Author's Note: Sorry for the delay with this one. I had it three-quarters written, but didn't get around to finishing the chapter until now. Not a huge amount is happening in this one, just connecting a few dots for Kurt. Next chapter will be Jane's. Thanks for reading, as always!
By ten p.m., the leads in the new tattoo case had become less urgent, and Kurt felt he could halt the investigation for the night. The rest of the team had departed with a few words of support, knowing they'd be called to the apartment within a few minutes of Kurt getting home and 'discovering' Jane's absence.
Kurt steeled himself as he slotted the key into his apartment door, knowing what he was about to find, and how he'd have to react. Nas had cautioned him to respond as he would if Jane really had been kidnapped, in case one of the neighbours was a Sandstorm plant, listening or watching for his reaction.
The living room had been devastated, a fitting metaphor for the way Shepherd had destroyed the happiness he and Jane had found. Surveying the mess, his emotions numb for now, Kurt had to admit Jane had done a good job—some staged crime scenes were easily discernible as having been faked. This wasn't one of them.
Leaving the door open for the benefit of spying onlookers, he called, "Jane? Jane!" A quick check of each room later, he picked up his phone and called CSU, then his team, summoning them to help with the 'investigation'.
After that, he wanted to sink down onto the couch and rest, but knew that he wouldn't let himself do so if Jane had really been abducted. Quickly, he took a few photographs of the wrecked living room with his phone, then knocked on the door of their closest neighbours, acting as though he had no idea what had happened to Jane and was looking for answers. The neighbours had heard a crash through the wall at one point, but nothing more.
It killed Kurt not to be able to just pick up the mess and go to bed, to nurse his aching heart, then catch up on the sleep he and Jane had shunned for most of the night before. As things stood, he suspected it would be four in the morning before he was able to get some rest. And even then, he couldn't just let himself sleep in late, not when he had to act as though Jane had been kidnapped.
Reade was the first to arrive, and Kurt set him to the task of obtaining CCTV footage of the apartment building and surrounding area. Jane had said Roman would be taking out the cameras, but they weren't supposed to know that, so they had to check.
As CSU arrived, Kurt took one more look around, in case Jane had left him a note or something else that might stand out as odd to anyone not in the loop. There was nothing. He had to admit, he was a little surprised and disappointed by that. He'd thought she might scribble down a few final words before leaving to meet Roman.
Patterson and Zapata arrived within thirty seconds of each other, and Kurt abandoned thoughts of Jane leaving a note, knowing he had a long night ahead of him. Maybe they'd actually pick up a lead on where Roman had taken her, but it was a long shot.
The sun was coming over the horizon as Kurt re-entered his apartment. CSU had finished processing, and he now had a green light to clean up the mess, but he was too exhausted to start right this second. He didn't even want to look at the destruction, a stark reminder that Jane was gone.
He headed straight for the bedroom, shedding his outer clothing in an uncharacteristically messy pile and pulling back the bedcovers. Jane slept on the side of the bed closest to the door, and he collapsed there, burying his face in her pillow. Her scent was comforting and heart-wrenching at the same time. Kurt swallowed hard, battling his fear and frustration.
Jane… Are you safe? Are you even alive?
Somewhere between his last conversation with Jane and the moment she'd left her apartment, there'd been a change of plan. CSU had discovered a chloroformed rag half under the coffee table, and the cameras inside the apartment building hadn't been taken out. A hooded figure—presumably Roman—had carried Jane out over his shoulder, his face hidden.
In the privacy of Zero Division, the team had agreed that Jane was really unconscious, not just faking. No conscious person could have remained so relaxed while being carried down a flight of stairs over someone's shoulder, not even someone they trusted completely.
They'd run into dead ends outside the apartment building; every camera in a three-block radius had been disabled for thirty minutes, and no one had seen an unconscious woman being taken from the building or bundled into a vehicle. Patterson had cautioned that just because they knew what time Jane had left the apartment block, they couldn't assume the getaway vehicle had left the disabled cameras' radius within a couple of minutes of that time. Roman might have just sat in the car, parked on the street, for much of that twenty-two minute window between Jane leaving the apartment block and the local camera footage resuming. Every car or van moving out of the camera blindspot, in every direction, could be the one they sought—far more vehicles than it was feasible to track.
They had nothing. Jane might as well have vanished into thin air.
Had she learned something that had caused her to resist Roman? No. If that was the case, he'd have knocked her out by force, not the way he had. Chloroform was a premeditated method: it would have to be poured onto a cloth out of Jane's sight, and applied while she was unaware, so she'd inhale the drug during the shock of being restrained.
Had Shepherd begun to suspect Jane was going back to Sandstorm as an undercover agent, and changed the plan to gain the upper hand? Kurt's stomach twisted at the thought. If so, Jane was now completely at her captors' mercy. Roman could have tied her up as soon as he'd gotten her into the getaway vehicle, and when she eventually came to, she'd have no opportunity to escape.
Kurt tried to remind himself that Roman had drugged Jane before—last time, with a sedative administered by hypodermic—and she'd returned to the team alive and physically unharmed, less than a day later. She'd be away longer this time, but it was possible that she was waking up at Shepherd's compound right now, her cover intact.
Not knowing what had caused the change of plan was driving him crazy. He'd known it would be hard to deal with her absence, but he'd assumed he'd at least know things were going according to plan at the start of the mission. Now he didn't have that reassurance, and it was difficult to keep his imagination from supplying worst-case scenarios.
He wrapped the blanket more securely around himself, burrowing as deep into Jane's scent as he could, and attempted to shut off the fears and doubts rioting through his mind.
His imagination immediately served him the memory of the night they'd spent in Kalina's motel—Jane's skin mottled with CIA-administered bruises, her eyes haunted, her teeth gritted against the agony of her wounded arm as she'd shied away from his comforting touch.
Kurt tried to ignore the image, only for another to take its place—Jane crouched on the bathroom floor of the Bulgarian safehouse. She was pale and trembling, staring vacantly into space in the aftermath of her accidental encounter with Keaton.
The next memory his brain dredged up was of Jane attempting to explain how she'd tortured Cade in order to set him free—her distress as she'd told Kurt how the guy had screamed, how her hands had been covered in his blood, how she'd spiralled into very real panic to provide a distraction, so Cade could get away.
Kurt had felt so helpless each time, powerless to take away her pain. Now, not knowing what was happening to her, he felt much the same as he had on those occasions. He gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw ached, his anger at Sandstorm only outmatched by his fear for Jane's safety.
Stop.
After setting his alarm for four hours' time—he had to appear frantic in his quest to find out what had happened to Jane, and truthfully, no acting would be required now she'd been abducted—Kurt attempted to get some sleep. To distract himself from his worries, he made himself recall other memories, from happier times—Jane's smile, her kiss, her voice—and somehow fell into an uneasy doze.
When he woke at the insistent beeping of the alarm clock, Kurt reached out to the wrong side of the bed, forgetting he'd fallen asleep on Jane's side. As he supported himself on one elbow to turn himself over and silence the noise, the texture of the pillow under his arm—the pillow he would have used if Jane had still been there—struck him as strange.
Hitting the kill switch on the alarm, he rubbed his hot, exhausted eyes. He needed at least another couple of hours if he was going to shake off his weariness, but he didn't have that luxury. He had to take a moment to gather his thoughts, but then he sat up to investigate.
Underneath the pillow was a book, open to a specific page. Frowning, Kurt picked it up, careful not to lose the page Jane must have wanted him to see, and looked it over.
His military academy yearbook? What was this about?
He gave the double page spread a quick once-over, then checked under the pillow again, hoping Jane had left a note to explain herself. Was this case-related, or personal? A message left for the team about Sandstorm, or an affectionate gesture meant only for him?
Finding nothing else to help him decipher this enigma, Kurt stared at the familiar page. He'd gone over this entire yearbook a couple of times over the past two months, looking for clues as to why he was so important to Shepherd.
Something told him Jane had found something. If it had been a personal message, she would have explained herself, but if she'd happened across something important just as Roman had arrived, she'd have used her last seconds alone to hide the book where she knew Kurt would find it.
She'd left the book open to the page with the picture of him playing basketball, about to fail to make the final shot in the District Finals. Funny how they'd chosen a photograph taken two seconds before one of the most disappointing moments of his adolescence—not that they would have used the one two seconds later, of him realising he'd fucked up and let down his entire team. That didn't exactly encourage school spirit.
From the picture, Kurt turned his attention to the words, carefully reading every scrap of information on the pages, from the main text to the photograph captions. Nothing stood out, and he sighed, looking up from the book. Maybe Jane had left some kind of message only Patterson would be able to find? But why would she, instead of just leaving him a note some other way?
About to get up and put on some coffee, Kurt glanced down at the yearbook one more time, then began to set it aside.
Wait. Is that…?
He stared down at the picture again, focusing on a woman in the background, amidst the spectators on the bleachers. She was smiling proudly, as though she had a family member on the team, but as Kurt examined her more closely, he realised she was looking directly at his teenage self.
Kurt compared the woman to his mental image of Jane's drawing of Shepherd. He couldn't be sure until he had both pictures in front of him, but his gut told him this was Jane's adopted mother.
Maybe someone who still worked at the military academy would recognise her, and they could finally get an official identity. That might help them trace Jane's whereabouts, not to mention figure out what the hell Shepherd was planning.
Please, let this be something we can use.