Author's Note: Well, I was planning to take a few more days off, but in spite of my confidence issues, Jane and Kurt decided they had things to say, so I just got on with writing it all down! I'm feeling a little better now, and the incredibly sweet messages I've received over the past couple of days have been so touching. Thank you, guys. I hope this chapter works for you!
"Got something for you."
Surprised, Jane glanced up from the Wikipedia page she was reading on her lunch break. "Hmm?"
Weller glanced at her screen. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. But out of curiosity, why are you researching South Africa's political enemies?"
"Just wondering if I could figure out who I was being trained to fight. You know, as a kid." She shrugged her good shoulder, used to keeping the other one immobile by now. "Not to mention, my political memory got wiped as well as my personal one. Never hurts to brush up."
She eyed the folder in Weller's hands. "What's this?"
He pulled a chair over from the adjacent desk and sat. "I finally got time to look into Kalina's husband."
Jane took the folder he offered and looked over the papers within. "You found something?"
"He's been under-reporting his income for over a decade. I get the feeling the IRS will be pretty interested to hear about that."
Jane hesitated. "Is jail time likely? Because if it's just a fine, that could cause more issues for Kalina than it solves."
"Turn the page."
Jane looked back at the paperwork, flicking to the final page. "Ugh. Not only is he a wife-beating tax-dodger, he helps run an illegal gambling ring for dog fights? I hope they throw away the key."
"No kidding." Weller sighed. "Do you want to talk to Kalina before I contact the local police? Give her a heads-up what's going on?"
"I'll call her tonight," Jane promised.
"Sure. Just let me know." Weller stood up.
Jane reached out to touch his arm, preventing him from walking away. "Thank you. This will mean a lot to her. And it means a lot to me, too."
Weller gave her a small smile in return. "You're welcome. She helped me find you; I owe her."
As he walked away, Jane placed the file in her desk drawer, a warm glow spreading through her chest. Even with all of the Sandstorm revelations recently, Weller had still found time to help Kalina. He had his flaws, and she still didn't trust that he wasn't holding things back from her, but she still felt—
"Shall we play a game?" a disembodied voice queried, a real person's poor imitation of a computer-generated voice.
Jane blinked as her computer screen showed a game of tic-tac-toe against a black background. When she looked around, every screen in her line of sight showed the same thing, including the large screens at the end of the room.
"Umm, Patterson?" she called.
"Oh, this is very not good!" Patterson jumped off Zapata's desk—where she'd been sitting and chatting to Tasha while eating her lunch—and ran down to the big screens.
Everyone congregated nearby, watching as she grabbed a tablet and furiously began inputting commands into it.
"What's going on?" Weller demanded.
"I have no idea, aside from that we're being hacked and I have no control over our systems right now," Patterson said, not looking up from her work.
"Okay, you guys are taking forever." The tic-tac-toe game was replaced with a familiar face to match the now very familiar voice.
Jane bit back a groan. "Rich Dotcom?" He was exactly as she remembered: slightly unkempt, wearing a mischievous expression, and…surrounded by pictures of kittens? Okay, that one was new.
"Rich, what the hell are you doing?" Weller demanded.
"Seriously? Nobody remembers War Games? 'Shall we play a game?' Matthew Broderick? Nobody? Bueller?"
Nas was obviously even more confused than the rest of them. "Who is this guy?"
"Rich Dotcom. Dark web hacker we caught last year." Reade scowled at the screen.
"Until I busted out and tricked these guys into helping me steal half a billion dollars' worth of art. And then I escaped. Like a boss." If she'd ever seen anyone looking more smug than Rich did right now, Jane couldn't remember it.
"Tell me you can track him," Weller demanded of Patterson.
"With what?" Patterson demanded, brandishing her tablet. "This thing is useless until I can get back into the system!"
"Rich, we're not playing any more of your games," Jane said.
"Oh, this is not a game. This is very, very real. Now, I'm gonna give you back full control of your computers—for a price. On the top floor of your building, there is a secret Air Force drone command centre. I'd like you to use that to bomb the following coordinates."
The coordinates in question flashed up at the bottom of the screen, and Zapata pulled out her phone, presumably using her cell phone data connection to see if she could track down where they led to.
"No, not a chance." Weller folded his arms.
Rich grinned. "Well, then... In that case, I'm gonna delete every FBI server in existence. Including the backups. So, goodbye, a hundred years of FBI history, not to mention any active investigations. Goodbye! You have until I'm done binge-watching Stranger Things. No spoilers, please."
"All of this to make us drop a bomb? Seems a little sketchy." Jane frowned. Something wasn't right here. This wasn't Rich's style.
"No, but you know what is sketchy? This gorgeous artwork I found."
Jane froze as Rich held up a sketchbook towards the webcam he was using. A very familiar sketchbook, with very familiar designs on the pages.
"That was a bad pun. It's actually not sketchy, it's great. You're extremely multitalented, Janie. Are these designs for your next tattoo? Because I really like this one." He turned the page to show the sketch of her back, Weller's name replaced with a panorama of Times Square.
"He's at my safehouse. You son of a bitch!" she addressed Rich directly.
Rich grinned. "Guess I'll see you soon. Take your time, please. I'm only on episode seven and I'd really like to finish the season. I can't believe they killed Barb! She was a smoke show."
He gave one last cheery wave, and the screens blacked out.
Everyone turned to stare at Jane. And to pretend they weren't watching Weller.
"Those are your sketches? You're sure he's at your place?" Weller's jaw was taut as he waited for a reply. The earlier friendliness between them was gone, and Jane inwardly cursed. Had Rich picked the most private, personal piece of artwork in that book on purpose?
Of course he had. He was Rich.
"Positive. I haven't taken that book out of my apartment. Either he is there, or he was there."
Ten minutes later, Jane and Weller were on the road, heading towards the safehouse. Weller hadn't spoken a word since they'd gotten into the car.
"Talk to me, Weller."
He was silent for a moment, as though trying to work out how to approach the subject. Then, slowing as a stoplight turned red, he said, "You were serious, then. About getting my name taken off your back."
"Yeah, I put together a few possible designs a few weeks ago. I checked with Roman that there weren't any other hidden clues in that particular tattoo, and he said it was just the Guerrero case. The combination to the lock being your first name." She tried to read his expression, but came up with nothing. "Why does that make you angry?"
"It doesn't. It's your body, and you can do what you want with it. If Roman says there's nothing else hidden in the tattoo, it doesn't need to be preserved." His voice was steady, and altogether too casual.
"Okay."
"Okay."
An awkward minute passed before Jane tried again.
"This is pretty clearly not okay with you. Did you think I was going to have it on my back forever?"
Weller's voice finally showed some emotion—irritation. "No, Jane. I knew you were considering it because you yelled it at me back when we were at Sarah's."
Jane scowled. "I had a good reason for being angry. You withheld critical information about my case."
"I'm not saying you're not allowed to be angry."
"Then what?" Jane asked, exasperated. "Is this some kind of macho ownership thing? Why are you acting like this is a…a rejection?"
That was exactly it, she realised as they drove on. He was acting like she was going to take his name off her back after she'd chosen to put it on her skin in the first place, the way someone would tattoo their partner's name, or their child's.
Weller sighed. "That's not it."
Could have fooled me. "Then what is it?"
"I don't know… I guess I saw that tattoo as symbolic. Of everything we've done over the past year. It was why we met in the first place, why I got your case." He shrugged, not looking at her. "You said you wanted to get it removed, but I thought it was just something you said in the heat of the moment."
Something about this conversation was…significant. Emotional. For both of them. Jane lapsed into silence for a few minutes, trying to work it out, and Weller just kept driving, the muscle at the side of his jaw twitching occasionally, like he was almost grinding his teeth.
She gazed at him, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Wondering why she didn't feel angrier at his presumption, to his reaction to something so personal to her own bodily autonomy.
"Did you think I'd keep it there forever?" she asked quietly, without heat.
"I guess I never really thought about it. We agreed at the start that you wouldn't remove the tattoos while the case was active, in case you wiped out a clue by accident. We didn't know back then that you'd be in a position to ask the people who put them on you."
"But now you think about it, it hurts you."
"It doesn't hurt me. It's just…unexpected." He shot her a glance. "And it feels like you're doing it because you're mad about the isotope test thing."
Jane took a slow breath, putting her thoughts in order. "That's not why. I mean…that's where it originally started. But that tattoo might as well say, 'if lost, please return to Kurt Weller, FBI'. It's like someone put a tag on me, connecting me to you."
"Is that really such a terrible thing?" The way he was avoiding looking at her wasn't just because he was driving. He was shutting her out.
"What if I need to disappear again?"
That got him to look at her, his eyes and voice sharp. "Is that something you're considering?"
"No, not right now. But a year ago, I never thought I'd be at risk of being scooped up and tortured by the CIA. I can't predict the future. And I'd feel better knowing my identifying features are vague enough that people can't just read and remember words off my back." Why couldn't he understand that?
"That tattoo helped me find you before the CIA did. If Kalina hadn't called me, Keaton might have found you first."
"That was last time! We don't know what the future is gonna bring, Weller." She shook her head, casting around for another point, something that didn't lead back to Keaton. "Even without it being a memorable identifying feature, what about other things? Say in a year's time, I can sleep through the night and I'm finally able to think about dating people. Do you think they'd be okay with me having another man's name tattooed on me?"
If Weller hadn't been tense before, he certainly was now. "Fair enough," he admitted, the words almost a growl.
"I guess I don't understand what difference it makes to you whether my name is there or not," Jane finished, looking out of the passenger side window. Why is this conversation making me so uncomfortable now? My reasons are solid. And I'm not doing this to hurt him. Am I having second thoughts about this?
"It doesn't make a difference. You can do what you want, Jane. I mean it." She sensed his eyes on her, but didn't want to meet them. She…felt too much.
Too much what? Borden's voice in her memory asked. You have to name the feeling before you can deal with it, Jane.
She chose not to analyse it, backing far away from the emotion. She was busy. She was working a case.
After a moment, he added, "Just…don't ever disappear without telling me where you're going. Please. No matter what you're running from, you can trust me to be on your side. I screwed up once by not giving what you had to say a fair hearing. I promise never to let that happen again. No matter what."
"Thank you," she said softly.
As Weller parked the car outside the safehouse, a van full of backup was arriving behind them. It was a precaution they both doubted they'd need, but since Rich had already mentioned wanting one bomb dropped, it couldn't hurt to be careful.
Putting conversation aside, Jane and Weller both drew their weapons, their protective-geared backup hanging back as Weller took point. He caught Jane's eye, gave a silent countdown, then breached the door to her safehouse.
They found Rich in the living room, reclining on Jane's couch with a cheeky smile. He had a glass of bourbon in one hand and her sketchbook resting on his lap, and Jane didn't know whether to laugh or strangle him.
"FBI. Get off the couch, turn around and put your hands behind your head."
Weller's voice was more weary and long-suffering than angry, but Jane felt a lurching in the pit of her stomach anyway. She kept her gun trained on Rich, backing Weller up like a good partner should. Her queasiness was hard to ignore as Rich necked the rest of his drink, then got up, his hands raised. The hacker kept up a steady stream of irreverent chatter as Weller cuffed him, some of it addressed to her, but she didn't register any of it.
Two of their backup set about clearing the safehouse as the other two marched Rich out to the van. Weller looked over at Jane. "Anything look like it's missing or out of place?"
She glanced around, then shook her head, pressing her lips shut. Not trusting her voice.
Weller's warm hands on her arms steadied her. "Hey. I'm sorry— I wasn't thinking."
"I'm okay," she said, shaking free of his hold. Very conscious of the agents still checking for explosive devices in her kitchen and bedroom.
"We're clear," the woman in charge said, pulling off her helmet to reveal messy brunette curls. "Want us to check the rest of the building?"
"I think we're good," Weller said. "He obviously wanted us to arrest him, for some reason. Blowing stuff up after the fact would just get him in more trouble. Could you get him back to the NYO? We'll head back after we make sure nothing's missing."
"You got it, sir." The woman beckoned to her companion. They left, leaving the door ajar behind them.
"Guess I'll need new locks," Jane said, before Weller could say anything.
"We'll get a locksmith out here." He cupped her face in his hand, an intimate gesture that surprised her through her anxiety. "I should have warned you before I arrested him."
"You've arrested people in front of me before, and I've been fine. Don't blame yourself." She gave him a tiny smile. "I'm just a little shaken, that's all. I'm not gonna panic."
Weller kissed her forehead gently, and Jane closed her eyes, floating on the residual adrenaline of the arrest and the tenderness of his gesture.
"I thought you were mad at me," she murmured.
"Not mad. A little hurt, but not mad."
He was admitting it? She opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, concerned, but with a trace of that pain still lingering.
Jane stepped past him to the sketchbook and picked it up. After checking Rich hadn't added any lewd drawings to the pages, she flipped to the ones she'd drawn of her potential replacement tattoos and came back over to him.
"These are the ones I was considering."
He was tense, as though he didn't want to see, but he still looked.
Jane pointed first to the two abstract designs she'd drawn—swirling arcs, shades and blotches, nothing really recognisable. "I decided not to go with these. They were just placeholders, I guess. While I thought of something meaningful."
Without waiting for him to comment, she turned the page to the panorama of Times Square. It wasn't too detailed, and contained none of the advertisements she knew were all over the busy area, but it was instantly recognisable. "I chose this because it's where I was 'born'. The first thing I remember from my new life. Once someone actually got around to getting me a blanket and not shining spotlights in my face or waving a gun at me, people kept saying your name. I didn't know why. I barely even realised that I had tattoos for about twenty minutes after I came out of the bag, let alone that one was your name. But I connect you to Times Square even now. That's why this is the one I'm leaning towards. It's…symbolic."
Weller's expression softened at her words. "You don't have to do that. If you'd rather have something completely different—"
"I didn't draw it because I knew you'd be upset, Kurt. I drew it because it means something to me." Because you mean something to me.
The sketchbook hung from her fingers, forgotten, as he kissed her. Not with the voracious need of their sexual encounters, but with a tenderness that tore a chasm in her chest and brought tears to her eyes. With every slow, sure brush of his lips against hers, Jane's defences crumbled a little more. She put her hand to his chest, his heartbeat strong against her palm. She'd meant to push him away, but when he covered her hand with his, she only melted against him further.
Sex, she could deal with. She could put it in a tidy little box as satisfying a physical need. But the need this kiss fulfilled was so much more than physical.
No. Too much. This is too—
She pulled away abruptly, unable to look him in the eye. I don't deserve this. Not from you. Not after I turned your whole world upside down.
"Don't we have a hacker to interrogate?" She closed the sketchbook and tossed it on the couch, trying to regain her equilibrium.
Weller took a second to reply, as though he was gathering himself, too. "I want to be sure you're okay first. And that he really didn't take anything. Are you okay with me being here? After arresting Rich?"
Jane nodded, looking over the room to ensure everything was in its usual place. She attempted to diffuse her residual anxiety, and her overemotional response to Weller's kiss, with a joke. "I may need extra therapy after we interrogate him, but I'm good for now. We should go."
Weller took a step towards the door, all business now. "Let's get it over with."