Author's Note: Many thanks for the lovely comments! ^_^

"Local law enforcement just found the truck Jane stole. She ditched it at a busy intersection near a train station. She could be anywhere in the Northwest by now, and heading anywhere in the country." Patterson sighed. "I guess that's a good thing. We might not know where she is, but neither do the CIA."

Weller toed off his shoes and sank down on his hotel bed. "Thanks for keeping me updated, Patterson. I don't blame her for running. That black site was horrific."

"Poor Jane," Patterson murmured. "Whatever she did or didn't do, she never deserved to be tortured. I'm just glad she got out."

"Me too." He hesitated. "I don't think she's gonna get in touch with any of us. Keaton… He told her I handed her over to the CIA."

"What?! Don't worry, Weller. Jane has to know that you would never—"

"I arrested her. I put cuffs on her, pushed her into the backseat of my car, marched her into holding and left her there." Guilt was still eating him alive, the images of the basement and its grisly array of torture devices refusing to leave him. "I really doubt she'll reach out. Especially since she didn't even know we were looking for her."

After a pause, Patterson asked, "What will you do now?"

"I want to stay in the area another day, just in case I'm wrong and she does call, or if she collapses and gets taken to the hospital or something. After that, I'll fly home and we can keep monitoring the situation."

Jane's arm was worse when she woke up from her uneasy doze, and her entire body was protesting the hours of walking on top of the months of torture she'd had to endure. The persistent waves of pain made her sick to her stomach. As much as she wanted to get out of Oregon, her common sense overruled her. She needed bedrest, in an actual bed.

Carefully, she gathered her stolen possessions, recounted her money, then set off at a slower pace than she'd managed yesterday. Without a phone or map to help her, it took three hours of walking and guesswork to find a motel. Sure, she could have boosted a car, but the CIA would be carefully monitoring any stolen vehicles in the area, and she wanted them to remain as clueless as possible.

The motel was not quite a dump, but it had seen better days and all the fixtures and fittings were at least as old as she was. The sullen man behind the desk grunted when she handed over enough cash for a night's stay, and pushed a key across to her. She signed the register as Helen Overton and prayed the CIA wouldn't be checking motel register names against drivers' license photos at the DMV.

When she entered the room, the sight of the bed made her burst into tears. For about fifteen minutes, she just lay there, luxuriating in the softness of the mattress and the smell of the clean pillowcase beneath her head, with her eyes closed. Then her gaze began to wander around the room, and she gave a soft gasp.

I can have a bath! A real, honest to God bath!

Her excitement was short-lived, however. She ran the hot water with no trouble, adding the complimentary bubble bath and smiling at the lavender fragrance, though she'd never particularly cared for lavender before today. When it came to undressing, though, her inflamed shoulder would not obey her. The snug shirt she'd wiggled into with some difficulty yesterday was now impossible to get out of. Every time she tried, the pain got so bad she had to bite back a cry.

A knock on the door made her forget everything else. On high alert, she crossed to the peephole, braced to see her torturers waiting outside, but found only a tall, blonde woman she didn't recognise. Frowning, she opened the door a crack.

"Yes?"

The young woman gasped at the sight of her black eye and bruised cheekbone, then shook her head. When she spoke, her voice had a thick Slavic accent. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to bother you, but my husband owns this motel. My name is Kalina. I saw you when you were checking in, and I thought you might appreciate this."

She held up a half-full tube in Jane's line of sight. Carefully, Jane took it and read the label—it was arnica cream, for the treatment of bruises.

Remembering the unfriendly demeanour of the man behind the reception desk, and seeing the loneliness and sympathy on his wife's face, she began to build a picture of the situation and gave the woman a small smile. "Thank you. Would you like to come in for a moment?"

"I do not want to impose…" the woman demurred, but Jane opened the door wider and ushered her in.

"Are you Russian?" Jane asked, in what she hoped was the woman's native tongue.

Kalina's face lit up as she replied in the same language. "You speak my language? That makes me so happy. I don't get much chance to use it these days. My husband…" She shifted uncomfortably. "He does not speak Russian, and he doesn't like it when I do either."

Jane gestured for her to sit down on the bed, and asked, "How did you and your husband meet, Kalina?"

The blonde squirmed a little with embarrassment. "I was a mail order bride."

Jane held up the tube. "And he has a temper?"

Kalina nodded, her eyes on her hands, which were twisting in her lap. "I'm sorry I am here bothering you, but it was obvious you're in some kind of similar situation, and I just wanted to talk to someone who would understand. Please don't mention it to my husband."

"I won't put you in a bad situation," Jane promised. "How long until you have a green card and you can divorce him?"

"I want to wait three years to be safe." Kalina's eyes teared up. "I didn't believe my parents when they said only desperate men bought mail order brides. Men who could never get a wife any other way. They were right when it came to my husband, though. No woman would put up with him if there wasn't money involved."

"You could just go back to Russia?" Jane suggested gently.

Kalina shook her head and straightened her back. "I like it here. I hope one day I can meet a decent man and marry for love. I just want to get through this and start a real life."

"Okay." Jane took her hand and squeezed it. "You know your own situation best."

"But tell me about you," Kalina said, squeezing back. "You are the one in trouble at the moment. Who did this to you? A husband? Boyfriend?"

Jane didn't want to lie to her, but telling the truth was out of the question. She settled for half-truths. "A man named Jake. He beat me every day for three months because he wanted information, and I wouldn't tell him. Yesterday was the first chance I had to get away, so I took it."

Kalina's eyes were wide as she re-evaluated the injuries she could see. "Is anything broken? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"He'll check all the hospitals." Jane shrugged, then winced at the pain in her shoulder. "I'll manage."

An idea occurred to her. "Actually, if you don't mind, I could use your help getting this shirt off. I think my rotator cuff is torn or something. It hurts like hell, and I just can't get out of this on my own."

"Of course." Tentatively, she reached for Jane.

"Don't stop if I yell. It will hurt, but I need to get it over with." Bracing herself, Jane gritted her teeth.

"We could just use scissors? Cut it off?"

"I only have the one other shirt, and not much money. I don't want to waste it if I can help it. It's okay, just…"

After a few agonising moments and some pulling and twisting, the shirt came off in Kalina's hands. While Jane got her breath back, cradling her shoulder with her good hand and blinking back the spots from her vision, her new friend gave a soft cry. "Oh!"

It was hard to tell if she was commenting on the tattoos covering every inch of Jane's exposed skin, or the bruises discolouring the inked flesh. Large sections of her torso and abdomen were in different stages of bruising, from deeper purple to sickly yellow.

"I have never seen anything like this," she murmured. "I will come back after your bath, okay? And help you put the ointment on the places you can't reach."

"Are you sure? Your husband won't get mad?"

"He is watching sports at his desk. Nothing else matters to him right now." Kalina made a shooing motion towards the bathroom. "I'll knock again in an hour, okay? Do you need me to pick anything up for you?"

"A toothbrush and toothpaste would be amazing, if you know where you can get them without going too far?" It had been so long since she'd been able to clean her teeth with anything but her fingernails.

"Sure."

Jane crossed to get money from her stolen tote bag. After having every inch of her body scanned by the FBI, and then hosed down by the CIA, she was used to people staring at her body, and she didn't bother to cover her breasts as she handed over the money with her one good hand. "Sorry about the nudity, by the way."

Kalina shrugged. "Meh. Nipples do not offend me. So, toothpaste and a toothbrush?"

Jane nodded. "Please don't mention me to anyone. My bruises or the tattoos. They make me easy to find."

Kalina left, with more promises to stay quiet and to return soon.

Alone once more, Jane clumsily stripped out of the rest of her stolen outfit, ran a little more hot water into the bath, then sank into the warmth and bubbles. It was a moment she'd remember fondly for the rest of her life: the sheer comfort of the heated water helping her tense muscles to unbunch and relax. It was difficult to shampoo her hair without raising both of her arms over her head, but she managed through sheer determination and the need to cleanse herself of the past few months' horrors.

She lay in the tub until the water began to get cold, and almost gave in to the temptation to run more hot water. Knowing Kalina would be back soon, she made herself get out and dry off. When the timid knock came, Jane had already applied ointment to everywhere she could reach, put on pants, and wrapped a towel around her torso.

Kalina came back in with a smile. "You look like you feel better."

"That was the best bath I've ever had," Jane agreed, taking the grocery store bag Kalina offered. She pulled out not only the toothpaste and brush, but also a comb, a small can of deodorant and a bottle of painkillers. "Thank you so much for these. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Shall we get the ointment done?"

Jane nodded. "I can manage everywhere but my good arm and my back."

She sat facing away from Kalina and removed the towel.

"Kurt Weller, FBI," Kalina read, her fingers cool with ointment as she touched the tattooed words. She began to rub in the arnica as she continued, "He must be very special to you, for you to get his name tattooed on you in letters this big."

Jane bowed her head, swept away on a wave of emotion at the unexpected sound of Weller's name. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Your boyfriend?" Kalina asked.

What else could Jane say? I had all these tattoos put on me just before I agreed to let someone wipe my memory, so I could be dumped in Times Square in a bag with a tag that said 'Call the FBI', and Weller would definitely be assigned to find out who did this to me. And even now, after what Oscar got me to do and the way it affected Mayfair, I still don't know why I sent myself to Kurt. Kalina would think she was crazy.

"Yeah, we were together for a while. But I screwed it up by lying to him a few months ago. We don't talk anymore."

"I'm sorry." Kalina carefully applied ointment farther down her back. "Is he a violent man?"

Jane couldn't help but smile. Despite the violence that came inherent to his role with the FBI, Weller had never shown any abusive tendencies towards his sister, his nephew, or even his father, whom he'd always suspected of killing Taylor Shaw. He had always been physically gentle towards Jane, even when angry with her. Even when he'd had her in cuffs, his touch had been abrupt, rough, but never painful.

"No. He's nothing like the man who did this to me. Violence doesn't make him feel powerful. He's one of the good ones." And why do I still believe that, even though I know he asked the CIA to take me?

"Could you go to him for help? You might not be together anymore, but if he is as decent as you say, maybe he can protect you from the man who's after you."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jane shook her head. "I betrayed him, Kalina. I didn't mean to, but I screwed everything up, and now he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Do you know that for sure? Or are you just guessing?" Kalina finished up on her back and began to treat her left arm.

"It's a guess," Jane admitted, wishing she could stop the tears that tingled her nose and stung her eyelids. "But if I reach out to him and I'm wrong, it will hurt worse than trying to do it on my own."

"Okay." Kalina went into the bathroom and brought out some tissue paper. "Here."

Gratefully, Jane blew her nose and wiped her eyes. "Thanks again for the help. I don't know how to repay you."

Smiling, Kalina shook her head. "Maybe I can work with people like us once I leave my husband. This was good practice."

"I think you'd make a great social worker." Jane picked up her other shirt, which was mercifully looser than the one she'd been wearing earlier that day. She threaded her bad arm through its sleeve before wriggling her head and other arm into the garment. "I feel so much better already."

"I saw that you're staying only for one night," Kalina said. "Do you think you could stay another? I don't think that arm will be much better tomorrow. You might need my help again."

"Maybe. I'll see how I'm doing and let you know." And whether Jake is any closer to finding me.

Weller had just finished calling the local hospitals—checking whether a heavily tattooed, injured woman had been brought in—when his cell phone began to ring.

"Patterson, what's up?"

"Thank god I finally reached you! Your phone was busy for the longest time—who were you calling?" Patterson's voice was exasperated.

"I was checking the hospitals for Jane. What do you need?"

"I think I found her! Or this is some kind of weird trap, but either way… A woman called the main NYO switchboard asking for an FBI agent named Kurt Weller. She says it's a personal matter, about your girlfriend, and she'll only talk to you."

Weller grabbed a notebook and pen from the hotel desk. "What's her number?"

Patterson gave it. "It's an Oregon number, which is why I think it's related to Jane. You don't have a girlfriend at the moment, right?"

"Right," Weller said distractedly, already trying to figure out how someone could have seen a tattoo Jane would certainly be trying to keep covered.

"Let us know what she wanted! Reade and Zapata are curious too."

"Will do."