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

After they'd realized what song Sarah was humming, that it was the same one they'd danced to approximately thirty-six hours before – and yet, in another lifetime – they fell quiet. Jane felt just a little bit overwhelmed at that moment, thinking back to the dance and everything that had happened since then, pressing her fingers around the pendant of her necklace. In her mind she had called it 'the necklace' of even 'Taylor's necklace,' when she had occasionally allowed herself to wonder what had happened to it after Kurt had taken it back so painfully.

My necklace, she now corrected herself, still in awe.

The fire had been getting low, so Kurt got up and added another log to before coming right back to the spot where he'd been sitting behind her, even asking quietly, "Where was I?" to let her know that he was purposely settling back into the same position. He sat down and pulled her back against his chest securely, both of them staring into the fire.

He could somehow sense that her thoughts had strayed, or maybe he had just guessed because it was so easy for that to happen to anyone, really, when staring into a fireplace full of flames. Or at least, it had happened to everyone in his own family from time to time, so he just assumed that it was something that was common to everyone. Her cheek rested against his arm, both of which were wrapped around her, and he wondered what was going on in her head.

However, she had the necklace between her fingers and he could feel the slight motion as she moved it back and forth, probably unconsciously. When he leaned to the side to see her profile, the look on her face reflected a tranquility that he'd rarely seen in her, so he decided to go with the assumption that she was lost in thoughts that she didn't need rescuing from. At least not yet. Even so, even with his arms wrapped around her, despite the fact that they couldn't be any closer together, the fact that her attention had wandered made him feel like she herself was far away. While he didn't want to interrupt her thoughts, he suddenly couldn't wait to see the look in her eyes that she only had when she looked at him…

You know that that's ridiculous, right? he asked himself. There's a name for that, you know…

He was going to tell himself that he was crazy, but then realized that what he was feeling was actually a symptom of something else. That something was love.

Any version of Kurt Weller that had existed before just then would have rebuffed the idea quickly, but this new and arguably improved version (You can't be both new and improved, he pointed out to himself in his head, to which he quickly replied that that was not the point) of him seemed to simply accept this as fact and move on to the next thought. Had he already known about this? That he loved her? Was that why it didn't seem to surprise him? He honestly couldn't remember. But now that the thought had entered his mind, it was all he could think about.

Calm down, he told himself. You guys are definitely in a good place, but as you've just seen this morning, it's still not going to be smooth sailing.

It wouldn't be my life if it was, he thought in reply. I don't need easy. I just need her.

When she felt his arms tighten around her, it pulled her out of her thoughts and she turned to look at him, his face just over her shoulder. Their eyes met, both of them smiling, and his head tipped forward slightly, his temple leaning against the side of her head.

Sarah's voice came from almost directly above them then. "You guys really are too cute," she gushed. "But can I give you these even though it means letting go of each other for a few minutes?"

Kurt arms fell from around Jane and they both turned to their left, towards Sarah, to take the mugs that she had brought them. Both of them were still hot, and they quickly set them down on the hearth in front of Jane, Kurt making a point to lean forward against her back and then reach to set his mug down, rather than simply reaching around Jane directly. It was a small but important distinction, and it reminded her for just a second of their first Rich Dotcom mission. That time, he'd unfastened the necklace from her neck and then, instead of stepping around her to hand it to the criminal they were paying in order to retrieve the stolen WitSec list, he'd stepped forward, leaning against her back and then reached his arm around her to hand over the necklace.

"After we finish our tea, we should go up and get ready, and then we can go out and play in the snow," Kurt whispered, very quietly against her ear, hoping that Sawyer hadn't heard him. He didn't mind if his nephew joined them outside, but he was very much enjoying the rare peace and quiet just at that moment, and wasn't quite ready to have to pay attention to anyone but Jane if it wasn't necessary. He felt her nod in agreement, leaning slightly against his head in response to the closeness. A long, contended sigh escaped from one of them, but he was amused to realize that he couldn't discern whether it had come from him or from her.

A few minutes later, she leaned forward and picked up her tea, finding that it was now the perfect temperature to drink. Just as she sat back, she felt him lean forward, which pressed them that much more tightly together. Even though it was only her back against his chest, as well as his arm and shoulder leaned slightly over her shoulder, she felt herself blushing. Who knew that such an innocent gesture could make her feel so happy?

It wasn't as though he didn't already know that he liked the sensation of being close to her. That was what had helped make a near death experience feel like something he had actually wanted to repeat, after all… What surprised him, however, was the fact that as he leaned forward at the same time that she leaned back, thereby pressing his chest a little more tightly against her, the rush of emotion was something akin to flying. He'd never felt that way before, at any time, with anyone else, and he was glad. He liked the idea that the feeling was uniquely for Jane.

She'd been sipping her tea and leaning against Kurt, even though his arms were occupied with holding his tea, for what felt like only a few minutes. When she looked into her mug and saw that her tea was gone, she was both surprised and disappointed – she really didn't want to have to get up. Beside her, Kurt was draining the last of his tea as well, leaning forward – she was sure that he was doing it exaggeratedly now, as an excuse to lean against her… not that she minded one bit, of course – to set his mug down. She put hers down as well, and for a few seconds pretended that they hadn't agreed to go and get ready when their tea was finished. Right now, she didn't want to be anywhere else.

But of course, he hadn't forgotten. He was speaking into her ear again before she even realized it. "You should go up and take a shower so we can go outside and play in the snow," he told her. He was going to tell her to dress warmly, but remembered that she didn't really have anything especially warm. So instead, he added, "And put on my green sweater. I'm not sure which bag it's in, yours or mine, but it's the warmest one." And it'll match your eyes, he added in his head.

She leaned against him, which he knew was her I don't want to go, so he added, "The sooner you go, the sooner you can be done." Even though this was only logical, when he said it into her ear, it seemed to make much more sense. She had a feeling that he could say almost anything he said into her ear and it would seem to make sense… That thought surprised her slightly, as she realized just how true it was. Being around him was like being under some sort of spell.

This distraction from the delightful hum of happiness in her head was probably the only reason she managed to push herself up from the floor and away from him. She picked up the mugs from the hearth before turning and, after looking at him one more time, their eyes locking for several seconds before she managed to extract herself from the pull once again, she turned and walked towards the kitchen.

As soon as she walked by the kitchen table on her way to the sink, Sawyer, who noticed that she had vacated her spot by his uncle, stood up like a shot and bolted toward Kurt, comic book in hand, to talk about what he'd been reading. Jane and Sarah, who had just finished cleaning up the aftermath of her cooking, watched in amusement as Sawyer plopped himself down and proceeded to make up for the time when he hadn't been able to hold his uncle's attention.

"I guess I was preventing some serious male bonding just by sitting there," Jane said, feeling slightly guilty.

Sarah dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand, however. "Don't worry about it," she replied, sensing Jane's feelings. "Sawyer would talk Kurt's ear off twenty-four hours a day if I let him. It started a little while before we moved, and I swear it's gotten worse since then. They – well, my son – literally never runs out of things to talk about." Jane grinned, watching them and thinking that Sawyer did, indeed seem like a kid who could just talk your ear off. He'd changed a lot from the shy, reserved kid that she'd first met on the night of that disastrous, failed dinner.

"Well, while they catch up, I'll just go up and shower," Jane said, feeling a little bit awkward to still be in her pajamas, standing beside Sarah, who she barely knew, really, who was showered and dressed. Sarah nodded, then turned as Jane began walking toward the front stairs, adding, "There should be towels in the bathroom, otherwise look in the hall closet."

"Thanks," Jane said, turning to smile at her once more before disappearing upstairs.

She walked up the stairs slowly, absently watching her hand move over the well-worn, wooden banister that wrapped around the stairs as they turned at the wide landing, then turned again and headed the rest of the way up to the second floor. For a moment, on the landing, she paused, imagining young Kurt, Sarah, and Taylor, and what they must have been like as kids. She'd seen the pictures, after all. After thinking that she was Taylor, even though she now knew better, she still felt a strange connection to the girl – even though that connection had come about it a way that almost made her feel… she searched for the word, but dirty was the only one that came to mind.

That wasn't quite right, and yet, it wasn't quite wrong, either. What she felt was something stronger than guilt, because what she – Remi – had done had been… she shivered, not wanting to think about it anymore, but simultaneously unable to not think about it.

She – No, Remi, she reminded herself quickly – had decided to be Taylor in order to manipulate Kurt, something that she – Jane – would never do. Even so, even knowing that she would have done this… still she somehow felt responsible for Remi's actions.

Her eyes closed then, despite her best efforts to push the thoughts away. It was so strange, trying to navigate the minefield that was her mind – not that she'd ever known anything different… No, she supposed strange was the wrong word. Confusing… Stressful… It had gotten easier, she'd noticed, in the past few days. Suddenly, the idea that Kurt was on her side again, which had seemed completely impossible as recently as three days ago, seemed to round off the sharp edges. Still, it seemed that the pitfalls were everywhere, and that it was simply impossible to avoid them all.

Shaking her head against the memories, she suddenly heard Kurt's voice in her head. It is going to get better. And because she wanted to believe it, she needed to believe it, she decided that she would. After all, she had decided to trust him this far – no, they had decided to trust each other – which meant that she would try her best to take him at his word.

Seeing his face in her mind now, she was somehow able to believe that he was not a guy who would let bad things happen to her if it was remotely in his power to stop them. At least… not again. The past… well, that was the past, and they couldn't change it – any of it.

There had been a time when she had desperately wanted to remember her past. And now? The more time went on, the more her past – both before and after the memory wipe – had become something to be overcome, and if not forgotten, then at least moved on from.

Opening her eyes determinedly, she slowly continued up the stairs, still seeing young Kurt, Sarah and Taylor flash before her eyes. She let them bound down the stairs past her with their youthful exuberance, in their brightly colored rubber rain boots, the ones that Kurt had described to her. No, she hadn't been Taylor, and yes, she had come to "be" Taylor in a dishonest and deceitful way, and yet… maybe because the few brief flashes of her memory of her own, real childhood were so few and so traumatic, in a way, while sad, she found the flashes of Kurt's childhood almost soothing.

Because Kurt was in them, her mind chimed in, filling in what should have been obvious. And no, Jane had never been Taylor, but she knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Kurt Weller's devotion. Even if right now, despite his behavior in the past two days, she couldn't let herself quite believe it… she remembered the feeling from before. Before all of the bad things had started, back in the beginning, when she had been terrified, he'd been her rock, the only thing keeping her afloat in an ocean of uncertainty.

Taylor Shaw's short life, from what she knew of her, hadn't been filled with that same kind of uncertainty, but there had been significant gaps all the same – no father in the picture, no siblings of her own and a single mother who worked long hours in order to support them, leaving her alone more than she should have.

And yet, knowing what she knew about Kurt, about his intensity, she somehow knew without having been there herself that in her short life, Taylor Shaw had received the same devotion, the same protection, that Jane herself had – or, at least that Jane had in the beginning, before the lies had begun. While she was desperately sad for the little girl who had never had a chance to grow up, who had done nothing to deserve such a horrible death at the age of five, she was at least comforted a tiny bit by the fact that Kurt had been the one looking out for her. It may not have been enough to protect her from the evils of the world in the end, but while she was alive, that girl had been loved. That much Jane knew for sure. It wasn't much, but it was something.

As her thoughts cleared, Jane realized that once again she had stalled on the stairs, this time halfway between the landing and the top. She was surprised to notice that there were tears in her eyes, and a few on her cheeks as well. Smiling and feeling the familiar ache in her chest, the one that was sadness and regret and disgust and thankfulness and yes, even love, and so many other things rolled up into one – because nothing in her life was simple, including her own feelings – she pushed herself up the rest of the stairs.

Quickly gathering what she needed from her bag on the floor in Kurt's childhood room, she was almost at the door when she looked up and saw light coming in from between the dark curtains on the window. She forgot her hurry to shower and get back downstairs once again, and walked towards the light as if drawn by some sort of magnetic force. After all, she was fairly sure she knew what lay outside that window after seeing Kurt staring out it into the darkness the night before.

Pushing aside the curtains, she looked out into the overcast but snow-covered day outside the window. There were many trees dotting the land, mostly off toward the back of the house, and appearing to converge into the woods that Kurt had talked about, and she knew that back there somewhere there was a stream, as well… and of course, that hiding place that Kurt had talked about, where he used to go to wait for Taylor to return. Her gaze returned to the direction she'd been drawn to look at and yet was almost avoiding looking at.

Straight ahead, not right up beside the house, the way buildings were built in the boroughs of New York with which she was familiar, but not too far away, so that it was still easy to make out the major details… There stood the house that she was almost certain had been Taylor's. Instead of the memories that had flooded her on the stairs, this time she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

After all, that was the house from which Bill Weller had abducted the little girl, somehow and for some reason. She wondered if they would ever know what had happened. There was no justice left to get, with the man now dead, and Kurt had told her that he had reburied Taylor "somewhere peaceful." Still, she had been with the FBI long enough now that the why was important to her, even if it wouldn't change anything. Maybe it would have been important to her even if she hadn't been with the FBI. But then again, if she hadn't been with the FBI, she'd still be Remi…

Closing her eyes once again, she was chilled by the thought that, if her memory had not been erased, she would still have been that woman, that frightening stranger who'd shot people without batting an eye – that much Jane remembered. The woman who, from what Jane could tell, had been conditioned to be cold, manipulative, maybe not heartless but definitely not compassionate in the sense that Jane would define it…

Remi had been a soldier in what she had seen as a war, one that Jane refused to accept. Or at least, she refused to accept the methods used by Remi and Sandstorm, no matter how just their "cause" may have been. Burning the country to the ground and starting again, no matter how many people were sacrificed along the way? Innocent people? No, they didn't care about collateral damage, refused to believe that there could be another, more human way. But she – Jane – was not one of them. Not anymore. And for that, knowing what she knew, Jane was truly grateful.

Suddenly, she heard the voice in her head speaking to her, calmly and rationally. Taking a deep breath, she let the words wash over her. It's easy to hate her – Remi, that is – and no one would blame you if you do. You – she – whoever – may have done this to yourself for a set of reasons that horrifies you now, the voice in her head told her calmly, but you – she – did yourself the biggest favor you could ever have done, without even knowing it. It's okay to be horrified by the things that Remi did, but remember to have compassion for her as well, she told herself calmly.

She was a product of her environment. We all are, it's just that some of us are luckier than others. She drew the short stick in life in so many ways. In another life, she might have been a much kinder person. She might have been you… she is you, after all…

The important thing is, you're not her anymore. And because of that, try to find it in yourself to forgive her for the things she did. After all, if she hadn't been her, you wouldn't be you. You wouldn't be here. Without meaning to, she gave you a gift. The gift of a new beginning.

There was a noise behind her, pulling her quickly from her thoughts, and she turned to find Kurt coming through the door, closing it quietly behind him and looking both surprised and concerned to find her standing there staring out the window. She hadn't even made it to the shower yet, and she had no idea how long it had been since she'd come upstairs. Turning around as he approached her, she smiled at him to alleviate what she expected to be his immediate worry.

"Hey," he said, stopping close to her, but not as close as he wanted to be. "Everything okay?" He fought the urge to put his arms around her, though he couldn't explain why.

"Yeah," she said, looking to him like she'd just seen a ghost. "I kept getting lost in thought… it took me forever just to get up the stairs."

The concern on his face at this admission made her heart melt, and she shook her head, her smile turning more genuine than the forced one that had been on her face to start with. "Being here… it's just…" She stopped and shook her head. "I can't imagine what it's like for you, if it feels like this for me, and…" Pausing, she considered her words carefully.

What am I even trying to say? She really wasn't sure.

"It's… I don't know. I mean… I was never here… no matter how it feels."

He nodded, swallowing hard, and thinking about how strange it must feel for her, knowing that she wasn't Taylor, and yet having been conditioned to believe that she had been. She would probably always feel it, a connection to Taylor, just because for the whole first part of the life that she could remember, being Taylor had been such a big part of her identity. And now with everything that had happened since that terrible day that they'd both found out that she wasn't Taylor… all of the hurt between them… Her baggage was different than his, a different kind of burden, but a burden nonetheless. He could see that now, while for so long he hadn't been able to.

They stood there, looking into each other's eyes for a minute, only a few inches between them and yet, both of them hesitating for some reason. Neither of them quite knew what to say, or what to do. Finally, he reached out and took her hand gently, her left with his right, smiling at her encouragingly. She felt her strength returning, felt the fog in her head suddenly clearing. Her mouth curled into a smile, the same one that felt so goofy – the same one she'd been wearing on her face since they'd started the trip together.

"I was going to go take a shower, wasn't I?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"No rush, but yeah, you were," he told her, knitting his fingers more tightly through her own.

"Well, I'll be quick," she said, looking into his eyes and still not moving. Glancing down at their joined hands, then back up at him in amusement, she added, "Though you may need to let go of my hand for that to happen."

He squeezed her hand, then let it drop slowly back to her side. "Sorry," he grinned.

"Don't be," she replied, still looking into his eyes. They heard Sawyer's riotous laughter from downstairs then, breaking the trance they both seemed to be under, staring at each other, and they both looked away, laughing quietly.

"Go take a shower," he told her, "I'm going to investigate what's so funny downstairs. Just… you think you can find your way back down when you're done? Without getting lost in your thoughts?"

"Haha," she told him, making a face. "I'll be down to find you soon."

He nodded in agreement, then forced himself to walk towards the door. He'd almost gone through it when he hesitated, stopped and looked back at her once more, grinning as though he was going to say something, but didn't. As she watched in amusement, he finally left, closing the door behind him.

Not knowing what to make of any of it, but thinking that this kind of uncertainty was alright with her, She was almost at the door when she remembered that he'd told her to wear his green sweater so that she wouldn't be cold outside. She had already looked carefully through everything in her bag, but there had been no green sweater… which meant that it was in his bag. Swallowing hard, she looked over at it hesitantly, trying to remember exactly what he'd said to her downstairs.

"…put on my green sweater. I'm not sure which bag it's in, yours or mine, but it's the warmest one."

She supposed that counted as permission to look for it in his bag, though she felt very uncomfortable doing so. It felt… It felt like something that only someone with a significantly closer relationship with him would do, should do…

But he told you to put it on, whichever bag it was in, she reminded herself.

Kneeling on the floor, she turned to the bag beside hers, eyeing it as if it was a sleeping animal and might awaken if she made any sudden move toward it. Leaning over slowly, she carefully unzipped the bag, pulled back the fabric on either side and peering inside. It looked… completely ordinary.

What exactly were you expecting? she asked herself. She didn't have an answer, going through his bag just seemed too… personal… like an invasion of privacy.

Just find the sweater and close the bag, she told herself, And stop being silly.

Pushing aside everything that didn't look green, trying to get it over with as fast as possible, she quickly but carefully found the sweater he'd been talking about. She pulled it out, trying her best to push the rest of the contents of the bag back into place neatly, and zipped the bag closed again. The sweater was thick and yet very soft, and a beautiful green color which, she had to admit, did look a little bit like the color of her eyes. It seemed very likely that Sarah had bought this for him.

Now that she finally had what she needed, she took her clothes with her into the bathroom at the end of the hall and took a quick but very refreshing shower. Having completed the task that she had come upstairs to accomplish, she hoped that she could get back downstairs, where the others were, without getting stuck in her thoughts again. It had surprised her just how hard being here had hit her. She'd known that it would be hard for Kurt, but she'd thought of the trip in terms of getting a better understanding of him. She'd completely underestimated how much her own connection to Taylor Shaw would mean.

Kurt had heard the boards creak about him when Jane had finally walked down the hall to the bathroom to shower, and just the fact that he could track her movement through the house made him smile. Suddenly, after these past few days, during which she'd barely been away from his side, it felt strange to him when she wasn't there. It was as though something important was missing. Someone important.

It doesn't work that way, he told himself. That's just… impossible. It's been less than forty-eight hours…

And yet, he told himself, it feels like the two of us have always had this… This… He struggled to think of the right word. This what?

No, he finally realized, just… THIS. No other word was necessary.

He sat on the living room couch, listening to Sarah and Sawyer go on and on about something that was make both of them laugh uproariously, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was. Not that he'd really been listening. He knew that he'd been zoning out again, his thoughts wandering, as they seemed to do freely here. Without Jane to focus on, all he saw was the ghost of Taylor. Here in the living room seemed to be where he saw her most of all, since they had spent so much time together here.

There she was in front of him again, skipping in circles, giggling like crazy.

Sitting on the floor licking an overfilled ice cream cone – chocolate, her favorite – that was dripping all over her fingers, a deliriously happy grin on her face.

Taking off her socks and throwing them across the room, yelling at the top of her lungs how much she hated socks, which had made both himself and Sarah laugh so hard, their stomachs hurt.

Begging him – begging him – to watch the Smurfs with her. Of course, he had given in.

Then he blinked, and she was running through the doorway, completely out of breath, pausing only long enough to locate him where he stood in the center of the room, and then barreling into him, almost knocking him over just by the force with which she threw her arms around his waist. Something had scared her – he couldn't remember what now. All he remembered was kneeling down and hugging her back, and that she clung so hard to him that at that moment, it had felt like she was never going to let go.

Taylor… Her named echoed through his mind, a sound so deafeningly loud that he couldn't hear any other sounds or thoughts. At that moment, when his sadness and regret and all of the feelings of inadequacy over his perceived failures drowned out everything else, the only thing he could think to do was… to find Jane.

He stood up and made a beeline for the stairs, no longer hearing the happy noise made by his sister and his nephew. His head was full of Taylor, and though he knew that the connection was only in his head, all he could think of to do was to go upstairs and make sure Jane was safe.

Arriving at the top of the stairs, he found that the noise in his head wasn't as loud up here. No, he shouldn't say that… it was just different. Taylor had come upstairs many times – of course she had – but not as much as they'd hung out downstairs. Upstairs there were more thoughts of his father, which were far darker, angrier. The noise in his head had quieted a little, and he could hear that the shower was running in the bathroom, which told him that Jane was still in there. Since he had to wait, he stepped into his old bedroom to try to cool down.

The problem was, of course, that there was nowhere in this house where there wasn't something that triggered some sort of unpleasant memory for him. Now in his old bedroom, which he'd never been comfortable in to start with, his eyes were immediately drawn to the window. How many times had he stood there, staring out of the window? How many hours had he spent staring out that window? Looking out at Taylor's old house, long since sold after Emma Shaw had died, he felt the familiar rage he'd felt with his father as a teenager. He'd learned how to channel that hostility as he'd gotten older, but he was dismayed to learn that it was still there, apparently just as present now as when he'd been ten years old.

Nothing has changed, he told himself, which only made him angrier.

Of course they have, the voice in his head answered calmly. Even that calm irritated him just then, but the voice continued. Lots of things have. Think of all of the people you've helped. The children you've saved. Think of—

But not her, he protested stubbornly, just like he always did.

No, the voice replied sadly. Not her. That's not going to change. You have to move past it.

I thought I had, he thought, glad that he was having this conversation with himself and not a person outside of this head, because he hated how broken he sounded. Well, maybe not moved past it, but at least… made peace with it. But being here again… now I see that I'm never going to.

You will… if you let yourself, the voice said. Once again, its calm was making him angrier.

How can I let myself move past that? Like it never happened? he demanded. He wanted to smash something, an urge he hadn't had since that night… the night that he had arrested Jane.

No, the voice said, not like it never happened. No one is asking you to forget. To forget her.

It's just not fair, he raged, knowing that he sounded like a child.

No, it's not, the calm voice said. Life is not fair. You're here and she isn't. Your father killed her, and he got away with it. You'll never know what made him do it, what sickness could possibly have driven him to do such a thing, what kind of "accident" he would have claimed that it was if he'd ever admitted that it happened. You'll never know. And Taylor's disappearance made you who you are today… and brought you to where you are.

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm down.

That was when the door opened, and he looked over his shoulder to see Jane standing in the doorway, surprised to see him. Suddenly, the anger drained from him almost completely.

Opening the door to the bedroom, where she just needed to put away her pajamas, she paused in surprise. She hadn't expected to see Kurt back there already. If anything, she would have expected him to avoid that room if possible… but maybe the whole house had an equally strong effect on him as his bedroom.

"Hey," she said quietly, closing the door behind her. He glanced in her direction, but said nothing. The look on his face was anguished, and she knew that his thoughts had sabotaged him again.

If not for your past, you wouldn't be here, the calm voice in Kurt's head said. Jane had knelt down to put away her clothes and he looked back out the window, his mind reeling once again from the idea that his present, which he was so happy about, was a result of his past, which caused him so much pain. He just couldn't reconcile the fact that he could deserve something good because of such a spectacular failure.

It doesn't work that way, the voice in his head said kindly, and you know that. Taylor was not a sacrifice that you made, and Jane is not here to make up for Taylor. They are two separate people. The connection is the path that your life has taken, the ripples that come from each of your decisions and the decisions of those around you. You have nothing to prove to anyone, and Taylor was not your fault.

The words still sounded hollow in his ears, more so now than ever. No matter how many times he heard them, he wasn't sure he could ever believe it. Not really.

She knelt by her bag and quickly slipped her pajamas back in, then stood up and walked over to the window. He'd been looking out at the same view she'd looked at earlier when she'd come in, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Now he was turned back toward the snowy view once again, appearing lost in thought. Or maybe just lost.

Walking up beside him, she looked out at the view, then turned slightly to look up at him. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "that's it."

Somehow she knew that he meant that the house she'd been looking at earlier was Taylor's house. It seemed like the longer they spent together, the more they were back to being so in tune with each other, it was almost as though they could read each other's minds. Maybe even better than they'd ever been able to before.

How cruel, she thought, that he'd had to spend his whole childhood staring at the house of the girl for whose disappearance he felt so responsible.

Exhaling slowly, she suddenly felt unsteady again. How could she somehow feel like Taylor, and yet not be Taylor? Worry that she was still Remi, somewhere deep inside her – because sometimes she did worry just that – even though she didn't feel like Remi? No, she wasn't either of them, and yet… suddenly she felt as though she knew both Taylor and Remi better than she knew herself, Jane. Who in the world was she? And all that was secondary, really, because there was something happening in Kurt's head, inches away from her, and she felt powerless to help him. It was all simply too much.

Unsure of whether it was because of her own confusion or the empathy for the man beside her, or maybe both, all she knew was that just when she was about to reach out towards the trim around the window to steady herself, she felt his arm around her waist, keeping her from falling. Looking up at him in surprise, she noticed that the far-away look in his eyes that had been there a few seconds ago was gone, and he was now focused exclusively on her.

"I've got you," he told her quietly, as she leaned against him and attempted to steady her breathing, which he hadn't even realized had been uneven. After a few seconds he turned away from the window, standing in front of her, and put his other arm around her. She wasn't sure if this was to give her additional support or for his own reassurance somehow, but it didn't matter to her just then.

It was like he'd said that morning when she'd brought up the night before – how it hadn't been clear who'd needed who more in the middle of the night. It didn't matter. What mattered was that they were both there, leaning on each other.