Author's Note: Jeller go on their first date. But it's not a date. But it is. ;) And there might be a liiiiiittle cliffhanger here. I'm also toying with the idea of really, really putting Jane in control of the situation. But I don't know if the Blindspot fandom can handle that level of kinkiness, so I may save that for a different fic where my intention is clear from the outset, rather than disappointing readers of this one.

Jane stared at herself in the mirror, hating how self-conscious she felt, and how clueless about what to wear on dates. It's not a date. Calm down. Just relax. She and Kurt were just catching up over dinner. It wasn't like he'd made a real move on her. She still didn't know exactly what he was doing in Los Angeles in the first place—surely he hadn't come all the way down here just to see her.

But what if he had? What if he wanted to…

"Ugh." Jane flopped down on her bed, covering her face with her hands. She was overthinking this, she knew she was. His life was there and hers was here. That was all there was to it. But on the other hand, there was a tension between them that put her on edge, in the best possible way.

She was restless, excited, nervous. Her body wanted to press up against his and—

"No," she said aloud to the room. "Just…no."

To rein in her imagination, she distracted herself by calling Patterson. "Guess who I just tattooed."

Patterson gasped. "Weller got a tattoo?!"

"So you did know he was coming."

"He wanted it to be a surprise. What did you tattoo on him? Where?" Patterson demanded.

"A sandstorm coming out of a broken hourglass. Inner forearm."

"Oh, I saw that one on your website! That's perfect for him." Patterson paused, then said, "So how was it seeing him again?"

Jane rolled her eyes at the obvious fishing expedition. "Good. He seems the same as he ever was. A little less stressed than in the old days."

Patterson sighed. "Yeah, he passed on all his stress to me."

"And he's apparently more single," Jane said, a little accusingly. "I could have done with knowing that, so I didn't ask him how Nas was."

Patterson made a non-committal noise, then began speaking in a rush. "I have to get back to coding, but… Jane. You're seeing him again before he goes back to New York, right? Don't do that thing you do."

Jane frowned. "What thing?" As if I need to feel any more nervous about tonight.

"That thing, where you do the thing…where you don't say what you're thinking or what you actually want, and he doesn't say what he's thinking or what he actually wants, and you're both just dancing around each other forever. Don't do that, okay? I gotta go. Bye."

The line went dead before Jane could respond, and she sighed. "Thanks, Patterson," she muttered to the empty air, and got up to stare at her outfit one more time—black skinny jeans and a fitted maroon V-neck tee. It was about the most colourful item of clothing she owned, and she wasn't sure what had moved her to buy it in the first place, but it was casual enough to not scream 'dressed up for a date' while still being flattering and a little different from her usual black, white, navy and grey shirts and hoodies.

Not for the first time since she'd cut off contact with Zapata, she found herself wishing she could send her former friend a picture of her outfit to ask her opinion of it. Tasha always looked so effortlessly stylish. Jane just didn't have that innate sense of what to wear, or when to wear it.

But Zapata was with the CIA now, working under Keaton, the man whose face she sometimes still saw in her nightmares. Mercifully, the PTSD symptoms had faded to only the occasional bad dream, but she still couldn't forgive Tasha for her thoughtless decision.

Frowning, she picked up one of her darker lipsticks and applied a coat to her lips, then immediately scrubbed it off and reached for her tinted lip gloss instead. Lipstick of any shade would definitely move her look from 'dinner with a friend' to 'let's skip dessert'.

"Screw it," she muttered, after one last glance in the mirror. "I'm ready. And this is not a date."

Yeah? Then why are you wearing a proper bra instead of a sports bra? And matching underwear? And why are you tidying away the mess you've made getting ready? Hoping to bring someone home tonight?

She ignored her snarky inner voice, pulling a strand of hair back into place before picking up her jacket and heading out.

Kurt was leaning against a street lamp near the restaurant entrance when she got there, tapping something into his cell phone. He glanced up when he heard her footsteps, and his eyes lit up in greeting as he pocketed the phone. "Hey."

"Hey." She gave him a quick hug in greeting. "Do anything fun this afternoon?"

Kurt held up his arm for a moment. "Aside from getting a tattoo? Mainly I just walked along the beach. Thought about life."

"Yeah, the sea helps me think, too." She gestured to the restaurant's entrance. "Shall we?"

Once they were seated and had ordered their drinks, Jane glanced at him across the table. "Come to any conclusions? About life, I mean?"

Kurt shrugged. "Not really. I was just thinking about the last five years. Everything changed after we brought down Sandstorm."

"Yeah. It did." Jane focused on her menu, forcing back wistfulness. "You're the only one still at the FBI."

Kurt tapped his menu with a couple of fingers as he considered what to order, then looked up again. "Yeah. That case was hard on everyone, though. I don't blame you all for wanting out."

"You never wanted to leave?" Jane asked softly.

"Honestly? This job drives me crazy sometimes, but I'm good at it, and I make a difference. Even still get to go out in the field once in a while, though Hirst keeps telling me not to."

Imagining how those conversations would have turned out, Jane smiled and closed her menu. "I'm surprised she hasn't given up trying to talk you out of it yet."

"She's persistent, but I'm stubborn."

Jane decided now was a good time to take a sip of her drink rather than agree with his statement. "Is Afreen still in the lab?"

They talked about the NYO—its current state and the old days—until halfway through their meals, when Kurt said, "I know it's been a long time, but how are you coping with everything that happened back then?"

Jane considered her answer for a moment, chewing and swallowing a prawn before saying, "Sometimes I think I see Roman. In a crowd of people, just for a second. Never more than a flash, though. I'm probably imagining it."

Kurt leaned forward, concerned. "Let me know the next time it happens. I can get in touch with LAPD, get them to pull camera footage."

Touched by his reaction, she smiled and reached across the table to where his hand rested, laying her own over it. "Kurt, really, you don't have to worry. Even if he is there, I don't think he plans to hurt me. The first time I thought I saw him was just after I moved here. I doubt he's been watching me for five years just to turn around and attack me."

Kurt squeezed her fingers between his. "Maybe not, but be careful. I know he's your brother, but you know he's dangerous."

She nodded, fighting a wave of sadness as she withdrew her hand again. Of everything that had happened once she'd been told who she really was, she missed her connection with Roman—after she'd given him the ZIP—the most. Even though he'd spent most of their time together in his Zero Division cell, she had fond memories of that time they'd spent together. "I remember."

"Speaking of remembering—how's your memory these days? Asking as a friend, not an agent," he added before she could tell him she'd have brought any leads to him if she'd remembered them.

"Bits and pieces come back here and there. Remi did some…pretty brutal things. But it's not all bad. I remembered a few pieces of my childhood, from before the orphanage. Some stuff from military training, while I was away from Shepherd." None of the positive memories she'd gotten back were especially clear, but they were all parts to the puzzle of her past.

Kurt nodded. "If you need to talk about any of it…"

"Honestly? I just want to forget Remi ever existed." She didn't want to open up to him, be that vulnerable, needy Jane again. It was so easy to let him shoulder part of her burden, and he didn't have any obligation to, not anymore.

"That why you removed the tattoos?" he asked, his face unreadable.

Jane paused, watching his expression for a clue to what he was feeling. Getting nowhere, she answered, "Mostly, yeah. It wasn't like I chose them in the first place."

He inclined his head, conceding the point, and they were quiet for a few seconds, focused on their food. Not wanting to stay on this subject—knowing he would want to know the other reason she'd removed the tattoos if he thought about it for much longer—she asked how Sarah and Sawyer were doing, and the conversation lightened again.

The subtle charge between them never faded, and the atmosphere of their meal was never quite casual enough for just dinner between friends. At one point, his foot brushed hers under the table, and he left it there, the subtle contact making her heart race.

"I have to ask," Kurt said, over dessert. "How did you not hear that Nas and I had broken up at the time? Patterson mentions you to me when we talk, all the time. Didn't she tell you?"

Jane really didn't want to go into why she hadn't known, so she seized on the part of his statement that was safer. "Patterson's been gossiping about me? What did she tell you?"

Kurt grinned. "Don't worry. Nothing you wouldn't tell me yourself." She could tell something else was coming, and braced herself, even before he added, "Except she did mention something about a bar fight a year or so ago…"

"Oh, umm…" She tucked her hair behind her ear, a little embarrassed. "Yeah. That wasn't as big a deal as she probably made it sound."

"Yeah? Let's hear your side of it, then." His eyes shone with amusement.

For the rest of their meal, Jane had to explain how two biker gangs had decided they wanted her to ink their members' tattoos, and how the leaders of both had decided she should only provide that service to their gang, and not their rival. The leaders had ended up in a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the bar, and Jane had taken them both down before coldly informing them that she wouldn't be tattooing members of either gang.

Kurt was laughing as the waitress brought over their bill for the meal. They both reached for it at the same time, and ended up entwining their fingers instead of picking it up.

"This is the part where you insist you're gonna pay for the meal, right?" Jane said, unable to keep herself from smiling.

"And the part where you remind me it's the twenty-first century, and you can pay for the whole thing, yours and mine." He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, sending a tingle through her skin.

"We should probably just agree to split it and get it over with," Jane recommended.

"Yeah, okay." It took them both a couple of heartbeats to withdraw their hands, and Jane gazed out of the window for a moment, needing to collect herself.

By the time she focused on Kurt again, he was handing his credit card to the waitress, an innocent look on his face.

"Kurt…" Her voice emerged a resigned sigh, but she didn't bother to argue. They'd probably do that later anyway, if he kept digging into why she'd let their friendship lapse. She might as well let him win this one.

"Jane." He accepted his card back from the waitress and thanked her, then nodded towards the door. "Wanna go for a walk?"

The meal had mostly been relaxed, the undercurrent of electricity between them staying unacknowledged, even when she'd touched his hand across the table for a moment. A couple of times, she'd dodged his questions—there was something she was avoiding discussing with him, and he would get it out of her—but for the rest of the meal, the conversation between them was natural, easy. The connection they'd always shared was still the same.

His power play for paying the bill was as much out of concern for her financial situation as it was just pure stubbornness. The most intriguing part of their standoff was the flash of heat in her eyes while he'd rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. It was the first time he was completely sure that his suspicions were right, and she did still feel the same as he did.

Once they got outside, Jane hesitated. "I have a better idea than walking—or at least, one slightly more alcoholic."

He turned to face her, curious. "Go ahead."

"I think I might have"—she calculated for a moment—"three Pennsylvania beers left in my fridge. So if you want to come over, I can offer you one and a half."

Kurt tried to play it cool. "If you're sure you're okay sharing your last three beers…"

She grinned and indicated the crosswalk up the street. "I think I can manage. If I'm still thirsty after that, there's always bourbon."

As they walked, he let his hand brush hers, an invitation she could ignore or accept. Jane laced her fingers through his, and he fought a wave of fierce longing. They needed to have a conversation tonight, but it could wait until they were back at her place. No matter how much the anticipation was killing him.

"Good taste in beer," he commented, to fill the silence.

Jane gave a soft laugh. "Thanks. Someone converted me, about…six and a half years ago now?"

"Time flies."

"Yeah," she agreed, a little sadly.

I should have spent all of that time with you.

Jane's place wasn't far—a small but cosy apartment around five minutes' walk from her studio. The moment he stepped inside, he noticed one wall of her living room was a very similar shade of purple to the one at her old safehouse. Yet another indication that she missed the way things used to be, though it was subtle.

Once she'd clinked her beer bottle against his and settled down next to him on the couch—close, but not touching him—Kurt took a swallow of the familiar beer, then turned to Jane. "I don't want to ruin a fun evening, but there's something I have to ask you."

As though she'd been expecting this, she took a deep breath in, let it out slowly. "You really have to?"

Part of him wanted to just lean over and kiss her. Screw the conversation, screw everything until they'd had their fill of each other. But he needed to know what had been going on in her mind all this time.

"I need to understand."

Jane nodded, giving him a quick glance, then dropping her gaze again.

"You were a huge part of my life for nearly two years, but then you moved down here. Gradually stopped talking to me. The last time you contacted me was over three years ago. I know you left our group text when Tasha told us about the CIA, but I get that. What I don't get is that you went quiet on me. You still talk to Reade and Patterson all the time, though apparently not about me, or you'd have known about Nas moving to the UK. So here's my question, Jane. What did I do?"

Jane leaned back against the cushions, shaking her head. "Nothing, Kurt. You did nothing."

He was irritated, about to insist that she give him a real answer, but then his mind shifted her words into a different context. Instead of trying to brush him off, she was answering his question honestly. He hadn't done anything, and that was the problem.

As soon as that clicked into place, he saw everything clearly. "Jane…"

Her jaw was set, her shoulders high, and she wouldn't look at him. He sensed her hurt, and deep in his chest, his heart ached.

His first instinct was to ask her why she hadn't said anything to him. Why she'd moved thousands of miles away and then gradually faded him out of her life altogether. But he swallowed the words. In her position, he might have done the exact same thing.

"I was wrong."

She shot him a brief, startled look before avoiding his eyes once more.

He took another sip of beer, building his courage, and said, "We almost had something, but things kept getting in the way. Mayfair's death and Taylor's body. The black site. Shepherd. You didn't know where you stood with me, and by the time we were friends again, I was with Nas. So you thought I'd put you behind me, and when it hurt too much to see me with her, you moved here. But even then it didn't stop hurting. You had to stop talking to me—stop thinking about me—to give yourself time to heal. Am I close?"

Jane gave a quick nod, tension still radiating from her. She didn't look at him again.

Guilt overwhelmed him at her confirmation of his theory. Tears stung his eyes for a moment, and he fought them back. "Jane. If I could go back…" He shook his head, then tried to put into words what he'd worked out on the beach. How he'd settled with Nas because he'd been so conflicted about how he'd felt about Jane. How first Oliver Kind, then his preoccupation with Weitz's threats, then Shepherd had gotten in the way of him taking a hard, long look at himself and figuring out what he wanted.

"And then you said you wanted to move here, and I didn't want to stand in the way of your happiness. I wanted you to have the life that you chose, and for you to be happy in it. I just didn't put together that you…"

Jane had her eyes closed, listening to his words. He couldn't figure out if she understood where he was coming from, so he laid it out, plain and simple, setting aside his fears and embracing honesty and vulnerability. "I fucked up, Jane. I should never have been with Nas to begin with. I used my relationship with her as a shield because I was angry and confused about what you wanted, and…who you really were. But I was in love with you long before I met Nas. And you're right; I should have told you that before you left. But I did nothing, and I lost you."

And now I'm afraid that it's too late to fix things.