Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.

A/N: Obviously, I don't know what the entrance into which FBI prisoners are taken looks like, or what their protocol is for escorting prisoners within the building. If you do, please don't feel like you have to correct me, unless of course it's really, really cool. Also, I only ever planned to focus on Jane and Kurt, but this chapter gives Zapata and Reade a little more attention as well. I didn't plan it that way, it just happened. :) But I love those two as well, so it's all good. After all, they're all a team. Or… at least they were a team, before… never mind. Just keep reading! We'll get back there… eventually…

KURT

The flashing lights blurred his vision but even though he couldn't quite see or think straight, he couldn't bring himself to stand still. He paced the scene, stomping in and out of the safe house, seeing the activity around him but not quite actively participating in it. It was all too much, especially that wall.

Fuck. Don't look at it, he told himself, but it was as though he couldn't help it. His eyes were drawn to it as if by some otherworldly force. The drawings, the photographs, the notes, all pinned up there and staring down at him, mocking him. Between this wall and the fact that he now knew that she'd lied about being Taylor, it was all the proof he needed.

And so he stood there and stared at it, desperately wanting to walk away, until he couldn't take it anymore and he was close to becoming physically ill, at which time he would use every ounce of strength inside him and force himself to turn and leave the room – that room where he'd snapped the handcuffs around Jane's wrists. He could still hear the clinking echoing in his head, along with the sounds of Jane, saying his name desperately… He shook his head, trying to stop the sound, but it only got louder.

Jane. His mind spat the name as if it were laced with poison. Or whoever the hell she is.

Each time, he'd force himself from the room and burst outside, desperately needing air, only to stomp around the scene, glaring at everything and everyone in the vicinity except the SUV where she sat, where he'd forced her to sit, locked her in. He didn't look at the SUV at all, and yet still he could feel her eyes boring into him, that pleading, desperate look that she'd given him before he'd forced her to turn around and put her hands on her head.

No, she was nothing to him now, now that he knew the truth.

Except that he couldn't get her face out of his head, couldn't stop feeling her stare through the tinted glass of the vehicle, couldn't stop feeling like he had to get out of range of her… and so he would wander the scene, ending up back inside the safe house before long, and the whole cycle would begin again. He knew that his presence there wasn't healthy or productive – probably the opposite of both, actually – but he couldn't bring himself to leave, and no one dared to suggest it to him. The only one who would have sent him home who he might have listened to was Mayfair, but she was nowhere to be seen, of course.

From time to time someone asked him a question and he answered them absently the best he could, but he could feel that his head was not 100% in the game. Hell, he'd by lying if he claimed that his head was 50% in the game. The truth of it was, the way he was feeling, he was pretty sure that he shouldn't be around people at all.

He kept looking for Mayfair to show up, but she didn't. It wasn't like her, especially not for something like this. He wished that she was there, because he knew very well that at that moment he should not be the agent in charge of this scene. As many times as he'd insisted that he was the right person to be lead agent on the Jane Doe case, despite all the evidence that said that he shouldn't have been – and really, he could now admit that he'd been wrong, he'd let his personal feelings about her cloud his judgement – he could easily see that he should not be in charge here. And yet, he was.

It was a relief, therefore, when Zapata and Reade arrived. He didn't hear them approach, but suddenly they were standing on either side of him as he stood still for a rare moment, having only just stopped pacing for the first time and staring at the ground, breathing raggedly. He saw them exchange worried glances before either of them spoke, and knew them well enough to know what their looks meant – he just wasn't in a state to be able to do anything with this knowledge. Unsurprisingly, it was Zapata – ever the more direct one – that spoke first.

"Weller, what's going on?" Zapata asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. It wasn't like Weller to get upset – not like this – ever. Almost no matter what the situation, he was calm and collected. The way he looked now… He knew without seeing himself that in all their years working together, she had never seen him like this. He could see the fear and worry mirrored in her eyes when he finally looked up at her. He knew that the only thing that could unsettle him, at least as far as work went, the only thing that could throw him off his game, was Jane – Reade had already pointed it out to him more than once.

Reade looked around, but Jane was nowhere to be seen. He looked like he wanted to ask Weller if she was involved somehow in whatever was going on, but decided to wait. Whatever it was, it was big.

Before Weller could register another thought, Zapata's hand was on his arm. He couldn't help but wonder how much they already knew, if they somehow had heard what had happened. After all, that gentle tone that Zapata had used to address him seemed wrong coming from her. No, the person most likely to use that tone with him was—

No, he told himself emphatically. She doesn't get the dignity of my thoughts. His head began to spin, and he knew that he had to get ahold of himself, now.

Glancing up at them and seeing the questioning looks in their eyes, he realized that they didn't yet know what had happened after all. He knew that he needed to tell them as much as he could, in a way that would make sense – not the rambling mess that his thoughts were currently jumbled into, so he tried to mentally separate his feelings from the facts of the case. They didn't need the messy details, just the highlights. And so, trying to remember the important facts in chronological order, he took a deep breath.

"My father died last night," he began, and even without looking at either of them directly, he saw the dismay register on the faces of his colleagues. If only it were just that, he thought. He saw Zapata about to speak, but held up his hand. "No, wait, there's more. A lot more." He couldn't help but think that his words sounded like a line from a cheesy game show, which almost made him smile. I'm going insane, he thought, before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Pausing to gather his thoughts, he didn't want to speak the words out loud. Somehow, saying them made them more real. If he didn't say them, he could forget… They'd been offensive enough in his ears, and in his mouth when he'd had to tell Sarah. He never wanted to say them again…

But say them he must, at least one more time, so he forced himself to continue. "Before he died, he told me…" He didn't know if it was disgust or grief or anger than threatened to choke him then, or all of those things, or if it was something else altogether. "…My father told me that he…" His voice trailed off to a whisper, but he continued speaking a second later. "…he killed Taylor Shaw."

There was shocked silence on either side of them as Zapata and Reade processed this new information. Even for these seasoned FBI agents who had seen many, many horrifying things in their careers, this revelation was difficult to swallow. Weller's father? So Weller had been right all along! They knew that he had been investigated, but there had been no evidence, and he had always denied it… Even though they knew that Weller hadn't believed in his father's innocence, it was still shocking to them to have the confirmation of a confession after all this time.

Before Kurt knew what was happening, Zapata had stepped in front of him and was pulling him down so that she could hug him tightly. Weller accepted the embrace, his arms just barely moving to Zapata's back in an automatic response to the vice-like grip in which she held him, appreciating the hug for exactly what it was – his team member's show of support. Zapata was tough as nails, but the two of them had worked together for a long time, and he knew that she knew exactly how much of an impact the whole Taylor Shaw case had had on his life, even before Jane had come into the picture.

When Zapata finally let go of Kurt, Reade patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, the guy's version of the hug that Zapata had just offered. Weller knew that these two always had his back, no matter what, and though it didn't change the facts, he was glad for the support. Still, he cringed inwardly, knowing that he hadn't even told them the worst of it yet.

Kurt saw the look on Zapata's face when her brain caught up with his last sentence. "Wait, Weller, you said that your father killed Taylor Shaw. But then…" Her mouth stood open as she stopped, mid-sentence, looking at Reade, who had just reached the same conclusion almost simultaneously. The two appeared frozen for a second, realization hitting them hard.

Reade was the first to recover this time. "So then if she's not Taylor, then who the hell is Jane?"

Weller looked back down at the ground, all of the muscles in his face tensing as he shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he growled. There was audible pain in his voice, despite his best efforts to keep himself calm, and he was suddenly afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from breaking down then and there.

"Oh my God, Weller, I…" Zapata started, but words seemed insufficient just then. She just shook her head in disbelief.

"So… where is she now? Did you confront her?" Reade asked reluctantly. He could see that Weller was overwhelmed, but they needed to establish what was going on.

Weller nodded toward the SUV not far away, the one he'd been avoided looking at so far, where he had locked Jane. "I arrested her."

"You what?" Zapata blurted out before she could stop herself.

"She lied about who she is," Kurt snapped quickly, suddenly on the defensive. "She said she remembered being Taylor Shaw. But she's not Taylor Shaw." He stopped and looked Zapata dead in the eyes. "I found Taylor Shaw." His voice was beginning to crack, but he forced the words out anyway. There was no stopping now, after all.

"I found her buried under the goddamn campsite where my dad took us camping as kids – me, Taylor and Sarah. I found the fucking doll that she wouldn't sleep without. My father…" he paused, closing his eyes and choking back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, "My father told me where to find her remains, and she was there." He sucked air in and out, almost wheezing from the effort, leaning over and bracing his hands against his knees. Feeling himself calm down, he stood back up and looked at them defiantly. "Jane said she was Taylor Shaw, but she lied. I don't know a goddamn thing about her that's real. So yes, I fucking arrested her." For a second, you could have heard a pin drop in the space between them.

"Shit," Reade breathed out, shaking his head. "Have you talked to Mayfair?"

Weller shook his head, pushing himself back up to a standing position. "I haven't heard from her. I haven't seen her." It was weird that she wasn't around, to be sure, but he hadn't given it too much thought. After all, he'd had a few other things on his mind.

Zapata and Reade exchange worried glances. "That's not like her," Zapata observed, scanning the crowd. It was a futile gesture, of course, because they knew that if their boss was there, she'd have been standing beside them already. Still, she did it anyway. "I'm going to make a call," Zapata told the men, and walked away, pulling out her phone as she went.

Reade turned to Kurt, not sure what he could possibly do or say that would help. He'd thought he'd been in an impossible situation with Sarah the past few weeks – and it had been hell to have to break up with her and push her away from him, having to break her heart just to keep her safe – but this was so much bigger. He simply couldn't imagine what Kurt was going through. He stood beside the lead agent as he seemed to seethe, wondering what the hell the right thing to do or say would be in this situation. He was simply at a loss.

Finally, feeling like it was a cop out, Reade said simply, "I'm sorry, man. I don't even know… I just can't imagine. I mean…" He sighed heavily and shook his head, hoping that Kurt could at least get the sentiment beside his disjointed words. Much like Weller, Reade just wasn't good with words the way Zapata was most of the time.

Kurt looked up at him and nodded glumly. "Yeah. Thanks, man."

Zapata returned then, holding her phone in her hand and looking perplexed. "She's not at the office. No one has heard from her in a few hours, when she said she was going out. It's just not like her. She never just disappears, and certainly not for this long. She's always right in the middle of things. Now she's not even answering her phone – it went straight to voicemail." It just didn't make sense.

"There must be something else going on that we don't know about yet," Reade observed, unable to know just how true this was.

Zapata still looked perplexed, but nodded. "Yeah, I guess," she agreed skeptically. Kurt had been standing between the two, only half listening. He kept seeing Jane's face in his head, and it was distracting him from thinking rationally.

Jane. The woman he didn't really know after all, despite everything they'd been through. Her face loomed large before his eyes, with her tattoos – both the ones they'd already solved and the ones they hadn't – floating into his field of vision, overlapping each other and sometimes obscuring her face, sometime not, before floating away again. And then, even worse, he saw himself digging up Taylor's remains, saw himself confronting Jane… handcuffing her... twisting the handcuffs as he pushed her into the SUV… he only wished he knew how to stop seeing all this before his eyes, but the images refused to abate.

He put a hand to his temple, rubbing it gently to try to massage away the headache that had already formed. The two agents standing on either side of him were looking at him again, he could feel it. He couldn't manage to bring himself to look at either of them just then, however, just continuing to stare blankly ahead, seeing only Jane. He was dismayed to realize that the hand that wasn't at his temple was balled tightly into a fist.

"Weller, you need to go home. We'll take Jane back to headquarters," Zapata told him. It wasn't a question. However, she wasn't Mayfair, the only one Kurt might have taken that direction from. And besides that, Kurt wasn't leaving.

He looked up at her, his face pulled into a pained grimace. "I'm fine, Zapata." Pausing, he glanced at the SUV where Jane was locked inside. When he spoke again, his tone had changed completely, suddenly becoming harsher than she or Reade had ever heard it before. "But you can take her back. Or have another agent do it. Either way. It can be anyone but me. I'm done with her. Permanently."

Zapata and Reade exchanged quick glances, nodding. "It's okay, we got it," Reade assured him. "But if you're gonna refuse to go home, you need to at least go back to the office. There's no need to hang out here. And with all the new information we've gotten tonight…" Reade trailed off, considering that Weller was the source of most of the new information – or at least a good bit of it – so he didn't really need to tell Weller how much work they had to do. Of course, Weller should probably be working on something else entirely, if he was even fit to work at all, though of course there was no chance he would go for that. No matter what Weller said, he was far too invested in Jane to just walk away. Reade and Zapata both knew it, even if Weller didn't.

To their surprise, Kurt nodded. "Yeah," he conceded. "Okay. Once we have a handle on things here, I'll catch a ride back to the office. You guys go. Get her out of here." He spat the last sentence as if the very idea of her disgusted him. Really, at that moment it did. Even more than that, he was disgusted with himself. How the hell had he let himself be conned like this? It made him sick to even think about it… and so very angry. Not now, Kurt told himself. He'd only just barely gotten ahold of himself, he couldn't afford to go back down that path just yet, and certainly not in public.

He fished his hand into his pocket and dug out the keys to the SUV, holding them in one finger by the metal ring, as if they were suddenly contaminated with something with which he didn't want to come into contact any more than absolutely necessary. He held the key ring out in their direction, waiting for one of them to take it. Zapata was faster, snatching it from Kurt's fingers before he could toss it on the ground, which, given the look on his face, seemed like a distinct possibility. She shoved the key ring into her own pocket, still trying to determine whether or not their lead agent really was okay, as he claimed he was.

ZAPATA AND READE

Looking at him as if she was uncertain whether or not she should believe him, Zapata gave Kurt a pained smile, nodding. "Okay, boss. We'll see you back there. And if you don't get back soon, I'm gonna come back and haul your ass outta here. Don't think I won't."

Kurt just nodded absently, turning to walk away without another word. It really was painful to watch him. Like a lost, angry puppy, Zapata thought suddenly, shaking her head. The comparison might have been funny, if the whole thing hadn't been so completely fucked up.

Zapata and Reade stared after him. Zapata couldn't help but think about how much she hated to see Weller like this. After all, it was so completely unlike him. As long as she'd known him, their cases hadn't phased him. Not ever. Of course, there was the commonly known fact that Jane was something more than just an asset to Weller. That had been obvious to them almost from the beginning. Then they'd found out that Jane was Taylor – or, that they'd thought that Jane was Taylor – and after that the only one of them to whom the "something" between Weller and Jane hadn't been obvious had been Weller himself. For a brilliant agent, Weller really can be a dumbass, Zapata thought.

But that was irrelevant now, with everything that had just come to light. Zapata couldn't help but wonder how much more there was to this case that they had yet to uncover. Not just the tattoos that helped them solve individual cases within the Jane Doe case umbrella, but the mystery of Jane herself. Because now that she wasn't Taylor, they were back to square one. No, they were even farther back than that. Because Jane not being Taylor after all threw into question just about everything they'd learned thus far, and made it all seem a hundred times more sinister. And how the hell did the DNA test say that she was Taylor when she wasn't actually Taylor? Just how high up, and how broadly, did this all go, anyway?

There simply had to be more to this, something that they didn't know. There was no way that Jane was just solely a traitor. She may have done bad things, but was it possible that she could have done bad things and not be a bad person? As Zapata had learned in her years in law enforcement, it was seldom that simple. Few things in life were, after all. People did things with all kinds of different reasons, and many times for more than one reason.

Zapata suddenly recalled a conversation she'd had with Jane not long ago. A chill ran down her spine as she heard her own words, spoken to Jane, echo in her head. Jane had asked her something like Was it possible for a good person to do something terrible? And what had she told her in response? She couldn't remember her exact words, but she remembered the sentiment, and the conviction with which she'd uttered the words, with chilling accuracy. It had been something like Terrible people do terrible things. And the good people stop them.

Do I really believe that? she asked herself.Because what if Jane did something terrible? Is she automatically a terrible person? Was thatwhy she had asked me that? she wondered. Zapata struggled to come to grips with the two warring ideas. She liked Jane a lot, sympathized with her, and respected her judgement. She'd saved their asses more than once. She was part of the team. Not only that, but they were friends. From all indications, Jane was a good person. She hadn't understood why Jane had asked her that before, but now…

It couldn't all be a lie, surely…

When she looked up, Reade was watching her carefully. "You're quiet," he told her bluntly. "You're never quiet. So… What do you think?"

She just shrugged, shaking her head and letting out a heavy sigh. "About which part?" she asked tiredly.

"Any of it," Reade replied, eyeing her suspiciously. Zapata wasn't acting like her usual self.

"I… I really don't know what to think," Zapata replied slowly. "We know her, or, we thought we knew her… I just don't know." There was nothing else to say, because that was the honest truth. At that moment, she didn't know what to say about any of it.

"No, I knew better from the beginning," Reade said bitterly. "Even after you guys trusted her, I knew there was something off…" His expression suddenly became angry. "I never should have listened. Weller's instincts are usually right on, but with her… he never could see straight around her, even before he'd decided she was Taylor."

Bitterness dripped from Reade's words, which Zapata noticed in surprise. She'd thought that he'd gotten past those feelings long ago. Jane and Reade had seemed to have developed a good working relationship. He'd seemed to respect her. He feels betrayed by her, Zapata realized. Just like Weller. She wasn't sure how she felt about Jane. Not yet. Right now all she could feel was shock.

"Come on, let's just get back," she told him, glancing at the SUV that contained the woman who had brought so much chaos to their lives, ever since the first day they'd met her. "It's going to be a long time before this is all sorted out."

"Yeah," Reade agreed, "and she has a lot of explaining to do."

Something in Reade's tone made Zapata hope that he wasn't going to be the one to interrogate her. Really, she supposed that it shouldn't be any of them, since they were all probably too close to the situation to be objective. They shouldn't have to – shouldn't be allowed to – interrogate someone they'd considered a friend. There were times where regulations like that, about personal connections and biases, seemed silly, but in this case it made complete sense.

The two agents walked slowly toward the SUV, Zapata heading for the driver's seat. They climbed in without a word, pausing to turn and look over their shoulders at Jane, slumped in the back seat, her hands handcuffed behind her back and her eyes squeezed shut. She appeared to be in pain. Despite everything, Zapata couldn't help but feel badly for her friend. But she could do absolutely nothing for her. It was all out of her control now.

They drove back to headquarters in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. In the garage, they pulled up to the same entrance that was used to unload prisoners. Reade climbed out of the car slowly, and found Zapata already standing there, staring at the same door that they'd walked so many criminals through, into which Jane would now walk. There was a faraway look in Zapata's eyes, and Reade could tell that she was lost in thought. Am I the only one who's not completely shocked by this? he wondered. He was pissed off, disappointed and outraged – but shocked? No, sadly he just felt responsible for the mess in which they now found themselves.

"You ready, Z?" he asked her hesitantly. He knew Zapata well enough to know that she was having some major misgivings about all this, probably thinking that there was no way that what they'd been told about Jane could be true. Reade knew that the two of them, plus Patterson, had spent some quality girl time together. They had become friends. Besides that, Zapata was an interesting combination of tough girl and sensitive, one that generally helped her be both no nonsense and yet very intuitive, which made her a solid agent. In this case, however, the two sides of her personality were at war with each other.

She slowly shook herself out of her reverie, turning to face him. If he didn't know better, he'd say she looked sad. But how could she be sad about this? Pissed off he would understand, but not sad.

"Yeah," she said, in that voice she used when she was pretending that everything was fine but she was obviously lying. He almost never called her on it. They were all going to be dealing with this shit differently, he knew. He couldn't begrudge her her feelings, even if they were radically different from his own. They were different in so many ways, but in so many others, they were the same, and their job now was the same as well – to get to the bottom of this mess.

Zapata pulled the car door open abruptly, forcing herself to look down at Jane, who looked even more pathetic now. Her eyes were still squeezed tight, and she was shaking slightly. Zapata felt a squeeze around her heart, but there was nothing she could do about it. "Jane," she said, trying to force her voice out evenly, but knowing that it came out flat, "Jane, let's go." They watched Jane slowly open her eyes, squinting up at them.

Damn, Reade thought, she looks like hell. Not that it should've been that much of a surprise, all things considered.

They waited, stone faced, as Jane tried to extract herself from the SUV without the use of her hands. Zapata wondered if she should try to help her out, not really wanting to see her friend fall flat on her face, but a glance at Reade and his unreadable expression reminded her that she needed to remain professional, no matter how difficult it was. Something in Jane's eyes was pleading with them… Zapata couldn't remember ever seeing her look so pathetic. Still, despite the fact that she wanted to, the agent said nothing, and did her best not to let her face betray her thoughts.

When Jane finally managed to climb out of the SUV and balance herself, Zapata and Reade immediately stepped forward and each took one of her arms firmly in their hands. It wasn't that they thought she was going to try to escape, because, having seen Jane in action, they both knew that if Jane decided to try, they wouldn't stand a chance of stopping her. It was more that they needed to follow protocol explicitly, specifically because it was Jane. They couldn't let anyone say later that they'd neglected to follow the rules because of the nature of their relationships – friendship, team member, whatever it might be.

Zapata noticed that once they took her arms, closing the car door behind her and entering the building, Jane didn't look up again. She was also aware of just how many people they passed were staring at them. Heads peeked out of doorways, conversations stopped mid-sentence, and a hush followed them as they escorted Jane back to where it had all begun.

Reade wasn't sure why he remembered it, but he couldn't help but notice that Jane was being put in Interrogation Room 1, just as she had been when they'd first found her. Even he found this a little cruel. They couldn't have used one of the other rooms? he wondered. It just seemed wrong to him. He saw Zapata cringe out of the corner of her eye as they approached the door, and he wondered if she'd noticed the coincidence as well.

Jane looked up at them then, when they stopped inches in front of the door, glancing first at Reade and then at Zapata. She looked nervously from them back to the door, which Reade opened. They let their hands drop from her arms, and Zapata felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, almost as if she was being locked inside.

"Go in and get comfortable," Reade told Jane, in the detached and slightly aggressive voice that Zapata hadn't heard him use with her in a very long time. "You're going to be there a while," he added. They watched Jane shuffle slowly into the room, and heard the muffled sob escape from her as Reade slammed the door, more loudly than was necessary.

Zapata stared through the window set inside the door, fighting back tears of her own. Reade watched her critically, knowing that his partner was conflicted. "You can't feel bad for her," he told her in a voice slightly harsher than he'd intended. "She did this. She brought it on herself."

Shaking her head but not taking her eyes off of Jane, who was now in a heap on the floor, her body shaking with sobs that they couldn't hear through the door, Zapata bit her lip. "I don't believe that," she told him. "Whatever she did, I don't believe that she did it all on purpose."

Reade snorted, throwing up his hands. He didn't have the patience for this at that moment. "Alright, well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he said as he turned and walked away. "I'm gonna see if I can find Mayfair." Before she could answer, he had disappeared around the corner.

Zapata almost didn't notice his absence. She was too focused on the woman sobbing on the floor only feet away from her, just past the door. "Dammit, Jane," Zapata whispered. "What the hell did you do?" Unable to stand there and watch any longer, she turned quickly and followed Reade's retreating footsteps back towards Mayfair's office and Patterson's lab.

On the other side of the door, Jane remained on the cold floor long after no one was there to watch her break down.