Gone.
She was gone.
She was 1,792.4 miles away from him. His unborn child was 1,792.4 miles away from him. She wouldn't know him. She would grow up calling Allie Mommy, and she would grow up with her Daddy 1,792.4 miles away.
Who was he kidding? She wouldn't call him Daddy. She would barely know who he was. He would never be there for her first steps, or for her first word. He wouldn't get to see her off on her first day of school, or take her out for dinner when she got straight A's. He wouldn't get to scare the boys who took her out on dates, hell he probably wouldn't even walk her down the aisle. He would die without a relationship with his only child.
He would be another deadbeat Dad. He would be just like his own Dad. A fucked up alcoholic who was a good for nothing piece of shit.
Weller chugged the rest of his whiskey, before pulling himself other glass. He didn't have a clue of how many he was at now. 6? 7? Hell he didn't give a shit. The rest of the bottle had his name on it anyway, why even bother pouring out if it was all just gonna ended up drowning his dreams while burning his esophagus.
He took the cool glass in his hand, not noticing how unsteady he was. Who had he been trying to kid though? He was Assistant Director at the FBI. He worked 12 hour shifts, and drank most of his night away. He couldn't raise a kid. He couldn't be home to put her to bed, he couldn't even assure her that he would come home.
Shit.
What if he died in the field before she was born? What if he doomed his daughter to never know her father. To grow up with just her mom.
Just like Taylor.
Kurt's breath hitched as he thought of her. She had been so young, and he had been so stupid.
He could have saved her. He could been there somehow or he could have stopped his Dad. He should have done something, anything.
She had just been a kid, just like his baby will be. Someday she will be the exact same age Taylor was when she was killed. His daughter will be that age, unless something bad happened to her too. Anxiety filled his head, and he took another swig of his alcohol. His thoughts mellowed out as they got cloudier, no longer were they deep and dark things. No longer intrusive hateful things. What if she dies? What if she gets abducted and no one can save her? What if Allie dies? What if he turned out like his father and killed Allie? What if he turned out like his father and killed the baby?
Those thoughts blurred together into a big cloud of what if hatred. What if he could just stop it all? He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and sipped it slowly as he brought it into the nursery. He could burn it all. He could pour his whiskey over that fucking expensive ass crib and that stupid rug and all that stupid baby shit and burn it all into the ground. He could do it with the pour of a bottle and the flick of a lighter. He could roll around in it before hand and take himself with it.
But that would be a waste of some damn good whiskey.
Instead he took another sip, and sank to the floor. His knees cracking as he sat curled up against the wall.
In a perfect world he would be normal. He would have a normal wife, not be the baby daddy who's sleeping with someone from a department in the government no one's ever heard of who's also kinda still interested in the women who was pretending to be his dead best friend. He would have a normal job where he didn't almost die everyday, and his best friends didn't almost die everyday. He would have a child he could raise in his own home, and not 1,792.4 miles away.
He would be happy.
A knock at his door awoke him from his thoughts in his pretend paradise, and he somehow managed to get his drunk ass off the floor. His feet were shaky, and so were his legs as he went to open the door.
He hoped it was Allie, telling him she wasn't moving.
He hoped it was Reade and Zapata, the only two people who new who wouldn't mind getting wasted with him on a Friday night still.
He hoped it was...
"Weller?" Her voice called out as she rapped quickly one the door.
In his mind everything clicked into place.
"Jane." He said, his eyes wandering a little below Jane's gorgeous collar bone, and then up to her striking eyes. "You should definitely come in."
He might have his own pain, and his own demons. But he knew just the way to stop them.
Jane knew Weller was drunk from the moment she saw him. Not only did he reek of whiskey, and slur his words, he totally checked her tits out. She couldn't say she wasn't a little burnt on by it.
He was strangely sexual tonight. His eyes were all over the place, and his hands were a little too touchy as he handed her her glass, or engaged in conversation by sitting just a little too close.
"Jane," He whispered, his hands grabbing hers. He interlaced their fingers, and she felt a little too happy for her liking. "I was so stupid. I've spent weeks, hell months, trying to figure out what I want. I thought it was Allie, or Nas, or fuck it even Taylor. I wasted all that time."
"Weller, you're so wasted right now." She started, she really should leave. He was a mess.
"I wasted so much time, when really I was just looking for you." He pulled his hands away from hers, and cupped her face with them. Kissing her slowly.
She pulled back. "Weller, this isn't right." She said, even though she did enjoy it, and wouldn't mind going further.
"Jane, I need you. I'm so lost." He couldn't say another word, as Jane gave into every part of her that was telling her to continue kissing him, and to abandon all sanity and parts of her that knew it was wrong.
"Fuck." She murmered, her heart going ninety miles per hour as Weller started peeling of her shirt.
"Hell yeah." He said in agreement, it was going to be a wild night.
Just a warning, this is going to get kind of dark. And by kind of I mean very. Comment where you think this is going. I know how this is going to go down, but I want to make sure it isn't too predictable. Haha tell me if you like it, next chapter should be longer, but i didn't know how to do more exposition without revealing the plot already.