Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.
A/N: Thank you all for the positive response that this story has gotten so far. I'll try not to let too much time elapse between updates, though I'm juggling fics in three different fandoms plus an original story, so it's tricky… there's just not enough time to write everything I want to write! But enough about that – enjoy!
JANE
It didn't really surprise her that Kurt left her in the SUV for what felt like an eternity, as more and more agents arrived on the scene. Everything inside her safe house – what little she owned – was now gone. It would be bagged and tagged as evidence, no doubt, every scrap of paper held under a microscope and analyzed until some greater meaning was found. She couldn't imagine how long it would take the techs to deal with the wall where she'd pinned all of her various pieces of evidence from her own personal investigation. Patterson would—
Patterson. Shit.
And Reade. And Zapata.
She felt the already all-consuming hole in her heart widen and threaten to swallow her once again. It wasn't just Kurt who was going to hate her, it was all of them…
Except… the rest of the team didn't have the personal attachment that Kurt did. Maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to see reason where he couldn't – at least not yet. Reade would be the hardest of the three to convince, she mused. He'd been the most skeptical of her in the beginning. Understandably so, when she looked at the situation objectively. But he'd come around.
Patterson and Zapata… they were her friends. Or at least, this would tell her whether they had really been her friends, as she'd thought that they had. The thought that they might react the way Kurt had – probably less intensely, of course, but with equal parts hurt and betrayal – sent her back into the spiral that her mind had finally succeeded in stabilizing itself out of only a little while before, and only because she'd become so numb to it all.
But now she was right back in it. The team. She'd been a part of that team. Of a group of people who she genuinely believed were doing something good, no matter what Oscar seemed to believe.
Oscar.
She allowed her thoughts to rest on him for a second. Yes, she had apparently loved him in that frustrating "past life" – for lack of a better term – of hers. She still didn't remember the emotion, only saw the flashes of memories. In her desperation to gain back her past, she'd made more than a few small mistakes in terms of him… he'd misled her, lied to her, kept the truth from her and even now that he was gone, she had no idea how much else he had kept from her. What else was there to know that she now never would? Was there anyone else who knew the pieces of the puzzle that Oscar had known? Anyone else who could put it all together for her?
I hate him, she thought bitterly. I hate him for doing this to me.
It was funny, however, because she realized that she didn't hate him for all of it. She hated him for forcing her to betray her team, for letting her think she was Taylor for so long, for misleading her in so many ways, for making her question herself and the few people who she trusted…
But she didn't hate him for wiping her memory. She didn't hate him for sending her to the FBI, to Kurt, in the first place. Granted, she was unable to compare her two lives accurately, because she didn't remember the first one beyond the vague black and white flashes that she saw without warning… but it seemed to her that her life as Jane – until she'd been forced to betray her team, that is – may have been better than her life as… whoever I was, she thought sadly. Or maybe it just seemed that way now.
Something is better than nothing. That's why you think that. But maybe your first life was great and you just don't remember it. Maybe you just assume that you weren't happy.
How great could it have been if I was kidnapped from somewhere and raised as some sort of mutant soldier? she demanded of her rational mind, noting with satisfaction that the other voice in her head was unable to answer that question.
She stared out the window, the flashing lights of the other FBI vehicles that had gathered outside of her building blurring in her unfocused vision. As she sat there, dazed, she mourned so many different things. She mourned for Kurt and the many ways that he was hurting, both those that were her fault and those that weren't.
Despite the fact that he would probably never speak to her again, would probably hate her after the way everything had happened between them, she mourned for everything that he had lost. Because after being so close to him, after having had the privilege of knowing him as well as she now did, she could feel nothing but empathy for him. She certainly couldn't be angry with him. None of this was his fault, after all.
Any one of the things that had happened to him would have been enough to break most people, at least temporarily. Losing your best friend at ten years old and spending twenty-five years feeling responsible for her disappearance? Thinking that you'd finally found that person, only to discover that your own father had killed that girl, and that the one who you'd come to accept as her was actually someone else? Finding out that the person you'd trusted with so much of yourself wasn't the person you thought they were, that you didn't have a clue who they were or why they'd been sent to you, or by whom? And how would he feel about her when he found out that she'd been involved in Mayfair's takedown? Of her death? He didn't even know about those last few yet. She shuddered to think that he would likely get even angrier with her than he was now once he found out.
Jane shivered despite the warmth inside the car. No, she had nothing but compassion for Kurt. He had been wronged so many times over, it was a wonder that he was still functioning – though when she allowed her eyes to focus on him outside the window from time to time, it seemed to her that he wasn't necessarily functioning well – not as the Agent Weller that she knew him to be, calm in any crisis, in control and confident.
When she caught glances of his face now, she saw exactly what she knew that he was feeling. Rage. Betrayal. Hatred, even. Exhaustion, both mental and physical. It was a wonder that he hadn't yet been sent home. But then again, Mayfair wasn't there, and it was unlikely that anyone had even found her yet, much less learned what had happened to her. Jane closed her eyes against the images outside the car window, willing it all to go away, for her to just disappear into oblivion and nothingness. Yes, nothingness sounded pretty good right about now.
It was impossible to feel sad over the loss of her former life, the one she didn't remember, but she certainly did feel grief over the loss of what little she had had as Jane. She had fought so hard to make it as far as she had, to accept things the way they were, to accept that though she had a past, she might never remember it beyond the few flashes that she'd had so far… to accept that if she remembered her past, it might horrify the person that she was now.
She'd had to accept living in the present only, trusting her intuition because she had no past experiences that she could draw on… and all that had been monumental. She'd fought tooth and nail to get as far as she had, and the only thing that had stopped her from falling into the depths of despair so many times had been Kurt. His presence alone had always been reassuring, but he had gone out of his way to give her more than that. He'd gone so far as to tell her that the person she had been didn't matter, because she was a good person now.
And how did you repay him? That voice again. She wanted to cover her ears to block it out, but it was in her head, so that would do no good.
But she wasn't a good person now, was she? Her mind rebelled against that notion, and she closed her eyes as she fought to reject the thought violently. I did what I did to protect him, she reminded herself. I hate that I had to do it, but what was the other choice? He threatened Kurt. I've seen what these people – whoever they are – I've seen what they do to each other, to people they want out of the picture. I couldn't let that happen to Kurt. He hates me now, but he's alive. It was horrible that she'd had to make that choice, but there had never been anything to choose.
You save people, if it's humanly possible, she reminded herself. It's part of why Kurt told you you were a good person. And you did the same thing for him. He just doesn't know it.
No, her mind countered, that doesn't make it okay.
Nothing about this is okay, her reasonable mind screamed. It isn't okay that you were forced into this. It isn't okay that you were forced to choose between betraying Kurt and watching him die.
She felt as though a heavy blanket had been placed over her, like the shields that are used to cover a patient getting an x-ray to protect the areas not being scanned – not that Jane remembered that sensation, of course. The feeling threatened to suffocate her. I am not okay, a small voice inside her cried. She felt tears on her cheeks again, a slow trickle that she didn't attempt to stop as they worked their way through the same tear tracks that were still on her dirty face from the flood of tears that she'd cried earlier. She was anything but okay, and she was all alone. She was back at the beginning, except she was miles behind where she'd started the first time. It was not going to be okay… at least, she couldn't see any way that it possibly could be.
Crying wasn't going to help, of course, but she couldn't stop. She'd thought she'd cried her tear ducts dry earlier, but she found that they had miraculously refilled. She slumped down in her seat, not caring that all her weight was pressing against her handcuffed wrists behind her. What did it matter, anyway? What could possibly hurt worse than this? Her physical pain was so far outweighed by her mental anguish that she barely registered the pinch of the metal on her wrists as she leaned her weight against them.
She got her answer to that question – What could possibly hurt worse than this? – only a few minutes later, however. She heard a noise and glanced up to see Kurt standing still, hanging his head sadly, Zapata and Reade on either side of him. Zapata had her hand on his arm and was looking at him questioningly. Jane watched as the faces of the two newcomers changed as he talked. He was obviously telling him what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She could see the moment when he told them about his father and Taylor Shaw, because the two looked truly horrified. Zapata leaned in and hugged Kurt fiercely, while Reade stood by awkwardly, settling for clapping Kurt on the shoulder sympathetically once Zapata had finally let go. Their expressions turned to disbelief as Kurt began talking again. This part was clearly about her.
She wanted to look away, but found that she couldn't. What was the expression? Something about a train wreck… Watching Kurt carefully, which was easy because he was standing so that he faced her direction, she couldn't help but notice that of the three of them, his face was the only one that seemed to show no emotion. She could understand that. He was probably in shock, and probably still so angry that he couldn't properly even process his emotions. Sitting in the back seat of the SUV, watching her team – the people who had been her team – grieve with Kurt… she felt her heart breaking all over again.
When she finally managed to tear her eyes away from the scene outside the car, it was only because she had squeezed them shut tightly, feeling previously unshed tears squeeze out as she did so. This whole thing was just so much worse than anything she'd ever imagined. She'd known that eventually he'd find out about some or all of the ways she'd lied, maybe about Oscar as well, and probably Mayfair.
But she couldn't have known that his father would die, or that his deathbed confession would be to killing Taylor Shaw. And of course, she couldn't have known that she wasn't really Taylor Shaw, as strange as that sounded even in her own head. Of course, she had pretended just a little bit that she remembered being Taylor… but that by itself shouldn't have been such a crime. At least, it wouldn't have been if she'd done it simply because she wanted to believe that she was Taylor, because he'd wanted so desperately to believe it, and not that she'd done it because Oscar had told her that she had to. Kurt hadn't even found out about Oscar or Mayfair yet, and already it looked like the damage between the two of them was irreparable.
She'd been so focused on watching Kurt with Zapata and Reade, she'd forgotten for a minute how much pain she was in, herself. And now it was back, hitting her all over again, full force. Slumping back down into the seat, she tried to make herself disappear. Alas, while she could kick just about anyone's ass, disappearing was not a skill that she possessed.
It felt like she'd been sitting in the back of that SUV for an eternity, but she didn't bother to open her eyes to check the time. It didn't matter, after all. What was the difference how long she was there? At least for the time being she was sitting down, no one was pointing a gun at her or hurling accusations fast and furious… in short, her current surroundings were an improvement over that final conversation with Kurt.
Her eyes were still squeezed shut because she simply couldn't bring herself to open them again. And yet, she wished that she could open her eyes, because with them closed, all she saw was Kurt as he had been in those last minutes in her safe house. Eerily calm, and then angry and betrayed, until finally he got up and walked towards her, his gun drawn, demanding that she put her hands on her head, the handcuffs clinking behind her… over and over she saw this repeating, over and over until she swore that she couldn't take it, until she felt that she would explode from the sheer force of the emotion that had built up inside her.
Tears continued to leak from her eyes, still squeezed tightly shut, her head shaking back and forth without her permission, and her face began to hurt from the muscles having been contracted so tightly for so long. She wished for some way out of this hell, but reminded herself with her next thought that it was all of her own doing. Well, maybe not all of it, but enough of it to make her complicit. Enough to make her feel that she didn't deserve anyone's mercy, much less their understanding. She wished for it, of course, but felt completely unworthy.
After what seemed like days, voices came closer to the vehicle. Voices that she knew. She tensed up, every muscle in her body now on alert, her eyes now closed even more tightly than they had been before – she hadn't thought that it was possible, but now saw that it was. The driver's side front door opened first, followed almost immediately by the front passenger door, and she heard movement as two people settle themselves in their seats. Neither of them spoke to her, but that didn't surprise her. She knew that the chances that Kurt was one of those two people were slim to none – he'd probably go out of his way never to be near her again, judging by his previous reaction.
Don't think like that, her inner voice insisted, trying to calm her. He just needs time.
Time won't change anything, she thought miserably. Time won't change what I did, it won't change any of it.
ZAPATA AND READE
If Jane had opened her eyes, she would have seen Zapata in the driver's seat and Reade beside her. She would have seen them turn and look at her in disbelief, but not with the same hard expression that had been on Weller's face. They didn't know her as well as he did, but in some ways now that worked in her favor. Whatever she had done – which was yet to be determined – she hadn't betrayed them in the same way that she had Weller.
Zapata looked at Jane with a mixture of emotions. There was sadness for what she had been told her friend had done and how badly she had hurt Weller. Yes, there was anger and outrage there as well, but mixed in with that was a healthy amount of disbelief – because at least some of this had to be a mistake! She knew Jane after all, and she was a good person! And finally, there was outrage. They would find out the truth of what had happened. Jane may not have been Taylor after all, but Weller was the one who'd wanted her to be Taylor in the first place, whether he could admit it or not. Zapata knew Jane in a different way than Weller did, which meant that she had enough perspective on the situation to know that there was more to this than was immediately obvious.
Reade, on the other hand, was more skeptical. He'd been the last member of the team to be won over by Jane in the beginning, and he'd really thought that he was past all that. He'd come to really like Jane, even to admire her determination, but now… maybe he'd been too quick to accept her, even though the others had all been quicker. Maybe, just maybe, if he'd held onto his doubts for longer, they would have discovered something about her that would have prevented all of this. The way things stood now, he couldn't help but doubt himself.
Turning back around to face forward, Reade and Zapata glanced at each other. Zapata's face was pained, as she was obviously conflicted about what to think. Two of her friends were hurting badly, each at least in part because of the other. One of them might be a criminal, and the father of the other one had confessed to being a murderer. There was simply no way for her not to feel conflicted. Reade's expression, on the other hand, was more like Weller's – becoming harder and more detached, with a hint of anger. He didn't know what to believe, but it seemed impossible that Jane could be completely innocent. She had been complicit to some degree, they simply didn't know yet just how much.
Without another word, Zapata turned around to face forward, putting the car into Drive and maneuvering away from the scene that now swarmed with FBI agents. Looking back briefly in the rearview mirror, she couldn't help but think, Those techs are going to be busy for hours, maybe even days. After all, they were thorough in their work on every case, but on the case of an FBI consultant who may or may not have betrayed them? There would be no speck of dust in that house left unturned.
JANE
She felt the vehicle pull forward, out into what she imagined was the same light traffic in front of her safe house that she usually found at this time of day. Stop calling it your safe house, you idiot, she told herself. It's neither 'yours' nor is it 'safe' – at least for you – any longer. But the safe house didn't matter to her. Not really. It was at the bottom of a very long list of the things she'd just lost, that she would probably never get back.
No, she expected that she'd rot away in a cell, forgotten, somewhere inside the windowless interior walls of the FBI building. After all, she imagined that she knew too much for them to send her to a regular jail, and the tattoos that covered every inch of her, despite having been scanned meticulously, would be too great a risk to let out of their custody into a prison population. After all, there was a reason she'd been living in a safe house. She resigned herself to a future that was basically no future. Well, I have no past, either, so I guess it's fitting, she thought bitterly.
Every time the car stopped at a traffic light, Jane, who still hadn't opened her eyes, braced herself for the fact that this was it, time to be forced out of the car and into a room where she'd be harshly interrogated, maybe even tortured – they said they didn't do that, but how did she really know? It was coming, she knew it, and the further they drove, the closer it got. By the time they reached the FBI building and Jane heard the familiar thud of the tires going over the entrance to the parking garage, she was ready to jump out of her skin. She kept her eyes closed for as long as she could, still hoping against hope that this would all just go away if she wished hard enough. She heard the front doors open and then close, and the voices conversing softly outside her door.
Then it was upon her, the moment she'd dreaded since the second the car had started moving. The door less than a foot away from her opened suddenly, and she felt the rush of air from the outside, the sounds of people and cars echoing in the open parking structure. "Jane," Zapata's voice wasn't harsh like Kurt's had been, but it wasn't quite her usually tone, either. "Jane, let's go." No, Zapata's voice was flatter than usual. Finally unable to put off the inevitable any longer, she slowly blinked her eyes open, finding that after having squeezed them shut for so long, the light stung them and caused her to squint. Also, she now had a pounding headache from the pressure she'd exerted on the muscles in her face to keep her eyes so tightly closed.
Groaning slightly, she awkwardly wiggled herself forward toward the open door, where Zapata and Reade stood only another foot or so away, watching her gravely. With her eyes, she begged their forgiveness, their understanding, but she said nothing in words. What could she say? The looks on their faces, while not as livid as Kurt's, said all that she needed to know for right now. She was no longer a trusted team member. Now she was once again a case, but it was worse this time. Now she couldn't claim ignorance. She had done bad things, and she knew it, as did they – or they would soon enough. She wondered fleetingly if they knew about Mayfair yet, wincing a little at the thought of their boss and her final words to Jane.
Bowing her head to look at the ground, she put her feet down onto the smooth pavement and stepped out slowly, trying to maintain her balance without the use of her arms, and not fall on her face. While it really wouldn't make her day any worse if she did fall flat on the concrete, she just wasn't sure if anyone would help her up once she was down there, or just leave her to flail.
Don't be so dramatic, the voice in her head replied. But she couldn't help it. Come to think of it, she wished that she could be lying face down somewhere, if for no other reason than she wouldn't have to look at anything or anyone. She wanted nothing more just then than to dissolve into nothingness.
Zapata and Reade each took hold of one of her arms. They think I'm going to try to escape, she thought miserably. Granted, if she'd wanted to, she probably could have gotten herself out of their control without too much trouble. But what then? She was on FBI premises. What was she going to do, take down the whole New York office? And for what? Where exactly would she go? No, even though it should have been nothing at this point, the hold that Zapata and Reade had on her arms made her cringe simply because it hurt to think that that's what the two of them thought of her.
It's just protocol, she reminded herself. They still have to follow protocol. This thought didn't make her feel any better, however. In the end she gave in and decided it was for the best that the two agents held firmly to her arms, because that way she didn't have to look up at where she was going, and at the people around her as she passed by. She could feel the stares she received as she was undoubtedly being led to interrogation. Not that she wasn't used to being stared at, after all this time covered in tattoos, but this was different. She burned with shame, knowing that this time she deserved the stares.
She didn't look up until finally she, Zapata and Reade stopped outside a door labeled Interrogation 1. The irony wasn't lost on her that she'd been interrogated in this room before, after she'd been found in Times Square. She had a feeling that she was going to like this time even less than last time. Looking from one of them to the other nervously, she saw them glance first at her and then at each other without a word, before Reade opened the door and they let go of her arms. In front of her she saw the same shiny metal table and a few chairs, but little else.
"Go in and get comfortable," he told her, in a voice she remembered him using to talk to her when they'd first met, when he'd been convinced that she was trouble. "You're going to be there a while." Hanging her head and shuffling forward, she stifled a sob as the door closed loudly behind her almost the second she was past the threshold. Her hands still in handcuffs behind her back, she didn't even make it to the table, simply sank to the cold floor, curling herself into a ball and dissolving in tears.