Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.
A/N: There is extreme cuteness in this chapter. But first, extreme angst and pain. Because that's just how mean I am. ;) Also, if you are prone to cavities, beware, because… well, I may have overloaded on the sweetness. Oh, and this probably should have been broken up into three or four chapters, but I couldn't do it. So it is once again a record setting chapter for me… and I'll admit it's a little cheesy… but I'm not at all sorry.
JANE AND PATTERSON
Only a few seconds after Patterson had showed Jane the text from Zapata that said that she and Kurt were on their way back, the lock on the door of the interrogation room clicked open loudly. There was no way it was Kurt and Zapata so soon, so the women looked up in surprise, thinking that maybe Reade had come back to check on them.
Jane's face fell when she saw two of the same guards who usually escorted her to and from her cell. Patterson didn't understand at first what was going on, but Jane did.
"Guess I have to go back in the cage," she told Patterson, suddenly feeling exhaustion and defeat set in.
Patterson looked from one of the uniformed men to the other. "Hey, what's going on? She's not done talking to Agent Weller!"
"We were informed that Agent Weller had left the building," one of them replied. "When he gets back, he can decide whether he wants her back in here. For now, we've been told to take her back to her cell."
Patterson sighed in exasperation. "He's with Agent Zapata, and she just texted me that they're on their way back right now!" She held up her phone as proof of what she said, but the men didn't even look at it. They were focused on Patterson. Her voice was rising along with her frustration levels.
The guard who had spoken before just looked at her calmly, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma'am, when Agent Weller gets back, he can do as he sees fit. But we don't know for sure how long they'll be. She was brought in here for interrogation. Agent Weller isn't here to interrogate her. Therefore, we've been ordered to take her back."
Patterson just stared at him for a second, flustered, and then looked helplessly back and forth between the guard and her friend as she moved to stand up. By now, Jane knew the drill. She stood in front of them and put her wrists together behind her back, facing away from Patterson, towards the door. That was perhaps the worst part of this, being treated like, and feeling like, a criminal in front of her friend.
"Jane, he'll be back soon. I'll tell him what happened," Patterson called after her as the three of them walked toward the door.
"Thanks, Patterson," Jane replied without looking back. She couldn't bring herself to face her like that. Not when she was in handcuffs.
Patterson couldn't help but think that Jane's voice suddenly sounded very small, and she watched in dismay as the two men led Jane out of the room, around the corner and out of sight.
JANE
All of the encouraging words that Patterson had said to her since Kurt had left so abruptly flew out her head as she was escorted from the interrogation room with a guard on each side of her, holding onto her arms. How could any of us have thought that this is going to be alright? her mind screamed. Don't you see where you are? Have you forgotten all of the things that you've done? Nothing is alright! Nothing is going to be alright!
As her tiny cell came into view, she felt the familiar knot in her stomach return. The closer they got to the cell, the tighter the knot pulled, until, as the door was unlocked and she walked inside, she felt like she was going to be sick. This happened every time they brought her back here. The only thing she had to be grateful for was that she didn't have to share the cell with anyone else, and that none of the other cells nearby were being used, meaning that she didn't have to deal with anyone else, just her own misery.
Holding her still-handcuffed wrists up to the bars behind her, she heard the small key click in the metal, and then felt her wrists freed. She turned around in time to see the guards nod at her, and she bobbed her head at them just enough to be considered a shadow of a response. They were nice enough.
At least they don't twist the handcuffs so that they chafe your wrists, the way Kurt did, the night he arrested you… She cringed slightly at the thought, and tried not to let it bother her, but it was just another of the many ways she spent her time in her cell torturing herself. No, the guards were respectful and, while not friendly, also not hostile. It wasn't their fault that she was in there, after all. They were just doing their jobs.
No, this was all her fault. And now that she'd started spilling her secrets, everyone knew it.
The events of the day were quickly catching up with her, and without the adrenaline or the encouragement from Patterson that had been keeping her going for the past few hours, she decided that it would be a good idea to sit down on the bunk that took up half of her cell before she fell down. Sinking onto the thin mattress, wanting to once again make herself as small as possible, she pulled herself into the fetal position and tried not to think.
That, of course was impossible. She held herself together for a little while, but slowly, as the thoughts about just what her reality was going to be like going forward crept into her brain, she began to shake. Before she knew it, there were tears running down her face, and she didn't try to stop them. They left tracks across her cheeks and soaked into the mattress below her. Once again, she wondered if she could wish herself into oblivion. Even knowing that it was impossible, she continued to try.
KURT, ZAPATA AND PATTERSON
Patterson was waiting by the elevator when Kurt and Zapata stepped off. They stopped, looking at her in confusion, suddenly worried. If Patterson's standing here, then what's happening with Jane? they both wondered.
Answering the question they had yet to ask, Patterson skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point. "Right after you texted me that you were coming back," she said, looking at Zapata, "these two guards came in and said that since Jane was there for interrogation, but Weller had left the building, they were taking her back to her cell. At least until he got back."
"Shit," Kurt swore under his breath. Patterson couldn't help but notice that he was looking much more like himself than he had when they'd left, except that he was now looking much more like the pissed off version of himself. "That's my fault."
"Weller, you needed a break," Zapata reminded him. Then, raising an eyebrow at him, she asked, "You good to go?"
"Yeah," he replied gruffly. He was obviously exhausted, and now he was angry at himself for letting Jane be taken back into lock up, but at least he could now form complete sentences. "Thanks, Zapata," he said, giving her a meaningful look for about two seconds before adding, "I owe you one."
"You owe me more than one, Weller, and don't you forget it," she told him, which elicited what counted as a smile from Kurt – in other words, the slightest upward movement at the corners of his mouth – and a slight nod. Most of the time, the only one who got any more of a smile than that from him was Jane, to whom his focus had already shifted.
"Right," he replied simply. With that, he strode off down the hall toward lock up.
ZAPATA AND PATTERSON
"Is he okay?" Patterson asked, coming to stand beside Zapata as they watched their boss make his way quickly out of sight.
"I think so. He needed to sort everything out, but he seems a lot better." She replied. Turning to look at Patterson, Zapata asked, "How's Jane?"
Patterson grimaced, throwing up her hands. "Honestly, she's still kind of a mess. I'd get her to calm down, and it would last a few minutes… and then she'd think of something else would get her upset again. She's scared. Scared of how Weller's going to react to all the things that she has to tell him." Patterson sighed and shook her head sadly. Turning to look at Zapata, she asked, "Do you think he's ready to hear more things he doesn't want to hear?"
Looking back at her quizzically, Zapata wondered what Patterson was referring to. "Is there something specific that she told you?"
Patterson nodded slowly, looking at the ground. "Yeah. She…" She stopped for a second, feeling guilty for telling her friend's secret. But it wasn't going to be a secret much longer, and with Jane's current status, unfortunately, there could no longer be any secrets, anyway. Personal or not, it was all now part of the FBI investigation. "She slept with Oscar. Recently. I think she's more afraid to tell Weller that than anything else, no matter how horrible any of the other stuff might be."
"Shit," Zapata whispered.
"Yeah…" Patterson agreed with a sigh.
"Should we go down to interrogation? Think they'll end up down there?" Zapata asked.
"I guess it's worth a shot," Patterson replied. It seemed likely, anyway… unless he stayed and talked to her in her cell… "Should we go get Reade? He made himself scarce when I went in to talk to Jane. I think the tears scared him away…"
Zapata rolled her eyes and smiled distractedly at the mental picture of her partner shying away from a hysterically crying woman. "Yeah," she agreed. "Good idea."
The two women walked in silence toward Reade and Zapata's workstations in search of their teammate, before once again heading to the interrogation rooms. An impending sense of dread hung in the air, and it was clear that it was going to be a very long night.
JANE AND KURT
The halls were silent at that time of night as Kurt made his way back toward the secured lock up area. He showed his ID and went through the barred door, then continued into the labyrinth of aisles that separated the cells from each other. Two guards accompanied him, since he'd told them that he intended to bring her back out to the interrogation room with him. Finally, they turned the corner and came into view of Jane's very isolated cell. At first he thought she wasn't there, and alarm bells started ringing wildly in his head. Then he realized that no, she was there… but she'd curled herself tightly into a ball on her bunk. He immediately got the feeling that he wasn't going to convince her to go anywhere, not anytime soon, anyway.
Turning to the guard to his right, he said, "Change of plan. Doesn't look like she's ready to go back to interrogation. I want to talk to her here."
The guard nodded his agreement. "Go ahead," he told him.
Clearly, Kurt thought, this man doesn't understand what I mean. "No," Kurt replied, "I need to go in the cell. You can lock me in, it's fine. I'm not in any danger." After all, he wasn't afraid of Jane.
The guard looked at him unsurely, as if the idea of voluntarily being locked in the cell with its occupant was more than a little bit crazy. "Alright sir, but one of us will be back to check on you periodically," the guard told him sternly. "And if you need anything…" He didn't seem to like the idea.
"It'll be fine," Kurt replied gruffly. He supposed he could understand their concern, because when she wanted to be, Jane could certainly be very dangerous… Still, he felt insulted on Jane's behalf at the implication that he might be in danger with her.
The guard unlocked the door, which swung open with a loud creak. Jane hadn't moved through their whole conversation, hadn't seemed to even know that they were there. She remained curled tightly into herself, and now that he was closer, he could see her shaking. He felt as though he was being stabbed in the heart all over again, just as he had when Jane had said that she had tried to be Taylor… for him.
He stepped inside the cell, which felt like a shoebox. It was the length and width of a twin bed, half of which was taken up by the narrow bunk that she had curled herself up on. He was startled when the bars clanged loudly as they were locked behind him, and he looked around at the remaining portion of the space. Besides the bed, there was a toilet and a sink in one corner, and the other corner was empty – the one where Jane liked to sit on the floor. That was it.
In one small step he was already beside her bunk, and in order to be at the same level with her he had to either kneel on the floor in front of her or perch on the edge of her bed beside her – which was only possible because she was so small, and had pulled into herself so tightly, becoming even smaller. He knew that this wouldn't be anything resembling a quick conversation, and that his knees weren't as forgiving as they'd once been… So he really didn't have a choice at all but to sit by her – as hesitant as he felt about getting so close to her immediately. Not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't at all sure how she would react to his proximity. She'd shaken off his hand earlier, after all.
As if you need an excuse to sit near her, something inside him said sarcastically.
On one hand, he wouldn't have hesitated to move closer to her – it was as if a force that he could barely resist was drawing him in. At the same time, he was wary of doing anything that would upset her further, which included getting too close if that wasn't what she wanted. They were in a strange sort of limbo, and he didn't know where they stood with each other. And so, when he crouched down to perch on the edge of the bed beside her, attempting to place as little of himself actually on the bunk as possible without losing his balance, he did so slowly and carefully.
She knew that he was there. There was no mistaking his voice as he spoke to the guards, and even this late in the day, she could still smell the remnants of his cologne, just as she had when he'd arrived earlier. So, he had come back after all. She wondered exactly what he was going to do, and what his reaction would be to what she'd told him so far. Her curiosity almost convinced her to open her eyes and look at him, but somehow it felt so much safer where she was, wrapped up protectively in a little cocoon where the real world couldn't get to her. No, she decided, she was going to stay right where she was.
"Jane," he whispered. "It's me."
When she heard his voice, she was dismayed to find that the sound of it caused her physical pain, as her chest began to ache unbearably. She wished he would just go away and leave her there in her agony. There was nothing he could do for her, after all. Without trying, she felt as if her eyelids pulled themselves even more tightly closed, and the knot in the pit of her stomach felt as though it had its own gravity, pulling the rest of her body toward it so tightly that her muscles shook. Someone make it stop, she begged silently. Somehow, though she hadn't thought it was possible, this was even worse than when he had left her without a word in the interrogation room.
He swore that her eyes squeezed closed even tighter in the seconds after he'd spoken, and that she seemed to shake a little harder. It was agony for him to watch her like this, and he wracked his brain to think of what would be the best thing to do. He wasn't good with crying women, as dealing with Sarah and her emotional outbursts over the years had made abundantly clear to him. He knew, however, that his instincts when it came to Jane were usually right.
Still, it came as a great surprise to him when, after only a few seconds, his left hand moved slowly to her head, it was as if it was moving of its own accord. He hadn't thought about doing it, he had simply done it, but couldn't have said why. His hand started at the top of her head, gently smoothing her hair all the way down to her neck, then repeated the movement.
"Jane," he whispered again, "talk to me."
He might as well have been turning a knife in her heart, the way she felt, because those four words – as softly and caringly as he said them, felt as though they were cutting into her. He can't help me. No one can. She told herself that she couldn't give in to his comfort, because she knew that it would only hurt even more when she lost it again, and she simply could not endure the thought of anything hurting worse than this. So she continued to resist, but it became more and more difficult.
Despite her determination to resist the comfort he was trying to show her, she was unable to fight the calm feeling that came over her because of the simple motion of smoothing her hair. She felt herself slowly stop shaking, and against her better judgement she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his hand moving gently over her hair. She knew that she would regret it, but she simply couldn't fight it any longer.
This technique for calming a hysterical subject certainly wouldn't be considered following protocol for a situation that was allegedly an interrogation, he knew, but then again, nothing about Jane's case had ever resembled normal. After a few minutes of stroking her hair, he let his hand rest just past the top of her head, so that he could move his thumb back and forth across her temple, keeping the rest of his hand still on her head. She'd seemed to calm down, though her eyes were still closed tightly. However, they were no longer squeezed closed, nor did she seem to be shaking, so he supposed that that was progress.
When his hand stopped moving, she was sure that he was getting ready to remove it from her head, having achieved his goal of calming her down – or so she assumed. Instead, to her surprise, his thumb began to trace back and forth on her temple. Once again, she tried not to allow herself to surrender to the feeling, because she liked it far, far too much and she knew it. Surely he must know the effect this would have on her. They'd never talked about it, but he'd always done his most effective job of calming her down with physical contact. Nothing risqué or inappropriate, just simple things, like holding her hand or hugging her. But despite the fact that they'd never discussed it, she somehow knew that he knew as well.
She expected him to stop what he was doing any second, but mercifully, he kept brushing his thumb gently against her temple. It was so soothing, and she was so tired, she started to wonder if she was going to be so relaxed that she would fall asleep. "Okay, then," he told her quietly, "just listen first. I'll take a turn talking." His voice was low and raspy, the way it only seemed to get when he talked to her. For what seemed like a long time now, she'd been trying to make herself forget how much she loved hearing that voice. Now that she had no choice but to listen, it was like music to her ears.
"You gave me a lot to think about earlier, and I guess I didn't handle it very well…" After a pause, he continued, though she could hear a slight hesitation in his voice. "I've been so angry, this past week and a half. I don't… I know that I don't handle that kind of thing well." Well that's kind of an understatement… he thought as he paused again for a second. "I wish…"
He stopped yet again, trying to find the right words, not wanting to say anything that would make her feel worse if he could avoid it, but needing for them to be honest with each other. He wanted to say that he wished that she'd told him what was going on all along, the same way she'd told him she knew that she should have told him what was happening. And while he did wish this, it seemed unnecessary to tell her that just then. He could see that she already felt badly enough. Come to think of it, he wished for a lot of other things… but wishing wasn't going to help fix this.
So he started a different train of thought instead. "I'm sorry that I walked out before. I didn't mean to scare you. I just… it was… too much. I couldn't process it all, sitting there. I had to get some space and think…" He looked down at her, and despite the fact that they were locked in a tiny FBI jail cell, despite the fact that he himself had arrested her and that she'd been branded a traitor… despite everything, all he saw was Jane – a beautiful woman who could make him forget about literally everything else. All he could think was that she was desperately sad, and it was in large part because of him. Suddenly, a wave of guilt overwhelmed him for his part in all of this. In his grief and anger fueled mania, he'd been unable to see how anyone but him had been hurt by everything that had happened. Now, however, he could see clearly that she was shouldering the blame herself, not asking anyone else to share it with her, even though a large part of it also lay with him.
"Jane, I'm sorry…" His voice broke as he tried to make himself speak, again in a whisper – normal voices didn't seem appropriate in their surroundings. He'd intended to be more articulate, but found that he couldn't get find any other words that did justice to the guilt that had overcome him without warning. He looked down at the floor, feeling discouraged at how badly he was failing in his attempts to comfort her, when he felt her shift slightly under his hand.
When he looked up from the floor at her, he found that she was watching him, having finally opened her eyes, and that they were red, bloodshot and puffy. He didn't think he's seen anyone ever look so miserable, even in his years of work with the Bureau and the many troubled people that they'd helped – or tried to help. Even Jane, herself, when she'd arrived at the FBI with no memory of anything in her life hadn't looked as heartbroken as she did just then. Those desperate eyes were searching his, and her face was filled with confusion. Finally, after a full minute of simply staring at each other, she uttered one single word.
"Why?"
"Why am I sorry? Jane…" He shook his head and looked down again, unable to even look her in the face. "I remember that you tried to tell me that you couldn't be Taylor, a long time ago… that was why I always called you Jane… but I'd forgotten that I…" He wasn't sure he could explain this to her, but he was determined to try, so he started again. "It was so long ago, now… when we first found you in Times Square. I thought from the beginning that you were Taylor because… well, everything just fit. And now I know, that it all fit because someone wanted it to fit, they wanted me to be convinced… and when I found out… and my dad… and…" Now it was Kurt's turn to lose the ability to speak in coherent thoughts, just as Jane had earlier.
His hand slid off of her head, and she immediately missed the warmth of it. He had always had that effect on her. She watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning forward, away from her. He rested his forearms on his knees and hunched his shoulders forward.
Somewhere in the last few minutes she'd become so calmed by his touch and so mesmerized by the guilt with which he was so obviously torturing himself, she'd forgotten that he'd been the one reaching out to her. Suddenly, it was as if just sitting beside each other, they had traded places, and now she was the one feeling that she needed to reach out to him.
Sometimes we're so much alike, it's a wonder that we're not the same person, she thought as she watched what she could only imagine was almost exactly the way she had reacted to her own feelings of guilt just a few hours earlier.
Without saying a word, she leaned over just enough to put her right hand in his left, which was the closer of his hands to her. Her hand was much smaller than his, but she squeezed gently, letting the gesture speak for itself. He looked up at her in surprise, and for a few seconds they just stared at each other, not sure what to do or say next. She was surprised at herself for being so bold, but she had no doubt that it had been the right move.
He tried to smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, and he began again, in a voice that was barely a whisper. "I was so angry. With my father, for doing something so horrible, for lying to me my entire life… With myself, for not being able to find the truth no matter how hard I tried, for letting it happen in the first place…" She squeezed harder on his hand, hating that the things that she had done had exacerbated trauma that he'd been living with most of his life. "And then… because I had never really questioned whether or not you were Taylor – I'd just known…" He shook his head and scoffed at what he now felt was his own stupidity, then continued. "I'd never had room in my head for the idea that I was wrong… because you're right, I wanted you to be her." He looked up at her uncertainly, hoping that she wouldn't take it the wrong way.
She froze for a second, unsure of the implications of what he was telling her. Yes, it had been pretty clear that he'd wanted her to be Taylor, but he'd never come out and said as much. And now that they both knew for sure that she wasn't, what did that mean for… them? It was one of her oldest fears come back to life.
It was his turn to squeeze her hand reassuringly. "And that doesn't mean that you mean any less to me than you did when I thought you were her. I just…" He stared out through the bars, trying to find the right words. "I wanted closure. I wanted to know that I had fixed the wrong that I'd done so long ago, finally."
She opened her mouth to interrupt him, to argue, but he looked back at her and shook his head, knowing exactly what she was going to say. "I know, I know. It wasn't my fault. People have told me that my whole life. It didn't matter though, because I always felt like it was my fault, no matter that logically a ten year old can't be held responsible for anticipating the behavior of…" He swallowed hard. Even after believing for twenty-five years that his father had been guilty, it was hard to have it confirmed. But he continued. "A psychopath." Looking back at the floor, he took a slow, deep breath and then looked back at her.
"I want you to know that you not being Taylor… that doesn't change anything. Yes, I hoped you were her, but that was selfish of me. We thought you were, because the evidence said you were." For a second, he thought guiltily about the isotope test that they'd never told her about it. He would, too, but not that second.
"But Jane…" He'd said the word Taylor so many times in the past few minutes, and even though he hadn't been directing it at her, it somehow felt like a relief to say her "real" name. Jane, just the word itself, brought him an entirely different set of emotions than Taylor did. Taylor brought him guilt and stress and sadness. Jane, on the other hand, brought him… peace… and at that moment, a little guilt too, for what she'd gone through because of him. But he hoped that he could make up for that.
"The fact is, even though you were never Taylor, there was always a…" How can I describe it? Can she feel it, too? He'd always assumed that she could, judging from the way she stared into his eyes, but maybe that was just him projecting… he couldn't be sure. You're losing it, Weller, he told himself.
"Yeah," she replied. "There was." She smiled at him reassuringly. "There is." She pushed herself to sit up, not letting go of his hand, and just continued to watch him carefully.
He smiled tiredly at her, surprised, but at the same time… not surprised. It's impossible that she knows what I'm talking about… and yet… she does. Of course she does.
"I thought that it was because you were Taylor that I felt that… whatever it is. I assumed that was the reason. But I was wrong. It wasn't because you were Taylor. It was because…" He thought about it for a minute, but came up with no explanations. "I don't know why. But it doesn't matter."
Jane shook her head slightly in agreement. It didn't matter where their connection came from. What mattered was that despite everything, it was still there.
"So…" he continued, his face becoming serious again, "when I found out that you weren't Taylor, I just…" He waved his free hand in the air, the words temporarily deserting him. "I guess I was ready to blame everyone but myself."
She shook her head, while keeping her hand firmly in his. "No, I gave you a lot of reasons to be angry." They were facing each other now, his left leg against her left leg, pressed together out of necessity due to the small size of the bunk. "I—"
"No," he replied, cutting her off with a sudden emphasis that surprised her. "You don't get to apologize for trying to save my life, Jane. We make the best choices we can at the time when we have to make them, and you did. You have to forgive yourself."
She bit her bottom lip, considering his words. Could she really let go of so much guilt? More importantly, could he? Could he really forgive her for so much? She hadn't even told him everything yet, so it was really too early to say…
"Can you?" she asked simply, suddenly looking very nervous.
Instead of replying to her question, he smiled slightly. "When Zapata and I left, she took me to that little park… that overlook that you and I went to that first night, when we had to wait hours for your safe house to be ready, because no one had thought about it until I asked. Do you remember?"
She smiled at him, not sure what this had to do with what she'd asked him, and nodded. "Of course," she whispered. How could I forget? She was pretty sure that there would be an answer in there somewhere, so she just listened.
At least he didn't say 'No,' she thought.
"You were so lost that night, and when Zapata and I were there… as overwhelmed as I was with everything, I couldn't help but remember. I think it was Zapata's Hail Mary, to try to get me to put my head back on straight… to sort things out." He wasn't looking at her, just off somewhere, remembering. He smiled at the idea of what Zapata had done for him, not having realized it until just then. "While we were there, she asked me if you'd told me anything that I couldn't forgive," he said, glancing around the cell, and beyond the bars. He'd honestly forgotten that they were inside a jail, having been focused only on Jane.
Jane held her breath. That was exactly what she wanted to know, just in slightly different words. He was acting like everything was good… but until he said it out loud, she wouldn't be sure. Even then…
"I went through everything in my head, one by one… it was how I sorted through it all, I guess. There are things I want you to tell me more about," he said, choosing his words carefully. She nodded, feeling like that was probably an understatement. "but as far as anything that I can't forgive?" He paused at looked at her, only then realizing how afraid she looked, and remembering how hard it had been for her to say the things that she'd already said. Smiling at her fondly, he shook his head. "No, Jane."
He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking, and then waited to see how she would react. Her eyes followed his hand as it moved slowly towards her face, as if she wasn't sure what he would do. When he'd finally replaced the offending strand of hair in place, he stopped and, almost in slow motion, touched the backs of his fingertips against her cheek.
She smiled sadly then, while simultaneously looking exhausted, and he imagined that he must look just as tired. Just as he was starting to think that the rest of the conversation could surely wait until morning, the smile on her face melted away, and once again she looked completely miserable. She dropped her hand from his and pulled her knees up in front of her, winding her arms around them tightly, as if she suddenly felt that she had to protect herself once again. It had become her favorite defensive way to sit over the past ten days, holding the rest of the world at bay. The only difference now was that her head wasn't down. Instead, she was looking at him with, once again, the saddest expression he thought he'd ever seen.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, not understanding what had just happened. He tried to take her hand, but she had both of hers locked around herself and wouldn't let go. She started shaking her head again, and suddenly the tears had started… Something in her head was obviously upsetting her.
He tried to think of all the things that she'd told him earlier, before he'd stormed out, trying to think if it could be any of those. There had been a lot of heavy information to digest, but as he'd just told her, he'd made peace with it. He knew there was a lot more to come, but he couldn't imagine that anything else she could have to tell him that could be so much worse than what she'd said already.
He scooted himself all the way on to the bed so that he was sitting directly in front of her, turning so that they were face to face. Moving closer to where she had pressed her back up against the wall, but still leaving space between them, he watched her in confusion. He didn't want her to feel cornered, but he didn't want her to feel so far away, either. He reached his right hand up to her left bicep, then moved his hand gently between her shoulder and her elbow. "Okay," he said, seeing that she was once again stuck in her head and didn't seem to be able to tell him what was wrong. "How about this? Think of the one worst secret, the very worst one, that you have to tell me. The absolutely most terrible. Start with that one. And then after that, everything else will be easier." It seemed so simple, though he knew that it would feel anything but simple to her.
She looked at him desperately, wishing that she could somehow make him understand that he didn't want her to tell him the worst thing. Honestly, she'd prefer to just stay in jail indefinitely than to have to hurt him again that badly. "I can't," she said in a choked whisper, and put her head down on her knees, so that she could no longer see him.
He chuckled softly, which confused her, but she was too tightly wound up to let herself look back up. He let go of her arm and slid himself closer to her still, closing the distance between them and feeling her tense up slightly. He was not going to allow her to keep doing this to herself. Eventually she was going to see that she couldn't push him away.
Kurt leaned forward towards her, so that his chin almost rested on her knees – since she had pulled her legs in so tightly, this was not nearly as difficult as it may have been otherwise – and, since she'd pulled her head down to her knees, thereby bringing it closer to him, he was able to speak almost directly into her ear.
"You used to think you couldn't do a lot of things, Jane Doe…" he began gently. "You didn't think you could speak Chinese, or Russian, or Bulgarian. You didn't think you could dance. For a whole five minutes, you may even have thought that you couldn't kick someone's ass, either. Two or more people at once, even. But you know what I've learned about you? You can do all of those things, and a lot more – even when you don't think that you can. So to hear you tell me that you can't tell me whatever you think the worst secret you've kept is…" He shook his head ever so slightly and continued. "Jane, I know you can. It's only words." He paused for a second, allowing what he'd said to sink in, but didn't move away from her. She seemed to relax slightly, so he added, "Whatever it is, it's already done, right?"
She brought her head up slightly, just enough to peer up at him. He leaned back so that he could see her face, only inches away from his own. She nodded slowly, and he smiled at her encouragingly, both of them staying exactly where they were, despite how unusually close together their faces were. He continued talking in a whisper. "Okay, good. Now look at us here, locked in this tiny little shoebox of a cell, in the middle of FBI headquarters. Together." Her eyes darted around quickly, then came back to him. "No chance of snipers, or of anything else getting to you. We're safe in here, aren't we?"
He had a brief flashback to Saúl Guerrero's death in their custody, but he pushed it from his mind. There was no way he was letting anyone hurt Jane, even if they could get in there. Besides, the chances of that being able to happen again were practically zero. Security was much tighter since then.
She nodded slightly, but still didn't raise her head any farther than the little bit that she already had. "Good. Now… do you trust me?" he asked, honestly not sure of how she would answer.
It wasn't an entirely fair question, and he knew it. They had both trusted each other to the extent that their lifelong baggage had allowed them to, whether it was due to too much baggage in his case, or too little in hers. They'd also both lied to each other, and he hadn't even had a chance to even confess any of his lies yet. Still, he looked into her eyes, their faces frozen in place with only inches separating them, his gaze not wavering from her for a second. They had both made mistakes, but he honestly could not think of anything that would prevent him from staying exactly where he was and hearing every single thing she had to say. Experience tried to whisper into his ear to be careful what he wished for, but he wasn't to be deterred.
When she nodded again, he smiled back at her, feeling like he'd been given a gift that he didn't deserve. "And, did you figure out your most horrible secret?" When she nodded immediately, Kurt knew that she must really be scared to admit to one thing in particular, because she hadn't seemed to need to think about it at all. He smiled at her, leaning his arm gently over the top of her knees, as if they were a little armrest, and then rested his chin on his arm. "Tell me," he whispered. "Please."
He was so close now, even closer than he'd been before, and she suddenly felt slightly boxed in, like he was too close, and like she had nowhere to retreat to. Her back was already leaned against the wall…
And then all at once, she just decided to just get it over with. "I… I don't want you to hate me when I tell you," she whispered, looking absolutely miserable.
He almost laughed, but stopped himself, seeing how terrified she was over whatever it was that she didn't want to talk about. He sat back slightly, removed his arm from her knees, and reached a hand up to her cheek. Resting his thumb in front of her ear, the rest of his fingers spread out into her hair, each slowly rubbing small circles. For a second, she felt lightheaded from his touch.
No… she thought desperately. She couldn't give in. It would hurt that much more when it all crashed down around her. She forced herself to resist the urge to get lost in the sensation. She didn't come close to deserving this, and the fact that he was being so sweet with her was torture. She needed to tell him the truth and get it over with, get on with having him hate her, like she knew that he would. But she simply couldn't bear the thought of seeing that look on his face all over again… the look of betrayal.
"That's not going to happen, okay? It's not. I promise."
A sudden anger coursed through her. How could he say something like that? How could he promise not to be angry when he didn't even know what she was going to say? He might think he wanted to hear her worst secret, but as soon as she'd told him, he was going to discover that he didn't, and that he really did hate her, despite what he'd promised. She just knew it.
And yet, there was nothing else to be done. Closing her eyes, she tried to work up the courage to make herself say the words, which seemed a little easier when she didn't have to look at him. She felt him lean forward slightly once again, but his hand remained on her face, his fingers continuing to rub in small circles. If only she could let herself enjoy the sensation, but instead, it was actually hurting her. Seconds ticked by, and he waited as she sat in front of him, her eyes closed, taking deep breaths. As he watched her, he couldn't help but think that this intensity was one of his favorite things about her. If only she wasn't using it to beat herself up.
"You should know by now that I'm going to sit here until you talk to me," he told her. His voice came from closer than she had expected.
He must have leaned further forward than I realized, she thought.
"No matter how long it takes for you to talk to me," he added. "Even if it takes all night. And all day tomorrow. And… you get the idea." She was still a little bit unsettled by his proximity, but decided that it didn't matter. In a matter of seconds, if she told him, he'd probably get as far away from her as he could.
She grimaced slightly, and then, finally deciding that she could not torture herself anymore, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and with her eyes firmly shut, she forced the words out in a small voice. "I slept with Oscar. Me. Jane. Not just the me from before. And not because he made me. I… did it on my own. I…" She'd wanted to say something by way of explanation, but words failed her then. Not just words. Explanation failed her. At that moment she could not even explain to herself why she'd done it, much less anyone else. Her forehead dropped back onto her knees, the sudden movement pushing his hand off of the side of her face. He didn't withdraw his hand, however, he simply let it fall onto her shoulder as he sat and looked at her in disbelief.
That was her most horrible secret from this whole mess? That she'd slept with Oscar? She'd briefly mentioned four people's DEATHS for which she felt responsible earlier, but her darkest secret was sleeping with a guy who was… well sort of, but not really, her ex-fiancé? His head was spinning with relief. He had been confident that he would have been able to handle whatever it was – he was more prepared now than he'd been earlier – but this was… well, it was definitely a surprise. Her distress over what he considered to be – while not something he liked to hear – something so trivial in light of the big picture, simple endeared her to him that much more.
Of course, it wasn't that he didn't care. It wasn't that it didn't bother him. Hell, when he thought about it for a few seconds, after the shock and relief wore off, he found jealousy rising in him quickly. He did, of course, have the advantage of already knowing that Oscar was dead, and therefore not exactly a threat. What he realized, in the next few seconds, however, was that there was something he needed to say as well.
Logically, of course, neither of them should have had to feel like these were confessions that they had to make to each other. They had only kissed twice, and that was it. It wasn't as though they'd had a label on their relationship, or as if they'd had any kind of agreement on the subject. Still, it didn't matter. He knew exactly what had driven him to Allie – namely, the fact that he had somehow lost Jane – but now he suddenly felt guilt for his actions where he hadn't before. Because if Jane had considered that to be her worst secret, then what would she think of his own actions?
She was confused, because as the seconds ticked by, he still hadn't replied to her words, the ones that she had expected would send him flying far away from her, and she still felt his hand on her shoulder. She was almost curious enough to open her eyes and see his reaction, since it seemed to be so different from what she'd expected. And yet, it was so much easier, and safer, she decided, to keep her eyes closed tightly and wait.
Finally, Kurt regained the power of speech. He was going to proceed carefully, he decided, not knowing exactly what to expect. They were both on edge and exhausted, in addition to dealing with more than a few extremely emotional issues all at once. "Jane," he said in a raspy whisper. "Look at me."
His voice sounded much calmer than she'd anticipated, and his hand was still on her shoulder, so she decided that against her better judgement, she would risk it. Even still, she was almost certain that she knew what look she would see in his eyes. Bracing herself, she forced herself to open her eyes and look at him, only to find that he was staring into her own eyes as if searching for something.
"I do not hate you. Okay?" He chuckled slightly. "Jane, I…" But he stopped himself. Back up a step, Weller, he thought. It's too soon for that. "But… you're not the only one who… should confess."
She just smiled at him sadly and shook her head. "I know about you and Allie. I could tell. When I was…" she swallowed, the memory giving her a bitter taste in her mouth. "…When I was pushing you away, I realized that I pushed you towards her. It wasn't my goal, obviously, but… I saw it happening, I just couldn't stop it." She was struggling to keep her voice steady, with only partial success, but she pressed on. "It's just another thing I could have avoided if I'd… if I'd told you the truth. I guess it was part of… my punishment." She looked him in the eye stubbornly, even though she wanted to look away.
But Kurt was shaking his head at her already. "No, Jane, no. You don't get to claim other people's mistakes as your own and blame yourself. That was not because of you. I make my own decisions, and obviously they're not always good ones. That was me being stupid. I just…" How do I explain it? he thought desperately. "I only wanted you. And then…" He blew out a slow breath, trying to collect his thoughts.
"And then I pushed you away. Me. Not you. You tried to reach me. If I'd just…" she trailed off. It was too late for "if onlys" now.
"Jane Doe, you are the most stubborn person I've ever met," he said, shaking his head at her in disbelief. "When someone is threatening the life of someone important to you, it's impossible to know the right thing to do. Impossible. And I'm sorry that you were in that situation because of me. Me. Not you." He smiled at her then, hoping that he could see how much he meant the things he was saying, and added, "We're not going to argue about this all night, are we?"
She looked at him unsurely and shook her head, finally smiling back at him slightly. However strong her desire to keep all the blame for herself, she was simply too tired to argue about it anymore. She hadn't dared to hope that he would feel any other way except betrayed by her, and she wasn't quite sure what to do now that he didn't hate her. It wasn't an option she'd prepared for.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked, seeing that she was close to getting lost in her own thoughts again. She nodded, looking him in the eye once again, and he continued. "It says a lot about you, that you thought that that was your worst secret, especially with some of the things you only started talking about earlier." She blushed slightly, not sure what to say or how to take what he had said. "And I'm not gonna lie, I'm liking this Oscar guy less and less the more I hear about him…"
She heard what he was saying between the lines. He was making a joke out of it, but he was actually jealous. It had never occurred to her that he might simply be jealous. Anything short of him hating her had never even crossed her mind. Strangely, she found that she actually liked knowing that he felt that way about her and Oscar.
"Well, luckily for you, you have nothing to worry about, because I…" she stopped abruptly, choking on the emotion that suddenly welled up inside her. Her happy thoughts came to a crashing halt. I killed him, she finished the sentence in her head.
"I know," he whispered. He saw tears starting their journey down her cheeks for the thousandth time that day, and at that moment he had simply had enough of seeing her cry. He wasn't going to keep stopping himself from comforting her, really comforting her, any longer. Leaning in and putting his arms around her, he pulled her closer, until she was sitting sideways on his lap. Holding on to her tightly, he then scooted himself to the corner at the end of the bed where she had just been sitting, turning so that he was now facing the same direction as the bed, and then finally adjusted the two of them so that when he finished, she was sitting on his lap, leaning back against his chest, their legs out in front of them.
"Wow," she said with a surprised smile, her tears having abruptly stopped flowing. She was looking with interest down at his arms clasped loosely around her waist. "That was pretty slick."
He chuckled, knowing it had been anything but slick. What it had been was long overdue. "Very funny, Jane," he replied. "But you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little off my game today. Someone has me preoccupied, and they've kept me up way past my bedtime, and now I think it's time to go to sleep." He looked at his watch, and saw that it was past 1:00 am.
She turned around and looked at him over her shoulder in surprise. "You're going to stay? Here?"
Embarrassed, he blushed slightly and replied, "You're right, that was rather presumptuous of me… Would you like me to leave?" He raised his eyebrows at her, and she knew that he was joking... and yet, because she knew him, she also knew that if she wanted him to, he would absolutely leave. He'd probably go as far as his office, but after the day he'd had, it was doubtful that he would go any farther away from her than that. And he would only do it if she wanted him to.
"You… but… Are you saying that you'd stay… here? In a cell?" She was flabbergasted. Just add it to the list of ways that Kurt Weller has surprised you today, she told herself. Her neck was starting to ache from turning so far around, and she was only partially looking at him now, since he was behind her.
He leaned down so that his mouth was just beside her ear. At first he didn't say anything, but moved ever so slightly. This small movement was just enough to rub the scruff on his face, which was longer than normal at this late hour, gently against her cheek. She shivered slightly, as he whispered, "If this doesn't prove to you that I would stay with you anywhere, then I don't know what would." For a few seconds she held perfectly still, too shocked to move. When she had recovered from her temporary suspended animation, she sat up slightly so that she could turn around and look him in the face.
"You would?" She was confused, plain and simple. How in the world was this happening? He couldn't help but smile broadly at her, because frankly her shock was the cutest thing he thought he'd ever seen. If he wasn't mistaken, she also looked a little unsure.
Was she a little unsure? Completely unsure was more accurate. This was way over the line that they had danced on one side of or the other for so long now. But if there was one thing she had always felt around Kurt, it was safe. And remembering that, she relaxed again.
He watched her face as it clouded over, as if she was in serious thought about something, then as her smile returned less than a minute later. Looking back up at him, she simply said, "Okay."
"Now what was I saying about sleep? I'm too tired to even remember…" he said, trying to scoot himself down onto the small mattress so that he could lay down.
She pushed herself off of his lap and toward the edge of the bed, giving him enough room to navigate what he was trying to accomplish, watching him with a mixture of amusement and amazement. He was making it all seem so… simple. Once he was finished moving, and was lying with his back up against the wall, one arm tucked under his head, he smiled at her and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Come on, your turn." She glanced unsurely at the remaining half of the mattress unsurely, then back to him.
"Gonna make me work for everything, aren't you?" he asked with a yawn, still smiling at her.
"Of course," she replied seriously, "It's half the fun." He rolled his eyes at her and patted the space on the mattress beside him.
"Get over here," he chuckled. She moved slowly, scooting herself in his direction while still sitting up, and only very slowly unfolding herself in front of him. She wasn't sure what she expected him to do, but when she finally laid down she was almost falling over the edge of the bed just so she could leave a few inches between them.
"Okay, first of all, that's a dangerous way to sleep, falling off the bed," he admonished her with a smile. "That floor would not be the place you'd want to land. And second," he said, leaning forward to talk into her ear once again, "you're too far away." She tried to look at him over her shoulder, but the angle was awkward and she couldn't really see him. Shifting herself slowly back towards him, she wasn't really sure how far to move… and then suddenly, his arm wound around her waist, pulling her back the last little bit of the way against him, so that her back leaned against his chest. For a second she felt uncomfortable simply because she couldn't let herself relax, because what was she doing? Her mind was spinning too fast. Gradually, however, she felt herself relax. After all, with Kurt was where she always felt safe, and lying there with him was no exception. In fact, it was even better.
She suddenly felt herself getting very sleepy. To say that it had been a long, emotional day – or ten – just did not cover it.
"Hey Jane, we'll talk about the rest of it tomorrow, okay?" he asked, his eyes already closing.
She nodded against him, then realized that she wanted to tell him something before he fell asleep. "Hey, Kurt?" She turned onto her back so that she was looking up at him. "Thanks… for making me tell you the worst secret first," she whispered.
He chuckled tiredly, tightening his grip on her, and said, "I'm gonna try not to let it go to my head that you not wanting me to hate you for sleeping with what's-his-name," he left out his name, in order to not trigger Jane's tears again, "beat out talking about any of that other stuff you mentioned yesterday…" He was referring to the four deaths for which she blamed herself, but he didn't want to bring that up just then, figuring that she'd probably know what he was referring to anyway. "Or anything that you haven't told me yet… but I gotta say, it's gonna be hard…"
She punched him lightly in the arm, chuckling, now slightly embarrassed and not quite sure what to say, so she simply replied, "Shut up, Weller."
He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on her lips, then brought his head back up and propped it up on his hand so that he could just watch her, his weight now on the elbow that was holding him up. With his other hand, he pushed her hair off of her forehead. "Good night, Jane."
She smiled up at him, now sure that she must be dreaming, but hoping that it was one from which she wouldn't have to wake up. "Good night," she replied, turning back over and snuggling her back against his chest as he tightened his arm around her waist. It had been the most horrible, weirdest, most exhausting, most wonderful day that she could remember. There were plenty of ugly secrets left to tell, but somehow, at that moment she felt like that didn't matter at all.