Author's Note: Okay, a team argument! This has been coming for a while, with some dirty laundry to be aired on all sides. This is about as far as I'm going to dip into team angst about Mayfair and Jane, I think, and the rest will be Jeller. I have more thoughts to share, but I'll stick them at the end of the chapter. :)

Being out in the field made Jane feel almost human again. It had been so long since she'd worked a regular tattoo case with the team. The architecture tattoo on her lower abdomen, which Shepherd had given her a hint to unlock, led them to a case involving stolen DEA weapons.

Zapata's open hostility made it difficult to enjoy the work, though. When Jane had called her on it during the case, Reade had sided with his partner, despite the fact that Jane had saved his life that morning. Weller had shut the whole thing down, making it clear that she was a part of the team until Sandstorm were neutralised, but Jane had a feeling there was more to come if she didn't make herself very clear.

After Weller and Nas dismissed the team, she headed straight after Zapata, catching up to her in the locker room. "Zapata."

"Come to gloat that Weller's taking your side?" Zapata asked, not bothering to look at her.

"No, actually. I came to ask why the hell this is so personal for you. Everyone else is dealing with it. They're not happy, but they're dealing. You attack me every chance you get, when I'm putting my life on line trying to stop my own family. What is your problem that you can't just put your issues aside?"

Zapata slammed her locker and turned to face Jane, rage in her eyes. "You had Weller wrapped around your little finger from the day you walked in here, and even after everything, you still do. He doesn't see straight when it comes to you. I don't know what honeytrap bullshit you're here to pull on him, but at least one of us should be looking out for him."

The word 'honeytrap' made Jane want to squirm. It was uncomfortably close to Remi's original plan for Weller, as far as she could discern from what Oscar had asked her to do. Sleep with him and keep him thinking with the little head, while she called the shots. But that was so far from over, it wasn't even funny.

"Weller is keeping an open mind and a level head, not letting his temper get in the way of doing his job. Do you think I haven't paid for the things I've done since my memory was wiped? Is that it?"

"Mayfair was family, and you helped your terrorist boyfriend destroy her life, and then you watched her bleed out after he shot her. I want justice done for that, that's all!"

"I have paid and paid and paid for that already!" Something came loose inside Jane, her self-control slipping and her emotions shredding her voice. "I know you've been tortured before, because I was hung up there with you when they used that cattle prod on us in Turkey. But that was a mosquito bite compared to what they did to me. Every. Damn. Day. For three months!"

Zapata tried to respond, but Jane slammed the open locker next to hers, unable to control herself any longer. "You have no idea what I have been through!"

"And you have no idea what you put us through! When someone you love goes missing, something inside of you breaks, and it doesn't get fixed until that person is home. But Mayfair isn't coming home, is she? She didn't even get a decent burial, and we can't go get her because if we do, your family will know you told us where she is!"

"Oh, for god's sake, you guys! Enough!" Patterson yelled, pushing between them to force them both to back up a step. "We get it! Jane should feel bad—and she does. Tasha, what is your deal? Mayfair wasn't any closer to you than she was to any of us, and we're dealing with it."

"If you guys were gonna fight, you could at least have made it a bar brawl. At least then there'd be alcohol for the people who have to stand by and watch." Reade headed straight for his locker, shaking his head.

Before Zapata could retort, Weller's voice cut in, low and dangerous. "We are getting this sorted right now. We all have issues around Mayfair's death. She was important to all of us. And we all have our reasons for feeling guilty that she's dead."

"I don't—" Zapata started, but Weller silenced her with a look.

"Mayfair left me her personnel notes, Tasha. You're overcompensating because Matthew Weitz used you to get dirt on her."

"You what?" Patterson stared at her friend, eyes wide.

Zapata looked down at her feet, all her bravado gone.

"Reade. You backed off investigating Carter's death and let Mayfair continue alone. I'm not blaming you, but I know that's gotta be bugging you."

Reade folded his arms across his chest, scowling, but nodded.

"Before Weller says it… I feel bad that I didn't tell Jane about the isotope test on her tooth," Patterson said.

"How does that make you feel guilty about Mayfair?" Reade asked.

Jane had regained enough control over herself that her words were calm, though serious. "If I'd known I wasn't Taylor Shaw back when Oscar first approached me, I would have known he was trying to play me from an early stage. And maybe Mayfair would still be alive."

Patterson nodded. "Pretty much that."

"And that goes for me, too. I was the one who decided not to give Jane the results of that test. I should have investigated harder when Weitz first arrested Mayfair. And I was the one whose past gave Jane a way to infiltrate the FBI. That's where my own guilt comes from." Weller stared at each of them in turn as he spoke. "And we all know why Jane feels bad."

Grateful that he hadn't decided to list all of her misdeeds again, Jane nodded.

"Now that that's all out in the open, I want you all to put this where it belongs. In the past. We all miss Mayfair. We always will. And we will all feel guilty in our own way, whether that guilt is misplaced or not. But this is serious. Sandstorm is planning a complete reset, and we don't know what that means yet. Jane is our best shot at finding out, and she's putting herself at considerable risk. I'm not saying you have to like her or completely trust her. You just have to work together without bickering like goddamn children. You have concerns about Jane's loyalty to the FBI? You bring it to me or Nas and we'll assess how valid it is. Anything else? You put it aside and get on with your jobs."

There was silence in the locker room as they all processed his words. It was difficult not to take offense at Weller's insinuation that her loyalty might be in question after she'd been totally honest with them, but Jane breathed deeply to manage her wounded pride. They have reasons not to trust you. Deal with it.

"If I have to break up another unprofessional argument between members of this team in the next six months, I'm going to start reassigning people. I hope I've made myself clear."

Weller turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the four of them to suffer the deeply uncomfortable aftermath of his reprimand.

Jane went back to her locker, grabbed her jacket and made her escape as quickly as possible. None of the others said a word as she left.

Would anything actually change? Even a small drop in Zapata's hostility would be welcome. Jane wasn't naïve enough to think any of them would forgive her anytime soon, but a civil working atmosphere would be nice.

She looked for Weller on her way out of the building, wondering if she should thank him for stepping in, but he was nowhere in sight.

I'm done with you. We're through.

It had taken Weller a good two hours of drinking alone to get to the point where having the box of his father's possessions in the apartment was worse than the idea of picking it up and throwing it out. Already pissed off with his team, he'd looked through the pictures Jane had given him of his childhood, tearing up the ones with Bill Weller in them and cultivating his anger at Taylor's unjust demise.

None of it would have happened if it weren't for his father. Taylor wouldn't be dead. His mother wouldn't have left. Sarah wouldn't be dealing with the hurt of his betrayal twenty-five years after it had happened. And Remi would never have wiped her memory and had her brother drop her off in Times Square in a bag, Weller's name on her back, a honeytrap to ensnare him, and to bring her close enough to Mayfair to strike.

If Bill Weller hadn't killed Taylor Shaw, Mayfair would still be alive. His father was responsible for the deaths of two of the most important people in Kurt's life. One directly, the other indirectly.

He picked up the box, staring at the smiling face of his father in the framed photo on top of it. It shouldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, but it seemed far heavier, as if it contained the sum of his pain, guilt and fears about his relationship with his father, as well as just a few possessions.

And it seemed as though he'd been carrying it around for twenty-five years.

No more.

He threw open the door of his apartment, travelled the short distance down the hallway, placed the box on the edge of the garbage chute…and paused for just a second.

Bill smiled up at him from behind the glass of the frame.

Fuck you, Dad.

He shoved the box, and it toppled out of his reach.

Author's Note: Okay, everyone, how am I doing? I'm at kind of a crossroads when it comes to this fic, and I'm not a hundred percent sure where I'm going. Is Allie pregnant or not pregnant? How long is Jane going to stay pissed at Weller (which kind of ties in to the question about Allie)? What does she plan to have tattooed on her back instead of Weller's name? And how long until I can make Jeller have sex? :D Don't worry, I also haven't forgotten about Rich Dotcom.

All I do know is that I'm not taking this fic all the way through season two. Probably not even to the point where Roman gets ZIPped. We're at chapter thirty already, and I think it's time to start working gradually towards some kind of resolution, but as I'm still not sure quite how I'll be tapering off, I'm happy to hear thoughts and suggestions (no guarantees that what you say is what I'll be writing, but then again, maybe it will!).

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me, guys!