Thank you, everyone who has stuck with me. I still consider this to be a writing exercise for me. I rely heavily on dialogue and actions from S1E7: Sent on Tour, so I cannot take credit for a lot of the wit and worry in this chapter.

All errors are mine alone. I don't have the heart - right now - to hold this chapter back any longer. I will probably come back to review it (AGAIN!) and make any necessary corrections. If you notice any glaringly obvious ones, please don't hesitate to let me know.

I do not own any part of Blindspot. I am making no money off of this. Please don't sue.

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She admitted to Weller that the field was the only place where she felt comfortable. Combat situations meant chaos, but being in the field cropped her focus to what was most important:

- Protect your team.

- Complete the mission.

Jane took the second seriously, but the first? It was like breathing. It wasn't a temporary thing. It wasn't something that punched a clock, that started and stopped, that took time off. Sure, vigilance had to ebb and surge as the situation warranted, but there was at least a small part of her brain that was always - ALWAYS - monitoring the body language of her teammates, getting a sense of any strangers in the vicinity, and waiting to observe any little anomaly that might signal danger.

She was struck, at times, by how pathological the constant urge to protect seemed. At least, seemed to her. She'd tried to discuss it with Dr. Borden, but he'd only commented that it was a human compulsion to be a part of a group. It was perfectly natural that she would start to identify those individuals she saw most often as her group.

Jane knew it was more than that. She hadn't pushed back against his explanation, even though she could have. Could have told him how - feeling the constant weight of knowing that the team was depending on her to do her job - made her willing to fight, willing to kill.

Normal people didn't think like that. Probably.

When she stopped to really examine these thoughts, when the silence in her apartment was too loud, she felt a little sick to realize how easy it was to slip into that role, how comfortable it felt to become this violent, detached...thing.

She felt her stomach twist now. She had Guerrero in her sights. He was a threat to Weller...well, to the team, but killing him wouldn't change the danger that Weller and Zapata currently faced. She could pull the trigger, eliminate this potential threat, but Reade was telling her to take a walk. Fine. She'd stand down...for now.

But everyone needed to be absolutely clear on one thing. Jane turned a steely-eyed gaze to Reade and said in a razor-edged tone, "he's alive."

She started walking, but didn't pull too far ahead. She had to hear immediately if Reade needed backup.

There were millions of things she didn't know and couldn't control, but she couldn't focus that that. She had to complete the mission. She had to protect her team.

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She was feeling slightly optimistic. Her tattoos had led them to a helicopter. A helicopter! As soon as they found Zapata and Weller, they could get the hell out of Draclyn.

There was never any question for Jane that they needed to reunited with their missing teammates before they retreated to safety (and forever crossed Draclyn, Michigan off her list of fantastic vacation destinations to see before she died).

She had to rescue Reade from Guerrero's talk soon. Reade had tried to be more of a buffer since Jane had lost it earlier, but it was taking a toll on the man.

"You blew it." Guerrero taunted. "You had a chance to get out and you came back for your friends."

That didn't even deserve a response. Of course they'd come back. She couldn't understand how people like Guerrero dismissed loyalty like it was nothing.

"Is that what this is about? You never had any friends?" Yeah, there was a dangerous edge creeping into Reade's voice. Time for her to take her turn dealing with this cockroach.

"Think they'd do the same for you?" There was a world of scorn in Guerrero's voice.

"I know they would." Jane didn't even have to think about it. She knew it. Weller - who was still punishing himself for the loss of his friend twenty-five years earlier - had built a team that was a solid and strong as he was. He'd never leave a man behind, and that meant they'd never leave a man behind.

"Oh, really," he scoffed. "You really think you can trust them?" His tone made it clear that he wouldn't, but then, Guerrero probably didn't truly trust anyone. "The F.B.I? They're using you. You're just a map for them to follow," he insisted, as though revealing a profound truth that had somehow escaped her notice.

Of course the F.B.I. was using her. But wasn't she relying on them as well. They were searching for answers for her. More than that, they had given her a purpose - a gift like water to a woman who was crossing a desert. The moment they decided to let her be armed, in the field, following the tattoos to dark and dangerous places that needed the team to come and do good she had received something unspeakably precious.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Because this truth was complicated.

"I know your name's not Jane. I know you don't know what your tattoos mean or who gave them to you. And I know I'm not the only prisoner on this little hike today." The criminal smirked.

Prisoner? His words echoed thoughts that plagued Jane with greater frequency as the days went by. She wasn't exactly a prisoner, but she wasn't free, either. Until she had more of herself back, though, she couldn't see how to change the situation.

"It's over, Guerrero." Jane noticed that Reade was sending worried glances her way. "You can't talk your way out of this one. Sooner or later we all face what we've done."

Before the criminal could reply all hell broke loose. The militia had caught up to them. One of their shots caught Guerrero in the arm and the shock of pain dropped him to the ground. Jane started firing as Reade hauled Guerrero back to his feet so the three of them could make a dash to the station. Once inside, Reade and Jane worked to barricade the doors while Guerrero sagged against the desk. When Jane was finished doing what she could to block the door, she turned her attention to Guerrero's wound. He didn't jerk away, but he did protest, "I told you, you care too much." Since he was on the receiving end of that care, Jane thought that the bastard could be a little more grateful.

"How many of them are out there," she demanded.

"I want to say all of them." Reade complained.

Finished with the makeshift bandage, Jane joined Reade at the windows. Together they took shots as they could, but the odds didn't look good. "Weller and Zapata have been out there a long time." Reade called over to her.

Maybe it was a warning that Jane shouldn't expect to see them again, ever. She didn't bother to respond, and thoughts of Weller and Zapata were driven out of her head when Reade gave a cry of pain. "Reade!" Jane's attention was now divided between shooting and her partner. "Reade!" She demanded again. "Are you all right?"

It was a relief to hear him gasp out, "Ah, I'm good. I'll live. Got me in the plates."

The station was hit by a sudden barrage and Jane had to shift her focus back to picking off the hostiles as they tried to approach the building. She heard
Reade snarkily inquire of Guerrero, "they do know you're in here, right?" That was good. He was hurt, but not bad, not if he could still mouth off.

"They're very enthusiastic," Guerrero defended half-heartedly.

They were getting no where, trying to hold their ground. They were out-manned, out-gunned. It was time to go on the offensive.

"How," Jane yelled over to Reade, "do you feel about holding down the fort?"

"Jane, you can't go back out there," he protested.

Not what she asked, but she explained her thinking. "I can run a flight, cut down the guys with heavy guns." Dangerous yes, but if Jane had to choose between watching the militiamen slowly break through to kill them in the cabin or taking this risk that could save their lives, she knew how she'd gamble. "It's our only shot," she insisted.

"Weller and Zapata aren't coming," he warned, wanting her to know that she wouldn't have more backup than what he could provide from inside.

"They're coming!" Why was everyone so hung up on believing that Weller and Zapata had already met their deaths. Fucking pessimists.

Jane didn't wait for further arguments and started moving the barrel that was blocking the door. It was now or never.

"Jane!" At Reade's shout, Jane looked back at her teammate. He was worried...terrified...for her. "I got your cover," he reassured her. As if that had ever been in doubt. Jane just nodded before slipping out the door.

The force outside was overwhelming, but Jane did not focus on the numbers. All she had to do was take one man out at a time. There was cover that she could use as she did so and the militia appeared to be on the reckless side. She hit first one, then a second man as they left the protection of the trees to try to get a shot off at her. She was able to dash from the cabin to a tree, trying to determine who was next. And one volunteered, thank you very much. Of course, he had her pinned down while she reloaded, and he wasn't holding his fire. Bullets hit the tree that was offering her protection. He must be moving closer. She needed to time things perfectly to get him off her back.

Or, perhaps not. A shot suddenly came from deeper in the woods, but didn't strike near her at all. In fact, the gunfire at her back stopped. Poor aim and death by friendly fire or had back up finally arrived? Jane angled her head to peer off to her left. Zapata and Weller.

Everything clicked back into place for Jane. The creeping sense of suffocation that she had doggedly ignored up to now left her. The next breath she took practically sparkled through her system. She tried to stop her grin, fought it down as best as she could because - really - a shootout was no place for giddiness. At least she stopped the triumphant laughter that simmered in her chest.

Weller. WELLER!

And the team. Of course, the team.

"You okay?" Jane couldn't think of a more welcome sound in that moment than Kurt's voice.

"Yeah," she was probably breathless from the adrenaline pumping through her system because of the fire fight. Probably. "You?"

He didn't give her the words, only a jerk of his head that communicated so much to her. He and Zapata were fine. They had been worried, and the team wasn't out of the woods yet - literally.

The three team members approached the ranger's station. Weller signaled to Zapata to circle around back while he and Jane continued towards the door. "Reade," Weller shouted. "Reade!"

There was a pause before Jane heard Reade answer. "Yeah?" Reade was okay, too. Better and better.

"Guerrero alive?" Kurt wanted verification.

"Well, damn," Reade complained. "I thought you were worried about me for a second. But yeah, he's alive. We're coming out."

"Good," Weller and Jane maintained a vigilant eye on the surrounding wilderness as Reade came out, guiding Guerrero before him.

"Weller!" Zapata called out from around the corner, panic in her voice. Then she appeared in the clutches of a militiaman who - it seemed - had few more brain cells than the others. He had obviously lay in wait for a victim. When Tash had gone around back, he'd ambushed her.

"Drop all your guns," the man ordered, "and give me Guerrero!"

"I can't do that." Weller stated implacably.

"I will kill her, right now!" The unsurprising threat came in return.

"I don't have a shot," Jane murmured to Weller. Her eyes shifted from Tasha and the gunman to Weller, waiting for any chance, any opening to drop the guy before he made good on his threat.

"Neither do I," Kurt muttered back.

"Hand him over, or she gonna die!"

"Just kill her already!" Guerrero ordered his man.

"Shut UP!" Reade snapped. "You're not going anywhere."

"Your best option is to drop that gun." Weller's voice was calm. Steady. He sounded like he could negotiate all day long.

Given his stubborn nature, Jane suspected that he could, too.

"No one else has to die." Kurt assured the man. Even as he said it, a shot rang out. The man dropped and Zapata was free.

It was Sheriff Bolton. He first checked the downed man to make sure that he wasn't still a threat. Turning back to the team, he instructed Weller, "you need to get him out of Draclyn."

"This is NOT what I pay you for!" Guerrero was practically foaming at the mouth. It looked like he had reason to doubt any promise of loyalty - especially the kind that was purchased.

"Too many of us have died today," Bolton retorted. "We're not your militia any more." He stood toe to toe with the criminal. "You took advantage of us. 'You're either with them or against them,'" he said. "Well, we're not with you any more."

"You understand this is all over for you, Sheriff," Weller broke in. Saving Zapata's life wasn't enough to wipe the slate clean. "This place is about to be swarmed with FBI." And Kurt couldn't...or wouldn't do anything to protect the man in any meaningful way.

"I know." Bolton didn't look surprised. "But more men are on their way. I'll hold them off as best I can. You have to leave now." He insisted.

"Like we haven't been trying to do that all day." Zapata sounded a bit rattled.

"We haven't tried the helicopter." Reade suggested. Kurt's confused glance and Zapata's incredulous, "helicopter?" made him smirk slightly. "This way."

They raced through the woods to the helicopter. Everyone, save Weller, climbed aboard. While Weller provided cover, Jane found herself in the middle of her worst nightmare. It was her task, now, to save the team by flying this thing and she didn't have the first damn idea as to how.

"I don't know what to do," she protested, even as she studied the dials, the levers, the buttons.

She tried a few as Reade tried to encourage her. "C'mon, you got us this far. Why else would it be here."

A point, yes, but not specifically helpful.

"They're getting closer," Zapata announced. "They're getting closer!"

"C'mon, Jane." Weller finally chimed in. "If you can fly this thing, take off, NOW!"

"Okay," she breathed. She tried not to think of anything, just to reach out and let muscle memory take over. The rotors started spinning - a beautiful sound. Things started to make more sense in Jane's head. Weller finally hopped on board as the helicopter lifted off the ground. There were gun shots from the militiamen who had finally caught up, and Zapata returned fire.

They flew higher, leaving the enemy on the ground far below. Jane felt the weight of the team's dependence on her steady and shift to a better sense of balance on her shoulders, the creeping panic was receding. Complete the mission. Protect her team. The simple rules centered her again as they flew away from Draclyn.

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Once again, thank you for reading. Since this is a retelling of S1E7, I know it isn't anything extraordinary. I'm hoping that, as I continue to practice writing fiction, I'll slowly ease off of using the crutch relying on episodes.

Kurt is next. His chapter will include the conversation he and Jane have on the plane trip home. Who knows what else I'll include. And...perhaps...I should push myself to write another chapter after that - one that caps the episode, but has more original content than the other chapters.

And, one final note - I hope that you enjoy what I have written. It isn't anything at all, but it does fill the time between new episodes (will I have write - and post - more often during the hiatus? Man, am I dreading not having new episodes!). Everyone has been so kind to encourage me, and I want to offer my sincere thanks. I don't want to let you down...wait a minute! Jane! What have you been teaching me?!