A/N: Thank you to the anon on tumblr that sent the prompt, Jane/Oscar + "Why are you laughing?" Sorry for the delay, and I hope you like this if you're still around! :)

They're nearly naked when the knocking starts at the front door. On principle, Jane ignores it, shoving the distracting sound to the back part of her brain. Usually she would rush to answer the door—rarely do people come and visit her at her safe house unless it's for an emergency—but tonight, she can't even fathom leaving the room she's currently in, or the person she's currently with. She tightens her hold around Oscar's shoulders, pulling him close as he finishes kicking off his jeans and their bodies press together again.

She closes her eyes, lifting one hand from his back to cup his neck and run her fingers through his hair. She can't stop touching him, can't stop kissing him. She hasn't seen him in two weeks, and though she never really considered that a long period of time before, it seemed nearly endless when she was across the country, and apart from him. The last tattoo case she and the team had been on had taken them out of town, first to Arizona, then to California, then finally to Washington state, as they hunted down four runaway suspects linked to one of the images inked onto her body. The case had eventually been successful, and they'd landed back in New York City earlier this morning, but they hadn't been free to go. While they had, in the end, managed to corral their suspects and bring them in for questioning, they'd apparently done it at a cost and a time frame unacceptable to Bureau standards or budget. Each of them had to spend all day at the Bureau, going over expenses, and learning what should and shouldn't be considered billable come the next cross-country jaunt—if they are allowed another one, that is. At nine PM, Mayfair finally found some mercy and let them go, and Jane ran straight here.

There are few moments in her new life that Jane can look back on with pure happiness, but that one: arriving home after weeks away and finding Oscar sitting in her kitchen, waiting for her, certainly made the list. Topped the list. He'd hardly been able to say hello by the time she grabbed his hand and dragged him back into her bedroom.

And now here they are, finally reuniting after weeks of being apart, and she isn't going to let some incessant knocking on the door stop her. Whoever it is, whatever they want, it can't be more important than this. She steps forward into him, making him step back, again and again, until the backs of his legs hit the side of her bed and he sits down. She follows after him, placing her bent knees on either side of his body as she settles on top of him, smiling as she feels his hands ride up the curve of her bare back.

The knocking continues, louder and faster now, the impatient fists on the wood doubled, it sounds like, but she ignores them still. She can feel his fingers grasping at the clasps of her bra, working them free.

"You should probably get that," he mumbles when they break apart for a second, so she can throw her bra off.

"Or I should probably ignore it," she replies, taking his face in her hands again and kissing him so fiercely he falls back onto the mattress. He laughs as the air leaves his lungs, and pulls her close. She can hear him sigh softly as her bare chest presses down against his, and she smiles, pulling away and slowing in her near-assault of him for a moment.

"Whoever's at the door doesn't matter," she whispers, hovering over him. "Because I'd rather be here with you. Okay?"

He smiles, reaching a hand up to stroke her cheek. "Okay," he replies.

She lies still above him as he leans up to kiss her, and she closes her eyes, sighing softly herself now, as he tangles a gentle hand in her hair, and pulls her down to his level. She's sinking down into him, having completely forgotten about the knocking at the door under the influence of his touch, his smile, his presence—until a voice screams through the wood and ruins the illusion of peace and privacy.

"Doe, I swear to God, if you don't open this damn door, I'm going to break it down! And then it'll just be another thing you have to explain to Mayfair when she reviews the budgets!"

Jane groans, hanging her head down until it hits Oscar's chest. The voice is recognizable at once—it's Tasha, of course. Who else would be so loud and determined? Jane knows without hearing another threat that she won't be denied. Tasha really will break down her door if she doesn't go and answer it. And that will be another thing she has to explain to Mayfair, given that the Bureau still pays for her home.

"Told you you should get that," Oscar murmurs, laughing softly as she repeatedly knocks her head against his sternum.

"JANE!" Tasha yells from the front of the house, with a few good slams against the door that actually make it creak. "I know you're in there, I can see lights on! Don't ignore me!"

Oscar squeezes her sides. "Go on," he encourages with a chuckle. He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "She doesn't sound like she's gonna be denied."

"Oh, she's going to be denied, all right," Jane mutters darkly, pushing herself up off of him and onto her feet. "She's going to absolutely be denied. Whatever she wants—" Jane scowls, yanking open the top drawer of her dresser to pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top to cover her nakedness. "She sure as hell isn't getting it."

Oscar laughs from the bed, propping his head up with a pillow as he watches her dress. She glances in the mirror, tucking her hair behind her ears and checking her face before looking back at him. She's flushed, but she doesn't look too bad.

"You'll be here?" she checks. It's stupid, this instinct to make sure he won't go; she knows now that he will stay. But still, she needs to be sure. She's waited too long for this—and not just for this night, but for him. She doesn't want him disappearing the way he used to.

"Hey." A lazy grin spreads across his face. "Where else in the world would I go?"

She smiles. "Be right back," she promises, moving to the door. "Don't move, okay?"

"Not a muscle." He holds up two fingers, "Scout's honor. Just hurry back."

Jane nods, pushing the door open. "Tasha will be gone in two seconds, I swear. Then I'm all yours."

"Can't wait."

She slips out then, pulling her bedroom door firmly shut behind her, before making her way towards the sound of what sounds like a jackhammer attempting to break through her door.

"Calm down, Tasha," Jane calls, "I'm coming."

There's a too-audible groan of relief from the other side of the door, and for a second, Jane thinks about not opening it at all, just to spite Tasha. She thinks of going back to her bedroom, back to Oscar who she hasn't seen in two weeks, back to what they were about to do... But she knows Tasha doesn't make threats lightly. She will break down the door. And given the headway she's already made, she probably won't have much trouble finishing the job, either.

"Tasha, what the hell do you—?" Jane breaks off when she notices the agent isn't alone. Patterson's by her side. "What do you guys want?" she asks blankly, looking from one to the other. "It's after nine—"

"Yeah, it's after nine, it's not bedtime!" Patterson interrupts, scandalized. She points at Jane's clothes, sputtering, "What the heck is wrong with you? How old are you? It's not even 10 PM on a Friday and you're already in your pajamas?!"

"I'm tired," Jane mutters, doing her best to act it. "That trip wiped me out." She forces a yawn that, once she thinks the word "yawn," isn't quite so fake anymore. "Now what do you guys want?" she demands once she had breath.

"We want to go out," Tasha replies. "And you—you're coming with us, grandma."

"No, Tasha, I can't—" Jane tries to protest, but Tasha simply pushes straight past her, shoving her way into the apartment.

"Hey!" Jane calls indignantly when Patterson follows after, smiling as if this is a game. "You can't just storm into my place like this—"

"Why not?" Patterson asks lightly. "We're your friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Tasha adds, drawing the word out with nowhere near as much sincerity as Patterson did as she mimics, "we're your friends, right?"

Jane purses her lips and swallows back her groan of annoyance. She knows that isn't the way to get Tasha and Patterson out of here. If she picks a fight, she'll get a fight. Better to be quiet and passive for once. Better to bore them into leaving.

"Look," Jane begins as calmly as she can, "it's not that I don't want to hang out with you guys. Of course I do, and I appreciate you coming by. But it's just that, right now I'm really busy with—"

"Busy?" Tasha interrupts with a pointed raise of her eyebrows. "I thought you said you were tired."

"I—I'm tired because I'm busy," Jane snaps, her cool quickly evaporating. "Okay? Look, I've been—" She tries for the quickest, easiest lie. The one that will get them out of the door fastest, with the least questions. "I've been doing work since I got back from the office, all right? Mayfair called just after I left, she had these documents that needed translating—"

"Yeah, yeah, and the Bureau's new Rosetta Stone just had to take a look." Tasha waves a hand. "Screw work. You've been working non-stop, all day every day, for the last two weeks, just like the rest of us. You can take a few hours off; you can have a few drinks with us."

"Yeah, come on," Patterson jumps in, bright and encouraging as ever. "After this last case, after today, I think we all deserve a few drinks—maybe more than a few drinks, actually."

"Guys, really, all I want to do is go to bed. I won't be fun right now; I just need to sleep. Maybe next weekend?" Jane is pleading now, but she hardly cares. She'll do anything to get Patterson and Tasha out of here. It doesn't matter if they label her as no fun; it doesn't matter if they tease her about this for weeks to come. She needs them gone.

And for a second, it looks like it's going to work. Tasha stares at her, and Jane watches, hope surging, as a frown pulls half of her mouth down. She's going to do it, Jane thinks, doing her best not to smile herself. She's actually going to leave...

"No dice, Doe," Tasha says abruptly. "You're coming out tonight, and you're coming out next weekend. No more staying in," she declares. "You haven't gone out with us in nearly two months; I'm sick of you being a shut in. Now let Patterson clean you up, and I'll find you something to wear."

"No!" Jane yells after her, surging forward when she realizes Tasha is heading straight for her bedroom. "Tasha, stop, don't—"

She starts to reach over her, but Patterson grabs her arm, and pulls her into a hug that's more like a suffocation maneuver, all but dragging her towards the bathroom off the kitchen, muttering about needing to do something with her hair. Jane twists, trying to see down the hall as she yells after Tasha to leave it alone, that she'll get her own clothes, that she'll do whatever Tasha wants so long as—

A burst of laughter from the other side of the apartment cuts through Jane's shouts. It is so unbridled and so unlike Tasha and yet, somehow, just like Tasha, and all at once, Jane gives up, shutting her eyes, knowing it's both all over now and—if Tasha's bulldog stubbornness is to be relied upon—also far from over. Tasha will feed off this one for months. Jane sends up a silent prayer that someday, hopefully, Oscar will forgive her for this.

"Why are you laughing?" Patterson calls, sticking her head out of the bathroom door, never one to enjoy being left out of the fun. "What's so funny, Tash?"

When Tasha doesn't immediately respond, and just keeps laughing—they can even hear her clapping her hands now with exaggerated slowness, as if this is the funniest thing she's seen in years—Patterson steps out of the bathroom and heads down the hall herself. Jane closes her eyes, burying her face in her hands. She knows what Tasha is laughing about; she knows what Patterson will soon see, too. And she knows that she should go and save Oscar from this humiliation-cum-torture, but she also doesn't much feel like subjecting herself to the same.

"Jane!" Tasha yells, just as a startled Oh!—uh, hello, can be heard jumping from Patterson's lips. "Care to come out here and explain the half-naked man in your bedroom?"

"More like two-thirds naked," Patterson adds, giggling. "Three-fourths."

"Does he happen to be that aforementioned pile of documents you're supposed to be translating, Jane? Tell me, what language does he speak? Can he understand—"

"I speak English," Oscar interrupts calmly, and that's enough—Jane yanks open the bathroom door and heads out into the hall. She can't subject him to this; she can't leave him alone to be ridiculed by her so-called friends.

"All right," Jane calls, pushing between Tasha and Patterson, who are both currently crowded in her bedroom's doorway so close that she can't see over them. "Leave him alone." When they don't even move back, or so much as blink, Jane shoves at their shoulders, and snaps her fingers in front of their eyes. "Hey! He's not a zoo animal. Stop staring. Get out!" she yells when neither of them move. "Let him put some clothes on."

"Why?" Patterson and Tasha ask at the same time, peering over Jane's shoulder to get a better look at him, neither of them moving to step back.

"Because I said so," Jane orders, shoving them back forcefully with both hands and then yanking on the door to shut it in their faces.

"This doesn't change anything, you know!" Patterson calls through the door. "You're still coming out with us for drinks!"

"Yeah," Tasha adds, with a sharp thump against the bottom part of door that might very well be a kick. "You don't get out of it that easy! Naked man in your bed or no, you're coming with us! And now you've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do!"

Jane shuts her eyes, bracing herself against the door. She hasn't yet looked Oscar in the face and she isn't sure if she can. She can't begin to imagine how to explain this to him, let alone apologize for it.

"But—well—we can wait a bit before we go," Patterson adds, raising her voice to be heard through the wood. "If you guys need to, uh, you know…" She trails off, dissolving into laughter again.

"If you two need to finish, is what this tenth-grader is trying to say," Tasha butts in, blunt as ever. "And yeah, fine," she allows a moment later. "I guess we can give you a few minutes. But you're coming out the front door with us, Jane, got it? No sneaking out the back window."

"I don't need a few minutes," Jane snaps back, knowing there's no point in putting this off. They won't leave until she leaves with them. "I'll be there in two seconds, just wait by the front door."

"Damn, two seconds, really?" Tasha whistles. "You two are fast."

"Tasha. Wait by the front door."

"Fine, fine."

Jane holds herself still, not daring to relax until she hears both pairs of feet step away, and then hears Patterson and Tasha's conversation pick up again, somewhat muffled, on the far side of the apartment. Only then does she let out a sigh of relief, open her eyes—and come face-to-face with Oscar, still sitting on the edge of her bed in nothing but his underwear.

"So," he says, and his voice is just as teasing as Tasha's that Jane almost runs out and shuts the door in his face, too. "I guess whatever cover we had is blown now, huh?"

She sighs again, letting the exhale deflate her body as she sinks the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispers, staring at her bare knees. She digs her thumbnail into the curves of one of the tattoos inked there, following the curves of the topographical map so she won't have to look at him just yet. "This is not how I wanted this to happen."

"Oh, yeah, I figured as much."

Oscar's voice is still buoyant, and it makes Jane look up. She stops and stares for a second. He's actually smiling. A real smile; she knows his fake smile. Why is he smiling?

"You're not... Wait, why aren't you mad at me?" she wonders incredulously.

"Mad?" He frowns. "Why would I be mad at you, Jane?"

"Uh, because my friends just walked in on you basically naked? Because now two people who work at the Federal Bureau of Investigation know your face? Because—"

"Yeah, but it's not like you did any of that on purpose," he interrupts, leaning forward. "You didn't ask them to come over."

"But they still came! They still saw you, they still barged in; now they know what you look like and—"

"I don't really care about any of that."

"You don't care—?" For a second, Jane doesn't even know what to say. She doesn't know what to think. She pushes herself up off the ground and walks over to sit beside him on the bed. It is not like him, the ever-careful one, not to care about these sorts of things. It is not like him not to evaluate risk and constantly adjust himself to it. "What's going on?" she asks quietly. Something must've changed, she thinks. She was gone away two weeks—and it wasn't like they'd exactly made talking a priority since she'd returned home. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

He shrugs at her side. She watches as he looks to the ceiling, looks to the floor. Blows out a short breath and draws in a new, deep one. She's well-versed in his particular brand of thinking. She knows to give him his time, and not to interrupt. He'll find a way with words, eventually. And she will find a way to understand.

"Maybe…" He reaches over for her hand and clasps it lightly in his. There's something nervous about the way his thumb caresses hers. "Look, maybe I've gotten a little tired of hiding in the dark. Maybe I don't mind people knowing about us anymore. Maybe… Maybe I want them to know."

She can feel her heart beating a little faster, in both fear and anticipation. They've had this conversation at least twenty times in the last few months. She has always been unsure either way, but he has always been firmly on the Let's keep it quiet side of the aisle.

"For weeks, you've been saying that's too dangerous," she reminds him. "You've been saying that we shouldn't be seen together, not by the FBI, not by the people in your group. For God's sake, Oscar, you cover your head when you come and visit me."

He nods. "Yeah, I know. That's because it is dangerous. So it's stupid of me, to want to bring it out into the open. Very stupid. But..." He turns to look at her. "I still want it. I still want..." He doesn't know how to put it into words that make sense. He doesn't even know what he's feeling, exactly. He doesn't know how things are both so simple and so confusing with her her, even this second time around. Shouldn't everything make sense by now? Shouldn't it be easy? In lieu of a proper explanation, he simply tightens his hand around hers and looks down.

She squeezes back, a little scared but also kind of exhilarated. This is different, very different. It could potentially be life-changing, for the good or for the bad, if they decide to go through with it. "You want people to know we're together?" she asks. "You actually want that?"

His eyes remain downcast. "I'm being selfish, I know," he whispers, barely answering her question.

She shakes her head. "You're not," she whispers back.

He smiles briefly. "You're being too kind. Like usual."

"No," she disagrees. "I'm not being kind. And you're not being selfish; that would require you to have only your own desires in mind. But I want people to know, too. And it's not selfish if what you want is what I want."

He glances up at her, disbelieving for a second before the hope overrides it. "Yeah?" he asks. He's a little breathless and it makes her smile.

"Yeah," she confirms. She bends forward, holding his anxious eye until their lips meet. Her eyes fall closed the second they touch, and she lifts her free hand, cradling the back of his head as she turns more fully towards him.

She has privately wanted this for a while—has wanted them to come out of the shadows—but she hasn't known exactly how to ask him, or how to go about doing it practically. It isn't like there's an easy way to explain how they met, or how they know so much about each other. And he's been rather frank with her, in recent weeks, about the the fissures that are apparently cracking through his group, and she hasn't wanted to add any more pressure to that. She knows even him being with her, especially physically like this, is pressure in its own way. He enjoys it, yes, and he wouldn't stop meeting with her unless she asked, but she knows it isn't always easy for him. And then on top of all that, add her friends barging in, two federal agents seeing his face…

She doesn't exactly know why he's risking so much with her, but she can say she appreciates it. Even after two weeks apart, the both of them on different sides of the continent, he still sometimes feels like the realest part of her new life. He's the one anchor between past and present that she can cling to—and not only that, but he's the one person she doesn't have to pretend around. She doesn't have to be the lost-and-found Taylor; she doesn't have the be the amnesiac with no memories; she doesn't have to be a killing machine or a human translation device; she can just be Jane and, somehow, he actually likes her being just Jane.

Reluctantly, she pulls away when she feels him start to press closer. She ducks her forehead against his, separating their mouths and breaking their kiss.

"I should go," she whispers. "Before Tasha and Patterson barge back in here."

"Eh, what's the harm? They've basically already seen it all."

She laughs lightly, and wraps her arms around the back of his neck. She hugs him tight for a short moment.

"I really wanted to spend tonight with you," she whispers into his ear, half an apology, half a whine.

"I know. Me too." His hands move to cup her back, skimming beneath the fabric of her tank top. "But it's okay. Go out with them for a couple hours, have fun. I can wait here, if you want," he adds, and she cheers a bit at the thought. It's only happened a handful of times now, but she has discovered that she truly does love coming home to find him already here. Part of her very much wishes he would just stay here with her permanently.

"That'd be nice," she whispers. She shifts a little closer. "Really nice."

He murmurs an agreement, and for a second they hold one another in silence before he finally pulls back. He mutters something about her having to get dressed, and she nods with a tired sigh, forcing herself to her feet. She looks at her discarded clothes, the ones he helped her out of earlier, with a wistfulness she almost gives in to. But she pushes it back, and instead of picking them up, she leaves them on the floor, a testament to things unfinished. She rummages in her dresser drawers for a new pair of dark jeans, a bra, and a plaid button-down. When she turns around after getting dressed, she finds he's dressed, too.

"Want me to walk you to the door?" he suggests.

Jane smiles a little at the kindness, but shakes her head. "Don't bother. Tasha will just be rude to you. Or crude. Probably both."

"I think I can handle Tasha," he replies dryly. He holds out his hand in the empty space between them. "And I want to," he says quietly. "Jane, I don't want to just be the naked guy hiding out in your bedroom to them."

Remembering his confession earlier about being sick of hiding in the dark, she nods, and takes the hand he offers. His touch is warm and familiar around hers, and she finds comfort in it as they head down the hall to face Tasha and Patterson. Circumstances could be a lot better, she knows. But they could also be a lot worse. Whatever they are, though, she's glad he's here to face them with her.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I wrote this thing for pure fun, so I'm not sure how far I'll go with it, but I've got a couple more chapters in the works at least. :) If you have thoughts, I'd love to hear 'em! Again, thank you for reading!