Author's Note: Thank you for the feedback, those who gave it! I decided to go with not making Allie pregnant. I love Allie, but I think maybe this isn't the fic for her. As for the Jeller sex... Wellll... :D

Three weeks into Jane's reinstatement at the NYO, disaster struck. After not showing up to work or calling in sick, she finally made an appearance well into the afternoon, looking pale and grim.

Weller crossed SIOC to meet her as she left the elevator, trying to keep his relief from showing and substituting anger in for it instead. "Jane, where've you been?" Noticing the way she stiffened, he softened his tone. "Are you okay?"

She looked past him to Nas, then up into his face. "We need to talk, in the annex. Now."

Weller beckoned to Nas, and together they headed away from SIOC and deeper into the NYO's back hallways. On the way, he filled Jane in on the bombings they'd been working, though she only seemed to be taking in a fraction of the information he gave her.

When they reached the secure area allocated to Zero Division and the door slid shut behind them, neither of them had to prompt Jane. She let loose with every detail about Shepherd's order for her to kill Jeffrey Kantor, about Roman's story about Remi snapping her pet rabbit's neck. She continued with her attempts to talk Kantor out of the panic room, to convince Roman to spare his life and give him another chance to help Sandstorm. When she got to the part where Roman told her the truth about the mission, Weller realised her anxiety was well-founded.

"It was a loyalty test, and I failed. I'm burnt."

Nas radiated frustration. "You should have taken that shot. Roman's right; this is a war. Sandstorm's stated goal is to burn this country down to the ground, and you might be our only hope at stopping them."

Jane wasn't too calm, either. "He was asking me to kill a completely innocent man!"

"One man!" Nas yelled back. "Whose life you valued over the thousands Sandstorm could eventually take out!"

"She's not a killer," Weller interjected.

"Yes, she is a killer! That's why they want her, and that's why we sent her there." Nas rounded on Jane. "You do whatever you have to do to maintain your cover."

As Patterson came in with details about the next bomb scheduled to go off somewhere in the city, Jane retreated, first mentally, then physically leaving the room. Weller watched her go, trying to pay attention to the current crisis, wishing things would just slow down enough that he could follow her. She badly needed his support right now; he sensed it on a gut level. But he didn't have time. They had to get to the next bomb location within twenty minutes, or more people would die.

"Take Jane with you," Nas said as he stepped towards the door.

"Her head's not on straight. I need her to stay here for this one. Debrief her about her time with Sandstorm."

"She can't just sit one out! Things have to appear business-as-usual!" Nas wasn't backing down, but Weller had had it.

"Nas, these are high-stress situations, and Jane is not fit to be out in the field right now. Debrief her if you have to, or leave her alone to process. Either way, she's staying here." Without waiting for a reply, Weller turned and left.

He had to compartmentalise, shoving the Sandstorm situation to the back of his mind until both of the bombers had been caught, but after the case, Jane caught up with him in the locker room. Her expression was a combination of angry and lost.

"Nas is telling me to be a killer. You say I'm not a killer. I'm getting pulled in opposite directions and I don't how to handle this."

"You're right. You're being put in an impossible position, Jane. So what do you need?"

She looked taken aback, like she hadn't expected him to agree with her complaint. "I don't… I don't know."

Her pager buzzed, and he caught a glimpse of the '911' on the display before she pocketed it again. "It's Roman. He's calling me back to Sandstorm."

Kurt's heart sank. With the way her last encounter with Roman had ended, there was a very real danger that she wouldn't survive this one. "Did he say why?"

"No. But if he spoke to Shepherd, I'm blown. I could be walking into my own execution."

No. I can't just stand by and let this happen.

"You don't have to do this."

"What are my choices? I either go back to Sandstorm, or I go back to the CIA." Her eyes were sad, resigned. She was giving up, letting circumstances decide her fate. That wasn't the Jane he knew. What Nas had said about her being a killer must really have struck her hard.

"I can talk to Pellington."

"No. I… I'm still the best shot we have at stopping all of this." Her voice broke. "I never realised how easy it was being Taylor Shaw. This is so much worse."

She was trying to push him away by mentioning Taylor. To make it easier on both of them for her to walk away, maybe to her death.

"You're not Taylor Shaw, but you're not a killer, either. I don't care what Roman and Nas have to say." He stepped in closer and touched her upper arms gently, holding her gaze. "You know who you are. You know what you're capable of. Trust your own instincts."

And come back to me, Jane. Don't you dare die out there tonight. He didn't say it, couldn't bring himself to speak the words. But if she could read in his face at least a fraction of the maelstrom of conflicted concern and love he felt for her, it would give her something to believe in. Something to fight for.

She nodded and stepped back out of his reach. "I'll let you know as soon as I can that I'm safe. Assuming I can, that is."

"I'll be waiting."

With the faintest trace of a smile, she turned towards the door. It took every shred of self-control he possessed to remain still and silent while she walked away.

When Jane returned to her safehouse, stunned to still be alive, she barely noticed the agents on her protective detail weren't in their usual positions. She was too busy trying to work out what her next move would be; how to balance her actions with Sandstorm so that she didn't turn into the killer Shepherd and Nas thought she was, but didn't put Weller and the team at risk either.

I can't save you a second time. So if you can't wake up the real Remi on your own, I'm gonna find your rabbit, and I'm gonna make him bleed.

Roman knew Weller was her weak point. How was she going to save him without compromising what she—Jane—believed in?

She let herself into her apartment to find Weller sitting on her couch, and though he'd turned on a lamp and wasn't sitting in the darkened kitchen, she immediately flashed back to the night he'd arrested her.

It's over. Whatever this is, whatever it was about, it's finished. Jane Doe, you're under arrest.

Jane froze in the doorway, her heart pounding. Unable to move or speak or do anything but stare at him.

"Hey." He was concerned, serious, his gaze searching her face as he rose from the couch. "It's just me. How'd it go?"

"I…" She somehow took a step closer, trying to talk herself down from the fight-or-flight response taking over her body. "I'm alive, I guess. I sent you a text message on the way home to let you know I was safe. W-what are you doing here?"

"I was already here. Figured I'd wait and check you were okay."

"I'm not okay." The words left her in a rush, a babbled admission. "I'm not okay, Weller. The last time I came back from a meeting with someone at Sandstorm to find you in my apartment, you handcuffed me."

He exhaled hard, and she caught a glimpse of realisation and self-recrimination in his eyes. "That's why you look so scared. I'm sorry. I didn't think."

She wanted to laugh, and cry. At herself. At the situation. At her ridiculous, illogical response. And what was he even doing here, anyway?

"Come and sit down."

Jane shook her head. "I'm too tense. I'll stand."

"Okay." He watched her carefully. "Jane, I can't help fix this if you won't open up. Tell me what's on your mind."

A laugh escaped her lips. Fragile, bitter and humourless. "You won't understand. You can't."

"I understand that part of your trauma is having me here, in this room with you. What I don't get is why it affects you so much. You've been through so much, but from what I can tell, that night—right here—that's as traumatic to you as anything Keaton did. I want to help set that right, if I can."

A tear slid down Jane's cheek, and she brushed it away impatiently. Frustrated with herself. Frustrated with him.

"I want to understand."

"Why are you here, Weller?" She tried deflecting, desperate to avoid this conversation. "I'm not her. I'm not Taylor. And this is above and beyond the call of duty, waiting at my apartment to see if I'm okay. I betrayed your trust and you're still here, even though you can't forgive me. Why?"

"What does Taylor have to do with this? I don't—"

"Oh, God, you really have no idea, do you?" All the pent-up stress and fear of the past eighteen hours tumbled out of her in a rush. "You have no idea how much you killed me that night. How your words keep replaying over and over in my mind. How I see your face in my dreams and you look at me just like you did when you were drinking in my kitchen. I wasn't Taylor, so I was nothing to you."

It gave her a rush of sick satisfaction to see her words hit home. His shock and dismay were plain. She resented him for his cluelessness in that moment, no matter how unfair that was.

"Jane," he started, but she held up a hand.

"I hear you insinuating that I didn't want to be called Taylor because I knew I wasn't her, and I want to claw my brains right out of my skull. When you thought I was her, you said so many beautiful things to me. Words I cherished. Even earlier that day, the voicemail you sent me made me feel…"

She had to stop, her voice failing her for a second, her emotions too raw. Kurt didn't move or speak as she composed herself.

"But then you found her body, and I was dead to you. It sounded like you thought I was glad your dad was dead, because that meant my secret was safe. You treated me like a criminal. Like a monster. You threw me away without listening to anything I had to say. And that is so much worse than anything Keaton did to me, Weller. He broke my body, but you broke my spirit."

She couldn't tell how he reacted to her words. Her eyes were too blurry with tears.

"I never meant to…" His quiet words trailed off. "I don't even remember saying half of those things, Jane."

Incredulous and angry, she stepped in closer, needing to see him clearly. "You don't remember? You tore my world apart and you don't even remember?"

A flash of shame crossed his face. "I know it doesn't help to hear that I was drunk and grieving, but I was out of my mind that night. All I can do is apologise."

She turned away, shaking with heartbroken anger. Needing an outlet for the tumult of emotions cascading through her, but finding nothing to channel it into.

"I didn't just care about you because I thought you were Taylor. I know the way I acted that night makes it hard for you to believe that, but—"

She wanted out of this conversation so very badly. Somehow, she had to drive him away. He wanted her honesty? Then he'd get her honesty. "You broke my heart, Weller."

"And you broke mine." The sharp edge to his voice made her stomach lurch, stoking her anxiety, but part of her rejoiced to hear him start to lose his temper. If he didn't get mad, it was too easy to feel like she was the bad guy. She needed his reciprocal anger.

"That's not what it felt like from my perspective. You were ice cold that night."

"Okay, let's clear the air here. I was falling for you, and you stabbed me in the back. Your intentions might have been good, but that's what you did."

"You wanted Taylor, not me. You made that totally clear."

"I wanted you." He caught her wrist as she tried to move past him, forcing her attention to his face. "Taylor was important to me, and thinking you were her might have gotten you closer to me than the average suspect, but it was you I wanted. The way you acted, the way you looked. You were the one who made me feel for you."

"Then why did that completely disappear the moment you found out I wasn't Taylor? If it was me you wanted all along, then how could you shut down like that?"

They were moving towards something; she sensed it intensifying between them, a pressure that couldn't sustain itself. Something had to give, and soon.

"It was the only way I could cope with what you did. With what I did. Okay? Are you happy now? I couldn't bear the guilt that night. I needed someone to blame, and you were the only target I had. The feelings I had for you didn't go away. I just locked them down so I didn't lose my mind."

Face to face, they stared at each other, stripped bare of artifice, facing down the reality of everything that had happened between them. Their anger hadn't gone away; it was still simmering below the surface, but they were no longer using it to shield other emotions.

It was too intense. She had nowhere to hide, and she wanted him so goddamn badly, the insistent beat of her pulse between her thighs putting her on edge. She was restless, needy, and she couldn't even begin to process the honesty of this moment.

Acting on pure instinct, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a brutal kiss.