"Seriously? You want to do this while I'm still chained to a damn radiator?" Keaton groaned. "Gimme a break."
The past couple of times he'd been in Keaton's proximity, Kurt had had the luxury of walking away. Now, he had to deal with the bastard, and there were no CIA agents with guns or NSA agents with diplomacy to make him stand down. It was tempting to take a few swings at the bastard, just because he deserved it. And if he started, he wasn't sure he'd stop.
Every time he thought of the black site, or the stark terror on Jane's face just now, his anger rose a little higher.
What would Mayfair do?
That thought helped him to calm down, to think his way out of this problem.
"This was your fault. You brought it on yourself. You tortured Jane; you gave her post-traumatic stress disorder; you got in her way when we warned you not to."
"Fine. The Jane Doe case wasn't my finest hour. I admit it." Keaton sighed. "What do you want?"
"I want the CIA to stay the hell away from Jane, whether or not the FBI-NSA taskforce succeeds in taking Sandstorm down."
Keaton released his breath in a slow hiss. "That's a big ask, Weller. She's the only tangible link we've got to them right now."
"And the taskforce is working that link. If Jane's cover is blown, it'll be because her head's not on straight, because of what you did to her. If she relapses now, it could cost this country everything, you understand?"
"And if she blows her cover, the CIA will need to interrogate her more than ever," Keaton snapped. "If you weren't so cuckoo over her, you'd see that."
Kurt realised his hands were balled into fists, and had to take a moment to rein himself in, flexing his fingers as he took a breath.
"You fucked up, Keaton. You got cocky, you wasted three months breaking her psyche to no good end, and you just got to taste the fruits of that labour. You owe her the chance to make something of her life. The good she's done for this country already is proof enough that she deserves it. So is the fact she didn't kill you on the spot."
Keaton was silent for so long, Kurt thought he'd struck out. But then the agent shook his head. "Get me out of these cuffs, find me some aspirin, and I'll agree to leave her alone. On two conditions. One: you owe me a favour. I don't know what or when yet, but when I need it, I'll be collecting."
"Agreed." Kurt didn't even have to think about it.
"Okay. Two: you take responsibility for her. If things go sideways with this op, and the US goes to threat level red, you do whatever you have to do to stop it. If she goes rogue, you take her out. And if stopping Sandstorm means sacrificing Jane on a suicide mission, you make that call."
"I'll be right there at her side on that mission." Kurt held up the key, and Keaton twisted again to give him access to the cuffs.
The first thing Keaton did as a free man was hold out his hand to shake on their deal. As they shook hands, Kurt tried not to think about what Keaton might ask him to do in the future. No matter what it was, it was worth Jane's safety.
"Get your house in order, Keaton," he said, standing up. "Figure out where the lines are, and which ones need to be re-drawn."
"Is that some sort of threat?" Keaton said, struggling to his feet.
"No. Just advice."
"You're the cleanest agent I've ever looked into," Keaton said derisively. "You can't be speaking from experience."
"It's the advice Bethany Mayfair would give you, if she were still alive."
Kurt's phone vibrated, and he checked it to find a text message from Nas. Something to smooth the way with the local police. Attached was a file on an incident involving the commissioner of Sofia's police department—something that would definitely hurt his professional and personal lives if it were to become public knowledge.
It was going to be a complicated process to extricate them from this mess, but Nas' intel would help. Kurt just hoped Jane could hold it together until he could get them out of there.
Everything felt distant, unreal. Jane heard the rumble of Kurt's voice out in the hall as he talked to Keaton, but she couldn't focus on the words. Every time Keaton responded, she cringed inside, recognising the voice of her black-site tormentor, but she was too exhausted to do anything but slump down on the bathroom floor and stare at nothing.
Then someone was knocking at the apartment door, and there were more voices. Was she going to be taken away somewhere? Or was this all because of Winter and the gunfight downstairs? That all seemed as though it'd happened years ago, but it must only have been minutes.
She was trembling, but not cold, angry or scared. She wasn't anything at all. She wondered if she was even herself.
"Jane?"
Kurt appeared in the doorway, and she blinked up at him, wanting to ask what was going on—and more importantly, where Keaton was—but not quite able to find the words.
"Hey." He came to sit beside her, reached for her hand. As he had after she'd come out of the black site, he waited for her to put her hand in his, leaving the choice up to her. And as had been the case back then, it took monumental force of will to place her palm against his.
Had she slipped back so far? Lost all the progress she'd made?
"I know you need to rest, but I could really use your help for a second." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "Do you think you could translate something into Bulgarian for me? The local cops have shown up, and either they don't understand English, or they're playing dumb."
Jane couldn't help but tense up at the thought of having to face Keaton again. Kurt shook his head, guessing what was going through her mind.
"Keaton's gonna wait in one of the bedrooms, okay?" He kissed the top of her head. "I don't know if you could hear us talking, but I got him to back off. He's gonna leave you alone."
Jane knew she should feel relieved. Grateful. Happy. Something. But she felt nothing.
"Okay," she said, her voice emerging rusty, as though she hadn't used it for centuries. "What do you need?"
Luckily, it wasn't as taxing as she'd feared. She managed to convey to the investigating police that they should speak with their commissioner about a certain incident the National Security Agency of the United States happened to have uncovered intel about. After grumbling and checking in higher up the chain of command, the investigating officers miraculously decided to focus their investigation on finding the identities and affiliations of the attackers who'd stormed the safehouse, rather than demanding to know what business the FBI and CIA had in Sofia that had resulted in such a violent standoff. Even more miraculously, they began to understand English.
After her part was done, Jane retreated to the bedroom where she and Kurt had killed time waiting for Reade and Caruso to return. Everything that had happened before Keaton had appeared—and since she'd given Kurt her weapon—seemed like a dream.
She curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, she was being gently called back to awareness by Kurt.
"Hey," he said, with a weary smile. "How are you feeling?"
How was she feeling? She didn't know.
"What's going on?" She struggled to sit up, trying to shed her fatigue.
"The Bulgarian police are letting us leave. I've found us a hotel for the night—we just need to get there."
On autopilot, Jane managed to get ready to go. Once she reached the bedroom door, though, she faltered.
"He's already gone. Don't worry."
"Thanks," she mumbled, just for something to say.
She'd told this man she loved him, and less than fifteen minutes later she'd been holding him at gunpoint, terrified he was going to arrest her or let Keaton take her back to a black site, despite all of his reassurances. She owed him an apology, but she could hardly remember how to function right now.
Get to the hotel. Worry about the rest later.
Kurt kept his hand on the small of her back as they descended the back stairs. Most of the carnage was towards the front of the block, so they only saw a couple of Bulgarian cops as they left via the alley. Around the front of the building, ambulances and police cars flashed red and blue lights at their surroundings.
Jane and Kurt turned their back to the building and silently walked down to the end of the street. The Grand Hotel Maria, where Winter had been held, was within sight once they got to the corner, but Kurt steered her a couple of blocks farther across town to a hotel that catered to tourists rather than rich businesspeople.
Once they were alone again, closed into the clean, comfortable room they'd been allocated, Kurt hesitated before speaking. "Do you need anything? Food? A shower? If you just want to sleep some more…"
Jane wrapped her arms around him, wishing she could reassure him in a way that was less clumsy, more coherent. But he seemed to understand, holding her tightly in return and stroking her hair.
The more time she spent in his arms, though, the more likely she was to fall apart. Already, she sensed her emotions encroaching on the edge of the numbness that had overtaken her. "I'm gonna take a shower," she said. "I'll be right back."
"Just be patient. Keep your voice calm, speak slowly. She might have trouble comprehending things fully for a while yet." Borden sounded concerned, which wasn't exactly helping Kurt to feel less anxious about Jane's mental state. "She's been through a lot, and this clearly will set her recovery back."
"It's all normal, though? I don't have to get her to the hospital or anything?" Kurt paced the room, listening to the faint patter of the water from Jane's shower. She'd been in there a while, not that he was surprised.
"I think under the circumstances, a quiet environment would be best. She might want space, which might be difficult in a hotel room, but don't be too concerned if she keeps you at arms' length. It's common."
"Thanks, Borden." Kurt sighed. "I'll make sure she makes an appointment to see you as soon as we get back to New York."
"I'll rearrange my schedule to see her as soon as she needs me. Take care, Agent Weller."
Kurt put down his cell phone and stared out of the window into the night. Under streetlights and spotlights, Sofia was almost as beautiful in the dark as it was in the day, but he couldn't find much appreciation for the architecture at the moment.
The mission had seemed to be going so well. At least they'd managed to secure Winter; Reade had confirmed the FBI's private jet had left Bulgarian airspace, which meant they were free and clear. Between them, Kurt and Nas were going to face a nightmare of paperwork related to this mission, and Pellington would most likely have to step in to smooth some ruffled Bulgarian feathers. He'd have to offer condolences to Caruso's next of kin. But all of that could wait until Kurt got back to the States. Right now, he only cared about one thing.
Jane finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a spare shirt from Kurt's go-bag that reached down to her mid-thighs. She'd had a go-bag of her own, but she'd tossed it in the van along with Winter, and now it was waiting in a locker at the airport, thanks to Reade. Kurt had offered to go pick it up, but Jane had said she'd rather wear his shirt anyway.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, her damp hair curling against the bird tattoo on her neck, and gave him an attempt at a smile. "Everything okay?"
"I was just checking in with Borden. He says to take it easy, and he'll see you when we get back home."
Jane nodded. "Kinda glad we're so far away. I don't know what to say right now."
Kurt propped up a couple of pillows and sat back against the headboard, careful not to invade her side of the bed in case she felt crowded. Jane didn't shift all the way over to lean against him, but she did take his hand, to his relief.
She was still trembling a little, but that was to be expected so soon after her trauma. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly, wondering if he should talk about something unrelated to the day's drama, or encourage her to open up.
"Kurt…" Jane said, before he could make a decision. "Thank you for being here for me today. I know it was a lot to deal with."
He opened his mouth to tell her he'd do it again in a heartbeat, but she gave him a quick shake of her head, silencing him.
"I just… I don't feel much of anything right now, so this might not come out sounding all that sincere, but I wanted to apologise. I treated you like a threat, and that wasn't fair of me." She stared into space, unable to look at him.
"Jane. You've been through hell, and some of it was my fault. Today, your brain went straight back to the way things used to be. It's understandable. I don't blame you."
"What if I'd shot you?" she whispered.
Kurt couldn't help but smile. "You weren't going to shoot me. I knew that the whole time."
"I wish I could be so sure." A shudder ran through her. "I saw him and I just…lost my mind. If you hadn't been here…"
Sensing her distress rising, Kurt reached out to cup her cheek, holding her gaze steadily. "It was his fault. He admitted it. And he's not gonna come after you again."
Her trembling increased as she nodded.
"Can I do anything to make you feel safer?"
Jane's smile was sad, tremulous, but genuine. "I might have made you doubt it today, but you make me feel safe just by being here."
"I'm glad." He kissed her forehead, and she finally leaned against him, snuggling close with a sigh.
"It was like I was…possessed," she said, confusion clear in her words. "And all of a sudden I had him tied up, but he was still terrifying. And he hardly even seemed to care what he'd done, or that I had a gun pointed at his head, and it made me so angry. And I heard you knocking, and I just flashed back to that night you arrested me, and…"
She ran out of words, ending her sentence with a jerky shrug.
"It's okay. Just breathe."
Jane sucked in a breath, but couldn't seem to let it go again. His heart aching for her, Kurt kissed the top of her head.
"I love you. I'm here for you. Always."
A sob tried to break free of her chest, but she stubbornly held it captive.
"Breathe, Jane," Kurt reminded her softly.
The dam holding her emotions at bay broke, and she wept against his chest, every deep, shuddering sob tugging at his own composure. When he realised what she was struggling to say, he lost the battle, his own tears silently falling as he strove to comfort her.
"I'm sorry, Kurt… I'm so sorry…"