AN:New fandom, new fic! Aren't these two wonderful together? Absolutely loving this show! First but probably not the last attempt at a Blindspot story; I hope you all enjoy :)

A single stain remains.

It's just dark enough to be unnoticeable to the average person but to Jane… no… Taylor, it's as bright as the lamp that glows eerily in the far corner of the room. The cleanup team have managed to remove the blood from the worn wooden floor, but some of it has seeped into the cracks between and become a permanent part of the old safe house.

Barely a week has passed since she arrived here and this place is already tainted by death. Tainted because of her, of who she is, who she was, who she could be.

Jane (no, Taylor, she reminds herself again) sits on the edge of the couch, right leg bouncing slightly in anticipation as she waits for Weller to finish making them both a cup of coffee in the small kitchen. She can see him out of the corner of her eye, back to her as he riffles through the cupboard in search of some mugs.

Weller's presence in the house is soothing and confusing all at once; it's been a couple of hours since the revelation that had shaken them both and she finds herself struggling to process all the new information. It hits her all at once, the panic, the frustration, the terror, and she ducks her head and places her face in the palms of her hands as her elbows rest on her knees.

One breath.
Two.
Three.

Enough to calm her frantic nerves and quiet the disruptive thoughts that threaten to drive her mad.

Weller's laptop is just out of reach, sitting innocuously on the small coffee table, a tiny blue light flashing intermittently indicating that it's currently conserving power. A thick manila case file sits beside it, the cover bland and plain, the case number and the name of the lead investigator the only things visible.
Jane…no…Taylor… shit… Taylor fights the temptation to open the laptop, to flip open the cover of the case file, to immerse herself in the little pieces of her history that Weller has suddenly dangled in front of her.

Her fingers itch to pick up the laptop, to open up a browser and search for herself online, a feat now possible with the revelation of her own name; Taylor, not Jane. Taylor. My name is Taylor Shaw…

The syllables sound foreign and unfamiliar in her head and she wonders if she'll ever get used to the name again. It's frustrating that she's only just got used to Janeand now she has a second new (old) identity to contend with.
She can still hear Weller puttering around in the small kitchen, but judging by the sound of metal ringing against ceramic, his job is nearly complete.

Taylor stares at the laptop again, studies it as if it holds all the answers in the universe.

She reaches out, opens the lid, waits for the screen to light up.

A search engine is already open, as if the piece of technology had anticipated her wish to understand a little more about herself, about where she came from and who she is.

It would be so easy, she thinks; four words typed in (Taylor Shaw, missing girl) a single button pressed and someof her little known history would be revealed. Her fingers hover over the keys, waiting, nervous. She draws them back, clenches her fists. Sighs.

She can't do it.

She wants Weller to be the one to tell her, to reveal her past, theirpast, before they dig deeper into what exactly happened to her after she disappeared.
Taylor slams the laptop lid closed, and watches as the little blue light starts flashing again. She closes her eyes one more. Breathes.

One breath.
Two.
Three.

Taylor's eyes drift to the case file, and she wrings her fingers together in a bid to resist temptation once more. Her thoughts are interrupted as Weller heads towards the main room, two steaming mugs in his hands. The smell of caffeine immediately perks her up, pulling her temporarily from her distracting thoughts.

Weller stands in the doorway for a moment, illuminated against that damn eerie light in the corner. He looks almost otherworldly for a split second, before he shifts uncomfortably under her careful scrutiny and moves forward to fully enter the room.

He stops right in front of her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replies quietly as she takes one of the mugs from his hand. It's plain white and warm against her palms. She ignores the way Weller's fingers linger over hers as he transfers the mug to her.

"You don't sound fine," Weller pushes, moving to sit next to her. There's a little space between them, but not much. She can sense that he wants to be close, within reach if she needs him; the thought sends a rush of calm through her. Taylor watches as his eyes flicker quickly over the laptop and the case file, but he thankfully doesn't comment.

"I just…" she pauses, unsure of what to say. She sits back and tries to get a grip on the situation, fingers still curled around the mug. The cut on her eyebrow stings and her tongue traces the hole left by her missing tooth; the latest war wounds to add to the ever increasing list. It's all too much.

Everything is just too much.

"I don't know how to process… this. Any of it."

She gestures vaguely between them, then indicates the house in general, careful not to let any of the boiling liquid spill over the lip of the mug as her arms move in front of her. Weller stares at her, his face neutral as he waits for her to continue. Taylor pauses for a second, sighs once more, then speaks again, her voice quiet.

"It's all so new; I was just getting used to Janeand now it's Taylor and…"
She looks up at him then and gives him a weary smile. "I can't even remember which name I'm supposed to answer to half the time."

She realizes that she's tired, exhausted, but she needs to hear something, anything, from the man beside her that will give her a semblance of comfort in the chaos that is her life.

"Would you prefer to be called Jane or Taylor?" His voice is tentative, and she senses that he'd rather call her the latter, like he's been waiting 25 years to say her name again.

"I…I don't know," she admits, taking a quick sip of her coffee to hide her sudden nerves. "I…I prefer Taylor I think, but there's just so much I don't know about who I was, and who I am, that I don't want to tarnish it. The name Taylor Shaw means something to me." She looks at him pointedly, tries to get him to understand. "To you too…"
Her voice trails off, and she ducks her head again, afraid of the pitying look Weller's bound to give her.

Suddenly Weller's hand is on her forearm, warm, comforting. Taylor can feel the heat of his skin against her own and it burns, not from pain but familiarity; this man had been her best friend, heknewher, trustedher.

"I understand," is all Weller says, before he leans back to drink some of his own coffee.

There's a pause then, a silence that should have been awkward but is just quiet and still and calming instead.

"Thank you," she mutters eventually, when her mug is nearly empty and the steam has finally stopped drifting into the room.

He looks confused for a moment, like he has no idea what he's being thanked for.

"What for?"

"For not giving up on me. Not just since this," she says, hands gesturing to the tattoos that are visible on her arms and neck, "but since I disappeared. 25 years is a long time to wait, to hope."

Weller regards her carefully, before his mouth twitches into a soft smile. His hand reaches for hers, and Taylor smiles faintly in return as she links her fingers with his.

His voice is barely a whisper as the two of them sit side by side, together.

"It was worth it."