Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)

A/N: Thanks to everyone who left reviews on chapter 1. That, along with the beginning of chapter 2, was really just the warm up. Patterson is key here, obviously, but the story really isn't about her… I'm excited to get into the heart of the story (especially since for once, I know where it's going and I can't wait for you all to see it as well). Enjoy!

It took a week, but Jane did end up asking Patterson for help finding a dress. In the week between Patterson's invitation and the day that Jane accepted that she was going to need help – something that she avoided asking for from anyone at all costs – Jane had started paying more attention to Patterson's behavior. She wanted to be as sure as possible that if she asked Patterson for help, she wouldn't be making a monumental error in judgement.

So she watched the blonde carefully, both in her interactions with Jane, as well as from afar, and she noticed that the agent seemed more and more like her old self. She had trusted Patterson before… And yes, she felt betrayed by the whole team, but as much as she gave them all shared blame for what had happened to her at the hands of the CIA, she wanted to believe that she could trust Patterson at least enough to help her find a dress. Besides… there was no other option but to trust her, other than not to go to the party – which would end up being an even bigger headache.

Shopping isn't life threatening, she repeated to herself. Even if it goes badly, you can handle yourself. And so, she managed to talk herself into the idea of trusting Patterson just enough to go shopping with her. It seemed silly to think that she couldn't at least manage that much.

Still, her new habit of observing Patterson made Jane realize just how disconnected all of them had become, and how little attention she herself had been paying to anything happening outside of her own head in all the time since she'd been "returned" to the FBI by the team.

Of course, she knew why everyone had splintered so badly – or she thought she did, anyway – and she knew that she couldn't exactly say anything about the way anyone else was handling their emotional baggage. After all, she knew that she was doing nothing but avoiding her problems… Still, once Patterson got herself back on track, it seemed to help the atmosphere among the whole team. The blonde went out of her way to do little things for each of them, and as much as Jane had tried to distance herself emotionally from all of them, even she felt herself breathing a little easier because Patterson was smiling again.

And so, when she finally did ask Patterson for help, it was awkward, but not as much as she would have expected. Patterson, of course, was delighted that Jane had come to her, and insisted that they go as soon as possible. It was only Monday, and she would have loved to devote a whole Saturday to the task, but she couldn't wait that long. Upon reflection, Patterson realized that Jane would probably be less overwhelmed by small doses of shopping anyway, and insisted that they could at least get some browsing done that day after work. Jane agreed, albeit hesitantly, knowing that she needed the help and just wanting the whole thing over with.

In the end, finding the right dress took a considerable amount of searching, and many hours spread over the course of the evenings that week. However, on Friday night they finally found it. The dress was long and black, like both of the ones she'd worn on her formal undercover missions, but unlike those two, the base part of this dress was sleeveless, with spaghetti straps covered in what had to be rhinestones – this fact was only clear because diamonds would have been far outside of her price range.

Of course, a plain sleeveless dress by itself wouldn't have worked for Jane. Now, if she'd had today's confidence without the scars, it would have been perfectly fine, but this year there was more to cover up. As accustomed to her tattoos as most people at the FBI were, she very much wanted to avoid the kind of attention that the CIA inflicted scars would attract. Luckily, however, this dress had the added feature of an attached sort of shawl that covered her shoulders and then flowed right into long sleeves. It was a sheer black material, but not sheer enough that the marks on her skin were visible. In other words, it was simple, and elegant, and perfect for Jane.

That was December ninth, leaving two more weeks before the party. That night, Jane hung the dress in her closet and did her best to forget about it. The dress itself represented an event that she was dreading, but the time she'd spent with Patterson had been okay enough... Awkward at first, but over the course of the hours, and the days, it had slowly gotten easier. It almost felt the way it had a long time ago. She'd forgotten how much she had missed that feeling – the feeling of having a friend. It was a little scary, of course, also knowing what it felt like when that was wrenched away from her, so it was hard to relax completely. She tried to block that part out.

It got easier with Patterson, so maybe it would… the voice in her head suggested tentatively, but she cut it off before it finished.

No, she thought. He's never going to forgive me. And even if he did, I can't take that chance. I just couldn't deal with losing him again. She had always been stubborn.

And yet, it wasn't just Patterson who was very slowly acting like herself again around Jane, and who was obviously making an effort – though Patterson's recovery may have been the catalyst. She noticed it most with Patterson, but even Reade and Zapata were smiling at her just a little more. While that might feel like almost nothing to someone else, it felt monumental to Jane.

Then, of course, there was the enigma that was Kurt. Some days she felt like they were making progress. On those days he seemed to smile at her more, speak more gently to her, look at her a little longer. It felt… different. And then there were days when it seemed like nothing had changed, like he was still angry at her and they hadn't made any progress whatsoever.

Honestly, she was getting tired of trying to keep up with which days were which. She told herself that those days that seemed better must be either all in her head, or he was simply reliving some sort of nostalgia for the past, when things had been good between them, and not realizing how blatantly he was showing it. Surely what was real were the other days, the ones where he looked at her as if she were nothing more than the person who had wronged him, lied to him, betrayed him. After all, she was that person. How could she expect him to look at her in any other way?

On the morning of the party, Jane walked out of the elevator, a large coffee cup in hand after another night of very little sleep, having actually forgotten that the party was happening that night. That was how effective a job she'd done of pushing it out of her mind, despite Patterson's constantly chatting to everyone around her about how the planning was going. Everyone was so happy to see Patterson acting more like herself, they weren't bothered by how often she talked about it, and Jane had simply tuned it out.

Stepping off the elevator, Jane looked around suspiciously. Something was different… and then she realized what it was. Stuck in the corners were boxes that contained the supplies that would be used to set up for the party later that afternoon. Patterson had recruited their team to be among the people helping her set up, but Jane now wasn't sure that she'd be able to do that, since she would have to make an extra trip home in rush hour traffic to get her dress.

I wonder if I can just get one of the guys on my detail to go back and get it… she mused, already annoyed with the thought of so much wasted time that afternoon, as well as simply the idea of having to spend time at the party to start with. She would rather be sitting in the dark and quiet in her safe house – which was saying a lot, since she dreaded going back there most days.

Either way, the day hadn't even started yet and already her stress level was slowly creeping up. She'd promised Patterson that she would be at the party, but in truth it was still the last pace she wanted to be. Yes, things had improved slightly between herself and team, but she still felt completely separate from them most of the time. Glancing in the direction of Kurt's office, she saw him hunched over his desk, concentrating hard on the papers in front of him with a furrowed brow.

Oh, it's going to be one of those days, she thought with a sigh. She'd noticed that the days when she came in to find him in that position, making that face, tended not to be the ones that gave her hope for the future of their "friendship," or whatever it was they had. It was easier to say "friendship" than to describe what their relationship actually seemed to be on those days – the fact that they were two people who used to know each other better than anyone else in the world, then were suddenly and tragically reduced to strangers who hated each other, who now didn't seem to know quite how to recover or to figure out what they would be to each other after that. Yes, "friendship" was the easier label, even if it seemed to be a gross misnomer on days like today.

Setting her coffee down beside the workstation that she had claimed only recently, she sat down, her back to Kurt, and forced herself to focus on the work at hand: research on the latest case they were working on. Maybe, she thought, we'll get lucky and get a break, and the work will spill into tonight. Then of course she immediately felt guilty about wishing for a way to cancel the party. Patterson had worked so hard on it, and it seemed to be the only thing sustaining her through the past few weeks. Jane had promised herself that she would show up and at least make an attempt to enjoy herself. After everything she'd done to the team, Patterson included, surely she could do that one thing for her.

The day passed at a snail's pace. At around 3:00, no new breaks in their case having arisen, Kurt gave the okay for the team, along with a few other agents, to help Patterson set up for the party. Furniture was moved and tables were set up while Patterson walked around, supervising and delegating as appropriate, ensuring that everything got to where it needed to be. By 5:00 she dismissed them all with her thanks, telling everyone to go and get ready and that she would see them in an hour. Most of them headed to the locker room to shower and change, while a few people slipped out, saying that they were running out but would be back in time.

Jane took her time, pretending she needed to look something up online as she waited until the others had made their way towards the locker room, only then heading for the elevator, blissfully alone for a moment. As she waited for it to return to her floor, she turned to see Kurt in nearly the same position he'd been in that morning, hunched over paperwork on his desk with a scowl on his face. He hadn't been at his desk all day, of course, but it was amusing to see that he'd been there when she arrived and was now there as she left. Not that she was leaving, just going to get ready for the party…

As the elevator doors closed in front of her, she sighed heavily. The day already felt like it had been a long one without the party, which she was dreading – but then again, nearly every day felt that way. No matter what each day brought, it consisted of Jane forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, of forcing herself to keep going. Work kept her busy, though working alongside the team was draining. At the same time, being in her safe house alone was worse in many ways. There was no part of her day that she looked forward to, simply parts that she dreaded more than others. As far as today was concerned, the hard part hadn't even begun yet. She just wasn't sure that she had the energy for this, and yet, she had no choice but to at least try.

Come on, Jane, she told herself, you've survived far worse things than a party. And while it wouldn't be physically dangerous, she almost wished that she could be getting ready to do something that was just that at that moment. Better to put herself physically in danger than to subject herself to being the one at the party who didn't belong.

That's not true, a voice in her head protested weakly, but she didn't even bother to reply. She knew that the weak voice was just going through the motions. Of course she didn't belong there with them, at an event that was supposed to be festive and celebratory. It was like Reade had said when she'd first come back: If she'd never been there, Mayfair would still be alive. She felt a shiver as those words, which had echoed through her head a thousand times before, as they cut through her once again. It was the truth, and there was no denying it. She didn't belong with them, and she never would again. She never had belonged there to start with, they just hadn't known it at the time. Like everything else that she had known since she had woken up as Jane, it had all been a lie.

All of it? a tiny voice at the back of her mind asked.

The part of her brain that was in charge of keeping her from hoping for anything more than what she had at that moment, from hoping that it would get better, for fear of increasing her suffering, body slammed that little voice into the floor, pounding it into submission until it disappeared from her consciousness. If there was one thing she did not want to have this time, it was hope. She was a monster, one who didn't deserve their forgiveness, and she knew it as well as they did.

A pained sigh escaped her as she stood in the elevator alone, and just for a split second, the ache in her heart was so strong that she backed herself against the wall and grabbed the railing there for support.

Get ahold of yourself, a cold voice in her mind sneered. There's no room for weakness here. She knew Remi's voice anywhere, and though it frightened her, she knew that her "other self" was right.

Jane forced all thoughts from her mind with pure willpower, and the elevator doors opened to reveal her standing there as if nothing in the world could touch her. She stepped out into the hall, already hearing the sounds of her coworkers echoing from the locker room. Normally, she only went through there when it was empty or near empty, and she did that on purpose. The fewer people there, the better, as far as she was concerned. When the locker room was crowded, it was more blatantly obvious when she was shunned. When she went in alone, on the other hand, there was no one to make her feel any worse than she already did – well, except Jane herself. If she could've gotten away from herself, the way everyone else had done months ago, she would have.

But today there was no option to wait until the locker room emptied. She walked the long way around the winding hallway to kill time, but still ended up back at the locker room door only a few minutes later. Sighing in resignation, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open, turning to walk down the row towards her locker and looking down at the floor to avoid the eyes of whoever might be between the door and her destination. She knew the drill. They didn't want to look at her, and she obliged by not looking at them. Even the agents who she barely knew seemed to participate in this process – or maybe they did it even more so than her team, because they didn't know anything real about her, only what they had heard through rumors – which was likely to be more far-fetched than the truth, as impossible as that seemed.

Just then, she tried not to remember the various occasions on which she'd stood in front of Kurt's locker, talking to him, or he'd stood in front of hers. Again, that was what hurt the most – the thoughts of the times she had treasured the most, which only served to remind her of how much she had lost.

Jane opened her locker to find that her detail had indeed gone back to her apartment to get her dress, which was the kind of errand that she made sure never to ask of them. They were FBI agents, after all, not bike messengers, and that kind of thing was far beneath them. However, she had texted Kurt – which seemed silly since they were practically in the same room at the time, only a piece of glass separating them, but it had seemed safer based on the look on his face – and asked his opinion on the subject, and he told her that it was fine. This time.

She took her towel, dress and toiletries and everything she needed to the shower stall, setting her belongings in the curtained off area outside of the actual shower. Most people took only their towel back to the showers, and then simply changed by their locker – modesty didn't seem to be something they were concerned about, even in the unisex locker room – but Jane had never been one of those people. Long ago, she had been self-conscious only about her tattoos, which now seemed like an unimaginable luxury. Pushing the state of her battered body from her mind, she disrobed and stepped into the spray of the shower, momentarily escaping from all thoughts of the party and everything that it would entail.

Of course, none of her problems were magically erased by the steam from the shower, and they were all still waiting for her like loyal puppies when she got back out a few minutes later – but oh, what a nice reprieve it had been in the midst of a stressful day.

Dressing quickly – she didn't like to be naked any longer than absolutely necessary with her body in the state that it was in, especially on FBI premises – she soon discovered the one major flaw in her whole getting ready plan. As was very normal, her dress had a long zipper down the back of it, and, just like the other two times… she couldn't zip it all the way up on her own. Even if she had spotted anyone from her team in the locker room when she'd come in, she wouldn't have asked them for help, however. No, especially not them.

The scars on her upper back, especially, just below the line of the dress where the sheer material started, were gruesome. She couldn't subject anyone else to having to see that – to having to see her. She'd somehow managed to shop with Patterson for five afternoons in a row and never asked for her help with a zipper once, not even on this very dress. Had she just not zipped it all the way when she'd tried it on? That now seemed like a distinct possibility. The question was, who had she thought would help her with it when it came time to wear this dress, anyway?

But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was that her current tiny problem seemed insurmountable. Leaning her forehead against the cool surface of the smooth cubicle wall that separated the dressing areas from each other, she willed herself not to cry in frustration – even though she could already feel the tears in her eyes. There was a way to do this. She just had to find it.

However, she could feel herself beginning to panic when the minutes ticked by and she couldn't think of a single way to solve this problem herself. She could speak six languages – or more, because who knew? – she could defeat enemies twice her size in hand to hand combat… but here she was, sitting in the locker room on the verge of tears because of a goddamn zipper, just because she couldn't reach the middle of her back? It was simply unacceptable.

The tears were on her cheeks now, as she sank down into the seat that was built into the corner of the cubicle. She didn't try to fight them, which would have meant sniffling, and there was no way in hell she was going to make any noise that let anyone else know that she was in here crying. She tried to think of a solution to this problem that didn't involve terrifying anyone else with her disfigurement, but kept coming up short.

Then suddenly, she realized that she had her phone. It was far from ideal, the idea that had popped into her head, and she would have done it only as an absolute last resort… and yet, that was exactly what she needed now. A last resort. Taking out her phone, she opened the most recent text window – from that morning, when she'd texted Kurt about her detail picking up her dress.

After editing the message that she'd just written to him at least five times, it finally read simply, Are you busy? Before she sent it, she closed her eyes and tried to steady herself, but she couldn't shake the feeling of self-loathing that she felt at having to do something this stupid. And yet, unable to think of a better option, she pressed Send.

A second later, Kurt's phone buzzed on his desk in front of him. What now? he thought impatiently. I'm trying to finish up this pile so I can go and get ready for the party, and I'm going to be late… He glanced up and saw that the message was from Jane, his brow creasing. Why is she texting me again? he wondered. Isn't she right… he looked out at the area outside his office and saw that not only was Jane not right there, but the bullpen had been seemingly transformed while he'd had his nose in his paperwork. He almost didn't recognize the area.

She must be in the locker room, he thought, trying to think of why she might be texting him from there. Then he returned to her question, of whether he was busy. Of course I'm busy, he thought as he simply typed the word, Yes, while thinking to himself, I'm always busy. After he pressed Send, however, he felt slightly guilty. This was Jane, and she wasn't just texting him to chat. She must need something, because Jane prided herself on not asking for help. Not ever… not from anymore.

Yes, came his succinct reply, and for some reason that one word stung her. She set the phone down quickly, as if it had burned her fingers, and just stared at it. What had she expected, exactly? And why was she suddenly staring at the phone as if it was someone she'd known well once, but who had just turned into a different person before her eyes? The phone hadn't done that, of course, but she did feel like Kurt had, though it had happened a while ago.

A second later, another text popped up on her screen. Why? it read simply.

No, never mind, she replied quickly, turning off her screen and fighting off the panic that was rising inside her.

It's fine, she told herself. I'm fine. I can do this…

The problem was that she knew that she wasn't fine. She also knew 100% for sure that she didn't need to be this upset, that she was being absolutely ridiculous, but she couldn't help herself. Because what could she do? There weren't many times when she'd felt this helpless, and she hated herself for it – as if she needed another reason to hate herself – and all over a stupid zipper.

But her phone buzzed again, to her surprise. It was Kurt. Apparently now she had his attention.

What's wrong? his text asked. She stared at the screen, hoping that if she looked at it hard enough, she could make him believe that nothing was wrong. Of course, if she typed nothing, he would likely track her phone and show up there anyway, so she decided she'd better answer.

Nothing, she replied with shaking fingers.

Jane, you didn't text me for nothing. You don't ever ask for help unless you're desperate. Where are you?

Sighing, she knew that she wasn't going to get out of this now, and after all, she had been the one to start it…

Locker room, she typed in resignation.

Be right there, he replied.

Leaning her head against the side of the cubicle wall once again, she felt completely drained. All she wanted at that moment was to go home and climb into bed… but it wasn't happening and she knew it, so she attempted to push the idea out of her head as she waited for him to show up.

In far less time than she had expected, she heard his voice greeting other agents as he walked through the locker room, looking for her.

Another text popped up on her screen. Where are you?

Showers, she replied, and immediately heard his voice coming in her direction as he continued to talk to people he saw along the way.

"Jane?" His voice was just outside the curtain now, and it was full of concern – more than she could remember hearing from him in a very long time. In a way, just hearing that tone again after so long was enough to threaten to open some very deep, and not very well healed wounds. She stood up slowly, stepping forward and moving the curtain slightly, enough to reveal her whereabouts to him.

As he stepped forward towards her, looking her quickly up and down, he saw that she was wearing a long black dress that expertly hid what he knew – though he had not seen them – were the scars left by her time at the CIA. At least, he knew of them in theory. In reality, he'd tried his best not to think about them. Why would he? The idea was disturbing enough. He felt guilty for this, sure that it showed only how weak he was, but so far he'd had no reason to confront this particular issue.

She stood just inside the curtain, appearing dressed for the party but looking up at him with – what was that look in her eyes? Apprehension? Fear? What could possibly be wrong?

He was standing only inches from her now, acutely aware that there was a complete lack of privacy in the locker room at the moment, with so many ears nearby to hear anything they might say above a hushed whisper. It was obvious that something was very wrong, at least in Jane's mind. "Jane, what's wrong?" he whispered, growing more concerned every second.

For a split second she just stared at him. He hadn't shown this much concern for her in… she couldn't even remember how long it had been. Not since… before…

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and tilted her head downward for a second, then looked back up at him. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd burst into tears at that moment, and upon inspecting her face more closely, it appeared that she'd already been crying. She pursed her lips for a second, and then, with what obviously took a great effort, she whispered, "I can't get the…" A pause for a breath, then, "… the zipper… but…" He tilted his head thoughtfully, because why would something like that upset her? He'd even zipped up her dress the last time they'd gone undercover, after the CIA… She could have just asked… There was an important piece that he was missing, and he just needed to figure it out... Looking down at her dress, he saw that the fabric was much more delicate, sheerer than what her previous dress had been made of. Maybe that had something to do with it.

She knew that she was acting like a crazy person, tears now rolling down her cheeks over something as stupid as a zipper, except that it wasn't the zipper that was the problem, it was what was under her dress and her inability to get the damn thing zipped up without exposing something about herself that she didn't want anyone to see.

Without a second thought about what his actions would look like if anyone was watching, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "Step back." She was so distraught that she did so without even trying to figure out why he was asking that of her. In almost the same motion, he stepped forward, and then turned to pull the curtain closed behind him. He didn't care what his joining her inside the curtain might look like, if anyone had even noticed that he'd stepped inside with her. All he knew was that she was breaking down before his eyes, and she didn't need an audience. At that moment it didn't matter that he hadn't been in this role for a very long time – the person who talked Jane down when she was at her weakest. He stepped back into it without hesitation, without giving it a second thought, as if the past few months had never happened.

They were now standing closer than they had in a very, very long time, and her heart was thundering in her chest, her stomach so upset she only hoped that she wasn't going to throw up, since he was standing right in front of her. That would make things even worse. Slowly, he put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her calmly. "Jane," he whispered. "Keep breathing."

She heard those same words in her head from so long ago, and it almost made her laugh and cry at the same time. It was one of her most bittersweet memories. Sweet because of how cared about she had felt when he'd said it the first time, and bitter because of everything that had come after it… and because of this Purgatory where they'd ended up, neither able to be together or to be separate.

He looked into her eyes, concern filling his, and she felt her breathing slowly return to normal. His hands remained on her shoulders as he stood perfectly still, watching her watching him. Once she seemed calmer, with his hands still on her shoulders, he attempted to turn her around. The look in her eyes turned to panic again, and her head began shaking quickly as tears sprung back to her eyes. No words escaped from her, only the silent plea in her eyes. No! it screamed silently.

"Sshhhh," he told her soothingly, pushing her shoulders a little more insistently, still trying to get her to turn. "It's okay." After one more pained look, she gave up fighting him and simply allowed him to spin her until her back faced him. She felt herself flush all over in mortification, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

The zipper was open for the last three inches at the top of her dress, and he could see the difference between the last time he'd zipped her dress and this time. As he'd guessed, the previous dress had been made of stiffer fabric, so that nothing but the tiniest line of the white of her skin had been visible. This dress, however, was made of a much softer fabric, one that didn't stand up on its own. In the inches where the zipper was down, the sides of the dress gaped open, revealing more than one patch of badly mangled tattoos. This was what she didn't want anyone to see, why she hadn't wanted to ask anyone for help, and had come to him only as a last resort. As an only resort.

Despite how fraught their relationship still was, he couldn't help but feel sympathy crash over him in a wave just then. This wasn't new, she had been silently living with this, he realized. He felt guilty for the fact that he could sweep everything that had happened under the rug, so to speak, and suppress it because he didn't know how best to deal with it, while she was left with literal scars, not just emotional ones. His hands came up to pull the zipper up, but before he did, his fingers just barely grazed the skin that the zipper revealed – it looked like it had been burned – purposely and repeatedly – in that area, and he could only imagine what the rest looked like.

She tensed, feelings his fingers on her back, and braced herself for a horrified reaction. Surely there couldn't be any other kind. Instead, his fingers settled against her skin and lingered for a moment where they were. Then when they finally moved, they brushed against her skin ever so slightly before they moved out of the way so that that he could pull up her zipper. There was no reason for his hands to be there any longer, and he slowly let them drop to his sides.

Jane stood still, frozen in place and now unable to turn around and face him. The problem was solved, but how could she look at him now? She couldn't bear to see the expression that she knew would be on his face.

How do you know? the voice in her head demanded. He's not some stranger, he's Kurt.

It doesn't matter who he is, she told the voice. It's disgusting.

At least give him a chance to act like a decent human being, the voice insisted. And so, on advice that she knew was bad, she did the thing she knew that she would regret and slowly turned around to face him. However, she still couldn't force herself to meet his eyes, and simply kept hers focused at a downward angle, looking at the bright white of his shirt.

"Jane," he whispered calmly, his voice like a balm for everything inside her that hurt, so much so that it terrified her even further, "Look at me." She shook her head stubbornly, and despite the situation, he couldn't help but chuckle. Her eyes immediately narrowed at the sound of his laughter, and her face became pained. "I'm sorry," he said so softly that she barely heard him, "but you're so cute when you're being stubborn." He watched as her face relaxed slightly, and he tried again. "Will you please look at me?"

Here goes nothing, she thought, bracing herself as she slowly raised her eyes, and then her head, in his direction.

Their eyes met and locked for seconds that seemed to go on and on before either of them dared to move or speak. "I'm sorry, Jane," he whispered.

For which part? she wanted to scream. Except that it wasn't his fault, of course. It was hers. It didn't make sense, but at the same time that she blamed him for the CIA's treatment of her, in her head, she simultaneously blamed herself exclusively.

She was already shaking her head, but when he didn't try to say anything else, she slowly stopped moving, feeling the fight quickly drain out of her, as they simply stared at each other. As she stood there, unable to look away, she felt her panic subside and her breathing stabilize.

"Okay?" he asked, to which she simply nodded. He smiled then, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place for a more in depth conversation on the topic. Seeing her calm once more, he whispered, "Well since I'm in the locker room, I may as well just go and get ready. I need to get back and finish up before the party. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," she replied almost without a sound.

"Alright, then I'll see you at the party," he replied, smiling at her sincerely. She swore that she couldn't remember the last time she saw this side of him… it had been weeks, if not more, since he was anywhere near this kind to her. Turning partway around, he reached for the curtain and pushed it aside just enough to step backwards, back out of the cubicle, then closing the curtain again, leaving her there to do whatever she needed to do and heading for his own locker.