Author's Note: This is the last chapter before I start skipping chunks of action because we've already seen it in the show, and I'm following canon. I'll be filling in the little moments around it all, though. :)

Jane's tears were soaking through his shirt.

Kurt swallowed, trying to clear the lump in his throat, as he stroked her hair. He'd gone out to clear Nas with the protective detail, then come back to find Jane in a full-on meltdown on the living room floor. She'd been slowly unravelling ever since they'd walked in, and he didn't have a clue what was going on in her head, or how to fix it.

He shouldn't even want to fix it. He should be freezing her out, leaving her to cry on her own, because Mayfair was dead. Jane had been sent to his team with the express purpose of destroying her life.

And yet Kurt now held a confirmed terrorist in his arms, let her weep against his chest, wanted to cry with her for everything she'd been through.

He realised his thumb was stroking a soothing path up and down the side of her neck; a lover's touch, not a friend's. And they weren't even supposed to be friends. He drew his hand away, intending to rest it further down, below the nape of her neck where her clothing started. She took the movement for him pulling away entirely, and sat back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, getting to her feet.

He rose too, lost for words. "Jane. What brought this on?" he asked after a second.

She turned and began to fumble with one of the drawing pins that kept her tattoo sketches and research in place. She pulled an envelope out from beneath one of the sketches and handed it to him, her eyes downcast.

"You should have this. Pretty sure it was stolen from your dad's place at some point anyway."

He opened the envelope to find the pictures she'd told him Oscar had given her. Pictures of him fishing with Taylor and his father. Of them playing in their backyard fort together. Carefree. Laughing.

Anger rising in his chest, he tucked the pictures into his jacket pocket. He couldn't acknowledge the gesture or thank her. She shouldn't have had these in the first place.

Had it been Alice who crept into his childhood home and stole his family photos? Oscar? Or someone else entirely?

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jane said miserably, and headed into her bedroom. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

So much for learning what was going on in her head. She'd purposely built that wall between them after her lapse of control; all it had taken was a reminder of her earlier betrayal to distract him from his question.

"See you tomorrow, Jane," he said softly, and headed for the door.

An hour before Jane was due to arrive at SIOC the next day, Weller gathered his team in his office. It was the first time he'd stepped into this room since he'd learned of Mayfair's death, and a surge of loss almost took his breath away for a moment as he approached his desk.

"Wow, Weller, you look exhausted," Patterson said sympathetically.

"Long week," he said.

"Long year." Reade sat down at the table on the other side of the office, Zapata just behind him. "What's the deal with Jane?"

Weller held up a hand. "You're gonna hear most of it from her. Yesterday, as I was dropping her off at the safehouse, the NSA paid us a visit. Long story short, we're gonna be putting Jane through an illegal MRI-based lie detector test today. It's a hundred percent accurate."

"What does the NSA want with Jane?"

"You'll find out. It's not good, and she has a long way to go before I'll trust her again, but before you hear anything from her, I need you to see this."

Weller called up a picture of Jane on his cell phone, the one he'd taken the night he'd found her.

Patterson took the phone and flinched. "Oh, Jane. This was done at the black site?"

"She said they tortured her in stages, waterboarded her while they waited for her body to heal so they could start again. She broke out when she judged her body was most able to handle it, when they'd been going easy on her for a few days. So this isn't even the worst of it."

Patterson passed the phone to Zapata, who swallowed hard and handed it over to Reade without comment.

"Damn. And this was done legally?" Reade asked, his brow furrowed.

"No. But because Jane has no identity, no nationality and no papers, she effectively has no rights. That's how they rationalised it."

Everyone was silent for a moment, contemplating that.

"I want you to remember this when you listen to her. The things she's done were a betrayal of our trust, and of Mayfair's trust. I don't expect you to just pretend it never happened. But as far as I'm concerned, she's paying for her role in Mayfair's death every day. I've seen her PTSD first-hand. Nightmares every night. Panic attacks. She's suffering, and she will continue to suffer for months, probably years to come."

Patterson made a tiny noise he took for agreement. Whether she'd feel the same after she'd heard Jane's statement, Weller wasn't sure.

"So you're saying don't be mad at her?" Zapata scowled at him. "Weller—"

"Be as mad at her as you want. I don't expect you to forgive her. But there's more to this than just Jane, a whole organisation. Keep that in mind."

A tap on the door made them all look around. Nas opened the door just enough to lean through. "The equipment's being set up as we speak. Are you ready for me yet?"

Weller gestured for her to come in. "This is Nas Kamal of the NSA. Now she'll explain her role in Mayfair's death."

Nas closed the door behind her and crossed to stand beside him, frowning. "Agent Weller, that's hardly fair—"

"You stood by for a year and watched while we put our lives on the line every day. The intel you had could have saved Mayfair's life, and her career."

His team were listening silently. Zapata's face held open dislike. Reade was impassive. Patterson's expression was confused and hurt.

"I'm sure we've all made mistakes we wish we'd had the benefit of hindsight for." Nas sat on the side of Weller's desk. "Would you like me to fill your team in about Sandstorm now?"

"Go ahead."

Jane felt naked in her shapeless medical gown as she was led into a room she'd never seen before. Unlike the standard interrogation rooms, this one was decorated in a dark green marble effect. The other rooms felt too clinical, but this one was almost ominous.

One wall was completely mirrored. She wondered how many people were standing on the other side, observing her.

The unsmiling technician strapped her into the device, hooked her up to various sensors, and she gritted her teeth as he injected what seemed like a gallon of radioactive fluid into her arm. Nas had made it clear the procedure was not optional, but because of Weller's reaction yesterday, Jane highly doubted it was legal.

Interesting, the corners federal agencies were able to cut when they uttered the phrase 'national security'.

Nas settled down in a chair opposite Jane, an electronic tablet of some kind in her hands. She nodded to the technician, who returned the gesture and left the room.

"Thank you for coming in, Jane. Are you ready to get started?"

"I have a request, if you don't mind." Jane glanced over at the mirror, wondering if Weller was in the observation room, or whether he'd opt to skip hearing the details of her betrayal a second time.

"Go on," Nas said.

"If possible, I'd like everyone involved in this to observe at the same time. I don't want to repeat this again. Director Pellington; Agents Zapata, Reade and Patterson; Dr. Borden—"

"Dr. Robert Borden doesn't have clearance to hear this, Jane. He's a civilian consultant, not an agent. But the others are all behind that mirror, as is Deputy Director Weller."

So I'll have to lie to my therapist about how I got PTSD? Jane was pretty sure Nas wouldn't appreciate her choosing that moment to ask the question. She'd have to ask Weller about it later.

She nodded. "Then I'm ready to start."