A/N: Sadly, I don't think we'll ever get a scene with Borden about this, though I think it's highly necessary, considering Jane's f'ed up state of mind, so here goes my stab at it. Fingers crossed I do the good doc some justice. :)

Jane was quiet during their usual Friday meeting. This wasn't strange—or at least, it hadn't been strange since these past few weeks. Borden sat silently across form her, patiently waiting until she broached whatever topic she wanted to talk about. Sometimes it took nearly half the session to get there. Sometimes only a couple minutes. He surveyed her and wondered which it would be today.

She looked more distant than usual, he thought. Caught up in something he could not begin to guess at—though, to be honest, there was little about Jane he could begin to guess at. Even months after her emergence from that bag in Times Square, he still didn't feel like he had anything close to a handle on her. More than once, he'd thought about conferring with Special Agent Weller on the matter of their somewhat-joint charge, but he'd shied away in the end. Weller wasn't the type to want to talk about his own mental health; Borden doubted he'd want to talk about Jane's. He was protective of her in a manner so complete that it refused collaboration.

Borden watched Jane as she fiddled with a loose thread on the sleeve of her black turtleneck. He wondered if that was what this distraction was about, perhaps—had something happened between them, her and Weller? Borden wouldn't be surprised. He knew they were close, and that they'd only grown closer over the past few months, though Jane hadn't talked about him in session for weeks now. Maybe something had happened a few weeks ago, he thought. And perhaps it had happened again this week.

He kept his thoughts to himself, though. He knew Jane was the type that needed to figure things out on her own before going to others. She did not need, nor did she want, to be prodded. He left her with her silence until nearly fifteen minutes had elapsed. Then he pressed gently:

"How are you feeling? You almost died the other day."

She nodded slowly, silently, as if he had made a banal comment about the weather. Though, Borden supposed, watching her, risking her life was not exactly new. Perhaps such a thing was trivial to her, at this point, given what she had seen, given her skillset.

"Is this about Agent Weller?" Borden pressed quietly, half heading towards another topic. He knew the agent had almost died the other day, too—had come closer than Jane, even, with the sarin gas. If her silence was about that, or something else concerning the agent…

"Nothing's going on with Kurt and I," she answered quietly, reading his insinuations. She kept her eyes trained on the floor beneath them. Borden watched her eyes dart back and forth, tracing the pattern weaved into the carpet. He wanted very badly to ask her to look at him.

"It's about something else, then," he surmised gently.

He watched her nod slowly, heavily. As if her head were made of lead, half-tipping off a mountaintop.

It was quiet for a second, two.

Then, as if commenting on the day of the week, she said, "I had sex last night."

For a second, Borden wasn't sure he heard her right. He blinked, stared, repeated the words in his head… Despite himself, he felt his eyebrows draw together in confusion. Certainly she wasn't telling the truth. Certainly she was confused. Certainly—

"It was good," she continued quietly, as if he had asked. She did not take her eyes off the rug, though her pupils had stopped tracing the patterns before her. "I mean, I don't really have anything to compare it against, but it…" He watched her chest as she drew in a breath, and let it go. "It felt good. It was nice, I…" She looked up finally, meeting his eyes. She looked almost apologetic. "I don't really know what to say about it," she confessed quietly.

It took Borden a moment to come back to himself, to recover.

"Well—that's all right," he hurried to say, pushing all the questions popping up in his brain out of the way so he could focus on her, and her well-being first. "You don't need to know what to say. This was certainly a new experience for you. It's understandable if you're speechless."

She murmured something that he couldn't quite hear.

He leaned forward, prompting her politely, "Sorry, I didn't catch that…?"

Jane kept her eyes on the floor, but she did not ignore his question. "I said, it didn't feel like a new experience. It felt…" She searched for the right word, and he let her, privately glad they both had a moment to think.

While she stared at the floor and thought, he stared at her and tried not to gape. He didn't know where to begin: the fact that she was having sex despite them never having touched on it—at least not medically, physically; the fact that it had apparently been a pleasurable experience for her, though clearly left her confused and pensive; or the fact that she'd had sex with her boss, which was not exactly outlawed, but certainly very frowned upon.

Borden grimaced at the last thought. Even though he'd seen this escalation from friendship to romance coming for months, the confession that something serious had finally happened Jane and Agent Weller was not a comfort. He did not look forward to discussing the protocol of Internal Affairs with her, did not look forward to speaking with Assistant Director Mayfair on this topic, when she eventually solicited his advice. He also did not look forward to this current conversation with Jane, no matter how curious he was. Not five minutes earlier, she'd said nothing was going on between her and her superior, and just a moment ago she'd admitted to having sex with him. Borden closed his eyes, and swallowed the sigh he wished so badly to release. Truly, he had never met in such a convoluted workplace since coming to work on Jane's team. If it wasn't Jane sleeping with her boss, it was Agent Reade sleeping with his boss's sister; if it wasn't intrigue of a sexual nature, it was intrigue of a criminal nature. He frowned at the thought—he should check up on Zapata soon, and make sure she was sticking to the straight and narrow.

"It felt like a memory," Jane said, breaking the silence finally, and Borden's mind reversed, trying to remember what they were talking about. Her having sex with Agent Weller, of course. The night before. It had been good, she'd said. It hadn't felt like a new experience…

"Did it remind you of your dream?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice as calm as he knew his mind should be. "The first one you had, the—"

"I know which one," Jane interrupted quietly. She hesitated for a long minute. Then she said, "It more than reminded me of that."

Borden cocked his head to the side at that, curious. They had briefly discussed the symbolism in that dream, the meaning of the tree tattoo on her dream-lover's arm. It represented Weller, obviously, they had both come to that conclusion quickly. "What do you mean," Borden asked slowly, "that it more than reminded you?"

"It, um…" Jane chewed on her lip a moment. Her pale green eyes darted to Borden's, and then away again. "It wasn't just a reminder, it was… It was a re-enactment."

"A re-enactment. Hm." Borden sat back in his chair at that, considering her language. Strange words, certainly, to describe a hazy dream and a very real-life scenario. But if it was how she was making sense of things…

"How did this re-enactment compare?" he asked finally. "How did it match up against the real thing, against the dream?"

Jane looked at him strangely, as if he were asking questions that she could not fathom. He inclined his head towards her, instructing her to answer, even if she didn't have an answer she was sure of. Any answer was better than silence; they'd ben over that.

"Well…" She chewed on her lower lip a moment. "It wasn't all that different. I mean, it was the same person, but a different time, a different setting, a different… different me…" She blew out a breath. "But it all felt the same. I felt… I felt like I'd done it all before, you know? Like—what's the word?—déjà vu?"

Borden nodded; this was to be expected, especially with someone like Jane. With so little information in her mind, it made sense that she'd gravitate towards her dreams, and solidify them into near-memories, struggling to find some truth about herself anywhere she could.

But she needed to be reminded that dreams were different than reality, and that if she truly wanted to learn who she was, she could not substitute one for another.

However, there was no need, right now, to lecture her on semantics. They had more important things to discuss. First on the list:

"May I ask if you used protection? As your doctor," he added, when she blinked over at him, clearly taken aback.

Her face pinked a bit at the intrusion, but she nodded nonetheless. "Yes," she answered quietly, looking down at the floor again. "We did."

Borden nodded to that, grateful at least that she—or perhaps Weller—had briefly had some sense before losing it all. "That's good, Jane," he murmured.

He waited for her to say more, to expand on whatever was plaguing her, but she remained silent. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. No doubt her mind was in turmoil—not only because of having sex for the first time she could remember, but because it had been, with all people, her boss here at the Bureau. Borden pushed the thought away, reminding himself not to judge. It didn't matter who she slept with, merely that she had.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Borden questioned quietly. When Jane's head shot up, worried, he added quickly, "I'm not saying I need all the details. But if there's anything in particular you'd like to discuss…" He spread his hands, as if to say no topic as off-limits. "You are in my confidence as I am in yours," he reminded her. "Nothing I hear leaves this room, nothing you say passes from my lips."

Jane nodded to that, but didn't look much relieved.

Borden frowned, not surprised, but still, not pleased. He was hoping he wouldn't have to come right out and say it—he was hoping he and Jane were on level ground at this point—but whatever made her more comfortable…

"I won't go running to Assistant Director Mayfair, Jane," Borden told her. "My job isn't to tattletale on every intra-department romance I witness unfolding. If it were—" He shook his head with a quiet laugh. "—well, suffice to say, I wouldn't have any clients left, if it were my job." He meant for her to smile, but she only stared. He sighed, "Jane, I am simply here as an ear for you, and to offer advice if you request it. I won't go reporting you to Mayfair, I won't go asking Agent Weller to corroborate your story. I'm—"

"Why would you go Kurt?" Jane interrupted. Borden frowned, not understanding where she was coming from, but before he could ask, her eyes went wide, and her face blanched: "No! No, I didn't have sex with Kurt, no!"

Borden shifted in his seat, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked. "If it wasn't Agent Weller, then who…?"

He didn't bother finishing the sentence. He simply waited, confused and overwhelmed. Perhaps he knew some of what Jane felt, he thought in retrospect.

She was quiet for a long time. Finally, when he was just starting to sit back, and think of another line of questioning to leave her be, she said, "His name's Oscar."

Borden thought on that, striving for recognition. Striving to remember any man he'd ever met with that name.

"He…"

Borden looked up at the sound of Jane's voice, only to watch her fall silent. She closed her eyes. He watched her lips tremble as the seconds ticked by: one, two, three… ten, eleven, twelve…

"He has a tattoo on his right arm," she whispered finally, not opening her eyes. "A tattoo of a tall tree with deep roots."

She didn't have to say anything more.

For at least a full minute, Borden sat there, searching for words. Searching for a plausible explanation. Searching for anything…

"The man from your dream?" Borden finally said. He could not contain his shock, nor his excitement. "You mean he's—he's real?"

Jane nodded. "He… found me the other day—"

"Found you?" Borden cut in, more harshly than he'd intended. "What do you mean, found you? It's been months since your picture was released to the media! Why hasn't he stepped forward before—especially if he already knew where you were?"

Jane bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes falling to the floor. "He was—away."

It was a bad lie.

He knew it.

She knew it.

But there were more important things to discuss right now, more important things to be put right. So Borden backed off, and adjusted himself in his seat. He was quiet a moment, giving them both a second to cool off.

Then he asked gently, "Would you like to talk some more about what happened last night?"

She looked so grateful he feared she might cry. For a second, he was genuinely worried she would. "Yes," she whispered, her voice almost hushed in its grave appreciation. "Please, I have no one else to talk to."

He offered her a small smile, as if to say, That's why I'm here.

"Talk to me, then," he offered.

And when their session ran long that day, he didn't mention the time. He didn't send her back to the team. He sat and listened as long as she needed, and offered advice and assurances when he could. Though she had friends, and she had people that cared about her—people that would die for her–Borden knew she was utterly alone in this moment, at this junction. He was more than happy to serve as whatever she needed: psychiatrist, doctor, friend, sounding board. He hadn't felt so useful in months.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I would so, so love to hear your thoughts! I may write more if anyone's interested/if inspiration strikes me, so let me know how it went over. :)