summary : set somewhere in season 2. A tattoo hit brings the team to Alaska, where Jane and Kurt are forced to truly talk. angsty. one shot probably
Jane was not the same. At least that’s the conclusion every team member came to, individually. It was easy to do so, as she was still reeling from the three months she spent at the CIA’s hands, and probably always would be. But, setting aside the flinching, the bruises, the trembling, something else was wrong. Something at the very core of the Jane they used to know: she didn’t trust them anymore. It may have seemed normal, after all, the relationship between the amnesiac and the team had irremediably deteriorated, smashed in pieces by Jane’s treason and her torture. But she didn’t trust them anymore, in every way. She didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hit her (she stepped back violently when Patterson innocently raised her hand once. The awkward silence that followed would haunt them the entire following week.) She didn’t trust that they would truly watch her back, and silently watched her own during cases. She simply didn’t trust them with anything, and would even stay completely wordless during her sessions with Borden, staring at the bland, white wall, jaws clenched, her nails digging into her palms.
Her only drive seemed to be the one that pushed her to end sandstorm, once and for all. Even after meeting the only family she had left, she was absolutely determined to destroy the organisation her brother and mother were a crucial part of. And, sadly, that’s almost all that mattered to the team at first, as they were hurt by her, and she was hurt by them ; better to let her be, and for her to let them be.
But as the weeks passed, the fact that Jane was forced, under menace, to betray them was beginning to sink in. And even though Mayfair was dead, and that nothing could ever bring her back, they wanted Jane back, too. But nobody seemed to be able to get a simple reaction other than fear and vague regret-tinted sadness out of her. It was as if the torture she endured rewired her emotions; she seemed constantly afraid, always awaiting a blow to the face that would never come, always expecting to wake up in a sombre and dirty room.
It’s in this hostile emotional environment that they got another tattoo hit, one that would bring the team all the way to remote Alaska. The weather was frigid, dull, and Jane looked as if she had never been so cold in her entire life, which, having been born in South-Africa, was very plausible. The greyness of the sky made Kurt, Reade and Zapata feel as grim as the atmosphere was, and it’s with a heavy mood that they, followed by Jane, entered the safe house assigned to them. They all knew it would be a long, gruelling mission, not because of the case per se, but because of the unusual proximity from each other they would have to endure until it was closed.
After making themselves comfortable in the small house at their disposition, they all exchanged short words before going to sleep. The team was tense : it had been a very long time since they had shared such a familiarity, such a closeness with Jane. They all welcomed sleep as a respite, a rest from the tensions and the difficult awkwardness of their situation. Unbeknownst to them, Jane did not welcome sleep, as with sleep came dreams, and, in her case, dreams meant waking up screaming and flailing, so, so afraid. Not wanting to show any weaknesses to her old team, not wanting them to see the extent at which the CIA messed with her head, not wanting to wake them up with bloody, horrid screams, not wanting, not wanting, not wanting…exhaustion slowly but surely won its battle over her, and Jane, after hours of keeping herself awake, calmly fell asleep. But the rest of her night did not go as calmly and as she expected she was bombarded by horrible, violent dreams of her torture, and she woke up shouting, crying, begging for them to please, please stop. As she slowly overcame the panic that blurred her vision and as she regained consciousness of her surroundings, a sense of dread overwhelmed her ; Kurt, Tasha and Reade were standing, guns in hands, in her room, obviously expecting some sort of real danger, not the kind of danger that her head fabricated. She felt thoroughly exposed, her pathetic, traumatized self showing for her ex-team to see and never, in the life she remembered, had she ever felt so ashamed. Weakness was not something to be celebrated; it was to be eliminated, and here she was, so, so weak. She got up without a word, walked past the FBI agents, silently uttered something about taking a walk, and left, her trembling hands raised in a defensive position.
Zapata, Weller and Reade were left alone, and they looked at each other with concerned, confused expressions. Tasha, anger in her voice, asked the question that had been running through her mind ever since she heard Jane begging in her sleep :
«How long has she been sleeping like this? How can she function properly when she relives her goddamn torture every night ? Christ, what is Borden even doing? Isn’t it his job to fix stuff like that?»
«She doesn’t talk to Borden. She doesn’t trust him. She doesn’t trust us. We can’t work like this, and she can’t live like this, not anymore. It has gone on too long, this resentment. It needs to stop, if not for her, for us. If not for us, for sandstorm’s demise.» Kurt had spoken calmly, but a slight shakiness in his voice hinted that he was everything but calm. After all, there was a time when he and Jane had kissed. There was a time when he thought he could’ve had…more with her. There still were foolish, hopeful times when he thought that they could both, one day, overcome the hurt they had done to each other, that they could rebuild something of importance together. But, hope too much, and you just might loose everything.
It’s at the crack of dawn that Jane returned. She had walked for hours, letting the cold bite her skin, reviving her senses earlier dulled by fear. She didn’t know what behaviour the team would adopt after witnessing her nightmares, and it’s with intense apprehension that she stepped into the dimly lit living room. She quickly saw Kurt’s profile sat on the small sofa near the window, and couldn’t help but to slightly recoil at the sight ; she didn’t want to talk, not with him, not about this. It’s with reticence that she sat beside him. She couldn’t fool herself ; she still had lingering feelings for the FBI agent, she still had small, dumb hope that things between them could get back to the way they were. But she was also hurt. So hurt. And angry, too.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Weller clearing his throat, before letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding forever. He hesitantly uttered :
«Tasha and Reade went back to sleep.» He then looked as if he was deep in thoughts, and then continued more confidently : «You have to know, Jane, that we’re not cruel. We never, in a million years, wanted you to be tortured. Whatever anger we had for you, whatever anger we still have, does not change the fact that what happened to you during those three months was inhumane. It does not change the fact that we never would’ve sent you to get tortured. You have to know that.»
In guise of answer, Jane nodded her head slightly, eyes on the floor, her hands gently tracing the outlines of the tattoos on her arms.
«Jane, talk to me, Please? Don’t you think it’s long overdue? »
At his last phrase, Jane looked as if she just woke up from her trance, hands curling into fists.
«You know what’s long overdue, Kurt? Me getting a break is what’s long overdue. I am tired, Weller, absolutely exhausted. I can’t sleep. I can’t take a bath anymore, i’m too scared of the water, do you realize that? I’m scared of the damn water. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know wether i’m Alice, or i’m Remi, or Jane… the only family i have, the only people that have loved me my entire life, are terrorists. So what do you want to talk about, Kurt? How my treason, which by the way I executed because I wanted to protect you, has affected your little FBI team? Everyone, including you, has been angry at me for months ; i very well have the right to be angry at you all.» Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Jane passed her bony fingers over her closed eyelids, and that’s when Kurt noticed, really noticed, how utterly defeated she looked. And defeat was not a look that suited Jane well ; she was still beautiful, of course, but her eyes were sunken and hollow, shadowed by dark circles. Her cheekbones were more defined than ever, and her chapped lips trembled slightly.
«Jane… I want to make things right. I want to, so badly. I just don’t know how, and I sure as hell don’t know how to help you with your hurt, your pain. But I desperately want to, and that’s a start, don’t you think?»
Jane stared at him pensively for a while, her inked hands running through her jet-black hair. She sighed, and said, calmly, coldly :
«It might be a start, Kurt, but it doesn’t feel like one. It feels like an end.»
Then, she got up without a word and left the room.
