane!"

He was wild-eyed and furious, Jane saw at a glance, drawing in a deep breath to assure him she wasn't badly hurt.

But after his searing glance had taken in Jane's injury, he had already turned to Brady, "You were supposed to have her back!"

Jane and Tasha exchanged glances. Technically, Brady had been at fault. Jane had taken off after one of the traffickers, leaping at his back and tackling him. The guy hadn't been willing to go down without a fight, though, and his training had been nearly as good as hers. She wasn't exactly sure what Brady had been doing, having caught only a glimpse of his stunned face as he watched her fighting, but apparently he hadn't noticed the second man until he'd fired his gun at Jane. Fortunately, she'd been hit in the left arm and was still able to dive for the handgun she'd dropped and shoot the guy she'd been fighting with using her right arm. Brady had finally woken from his stupor in time to shoot the second guy before he'd been able to fire again, but Jane was pretty sure Kurt was about to rip the guy a new one.

"He surprised us," Jane interrupted Kurt, before he could speak. "But Brady got him."

Both men's heads swiveled to look at her. Kurt, still pissed, and Brady, with a stunned expression that was evidently becoming his default for Jane.

She was saved from any further discussion by the arrival of an ambulance. "Get. Checked. Now," growled Kurt.

Over his shoulder Tasha nodded at Jane and reached out to grab Brady's arm. "We're going to go follow up with the second team."

Brady opened his mouth to argue, but Tasha yanked on his arm with what Jane was sure was a lot more force than the other agent had expected. He frowned down at Tasha, who was at least a foot shorter than him, but allowed her to drag him away.

"How bad is it?" demanded Kurt, leaning over to look at her wound.

"I'm fine."

He ignored her, wrapping his hand around her elbow to hold it still while he inspected her injury.

Jane covered his hand with her own uninjured hand. "It's a scratch, Kurt. Not as bad as the one I got the first time I was out in the field with you."

He shot her a fulminating look. "That doesn't count. You didn't even know that you could shoot a gun."

"And all Brady knows about me is that I'm his boss's girlfriend, fresh out of Quantico, and I look like some kind of goth nightmare."

He scowl grew even darker. "You do not. And he doesn't know we're…"

"Of course he knows. Everyone in the office knows," she reminded him, unable to fully suppress her smile. Kurt confessing his love for her– completely unmindful of the open comm he was wearing– was one of her most cherished memories.

He grimaced. "He's only been here two months," he muttered.

"And I'm sure no one has mentioned it to him."

"Fine," he conceded. "I won't fire him. Today," he added, matching her sarcasm.

"I'll spar with him tomorrow," she told him. If Brady was half the agent he was supposed to be, they'd both come out of it with new respect for the other.

"You'll spar with him once your arm has healed." Kurt let go of her arm and gave her a gentle push toward the waiting ambulance.

Jane flashed him a grin and did as she was told.

###

It was nearly four hours later before Jane was able to escape the office for the day. After being patched up by the paramedics– who had deemed that her scratch wasn't even bad enough to warrant stitches– she'd rejoined the team at the office to complete the copious amount of paperwork the morning's activities had warranted.

Her arm was starting to throb. Whatever they'd numbed her up with had long since worn off, and she just wanted to go home and curl up with Kurt.

Brady was the only one in the locker room, when she entered. She nodded politely to him as she walked by.

"Jane."

At his utterance– his first use of her name– she stopped and turned around. "Yes?"

He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "You're good in the field."

She blinked. "Thank you."

"About today–"

"Business as usual," she cut him off. "We're good. Aren't we?"

He nodded, looking slightly unsettled.

The door behind him opened, and Kurt walked in. "Brady," he barked.

"Sir." Brady turned and straightened to attention.

Jane shot Kurt a look over Brady's shoulder, which he ignored completely. She walked down to her own locker, listening to the conversation behind her.

Kurt sighed. "Long day. Go home, get some rest."

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir." Brady scurried out of the locker room as fast as he could without looking undignified.

Kurt continued down the row of lockers until he got to Jane's.

"Good bossing," she told him.

He shot her a dark look. "How's your arm?"

She eyed the hole in the sleeve of her jacket. "Better than my coat."

He looked at the hole and shook his head. "One goddamned week," he muttered.

"Can we hurry through the part where you yell at me for being reckless?"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You weren't reckless. Brady's report takes all the blame. Your report gives none to him. You both state that you were injured in the course of doing your job."

"You're still pissed off, though," she pointed out.

He glared at her. "You go away for five months, during which I hardly see you. You aren't home for ten days, and you get shot."

She leaned toward him and dropped her forehead to rest against his collarbone. "I'm tired, my arm hurts, and I'm starving. Can you take me home and feed me and then lecture me?"

He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair, and wrapped his arms around her. "How about I take you home, feed you, and then you can tell me that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and establishing your own place on this team and I should stop overreacting?"

She smiled against his shoulder, slipped both arms around him, and hugged him tight, ignoring the twinge in her injured arm. "How about I tell you that I love you?"

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too."

"Still glad I'm home, even if I do give you grey hair?"

He chuckled, hugging her closer. "You're worth every one."