#nachos blindspot fics

[nachosncheeze]

Nothing Else To Think About (Blindspot 3x12 fic/extra scenes)

Also on AO3.

I want love back in my life. So do I.

Jane owes her husband an apology, and they're gonna have to work on it. Beginning with the final Jeller scene of 3x12, this post-ep is the third and final part of my mid-season 3 Jeller stories following on from my 3x11 fics "The Company You Were Keeping" and "A Pretty Good Reason", but it can also be read as a stand-alone. It's an attempt to fill in some of the blanks that canon left behind, in a manner that hopefully makes the growing strength of their bond through the rest of the season feel a little more natural. Contains mild spoilers through most of the rest of season 3, but nothing that'll ruin any big twists.

A note on timelines can be found below the cut for the curious, before the story.

Thank you once again to the lovely @lurkingwhump for encouraging me to explore and write out my take on Jeller's midseason drama. Hopefully this addresses some of the gaps in canon in a way that feels honest, and I hope everyone enjoys it. Let me know what you think. :)

Content warning for mentions of infidelity.

~~~~~

A note on the timeline: This story can generally be taken as fitting within canon, with the caveat that the canon timeline of events for when Jane was on the run is muddy at best, with a lot implied or open to interpretation and very little shown with certainty. In order to make this story happen I had to get pretty specific about developing a workable headcanon/interpretation built from the breadcrumbs provided on-screen.

I expect the most unusual aspect of this version of events for many will be that for my purposes Jane and Clem's association lasted only 3 to 4 months after Paris, and ended shortly before her close call in Switzerland and subsequent trip to Berlin. The money on the bed was all Clem's in this interpretation; some of it earned before he learned her name in Paris, making his "6 months" comment part of a sales pitch to convince her to form a more permanent partnership. That also places their tryst right around the lonely milestone that is the one-year mark since Jane left home, though you won't catch her explicitly saying so or using it as an excuse. Hopefully everything else will come through well enough in the story, but if anyone wants to know the details or where I got any of it, I can make a separate post.

Everything I've used does all technically fit into the spaces that canon left behind, but I realize it will differ greatly from some headcanons, so if it doesn't work for you please feel free to treat this as "canon divergent" instead.

~~~~~

Jane stood outside the door to the apartment she shared with her husband. Or… had shared with him, until she had walked away from him and out of this same door, furious and sad to the point of numbness, leaving her wedding ring behind. She stared at the numbers on its surface, breathing deep, trying to stave off a rising wave of panic. She had left the hotel, packed her few things and checked out, planning not to return there. She knew it was the right call to deprive herself of an out, but now that she stood outside what had been her home, her mind was a silent cacophony of anxieties and discordant thoughts. Her head said ‘just open the damn door,’ her heart said ‘you need to see him,’ but her feet and her stomach said ‘run,’ so she simply stood, trying to quell the noise inside her.

It had been one hell of a day that had brought her here. She thought listening to Kurt jumping out of a plane not that long ago had been hard, but he’d had a chute. She knew he did, he had to. He’d known what he was doing. And she was still angry, Avery was still dead; it was a near miss but it was a miss, so there was no need at the time to make haste in processing what she was feeling. It had turned out Avery was alive though, and she was safe now under the watchful eyes of Jane’s FBI colleagues. So when Reade revealed the significance of the location the militia was taking Kurt and his undercover partner to, suddenly all she could think about was her husband trapped in a bunker, underground, outnumbered and overwhelmed. She’d nearly panicked then, too, fighting to push away a rush of mental images of that bunker becoming a tomb. Her heels and knees had bounced as she sat, twisting her hands in her lap, chewing her lip throughout the brief helicopter ride to be his rescue.

When they landed and grabbed their gear, she took the grenade launcher. If those assholes managed to take him down, there would be no arrests; she was going to make sure every single one of them went down with him.

And now, standing before nothing more than a wooden door, that resolve was nowhere to be found. She was absolutely terrified.

She took a last deep breath to steel herself and knocked, then fitted her key into the lock without waiting. She knew that if his mood was anything like hers had been lately, he wouldn’t answer, hoping that whoever was there would just go away.

She stepped over the threshold and bumped the door shut behind her. He was on his feet at the sight of her, a glass of scotch in his right hand and the other hidden in his pocket. “Hey,” was all he offered.

“I’m not letting Roman win,” she responded without preamble.

He looked to the side, shuffled his feet, then leaned his shoulder against the door frame from the lounge. He’d been wishing for this, to see her back in this place where she belonged. But then he’d learned about Clem, and now that the moment had arrived, he didn’t know what to say. Somehow it felt like neither of them belonged there. You have to try, he reminded himself unnecessarily. “What happened? Everything alright?”

It was her turn to look away, again grasping for the courage that always seemed automatic when looking down the barrel of a gun but was shredded to straws under his guarded expression. “No, uh… and it might not be for a while.” She walked further into the apartment, giving a helpless shrug. “Look, I know that you have a history of being let down by the people you love.” He shifted again, half turning from her as though he wanted to leave and escape the conversation. But he stayed. “Your father, your old partner… me. But knowing why you lied about Avery doesn’t make me feel any less betrayed. And that… hurt… may never go away.” He looked at the floor, nodding his resignation. She didn’t stop. “But all of this has just made me feel so… lonely. Afraid to trust the people I should believe in the most.”

He met her eyes then and straightened from the door frame, Allie’s words echoing in his ears. She was out there alone for a long time, but that doesn’t sound like the Jane I know. Trust had been at the heart of them from the beginning. She'd given it to him, unwaveringly, from almost the first moment they met, and he had returned it from the moment Chao's blade met his skin at the top of the Statue of Liberty. They'd bruised and broken and mended their trust more than once since, but… even at its lowest, he had always loved her. And she'd always loved him. It wasn't easy. It was absolutely worth it. That, at least, was something he knew. He started moving toward her.

“And that is exactly what Roman wants,” she was continuing, “I’m not gonna give it to him. Because I wanna trust Avery. I wanna work this out with you. I want love back in my life.”

He finally found his voice. “So do I.”

She blew out the breath she’d been holding and nodded, her chin quivering slightly, and they both stood staring, glassy-eyed, at one another.

It was Kurt who broke the silence, stepping a little closer and extracting his left hand from his pocket. Things weren’t right between them, and she was right, they wouldn’t be for a while. But she had come home, and maybe that was enough of a starting point for the minute. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head back toward the lounge. For a moment, she didn’t move.

It could be all too easy. She had no idea what he was thinking or what he wanted now, but he at least seemed willing to let her back into their home. She could feel the tension in him, and his pain matching her own, but also his relief at her presence and her intention to stay. Maybe he meant to leave their sleeping dogs to lie, just for tonight, and spend the rest of the evening simply easing back into the idea of sharing space. He was reaching for her hand, and she gave it to him, feeling his fingers gently closing around her own.

He turned and began leading her toward where he had been sitting, and she watched his back, his feet, their hands as she followed in numb silence. And suddenly all she could see was his wedding ring; the way it dully reflected the dim light feeling like a blinding glare.

She’d been hiding behind the icy wall she’d put up between them, scrawling messages to herself on its surfaces, assuring herself that his transgressions were the greater, his lies the more dire, her injury the more grievous. Even as she had stepped through the door to their home, having rehearsed precisely what she wanted to say, she braced for disaster by telling herself over and over that between the two of them, she had nothing more to apologize for. She had to believe it, because if he threw her out - and she had half-believed he would - she didn’t know how else she could survive it. But now that he hadn’t, she realized that what she was left with was less a wall or a shield and more a cold, hard brick of shame lodged somewhere behind her navel.

She stopped and pulled her hand from his, looking at the floor so that she didn’t have to see the hurt and confusion on his face as he turned to look back at her. Not talking about things was what had brought them here, and maybe this wasn't the best time, maybe neither felt ready for this conversation, but she didn’t want to repeat that mistake. She didn’t want any more misunderstandings, didn’t want him thinking for even one more moment that her foolish indiscretion had been a rejection or any other kind of comment on him. He was worth so much more than that; he deserved to know the truth. And she knew that they could never be ready for something like this. Whatever either of them intended, she owed it to him to do it now, if he would hear it, rather than risk that morning light and the crazy realities of their days might bury it all under other people's crises again.

“We… we should talk,” she stuttered. She saw his expression crumble, the relief seeming to abandon him, and suddenly she realized that in that moment, he was afraid of her. Afraid of what she might say, or maybe of how much more she might ask of him. “I mean… I should talk. I mean, I owe you… an explanation.”

His jaw flexed, and he glanced back and forth between her and nothing in particular a few times as he considered her offer. At last he nodded and turned his back on her, stepping back through the double doors into the lounge. She was frozen, wondering if the reminder of what she’d done had been too much for tonight after all, if he was going to keep right on walking, close a bedroom door behind himself and leave her there. Instead, he pushed aside the footstool with his knee and dropped back into his chair with an exhausted sigh, then gestured vaguely to the room in front of him.

“Okay,” he said, “then explain.”

She moved tentatively toward him and settled gingerly on a spot on the floor, in front of him, but not too close. “I’m not… even sure where to begin,” she confessed. She had known since that heated moment on the plane that this had to happen sometime, but she was so scared that he’d never give her the chance that she had doubled down on her anger, never allowing herself to consider what she would actually say. After several long moments of watching her mouth work soundlessly to no avail, he finally put her out of their misery, clearing his throat as he leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging limply between them, one still loosely holding his glass of scotch.

“You knew I wanted to go with you, but you took off without me. I’m thankful that you put Bethany first. But you took off your ring.” He stopped short and swallowed down hard on the bile that suddenly seemed to be rising in his throat. She reached out gently as if to touch him, but withdrew her hand when he flinched. The action seemed to give him the push necessary to say what he needed to next. “I don’t want to know. I really, really don’t. But I think… I need to. We were happy, Jane. So… what happened?”

“I thought…” she hesitated. “No,” she corrected, then started again, stronger. “I left my ring for a reason. Part of it was about blending in, hiding the things I love. I left to keep you both safe, and if someone made me, if they saw that ring and saw that I was still…” still in love with you - she swallowed the words, “I had to keep you safe. I thought I’d be able to finish it, and come home.

“But… I knew there was a chance that it wouldn’t work. I didn’t want to hide that from you. I left it where I knew you’d find it, so you wouldn’t have to wonder what I’d done. And if I couldn’t make it back, for whatever reason… I didn’t want you stuck with me. My past just keeps coming back to haunt you, and that's not fair. I don't want that for you. I wanted you to know that… even if I wasn’t there, even if it wasn’t with me, more than anything… I wanted you to be happy.”

“I made a vow, Jane,” he said quietly. “And I meant it. There was no ‘happy’ for me without you.”

She glanced away, trying not to let her entire world crumble at the word 'was'; past tense. “I made that vow too,” she offered weakly, unthinkingly. And I broke it, she admonished herself silently. She heard him give a single, humorless little snort. He no longer had the energy to say it aloud, and she didn’t have the strength to, terrified that if she did, the sober reality of it would be the death of them. The silence hung heavy between them.

“I fucked up, Kurt,” she said finally, her trembling voice little more than a whisper. He glanced at her in surprise - she almost never swore, especially since Bethany had come into their lives - but he looked away just as quickly, knowing that if he continued looking his tears would spill over and never stop. Or worse, he might reach out to hold her and tell her it was okay.

It wasn’t okay.

“I fucked up,” she said again, louder but no less broken, “so badly. There’s no excusing it. I can’t undo it. I’d say I don’t know what I was thinking, but really, I just can’t believe how foolish I was.” She went quiet again.

He didn’t want to know what she had been thinking, leaving him behind and getting that close with another man; couldn’t imagine any line of thought that wouldn’t cut him to the bone. He halfway wished he could stop this and pretend the whole thing was just some terrible dream. But he understood what she was trying to do; trying to come to account so that whatever way things resolved, they could walk forward and away from this nightmare with something of their senses of selves intact. It was the same thing he’d done the night he’d finally told her the truth about Berlin. He knew there would never really be any going forward for them, not as individuals and definitely not together, if he didn’t ask. Allie was right. His imagination was running wild, and even if he didn’t want to hear it, it was information. Information he needed.

Finally, he gently cleared his throat. “So what were you thinking?” he asked, the subdued sound breaking her heart with the vulnerability it showed. For all his gruffness and all his walls, Kurt had always been strong, and had always worn his heart on his sleeve for her, even if he sometimes liked to pretend it wasn’t there. This quiet reservation, a man hidden back behind walls she couldn't scale… she didn’t know how to deal with it. She wished he would meet her eyes, but knew she didn’t deserve to ask that of him. She didn’t know where to start, or where to finish, or what to put in between. So she just let the words flow, throwing her crimes out on the carpet along with their fate. It wasn’t up to her anymore. Maybe it wasn’t up to either one of them.

“It wasn’t… a relationship. At least, not like you were implying, on the plane. We worked together. When I started doing K&R, I did it alone. We crossed paths a couple of times on jobs. On one job, we got to the hostage at the same time. There was no one I could trust out there, and I sure as hell didn’t trust him. But he didn’t fight me; he agreed to split the reward. Unfortunately he was still using Dwire for backup then, so you can imagine how that went. That ass knocked us both out and stole our pay.

“Clem…” she paused, almost choking on the name. “We backed each other up on a few jobs after that. After those first few, he admitted that he knew about the bounty, and he'd known for a while. He'd kept working with me in spite of it. It seemed like I could at least trust that he wouldn't sell me out for that, so I kept working with him. He became... a friend.” She paused, trying to gather herself again, trying to find her voice for the confession they both knew was next.

“It had been a few months since we started calling each other for backup, and after one really tough rescue I stayed to celebrate instead of just taking my cut and leaving. I thought it would be like our team does after we close a tough case. It would just be… nice, to be around another person for a while. But then he made a pass, and I thought…” she closed her eyes and took a big breath, “I thought about all that time. About how long I’d been gone, and how I’d wanted you to be happy, how I left my ring so that you could be in case... in case I didn’t come back. And for a minute, I fooled myself into thinking you were. It had been so long, you must be. You must have moved on.”

She saw him very subtly shaking his head.

“I know,” she said sadly, answering his unvoiced protest. Kurt Weller was loyal to a fault; he would have been right to scoff at her, to scream it in her face. But he didn’t. “I know,” she repeated, “…and I knew it right away then, too. I’ve made a lot of mistakes since we met. So many. But that…” she trailed off, shaking her head as the tears that had been gathering in her eyes thickened, blurring him from her sight. She couldn’t say it was the worst of her mistakes. Her mistakes had gotten Mayfair killed; they’d nearly robbed her brother of his whole life and condemned him to the CIA. Instead, she’d let him go and gotten her team, her husband, even the daughter she hadn't known she had, all ensnared in this mess of revenge or whatever the hell else Roman was playing at. They were all terrible mistakes. But Clem was by far her most foolish. She’d given up her faith in the person she should have believed in the most. That wasn’t Roman’s doing. She’d done it all on her own.

“There’s no excusing it,” she stated again. “I was lonely, but it just made me feel even lonelier. It was a mistake, and I felt so foolish. I think some part of me knew that you were still out there, somewhere, waiting for me. Keeping your vows. And I failed.”

She could have stopped there and let her ownership of that failure stand on its own, but she knew there would always be unanswered questions and doubts if he didn’t have the full story. She needed him to believe, to understand, that it had started and ended in a single, stupid night. She pressed on.

"I didn’t wait; I left that night. I never spoke to him again, not until I called him about Avery. That was before you told me about Berlin. Finding people is his job, and he’s good at it… he can do things the FBI can’t, things you and I couldn’t do without risking our jobs and our future. I just wanted to know she was safe.” She realized she was starting to spiral into trying to justify herself again, so she closed her eyes again to breathe through it. “I never expected that he would come to New York.”

“But once he was here, you thought you’d get back in touch,” he said flatly. Given the short notice on which Clem had arrived at the airstrip for their rescue mission to Berlin, he had already suspected the man had come stateside before Patterson found Avery, and he had a hunch that meeting up on the plane wasn’t their only recent encounter.

“Well…” she said awkwardly, knowing that she had to be completely honest, “no. Before Patterson found Avery, he got in touch. It was the day we rescued those Camp Iko refugees. I told him that Avery had died, and he wanted to come see me that morning, at the NYO. I hung up on him. But… I was so confused. I went to see him after work; I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I just… wanted someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t feel caught in the middle between you and me. Nothing happened, but it wasn’t right. He doesn’t want to be friends. I’m not sure he ever really did.”

No fucking kidding, Weller found himself thinking, but he stopped himself from voicing it out loud. He tried to put it in context again - the Jane I know, as Allie had said. Jane, who was brave, and fierce, and boundlessly empathetic towards those in pain, but had very little clue about romance and almost no experience to build on. She had dated precisely one normal guy, for a long and rewarding few weeks, before choosing her husband. Zapata and Patterson had taken her out sometimes for drinks back in the early days, but he didn't know if she'd ever gotten a date out of it. Had she ever even really spoken to any guys before Oliver? Apart from him… and Oscar.

He needed to refocus on the subject at hand, make sure there was nothing else he was missing. “You said you left him that night, in Europe. What happened?”

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face in frustration. “I fucked that up, too,” she admitted. “I guess by working with one crew, turning up with the same partner on multiple jobs, I made myself predictable, too easy to find. Until that day, I mitigated the risk by not sticking around a moment more than was absolutely necessary. When I realized how badly I'd messed up, I left him in a hurry, but I was distracted. The bounty hunters must have been watching, waiting for me to be alone. When I bolted, I played right into their hands. I didn’t get very far before they caught up with me, and I barely made it out. That was how I ended up in Berlin, like I told you; I lost my go-bag.” She chewed on her lip for a minute, looking somehow frustrated and lost at the same time.

“I knew I had to leave Europe, so I picked up my stash, bought new papers from Max, and ran. I didn't really know where I was going, but I had more than enough to get by, so staying off the radar and getting as much distance as I could was more important than anything else. I headed east, alone, as quickly and quietly as I could. Then there was an accident. When I woke up, over a week later, I was far away from where I had been... and somehow, the money was still there. It made no sense at the time, but I guess that was when Roman tattooed me, and he must have been the one to leave me with the monks. They were kind, it seemed safe, and things there were simple, so once I recovered I just… stayed."

He thought about pointing out that she could have come home, but it didn't seem like a useful time to rehash that argument. It wouldn't change anything, anyway. What was done was done and all they could control was what they each chose next.

“I needed to be alone. Somewhere I could leave my mistakes behind, but still keep you and Bethany safe,” she explained, as if she could read his thoughts. “And even if I could somehow keep the bounty hunters off my tail, I felt like… I’d lost the right to come home. I don't know if it was guilt or grief or just… fear, that drove me up the mountain. But once I was there, I stayed because it was so far off-grid that no one would find me, and if I couldn't be with you… at least I could live a life that wouldn't have hurt you more.

"And then when I saw you there, still wearing your ring… I was so overwhelmed. I didn't deserve that; you don't deserve what I did. And I shouldn't have kept it from you."

He nodded solemnly, staring into his drink as he processed everything she’d just told him. “Would you ever have told me?” he asked.

She glanced to the side, drawing a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know,” she answered. “I regret it; of course I do. I'd like to say there's not a day that goes by that I haven't been eaten alive by my guilt, but the truth is… after a while, I sort of started to forget about it.” She shuffled closer to him on the floor, trying to catch his eyes, silently begging him to see her sincerity. “You, Kurt… here, in front of me, beside me… there's nothing else to think about. You're… everything." He sniffled at that, and she saw him quickly swipe a single tear from his cheek with his thumb, but he still wouldn’t look at her. She feared he never would again.

“Life has given me so many reasons to doubt myself,” she said, and that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? She doubted that she was worth it; had always doubted that she was enough for him, enough to deserve or keep him. For a brief, crazy moment, she’d let her self-doubt expand and fill her until she’d doubted him. But right now this wasn’t about her – or at least, not about her pain and insecurities. He’d been trying to apologize, trying to reach for her while she’d been keeping a secret of her own, only to throw it in his face the moment he was within arm’s reach. This was her turn for coming clean. “But ever since we finally got together, you never gave me a reason to doubt you.”

“And now we’ve both given each other reasons,” he said.

She nodded sadly. “I was wrong,” she said simply.

“So was I.”

“And Kurt… I’m–” her breath caught in her throat as he finally lifted his head to meet her eyes – “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he whispered, “me too.”

They sat staring at each other for a long, long moment, remorse and pain so thick in the air that time seemed to stop.

“So what happens now?” she asked.

He leaned back in his chair, looking lost in his grim thoughts. "We’ve both made terrible mistakes," he started slowly. "This is going to take time. We have to learn how to stop… protecting each other, with little lies and half-truths. I think the betrayal of keeping those secrets has hurt us even more than the secrets themselves ever would have."

She nodded agreement at that.

"But… I want to work on it, with you," he finally said. "As much as it all hurts right now… you're it for me, too."

She pursed her lips to the side in what could have been a ghost of a smile, if she hadn’t been working so hard to blink back tears. She wanted to reach for him, but didn’t quite know how. She wasn’t sure he would welcome her touch just then. Truth be told, despite what he’d said, she feared that the image of another man’s hands on her would drive his touch away forever.

But despite the chasm between them, it still seemed as if he could almost read her mind. Or maybe they just wanted the same things. Her eyes were drawn to his lap as his hand slid forward to rest on his knee, as if he, too, wanted to reach for her but couldn’t quite find the courage. She tentatively lifted her own hand, silently asking for permission as she slowly bridged the gap. It was a stuttering dance between them, an old engine shuddering to life - his fingers alone lifted from the denim of his jeans, her hand moved a little closer through the empty air, and they both watched as her fingers finally found the spaces between his. They laced together, his palm at last leaving his knee to press into hers. It wasn’t quite like the opening of a floodgate, but her motion was smoother and less hesitant when a moment later the rest of her followed, just a little closer, to rest her head lightly on his knee. The back of his thumb found her cheek and she exhaled, feeling him exhale with her. A moment later he set down his glass and placed his newly freed hand on the side of her head, stroking her hair.

Then she went very still. That gentle touch was the final straw. He felt her tears on his thumb, one, then another, and she heard his sharply indrawn breath as he tugged lightly on her hair, coaxing her to look at him so she could see his tears start to fall, too. Not leaving her alone; showing her that he was right there with her, even in their pain.

She raised up on her knees between his feet, tugging his hand towards her heart. As soon as she was sure it would stay there she moved her own hand to his, and the two sandwiched those hands between them as they finally embraced. His body shook with a single, heavy sob, and he turned his face into her neck. She held him there, murmuring again and again how much she loved him as they both let the pain flow from their bodies to soak each other’s shirts.

After a while their sobs subsided to shaky, hitched breaths, and gradually to quieter sniffles. Kurt turned his palm from her chest, curling his fingers around the back of her hand to keep it over his heart while his other hand eased her back a bit so he could look at her. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked with a fragile, watery half-smile.

She regarded him intensely and brushed her fingertips down his cheek, wiping away a lingering tear. “Yeah,” she nodded after a few heartbeats, sniffling with a fragile half-grin of her own.

“You’re gonna have to reach the glass, though,” he motioned to the other side of the small room. “Someone’s got me pinned.”

She rewarded his attempt at teasing with a look before she extracted herself and reached out on her hands and knees to pull a second glass off the low shelf and pass it to him. He poured and handed it back to her, then picked up his own glass and raised it a little. “To truth?” he suggested, then added, “Whole truths.”

“No matter how painful,” she agreed.

“And never, ever giving up,” he finished, and she smiled a little more genuinely as she clinked her glass with his and took a sip. After a moment, she turned, settling again on the floor and leaning back against the chair between his knees. He set the record player going, soft music filling the air, and he brushed his hand just once through her hair. She leaned into the touch, then reached up to take his hand over her shoulder, and they sat quietly sipping their drinks, sharing the air with each other and their own battered thoughts.

After a while, he found something more to say. Her fingertips were idly stroking the back of his hand, lingering from time to time to toy with his wedding band. “It’s where you left it,” he murmured, knowing without a doubt that she was thinking about her own ring. He was, too. “I… couldn’t touch it.”

“What do I have to do? To earn it back.” She knew that there was more to do, and after the hurt she'd caused him, she wanted to give him the choice. She held still while she waited for his answer.

“It’s your ring Jane, you can do what you want with it.” She frowned. They’d made a little progress, but he still sounded so fragile. She turned her body halfway toward him, looking up at him with an earnest expression.

“But it’s more than a ring. It was a promise, and I broke that trust. It’s not in your pocket this time. You haven’t been waiting to give it back.” There was no judgment or accusation in her voice, only truth.

“I wasn’t sure I could.”

“And now?”

“Now… it belongs with you. At least, I want it to. I kept wearing mine because… I still want to belong to you.” He hesitated, knowing that despite the progress they’d just made, they were both incredibly raw. He’d hurt her, badly, but she’d hurt him, too. The sight of her hand without the silver jeweled band he’d put there made his chest feel hollow any time he stopped to think about it. He didn’t like the contrast of her pale skin and dark ink without its crowning sparkle. His wishes and feelings weren’t the only things that mattered, though. This one had to come from her. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. We’ll keep working on it. But… I need you to be sure you want it, too. I just… can’t watch you leave it behind a third time. I can’t. So what do you want?”

She nodded thoughtfully, sadly; her expression was not unlike the one she had worn in Nepal, the last time she found him still wearing his ring while her finger was bare. “I'm not sure I deserve to even say it, but it’s never felt right, being without it,” she said. “I was angry, so angry I felt numb… but underneath all of that it just hurt, and taking it off just made it worse. So much worse.” She caught his eye, hoped he could see the truth - the whole truth; her sadness and regret for having left it behind again. “I don’t think I could do it again. It felt all wrong. I don’t ever want to feel that again; I don’t want you to feel that. I don't want that kind of pain in our lives ever again.”

“We’re still gonna have pain in our lives, sometimes. No one gets through life without that.”

She turned to face him more fully. She had come home looking hard yet frightened, and throughout her confession looked so sad and ashamed, but now he could see that Jane, his Jane, was beginning to return. Her face was pink and puffy from crying and he was sure his own face matched, but her expression was determined and her voice was growing stronger. “But I can’t be the cause. I can’t be the reason you look like that again. I couldn’t bear it.”

He still looked reserved, and took a swig of his drink in lieu of speaking. She abandoned her drink on the floor and reached up to stroke her hand down his stubbled jaw, then stood and made her way to the breakfast bar. She returned a minute later and knelt in front of him, holding up her ring between her thumb and index finger. “It’s not going to get better overnight. I know it’s not. But I know that I want to belong to you. No more secrets, and no more lies. No more running. We’re better together. I want to be in this, together with you.” He stared at the ring then looked into her eyes, long and hard, searching for any trace of uncertainty. She gazed back at him with absolute conviction. At last he put down his glass again, leaning forward, and took the ring from her.

“Then we do it together,” he said.

She nodded her relief, the certainty in her expression never wavering. “I’m yours, Kurt,” she told him, more softly but no less firmly. He glanced at her in acknowledgement before he slipped the ring back on her finger and joined their left hands together, their twin rings finally reunited and exactly where they belonged. He stared at them as if in a trance, his posture relieved, but a shadow of apprehension remained on his face.

“Kurt,” she said softly, trying to draw his attention. She paused and waited for him to meet her eyes again, and when he did, she smiled gently. “We’re gonna be okay.” A heartbeat later, he squeezed her hand, and smiled softly back.

That night they slept on their own sides of their bed, facing away from one another. When he woke in the middle of the night, her feet were together, her toes lightly pressed against the backs of his calves. When she woke in the morning, he had rolled over and stretched his arm toward her, his fingers ever so faintly brushing her ribs, just below her shoulder blade, each time she inhaled. A handful of days passed with an awkward sort of friendship, stilted hugs or chaste kisses, and the occasional joining of hands. And nights passed just like that first one, with each tentatively reaching out for the other in their sleep.

The way Jane looked at him, up and down, unabashedly checking him out after she recovered the Nergal device from Sho Ahktar became something of a turning point for matters at home. He looked great in that suit, and she knew exactly what working undercover together did to him - what seeing each other pretending to be someone else and yet still so unmistakably them did to them both - and she was done playing slow and safe. She was pretty sure he was, too. She hit pause on those thoughts as they changed and debriefed and she went to meet up with Avery, but in spite of the nerves she felt about an unstructured visit with her estranged daughter, the wink her husband gave her when she left the office had her grinning most of the way to the coffee shop.

She was tired when she got home, emotionally drained and ready to shelf anything else for another day. When she saw him stand from the sofa though, looking adorably apprehensive, so ready to be lovingly supportive no matter how her visit had gone, her fatigue went out the window. Seeing Nas had brought up some things; Jane liked the woman well enough as a workplace colleague, and appreciated all she’d done for the team, but Nas had always been just a little bit too patronizing toward Jane and was still just a little too comfortable in her husband’s presence for someone who had in times past threatened to return her to a dark, dark hole. Never mind that the woman had been sharing Kurt's bed while holding those things over her, or the easy way she’d walked back into what was long since Jane’s home.

It started with a slow, lingering kiss that was as much a question as a greeting, and which quickly evolved into an answer. Their reunion was a little rough at first - possessive - and soon they were breathing words like 'yours' and 'mine' into each other's skin. They didn’t quite make it to the bed, but that suited them just fine. Their last reunion had taken place on the floor too, and while this time there was an aggressive edge to the way they reclaimed each other, it ended similarly, with gentle smiles, interlaced fingers, and murmured affirmations of love.

Things weren't better overnight, even after they climbed under the covers to finally sleep curled around each other for the first time in weeks - and woke each other in the dark hours of morning to confirm those things they'd already worked out on the floor. The now-crumbling walls they’d erected around their hearts still made reading each other outside the office more challenging than they were accustomed to, interrupted by hiccups of insecurity and niggling fears. It helped, though, that now they were calling them fears, not anger or blame; and so too did the fact that they spoke about them regularly rather than suffering them in silence.

Some of the lingering hurt was smoothed by the discovery that with the bulk of their anger released, they still functioned as an unstoppable team at work. They read each other as well as ever in the field, and in the office they still looked to each other first, asking questions and giving answers, or sharing thoughts and opinions, all through silent exchanges that they would only occasionally voice to the team. Those daily reminders that they were still better together than they were apart became a salve against any doubts they might feel about whether they could get through it.

Jane was surprised but pleased to find that Kurt was relaxing a little more into his tactile nature throughout the day, deliberately instigating casual little displays of affection that he had been more restrained about before. It was subtle, not at all like the desperate way they had always grasped each other after a close call, and nothing so overt as to make their colleagues regularly uncomfortable. His hand was simply finding her own, or the small of her back more often, and sometimes he would step up behind her to embrace her for no reason other than she was sitting by herself at a workstation and he felt like it. She knew how much those little check-ins meant to him, and with each little touch, she felt surer. Weller was similarly surprised when Jane caught him in the hallway outside the lab one morning to ask what he thought about inviting Avery to live with them. The prospect itself delighted him, but the fact she had come to him about something so important as soon as she decided she wanted it, even though they were busy and at work, filled him with a warm sort of certainty.

They were both practicing not waiting, because they were keenly aware - especially after the date Rich had sent them on was cut short by assassins - that 'the right time' wasn't something they could necessarily count on in their line of work. They also practiced opening themselves, volunteering more of their inner worlds than either was used to, and no longer taking for granted that their comfortable place on each others' wavelength would be enough on its own to keep all misunderstandings at bay.

It was taxing at times. The days at work flew by while their evenings were slow and deliberate, but gradually, with each spontaneously voiced thought, each unsolicited touch, each difficult conversation that turned out simpler than expected, they built something; something unlike what they had before. They had always believed their bond to be unshakeable, but now it was being reforged in the certainty that came with a proven commitment to work at it no matter how hard or painful; to accept that they would sometimes mess up or let each other down, but safe in the knowledge that they would never stop reaching for each other and they would never, ever give up. Because they were in love, they were everything, and they decided again, every single day, that that mattered. More than anything.

[nachosncheeze]

The Company You Were Keeping (Blindspot 3x11 fic/extra scene)

Also on AO3.

So on the topic of this wild exchange from 3x11:

Weller: I wanna apologize for the way I acted with Clem. He's a good guy. It's just the thought of you with someone else....

Jane: I'm sorry too. I should have told you.

Weller: We all should have done a lot of things.

The only thing I could think of that would make Weller apologizing after Jane's bombshell make any sense would be if maybe somewhere in there they'd had a fight and he said something shitty to her, sort of like early season 2, casting aspersions on her associates and by extension her as well. Well, the lovely @lurkingwhump encouraged me to try to imagine it and write it down. Apparently my 4am brain decided that Weller should take the nuclear option (conveniently, also prompting Jane to retaliate with the nuclear confession option). Anyway, I'm sorry that out of several ideas you've cheered me on to write, the first one I finished ended up being so mean! I don't think I could have planned this if I tried, but here it is anyway. 😅

Content warning for mentions of infidelity.

~~~~~

Jane and Weller rode together to the airstrip. An FBI jet waited to carry them to Berlin, where they would - they would - find Jane’s daughter and bring her home. Jane’s former associate, their transient new teammate Clem, would be joining them at the airstrip shortly for the flight over. Kurt wasn't particularly happy about using a barely-vetted stranger, but maybe he'd at least get a little more insight into Jane's life during her time on the run.

The drive was quiet, the tension palpable. It wasn’t long ago that Kurt had stood in heartbroken disbelief, watching Jane take off her wedding ring and walk out of their apartment. She had looked so angry when she said she was leaving, but the look she threw back across the threshold just before she closed the door was filled with betrayal and pain. The distance between them seemed like a million miles, but Kurt felt he needed to be with her on this mission. He was still hoping they could work it out, and this was his chance to take the first step to making it right. He wouldn’t let her do this alone, and however angry she might be, he couldn't trust an unknown element to have her or Avery’s backs. He was going to bring them both back. It was his only choice.

Jane was clearly not happy that Reade was forcing her to take him with her, though. Weller was even less happy that Reade had had to make it an order.

“So,” Weller asked mildly as they mounted the steps onto the jet, “is there anything I should know about this Clem guy?”

“Just what I said before,” Jane answered noncommittally as they stowed their go-bags and took seats on opposite sides of the table. “He’s got connections all over Europe, and he’s one of the best there is.”

“And you trust him?”

“Yes,” she answered, after a moment of hesitation so brief that he might have imagined it. They lapsed into silence as she pulled out her phone, assuming the conversation was over. Weller, it seemed, was not ready to let it rest. After a too-brief moment of quiet, he tried again.

“You say you two have worked together a lot.” She nodded without looking up from her screen. He tried to keep his tone neutral, curious. “So how do these jobs usually work? Do you notify the authorities? What kinds of weapons did you use?”

She put down her phone. “Tranqs, usually,” she replied with a half-shrug. “Live rounds when necessary. No authorities. Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing,” she finished dismissively, glancing down at the screen in her lap.

That irritated him. They were on an FBI jet, using FBI resources, and embarking under the auspices of the FBI’s investigations into Roman and Hank Crawford. This wasn’t just another mercenary job like those she'd done while she was on the run; they were the authorities, and she didn’t seem to be taking that seriously. They were responsible not just for rescuing Avery, but for anything that went wrong along the way. He was responsible.

“But leaving bodies is the last resort,” he ventured, trying not to let his frustration bleed through.

She shrugged again, turning most of her attention back to her phone instead of him. “We try to work without fatalities, but sometimes there’s no other option," she said without looking up.

His voice took on an edge as he tried to pull her focus. “And no authorities, so the first choice is to leave the kidnappers to walk off when they wake up, free to go abduct someone else?”

His challenge had the desired effect. She pocketed her phone and clenched her jaw briefly as she met his eyes. “It wasn’t like that,” she attempted to reason, but she could feel her temper rising in response to his interrogation. It almost felt like he was challenging her integrity, when he should know better than anyone where her morals stood. “The focus is getting the victim out alive. That’s the priority.”

“Sounds to me like that's where the money is."

"I don't see you complaining that we still have our apartment," she bit back irritably. Okay, maybe that was a low blow, considering it was his search for her that had nearly bankrupted them in the first place. But she'd made it right. They kept their home and most of their savings were replenished. The loneliness had been crushing, but in the end the practical outcome, at least, wasn't all that different than if they'd still had two incomes that whole time. And Kurt and Bethany had both been safe, while Avery was… she stopped there. She couldn't let herself think about it.

Weller interpreted the dig about the apartment about as well as could be expected, which was not well at all. That had been a terrible time for him; guilt about Avery's supposed death by his hand, fear for Jane, shame that if he found her safe he may have failed to provide a home for her to return to. Maybe she had brought their bills up to date, but she had recently walked out of that same apartment. Had she really been invested in calling it home, or had she just felt guilty that they’d nearly lost it? He tried another tactic. "Did you make up that playbook on your own? Or did this Clem guy train you?”

“You know what I can do; I was good at it on my own,” she answered impatiently. “But yeah, once I had an experienced partner who knew their way around the industry, I got better.” The way he kept dismissively referring to Clem as ‘some guy’ was starting to rub her the wrong way. The man had volunteered, for no other reason than loyalty, to help rescue the daughter that Kurt himself had concealed from her and left in the hands of gangsters for over half a year. She couldn’t understand why he was so hung up on the hows and whys of the job. If it offended his boy scout sensibilities, he should have stayed home. It wasn’t like she wanted him there anyway.

And he knew it. Now both of them were angry.

"Better at rescuing people?” he challenged rashly, “Or just better at ignoring the law to do it?"

“He doesn't ignore the law,” she defended. “K&R just means skirting it a little sometimes. I told you, killshots only when necessary. Anyway, how is what you and I do with the FBI any different? We take people down all the time, often fatally. You do what you have to, to achieve the objective.” 

“We’ve never just left a pile of bodies behind,” he replied scornfully. “We make arrests, there are support teams, coroners; checks and balances; investigations to make sure we don’t get out of line. Our work is about justice. There are procedures-”

She cut him off. “We followed procedures, too. Just because they’re not written down in some library doesn’t make them any less effective. If government procedures could get everyone home safely, K&R teams wouldn’t be necessary. It’s the kidnappers that are the bad guys, Kurt, not us. I don’t get why you’re so mad about this."

"K&R exists outside the law, Jane, and law enforcement exists for a reason. Hell, we are law enforcement, and that hasn't stopped us. We've saved a whole lot of lives, and we've never had to push the line to do it.” She rolled her eyes at his generous assessment of their team's positions relative to 'the line', but he wasn’t done. “There are limits. Maybe you were gone a little too long, and you've forgotten."

Her lip twisted and brow set at how patronizing his last comment was, and though she chose to try to overlook it, she was less than successful at keeping the rapidly hardening edge from her voice. "Sometimes, the law can't get the job done. We can't rescue everyone, and individual kidnappings aren't like the large organized threats or conspiracies we deal with. Whatever the Bureau may think, sometimes negotiation is the right path. And when it's not, extractions have to be fast and efficient. Investigations and warrants are a waste of time; most kidnap victims aren't lucky enough to be able to afford the delay. But we always got to them before it was too late. Sometimes, the ends justify the means."

The law is a waste of time; the ends justify the means. Where had he heard that before? It sounded an awful lot like what Shepherd and Roman adhered to, and it went against everything he stood for. Everything he had thought she stood for, too. "So what,” he grumbled carelessly, “you want to go back to being Remi? Skip due process and work outside the law, slum around with criminals and terrorists again just because they get results a little faster? Is that it?"

There it was, the t-word. The motherfucking t-word. She may have been gone from his life almost as long as she'd been present, but the time she'd spent with him hadn't been idle. She'd proven herself again and again, and he was still carrying around the name 'terrorist' somewhere in his mind? She snapped, shooting him a look of cold fury. "Clem is not a criminal; he's a good man, and he's doing this job to help fix your mistake. And... I don't even know what to say to the rest of that. After all this time, that's still what you think of me?"

He looked away, grinding his teeth behind a grimace of contrition. Good, she thought, at least he has the decency to feel bad about that. Finally he looked back at her, his jaw re-set in his anger. "You're right, that's not what I think about you," he conceded. "But what am I supposed to think, Jane? I’ve seen the kind of company you were keeping. Who the hell was Alejandro Calderon? And I met Dwire Lee. Why are you defending this guy so hard, anyway?"

"He was my friend," she said, her voice dangerously low. And then, before thinking about it, she quietly spat, "We became close. Very close."

The admission was cool, but as the implication registered, Weller's face froze as if she’d shouted it and slapped him. Every one of his emotions suddenly vanished behind a mask of stone, and her heart plummeted into her stomach. Why had she said that? It was over. Truth be told, it was over before whatever 'it' was had ever really begun. It was over because all she could see, all she could think about had been the man in front of her, the one she'd just stabbed clean through the heart of. She shouldn't have told him. And definitely not now, not like that. But Avery was god only knew where, if she was even alive - she needed a K&R specialist, not the FBI, and he wouldn't stop attacking her best hope. She couldn't afford to back down now.

"So you were in a relationship with this guy?" he asked quietly.

"You and I were apart; I didn't think we could ever see each other again," she said defensively, letting irritation be her shield.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"You really wanna play that card with me? Look, it was over. I was trying not to hurt you." All the same, she could see the pain seeping through his mask, and something like panic started to rise in her gut. 

They hadn't fought like this since those first few weeks after the NSA sent him to recapture her. Clearly, neither of them knew how to cope with it any better now than they did then. Maybe they were even handling it worse. She was apparently still a terrorist with criminals for friends, and now she'd effectively revealed that she'd made him a cuck. At this point they were both just lashing out to hurt each other as much as possible.

It was hard to say who was winning that battle.

She tried to lower the temperature by finding something they could agree on. "You know, maybe we should just stop working so hard to protect each other, because it just seems to make things worse." 

Weller was deathly still. Before he could respond or she could say anything more, she heard her name behind her. Clem’s timing couldn't have been worse. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily before reluctantly looking over her shoulder in greeting.

"Hey. Clem," the newcomer introduced himself as he stepped forward and offered his hand. Weller shook it stiffly.

"Kurt," he answered tersely.

"...Ah," Clem responded as he looked between the two of them. Kurt's stony gaze never left her face as she shifted over to let Clem take the seat beside her. She answered with a warning glare. Clearly they had a lot to talk about, but now wasn't the time. "So is this gonna be…" Clem questioned awkwardly, looking between them again.

"Jane says you're good," Weller interrupted, "so what have you got?"

[nachosncheeze]

Hello! I've newly posted one of my first-ever fics to AO3 for rewatch. :)

A little Jane (and Roman) ficlet, 763 words. Set near the end of 3x22, before the team returns from South Africa, with spoilers to 4x12. ANGST. It was written in a single sitting without any proofreading because it was too sad to edit. I hope you all enjoy, and if you haven't seen it before (or even if you have!) I'd love to know what you think. :D

[nachosncheeze]

It didn’t exactly fit into her plans (Blindspot pre-ZIP/3x05 drabble)

“Why didn’t I fight to keep her?”

“You did. We both did.”

A little Remi and Roman drabble about baby Avery’s disappearance. Spoilers for 3x05.

Also on AO3.

Content warnings – a kidnapped newborn is central to the story, so references to kidnapping and pregnancy/birth, but as with anything I write that mentions babies, childbirth itself is and always will be very firmly off page. I know the Avery/Remi-as-a-mother storyline had mixed responses, so if it’s not your thing, this is probably not the drabble for you. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy. :) Please let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Remi was a young, skinny thing when she gave birth, and despite her youth, her mother wouldn't have her in the house with a mewling infant. She had fought with Shepherd on the matter from the minute the evidence of her and her boyfriend’s indiscretion began to show, but although Shepherd had claimed to have wanted children, with Roman and Remi filling a void for her, she was certainly uninterested in the way a child came about. Maybe it was jealousy; rage at the reminder of her own inability to conceive after the lingering effects of the Lake Aurora chemical spill had taken her ovaries. Whatever it was, Remi and her baby were not welcome at home, and so she spent the first days after her daughter was born in a women's center near the hospital.

Roman visited her every day after school. Indulging his “time off” was the only concession Shepherd seemed willing to offer her children, though Remi knew he was working double-time to finish her chores as well as his own every time he got home. He was afraid to hold his niece, afraid he would hurt her, but the affection on his face the few times he did left no doubt in Remi’s mind that he was continuing the fight for her at home, too. She was grateful, but worried what repercussions he might face if he pressed the issue just a little too hard. Since the baby’s father had died in a suspiciously-timed accident, she had nowhere else to go, and no hope of liberating her brother, either.

It was nine days after her daughter was born. Nine days when she fell into a much-needed sleep, still recovering from the battering her body had taken bringing that little bundle into the world, and she woke to find her perfect bundle gone. She was dismayed. She and Roman had been through a lot, but this....

She clambered out of bed, ignoring her body’s protests, and raced as best she could around the building, calling out; as if a newborn could answer. She moved from one door to the next, stumbling into rooms and peering into cribs. Some contained infants, but none of them were hers. One of the kindly women who volunteered at the center found her and tried to calm her down. Only there was no calming down; her baby was gone.

She didn’t really have to wonder what had happened. Disbelief washed through her – surely even Shepherd couldn’t be that cruel? But she knew. The fire inside her went out, and her legs turned to jelly. Two women helped her back to her bed.

When Roman showed up a short while later for his daily visit, he stopped short in the doorway, taking in her sobbing form. Remi was strong; Remi never cried. Even when her boyfriend died, leaving her alone with a pregnant belly, her eyes had turned glassy and her nose turned pink, but she swallowed it. Now Remi was looking at him, the very picture of grief, all puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He looked from her to the empty bassinet, and his face twisted for a moment with dismay of his own. When he met her eyes again, he, too, knew what had happened. His expression turned thunderous as he whispered a single word, their so-called mother’s name. “Shepherd.” She nodded, a fresh sob tearing through her, and then he was gone.

She never knew what he did or what he said when he got home, only that it was two days before he visited her again. He came in looking as sad and resigned as she felt. “Shepherd wants you to come home,” he said. She did, and found that the weekly chore board had his name scribbled down every line in harsh, angry-looking strokes. She tried to ask where her baby had gone, tried to get her back. Shepherd met each of her pleas with silence and a dangerous glare. “Begging doesn’t suit you,” she answered one afternoon. It was weeks before Shepherd spoke more than two words to either one of her children again.

[nachosncheeze]

Today's '21 Days of Remi' gifset focuses on the way Remi turned so abusive towards Roman in the last few weeks before she went under the ZIP, so it seemed as good a time as any to re-post and archive this fic. :) It was previously posted just here on tumblr as part of season 2 rewatch.

It's set pre-ZIP, but tags to 2x12. Remi & Roman, and a tattoo that never was.

[nachosncheeze]

Blindspot Season 3 Re-watch OC (original creations)

Making another little post for this season that I can pin to keep track of my creations. :) Ususally I tag them all as “#nachos blindspot oc” but, well, you know how this website goes. Things go missing.

My season 2 re-watch creations can be found here. :)

3x01 - Back to the Grind

Fics - Selfless Disregard | Miss Green-Eyes (fluff, angst, childhood friends) | The Family (fluff through and through)

Gifsets - Jane’s a little different | The new recruit | Jane Leaves (Part 1) (Part 2) | A Tank! A freaking tank! | New Ink

Music

Parallels - Weapon of Choice (2x17/3x01)

A stupid meme (Driving a Tank)

Another stupid meme (Courtship displays)

Unspoken Dialogue 1

3x02 - Enemy Bag of Tricks

Gifset - The Occupational Hazard

3x03 - Upside Down Craft

Gifset - Jane is Done

A stupid meme (Judge Janey)

3x04 - Gunplay Ricochet

Gifsets - Jane & Kurt’s Wedding (Tasha and Reade) | Jane & Kurt’s Wedding (Patterson) | The bombshell from the past

Parallels - Roman solved a tattoo... kind of (2x12/3x04)

3x05 - This Profound Legacy

Fic - It didn’t exactly fit into her plans

3x06 -

Unspoken Dialogue

Parallels - Faith & Change

3x07 -

3x08

3x09

Ficlet, sort of

Unspoken Dialogue

3x10

Gifsets - This is for Paris | You got a name? | Missing a team - the team | You really love him?

Thoughts: mfw

3x11

3x12

3x13

3x14

3x15

An extremely niche meme for an already small fandom

3x16

3x17

3x18

3x19

3x20

3x21

3x22

[nachosncheeze]

Hello! I've written a new fic for 3x01. :D

It's been eighteen long months and Kurt Weller is finally bringing his wife home. She's committed to the case, to the team, but she still hasn't answered the question: "So what do you want now?"

Just a little piece of [angsty] Weller introspection on the ride home from the NYO.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think. :)

(look at me over here just posting a fic like it's a thing, like I'm getting the hang of this or something, thank you to those who have prodded and encouraged me to keep writing 💕)

[nachosncheeze]

She'll never be the same - a 2x22 drabble that is thoroughly cursed and has not even been proofread because honestly eff this thing

Jane, Roman, and Weller; canon divergent.

(you have been warned)

~~~~~

Their fight is vicious, toe to toe; one of them has nothing left to lose, and for once, neither is holding back. She was always just a little faster though, just a little more nimble, and it comes to its inevitable conclusion: he is on the ground, she stands over him with her gun pointed straight at him.

Their eyes meet.

She gives a single shake of her head, and in that small movement is a word - Roman - his name, silently spoken as a plea, an apology, and a cry of despair all at once. They both know there are only two possible outcomes. They know where he will go if she gets out her cuffs. He fears a small, dark box, but she knows firsthand that what awaits him there is so much more, so much worse. Or, she can end his life.

He begs her for death.

Inside the ambulance, a man on the verge of unconsciousness hears the desperate cry - Do it! - and hazily its weight and meaning swim into his awareness. Somehow, it provokes a fresh surge of adrenaline that gets him onto his stumbling feet. No. No, no! He, too, knows that there are only two possible outcomes unfolding on the pavement beyond the door. He, too, knows where that man will go: to be subject to the same treatment she was, the kind of treatment that doesn't exist, except perhaps someday in a thoroughly sickening medical report. Or, she can end that man’s life.

He can’t let her make those choices. She’ll never be the same.

He throws open the door and somehow makes it to the ground, leaning heavily against the ambulance’s bumper, yet managing to raise his gun. His voice, robbed of volume by blood loss, is nonetheless firm and decisive as he verbalizes that man’s name. “Roman!”

The man stops.

He’s still for a moment, looks back over his shoulder. There’s a silence that seems like forever. They can just make out the hint of a tiny, resigned smile before he turns his face forward, tries to straighten himself, and resumes limping away. His sister’s eyes are glued to his back. He made the choice for them. He asked for mercy.

A single shot rings out, and two men fall to the ground.

[nachosncheeze]

So I'm not a writer???? Especially not fiction. But I opened my sleep-deprived brain on topics unrelated, and another whole thing fell out. Oops.

I guess it's sort of a little "team (re-)building" thing. Put it sometime after 2x03 (after Kantor and the memorials) and if you don't look to hard I think it probably more or less fits in canon? I dunno, everyone was so hot and cold on each other on all sides early season 2 that it could probably fall anywhere before Roman gets the dead-drop at the end of 2x07. Oh, and brief allusion to some pretty brutal violence.

Like I said, I'm not a writer, so please be gentle 🙏 lol

~~~~~

She was late again. The morning briefings had come and gone, everyone had their assigned tasks, and his office held a dizzying stack of paperwork. But Weller was preoccupied, stood with his arms crossed looking out over the bullpen, and pretending that he wasn't watching the elevator. The ding and slide of its doors had him glancing over for the umpteenth time. This time, his poor attempt at patience was rewarded.

Or maybe not. He could tell by her body language - hands in pockets, shoulders stiff, head down - as much as by the deep circles under her eyes and a large bruise peeking out from under her collar that whatever Sandstorm had put her through overnight had been hell. Not that that was any different from any other night, nor, he suspected, what they themselves had often been subjecting her to by light of day. He tried to call her over, but she pretended not to hear him as she marched in the opposite direction. His legs were longer, though, and in little more than a dozen strides he'd caught her arm.

She spun around, her eyes all fire and pain, and something like a dare written on her face. Something barely recognizable sat just under her skin, somehow wound through her muscles and her into breath. Something that looked wild, almost feral. The last time he'd seen that look on her she'd pressed a gun to the back of his head with a hand that was firm and steady even as her voice had broken. Not good. He needed to assess her state before she was let loose on the office... or the people in it.

"My office," he said, his tone a command that brooked no argument, "Now."

She let out a small huff as she followed him, feet practically stomping as she went. The agents at nearby desks studiously focused on their screens and pretended to see nothing.

When the door closed and he turned to face her, he didn't waste any time. "What happened?"

"Roman paged me late last night. He set a rendez-vous and they took me to an abandoned warehouse somewhere in the woods.”

"A warehouse?" At night? Not their usual field trips, then. "What did they want?"

"Mostly the same as usual," she shrugged, refusing to look at him, her attempt at a casual tone coming out more like defiance. She wasn't going to make this easy. "I'm fine."

"Jane..." he started with exasperation, looking around the room as if it held the words that would get a report out of her without starting a fight. Then he noticed her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles swollen and bloodied, the edge of a bandage peeking out from under her long left sleeve. It looked like she’d been fighting, hard, but aside from fatigue her face was unmarred. Those hands, though, had taken much more damage than any of them normally would on a field op, even when they had to take someone down unarmed. She noticed him looking, set her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest to hide them from view. He blew out a long breath.

"There was someone... like Kantor," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Two, actually. They were tied to chairs when we got there," her voice was painfully matter-of-fact. "She said they’d found the compound and needed to be taken care of. But no weapons."

He felt something cold and prickly creeping into his chest. “Jane, whatever she asked you to do…”

“They weren’t bound very well,” she cut him off and continued impassively, “It took them a minute to get out; one was half done and didn't struggle much, but the other pulled a knife from somewhere.” He saw her shift slightly from one leg to the other as her fists tightened behind her elbows. “I guess she wanted to see if my… skills” she looked like she wanted to gag on the word, “were still up to standard.”

She met his eyes again in challenge, but whatever she saw in his face seemed to deflate her. She covered by breaking his gaze to look at the floor somewhere beyond his right shoe. "Don't worry," she said quietly as his insides froze, "I didn't blow my cover."

She is not a killer!

Yes, she is!

He heard Nas' voice echoing in his memory, remembered the way Jane's face had in an instant gone from a mixture of disbelief and a plea for understanding to entirely blank and unreadable when she'd internalized the words. Something inside him had twisted painfully in that moment, and he realized it hadn't untwisted since. He'd tried to reassure her later, but had known as she was called away that it had mostly rung hollow.

When he looked at her now, he saw the same practiced, carefully expressionless mask. His mind went blank too. He tried to goad his thoughts into racing instead, but his secondhand horror had them cold and sluggish and he wasn’t finding a single damn word in the whole English language that he could possibly say to her for what she'd done, what they'd made her do. Without thinking, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. His hope was to give back even a fraction of the comfort they'd once been to one another, but he immediately realized he'd made a mistake as she went somehow even stiffer and tore herself from his grasp.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her expression furious. "I don't deserve that."

On balance he still didn’t want to trust her, and somehow that made her rejection sting more than it should have. At the same time, though, her self-judgment had the twisting inside him twisting tighter. He'd been hard on her, he knew; they all had, and not just the missions. It had seemed justified. But he'd forgotten to be angry with her there for a moment, and suddenly wasn't sure he could remember how. He had no idea how to help her or where to even start, so he just stood still and waited, watching her. She’d uncrossed her arms as though she might need to defend herself, but now she was looking at her hands. Released from its fist, the white bandage binding her left palm made a sickening contrast to the purple and red of her knuckles. Her mask had gone when he’d touched her and he watched as the anger she'd replaced it with started to fail. Underneath she just looked frightened and nauseous.

"Jane..." he implored.

"Don't." she spat firmly. She was breathing harder, faster. "Don't..." she tried again, but it came out weaker, shakier, as the last of her composure crumbled. Her eyes left her hands and quickly scanned the corners of the room. He recognized the panic attack as it escalated. Despite whatever misgivings he still had about her, he couldn't just abandon her to it. So he commanded his feet to keep most of the distance she had set, moving just close enough to reach her hand and pull it against his chest. Given her reaction to his hug it was a risk, but it had worked before and he had no idea what else to do. For a moment he thought he’d compounded his mistake and cursed inwardly as she started to shake, her eyes growing wider and darting around wildly.

"Jane!" he pleaded, squeezing the back of her hand where he held it to him. Her wild eyes flew to his and he held them. "Just breathe," he urged her, "You're safe, just breathe with me." She blinked at him but didn't look away. Her palm pressed harder against his chest, letting his heart be her metronome as she fought for control. When her breathing finally started to slow he took another chance and lifted his other arm in question. The subsiding panic in her eyes was replaced with a welling of tears she wouldn’t let fall. After a few more breaths she finally took the few half-steps forward and leaned into him. He closed his arm gently around her shoulders, their hands sandwiched between them still over his heart. And then she started to cry. It wasn’t right. He didn’t want it to be right. She'd lied to them all, cost them so much, hurt him so deeply… but she was still her, and he still cared. He felt a stinging mist threatening his own eyes, breathed slowly to keep it at bay, and just held her.

Most of the blinds of his glass-sided office were still closed from a late finish the night before, but through the open slats covering the doors he could see Patterson approaching with her tablet in hand. She came to a stop just short of knocking as she took in the scene. He flashed her a warning look and the tiniest shake of his head from where his cheek pressed against Jane's hair. As if to punctuate the order, she shook with a silent sob, and Patterson's brows knit together in concern. She nodded and disappeared from view; he exhaled and hoped that no one else would come knocking.

A few moments later, Patterson reappeared, Reade following just behind her. The man's lips pressed together in a thin line for a moment as he exchanged a look with Kurt through the glass. They walked a bit further and stopped 5 or 6 feet from his door, facing the bullpen with mugs in hand, looking for all the world like they were engaged in casual conversation. But ready, he realized, to intercept anyone who might come looking for their boss. He knew they were all different shades of ‘still angry’, same as he was; all still working on forgiveness. Especially now; Mayfair's memorial had left them all raw as much as it had soothed. But he found himself saying a silent thanks to no one and nothing in particular for his team.

Not just good agents, he thought, but good people, too.

After a while Jane quieted and he got her settled in the conference room, at the head of the table where she was least visible from the bullpen. Patterson entered a minute later with a sandwich on a paper plate and a coffee in hand. She put them on the table in front of Jane, then gave her shoulder a little squeeze with a sympathetic look and no further comment.

"When you've got a minute..." she said to Weller softly, and at his nod she left the room. He looked back to Jane, his face deeply etched with concern.

"Go," she said, "I'll be okay." He assured her he'd return soon then headed for the lab. He didn't make it that far.

Tasha was heading for lab when she heard heated voices in the corridor up ahead and stopped.

"...you said it yourself after the last one, debriefing can't wait!" Nas was saying.

"It can, and it will," was Kurt's unyielding reply.

"Look, she’s our most valuable asset! Or have you forgotten that this entire operation relies on the intelligence only she can provide?"

Kurt's voice was low, almost venomous. "Your asset," he grumbled, "is a human being, alright? And I've decided, that that human, needs a break." There was a long pause in which Tasha could practically hear the two glaring at each other.

"Have her to the annex before the end of day," Nas finally conceded with a sigh. There was a grunt that sounded something like assent and then the sounds of a hand smacking a door open and the clicking of heels on the floor. Tasha resumed her path, and rounding the corner was passed by an even steelier than normal Nas, looking straight ahead and making no acknowledgment of her presence. Weller was already gone. Tasha slowed for a moment outside the lab, but then she made a decision, let out a slightly exasperated sigh, and bypassed it.

Jane was slouching, staring unseeingly at the half-eaten sandwich before her, and straightened with a start when the conference room door swung resolutely open. She squared her shoulders when Zapata, of all people, stepped into the room. The other woman's arms were laden with folders, and she didn't look in Jane’s direction even when the door closed behind her.

"People won't bother you in here if you're not alone," she announced to the opposite wall. She dropped her stack of folders on the table directly across from the door. It looked like she was about to pull out a chair to sit, but she hesitated. Then, grabbing something from the bottom of the pile, she suddenly turned and made straight for the end of the room, putting Jane quickly on guard. Avoiding eye contact, Tasha placed a pad of paper and a pair of plain ballpoint pens on the edge of the table within Jane's reach. "Didn’t have any pencils. But I know you like to draw," she said more gently. Jane managed a quiet, surprised thanks. Zapata paused for another beat and Jane thought she might say something else, but then she seemed to decide she was satisfied. She rounded the table to take a seat facing the door and pulled one of her files toward her.

Kurt approached the conference room a short while later. His concern heightened when he saw Tasha sitting inside, facing the exit. She, of all of them, had been the least forgiving of Jane's transgressions, and was not remotely shy about voicing it, even in the middle of field ops. He moved close enough to the glass to see the far end of the table without entering. Jane sat where he'd left her, her sandwich barely touched and now pushed off to the side, but a pad of office paper was in front of her and a pen in hand as she sketched a curving line. Given her company, he was surprised to see that her posture was almost... relaxed.

Tasha looked up casually from the case file she was reading and he caught her gaze for a moment before she rolled her eyes slightly and turned her head away. But then she glanced back, gave a single little nod, and returned to her reading. It wasn't forgiveness, it wasn't trust. They all had a long way to go. But it was a start.

Good people, he thought to himself again as he headed back to his office, and a good team.

[nachosncheeze]

Miss Green-Eyes (Blindspot fic up to 3x01)

Inspired by a comment from @scottimae94, who clearly really liked the name. xD (I hope you like the result, too. 💕) The first parts I wrote down seemed like it was going to be sweet, but then it got a bit angsty. Hopefully the finished product leans into sweetness. I couldn't find a narrative per se, so I decided to experiment a bit with structure. :)

Kurt Weller's life is told in memories and moments - Miss Green-Eyes is a friend and a feeling, and he's been looking for her for twenty-five years.

~~~~~

(Understanding)

Miss Green-Eyes looked up at him from the ground, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest and her tongue stuck out, her weight on one foot and the other stuck impatiently out to the side. She didn’t have to say it for him to understand: “You’re a butt head!”

His partner looked at him from her cover on the other side of the room, her pistol in one hand and the other raised to her face as her index finger stroked beneath one green eye. She didn’t have to say it, that’s what the signals were for: “The mission is a go.”

(Affection)

Miss Green-Eyes stared at him from under the brim of an old baseball cap. She had a bat in one hand and a ball in the other; both were way too big for her skinny little arms. She was always determined to prove herself as an equal. He laughed at the dare in her eyes, and took her to the garage to see if they could find something smaller.

His girlfriend looked up at him with an arched brow. She had a bottle of Lagavulin in one hand and her bra hanging from the other. She was always a straight shooter. He appreciated the mischeivious glint in her eyes, and decided to forget that they were green.

(Distress)

Miss Green-Eyes looked at him helplessly, her eyes wide and anxious. She’d looked everywhere, but Alice was missing. His hand took hers and together they retraced her steps. The doll was behind the shrubs, where she’d been playing hide-and-seek. He was relieved. She was happy. She hugged it, and he hugged her.

The victim looked at him helplessly, her green eyes were so big and frightened. Her hand covered his and her fingers brushed down his face. He was captivated. He was uncomfortable. It was too intense; there was something too familiar in those eyes. He’d been looking all his life, but he wasn’t ready to see them. He pulled away.

(Transgressions)

Miss Green-Eyes had gotten hurt trying to climb after him. He pulled her hair aside to see, and for the first time found himself feeling sick at the sight of blood. Later, he examined the bandage on the back of her neck, as if to check they’d done it right. “You’re gonna be okay, Taylor,” he said. “I know,” she answered, and she bravely pretended it didn’t hurt.

Their mystery woman had gotten hurt trying to back him up. He dropped to his knees to see, and felt a pang of horror at the sight of blood. Later, he examined the bandage on her arm, as if he could have done it better. “Jane, you’re gonna be okay,” he said. “I don’t know what that feels like,” she answered, and he pretended the look in her green eyes didn’t open a whole messy box he’d worked so carefully to keep hidden.

(Discovery)

Miss Green-Eyes had been there almost as long as he remembered. When they brought Sarah home, he’d been a little younger; he didn’t quite remember her as a baby. But he remembered Emma’s baby, remembered learning to hold her, to always support the head. She had gripped his finger and he’d never been so enchanted.

Their consultant had been there for a scant few weeks that felt like forever. When she showed up outside his home, he was caught by surprise. It was dark, but he could imagine the smoldering green of her eyes as she reached for him. She kissed him, and something inside him ever-so-subtly shifted into place.

(Divergence)

Miss Green-Eyes’ face was split in a grin that would have sparkled if not for her one missing tooth. The red of her sun-kissed cheeks made the green in her eyes seem more vibrant. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the first branch.

The imposter’s face twisted in despair and disbelief, almost hidden behind her bruised and swollen cheeks. Her soot-stained skin couldn’t have hidden bloodshot red of her eyes that somehow made the green more vibrant. But it wasn’t her. He took her hands and pulled them behind her back, and pretended that he couldn’t see.

(Determination & Defiance)

Miss Green-Eyes watched him with her brow set in determination, an outsized fishing rod in her small hands, and it was guided by him. She didn’t need his help; she was going to catch the Big One herself. That’s what she believed.

The traitor glared at him with her brow set in rage and pain, a small gun in her hands, and it was pointed at him. She hadn’t wanted to be found; she was going to avenge them all by herself. Her unshed tears concealed the green, or maybe that’s what he wanted to believe.

(Conviction & Denial)

Miss Green-Eyes stumbled from the bush she’d tripped into. Her sun dress was newly grass-stained; her ponytail was mussed by its branches and wild around her flushed face. The sunlight was blinding and her green eyes were burning dark as she willed him to believe she was just startled, not truly afraid of the giant dog that had lunged against its leash as they passed. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said knowingly, and he felt it in his bones.

The woman who’d broken his heart stumbled from the chair she’d been strapped to. Her hospital gown seemed big on her thin frame; her hair hung loose and limp around her pale face. The light was low and her green eyes were cool and greyed, their fire dimmed. “I thought I was protecting you,” she said quietly, and he felt weak. He vowed not to look again.

(Fear & Forbearance)

Miss Green-Eyes always hated thunderstorms, and she feared the sky would open and all its flashing lights and deafening peals would come down upon them. He held her, and told her to trust him; they would be okay.

Their asset resented being forced to work so closely with Sandstorm, and she feared the car would open just so her own mother could kill her. He stood apart, and told her to trust her instincts; she would be okay.

(Trust & Confusion)

Miss Green-Eyes was totally unprepared for the weather, but she was so determined to join in and keep up that she’d nearly run out into the mud barefoot. Her eyes sparkled in sheer delight as she pulled on the new rain boots they’d brought her, and she never thought to question it as she thanked them.

His field partner had been caught totally off guard by Allie’s news, he knew, but she fought so viciously to protect what was his that she’d nearly sacrificed herself. Her eyes held a confused sort of warmth as she congratulated him, as if she couldn’t understand why he was thanking her. He had to get away.

(Relapse)

Miss Green-Eyes was following them down the stairs and racing for the doorway with her doll in hand, yelling at them to slow down. He looked back over his shoulder, and waited for her to catch up.

His friend was standing in his doorway with a six-pack in hand, telling him it wasn’t stupid to feel alone. He overrode his reluctance to let himself look back, and had to remind himself it wasn’t her.

(Familiarity)

Miss Green-Eyes was sitting next to him with a concrete post between them, both swinging their legs in the air below the bridge. “Thanks for letting me come,” she said, and he thought he’d never heard anything so silly in his life. Even if he hadn’t promised Emma he’d look out for her, she was his family. He could never leave her behind.

His… Jane – not his, just Jane… was sitting across from him with a rudimentary lie detector between them, both hoping the truths they were required to speak wouldn’t cloud the air. “He didn’t choose to work with me, he was forced to,” she said, and he thought he’d never heard anything more stupidly wrong in his life. He met her eyes, and realized he couldn’t pretend anymore.

(Breaking & Mending)

It was night, and there was a party downstairs. He didn’t want to wake her so he tiptoed quietly to check on her, but she wasn’t in her bed. He looked for her, frantic. He feared he might never see those eyes again; Taylor was gone. And suddenly finding her was the only thing that mattered.

It was evening, and there was a party in his kitchen. He stared out at the night and almost gave up hope of seeing her again, but then she was in his doorway. He joined her outside, nervous. He couldn’t hold her eyes just then; Jane was flustered and kept glancing away as she spoke. And suddenly kissing her was the only thing that mattered.

(Rumination & Clarity)

The sun was setting, and he was sitting alone on a thick limb halfway up the tree, looking at the fort across the lawn. He’d spent time sitting there for a while after school every day since the night she disappeared, keeping watch in case she came back. It gave him too much time to think.

The sun had just set, and they were walking hand in hand through St Mark’s Square. They slowed to look at the Basilica, and her green eyes sparkled when she turned to smile at him. He’d spent time trying to earn that smile every day since the night she came to the party, and every day he felt lucky to see it. Taylor would have liked her, he thought. And he didn’t need any more time to think.

(Found & Found Again)

Miss Green-Eyes smiled shyly at him from across the lawn and he could scarcely contain himself. She approached with a hurried stride and blew out a nervous breath; he knew she was relieved to no longer be the sole focus. She was radiant as she listened and as she spoke and as she kissed him in front of everyone. He would look for her in every room for the rest of his life. But now, he was sure that he would always find her.

[nachosncheeze]

I guess I wrote another fic!

This was supposed to be like two sentences about a little head-canon that a certain end-of-season 2 deleted scene never happened and a certain object was still there at the end of season 3 to stay with the person who had it. Seriously, normal post. Two sentences. But I was cleaning the garage and I guess my brain had too much time on its hands because this shit fell out. Unbidden. Against my will. And it’s angsty asf. Seriously, I almost want to burn it. You’ve been warned.

Spoilers to season 3 & 4.

~~~~~

They’d been searching for him for years; this past year it had been in earnest. And finally he was found, leaning against a tree, his sister still curled around him in the sunset. A grim-faced Reade kneels beside her, one hand on her shoulder, speaking to her softly. It’s several minutes before she says a word, even to ask if Weller’s okay, and that tells him everything he needs to know about just how not okay she is. When he tells her about the surgery, he hastens to assure her it’s straightforward and he’s in good hands. Her body tenses; she nods, but doesn’t move. He goes back to the car and returns to drape a blanket over her knees, then retreats to a discreet distance to make the call, start the process.

His first call is to Patterson, of course, because he knows that officially Alice Kruger is dead and he suspects that Ian is too. And who else should they even call? Since their run-in with the local state security at the orphanage, every one of them is there under tenuous and dubious circumstances; Roman most of all. An official report will lead to an investigation, and that will do no one any good.

Patterson isn’t alone in the lab; Rich is with her and it’s not long before Reade’s phone is ringing back, and not long after that before a large, black SUV pulls up the hill. Jane doesn’t ask who they are, she doesn’t want to know. They’re gentle, and that’s all that matters. She won’t leave him, and cradles his head in her hands as they lay him down and get to work.

Reade offers his jacket, and they zip it up, hiding his bloodied clothes from view. One of the strangers swiftly but carefully feels around to check his pockets. Then there’s a small disc of fiery light held between his fingers, catching the last rays of the sunset.

I got you something.

He carried it with him, all that time, even at the risk of being confronted with questions Tom Jakeman could never answer. She takes it from the man gently, squeezes it in her palm so hard that the edges dig into her skin.

Reade is on the on the phone again, but she doesn’t know with whom or why. She isn’t listening. He crouches beside her, his voice softer than it ever should be, and he’s making suggestions. She listens, but just nods without a word. Her eyes won’t leave her brother’s face. They carry him inside, and she goes with him. It’s another hour before Reade can get her to leave, and then only after putting Rich on speakerphone. His voice is softer than it should be, too, as he assures her about the men who will keep watch over him all night. Only then does she agree to go to the hospital. It’s a long, sleepless, and anxious night by her husband’s bedside, one hand holding his, the other still clutching the coin.

The next morning he kisses her fingers and tells her to go. He wishes he could be there with her, for her, and he sheds a tear then grimaces in pain when a sob escapes. She says she’ll go alone, but he insists Reade go with her. They get to the top of the hill and she’s relieved to find the men right where Rich promised they would be, keeping vigil. There’s more of them now, and overnight a deep hole she doesn’t want to see has opened amongst the roots of the tree. She sits alone for a while, leaning against its trunk with her back to that hole so she doesn’t have to see it. Her eyes move back and forth between the view, a city by a glimmering sea, and the silver coin glimmering in her palm.

She buries him with it.

~~~~~

It’s months before she thinks about it again and finally really feels it. She’s in a hospital bed and all she can see is darkness. There’s a ringing in her ears and her husband’s voice speaking over it, describing a picture to her. Her sluggish mind gradually connects the dots and excitement takes over. She knows what it is.

I got you something.

“Try ‘I got you something.’” And that’s it; it works. The grief washes over her, and the gratitude, too. If she makes it through this, it will be his doing. If she doesn’t… well, at least she can keep that last promise she made to him, in the sunset on a hill.

[nachosncheeze]

The Family (Blindspot post-s2 fic)

A/N: I wrote something again! I've been marinating for weeks on the idea of trying to write something less angsty, without the foggiest notion what it might be. Happily this arrived just in time for the new year. Is this what you'd call fluff?

Set broadly between the second last scene of 2x22 and the first scene of 3x01. Jane-centric but there's Jeller and Allie and Conor in there too. Happy new year folks :)

~~~~~

Jane didn’t know much about family. Her team was the closest thing she could ever remember having to one, but everything that happened after Mayfair, after the CIA, even in the weeks after her return seemed to suggest that family was fickle, fleeting. Then she met her real family, a brother she was bound to by history and by blood, and through good and bad she thought she’d begun to understand, especially when he'd stood up to their so-called mother. But then that same brother joined that same so-called mother in trying to murder millions of people, and they never got a chance to find out if blood could love strongly enough to forgive each other's mistakes. (Hers was a very grave mistake. He was right to feel betrayed, although it didn’t excuse the attempted mass murder.)

And then Kurt said those three words, and a day or two later she said four back, and a new and puzzling sort of belonging began to unfold.

She worried that they were moving too quickly; it was Allie who told her to get over it. “Kurt said the same thing a few weeks ago,” she said, and smiled a little at the poorly-hidden anxiety that ghosted over Jane’s face. (It was not unlike the look he’d worn.) “I think he was afraid of scaring you off,” she offered as reassurance. “But I’ll tell you what I told him: you guys have danced around each other and put this off through so much, you have a lot of time to make up for. You two are great together, don’t overthink it.”

In the final weeks as Allie’s due date approached, they were already engaged. The trip to Venice had come together surprisingly last-minute; a break for the two of them ahead of his impending fatherhood, because who knew when he’d be able to get away again? She wasn’t expecting his proposal, and truth be told she wasn’t sure he was expecting it just then, either. But something about the city and the night air and the lights provided just the right kind of magic, and before she knew what was happening, the hand that held hers was tugging her to a halt and he was asking the question. There wasn’t time for a ring, but what would she have done with one anyway? Everything she needed was already holding her hand. (He would later admit that he had felt bad when she declined his offer to go shopping, but that he had also kind of adored the little furrow in her brow when she resolutely asserted that the traditional two-rings style would only have been a hindrance, because how was she supposed to punch anyone with a diamond on?)

By the time the call came that Allie had gone into labour nearly a week early, and two days ahead of his scheduled departure to Colorado, there hadn’t been a question. (At least not in his mind.) His face was a frantic mix of emotions as he stuttered something about go-bags and airports, and she placed her hand on his forearm and stood herself in front of him until he met her eyes long enough to take a few deep breaths, at which point his expression melted into a warm but nervous smile. “I’ll call the airline, and work,” he said, “you drive.” She was hard pressed to keep her eyes on the road when she heard him say, “Two tickets,” and “Yes, she’ll need the time off too.”

If three’s a crowd then four was a throng. And so she found herself in a waiting room, sitting nervously beside Conor as they, well, waited. She’d only met Conor a few times before, and her impression had always been of someone a bit stoic. A man of not-too-many words – not unlike Kurt, she mused – but perhaps less commanding, and she had a sense that he was simply reserved rather than walled-in the way Kurt was. (The way he was to everyone but her, of course.) But as they sat in the waiting room together, he engaged her in easy conversation, less about what was going on down the hall and more about general topics – his own family, his and Allie’s work, life in Denver, places that she and Kurt should see, and that maybe they should go together. It was an excellent distraction, and it made her feel welcome.

When the nurse came to tell them they were being asked for, he nervously rubbed his palms on his knees as they both stood, and they exchanged a look that was both reassuring and seeking reassurance. They walked down the corridor side by side, but as they arrived at the room the nurse had indicated, her steps slowed and she stopped in the doorway behind him. Kurt was half-seated on the edge of the bed, his left leg tucked up in front of him, left arm around Allie’s shoulders, and his right hand placed gently on the baby in her arms. A rush of a million emotions flooded Jane’s body at the sight, too many to name. (But among them, she was absolutely certain, were both joy and deep-seated fear – which was really saying something.)

The subtle shift in Kurt’s face when he saw her standing there – it was impossible that he could look any happier or more lovestruck, and yet somehow, he did – told her everything she needed to know about what he wanted for his family. Of course she needed to be there, for him; he truly wouldn’t have wanted, nor stood for it being any other way. And so she was there, the fifth person in the room. (Even if she did feel a little more like a fifth wheel.)

When Allie called her over and asked if she’d like to hold the baby – Conor was right there; she wanted Jane to go first? – her nerves returned and gripped her so solidly that she was surprised to find her feet carrying her forward of their own accord. She stepped hesitantly up beside Kurt, unsure of what to do with her hands as he gently accepted his daughter from Allie and slid forward until his other foot hit the floor. He placed the tiny bundle in Jane’s arms – how could a human be so small? – and stroked the little pink forehead with one finger while his right arm came around her waist. She was sure the little one would start screaming the moment he passed her over – she was a stranger, after all, and can't newborns tell? – but when the fat little face just scrunched up for a moment then relaxed with the biggest yawn and the tiniest sigh, everything changed. Jane didn’t think she’d ever felt bigger or smaller than she did at that moment, and when she looked up at her fiancé in wonder, she could swear his face would split open if he smiled any harder. She found herself misty-eyed, and utterly at a loss for words.

She looked down again at her future step-daughter’s face, and then around at each of the others in the room, almost as overwhelmed at their expressions as she was by the little girl herself. Conor had mirrored Kurt's earlier position on the opposite side of the bed, his arm around Allie’s shoulders, a warm and genuine smile on his face and an encouraging nod in her direction as he watched her cradling the sleepy infant. Allie looked exhausted but she glowed, all pride and love and welcome, and seemed just as gratified and truly happy to see Jane holding her child as she had looked when she was passing the baby to Kurt. And Kurt, he was misty-eyed himself, beaming down at both of them, the two greatest loves of his life. She was supposed to be there, of course she was. And then she found her words.

“Hello, little one,” she murmured with a smile, “welcome to the family.”

[nachosncheeze]

How Could She (Blindspot 4x02 mini fic)

A/N: Another little thing that came to my brain unbidden, this time based on an exchange between two characters (The dialogue is lifted from the show). By sheer coincidence it ended up precisely 150 words, but despite how short it is I'm putting a cut like all my other fic posts because it risks spoiling like... half of the season 3 twists. 😅

(P.S. thank you @scottimae94 bc I stole from past brainstorms, hope you don't mind I ran with it when I saw the opportunity, and thank you very much @indelibleevidence for teaching me what a drabble actually is - and this is not it xD 💕 to both)

~~~~~

“My wife, I knew she was unhappy… but how could she take my child away from me?” Sokolov mumbled as he began the file transfer.

Good question, Remi thought. Never did get an answer.

She remembered the pain of delivery and the love she felt in spite of it.

It made you weak, she chastised herself.

She remembered chubby cheeks and a button nose, a tightly-wrapped bundle in a little hat.

She would have just divided your attention and you know it.

She remembered a warm weight in her arms and a barely-recalled song from her own childhood.

Lullabies, how sweet. Waste of time.

...She remembered waking to an empty bassinet.

She watched the progress bar counting off the files that would help her save the woman who had orchestrated it.

"You're gonna get a second chance to know your kid again," she said quietly. "Most people don't get that."

[nachosncheeze]

The Leopard (Blindspot pre-ZIP/2x12 fic)

A/N: This is a flashback scene set pre-ZIP. It's intended to be an extra scene/companion piece for a longer story I've been working on. I'm not entirely convinced about it as a stand-alone, but frankly it fulfills its purpose to my larger story as it currently stands, and it's relevant to this week's re-watch so I'm keen to have it off my desk and out there. :)

Roman and Remi, and a tattoo that never was. Hope you enjoy. :)

~~~~~

“I’ve seen it,” Roman growled with rage as he burst into the room, throwing the door open with such force it bounced off the wall with a sharp crack and swung closed again, “and I’ve solved it. Was this Shepherd’s idea, or yours?”

Remi was sitting behind a modest desk in a low-ceilinged room. The windows at her back flooded the room with natural light, her own body casting a shadow on the stack of documents in front of her. She was writing something in black ink; making notes or forging documents, nothing unusual. It was also not unusual, these days, that she practically ignored him, making no acknowledgment of his stormy entrance. She didn’t look up when she finally spoke, her voice tinged with boredom. “Was what our idea?”

“You know what,” he responded petulantly. The tattoos had taken months of design, with constant tweaking as new information came to light, but the map that represented her body hadn’t changed substantially in nearly two weeks. Hadn’t changed, until one conspicuous new addition had appeared overnight: a snarling leopard, prowling down the side of her neck. A leopard with a puzzle in its spots that, when solved, contained Kat Jarrett’s social security number.

She finished with whatever she was writing while he waited, fuming, for her to set down her pen. He was just about to speak again when she folded her hands on the desk in front of her, finally lifting her head to look at him in silence.

Roman met her eyes with a glare, but as usual, he was the first to blink. He tore his gaze from hers and spun on his heel with a sound of frustration. His fists clenched as he stalked toward the door, and she arched a brow in mild surprise as she realized he might actually leave.

“Does it matter?” she asked, heading off his retreat, “You were warned.”

He stopped in his tracks. Last night’s deal with the Kings was your last. Right; a warning.

“It. matters.” he ground out. He didn’t much like anything about recent events, much less where they were headed, but right then he needed to know where he stood with the each of the two women that commanded him. Shepherd was harsh and uncompromising. Remi was harsh, too, as she was expected to be. He had hoped that in spite of those expectations, his sister would let him have this one thing, but there was no way to interpret that leopard as anything other than a threat. Ordinarily, he’d have put the blame at Shepherd’s feet without a second thought – that kind of narcissistic malice was right up her alley – but the only reason Shepherd even knew about him and Kat was because Remi had outed him.

Now he didn’t know what to think. He and his sister were equals in a fight and together they were an unstoppable team, but in most other regards Remi was the star pupil. She spoke far too many languages and their mother’s was one of them; she would do Shepherd’s bidding even to the point of accurately anticipating her will, but she usually managed to frame it in terms he could abide. Somehow, she made the cruelty make sense.

He couldn’t see any sense in this, at all.

And she was watching him thoughtfully – appraisingly – now, as if deciding which dialect would best suit her audience.

“I told you…” she started, slowly, “Shepherd feels you’ve been distracted.” She waited for a response, but on receiving none apart from his angry, nervous pacing, she continued. “I do, too. You’re losing sight of the mission.”

He rounded on her. “The Kings are my mission! Shepherd put me in charge, made me their liaison-“

“You were seen, Roman,” she snapped. “With her, and Farrell. It was careless. Get in, make the buy, get out. That is your mission, not hanging around showing your face to every one of their associates and every camera the local eye candy happens past. You know that Farrell is exactly the kind of job we’re lining up for Weller. Gangbangers and lowlifes are one thing, but if your toy is going to be openly consorting with corrupt officials on street corners, she’s fair game.”

Her attempt to play it off as if this was some perfectly reasonable, ordinary tattoo case was so infuriating that he didn’t even register the guilty feelings such a flimsy pretext must imply. “Fuck, Remi! Farrell is just a border agent. One border agent, taking bribes to wave through guns and drugs. Some dime-a-dozen asshole in an upstate passport booth is not the kind of win we’re trying to put in Weller’s column. I’m not stupid.”

Her jaw clenched as they stared each other down.

“You were told to end it,” she deadpanned.

“And you were told that I love her.”

He knew right away he’d said the wrong thing. Or maybe it was the right thing. Remi went deathly still and in the space of a single moment her face displayed a thousand emotions before settling into the nearly-blank mask that he recognized, on her, meant ‘bewilderment’.

“You said you liked her,” she paused, and the silence stretched as she stared at him. The quiet scrutiny in her eyes as they bored into him was unbearably uncomfortable but he didn’t look away. “You love her?” she finally asked.

“Do you love Oscar?” he countered.

“That’s different.” She knew it wasn’t.

He held his tongue and met her eyes with a challenge of his own, refusing to back down this time.

“Family has to come first, Roman,” she finally said with a sigh. She stood and moved around the desk to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’ve come too far to lose sight of that. Of one another. You know what price Oscar and I will pay.”

“I know,” he conceded, looking away from her, but not before she caught the flash of pain behind his eyes.

“You really love her?” she asked again, softly.

“I really do.”

She searched his face in profile, assessing, considering. “End it,” she said. Her tone was gentle but the firm squeeze on his shoulder told him there was no more room for argument. “We need you here now more than ever. Family sticks together.”

He nodded. “Except for you,” he mumbled, and where there should have been bile or anger or resentment in his voice, they both heard only sadness. With that, the lid was off, no more sense in pretending. They’d been carefully avoiding talking about her departure as anything more than a battle plan for months. Time was almost up.

He turned toward her again, no longer trying to conceal his grief. She looked at him a moment longer, then furrowed her brow as if he’d insulted her. She drew back; her posture and voice hardened again.

“I’ll do what I have to for the mission,” she stated resolutely, “and so will you.”

He didn’t need to see or feel her moving away to recognize that as the dismissal it was. She returned to her seat behind the desk while he tried to mirror the shift in her demeanor, to marshal the soldier within him. But in that moment he couldn’t find the energy to steel himself against it all. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head. When her hardened eyes met his across the table again, he simply nodded and headed for the door.

She should let him go, she knew; should hold firm and watch as he walked away. He looked like a sulking child, and that crap had no place among them anymore. He’d already been too soft, and since this girl had caught his eye he’d grown even softer. Remi needed him to toughen up, to be prepared for when she left. Their mother could be ruthless, and he’d have no one to mediate, no one to protect him. He needed to be able to take orders and still stand strong.

But maybe she could protect something - someone - he cared about.

“Roman,” she called firmly and against her better judgment. He stopped. “I’ll see what I can do about Farrell.” His body was still but his head snapped up to look at her over his shoulder, so that she could see the conflict that overtook his features. They both knew that with Shepherd’s reach, removing anyone from the board was a big risk. Farrell was a flimsy pretext for pointing at the biker gang, but he was still a pretext. This close to the mission, whether it happened by death or by law enforcement, any change to the circumstances underlying the tattoos would be looked into. Even if Shepherd didn’t manage to confirm the source, the timing would leave her suspicious. It could blow back on both of them. Neither one said a word, letting that unspoken truth hang in the air between them until they were both certain the other understood its gravity. The silence was finally broken by a deep sigh from behind the desk.

“And I’ll talk to Markos.”

As insurance went, it was tantamount to a guarantee.

He exhaled a long, slow breath. Remi’s farewell would be the last job their current medical facility would handle. They wouldn’t be taking any chances on anyone but their compartmentalized group being anywhere nearby when it came time for the ink and the ZIP. Shepherd would be long gone, and she would never see the finished product before the day came when – if – Remi returned home. With Thornton already in play, Markos was the next most experienced medic. Once Remi went under, he was in charge. And he was committed to the plan, but more than that, he and Remi were friends. If she asked, he would see to it.

The leopard would never see her flesh.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. It wasn’t enough, but he knew she’d understand how much he meant it. The door thudded softly as it closed behind him, leaving heavy silence in its wake.

[nachosncheeze]

Blindspot 2x12 - Unspoken Dialogue #2

From Legendary Grumpchkin to Weller Classic in one evening: The power of Miss Green-Eyes

(inspired by a comment from @scottimae94)

[nachosncheeze]

Well, well, well! The evening got away from me a little, and so my re-watch of 3x01 will be postponed to tomorrow night, along with all the content I have found and made. BUT LOOK WHO’S GOT AN AO3 NOW! :D I recently made my account, and I thought what better time to start using it than the start of a new season of re-watch!? I’ve just posted two of my shorts that tag to 3x01! :D (Both were posted previously here on tumblr) They are Miss Green-Eyes and The Family, and they’re both pretty happy. There’ll be a new, angstier one before the weekend is out, too.

If anyone has an account, let me know so I can bookmark you and follow your stories! :D You can message me, or comment or reblog and we can all find each other!! xD