Author's Note: Okay, so read this one and tell me if you'd rather actually see the smut, or have a retrospective Weller-and-Jane-think-about-the-fact-that-they-just-had-sex-again chapter instead. Majority opinion wins!

The medics saw to Jane and Patterson fairly quickly. Apart from a persistent ringing in her ears that would probably take a couple of days to fade completely, the flashbang hadn't caused Jane any injuries, though her jaw would be a little sore from the fight and she really wished she could have avoided using her right arm. The tussle with the mystery woman would probably set her recovery back another week, and though Jane had tried not to snarl at the medic who'd given her the news, she'd probably let her irritation show.

The rest of the day was spent going through the victims' possessions and digital files, trying to figure out if there was any reason those two people in particular had been targeted. There was a lot of information to process, and though they ordered food in to eat while they worked, Weller eventually called for everyone to go home at around ten, so they could look things over with fresh eyes the following morning.

Jane had changed back into her streetwear at the first possible opportunity after getting back to the NYO. The gorgeous dress had been on loan from the FBI's undercover operations unit, and she'd handed it back to them with relief. When she saw Weller waiting by the SIOC elevator, though, she momentarily wished she was still wearing it.

Then she remembered she was pissed at him for getting all possessive at the gala, and for making a move on her at work in the first place, and frowned over at him. "Were you lying in wait for me?"

"No. I am driving you home, though." He was still wearing the shirt and the suit pants from his gala outfit, though he'd shrugged out of the jacket, tugged off his tie and popped his top button not too long after they'd gotten back to the NYO. He looked more himself now.

"I'll take the subway. I'm fine."

"Jane. That wasn't an offer, it was a statement. The medics might have cleared you, but I've been flashbanged before. I know what it's like. You're not taking the subway with your senses impaired."

She sighed and inclined her head, making sure her expression conveyed her annoyance. "You're the boss."

Once the elevator had closed behind them, Kurt sighed. "I won't ask to come in, if that's what you're worried about. I just want to make sure you get home safe."

It was as close to an acknowledgement of what had happened in the locker room as she sensed she was going to get. She waited until they were driving away from the NYO before she asked, "What happened today, Weller?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific," he said, his eyes on the road.

"What shall we talk about first, then? The way you were all over me in the locker room, fifteen minutes before a mission, or the way you practically dragged me off by the hair when I stopped to talk to someone?"

"That guy was clearly not the person we were looking for. He was making a pass at you, and you engaged him while we were in the middle of a mission. I was getting you back on track, Jane."

"He knew about Lake Aurora. He had information that was pertinent to one of our cases."

"Not the one we were working on." He shook his head. "You're not an agent, Jane. You haven't been trained to compartmentalise your caseload. You were getting off-track."

Yeah, right. Weller had had 'jealous boyfriend' stamped all over his reaction to Oliver Kind, and he had no right.

"In that case, I will do better. And you won't mind if I contact him in my own time, to get further information about Lake Aurora and see if any of it points to why Roman chose there to take me."

She could sense Weller's irritation at the turn the conversation had taken, see him scrambling to come up with a reason that she shouldn't do what she'd said—one that didn't make him look like a possessive asshole.

"Do what you have to do," he said tersely.

"Thank you. I will." She gazed out of the window, perversely disappointed that he'd given up on the argument so fast. Not that she wanted him to get territorial—she just felt like arguing, made edgy by the setback to her healing arm.

She rubbed her shoulder, trying to ease the ache there.

"How's the arm?"

"I wrenched it. It's not serious, but it's a setback." She scowled out of the passenger window to hold back the tears. Was she ever going to get rid of this reminder of what Keaton had done to her?

"I'm sorry, Jane." He sounded like he really understood what a blow it was to her morale, which only made her want to cry even more.

"Yeah, well," she muttered. "Just another day at the office."

She needed to change the subject before his sympathy made her cry like a child. She'd wept in his arms far too many times already; she was done being a delicate flower.

"So back to the locker room," she said, calling on her genuine confusion and fear that she was going to ruin his reputation in the office. "What the hell was that? Just because we had sex, that doesn't mean you can just put your lips on me whenever you feel like it."

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," he shot back.

That's the understatement of the year. Just remembering what he'd done got her hot and bothered all over again.

"That's not the point, Weller. Maybe if you were just another agent, you could get away with doing something like that, but you're the second-in-command of the NYO! What if someone had walked in on us? You know gossip spreads like wildfire around that place, and I'm a…a terrorist asset who's integral to a classified op. If your reputation gets ruined because you found my neck too irresistible to leave alone, I don't want you holding me responsible."

He drove in silence for a couple of blocks, his jaw taut. Jane was about to press him further when he said abruptly, "It was a momentary loss of control. It was unprofessional; I know that. It won't happen again."

There we go, then. That's that.

It wasn't like she'd been holding out hope that they'd sleep together again. She'd been pretty sure it would be a one-time thing. Now that he'd confirmed it, she could get on with her life. Stop obsessing about how it had felt to connect with him on a primal level. How well their bodies had fit together. How she'd almost felt in control of her life again when she'd been riding his cock.

"Good." She smoothed her hair back from her face, just to give herself something to do.

In her mind's eye, her evenings stretched out before her, empty and hollow. She didn't socialise with anyone on the team anymore—their trust in her was too damaged for that. She'd really have to come up with a way to get some new local friends, people with no connection to her job. Once again, she was in the position she'd been back before she'd begun to have girls' nights out with Patterson and Zapata—lonely and desperate for social interaction.

Maybe Oliver would be a good choice, after all. But would she be putting him in danger if she did reach out to him? Maybe she should just give up on the idea of a social life until they'd brought down Sandstorm.

As for finding new bed partners, there was no way she could even consider it. Waking her date up in the middle of the night with traumatic dreams would be an awkward end to any relationship—or punching whomever she was dating because they'd woken her up.

She was going to be alone for a long time. Jane bowed her head as that depressing truth set in.

As they turned onto her street, she made a decision. If they weren't going to be doing this anymore, they could at least go out with a bang. Literally.

"You owe me, Weller," she said, as they arrived outside her safehouse.

He pulled over outside her safehouse. "What are you talking about?"

"You left me hanging at work. You owe me an orgasm."

The startled look on his face was worth the risk of rejection. Then the expression deepened to include intrigued amusement, and he shut off the car's engine. "I always settle my debts. With interest."

Jane got out of the car and headed up the steps of her safehouse without looking back. Her heart was pounding with anticipation and relief that he hadn't shot her down. She didn't even have time to get her keys in the door before Weller caught up with her, his hands on her waist and his lips hungry against her neck. Her knees weakened, and she fumbled with the door lock, allowing her melancholy to be washed away by a rising tide of need.

At least we have tonight. Just tonight.