The first time he sees them it's by accident, a misplaced glance as he comes in the door after an early morning walk. But then his eyes lock on and Weller feels like he stares for ages before he forcibly flicks his gaze away, hurries by to his room. Jane doesn't seem to notice, but not much gets by her. So it's hard to say if he got caught in the act.

Fuck, Kurt thinks to himself as he sits on the bed, brings his hands to his face. Fuck, fuck fuck.

It's not like he didn't know the kinds of things they did at a CIA black site; he just didn't let himself think about it all happening to Jane. Because he couldn't handle the shame and anger it triggered in him, all that regret.

Now, however, he can't unsee the scars that crisscross her body, the only lasting physical evidence of the pain she suffered. Can't stop picturing how they happened, grinding his jaw until his head aches.

And if Jane saw him staring, that was just another gaping issue that he needed to deal with. There were so many wrong impressions she could get from the way his eyes wouldn't leave her body. He didn't even want to start thinking about it.

Kurt sits on the bed, desperately trying to get his hammering thoughts in control while an avalanche of emotions suffocates him. It's nearly impossible to focus on the here and now when the horrendous near past of Jane's life is so acutely on his mind. But he can't just let the problem fester; avoid the issue. Leave Jane wondering about everything – if he saw, if he cared, if it affected how he views her.

How the hell does he bring it up though? Weller runs that question through his still-stunned brain. She rarely says anything about what happened to her for obvious reasons. She probably wants to hide it away, repress all of the memories. Or maybe she relives it in her own mind all the time, is just waiting for her chance at revenge. Either way, she's certainly unlikely to want to talk to him about it, especially since he's complicit.

A very large part of him wants to just pretend it didn't happen, wuss out in the worst way. But as he hears Jane's footsteps approaching his door, Kurt feels his stomach clench, knows he has to at least try. It's the right thing to do, no matter how awkward the conversation ends up being.

So before he can change his mind, Weller steps out his door just as she's about to pass by, stops her in her tracks.

Jane tenses and takes a step back, eyes him warily. She's got her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, hiding as much skin as possible. That alone tells him she saw him staring, that he has to fix this before she gets the wrong idea. But now that she's standing there in front of him, Weller jams right up and all he can do is gape while his brain tries to reboot.

"What are you doing?" she asks, quiet, but sharp-edged.

Good question, he thinks to himself.

He has no words, suddenly can't vocalize anything with his heart stuck in his throat. But he needs her to understand. So Weller reaches out slowly with his broken hand, gives her every chance to back away as he takes her right hand in his. When Jane doesn't resist, just looks at him indecipherably, Kurt gently unfolds her arm until it's by her side. Next, he does the same with her other hand, just as slowly, trying to make it clear that she can stop him at anytime. But again she just lets him move her left arm until it hangs by her side as well; leaving her standing there in just a sports bra and shorts, her startled eyes staring down at her own torso.

"Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable," he says, waiting for her to say it right away. He can barely breathe with the emotional pressure building up around them.

But she doesn't say anything, even looks up into his eyes as he steps closer, takes a hard look at the CIA's handiwork.

Weller winces as he takes in the intricate web of scars, some so fine he hadn't noticed them at first. Someone did this to her. Took a blade to her skin. Whipped her. Burnt her. Anger, red hot, builds in his gut, rises into his throat. He tries to keep it there because he knows it will only be replaced by his constant companions, guilt and sorrow. And he can't cry about it right now, not when she's the one who was tortured.

He has to stop his hands from automatically reaching out to touch her, making the moment even more inappropriate than it already is. He wants to run his fingers across her skin, know every inch of her. But he settles for slowly running his eyes up and down her body, before finally Jane glances up to give him a questioning, defensive look.

Kurt's mind is jammed with apologies, sympathy, horror, and fury. He can think of a million things he should say to her, how sorry he is, that he's only just started to see how much she suffered, that he's been negligent in so many ways.

But what comes out is what he often thinks when he sees her, no matter the situation. He's just never said it out loud before, never had the nerve.

"You are so beautiful," he says, his voice full of reverence. "I hope you know that."

Jane frowns, makes a disapproving noise.

"I'm smelly and sweaty, Kurt," she groans. "And too thin, apparently."

Weller smirks at the unexpected snipe, his own words being turned against him. But it doesn't belie the fact that she is gorgeous even after her morning workout, covered in scars and cold sweat.

She moves to cross her arms again but he catches her hands, tugs them back. He feels her shiver, scans her up and down again.

"Are you cold?" he asks, his mind lost in the moment. He had meant to say all sorts of other things, be a lot more expressive than he's managed.

Jane bites her lower lip, shakes her head shyly.

"What's going on Kurt?" she asks.

Good question, he thinks. You've got her trapped in the hallway, Weller. Time to say something or let her go.

"I'm so sorry they hurt you," he mumbles, his words pathetic even to his own ears. Hurt doesn't describe what he sees on her. "I shouldn't have let that happen."

Jane deflects his words with a frown; shakes her head slightly.

"We've already done this," she says. "It's all in the past."

There are two ways he can take her words; Weller wonders if she meant to make it ambiguous, what 'this' she's referring to. The black site or them? In a way it didn't matter; he doesn't want to leave any of it in the past.

"I think it's still here," he replies, looking her sternly in the eye. "And I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."

"What's the wrong idea?" she asks, quiet and breathy.

"That you need to hide yourself," he says, hoping he sounds as sure as he is.

Jane scoffs, shakes her head again. Her eyes point down towards her body, then stay transfixed to the ground.

"Look at me, Kurt," she whispers. "It would be hard enough with just the tattoos. But how could I explain the rest of it to anyone?"

She's right of course, no regular civilian could ever understand what she's been through. Even he can't understand, has never been abused in that way, day in and day out for months. But at least he has some idea, knows the feeling of being unjustly hurt, scarred inside and out. How small it can make you feel, how ugly. It's why she has to at least know that he's seen her, that it makes her more beautiful to him than ever.

"Some day, some guy will be lucky enough to know you. And he'll see the strength in every one of your scars," Weller replies. "Or you'd never give him the time of day."

Jane glances up at him, grips his fingertips tightly in hers. Her eyes are fleeting, as if unsure. For a moment he's certain she's about to argue, run, leave him there with all his remorse. She's got that lost expression to her, the one that broke him the day they first met. He'd known right then he'd do anything to make that look go away and that still hasn't changed.

Weller feels his chest tighten, wonders what else he can do to convince her, bring her back to him. He's still searching for more words, some magical deed when he feels a shift in Jane, something settling. She looks up at him and doesn't shimmy her gaze away; then the corner of her mouth starts to rise, form a ghost of a smile.

"You already know me, Weller," she breathes, her eyes shining with emotion.

It's as if someone exploded a bomb inside his chest. The burst of feeling is so intense that Kurt just stares at her and forgets to exhale until his brain starts to become oxygen deprived. Then, once he starts breathing again, he searches for some way to tell her how incredible she is despite the sheer impossibility of the task

Weller's still feeling the tingles when he realizes he has to say something, ends up deciding that the simple truth is best.

But first he tugs at her left hand, pulling it up until he's brushing a kiss against her thumb. Then he steps closer, traces her scars with a long lingering look.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I feel pretty damn lucky about it too."

Jane rolls her eyes and he can tell she's trying not to smile. Which makes his heart thrum; settles his soul.

"Shut up, Kurt," she sighs, unable to hide the affection in her voice.

Not a chance, he thinks. He'd do anything for her. Except stop loving her, trying to tell her so in every way.