He has so many regrets as he frantically searches for her, follows her muted screams. There's terror in his chest, desperation too. Weller knows that they're hurting her, that he's not going to make it, not going to find her in time.
He runs and runs into a never ending tunnel, her voice irrationally sounding further away the closer he gets. Kurt hollers for her as he hammers his way through the darkness, his approach already obvious to enemies with his feet slamming against the ground.
But no matter how far he gets, it's never far enough. And even as he's running Weller knows he's not going to make it, not going to save her.
Because he never does, never has. And he's been having variations of the same dream since he was ten. Only now the subject's changed.
Weller snaps awake and immediately looks around, checking to see if he'd been caught sleeping on the job by anyone. But it's extremely late and the NYO is nearly empty, so thankfully no one is around to snap a picture of their boss napping in his office chair.
His heart is still pounding from the emotion of the nightmare, Jane's broken cries still echoing in his mind. It makes something deep inside of him ache, that same hurt he's been carrying all his life.
She's gone, disappeared by the CIA and most likely to remain that way. Which leaves him wandering through life, angry at everything, trying so hard not to think about her and rarely succeeding. Even in his dreams.
Kurt has tried to tell himself that it's just another loss among so many. That he shouldn't even count it as that. She was… what? Some sort of plant, a mole, a player in some grand scheme? He can't even find that out, lost her to the CIA the second she was in that holding cell.
So it pisses him off, more than it should. That he doesn't know where she is, that she could be dead. He knows what the CIA does to suspected terrorists; it's a mainstay of his recurring nightmare.
Weller shudders, tries to shut down the thought before it starts up again. As conflicted as he feels about Jane, it hurts to think about what she's likely going through, that she probably blames her current situation on him.
It shouldn't matter so much, he thinks to himself for the millionth time. That she's gone, what she thinks of him, even if she's dead. Not when Mayfair's missing and he just found out what really happened to Taylor, had to deal with the conflicting emotions of his father's death too.
He'd had no tears for his dad but he'd sobbed a long time for Taylor, for all those years of false hope. And then he'd exhumed her secretly, buried her somewhere special; finally putting his childhood friend to rest in his own mind. Taylor was gone, forever. And at last he knew where she was, could stop his endless wondering.
And yet it turns out he'd just made a trade. Swapped one wonder for another.
Where was she? Was she even alive?
He fucking hated not knowing. It affected him more than he dared to admit, permeated all his goddamned thoughts, his every night. Made him do uncharacteristic things.
Like get wasted and fuck Allie, his brain supplies unhelpfully.
Weller sighs, tries to turn his attention back to the drudgery of paperwork. He's filling out another futile form about gaining access to Jane, not that he thinks it's going to do any good. If the CIA didn't want to give him any information then he was pretty much screwed.
He signs the piece of paper, drops his pen down in frustration and pulls out a bottle of scotch. Thankfully it's definitely late enough to drink at the office, though Weller would be reluctant to admit the frequency with which he'd been doing so since his life went to hell.
His father's penchant for alcohol was one of his most pathetic traits and Kurt had always swore to himself that he wouldn't let booze become a problem. It had never even come close to being an issue except for a few hungover mornings with Allie, way the hell back when.
These days though, nothing else gave him any relief from the new endless question in his life. So sometimes, he gave in to the temptation, drank away his wonder.
Tonight though, he's going to drive himself home so one is the limit, just enough to take the edge off the stress headache that's been dogging him forever now. Or however long it had been since he arrested her.
Weller slugs back the scotch, not bothering to enjoy it in the least. Is talking himself out of another when there's a knock at the door and Patterson steps in.
"Hey," Weller says with a nervous frown. He doesn't like Patterson's body language; the little apologetic shrug she gives as she enters.
"Hey," Patterson replies with a grimace. "So, I looked into every lead I had, including some of questionable legality. But I didn't get anywhere, information on CIA black sites is, not surprisingly, pretty much impossible to find."
Kurt sighs, had been expecting as much. But still it deflated him, made his gut sink with some unnamed emotion.
"Don't worry about it, Patterson. I didn't really expect you to find anything," he says. "Thanks for looking."
Patterson frowns, turns to go before swinging back towards him.
"I am though," she says, looking at him directly. "Worried about her. It's the CIA. You know what they do."
"Why do you think I'm looking so hard?" Weller snaps back, then immediately regrets it.
"Sorry, I'm just frustrated," he adds, calmer. "Sending forms to the CIA is just more BS that isn't going to get us anywhere."
Patterson gives him a sympathetic look, tilts her head at him and shrugs awkwardly.
"At least it's Jane," she says. "If anyone can survive it's her."
Weller nods his terse agreement as Patterson leaves his office. Then he picks himself up out of his chair before he can think about all the things she's having to survive.
He shouldn't care so much. But there's no doubt that he does.
Kurt Weller drags himself home, a hollow feeling in his chest. It's the same one he first met at ten years old, when he first lost something irreplaceable.
It's something he's still learning to live with, knowing that he screwed up once more. He had thought it wasn't possible to feel guiltier than he had all his life. But of course he'd been wrong about that too. Because now it was all out in the open and it was all worse than before.
He'd let his father kill his best friend, while he was in charge of watching her. Emma had trusted him and he'd failed her, failed Taylor.
Then he'd failed her again by blinding himself to the truth, wanting to believe that Jane was Taylor, alive and goddamned perfect. He alone had fucked that up, just something else to regret.
There had just been no other way to explain the pull she had on him, right from the start. He irrationally thinks he loved her from the minute he set foot in that interview room. Even though he's been simultaneously trying to convince himself that it isn't true, that he doesn't still think about her much too often.
Weller stalks in his apartment, slams back one more drink. Then he takes himself to bed, hoping to god that he'll escape the dreams that dog him and get some real shut eye.
But as Kurt tries to sleep, the same old guilt comes rushing at him. And, just like always, it comes down to one thing, one thought, one understanding.
He'd lost her. It was all on him.