I Moved and I Feel Our Orbits Stop, Deep Eyes Kill Me
Summary: a post s1 finale fic, semi-plotless. kinda. angsty jeller, of course because I'm written my fair share of fluff this week. structure and lyrics from Sleeping at Last. and the fun part is, the title is an anagram, so try to figure it out (comma included) and the first one to answer correctly gets a reward - I will write anything they request (some rules apply which we will discuss). Enjoy!
What do you do if someone you trusted lets you down?
Sun
With golden string
our universe was brought to life,
that we may fall in love
every time we open up our eyes.
It's a sick thought that crosses his mind, but she looks good in orange. Not necessarily the prison outfit, but just the orange. He crosses his arms over his chest as the two agents enter the room. The agents. His agents. He had appointed them. He had chosen them. And he had been ruthless in his selection. Those two are the toughest, the harshest and the cruelest he could find.
And he regrets his decision already.
They walk in and read her the crimes she is being accused of, her rights and remind her of her right to an attorney. One sits across from her, his back to Kurt, and the other remains standing. And all this time, she doesn't look at them, instead, she stares at her hands.
"So, Jane Doe," says the seated agent, "let's start, shall we?"
She looks up then, her eyes strong, determined. Her face bruised and battered. Defiantly broken.
She looks up but doesn't look at the agent interrogating her. And she doesn't look at the agent standing behind him. Instead, she fixes her emerald gaze straight at him. Straight at Kurt. She cannot see him, but through the two way mirror, her eyes find his.
"I'll only talk to Weller," she says, "I'll only start talking to him."
You are my starting point.
Mercury
Yet I know, if I stepped aside
Released the controls, you would open my eyes
That somehow, all of this mess
Is just my attempt to know the worth of my life
He watches her through the two way mirror, the way she keeps firm, strong, despite her physical injuries, despite every other injury. She only says one thing, the same thing, over and over.
"I will only speak to Assistant Director Weller."
There's something about the way she says his name, his new title, that doesn't sit easily with him. The whole position still feels uncomfortable, like wearing a suit tailored for someone else. He still takes a minute before he realizes that people are referring to him when he hears those words. But coming from her… It's not about that. Ever since she had called him by his first name for the first time at the CDC, it has felt like he is hearing it for the first time. He has felt as though, the way she says his name, is the way it is supposed to be said, supposed to sound. And from that moment on, it had stopped being his and had become hers.
And so when she says his last name and his new title, it feels harsh, cold, distant. Everything he is trying to be and yet, it feels wrong. He shoves his hands in pockets, for a moment forgetting what he had placed there earlier, and when he feels the small gold chain against his knuckles, he gasps, bringing in between his fingers, wrapping it tightly around his index fingers until he knows he has broken skin.
And he hears her say those words again.
"I will only speak to Assistant Director Weller."
He releases the chain from around his fingers, touches the pendant briefly, the gold plate with the green heart, before he pulls his hands back out.
Someone special gave it to me.
Venus
At first I thought you were a constellation.
I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation:
You're as beautiful as endless,
You're the universe I'm helpless in.
His sessions with Borden are a necessity and an obligation, and even if they weren't, he would still find himself visiting the doctor more than he ever thought he would. With everything that has happened, that has been happening, it is good to have someone like Borden around, as much as Kurt hates to admit it. But the reality is, he has been helping, with everything. And Kurt thinks maybe one day he will let him just how much he appreciates that.
"She's refusing to talk to anyone," Kurt says, siting across from the doctor, elbows on his knees, head falling forward in exasperation. "But she will talk to you," Borden states simply.
"That's what she says," Kurt says.
Jane is not the enemy
Kurt is prepared to the psychiatrist turning this around, making it a confusing puzzle of words and well meaning half wisdoms, but to his shock, he tells it to him straight, no questions, just plain and simple. "I know that a lot of people have lied and kept secrets over the past months. I know you feel betrayed, but so does she. I know you are confused right now, that you think you cannot trust your instincts anymore, but just because you made a mistake, that does not mean you were wrong about everything. Talk to her. Be the person who does the first right thing in all of this, someone has to be. Remember, there was a time when you would believe anything she would say, and even with everything that has happened, she is still that person who would trust with your life just a week ago."
She's more than just one mistake.
Earth
I dig 'til my shovel tells a secret,
Swear to the earth that I will keep it,
Brush off the dirt
And let my change of heart occur.
He reads her the charges on her, again, and coming from him they sound more definite than they had sounded coming from the other agents. She looks so small and fragile tied down to that chair, hands cuffed and wrists bound to the table, feet shackled and ankles tied to the floor. She almost looked weak, but he knows better. He knows her, he knows just how deep her strength lies, how rooted her resilience is. And he knows that she knows. He also knows how far into his walls she's dug, and he knows she knows that too. She knows she can break him.
But with the facts he has with him now, he knows he can break her too. And there is a sick part of him that looks forward to it, that awaits the pleasure that it will taste from causing her the same pain he is suffering. Even if she is not to blame, at least not for all of it.
He shakes the thought out of his mind, closing his eyes tightly as he finishes reading her her rights. And when he opens them, takes a deep breath, he sits down across from her. She still has said nothing, only looked at him, biting her lips nervously. He has a thousand and one questions. But what he chooses to start with is a wildcard.
"We have the files, all the files. We know all about Orion," he states.
He sees her eyes widen, the unspoken question ringing loud between them in yet another interrogation room.
Who am I?
"So tell me, who are you really?" he asks coldly.
You're a good person, Jane.
Mars
"lay your weapons down!
They're calling off the war
On account of losing track
Of what we're fighting for."
So we found our way back home,
Let our cuts and bruises heal.
While a brand-new war began,
One that no one else could feel.
He doesn't trust her to tell her what is in the files, not what they have found out about Orion, or about her and her past. He keeps what they have found out to himself, everything about her from what she used to do, to reports of her death, and even her name. He feels powerful, having that piece of information on her, the one thing she has ever truly wanted. And he has it now.
"What's your name?" he asks, steely blue eyes staring coldly at her. "Jane. My name is Jane," she answers defiantly. "What is your real name?" he asks again. And again her answer is the same. They go back and forth for almost fifteen minutes, until he pushes his chair back and bolts up, causing her to jolt back in her seat. He's been many things for the past week, but violent was never one of them. And he has never been violent, at least not towards her, but evert since that night in the safe house, ever since he pointed a gun at her and cuffed her, a small part of her will always be scared of him. "Tell me your real name!" he barks at her, and she yells back now, the calm tone of her voice gone, replaced by an anger of her own. "My name is Jane! Goddammit, Kurt, I'm Jane! I'm your Jane!"
He pulls back then, shocked by her words, by her outburst. He sees her then, and yes, she is Jane. His Jane.
You're my wife.
Jupiter
I don't know who I am, but now I know who I'm not.
I'm just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit.
Like a magnet it beckoned my metals toward it.
Make my messes matter.
Make this chaos count.
Let every little fracture in me
Shatter out loud.
She tells him everything, to the smallest detail. She tells him about Oscar and every little mission, every phone call and clandestine meeting. She tells him all she knows about framing Mayfair, about setting him up, about the mission, about Shepherd and Marcos and Cade.
"Why?" His question is not unexpected, actually she has been waiting for it and while she had thought she had an answer, she finds herself at a loss for words. She knows what her former self would say. Because it had to be done. Because it is for the greater good. Because those were bad people who had done bad things. Because this country needs to burn to the ground.
That's is what the other her would say, would want her to say. But she doesn't. No more lies, she reminds herself.
"Because they said they would kill you if I don't do as they say," she admits tearfully.
He shakes his head, chuckles mirthlessly and starts to argue, "I know the risks of my job. I don't-"
"Stop saying that! They threatened to kill you if I don't cooperate! What was I supposed to do!?" She cries at him.
What would you have done if you were me?
The question sounds all too familiar and before he has a chance to counter, she reminds him of Charlie.
If someone puts you at risk, I don't second guess.
Saturn
You taught me the courage of stars before you left.
How light carries on endlessly, even after death.
With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite.
How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.
All it takes is for her to say a name, one specific name, and that changes everything. Sofia Varma. She says her name in passing to Kurt and everything falls into place. They decide that the best course of action is to remove her from the FBI facility and into somewhere, they hope, is safer. That whoever targeted Mayfair, whoever picked Weller, and whoever was planning Phase 2, must have people in the building, and her presence there is dangerous, especially now that she has spilled the truth to the FBI. They keep it quiet, covert, and when they sneak her out, only a handful of people know.
And still, ten minutes after leaving the FBI building, they are ambushed, their car attacked, run over. The back side of the car gets the blunt of the hit, where Kurt sits next to Jane, glass shatters, falling every where as the car tumbles over, twice before skidding to a stop on the side of the road.
The manage to get out, to escape and call the only people in the FBI they still trust.
"Patterson," Kurt says through the payphone, "we need a car, something they can't follow, something… invisible."
"You can take mine," it's Agent Rose's voice through the phone and twenty minutes later she meets them in an old beat up VW bug.
"That's your car?" Zapata asks with a raised eyebrow, but in fact it is just perfect.
"Where are you going to go?" Reade asks and Kurt shakes his head.
"I'll contact you when we're safe. Go back to the office… like nothing has happened. Say you got in a car accident," Kurt tells him.
"We'll say Tasha was driving," he attempts to joke and manages somber smiles from everyone else.
"Be careful," Tasha urges him and they're off.
They drive for almost an hour in complete silence. She winces when she wipes at the blood on her brow. "We'll get those looked at when we get there," he says and she nods.
Another hour and it is getting dark, the moon rising over the horizon and he had stopped earlier to dispose of his phone and buy a burner. "Why are you doing this, Kurt? Why are you risking your job, your career, for…"
For me, she wants to say, but doesn't dare.
You know how important you are to me.
"…for this case?" she finally says and he doesn't answer, keeps his eyes straight on the road ahead.
Jane, you were never just a case to me.
Neptune
Stitch by stitch I tear apart.
If brokenness is a form of art,
I must be a poster child prodigy.
Thread by thread I come apart.
If brokenness is a work of art,
Surely this must be my masterpiece.
I'm only honest when it rains.
If I time it right, the thunder breaks
When I open my mouth.
I want to tell you but I don't know how.
I'm only honest when it rains,
An open book with a torn out page,
And my ink's run out.
I want to love you but I don't know how.
It's almost midnight when they arrive and it's a miracle they do considering the pitch black darkness of the night and the rugged state of the road. And the small cabin they arrive at is literally in he middle of nowhere.
"What is this place?" She ask seen he open her door and helps her out, her hands still bound. He hasn't offered to I cuff her and she would never dare to ask, even through the car crash and the mad dash through the streets of Brooklyn.
"It's somewhere safe," he states plainly. And she desperately wants to remind him that there is no somewhere safe with these people but she's tired and she knows he is too and just for tonight they can pretend.
The cabin is small but well kept, and surprisingly stocked up and ready for them. It is like he always knew they end up here somehow. He doesn't say anything as he guides her to a small bathroom and removes the handcuffs. He walks in first, and for a moment she thinks he's going in to remove any dangerous items, she is still a criminal after all, but he only grabs the first aid kit and steps back out. "Get cleaned up and I'll be waiting outside to check on your injuries," he instructs, his voice clinical, his eyes never meeting hers.
She nods and walks in, closes the door, leaving it slightly ajar, whether for her peace of mind or his she's not sure and she hears him go around locking doors and windows. When she walks back out, having managed to make her myself look slightly less like she's just been through hell, she finds him sitting on a small table by the couch, the medical kit set up next to him. She walks over quietly and sits down across from him. And silently he begins to work, cleaning her wounds, the cuts across her forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, and chin.
He mumbles an apology something about not having anything to numb the pain and she just shakes her head. He pushes himself closer, too close and she has to close her eyes, because of the proximity, because his warm breath is hitting her cool skin, because his fingers are moving deftly against her cheek, and maybe because the needle painfully pierces her skin before she expects it. Her hand goes to his thigh, unconsciously, unintentionally, and she squeezes the denim clad leg when biting her lip is not enough to ease the pain. She squeezes hard, so hard she knows she will leave a bruise. He lets out a heavy breath against his cheek, and they both mumble an apology at the same time.
When he is done, he inspects his work, makes sure he hasn't missed anything. He cleans the wound one final time, his touch tender, almost intimate. He whispers the number forty two and she looks at him then. He gives her a sheepish half smile and says again, "forty two stitches." She is sure her face is clean enough by now, but he doesn't retract his hand and she doesn't make a move to pull back. There are smaller cuts that don't need stitches, and he reassures himself that they won't get infected. One of them in particular catches his attention and before he has time to think, his thumb is on her lower lip, a feather touch and he pulls away, so fast she almost thinks she imagined it. She catches his gaze and for once he doesn't look away, not immediately at least, and if she dared, she would smile.
But she doesn't. Instead, she just thinks back to a time she did have the courage to.
I wanted a moment that was just us.
Pluto
I rebuild when I break down.
I wake up more awake than I've ever been before.
Still I'm pinned under the weight
Of what I believed would keep me safe.
So show me where my armor ends,
Show me where my skin begins.
Like a final puzzle piece
It all makes perfect sense to me…
The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity.
The heaviness that I hold in my heart's been crushing me.
He leaves for a moment, returning with a water bottle and he sits on the table across form her again. Except for the few whispered apologies they have said nothing despite being there for almost an hour now. She takes a sip of the water and hands it back to him. She pulls her leg up against her chest and rests her less injured cheek against her knee, her head turned towards him. She watches him take a drink of water and there set the bottle next to him, by the first aid kit. He lets out a heavy breath and his head drops, chin to chest, shoulders rising and dropping with every tired breath.
She watches him for a moment, the heaviness of his load threatening to crush him at last. She glances towards his face, still covered in sweat and dirt and blood. She may have taken most of the hit, but he had been just as hurt in that car crash. Without thinking, she lifts her right hand and reaches towards him, fingers tentatively brushing the top of his head, and she worries of how he might react. She expects him to jerk back, to pull away, but he doesn't. She runs her fingers through his hair, longer than she'd ever seen it, blunt nails scratching against his scalp, and then she moves her hand to the side of his head, her thumb tracing the curve of his ear and she can hear his breath hitch. She touches his cheek, gently urging him to look up and when her fingers reach his beard, she has to close her eyes for a moment, her own breath hitching as the remembers the last time she felt the soft hair of his stubble against her fingertips.
It feels like a million years ago.
He finally lifts his head up, and his eyes are closed as well. She studies his face, her touch as gentle as his had been against her own injuries.
"You're hurt, too," she whispers.
If something happened to you…
She reaches towards the first aid kit and he tries to stop her, "it's okay, Jane," he says, and she gasps when she hears her name on his lips, for the first time since the safe house, "I can do it on my own."
She shakes her head, "you don't have to," she whispers, and after a long silent moment he nods, moving slightly to give her access to the material she needs. And they fall back into silence as she cleans the wounds and cuts, prepares to stitch them. It's only when she grabs the thread and needle that she notices how badly her hands are shaking, and it is then that he sees the tears that fall down her cheeks, uncontrollably.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cries, her whole body shaking, the needle and thread falling from her hand, "I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt you," her sobs are heavy and pained, "I've ruined everything. I've broken everything. It's my fault. It's all my fault,"
He wants to hold her, to pull her into his arms and tell her everything is okay, everything will be okay. But he cannot tell those lies. Not now. Not to her. And so he takes her hand in his, places it firmly against his chest, against his beating heart.
I'm here. I'm right here with you.
You forgive them.
AN: Thank you for reading, you guys! I have been lazy and not posting my Blindspot fics on this site, but I'm planning to being them over from tumblr during the hiatus. Hope you guys enjoyed this :)