"So strike me down, take me away
Debts are due, it's time to pay
Face what I deserve
Here comes judgement day
I won't run, the guilt is mine
Too long denying all my crimes
Face what I deserve
Here comes judgement day"

-Judgement Day, Stealth

For an amnesiac, she'd experienced her fair share of déjà vu.

Mirrors built into white walls, utilitarian furniture, the narrow-eyed gazes that painted suspicion on her like a second skin. Or third.

Her second life had begun in this room, and now, all these months later, she had come full circle; no longer Jane Doe, unidentified potential-victim and possible former abducted child. Now, her third life had begun, a mirror of the second; now, she was still Jane Doe— not the name she was born with, but the name that those she loved had called her, and the name she was going to keep— but this time, she was Jane Doe, the traitor. The liar. Manipulator. Murderer.

She was both the victim and the mastermind of her own plan, a villain that only ended up hurting those she most wanted to protect.

But today, at least they would understand why. They wouldn't understand everything— how could they, when there was still so much even she didn't know— but they would at least have the truth. And even if she was thrown into that dark hole Carter had promised her for the rest of her life, even if she never saw the team— saw Weller— again, maybe they could use what she told them to finally find answers. To find justice for Mayfair, find a way to take down Shepherd and Orion, or whomever else was responsible for sparking the blaze that had caused all this destruction.

Maybe, through them, some small measure of good could come from her existence. Maybe they could find closure and be able to put the events of the last several months behind them.

Put her behind them.

But in order to help them do that, she had to face them this one last time. Just the thought of seeing them now— her friends, her family— brought her out in a sweat, twisting something deep in her stomach. She hadn't seen any of them since that night in the safehouse almost a week ago, when Weller had wordlessly handed her off to some faceless agent and walked away, his hatred of her so strong that he couldn't even bear to be in her presence any longer than it took to close the cuffs around her wrists, to strip her of all she had done and become over the last several months, everything they had shared.

There was nothing that they shared now, not anymore.

After Weller had left, the agents had taken her to the NYO, she knew that— knew the journey there like the road to home. Except that home was now once more a prison, and as she'd been tossed into the cold embrace of her old cell, she'd felt the circle of her second life closing like a noose around her neck, just waiting for the moment she would fall.

It wasn't exactly like last time, though. This time, she'd been placed under total lockdown, seeing only the unfamiliar faces of her guards and the two cold-eyed agents who brought her back to this interview room day after day.

She hadn't even seen Borden.

Once, she'd thought maybe she'd heard Patterson's voice coming from the corridor near her cell, but she couldn't be sure, her mind already playing tricks on her in the echoing silence.

One thing she was sure of, though, was that during each of her interrogations— if they could even be called that, given that she never said more than a handful of words during each of them— Weller was there on the other side of that mirror, his presence almost a tangible thing, his piercing stare burning into her inked skin like he was trying to see who she was concealing underneath.

Even with the mirror and the yards of space between them, she'd wanted to shrink from his gaze, wanted to hide away from the betrayal and hatred she knew she would see smoldering within it. The thought of facing it today— with no barriers and nowhere to hide— left her nauseated, terrified; and yet, she'd asked for this. Every day since her arrest, she'd obediently sat in this chair and let them cuff her to the table, then lifted her chin, her voice clear.

I will only make my confession to Agents Weller, Reade, Zapata, Patterson, and Dr Borden.

Then, she'd sat there silently while the men hurled questions at her, loud and demanding and gentle and imploring by turns, trying every tactic they'd ever been taught. Every day, she'd said the same thing, and every day they'd ignored her, so she'd ignored them; ignored their questions and their insults, their bargaining and their threats.

Until today.

Today, finally, her guards had deposited her in the room and informed her coldly that she'd be getting her wish; getting the audience she so desperately seemed to want for whatever little circus trick she planned to perform.

And as far as she could tell— the lack of clocks in this room and her cell was just another way they showed her they owned her, that she wasn't real— that had been close to fifteen minutes ago.

Eventually, that door would open, and everyone that she cared about— with the exception of Sarah and Sawyer— would be there before her, looking at her with eyes full of hurt and broken trust, accusing eyes, hateful eyes. Eyes that only a week ago had shone with warmth, friendship… maybe even love.

But not anymore.

If she was luckier than she deserved, Borden might still look at her with some measure of the gentleness and compassion he'd always shown her, a look that had eased her fears and soothed her pain so many times since the day she'd climbed from that bag, her mind a blank canvas and her body an overflowing one. Of all of them, he was the only one who she could hope might not completely abandon her to her fate. The only one who might truly understand.

And maybe, in whatever dark pit they threw her into, she might still get one visitor.

Just as she had that thought, she heard the scrape of boots outside, then the familiar click of the lock, and immediately she felt her heart pound harder, her eyes darting to the door as it swung slowly open, allowing her visitors— formerly her family, now her jury— to file through.

Unsurprisingly, Zapata was first, her expression professional, reserved; though Jane was almost sure she saw the hardness in her eyes flicker for a moment, a brief flash of emotion that was quickly stamped out. Glancing down, Jane saw that one of her hands was held slightly out to the side; the small, restraining— or perhaps protective— gesture directed at Patterson, who trailed close on her heels, peering past her friend with an upset, conflicted expression. As they approached the interrogation table, Reade followed silently behind, his expression betraying nothing, his eyes as shuttered as she'd ever seen them.

When Patterson chose the chair directly opposite her, Reade took the one immediately to her left, while Zapata remained standing behind the chair to Patterson's right, the two of them flanking their weaker teammate. Protecting her from the threat.

From her.

Swallowing back her hurt, she looked to the doorway as Dr Borden stepped into view, watching as he glanced back behind him into the corridor, as if he'd just paused briefly to speak with someone outside. She felt a tiny part of her tremble when his eyes met hers; his gaze was warm and clear, that same gentle brown she'd known since the beginning of her second life. With the tiniest hint of a nod, he took hold of the chair beside Zapata's and gracefully shifted it around the side of the table before settling into it, his new position placing him almost halfway between her and the others.

She didn't miss the tiny warning looks both Zapata and Reade shot in his direction— she was a danger, a monster, after all— but she watched him calmly ignore them, his posture betraying not a hint of fear as he examined her with his usual perceptive gaze. After a moment, Tasha rolled her eyes, then shifted slightly closer to him, placing herself more evenly between him and Patterson, her hands relaxed as they rested on the back of her chair, and yet her stance alert, ready.

Almost a full minute had passed since the team had begun filing through the door, and yet, the doorway behind them remained empty.

Breathing slowly and deliberately, Jane fought the urge to fidget, knowing that all of their eyes were on her but still unable to stop herself from watching the door, searching for him, waiting, hoping. There was so much she needed to tell him to his face— but almost more than that, she just needed to see him, one last time.

Whoever she'd been in her first life, she knew she'd said goodbye to the man she loved in order to start the next. Now, she would do the same— but unlike with Oscar, she would be gone from Kurt's life for good, her existence no longer a threat to his.

But first, he needed to be here.

The open door was the only thing that allowed her to hold onto hope— the guards had to be awaiting someone, because surely otherwise they would have locked it the moment the others had passed through, ensuring she had absolutely zero chance of making an escape.

Like she had anywhere to go.

Just as her thoughts began growing increasingly desperate— what if he really didn't come, what did she do then?— he suddenly loomed in the doorway, his stride determined as he entered the room and signaled for the door to close behind him. Keeping his sightline at a level that allowed him to look straight over their heads, he ignored the remaining chair beside Reade— which, aside from Borden's, was the closest one to her— and immediately moved to lean against the side wall, the furthest he could be from her while also keeping her out of his direct line of vision.

"Let's get this done," he said brusquely, speaking to no one in particular, his eyes focused on the opposite side of the room.

After a couple of beats of tense silence, Borden leaned forward, drawing her attention away from Weller, his voice gentle, encouraging.

"Go ahead, Jane."

For a week she'd been thinking about this moment; about all the things she had to tell them, all the secrets she'd kept, the things she'd done. And now, the moment was finally here.

Clearing her throat, she let her eyes skitter between each of them, then looked down at her hands.

"Please just let me get all of this out before you ask anything, okay?"

Then, knowing that these were the last words she would ever say to them, she drew in a deep breath, and started at the beginning.

Keeping her eyes fixed on her cuffed hands, she let the words pour out, telling them everything— about Carter and her abduction, about Oscar and all that he'd told her about her past, about the missions he'd given her and the threats he'd made towards the team, even about seducing him and using his feelings for her former self to gain information and keep him from acting on his threats.

She told it all as calmly and clinically as she could, but when it came to telling them about Mayfair, she faltered, fighting the tears that burned the back of her eyes for the mentor and friend she had betrayed. But she blinked back the tears and determinedly pushed on, telling them of Oscar's involvement and his eventual fate after trying to wipe her in the barn. She talked until she was almost out of breath, and aside from the occasional tiny shocked inhale or swallowed exclamation, they all respected her request, none of them uttering a single word as she poured out all of her sins.

When she was finally finished, she felt her shoulders slump, her head dizzy with something that almost felt like relief, her eyes briefly falling shut.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, tentatively, Patterson spoke up.

"And this is everything you know about these Orion people?"

Jane nodded, her eyes down.

"And you kept it from us, firstly because you were using them to find out information about your past and about Taylor Shaw, and then because they threatened our lives if you told?"

Again, Jane nodded.

"Is there anything else you want to say?"

"I'm sorry. For everything," Jane murmured, "That's all."

With that, the room lapsed into silence once more, the moment stretching.

Then Weller pushed abruptly away from the wall, striding wordlessly to the door before banging once with his fist to be let out. Immediately the door opened, and— watched by all of the room's other occupants— he strode through, disappearing into the corridor outside.

"Well," Reade sighed, rising from his chair, "Now we know. C'mon, Patterson."

Patterson looked up at him, a look of distress crossing her face. Then, she reluctantly stood and moved away from the table, pausing after a couple of steps to turn back.

"This isn't the end, Jane," she promised earnestly, then turned away, her shoulders hunching as she trailed after Reade. Zapata gave Jane one last evaluating look, then nodded slightly and followed, the room emptying until only Dr Borden remained.

Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she saw compassion there, and understanding, her eyes once more burning with the tears she'd fought so hard to keep back.

"Give them a little time to process, Jane, and I truly believe they will come to understand. Even Assistant Director Weller."

"Would you look out for him for me?" Jane asked hoarsely, eyes pleading. "He's been through so much, I just—"

When she cut herself off, sucking in a shuddering breath, Borden tilted his head.

"You care about him, even still."

"I care about all of them," Jane said firmly, "All of you. You're… family. But Weller…"

Clenching her hands into fists, she swallowed hard.

"Just be there for him, please? And tell the others I said goodbye."

Borden frowned. "Goodbye?"

Lifting her head, Jane slowly raised a single, sardonic brow, trying to hide how much her heart was currently being ripped apart in her chest. "Not like I'm going to see any of you again, is it? Not with where they're going to put me after everything I've done."

Borden leaned closer, his frown deepening. "Jane, they're not—"

He was interrupted by the appearance of her guards at the door, their hands on their weapons. "Apologies, Dr Borden, but we have to take the prisoner now. She's to be transferred to another facility."

Shooting Borden a meaningful look, Jane remained still and submissive as the guards approached, detaching her cuffs from the table before linking them up with her leg chains.

"May I enquire where this other facility might be?" Borden asked politely, but she could sense he was deeply disturbed, even worried.

"Sorry sir, I'm afraid we don't know ourselves. We're just to take her to the handover point. The orders came from high up."

With a nudge, the guards began ushering her to the door, and Borden followed, carefully controlling his expression.

"Jane, this does not end here. You will be seeing us— all of us— again, I assure you."

Twisting to look over her shoulder at him, she locked her gaze with his, unable to keep the fear from her eyes. "Promise me you'll look after them," she said a little desperately, feeling her fate closing in on her like a guillotine descending on her neck. "Especially Weller."

"I promise, Jane," Borden told her clearly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Pressing her lips into a tremulous smile, she gave him a small nod. "Goodbye, Dr Borden. Thank you for everything."

Then, she broke his gaze and turned away, letting the guards march her through the fire doors, hearing them slam shut behind her as she was drawn away from the interrogation room— away from the workplace that had provided her new life with purpose and meaning, away from the family she'd found and lost, and away from the man who so completely owned her heart, even if he didn't know it.

She may still have all of her memories, but even so, it was clear to her that her third life would begin just as her second had.

Alone.

Hey again, Blindspotters! Long time no see! Hope you enjoyed chapter 1, and really hope you stick around for the next four!

And of course, all comments/reviews/suggestions/fangirling about the finale/speculating are absolutely welcome, because replying to reviews is basically my favourite part of the ficwriting process. I can also be found on tumblr under the URL idealisticrealism if you wanna come fangirl with me there (don't be shy!)

Anyhow, as always, thanks for reading!

-Laura

PS, in case anyone is interested in a brief rundown of how this story came about:

Blindspot finale, with an almost violent forcefulness: HERE, HAVE SOME INSPIRATION

Me: Wait, but I've hardly written in months and I don't even really write Blindspot fics!

The thirty handwritten pages of blindspot fic I'd just somehow just produced: well actually

(literally how it happened. I wrote so much in the four days following the ep that my hand cramps practically got cramps of their own...)