"Come in, Jane." Weller waved her into a chair in front of his desk.
She entered his office and perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat. Such formality seemed so foreign after all they been through today. After the passionate kiss they'd shared when they thought they'd lost, when they believed there was nothing left to save them from Shepherd's wrath. Nothing but…
"There's no sign of Roman," Weller said quietly. "He's gone."
She nodded. She already knew that. She'd known the minute he saved them that she'd already lost him. The look in his eye had told her that. He'd barely glanced at her, just stared at Weller for a minute, raised his chin for a minute in a slight nod, and then took off.
"We'll keep looking."
She sighed. "It won't do any good. He knows how not to be found." And he didn't want to be found, not by the FBI and definitely not by her.
Weller frowned. "He did the right thing in the end. He saved you."
She gave a humorless laugh. "He saved you." When Weller looked at her, brow still wrinkled in confusion, she elaborated. "Because of Emma. He couldn't undo what he did, so he saved you. It was his way of atoning." The fact that she'd been there? That was… coincidence. Roman had saved her only because Weller was holding on to her at that moment. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered.
She supposed that if he hadn't, that would have been her way of atoning, for wiping his memory and then lying to him about it.
Weller swallowed and looked away for a moment before replying. "He wouldn't have let Shepherd kill you, Jane. He's angry at you, but he knows you love him—"
"What he knows is that I stole his sense of self and then lied about it in order to get him to serve a cause he despised." She swallowed, staring blindly at the wall behind Weller's desk.
"He knew Sandstorm was the wrong side," Kurt argued. "He helped us stop Shepherd today. He just needs time. He knows what he was before, and he doesn't want to be that person anymore."
"He knows that I told him he was a bad person before. But he knows I'm a liar, so he can't trust that that's the truth either."
It was the same circle she'd gotten stuck in when Oscar had shown her who she was. If she'd been dishonest, how could she trust her memories to be the truth?
"He's gone," she said simply.
"Are you going to go after him?"
Now it was her turn to look away. She should let Roman go, she knew. But some part of her couldn't. She still wanted to follow after him, to find him and tell him… She didn't know what. That she loved him. That she believed in him. That she'd truly believed that she'd been doing the right thing. Which meant telling him that he'd wanted to kill her before she'd wiped his memory. Which he wanted to do now anyway.
She hadn't saved him after all.
"When you came back to the FBI," Kurt said carefully, "Nas agreed that if you helped us to bring down Shepherd, you'd be free. No charges against you, no responsibility to the FBI. Shepherd's dead. So… if you want to go find Roman, you can. You're free. You can… move on."
Jane stared at him, startled out of her thoughts. "So I'm out?" she asked, pleased that her voice sounded a lot steadier than she felt.
"Only if you want to be. The team will continue to follow the tattoo leads. If you want to help, we can keep you on as a consultant. But if you want to leave, you can. If you want to go after Roman, the team will understand."
There was nothing in his voice to indicate that her answer mattered to him at all.
And the tiny flame of hope that had been glowing in her chest for the past few hours went out. It was over. Her involvement with the FBI… with Kurt… was done. There was no reason left for her to stay.
"You don't have to decide right away. Take some time." His eyes met hers, clear and impersonal. Nothing remained of the man who'd kissed her so desperately only hours ago.
She nodded again.
"The team's getting together tonight," he continued. "Will you come?"
She forced a smile to her lips, but she couldn't lie to him, so she just said, "Maybe."
She wanted to ask him what he wanted—did he want her at the party? On the team?- but she didn't have the nerve. She couldn't bear to hear him give a polite reply, to know that he regretted everything that had happened between them.
Because, of course, if she was free, then that meant that Kurt was also free from the shadow of Shepherd's influence in his life. But as long as Jane was there, she'd be a constant reminder of how he'd been manipulated, all the pain he'd suffered and all the losses he'd borne.
"I know you've been through a lot today and that you might not feel like celebrating, but we all want you to be there."
She nodded noncommittally. Their team, which she wasn't officially part of anymore and might never be again.
"8 p.m., my place."
It was a dismissal, so she rose from the chair and made her way out of his office.
And then she got to the edge of the bullpen and stopped. She'd spent so much time there, first when she was scared and confused, then again when she was angry and determined. Somehow it had become like home to her, more so than the empty safehouse that waited for her, devoid now of any human presence. Here, she'd felt needed, wanted. Part of something bigger than herself.
But now… she felt more alone than she ever had before. No purpose. No family. No team.
No future with Kurt.
She stopped on that one, prodded at it like the raw wound it was. Somehow, she'd thought that once this was all over, when they weren't fighting to stay one step ahead of Shepherd, that things would be different. That maybe she could have more than just a moment or a lone kiss.
She didn't know what she'd expected. Not that he'd get down on one knee and propose. But that maybe they could really talk, could be honest. That she could admit that the feelings she had for him ran far deeper than friendship.
With a sharp shake of her head, she forced her feet to move, to carry her past the bullpen, down the hall toward the locker room.
She should have known better. People like her didn't deserve happy endings.
###
Patterson and Tasha arrived at Weller's right on the dot of 8 p.m., followed a few minutes later by Reade.
The women immediately went to work pouring drinks and helping Weller set out food.
Reade held up a box of tea bags. "Can I use your kettle?"
Weller waved him toward the stove and went back to studiously not watching the door.
By 8:30, the party was in full swing. Tasha and Patterson were both bright-eyed and giggly, courtesy of the bottle of champagne they'd popped open earlier. Reade had abandoned tea in favor of the sparkling water he'd found in Kurt's fridge, and all of them were making serious inroads in the food.
"Jane's late," said Tasha, looking accusingly at Kurt. "Where is she?"
He shrugged, keeping his face blank. "I don't know if she's coming. It was a hard day for her."
Patterson nodded, blue eyes troubled. "Roman. Poor thing, that has to be hard for her. But he'll forgive her eventually. He helped us today, he obviously cares about her."
Kurt thought about what Jane had said—that Roman had only been helping him, not her—and hoped that she was wrong. Surely somewhere under all his anger, Roman still cared about his sister.
"I know she's upset about Roman," said Tasha obstinately, "but she should still be here with her team."
Weller looked down at the plate in his hand, his appetite gone. He didn't know if Jane still thought of them as her team or not. He'd given her the freedom that she'd earned, the right to live her life as she chose, not as someone else forced her to do. It was the right thing to do, and it had still felt so very wrong.
He set the plate on the table. "I need some fresh air," he muttered and pushed open the door to the balcony
No one followed him. He knew they probably knew what was bothering him, but he didn't want to talk about Jane with anyone.
The night air was brisk but not cold. He wandered over to lean against the railing, looking out into the lights of the city.
He couldn't blame Jane if she walked away and never looked back. She'd lost her whole family today, in one way or another. And even though the people in this room thought of her as family didn't mean she felt that way about them. They were the same group that had turned her over to the CIA, that had dragged her back after she'd fought her way free, forced her to work with them and treated her with nothing but suspicion and disdain for months. Even though everyone in this room had forgiven her for her misdeeds, there was no guarantee that she'd forgiven any of them.
He hadn't wanted to pressure her, to make her feel obligated to stay if she didn't want to.
But he'd wanted to.
He'd wanted to tell her that he didn't want her to ever leave. He'd wanted to tell her how he'd felt today in the field, when he was afraid that they would both die without him ever telling her what she meant to him. He didn't have the time—or the courage—so he'd done the only thing he could. He'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And she'd kissed him back, for a too-brief moment. And then Patterson had yelled at them over the comms, and Roman had distracted Shepherd long enough to let Tasha get off a shot… and then it had all been over, no time to even touch her hand or to tell her that they'd talk later.
She'd been so quiet, so reserved in his office. So distant.
He didn't want to think of it as a brush off, but as the minutes ticked by on the balcony, he forced himself to acknowledge that this was her way of telling him what she'd decided.
When he went in tomorrow morning, he would probably find her badge waiting for him on his desk.
Be safe, he thought, offering the thought up to the night like a prayer. Be happy.
And then he drew himself up and went back inside, to congratulate his team for their amazing efforts, their personal sacrifices, and their dedication. They deserved that much from him.
"I'm stuffed," moaned Patterson. She looked sadly at the remaining éclair on the plate of desserts.
"I'm not," said Tasha. She reached for the éclair with a wicked grin and then picked up a cannoli instead when Patterson whimpered. "Take it, I was just kidding."
Reade rolled his eyes. "You're not funny, Tasha. When I was drinking with you, I told you you weren't funny. But now that I'm sober, you're really not funny."
Tasha pulled a face and threw her balled-up napkin at him. "Even when I drink, you're still not funny."
Kurt leaned back in his chair, only half-listening to their good-natured bickering. He swirled his second glass of Scotch around in his glass but didn't drink. He'd done his share of hard drinking these past few months, trying to drown everything in his life that he couldn't control. But now?
Now he would be a better boss, a better team leader. He owed that to his team.
He set the glass on the table and stood. "Anyone need a refill?"
The team made negative noises behind him. He went into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice and water. He was on his way back to the table when there was a soft tap at his front door.
He set the glass down and went to answer it. It was nearly 9:30, too late to be Jane, he told himself, trying to stifle the hope that flared inside.
He pulled open the door.
Jane smiled at him, the expression on her face apprehensive but determined. "Hi."
"You came." He couldn't suppress the smile that stretched across his face.
"Jane's here!" Patterson announced from the sofa.
"You're late," yelled Tasha, but she grinned happily in Jane's direction.
Reade rolled his eyes at Tasha but waved to Jane from his chair.
"I… uh… I wasn't going to," she admitted to Kurt, too quietly for the others to hear.
"I'm glad you did."
"I…" She hesitated. "What you said earlier. About staying at the FBI if I wanted to."
He forced himself to nod encouragingly. "Yes?"
She drew a deep breath. "I—I'd like to. But only if you want me to. If there's just too much baggage—"
Kurt reached out and grasped her arm. With a gentle shove, he pushed her back out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him.
Confused green eyes blinked up at him.
"I want you to stay," he told her firmly. "At the FBI, if that's what you want. I want you to stay with me."
For a moment, she didn't say anything, just stared at him, searchingly, as though she didn't believe what he'd said. And then her lips curved up, into a shy, hesitant smile.
He didn't look away. Couldn't if his life had depended on it.
He stepped forward at the same time as she did. When they'd kissed before, it had always been one of them moving first. But this time, they moved together. Her hands touched his shoulders as his cupped her face.
Her lips were warm and soft and welcoming, and he knew without a doubt that this was where he belonged, where she belonged. Together.
When they finally came up for air, she looked up at him, making no move to escape the circle of his arms. "Are you sure?" she whispered.
He held her tighter. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." And before he could lose his nerve, he said, "I love you, Jane."
She blinked rapidly, her eyes huge and sparkling with a sheen of tears. "I love you, too," she whispered hoarsely.
She hugged him tightly, and he squeezed her back, leaning his forehead against hers and savoring the feeling of finally being able to hold her close. He was never letting go of her.
Someone knocked on the door.
Jane jerked as though trying to move away, but Kurt tightened his arms. "Yes?" he called.
The door opened and Tasha peeked around the edge. "You owe me twenty bucks, Reade," she called over her shoulder.
"I told you I wasn't taking that bet," he yelled back.
"You guys coming inside? Or do you want us to leave?" She aimed a saucy wink at Jane, who turned her pink face into Kurt's shoulder.
He just laughed, skimming his hand up Jane's spine to tangle in her hair and cradle her head close to his heart. "We're coming in."
"Patterson ate all the éclairs," Tasha informed Jane sorrowfully, tugging her inside once Kurt had reluctantly released her. "But there's another bottle of champagne in the fridge. You need to catch up."
"You have beard burn," Patterson informed Jane with a delighted grin, grabbing her arm and yanking her down onto the sofa beside her.
Jane looked at Kurt helplessly, reaching out her hand, and he let her pull him down too.
Tasha waltzed over and pushed a champagne flute into Jane's hand. "We need a toast!"
Reade picked up his sparkling water and stood. "To the best team, the best family, anyone could ask for. We always have each other's backs."
Kurt picked up his glass with the hand not squeezing Jane's. "To our team."
They'd been through hell, but they'd made it. And maybe they'd all earned the right to ask for a little more than just surviving. To be whole and happy. Jane's fingers curled around his. To love.
They all solemnly leaned forward to tap their glasses together.
"To our team!"