Author's Note: Thank you all for continuing to read along. Some of you asked for more Kalina, so here she is. :) And I apologise in advance for not having Jane snuggle up to Kurt in bed. They'll get there, but it's waaaay too soon for that! I'm thinking of writing a different fic with fluff or smut to indulge my cravings for Jeller cuteness. That might distract me from this one, though!
Even asleep, Jane's features bore a slight trace of the pain she was in. He'd pushed her too hard, forgetting the mental toll that would accompany the physical wounds of her torture.
When they were younger, Sarah had once accused him of being petty and bearing grudges way past the time he should be letting something go. As it turned out, she'd been wrong about their father. Still, he wondered what she'd think of what Jane had done.
After debating with himself for a few moments, Weller called up his phone's camera and took a picture of Jane's sleeping face. She'd be pissed if she ever found out, but he wanted a record of tonight. Her black eye and the purplish-blue stain across her cheekbone would be a reminder to him of what she'd looked like so soon after escaping the black site. He needed to remember what she'd been through so he could keep his own feelings of betrayal in context.
In addition to that, having photographic evidence of one of the injuries Keaton had inflicted on her wouldn't hurt. Just in case he ever got the chance to make the bastard pay.
For a while, he added to his notes, fleshing out what he'd already written down with details he hadn't had time to add while listening to Jane. In the middle of writing Mayfair's name, it finally sank in that she was dead.
I should have investigated harder while she was in jail. I should have been more vigilant. I should have told Pellington to screw his job offer and gone to help Mayfair investigate. Maybe then, when that son of a bitch was about to shoot her in the back, I could have taken him out first.
The self-recriminations were a pattern his old therapist had pointed out to him over and over again. Why is it that you think everything is your responsibility, Kurt? You have to let other people take care of themselves. But that was so much easier said than done. One person could change the circumstances of so many other people's lives, and if he sat back and did nothing for the people he cared about, who knew what could happen?
Mayfair's own choices had led to her downfall as much as any actions of his or Jane's, though. It seemed disloyal to think critically of her now that she'd been murdered, but if she could read his thoughts, she'd laugh sadly and agree. More than anything, Kurt wanted to ask her what her take on Jane's betrayal was. Any case that regularly kept him awake at night, he'd eventually discuss with her over takeout and beers. She'd always see an angle he hadn't considered, or balance his tendency to overthink with her trademark pragmatism.
He would miss her for the rest of his life.
Before he could get too choked up, he heard a scuffle outside the motel door. Immediately, Kurt crossed the room to the gun Jane had set down on the nightstand, then moved over to the door as he checked the safety on the weapon.
The peephole in the motel door showed him a very different scene than he'd expected. Instead of several CIA agents poised to strike, Kurt saw a blonde woman gnawing on a fingernail and trying to listen through the door.
With a backward glance to make sure Jane was still sleeping, he tucked the gun into his waistband, then opened the door. The woman stumbled back in shock, one arm automatically rising to shield her face, as though she feared he might hit her.
"I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to check she was safe—"
Kurt recognised the Slavic-accented voice as the one from the phone call earlier. "It's okay, Kalina. She's sleeping."
Kalina exhaled her relief. "Good. She needs to rest."
Kurt stepped outside and closed the door most of the way, hoping Jane wouldn't wake up at the sound of voices. "Thanks for calling me. I should be able to keep her safe now."
"Do you think she'll want to talk to me in the morning? Is she angry with me?"
"I'll tell her you were checking on her when she wakes up. I want to get her to the hospital in the morning, too."
Kalina took a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. "It might be safer if she calls me instead of comes looking for me. My husband will be on the desk in the morning, and if he thinks I was bothering the customers, he…will have something to say about it."
Reading between the lines, Weller took the phone number she offered. "Do you need help?"
She shook her head with a melancholy smile. "I need to get back to the check-in desk. I'll call the room if I see…anyone suspicious. Thank you for looking after her."
Before he could say anything else, she walked away.
Making a mental note to check into the husband when he got back to work, Weller retreated inside the motel room. Jane was still asleep, showing no signs of stirring. He engaged the security chain, then took one final look through the curtain into the parking lot. Keaton either couldn't find them or was keeping his distance.
He sent Patterson, Reade and Zapata a group message, letting them know he'd found Jane and would update them the next day. Then he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, undecided.
Jane had invited him to take the other side of the bed, but he wasn't sure he dared to sleep at all. If the CIA did show up, being awake and alert would improve his chances of thwarting any attempt to take Jane back into custody. On the other hand, if he didn't get some sleep, it would be harder to focus tomorrow.
As a compromise, he kicked off his shoes, placed his gun within easy reach and lay down on top of the bedcovers. Jane didn't move at all as he made himself comfortable, and he glanced over to check her breathing, unable to relax until he saw the subtle rise and fall of the blankets over her chest.
Turning off the lights seemed too much like broadcasting to any outside observers that he'd let down his guard. He lay in the dim glow of one bedside lamp, wondering how things had gotten so screwed up.
Three months ago, sharing a bed with Jane was all I wanted to do. Be careful what you wish for, I guess.
He'd been so full of hope for what they could be together. Taylor and Kurt, reunited after twenty-five years with more in common than they'd ever had as children. He'd trained at military school before Quantico; she'd been a Navy SEAL. The way she was able to understand his silent hand signals and work in tandem with him to bring down a target always sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Though she didn't have any anecdotes to contribute to their conversations, she listened so attentively to his memories and past experiences, and was never shy to challenge him when she disagreed with his orders or opinions.
Now things couldn't be more different. Although there was only a layer of blankets between them, there might as well have been a concrete wall. She'd never been Taylor, only cruelly preyed on his weakness to infiltrate his inner circle and bring down his mentor.
He wished he knew her real name. The woman who'd planned this—before she'd wiped her own memory and become Jane—was conniving, ruthless and completely cold-hearted. No one with an ounce of empathy could have plotted this out in as much detail as she had, and actually gone through with it. Referring to her as Jane only confused him. Jane was warm, compassionate, protective of the people she cared about at all costs.
Even if that meant breaking the law and taking stupid risks with her own safety.
Could he even trust his own perception of who Jane was? She'd fooled him once, and he'd fooled himself right along with her. Everything he thought he knew, he should second-guess. If she still had an agenda, she wouldn't get the chance to mislead him again.
Kurt dozed for a while, too on edge to fall completely asleep, yet too fatigued to remain awake. After a while, a murmuring voice pulled him back to awareness.
For a moment, he couldn't place where he was or who he was with, but one look at his bed partner brought it all rushing back. Jane. I found her.
"…n't know."
She was shifting in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. He'd lay odds that it wasn't a pleasant experience.
The next thing she said was incoherent. Kurt turned over on his side to watch her, wondering if he should try to wake her.
She kicked away the bedcovers, her face filling with horror. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she still seemed to be asleep.
"Please, don't. Didn't know. I didn't know!"
Unable to lie there and watch her suffer, Kurt sat up and put his hand on her shoulder. "Jane. Wake up."
She whimpered, an almost animal sound, and twisted out of his grip. More mumbled, incoherent words spilled from her lips.
"Jane." Kurt shook her arm gently, trying not to aggravate any injuries.
Her right hook to his face caught him completely off guard, and if she'd been at full strength, the instinctive strike might have done serious damage. As it was, he recoiled from the blow as she cried out in agony, virtually screaming herself awake and hunching over her injured arm.
"Get the hell off me!"
Shaking himself out of his pained daze, Kurt tried to regroup. "Jane, it's me."
"Kurt?" Her voice was almost a whisper. He couldn't tell if she was relieved or distressed to find him there.
"You were having a nightmare. It's okay."
Her frenzied breathing caught. "My arm—"
"I tried to wake you and you hit me. Probably wrenched something in your shoulder." He tried to keep his voice calm through his concern. "Want me to take a look?"
Though he hadn't reached out to her, she flinched as if he had. "I'm sorry… I need to…"
She stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. The lock clicked, and after a moment of silence he heard muffled sobs.
What do I do? Do I try to get through to her? She needs to get that arm checked out, but she's in no state to go anywhere. Damn it, I shouldn't have tried to wake her. Of course she's traumatised after so many months of torture.
To give himself something to do, Kurt dragged the bedcovers back onto the mattress and straightened the place up. The simple tasks calmed him down and firmed his resolve. No matter what his feelings were about what Jane had done, he had to do everything he could to help her. Her current condition was because of him.
He went over to the bathroom door and put a hand to the painted wood, listening helplessly as she cried.