Author's Note: Finally! I got them into the same room! Sorry if it's a bit of an anticlimax compared to the show. Jane doesn't have enough fight in her right now for a big struggle.

"This is Kurt Weller. I hear you wanted to speak with me."

There was an indrawn breath on the other end of the line. "Perhaps. You need to answer my questions first." The woman sounded Russian or Eastern European.

"If this is what I think it is, I'm happy to do that, ma'am." Weller stood up and walked over to the window, trying to contain his nervous energy. If this woman knew where Jane was, he'd jump through a million hoops to get to her.

"First, can you tell me where you work?"

"I'm an FBI agent. May I ask your name?" It would be something to go on in case she changed her mind.

"It's Kalina."

He could have pressed her for more details, but figured there were few enough people named Kalina in Oregon that they should be able to track her down if necessary. "What else do you need, Kalina?"

"Has anyone ever tattooed your name on their body?" she asked.

"Yes." Hoping to hurry her along, he answered as briefly as he could.

"Where on their body, and what does it look like?"

He'd stared at the pictures of that damn tattoo for hours of his life. Describing it was no trouble. "Between her shoulder blades. All capital letters. 'Kurt' at the top in block letters, then 'Weller' in negative space—white letters on a black background—underneath. 'FBI' under that, in the same style as 'Kurt'."

"I have seen that tattoo recently," Kalina said. "The woman it belonged to didn't want me to call you. She said you were no longer speaking. I'm hoping I am doing the right thing by calling anyway. The way she spoke about you made me think you might help her."

"I know she's been in trouble recently. I haven't been able to find her but I know she's been tortured."

"How do you know that if you haven't been speaking to her? Are you with the one she called Jake?" Instantly, the woman's voice turned chilly.

It took a moment for Weller to realise she meant Keaton. For Jane to refer to him by his given name, he must not have told her his surname.

"I'm not with him. I'm with the FBI and I've been investigating him, trying to track our mutual friend down. This is all tied in to criminal activity." He wasn't sure what name Jane would have given when she'd met Kalina, so he kept intentionally vague. "If Jake finds her first, I won't be able to get to her. She and I have argued recently, but I want to keep her safe from Jake and his people. You have my word."

Kalina laughed sadly. "I very much hope I'm not about to make a horrible mistake."

"I want to see her, or talk to her. Is she with you? Please."

The other end of the line was quiet for a long moment. Kurt counted his heartbeats, waiting, holding his breath.

When she spoke again, it was to name a motel on the other side of town, and to give a room number. She hung up without saying goodbye.

Kurt had never moved so fast in his life.

Something had been bugging Jane ever since Kalina had left. She didn't doubt the woman's good intentions, but letting her see the tattoos, and discussing Weller, now felt like a mistake. Being shown kindness after three months of nothing but cruelty had made her lower her guard.

Now she was clean and her wounds taken care of, Jane had made herself get into bed for some much needed comfort and rest. That was the whole reason she'd gone against her instincts and rented a motel room in the first place. She was restless, however, only falling asleep for a few minutes at a time before jolting awake again.

I should have bought a gun. Saving money is a good plan, but not if I get captured before I can spend it.

She was in no shape to resist if her torturers came calling. Okay, she might get in a few kicks or punches, but her reflexes were dulled by pain and she had no mace to increase the force of her attacks. She wished she'd brought it with her from the black site.

The motel room didn't really have much she could use to defend herself. After a few minutes of thought, she positioned the chair nearer to the door, and fashioned some makeshift restraints from the handles of her cloth tote bag. She didn't want to start ripping up bedding or pulling down the shower curtain—for one thing, her injured arm couldn't take that stress, and for another, any real damage to the room might make the owner take out his wrath on Kalina.

After a few more minutes of indecision, she put on her shoes and sunhat, then grabbed some of her spare change. There was a vending machine near one of the exits, and she could use some food.

She bought a pre-packaged sandwich and some candy from the machine, then turned to go back, and froze. A lone figure was approaching her door, too shadowy for her to make out specific features, but too muscular to be Kalina. The stealthy caution in his body language made it clear he was trying not to be noticed, and Jane's heart jumped. Weller.

Not Weller. That would be ridiculous. He'd washed his hands of her. No, this was someone else with law enforcement training, and that was why her mind was making associations.

She put down her purchases on top of the vending machine and crouched in its shadow, watching. The light beside her motel door wasn't working, keeping the guy in shadow, but he appeared to be…knocking? Why would he knock?

After a few moments, he gave up on getting anyone to open the door and took something out of his pocket, crouching. He's picking the lock. I should just take off now, before he calls for reinforcements.

But most of her money was still inside the room. Her journey east would be much easier if she could stop for gas instead of having to boost a whole new car every time her tank ran empty. Plus, she still had the element of surprise here.

She swept her gaze over as much of the area as she could. No sign of other operatives.

Take him down. Buy yourself time. Find out why he's alone and who knows you're here. The voice in her head was calmer than she felt, almost as though another person was giving her advice. Her old self, maybe, from before her memory had been wiped.

She crept over, making absolutely no noise, and reached the intruder just as he straightened and pushed the door to her room open. She recognised him now—his scent, his posture, both undeniably Weller—but there was no time for her to react to that because he was moving his hand to the holster at his hip.

Jane pulled his weapon before he could and struck him on the back of the head with the barrel, then shoved him inside the room and down into the waiting chair. By the time he'd recovered enough from the blow to start struggling, she had both of his wrists tied by strips of cloth to the arms of the chair, and was aiming his handgun at his chest.

"This isn't necessary," he said, giving one more token test of his restraints before going still.

Jane closed the door to the room with her foot, not taking her eyes off him for a second. "Yeah, well, you'll forgive me if I don't want to give you the opportunity to arrest me again. Now, where is your backup and how long before they come looking for you?"

"I'm not working with the CIA, Jane. I'm here alone. My team is still in New York." He was assessing her the way any FBI agent would be sizing up the situation if they were being held hostage by an armed suspect, but he was also taking stock of her injuries in a way that made her feel exposed. Naked, almost. And not in a fun way.

"Why?" she asked, throwing her sun hat in the corner, then giving in to the demands of her bruised body by sitting down on the bed.

"Because I don't want the CIA getting hold of you again." He shifted in the chair, shaking his head slightly. His headache was probably going to get worse before it got better.

A tiny spark of hope lit within Jane's mind. Maybe things between them were not as broken as she'd thought they were. But that spark flickered out just as quickly.

"Torture didn't work on me, so they've sent you in to see if I'll give answers to a friendly face. I'm not stupid, Weller. I don't even know why the torture was necessary. I was willing to talk to you. I begged you to listen, and you left me in holding and called in the CIA anyway."

"Keaton said that's what he'd told you."

Her mind was racing, trying to anticipate any tricks or bluffs he might come up with. She couldn't understand what he meant. "What?"

"I didn't give you to the CIA, Jane. They took you from us."

She shook her head. "No, they didn't. The agent in charge of my interrogation told me you called them."

Weller gazed at her, his intense focus somehow calming her. "He was trying to break you by making you believe I'd given you up. Do you really think I wouldn't want to hear what you had to say for myself?"

Jane opened her mouth, but had nothing to say in response. She'd been so caught up in her own assumptions during her time in the black site, with no outside opinions to challenge her. Now that he'd pointed it out, it seemed so obvious.

"This is personal for me. I need to know why your name is on my back. I need to find Mayfair. I need to know why you lied about having memories of being Taylor Shaw."

"That night, I would have told you everything I know. I wanted to."

"I know, Jane."

"Then why did you arrest me?" she demanded, so much pain and betrayal laced through her words that she wished she could take them back. It was too much. She didn't want him to know how much he'd hurt her with that one action.

There were tears in his eyes. That was the one thing she noticed before her own vision blurred.

"Because I was hurting, and drunk, and I'd made so many bad calls. With you. With my father. I knew you were keeping things from me, and I needed someone to blame, and I overreacted. And I am truly sorry, Jane."

She was crying now, the gun resting uselessly in her lap. She wouldn't be able to see straight to shoot him if he got free. Part of her didn't care.

"We have issues we need to sort through, but no matter what you tell me, I will not let the CIA take you back. The only reason you were there so long is because we couldn't find you."

Jane wiped away her tears, tried to pull herself together. This seemed too good to be true. He had to be playing her in some way she couldn't yet see. "I'm not untying you. Not yet."

He shrugged. "I'll survive. But I want to hear what you wanted to say the night I arrested you. All of it."