Author's Note: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but also kinda...not sorry. ;)

"Are you okay?" Jane asked, then shook her head. "Sorry. I'll stop."

There was something going on with Kurt, though. Since yesterday, when she'd gotten back from visiting Avery at Tasha's place, she'd sensed he was more troubled than he had been in a couple of days. He hadn't volunteered any information on what might be occupying his mind, but…

Of course, it could have just been the transition from the strong painkillers to the milder ones. His headache had receded to a level where he no longer needed the opioids, which was great from a physical healing perspective. However, Jane couldn't deny that his lowered inhibitions, while he'd been on the stronger stuff, had helped them to bridge the gap between them caused by his memory loss. She wasn't sure if he'd continue to be as open with her now.

Kurt looked up from the Sandstorm file with a small smile. "You do know that's the fourth time this afternoon you've asked, right?"

"I know. I guess I'm still a little scared that you're gonna relapse."

He put aside the file and reached for her hand. "I'm not. I feel…not fine, but better. Cabin fever's starting to get to me, though. If I can go in to work on Monday…"

Jane bit back her instinct to insist that he should stay at home. It would work about as well as when he'd tried to bench her, back when she'd still barely remembered anything. They were both happiest when they were active, trying to solve their problems. Jane did plan to have a quiet word with Reade, however, suggesting that he be confined to the NYO for the first day or two, before joining her in the field.

"Jane. I will be fine." Kurt looked amused. "Starting to get a real appreciation of how you felt, back at the beginning of your case."

"Just promise you'll take it slow?" There was a note of pleading in her voice that she hadn't meant to come through.

"I will. I swear."

She got the feeling he'd say anything just to be allowed back to work, but decided not to bug him about it. She'd be exactly the same, in his place.

"Want to take a walk? Just around the park?"

He stood up and stretched a little. "Yeah, why not? God knows I need the exercise."

Ten minutes later, as they walked along the path in the gathering dusk, Jane once more got the strong feeling something was bothering Kurt. It wasn't anything he said or did, but she knew him well enough to sense something akin to anxiety within him. Had he remembered something he didn't want to talk about yet, or was she being paranoid?

"What?" he asked, glancing over.

"You're really not gonna tell me what's wrong?"

His shoulders rose defensively for a second, then dropped as he sighed. "You mean apart from still having huge gaps in my memory? I don't know how you live like this, Jane."

"I don't know what it feels like not to have those gaps," she pointed out. "But your doctor still thinks most of it will come back, right?"

"In theory," he agreed.

Still, she suspected he was being general to avoid her question. Something had happened yesterday, she was sure of it. "Is there anything you've remembered that you still don't have a context for?"

He didn't look at her as he replied, "Nothing I can explain. Some memories of feelings that are disconnected. Negative feelings. But there's a lot of stuff I've only heard about from you, or read about in the files. Until I get the memories back, I won't know what attaches to what."

Jane nodded slowly. It sounded different to what she'd experienced. Usually, her memories were strongly tethered to the emotions that accompanied them—or else she got no emotions along with the recollection at all. Maybe they differed because of the causes of their amnesia.

Could he be remembering Berlin or their most recent break-up, without knowing exactly what had caused him to feel that way? God, I hope not.

Before she could try to press him further, he shook his head. "And I miss Bethany."

Of course. Is there a day that passes that you don't? She couldn't help but smile, albeit sadly. "She left a big impression, huh?"

"I've only spent a few hours with her that I can remember, but it's like there's a space in my heart that's empty now." He rolled his eyes at himself. "I know, it sounds stupid."

"No, it doesn't." She leaned against the railing and stared out at the river. "We were starting to plan for moving back to Colorado when we've dealt with Crawford and Roman. Nothing concrete yet, but we were talking about it, here and there. So, give it a few months, and you can go back to seeing her every couple of days."

"I only remember a little from our time there. Did we transfer to the Denver field office?"

Jane wrapped her arms around herself, a little embarrassed to admit the truth. "You did. Only qualified agents can transfer between offices, though. I was just an asset, consultant, whatever you want to call it—and once we moved out to Denver, I wasn't even that."

Kurt frowned. "You didn't want to go through Quantico? I mean, I know your past is questionable, but if Reade or Hirst had pulled some strings…"

He fell silent at the shake of her head, and for a moment they were both quiet—Kurt waiting, and Jane working up to telling him the situation.

"I have no idea why—maybe for the same reason why I didn't appear in any of the FBI's databases when I first got there—but Remi Briggs doesn't have an education record, or medical records…as far as the system is concerned, she doesn't exist. I know I changed my name and went to school as Remi. I remember going to school, just parts, here and there. But there's no administrative record of it, which means I can't use Remi's records for myself. I'm pretty much unemployable outside of the NYO and—" She cut herself off, unwilling to mention her work as a K and R mercenary while she'd been on the run, in case it triggered a memory of Clem for Kurt.

"What about Alice Kruger?" Kurt asked.

"There's where it gets complicated." Grateful he wasn't calling her on what she'd been about to say, Jane shot him a rueful look. "Alice Kruger has a GED. The military wouldn't have taken her without one. But Alice Kruger was killed in action two years before Jane Doe appeared."

Kurt nodded, getting the picture.

"Patterson said she didn't dare change my file, in case there's some kind of digital alert attached to it. Tom Carter probably ran Orion, and he's dead, but there's probably someone out there who still gets notified if someone starts messing around in files no one should be interested in. The last thing we wanted was for the CIA version of Zero Division to come knocking on our door, especially since we were planning our wedding at the time."

Her husband frowned over at her. "So you can't prove to an employer that you have qualifications."

"Nope. Patterson offered to falsify some records, but it felt like cheating, somehow. Yeah, I know it's stupid," she interrupted herself, seeing his unsuccessfully suppressed smile. "But Remi did so many terrible things, I just didn't want to add to that. So I was studying for Jane Doe's GED when the bounty hunters started coming for me. After that, I was using fake identities most of the time, so it didn't matter what I did or didn't have a record of."

He took her hand. "Why does this bother you so much, Jane?"

"I don't know." She did, and he deserved an explanation, so she amended her statement. "I just…I was in a new city, with a new husband who was financially supporting me while I studied. I had no job, no friends nearby except for Allie and Connor, and a newborn baby at the house for at half of every week. I guess I just didn't feel much like myself anymore. And that was probably a big part of why I ran without telling you I was going to do it. Mostly I was protecting you, but I guess part of me wanted to find where I fit in the world, too."

They began to walk slowly back towards home, quiet for a minute or two.

"I can understand that," Kurt said, finally breaking the silence. "But I have to ask…if we go back to Colorado after the case is finished, what's gonna be different this time?"

Even with redactions in his memory, he was still way too insightful. "That was what we were starting to talk about. Whether I could handle it. What we could do differently this time."

"Did we come up with anything?" The dryness in his voice implied he was pretty sure of the answer.

"Not yet." She couldn't look at him, ashamed to be the problem that was keeping him from spending more time with the daughter he adored.

"Then we'll keep thinking," he said simply, and squeezed her hand. "If you need to stay here a while longer, we can leave that option open, too."

She nodded, sliding her arm around him and resting her head on his shoulder while they walked. After a moment, Kurt put his arm around her in return, and a bittersweet smile came to her lips as he kissed the top of her head.

Whether he realised it or not, he was becoming more and more openly affectionate with her as time went on. It had been only a week before that he'd called her a terrorist and demanded she leave his presence—she hadn't dared to hope for this much progress in such a short time, even if his mood was still unpredictable.

Wonder what things will be like this time next week.

Kurt woke to the sound of his three-month-old daughter crying, which wasn't unusual of late. The house felt colder than usual, though. Emptier, somehow. And he'd fallen asleep in the nursery? Jane would laugh at him and his overprotectiveness. "Kurt, she's a baby. She can't stand up yet, much less climb out of the crib…"

But then he remembered the night before, and a fresh chill went through him. Bounty hunters were coming for his wife, and there was nothing they could do to cancel the hit.

Picking up Bethany and cradling her against his chest, he called, "Jane?"

No response but the light patter of rain against the window, as Bethany quieted for a few moments. Then she worked up to a full-on, red-faced scream, and Kurt carried her into the kitchen, knowing she wouldn't be happy until she had breakfast.

It was barely dawn, and there were still bloodstains on the rug from last night's altercation with the bounty hunters. They'd need to pick up some heavy-duty stain remover, maybe even throw out the rug entirely. The emergency glazers had come last night to replace the window, thank god, so that was one less thing for them to worry about.

God, Allie was gonna go ballistic when she found out about last night. And he wouldn't blame her—but he just hadn't wanted to pull Allie or Connor off their shift and let his daughter go with them, not if he and Jane were gonna have to run soon. The CIA had left a detail outside as backup until they could get Bethany back to Allie today.

Kurt pulled one of the baby bottles from the fridge and set it on to heat, the actions performed on autopilot as he again wondered where Jane was. She'd said she'd take the first watch last night, so he could get some rest and be awake enough this morning to explain things to Allie. Had Jane fallen asleep? But if she had, surely Bethany's crying would have woken her up by now.

"Jane?" he called again, raising his voice enough to be heard over his daughter's wailing.

Bethany screamed, and he tried in vain to quiet her, a headache beginning to grow at his temples. "C'mon, Bee, gimme a break," he murmured to her, bouncing her in his arms a little. "Breakfast's coming."

As the bottle heated, he moved from room to room, checking for Jane. She was nowhere to be found, and he yanked open the door to the closet, hoping like hell that his growing suspicion was unfounded. As his eyes fell on the empty space on the floor of the closet, where a duffel bag usually rested, denial set in. "No. No, Jane—damn it, no!"

Somehow, he managed to keep it together enough check the temperature of Bethany's breakfast, and encourage her to quiet down enough to drink. Balancing his baby against his stomach, with one hand supporting her bottle, he somehow managed to locate his cell phone and call Keaton.

"Where the hell is she?" he half-snarled into the phone, making Bethany stare up at him in confusion, the bottle teat slipping from her mouth. He rocked his daughter reassuringly, focusing her attention on her breakfast again, as he listened to the reply.

"Honestly, Weller, I don't know. I put her on a CIA jet and told the pilot to work out a destination with Jane. Knowing her, she would have jumped out of the plane in midair or something to throw you off the scent."

Hot rage flared through him, and only Bethany stopped him from completely losing it. "You were there last night. You knew I didn't want her to go off alone."

"It was her decision, and frankly, I think it was a good one. Even if you take your kid out of the equation, two people moving around together are more conspicuous than one. She needs to stay as low as possible, and keep moving. People will go to extraordinary lengths for a million bucks, and the tattoos make her stand out."

Anguish was gathering on the edge of Kurt's senses, but numbness held it at bay for now.

"Tell me you have some idea of how to go about getting this bounty off her head. I know what you said last night, but—"

"We're doing everything we can on our end. Maybe the FBI can lend us some resources, help us out."

"I'll talk to my people." He stared into space, seeing nothing, already trying to plan his next moves. Where would Jane have gone? Who were the next few people he should call?

"For what it's worth, Weller, I'm sorry. I know you two have been through hell already. You deserved some peace and quiet."

The genuinely heartfelt words did nothing but irritate Kurt. Some of that hell had been inflicted by Keaton. "Just call me the second you have something."

"Oh, and she said to tell you she loves you, and that she's sorry."

Kurt opened his mouth, but his throat was too constricted by fear, anger and desolation for him to form words. Instead, he hit the button to end the call and threw down the phone, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

A numb haze finally settled over him, and he managed to get Bethany fed, her diaper changed, and put her back in her crib. Only then, as he turned away, did he notice Jane's wedding ring, abandoned on the top of the dresser.

The façade of calm he'd built around himself shattered, and despair flooded his senses.

"Jane," he whispered, tears stinging his eyelids as he closed his fist around the wedding band.

It was so goddamn typical of her to give him an out, to worry that he'd feel trapped in their marriage with a wife who was no longer there, not knowing how long she'd be gone or if she'd be back. But she should have known he wouldn't take this as a final goodbye.

He was going to find her, and help her face down these bastards, and bring her back home. There was no other alternative.

Kurt jolted awake, unable to move as memories of that tense, difficult time rolled over him. So many nights, he'd spent just like this—in bed, alone, with sleep eluding him. He remembered each nagging fear and doubt that had refused to leave his mind—that Jane would be dead, her body disposed of so that no one would ever identify her by her distinctive tattoos. Or that her body would be found, his name inked on her back for all to see, and he'd receive a phone call from a coroner asking for the identity of the Jane Doe they had in their morgue.

Jane Doe. Now that would almost be funny, if it wouldn't kill me so much inside.

He recalled nights in this bed, in their Colorado bed, on friends' couches. Nights in successively crappier hotel and motel beds around the world, as his budget waned and he spent less and less on accommodation.

He remembered fears about being too late, arriving just in time to watch Jane die. Worries about money, and whether he'd even have enough to support them both when he finally found her. Irritation and hurt that she couldn't send him—or someone they knew—a goddamn coded postcard every once in a while, to let him know she was safe. Then deep, soul-rending guilt that he was blaming his wife for trying to protect him and his child from the mortal danger she was facing down every day.

More intense than any other emotion, though, was the echoing loneliness in his heart and mind. The pain caused by knowing that if he reached out in the middle of the night, Jane would no longer be there. The emptiness inside that only her smile, her voice, her scent and her warmth could fill.

And that inexplicable, crushing terror that she'd leave him—for good, this time—if she found out what he'd done—what did I do? Goddamn it…

Chasing that fear got him nowhere, so he backed away from it, releasing the memory and letting himself fall back into the current of raw emotions.

So many nights he'd spent aching to hold his wife, to feel her breathe deeply as she slept. Hell, just to know that she was still alive, still missed him, still wanted to come home to him—that would have been a dream come true.

And here Kurt was, not even a year later, sleeping alone again, with Jane in a separate bed only two rooms away. The ridiculousness of it made him laugh under his breath as he sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.

He pulled on some sweatpants—as much as he loved Jane, his memories of them being intimate amounted to virtually nothing, so he wasn't comfortable just walking around the apartment in his underwear—and left the bedroom, unsurprised to find the apartment in darkness. He had no idea what time it was, hadn't checked the clock before his impulsive decision to get up.

Waking her up in the middle of the night would be pretty damn selfish, Weller. He went into the bathroom instead, took a quick shower to rinse off the sweat his memory-dream had left on his skin. After towelling off, he threw his underwear in the bathroom hamper and pulled the sweatpants back on for the trip back to the bedroom.

There was a sliver of light coming from underneath the spare bedroom's door now, where there had only been darkness before. He'd woken Jane, and only part of him was sorry about it, because the remembered need to hold her had become a fierce, present-moment reality.

With no clear approach in mind, he tapped on the door. Jane's muffled voice called for him to come in, so he pushed open the door, only then remembering he should probably have grabbed a shirt before doing so.

"Hey. Sorry—I didn't mean to wake you, I just…" His mind stalled, still labouring to process so many memories all at once, no matter how similar most of them were.

"It's okay." Perceptive as always, she sat up, frowning. "Are you okay?"

He took in her tousled hair, the concern in her face, the way the sleeve of her tank top had almost slipped off her shoulder, and the ability to speak left him completely. With a slight shake of his head at his own uselessness, he crossed the room, leaned over the bed and tilted Jane's face up to meet his kiss.

He could almost taste her confusion and worry in her response, but her hand slipped to the back of his neck, preventing him from retreating as she pressed her lips against his. After a few seconds, her mind overrode her instincts. She leaned back to study his face, her attention wandering to his lips as though she couldn't help herself, before she concentrated on his eyes once more.

Before she could ask what was going through his mind, he brushed a kiss over her neck, just under her ear. "Come back to our bed?"