Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.
A/N: So, as a lot of you may know, for the last three weeks I had a pretty severe allergic reaction to some poison ivy that I hadn't realized I'd touched, which somehow inspired me to write a whole other story, dropping everything else until it was done. Now that Jane and I have recovered from that, I'm back at work on this story, so thanks for your patience. I'm so glad that I got as far in this one as I did before that Comic Con trailer for season 2 came out, because the scenes from next season show just how much crueler Martin Gero is to Jane than I am… this version of the post s1 finale is truly a kinder, gentler version (I just don't have it in me to torture them all for as long as he does) and I know season 2 will go in a completely different direction than this story, but that's okay. This is just killing time while I wait for MG to kill me all over again. And clearly, I needed a Jeller fix far more than MG did.
Anyway, I know that the previous chapter strayed a little bit into the "you wish!" category, but every once in a while it's nice to forget the angst for a little while and let them be happy. Or, as happy as you can be when you've gotten four people killed, betrayed the man you love but did it to save his life, and lied to everyone important to you… oh, and been arrested by said man after finding out your identity was all a lie. You know, small stuff. Chapter 14 was quite an intense one and I only hope this chapter is a comparable follow up, but I did my best. After all, there's a lot more for her still to confess.
ZAPATA, READE AND PATTERSON
After finding Reade at his computer, Patterson and Zapata gave him a quick run-down of what he'd missed, and the three of them headed to the interrogation rooms. There they sat and waited, making idle chatter for twenty minutes or so, before they began to suspect that Jane and Kurt weren't coming out of lock-up anytime soon. Patterson suggested that they check the cameras in the security room, which would have coverage of the cells, and the other two agreed, wondering why they hadn't thought of that a while ago.
Explaining the situation to the agent monitoring the cameras, they crowded into his small space as he stepped back, allowing them access to every view of the FBI building. There were so many cameras in that building, the monitors had to scroll through their thumbnail screens, displaying the feeds in sets of twelve, for several minutes before the team found the view they were looking for: Jane's cell, set off at the far end by herself. From what they could see, Jane looked upset – which came as no surprise to Patterson – and it appeared that Weller had talked himself into jail, because he was sitting in the cell with her. They were close together, but not moving.
Zapata could have easily gotten them the audio feed, tech expert that she was, but they decided not to worry about it. Knowing Weller, he would do actual interrogation in the interrogation room, so it was probably a more informal kind of conversation. It was late already, and the prospect of getting a few hours of sleep was an unexpected luxury to the three agents, all of whom were fading fast. No one had to tell them twice, so they quickly gathered their things and each made their way home. Tomorrow would be there bright and early, as always.
XXX
The next morning dawned clear and bright, and by 6:30am the three of them had reassembled. There was no sign of Weller in his office, and there were competing theories about his whereabouts. "What do you wanna bet that he slept in the cell with her?" Zapata said to the other two conspiratorially. Reade shook his head confidently while Patterson just shrugged.
"It wouldn't surprise me, at this point," Patterson allowed.
"What? No way!" Reade scoffed, sure that Weller wouldn't have done something like that. Stay overnight in jail, voluntarily? Who in their right mind woulddo that, after all? "I'm not betting you anything Zapata, because I don't want to take your money, but I say no way," Reade replied.
"Well, let's just go and find out, shall we?" she replied confidently. They could have checked the monitors in the security room first, but Zapata had a feeling that this was something she was going to want to see in person.
Once again, they had their IDs checked and made their way through the levels of security, finally rounding the corner towards Jane's cell. What they saw made them stop in their tracks. There in Jane's cell, on the tiny, single mattress, was Jane, with Kurt curled up behind her, his arms around her waist, fast asleep. They tried to muffle their reactions to the scene, but it was neither very easy, nor very successful. Despite Patterson shushing them, they made enough noise to cause the pair inside the bars to stir.
"Reade, who would have taken whose money?" Zapata asked in a loud whisper, slapping him on the shoulder in delight at having just won the bet that they hadn't actually made.
"Yeah, yeah, you were right…" Reade replied in defeat. Maybe he should have expected this, after all.
"Guys, let's go talk to one of the guards back there about letting them out, so that we can meet in interrogation," Patterson suggested, thinking that Jane and Kurt might want a minute alone. The other two agreed, but not before tossing several amused looks in the direction of the pair in the cell. Then they trooped back down the hall, the noise retreating with them.
JANE AND KURT
Jane remained where she was, staring out at the bars with Kurt behind her, his arm still around her middle. She wasn't quite sure what to do. Then she felt him stir behind her, and she was even less sure what to do. "Good morning," he said softly, setting his head next to hers to speak into her ear once again. She turned her head slightly to look at him, and found their faces much closer together than she'd expected.
She simply stared into his eyes for a second before replying, "Good morning," in a whisper.
"Are you okay?" he asked unsurely, studying her face as best he could from such a close angle.
She paused for a minute, wondering if he could see the shy smile on her face from his angle. "Better than I've been in a long time," she whispered.
"Good," he whispered back, leaning forward ever so slightly so that their foreheads touched. "Me, too." They stayed that way as the seconds ticked on, knowing that they'd hear the noise of their returning coworkers along with a pair of guards in a matter of a few seconds. Until that time, however, there was something absolutely perfect about where they were.
THE TEAM
Though they were expecting it, the approaching noise of the rest of their team and the two guards that followed them around the corner only a few minutes later came much too soon. They raised their heads reluctantly and began to sit up, Jane immediately feeling the loss of Kurt's arm around her waist. The little parade – Zapata, Patterson and Reade plus two guards – rounded the corner to see Jane and Kurt already standing up inside the cell, which looked even tinier with two people inside than it had with one, awaiting their approach.
Jane was acutely aware of how close she and Kurt were standing, and yet, they were not touching at all, which made the space between them somehow simultaneously feel like a gaping chasm.
Kurt knew that Zapata, Reade and Patterson were going to find the situation beyond hilarious. He didn't regret having stayed there with her, of course, and he would have been fine with staying there a little longer if it had meant they could have gotten some more sleep... or even just a little more time with Jane.
The three agents hung back as the guards approached the cell, and Jane realized in dismay that this time, she had a full audience for her handcuffing. All of the people that she least wanted to see her that way – especially Kurt – were there.
As the guards neared the cell, Jane glanced nervously, first at Kurt, and then to where Zapata, Patterson and Reade were standing. Despite the fact that these were her friends, and people who cared about her, she couldn't help but feel self-conscious about having to be handcuffed in front of them. Or, maybe it was the reverse, perhaps it was because of their close connection that she felt even worse than usual about the whole procedure. Either way, all she knew was that she felt a whole new level of stress rising inside her.
Kurt saw her glance around at the various people who were in attendance there, saw the unhappiness in her eyes, and quickly realized several things. First, Jane was suddenly extremely nervous. Second, that she must feel completely dehumanized to have to be treated like a criminal in front of the team with whom she had worked for a year now. Third, that there wasn't much he could do about it… but there was one thing.
As she backed herself up towards the spot where she had to put her joined wrists through the bars to be handcuffed, he stood in front of her, staring at her intensely and willing her to look at him. He wanted her to know that she wasn't alone in this, but she seemed determined to keep her eyes on the floor. Jane, on the other hand, was purposely avoiding looking at Kurt, not wanting to remind herself that he was seeing her this way.
However, she simply couldn't fight the urge to look up at him for very long. She felt like her eyes were drawn to him by some powerful magnetic attraction. Only a few seconds after she swore to herself that she wasn't going to look at him, she did. What she saw looking back at her took her breath away. "Keep your eyes on me," his eyes seemed to say all on their own, without any help from his mouth. But how?
He looked at her with such intensity, with his trademark partial smirk, and not the disgust that she'd somehow expected. So instead of looking away, she continued watching him as her hands were locked inside the small metal circles behind her. She noticed that he didn't look away for a second. On the contrary, he held her gaze firmly, almost making her forget where she was, or that their three other coworkers were there watching as well. In that moment, there was only the two of them. She stepped forward, away from the bars, when it was time for them to open the door, and for just a second she was that much closer to him – which still suddenly felt much too far away. Being that close to him and yet unable to reach him was like torture. And then one of the guards cleared his throat and it was time for her to turn around and be led from her cell.
The guards had Jane step out of the cell and to one side, so that Kurt could go down the aisle between the cells in front of them, and the group arranged themselves into a parade of sorts. They headed back to Interrogation Room 2 – first, Patterson and Reade, followed by Zapata and Weller, with the two guards flanking Jane at the back of the procession. At the door, Reade unlocked it and held it open for the rest of them, pulling it closed behind them. By the time the guards had maneuvered Jane into the room and were ready to remove her handcuffs, Zapata, Reade and Patterson standing off to one side of the room, out of their way, she noticed that Kurt had once again positioned himself a few feet in front of her, looking into her eyes before she had the chance to shy away and attempt to be invisible.
Once again she stared into his eyes, not fighting it this time because she now understood what he was doing, as the handcuffs were removed. She was fairly sure that he couldn't fully understand what it meant to her to have had him do that, and she wasn't even sure she could explain to herself why it felt so important. She decided that it had something to do with the fact that not only was he not looking away from her, as if what was happening was somehow shameful – which in her opinion, it was – but that on the contrary, what he saw happening did not define how he saw her… that despite the terrible things that had happened in her life, the terrible things that she had done, that he still somehow saw her as more than the sum of her mistakes. Yes, the fact that he didn't shy away from looking at her when she was at her most vulnerable said more to her than any words could have.
After unfastening her handcuffs, the guards nodded at Jane and the others, exiting the room without a word. It was then that the team noticed a large box of donuts and enough coffees for everyone in the center of the metal table. They each looked around at each other in surprise, and all eyes finally settled on Reade, the only one who didn't look surprised. "It's been a rough… I don't even know how long it's been…" he explained, looking embarrassed. "I just thought we could all use… something." They thanked him and each picked up a donut and some coffee. What was coming as soon as this small semblance of normality was finished, they knew, was a topic that no one had yet spoken of, but they all knew it was coming. Jane wasn't even close to finished talking, and it was going to be a long day.
Her donut quickly finished, since she'd barely eaten in the past few weeks, Jane excused herself into the adjoining bathroom. Patterson had been keeping it stocked with the basics – toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, etc – since Jane had been in here every day for the past few weeks, since it was certainly nicer than anything she had been issued for use in her cell. It had been determined that, since there was nothing that could be considered dangerous, and because Jane had been re-classified as low-risk, this was fine.
"Do you want us in the other room again?" Zapata asked Kurt while Jane was in the bathroom. After all, things had changed a lot since she'd said that she would only talk to Kurt. "She seems to be willing to talk to all of us now."
Kurt considered this question, but nodded affirmatively. "Yeah," he replied, thinking of how uncomfortable Jane had looked with the larger audience when being handcuffed. "Even though she knows you guys are watching, the think the more people who're physically in the room, the harder it is for her." The others nodded in understanding.
"In that case, let's go get set up in the other room," Zapata said, stealing another donut and grabbing her coffee from the table before heading for the door. Reade was close behind her.
Jane emerged from the bathroom, feeling much better after cleaning off, and found only Kurt and Patterson there. "I'm just going to duck in there before we, uh, get started," he said, heading for the bathroom door that Jane had just vacated. Patterson stood by the table, watching Jane, noticing that she suddenly looked self-conscious again. Even though the worst was supposedly over, after all, that didn't mean that the rest of it was easy.
Jane walked back to the table slowly, glancing at the food that remained there. "Are you okay?" Patterson asked her.
Jane looked up at her, grateful for her concern but unsure how she really felt. "I think so," Jane said slowly. "There's… a lot more… but I… I think it'll be okay." She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to reassure herself.
Patterson moved towards her slowly, putting her arms out and giving her friend a hug. "We're all here for you," she reminded her. "This isn't about punishing you, you know. That's not our goal." Jane nodded quickly, stepping back and trying to keep her composure.
It might not be their goal, but there were undoubtedly others in the Bureau whose goal is was to see just what she could be prosecuted for. She wouldn't let that stop her from telling the truth, however. Whatever punishment she deserved, she would live with it.
Despite the brave words she said to herself in her head, her emotions welled dangerously close to the surface. Once again, she hadn't even started and here she was, ready to cry. Just then, the bathroom door opened and Kurt came though it looking a little less rough than he had when he'd gone in. Patterson told them that she'd see them later, flashed Jane a warm smile and turned towards the door, the fact that she'd be watching them on the monitors with the others understood.
JANE AND KURT
When the door clicked loudly behind Patterson as she left, Jane and Kurt just stood and looked at each other. It was time once again. At least this time, they were starting with a better understanding of where each of them was coming from. Jane retrieved her coffee from the far end of the table and settled onto one of the two chairs, still pushed up beside each other from where she and Patterson had sat the day before.
Kurt followed her lead, picking up his coffee and approaching slowly, glancing between her and the empty chair beside her, the question unspoken but clear. She smiled at him nervously, a slow smile but a smile nonetheless, glancing at the chair beside her and then back to him. It was simply understood between them. Permission granted, sit down. He walked up behind the chair and pulled it out slightly, then turned it so that if faced Jane, not the table, as her chair did. He sat down, coffee in hand, and simply waited. He took a sip of his coffee, then set it down on the table beside him. He could wait. Once again, this was her story to tell.
Her mind spun faster and faster, suddenly overwhelming her. Where to start now? There were so many things left to tell… So many horrible, horrible things… She thought back to the previous day, to Kurt's calm reassurances, to when he'd told her to tell him the very worst secret first. It had felt impossible, and yet, in the end it had softened the blow, at least a little bit. She could feel herself getting worked up, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.
He watched her, watched her first appearing to shuffle through her thoughts to try to pick what to talk about next, then watched her seem to panic at the thought of whatever it was. Just because what she'd told him yesterday had been the thing that had scared her the most didn't mean that what was left wouldn't be extremely hard for her to tell him. The weight of the things she was keeping inside must have been crushing her, he thought in disbelief. How did she keep all of this inside without us even knowing that something was wrong? There was no time to wonder about that now, however, because Jane was beginning to break down before his eyes, and she hadn't even started talking. That was his cue to step in and rescue her from her own worst enemy – herself.
She'd pulled her chair closer to the table so that she could lean on it, and hands were locked together on the cold metal, her grip tightening the longer she sat there. Her breathing was becoming fast and slightly erratic and he reached up, placing a hand on top of hers, holding on tightly. "Jane," he said calmly, squeezing her clenched hands. It took a few seconds, but she seemed to slowly begin to relax, taking a deep breath and staring ahead of her, so that he was looking at her profile. He almost wondered if he should sit across from her so that he could more easily get her to look at him – because eye contact sometimes helped immensely between them – but decided that in some ways, that would be almost selfish of him. Yes, he wanted to look her in the eyes, but that would probably make it harder for her. No, if she didn't want to look at him, that was certainly okay.
He continued to watch her, not saying anything else but feeling the tension lessen slightly from his grip on her hands, where were no longer locked together. She'd rearranged them so that the fingers of one of her hands were laced together with his, and her other hand covered the back of his hand. She was holding on securely, but not squeezing. Suddenly he heard her breathe in quickly, as if she'd decided to force herself to get on with it. One word escaped her lips, setting the tone for how this day would begin.
"Mayfair."
He nodded calmly, wondering if she was doing what he'd advised her the previous day and starting from the worst so that she could work her way backwards. He was worried about what she had to say about Mayfair because despite the whole mess with Daylight, the loss of Mayfair had still stung. Did he feel that his boss had betrayed him with her actions? Yes – in a completely different way than the other betrayals that were so fresh, of course, but still, he did feel betrayed by her. At the same time, he'd spent so many years working with her and trusting her, it was difficult not to take the loss of her as a major blow. He tensed slightly, waiting to hear what Jane had to say about their former boss.
She had determined that she may as well start the day off with – if not the next worse thing she had to confess, than certainly one of them. After getting the whole sleeping with Oscar thing off of her chest, it was hard to know what was the next worse thing that she needed to confess… there was simply so much, all of it pretty horrible. It almost didn't matter what order she went now, only that she worked through it all. Mayfair was as good a place to start as any other, so she forced the woman's name from her lips, committing herself to the explanation of, if not exactly how had happened, at least the part that she knew. It had been clear to her that Mayfair knew things that Jane did not. After all, she had found the meeting place that had previously been hers and Oscar's alone.
Her thoughts tumbled back to that terrible night and she felt panic rising in her chest… saw Mayfair lying on the floor in front of her, bleeding out from her wound, despite Jane's fingers being shoved over it, her hands now covered in Mayfair's blood, blood that she had to glance at her hands to remind herself wasn't still there… And her words, Mayfair's… "I just wish I could see his face when he finds out what you really are."
They were the bitter words of an angry woman, who'd felt shocked and betrayed. Jane closed her eyes momentarily against the swell of guilt that the words brought her. But you've lived past that part, she reminded herself. You're past the part where Kurt found out, and the team, the worst of it, anyway. And he's still here, they all are. Look at your hands. She opened her eyes, as she'd ordered herself to do, looking down at her hands. That's not blood on them. No, her hands weren't covered in Mayfair's blood, no matter how figuratively she might feel that they were. But they did have Kurt's hand in between them, despite everything that she'd already confessed. That, in itself, said a lot, and reminded her that she could go on, no matter how horrible she felt about what she had to say.
He watched as she fought a war within herself, wanting to help but knowing that a lot of this would be up to Jane. To a certain extent, he couldn't do more than he was already doing, which was holding onto her and letting her know that it was safe to tell him the rest. How it would all work out, none of them could know, of course… but the only thing they could do now was exactly what they were doing. For him, that meant holding her hands and listening, no matter what she was going to tell him. She'd uttered the name of their former boss, whose death she'd already said she was responsible for, and he waited anxiously for more details, already knowing that it wasn't as simple as she made it sound. After all, she seemed to feel like everything was her fault.
"There was a basement in a building where Oscar and I met sometimes," she began quietly. She swore she felt his fingers stiffen slightly in hers, but that didn't completely surprise her. He wasn't going to like to hear that, or a lot of the rest of what she had to say either. It wasn't going to stop her from saying it, because she owed him, and all of them, but especially him, that much. Besides, he was still holding her hand.
Hating that Oscar's name made him tense instinctively the way it did, he felt himself stiffen and fought the urge to lean away. No, this is not about you, Weller, he reminded himself. In the whole Oscar thing, you have the advantage of knowing that what's done is done, it's over. The guy is dead. No matter how much you hate him or his part in all of this, he's no threat to you. No matter how much pain he caused her, or even if she had loved him, which it doesn't seem that she did – not as Jane, anyway – it wouldn't matter either way. He's gone. So just listen to her and remember that.
She took a deep breath and continued. "That night after we…" she turned her head slightly, glancing at him, a spark of something much happier in her eyes for just a second, "you and me…" She paused again, the shadow of a teasing smile coming over her face. It was the first time he'd seen her smile in what felt like forever. "Um, after I turned in my badge, and you… after you kissed me in the locker room…" Stopping for a second as she remembered the elation of the moment, it almost made it worse when her thoughts came back to reality, to Mayfair.
A pained look came back across her face but she forced herself to continue. "You got a phone call. I walked to Patterson's lab, and she and Reade and Zapata were there, drinking and laughing… but I didn't go in. I just… couldn't… I didn't…" The pained look on her face was back. "There were my friends, so happy, no idea what I had done to all of them, and I knew that I didn't deserve to be part of that… So I left, to go and meet Oscar and tell him that I was done. Of course, I'd tried to tell him that before, but… somehow I thought it would be different somehow. Except, when I got there I heard what I thought was Oscar, and I spoke too soon – before I'd actually seen him, and before I realized that it wasn't Oscar there. I'd already said the words 'Oscar, it's over…' before I saw Mayfair…"
Closing her eyes again, she had to fight the image of Mayfair, first, pointing her gun at her and then seconds later, covered in blood on the floor, once again. She took several slow, deep breaths, feeling his hand squeeze hers, reminding her that he was there, tethering her to the present moment so that she didn't get lost in her thoughts. More than anything, she wanted to stop, but she knew that she couldn't be done with this until she'd told them everything. Besides, this was only the beginning of the day. There was so much more still to tell, and she intended to do it right this time, and tell him everything – the way she should have in the first place. She opened her eyes again, but didn't look at him, instead focusing on a spot on the wall that faced her, down by the floor, her voice soft, as if she were forcing it out by willpower alone – which she was, in fact.
"I don't know how she got there, to that basement, how she found it. But suddenly she was pointing her gun at me, telling me I'd set her up…" Jane's voice wavered, and the emotions that were bubbling just below the surface threatened to overtake her. She turned and looked at Kurt, desperation in her eyes. "But I didn't, I swear… not on purpose…" She gulped air desperately, willing herself not to lose her composure, though she knew it was a losing battle. It was far too early, and she had far too much left to say, after all.
"Oscar…" she croaked, her voice suddenly full of something that sounded surprisingly like hatred. "The little things he had me do here and there… like switch Mayfair's pen for an identical pen, insert a GPS tracker in the team's car, plug a particular flash drive into any FBI computer… stupid little things that he insisted I do, but wouldn't tell me why… I wouldn't have done them if I'd known…"
But would I have? If I'd known? she suddenly asked herself. Because she hadn't wanted to do any of it, she'd tried to insist that she wouldn't do those things at all, even not knowing what she was doing, but Oscar had held out on her with the answers that she desperately wanted, and then, when that wasn't enough any longer, he'd threatened Kurt's life. How could she say that she wouldn't have done those things if she'd known? She hadn't wanted to do them in the first place, and yet… she had.
Nothing would have been different. Admit it. You didn't purposely set her up, but you did do it, and you would have done it again. Of course you would have! If you had to choose between Kurt and Mayfair? You can't honestly say you would have let Kurt die to save Mayfair… can you?
She shook her head then, trying to push the thoughts out, even though it wouldn't change anything. You need to say these things out loud, she reminded herself. You need to tell him. All of it.
"No, that's not true," she whispered, and for a second Kurt was confused. "I told him I wouldn't do those things, that I refused, because I wanted nothing to do with his plan." She knew that it had been their plan, including her former self, but it seemed easier to call it Oscar's plan. "But he had the answers that I wanted, that no one else could give me, and he only fed them to me in scraps, one at a time, doling out the information about my past slowly, but only when I did what he wanted. I know I shouldn't have let him tempt me that way," she paused, looking mournfully at him, "I just…" She looked down at the metal of the table in front of her, ashamed. She'd let her need for answers consume her, and it had cost Mayfair her life.
"Jane," he said, trying to pull her back to the present time for a second. Why is she so determined to accept everyone else's sins as her own? But she ignored him, too far inside her head and too convinced that it was all solely her fault and hers alone.
She felt him squeeze her hand again, but she shook her head. She didn't deserve so much understanding. "Once I finally said that no, I wouldn't even be his mole in exchange for the answers I desperately wanted, even though he was the only one who could give them to me, that was when he told me that the people – not him, because he was the 'good cop,' he said – but the people we worked with, whoever they were," she said bitterly, "that they wouldn't accept my unwillingness to participate in the plan. That was when he told me that if I refused to participate…" She closed her eyes, tears escaping and rolling quickly down her cheeks.
"That was when they said they would kill you. And I can sit here and say that I wouldn't have done those things Oscar told me to do if I'd known that they would get Mayfair killed, but that's a lie." She was almost hysterical now, and Kurt wasn't sure how to get through to her. "Because if I had to choose between you and Mayfair? How could I have ever saved Mayfair, knowing that they'd kill you?" She dissolved momentarily in tears, and no amount of squeezing her hands seemed to be having an effect.
"Jane," Kurt said, more urgently now, leaning closer to her and tugging her hands off the table, resting his forearms on his knees, their intertwined hands between then, pulling her to turn in his direction.
She moved slowly, reluctantly, not because she didn't want to, but because she was ashamed. Ashamed to face him, given the things that she'd done. She'd told him the part where his life had been threatened the day before, but it hurt just as much to say it the second time. She didn't think it would ever stop hurting her to think it, much less to say it.
"It's in the past," he said forcefully, trying to get her to look at him. "There's nothing you can do to change those choices anymore. It's done. And I'm right here. Nothing happened."
"They didn't kill you, but I got her killed. How can I just forget that?" She looked into his eyes desperately, for the first time in quite a while, then dropped her head miserably, gasping for breath, her sobs increasingly choking her.
"Sssshhhh, Jane," he said, leaning closer to her, as close to her ear as he could manage, in an attempt to be heard over the noise in her head. His voice was as soothing as he could manage while also trying to be loud enough that she could hear him – her head was a noisy place just then, he knew. He'd gotten the idea for the gesture from a memory of Sarah, when Sawyer had been an infant and refused to calm down. As he'd wailed mournfully, so loud that no amount of singing or speaking could get through to him over his own cries, his sister had put her mouth besides his ear and made a loud "sssshhhhh"ing sound, again and again, until finally he had quieted down. He had no idea if it would work, but it was the only thing he'd been able to think of to try.
To his surprise, she nodded rapidly, trying to regain control. I can't lose my mind over this. She suddenly realized. There's so much more… She was fighting for air and fighting to calm down. She felt pressure on her knee, and looked down to see that Kurt's free hand was there, squeezing gently.
Stay with me, he thought, hoping to distract her long enough from her thoughts to pull her back to the present. She squeezed his hand with both of hers, trying to signal that she was trying to hang on, trying to bring herself back from the abyss she was teetering beside.
Focus, she told herself. You're trying to explain what happened to Mayfair, and you didn't finish. It was as though inside her head she could think both perfectly rationally and simultaneously not at all. She couldn't help but wonder if this was a sign that she was losing her mind.
She backtracked to where she'd veered off from Mayfair to Oscar. "She was pointing her gun at me, telling me I'd set her up," Jane said through clenched teeth, trying to not see Mayfair lying bloody on the floor yet again. "I tried to explain, but I…" Shuddering again, she couldn't help but see Mayfair as she'd been in those last moments, the betrayal in her eyes as she put the pieces together, what she believed had happened, which had only been slightly different from what had actually happened. "I kept telling her that I didn't know, but I couldn't say anything else. She was… so angry. And I, and then…"
Jane's face crumpled, and she turned away, back to the table, suddenly trying to yank her hands away from Weller's grasp. She succeeded in removing the hand that she'd had on the top of his free, and with it she gripped the edge of the metal table with all of her strength. Her other hand, however, the one that Kurt had been holding, remained firmly in his grip. The sudden turn toward the table, however, had succeeded in pulling him slightly forward along with her, but still he refused to let go. If there was ever a time when Jane needed him not to let go of her, he knew, it was now. No matter what.
She tried to shake her hand loose, and she exhaled in exasperation when he wouldn't let her. He was now half standing, half crouching, out of his chair, almost standing over her, and he took advantage of the proximity to peel her other hand back off of the table, despite its vice-like grip, and despite the frustrated way that she suddenly fought him. Why couldn't he see that he was wasting his time with her? That she simply didn't deserve any of his loyalty?
Without fighting back, and without hurting her, he simply refused to let her hand go. When he turned himself back so that he was once again sitting in his chair, he tugged on her gently, turning her so that she was once again facing him, sitting in her chair across from him. He knew that it wasn't her preferred angle – face to face – because it was easier for her to talk without looking directly at him, but he was not going to let her retreat. She wasn't trying to take a moment to collect her thoughts, he knew, but trying to hide away inside herself in panic. He needed to keep her talking – and not because it was his job, though it was, of course, but because he was not going to allow her to torture herself with this. She wasn't going to be able to move on until she got it all out, and that was what he was here to help her do.
She was now facing him, her eyes closed, sitting up rigidly in her chair, every muscle tense. He had taken both of her hands in his, fingers interlaced but palms apart, and was pointing his thumbs into her palms, tracing slow circles. He watched a shiver run through her, and then her breathing seemed to slow, and then finally calm slowly replaced the panic that had seemed to have taken over her only moments before.
"Oscar showed up, I guess," she said quietly, her eyes open but not looking at him, "Mayfair was pointing a gun at me, so I was a little distracted. He, Oscar…" She hated that she had to keep saying his name, that she had to keep going over all of this. But she knew that it was essential, so she inhaled a shaky breath, then exhaled slowly, steading herself. Kurt was still tracing circles in the palms of her hands, and it worked like magic on her nerves, helping her to focus where she had been unable to before.
"He shot her from behind, or somewhere across the room, I don't remember," she whispered. "She fell down right in front of me. There was so much blood…" She breathed deeply, staring at their hands clasped together, watching the paths his thumbs traced in her palms, around and around. The sensation of it was almost hypnotizing, as was watching him do it. He watched her carefully, watching his thumbs, and he smiled slightly despite himself. Despite how close she was to the edge, he noticed that the simple motion against her hands had a powerful effect. Pressing his thumbs into her palms a little harder for a second, he resumed making the circles. He saw her try to smile, the corners of her mouth moving almost imperceptibly, but to him her reply was loud and clear. His message had been received.
"Oscar ran… tried to get me to just leave her there. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I didn't have anything to use, nothing but my hands… and…" Looking desperately at her hands, he felt her try to pull them back from him, but he was too quick. Without squeezing them, he held on just a little tighter, not allowing her to pull away. As soon as he felt her relax, he began moving this thumbs in circles again, and a sad smile flitted across her face for a second, and then was gone.
"Mayfair still had her gun, and she tried to shoot me," Jane whispered. "I had to wrestle it away from her, and toss it away…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'll never forget her last words to me… they still haunt me," she said, her voice breaking. After another deep breath, she paused, unsure she could even force herself to say the words that had been seared so painfully into her memory. Kurt suddenly felt her squeeze his hands, and he removed his thumbs from her palms, wrapping them securely around the outsides of her hands, squeezing back. "She said…" Jane paused, biting her lip and looking like she was in pain, "I just wish I could be there to see his face when he finds out what you really are."
It was Kurt's turn to inhale sharply in surprise, cringing on Jane's behalf, hating to think how much Mayfair's words had hurt her, and thinking guiltily back to when he had found out, and to his reaction. He didn't like to think about that day at all, unsurprisingly, and his now regretted reaction, but there was nothing to be done about that now.
"Jane, look at me," he said, leaning forward, holding tightly to her hands. She squeezed her eyes closed, shaking her head slightly and refusing to raise her head. He frowned hard at her, determined, then let go of her left hand, bringing his right hand to her chin and pushing up with his fingertips, gently yet insistently, until her head tipped upwards towards him. Her eyes remained stubbornly closed, her chin shaking ever so slightly as if she were about to burst into tears – which, given the situation, was entirely possible. He kept his fingertips against the side of her chin, and she leaned into them ever so slightly, completely involuntarily.
"Jane, look at me," he repeated firmly, squeezing the hand that he was still holding. Knowing that he wasn't going to let it go, she gave in and did as she was told, her expression when she finally opened her eyes one of fear… fear of what she would find when she did look at him. But instead of any kind of hostility, she found the familiar look of devotion, tinged with sadness and maybe a little bit of desperation.
Why would he be feeling those things? she wondered. It didn't make sense.
Because he knows that you're feeling them, the voice in her head replied. Just the fact that there was kindness in his eyes made her want to cry again, but with relief this time.
When he finally had her full attention, he spoke. "I am a lot of things, and well-adjusted is not one of them," he began, which only elicited a look of confusion from Jane, who had no idea what he was talking about. "I was angry, and I did jump to some conclusions that I shouldn't have…" She started to shake her head and her mouth opened to protest, but he stopped her by putting his index finger firmly against her lips, holding it there as he shook his head at her.
"No, listen to me. I did react badly, and I can't undo that. But if there is one thing I know, it's what – and who – you really are. I don't need to know what your name was before any of this to know that. I hate that Mayfair died that way, and the things that happened to her, or that in the end, you were tricked, coerced, into doing those things. But I also know that Mayfair was a long way from innocent. She made a lot of choices that I don't agree with. It doesn't mean that she deserved to die, but there's nothing to be done about it now… And you are not responsible for that. Alright?"
He slowly removed his finger from her lips, where it had remained while he talked, and took her left hand in his right once again. He looked her directly in the eyes, whispering, "I know what you really are, Jane. Stubborn, for one thing, and willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of everyone else, expecting nothing in return, no concern whatsoever for your own safety… and all the while taking the blame for things that are not all your fault. Which brings us back to stubborn…"
She forced herself to attempt a smile, but a sob came out instead, tears spilling down her cheeks once again, as she nodded at him slowly.
"Do you know what happened to her?" he asked gently. He hated to have to ask for more from her, but they were far from finished here, and he knew that he had to keep the momentum going for as long as possible. Really, it was still very early in the day, despite the fact that they both already felt exhausted and completely drained.
"No," Jane whispered, shaking her head. She looked away from him, but that was alright with him. He'd held her attention for the most important part, ensuring that he heard her, and he knew how hard it was for him to tell him these things to start with. "I couldn't save her. I tried, but… she was gone. I couldn't stay there… I…" She shook her head. "Oscar, or one of his people… I think they…" She shook her head again, sighing. "I don't know what happened after that, or…" she paused, then continued. "I don't know what they… did with her."
He nodded, looking at her sympathetically. "That's all I know about Mayfair," she added, to clarify.
If only that was all I had to say, she thought sadly. But there's so much more I have to tell him. She sighed heavily, looking down at their hands, clasped loosely together. His eyes followed hers. When he saw where she was looking, he laced their fingers together more tightly and began drawing circles in her palms once again, and she smiled weakly, looking up and meeting his eyes.
"Okay… what next?" he asked her gently. She took a deep breath, watching his fingers trace circles on her palms.
I can do this, she told herself. I have to.
PATTERSON, ZAPATA AND READE
In the monitoring room, it had been dead silent for almost the entire time Jane had been talking, sitting in their chairs without moving, barely even blinking. There had been mouths hanging open, gasps and whispered exclamations, as well as more than a few tears, mostly from Patterson. It was hard to hear about Mayfair this way, and it was definitely hard to see Jane this way. Even Reade, who'd been the most reluctant to believe her, couldn't help but be feel his resolve soften.
When Jane had talked about the basement, the three of them had glanced at each other uneasily. When she'd mentioned Mayfair being shot, and that there was so much blood, they thought back to the spray that Patterson had put down that allowed them to see blood residue. It was all coming together.
Finally, they exchanged glances again as they heard Jane say, "That's all I know about Mayfair." It all made a lot more sense now, and it was painfully obvious why they hadn't heard from Mayfair after the last time she'd been seen in the office. But at the same time, there had to be more than Mayfair was mixed up in, didn't there? Something felt off about it… it wasn't simply dumb luck that that Oscar guy, Jane's ex-fiancé, had happened to shoot Mayfair. From the sound of things, Oscar knew exactly what he was doing…
Reade stood up and stretched, shaking his head. "I'm going to grab some coffee real quick. You guys want some?"
"Yeah, thanks," Zapata replied, eyes not leaving the screen, even though nothing was currently happening.
"No," Patterson whispered, trying to keep her composure when she was clearly on the verge of falling apart – not for the first time. "No, thank you, Reade."
Reade nodded, walking toward the door. "I'll be right back," he told them, though neither of them seemed to be listening. Shaking his head, he walked out into the bright lights of the hallway. It was going to be a long day.