Scene insert for 1x08, because I just felt like something was missing.
Jane aimed the gun squarely at the police officer's chest, her steady hands a stark contrast to the chaos within her.
Come on, Weller, she urged with silent desperation, eyes flicking repeatedly between the woman at her feet and the still-closed front door, her gut twisting. Get out here.
It had happened so fast. The goal had been simple; get in, get the wife, get out alive. They'd covered the first two, were inches away from the third— literally on the threshold, just steps away from safety, her gun up and ready to cover Weller's exit— when the flashbang had bounced into view, the rest of the world seeming to freeze as it rolled toward Weller's feet.
Weller, however, hadn't frozen. He'd exploded before the flashbang did, throwing himself at the door with a shout, slamming it shut and creating a solid wooden barrier between them and the blast.
With him on the wrong side.
Even through the door, the sound of the flashbang detonating had been near-deafening, the burst of light that sprayed through cracks and windows still enough to leave coloured spots in her vision. For a second she'd been paralysed, caught in an internal tug-of-war, her mind and heart pulling her in two opposing directions. The pull back towards the house— to Kurt— was almost overpowering, but she knew he'd given her his order the moment he'd closed that door.
Get to safety.
Spinning, she'd forcibly pushed thoughts of Weller from her head, adrenaline infusing her muscles as she swiftly lifted the officer's wife to her feet, half-dragging the trembling woman out onto the lawn and away from the direct line of fire. Gun in hand, she'd bent over the woman, trying to keep her anxiety over Weller from making her voice sharp.
"Are you okay?" she'd questioned hastily, eyes shifting to search for any sign of their backup— only to see the female officer emerge from behind the house, their guns lifting simultaneously.
But Jane— and the markswoman she had been— was faster.
The gunshot had sounded like faded echo of the flashbang, the officer crumpling onto the grass with a choked cry. Jane had snatched away her gun and shoved it into the back of her waistband as the woman moaned and clutched her leg, blood darkening the navy material of her uniform.
Standing over her now, her gaze continued to flick to the door, eyes straining as if she could somehow see straight through the wood if only she concentrated hard enough. Almost a full minute had passed since Weller had slammed the door, so surely he would be yanking it back open any second, would be dashing out, gun up, drawing the other attacker out where they could—
Gunshots.
Jane's head whipped up, her heart clenching painfully in her chest.
No.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only hear the single word repeating over and over in her head, rising until it was a scream inside her ears.
No, no, no, no.
"Your partner's dead," spat the bleeding officer, a pained, hateful smile twisting her lips as she lifted her eyes to Jane's. The words were her revenge, designed to break her, make her bleed, inflicting the pain she couldn't do with a bullet.
Instead, the words lit a fire in her, an inferno that roared his name.
Kurt.
"Cuffs. Put them on. Now!" Jane demanded, gesturing with her gun at the handcuffs clipped to the officer's waist. At her words, the woman simply looked up at her, her gaze defiant, and Jane's lip curled, her gun aiming at her uninjured leg.
"I'm a consultant, not FBI," she snarled, her voice low and deadly. "I don't play by their rules, so you better play by mine or I'll put a bullet through the other leg and complete the goddamn set."
For a moment the officer simply stared at her, stunned, before a hint of fear appeared in her dark eyes, her hand slowly reaching for the cuffs. She'd clearly realised what Jane already knew; she'd meant every word. Anyone who dared stand between her and Weller would pay dearly for it, and anyone who hurt Weller…
Well, she didn't want to have to find out what she'd do.
With the cuffs now fastened around the officer's wrists, Jane leaned in and checked they were secure before moving over to the wide-eyed wife, pulling the officer's gun from her waistband and handing it to the older woman, grip-first.
"This woman killed your husband. She moves, you shoot," Jane told her, her voice hard as she pushed the gun into her palm. She sincerely doubted the woman would do it, but she figured just the threat should be enough to keep the bleeding officer in line.
Either way, she didn't really care.
She was already gone before the woman even had a chance to respond, moving fast as she approached the front of the house, taking the porch steps two at a time. Dropping into a crouch to the side of the door, she grabbed the handle and twisted, staying low as she pushed the door inward just a few inches. Aiming around the edge of the doorframe, her eyes swept the room— then froze, staring at the dark form crumpled in the hall, all the air abruptly leaving her lungs.
It took her two more full seconds— two seconds of feeling like the world was pressing in on her, crushing her, reducing her to less than nothing— to realise that the hair was wrong.
And that the navy-coloured clothing on the body was not Weller's shirt, but a police uniform.
The first new breath was like being reborn.
Feeling relief and hope flooding through her, she softly called Weller's name, then sent a last quick glance back at the women on the lawn before making her decision. Rising from her crouch, she cautiously eased the door open just a little wider, her gun still trained on the officer's motionless body as she slipped inside.
She found him instantly.
Slumped against the wall of the entranceway with his eyes closed, he didn't move as she reflexively cried out his name, panic once more stabbing deep as she rushed to his side.
When her hand closed hard around his shoulder, his head snapped up, his gun already on an upward arc when he suddenly registered her face, a look of relief— and something else she didn't quite recognise— crossing his features. His gun immediately lowered, his other hand curling around her wrist.
"Jane," he said loudly, his gaze gentle and concerned as he looked her over, making her own eyes sting. "You okay?"
Nodding— her throat suddenly felt too tight to speak, not that he would be able to hear her anyway— she glanced over at the body of the officer and then back at Weller, raising her eyebrows and giving him a pointed up-down look.
"I'm fine," he assured her, his voice still raised. "Just ringing in my ears."
Realising that the hand gripping his shoulder had somehow migrated to cup his neck, Jane gave another curt nod, then stood, holding her hand out to help him up.
He took it with a small smile, rising a little unsteadily to his feet, his grip lingering on her hand just a little longer than necessary. Tilting her head towards the door, she lifted her eyebrows in question, and he nodded, holstering his gun before resting a hand on her shoulder for balance. Keeping her own gun in her right hand, she slipped the other around his waist, steadying him as they moved through the doorway together.
As they reached the edge of the porch and Weller caught sight of her somewhat unorthodox prisoner containment system, he paused, turning to her with a frown.
"Jane, what—"
Reluctantly dropping her hand from his waist, she shifted away, her eyes avoiding his as she moved quickly down the porch steps, retrieving the officer's gun from the now-calm wife.
"He's dead, then?" the older woman asked, voicing the question that Jane could see reflected in the officer's eyes.
At Jane's nod, both women seemed to slump slightly— one with grief, the other with something that looked a little like satisfaction— but before anyone could say anything further, there was the screech of tyres close by, and Jane reflexively brought her gun up, sidestepping closer to where Weller stood.
As doors slammed and the sound of sirens grew in the distance, though, she saw Zapata and Reade rushing towards them, the tension in her body finally easing. Giving them a small smile, she shifted a little closer to Weller as they approached, not missing their questioning glances at their rather unusual gathering.
"One dead, one injured," she told them succinctly, then tried to keep the hint of worry from creeping into her voice as she went on. "Weller got caught by a flashbang. His vision seems alright, but he can't hear anything. I'm hoping it's only temporary."
Reade raised his brows. "Flashbang deafness usually is. Isn't that right, Weller?" he asked, and Weller frowned.
"What?!"
Masking a smile, Reade turned to her. "Paramedics are only a minute or two away. I'll go with the cop, Zapata can take the wife in for her statement, and you can stay and keep an eye on the investigation and on Weller. Mayfair's on her way, so she can help direct the investigation. Sound good?"
Glancing briefly at Weller, Jane nodded, trying to hide her surprise at the show of faith from Reade. "I've got it here."
With a brief nod from both Reade and Zapata— the latter of whom directed a sly look at her and Weller, murmuring something as she passed about wanting the full story from her later— they split up, following the plan that Reade had proposed. Beside her, Weller turned to watch them, a frustrated frown still creasing his forehead. It was hard for him, she knew, to be disconnected like this, to be unable to play his part in the team.
The team nearly lost him today, she thought, the tightness in her chest returning.
I nearly lost him.
She may not really know who she was now, but today she'd gotten a glimpse of who she'd be without Weller, and she didn't like it.
She never wanted to become that person— so she'd just have to make sure she never did.
Looking up at Weller, she put a gentle hand on his tightly folded arms— and immediately he shifted his attention to her, his eyes softening, most of the tension leaving his taut muscles. For a few moments he held her gaze, eyes moving over her face before she tilted her head towards the house.
She saw him glance over toward Reade and the injured officer, his eyes narrowing, and she squeezed his arm, bringing his attention back to her and giving a small shake of her head. His shoulders lowered in defeat, a tiny almost-smile at the corner of his mouth as he let her nudge him over to the porch steps, the two of them taking a seat as they waited for the next set of paramedics to arrive.
As they sat together, she shifted slightly, letting her knee press lightly against his while they watched the growing buzz of activity in the front yard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him glance over at her, but kept looking forward, avoiding his far-too-perceptive gaze. For a moment he simply watched her, and then turned to face forward once more, the small movement somehow placing them a fraction closer, his broad shoulder resting against hers.
Forcing back the smile that threatened to curve her lips, Jane simply let out a long, slow breath, allowing his warmth and proximity to settle and center her, as it had done for literally as long as she could remember.
Beside her, she could feel him let out a slow breath of his own, seemingly doing the same.
Not a single word had been spoken between them since they'd left the house, but somehow— for now, at least— she felt they'd both said what they needed to say.
Sorry for the delay in posting— I intended to write this straight after the ep, but, well, life happened. Plus I needed time to recover from the pure bliss that was 1x09 haha.
Thanks for reading!