A/N-I wanted to imagine how things could have been if Weller would have tried (and succeeded) to find Jane at the end of season 1. I'm new to the fandom, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This fic goes "off-canon" from the finale of season 1. It will be a multi-part fic. Thanks for giving my story a try. I hope you like it.

I don't own the characters of Blindspot.

Chapter 1

Weller was angry…no, he was furious. It was easy to target a normal enemy, to hate them within appropriate parameters, hunt them down, and turn them over to face justice. Of course, if they'd threatened him or his team or his family, often those enemies died if they weren't willing to be brought to justice. And that was just fine as far as he was concerned.

Then there was Jane. Why did she have to constantly break out of the nice, orderly, understandable categories that it was easy to box people in? Earlier he'd been planning exactly what they were going to do together, alone, late at night. He craved some time with her without so many watchful eyes on them, or guns pointed in their direction. As hard as he'd tried not to anticipate any certain outcome from an after work rendezvous, his mind refused to remain chaste. He kept imagining things progressing just a bit further than they ever had before. His mind kept circling to a kiss on his sofa, the moment when it became clear that she was okay with things getting a little heavier between them. He could already feel himself tugging her shirt away from her body. He could feel the way her bare arm would slide around the back of his neck as her arms encircled him, and he could imagine the weight of her body as she settled on his lap. He kept trying to stop the fantasy right there. After all, he didn't want to rush her. But just the thought of her almost naked torso pressed against him was enough to make him feel a twitch of excitement. He knew how he would react, should things get this far, should a gentle kiss deepen to something more passionate…

He was okay if she didn't want things to go further, he'd convinced himself repeatedly. He never wanted to push her. He wasn't going to fuck this up.

But now it WAS all fucked up, wasn't it?

One day he was trying to think of ways to cling to patient restraint, and the next thing he knew, he was arresting her. A million dreams shattered with the click of the handcuffs. Everything that had been growing and building between them was suddenly decimated. And then she was gone.

That night, he went home, determined to drink away his irritation and pass out in his bed. The first few bourbons led to an ample buzz that he thought would carry him to sleep, but as he lay there, he felt the buzz pass as his body decided he wasn't tired at all. He had a million questions to ask her. He tried to think of the ways she could be innocent just as he could feel his mind condemning her with each thought. He had to see her. He needed her to tell him, in her own voice, exactly what was going on. He needed to hate her or love her, but things were so intense between them that he doubted he could feel anything in between.

He didn't trust the CIA. They clearly didn't want anyone to know where she was going to be held. But he was Kurt Weller, dammit. He knew people. Good people. Shady people. Someone had to know where she was.

He got up and, with irritated determination, he got dressed. He was going to find her no matter where she was.

After two months, of searching, interrogating and threatening anyone who he thought might be able to give him any sort of clue, he was no closer to finding her. And then he found one single lead. He embarked on this quest alone, secretly. Zapata, Reade and Patterson were still angry. They'd let Jane in, trusted her, and she'd betrayed that trust. Weller wondered if she knew how hard it was for such a cohesive team to let someone new into the fold.

He was hurt, too, and angry. He was angry at her for betraying him and lying. He was angry at himself for letting her in. After all, deep inside, he knew exactly how he'd felt about her before everything went bad, even if he wasn't about to admit that even to himself. He wondered if she'd tricked him, or if those looks, her kiss, that adoring smile that cut right through his defenses, was all part of a game. She couldn't have fooled him, could she? He was trained. He should have been able to tell if he'd been played.

Jane had been through absolute hell. She had pulled on all of the training she could remember to survive. And she'd told her tormenters absolutely nothing. They had tried to shock, drown, cut, starve and beat the truth out of her, but she wasn't about to allow them to break her.

When she'd first been taken, she was so angry. She knew her team would be upset, but they'd never even allowed her to explain. She never thought Weller would hand her over so easily, without even a few minutes to talk to him. After all, she knew she'd made mistakes, but she really had wanted to protect him…all of them. They had become her family.

She hadn't thought about any of her old team for days. Or maybe it had been hours or minutes or weeks. She couldn't even tell any more. She'd drawn into herself, turning off her emotions and sensations. She couldn't think about them. She couldn't wonder about why they'd given up on her so easily. Knowing that Weller handed her over hurt more than the electric shock that was coursing through her body. She was systematically shutting down, turning reality into a dream. Her only sharp thoughts focused on watchful waiting. She was going to find a way out of there. It was all a matter of biding her time.

She was hanging there, again, as she carefully dissociated from her body. The pain was a distant echo. She wasn't sure how long her body could hold out, but inside, Jane, or whatever her name was, was slowly shriveling away behind the protective wall. She knew, vaguely, that her shoulders had both dislocated while she was hanging. She ignored bruised or broken ribs on one side, blistered burns from electric shocks and bruises that covered her body so thoroughly that they rivaled her tattoos for coverage.

She remembered bits and pieces of the training that had allowed her to sustain such thorough, constant torture, but clearly she'd been so well trained that her body automatically knew what to do. There was an interruption in her autopilot functioning as she heard a commotion and saw some of her captors turn their attention to something else. She felt the next blow as a fist smashed into her ribs and the pain flashed through her defenses and coursed through her nerves. She opened her eyes just in time to see a bullet pierce his skull as his body slumped to the ground.

Jane refocused, returning to her inward training and ignoring the pain, looking for her opportunity to escape. It was going to come. It had to. She froze when she heard that gravelly voice question, "Jane, are you alright?"

She tried to turn but her restraints made it difficult, so she waited until he came in to sight. Maybe it was a dream, but it sure as hell looked like Weller standing before her. She saw how his expression changed as he looked at her, realizing the full extent of the hell she'd endured. He looked around the room, the reality of her life crashing in on him. His voice cracked for just a moment as he said, "We don't have much time. We need to get out of here."

She nodded, still unable to answer. She was, even at that moment, largely emotionless. She looked up at her hands and the restraints that held them.

"We don't have a choice," he added. "We need to trust each other. Face it, we're both on their shitlist now. You wouldn't believe what it took for me to get here. Whatever we need to work out will have to wait. Don't make me regret this. If we both want to get out of here alive, we're going to need to work together."

She nodded, knowing that the first step to freedom was to get out of that hellhole. She could worry about how to get away from Weller later. He released her to the floor, dropping her even though he tried not to cause more damage. She stood, freed from the ceiling, but with her hands still shackled together, and immediately she saw one of the guards charging at Weller. She spun around, her muscle memory kicking in as she dispatched of the attacker. Weller nodded his thanks, obviously pleased that she'd chosen not to attack him.

"There's a van waiting for us," he whispered, gesturing for her to follow him.

She hadn't seen daylight since she'd arrived, and it was so overwhelmingly bright that pain thudded through her brain when she stepped into a garage. She and Weller quickly overtook everyone they found in the garage before she followed him out. They were surrounded by woods, the only road leading out was dirt and stone. A black van down the road looked like their salvation…she just wanted to get in and drive as far away from that place as possible, no matter who she was with. As an explosion rocked the vehicle, flipping it into the air and consuming it in white-hot flames, her hopes were crushed.

"Dammit," Weller yelled, pulling her into the forest to find their escape.

They got as far as they could as quickly as they could, because it wouldn't be long before someone was investigating. "Stop here," Weller ordered as they dropped into a ditch carved by a creek that was thinly babbling behind them. "Can you keep going?" he asked roughly, noting her wary condition.

She stared for a while longer. It had been so long since she'd used her voice, she wondered if she still knew how. Finally, feeling tears welling, she said, "How could you turn me over to them to be tortured? Do you have any idea what-"

"I didn't turn you over," he immediately interrupted. "No matter what happened, I would never do that to you."

"You arrested me."

"Not to be tortured," he answered. "I didn't know they were going to take you, but it's my job to protect this country. And after all of the lies…"

"I was trying to protect you," she argued. "I was trapped. I was put in an impossible situation and-"

"You could have come to me with the truth," he interrupted again. Somberly restating, "You always could have come to me."

"They threatened you," she said. "I had to do what they wanted, or they would have killed you."

Their eyes burned into each other with pain, confusion and sadness, the sun quickly setting on the horizon. He shook his head, "I don't know what to believe. But until I do, I'm not taking any chances." Her hands were still shackled together, but he took another pair of handcuffs, cuffing her one wrist to his. "We have to keep moving."

He took a few steps and she called out in pain. Her defenses were disappearing as she started to come back out of her self-induced protective fog. Weller looked at her, trying to assess the problem. He stared at her shoulders and said, "Hold still."

He reached out toward her, quickly popping one dislocated shoulder back into place and then the other. "Thanks," she replied, struggling to get the words to emerge.

"Don't screw me over, Jane," he warned.

"I'm not going back," she argued.

"First things first," he countered, "We need to find some supplies and a way out of here."

They made their way to higher ground, hoping for a vantage point that would allow them to see.

"Where are we?" Jane asked.

"West Coast," Weller replied.

"That's pretty general," Jane answered, a little winded. "You're not going to tell me?"

"That's all I know."

"How did you find me if you don't even know where we are?"

"You weren't exactly easy to find. The people who brought me to you had me blindfolded. I couldn't hear, I couldn't see."

She pulled on the handcuffs that joined them until they were facing each other. "Thank you," she said somberly, looking him straight in the eye and nodding slightly to emphasize her point.

He nodded back, only slightly moving his head. "You're welcome," he replied. Then his mood darkened, "I don't think you deserved torture, but you do need to face justice. Everything is not fine here."

"I know. I know it's not. For either of us. But you have to believe I was trying to protect you. We can argue about this later. Let's figure out where we're going. Do you have your phone?"

"No. And if I did, I certainly wouldn't turn it on. We can't risk being found right now."

"Zapata or Reade? They must be looking for you."

"They aren't. I took some time off. I'm supposed to be sitting on a beach in Miami."

"Surely they don't believe that."

"They probably don't, but I don't think they were ready to forgive and forget what you did, so I kept the details of this little mission to myself."

"Who knows you're here?"

"The people who were in that van. I doubt anyone survived that explosion. We're on our own."

"Let's move," she answered.

He could see the pain she was in as they moved and it still hurt him to imagine her suffering. He said, "If you break my trust now, there will never be any going back. Is that perfectly clear?"

"That goes both ways," she answered.

He sighed, but quickly picked the lock on the handcuffs that the CIA had put on her, leaving only one cuff, the one that was attached to his wrist, and they continued on their way for what felt like hours.

They both saw it at the same time, just as thick drops of rain began to slap the ground. About a half mile further, there was a house. The place was large and sturdy, a home, built of heavy logs with large windows across the front to allow the occupants to enjoy the mountain and trees that surrounded them. At exactly the same time, lights came on at different places throughout the house.

"They're on a timer," Jane noted.

"Possibly a vacation home," Weller responded.

"How do we know when they're returning?"

"We don't. He grabbed a pair of binoculars from his gear and turned his attention to the detached garage. It was nearly as big as the house. "Let's check out the garage. A roof is better than no roof. From there, we can regroup."

The two took off for the garage, careful to avoid motion detector lights. There were obviously several security features on the main house, but the garage was relatively unprotected. Once inside, they noticed a large empty bay, probably for a boat or camper. One far end of the garage had camping supplies neatly organized on shelves and several canned goods. Even the thought of food made Jane's mouth water.

Weller pointed his sidearm to a set of stairs that led to a second floor, motioning for Jane to follow behind him…not that she had much choice because they were still cuffed together.

They crept and quietly as possible to a locked door on the second floor. Jane dropped down, taking the pick from Weller so he could cover them with his gun if needed. Once they looked inside, there was a full apartment. It was sparsely furnished, with a futon, small refrigerator and microwave, television and bathroom. "Doesn't look like anyone's been living here for a while," Jane noted.

"Probably a guest suite or in-law space," Weller answered, feeling a thick layer of dust on top of the microwave.

"This looks good for the night," she said.

All of the blinds were closed, which gave them some cover, but they were careful not to turn on too many lights or call attention to their location. Quickly gathering cans of food, bottles of water and a few lanterns from the garage below, they settled in. They used lanterns instead of the brighter overhead lights just in case someone would pass by or come to occupy the main house. Weller knew she must be starving. He wondered when they'd last fed her, and doubted it was anything palatable. They'd agreed, hesitantly, to remove the handcuffs while they ate. They both knew, they had a much better chance of survival together.

He heated food in the microwave, watching while Jane practically inhaled two large bottles of water. She knelt on the ground, sitting on her feet, her hands folded on her lap. She just stared at nothing in particular. It seemed like part of her was still trapped in that cell. "You okay?" he asked, worriedly. Even if she wasn't Taylor Shaw, he couldn't shut down the protective instinct he always seemed to feel for her.

She nodded, not even looking up, as he handed her a paper cup filled with soup. She hurriedly tipped it into her mouth, drinking the contents in a matter of moments. Then something seemed to pull her out of her daze. "You're bleeding," she said, pointing at his leg and then at his torso.

"They really didn't want anyone getting to you," he commented, finishing his own dinner.

"You better clean that up," she suggested.

He tilted his head and shook it, "You want me to leave you alone here and give you time to ditch me."

"No," she answered with thick frustration. "I'm going to prove it all to you. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm loyal to you. "

Weller didn't disagree, but was still hesitant. "Come on," she said, standing and walking to the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, she turned on the lights in the small, tight bathroom. Then she could see the extent of his injuries. His leg was bleeding where it looked like he'd caught some wire or a knife. Something had cut through his jacket and shirt and hit his torso. His cheekbone was darkening as a bruise formed and his hands were rough and bloodied at the knuckles. A small first aid kit was under the sink. Weller had snatched a six pack of cheap beer from the small fridge before he joined her. He took one for himself and handed one to her. It was tepid since the fridge wasn't very cold, but he didn't care. Jane took a few sips and then said, "Get that shirt off."

Weller dropped his jacket and torn shirt into the sink, looking down at his side to check the damage. It was probably a bullet wound, judging by the combination of burnt skin and open flesh. Fortunately it had only skimmed him, but it was still bleeding. Jane gingerly pushed him back so he was leaning against the sink. She cleaned his wound as best as she could with their limited supplies. From the kit, she grabbed a few butterfly sutures and antibiotic spray and patched him up as he sipped a second beer. Things had changed so much. Not too long ago, he was imagining her fingers moving over his body, but he certainly hadn't hoped she'd be patching a bullet graze. This was the closest they'd been in so long, and they could barely trust each other. As angry as he was, as hurt and betrayed, the thing that really stabbed at him the most was how much he still loved her. He shoved those feelings down, knowing that patching up this relationship, for lack of a better word, with Jane was the absolute least of his problems.

She grabbed his belt and tugged, watching Weller's eyes open a little wider at her actions. Of course he didn't even bother to argue. He knew she wasn't looking for sex right now, and even if she was, she definitely didn't want him. Besides, she could easily argue that her naked body had been displayed all over the offices they had once shared, so this certainly wasn't a big deal. Still, even hurt and exhausted, there was a warm hum that spread through him when she shoved his pants down to the floor.

She tended to his leg wounds, slices along his ankles and thigh, as he stood there in his boxers, sipping his beer and trying not to look down at the way she knelt before him, caring for his wounds. When she finished and stood, he grumbled, "Let me see that," as he pulled his tattered up pants off the floor and put them back on.

She shook her head, but he already took her hand in his. His calloused fingertips carefully brushed her palm while he held her hand, looking at the angry marks left around her wrists. He carefully bathed her wrists, blistered and abraded after the torture she'd endured, in cool water and antiseptic. She was amazed that someone so rough could have such a tender touch. He reached for the bottom of her shirt, waiting for her to agree to remove it. She tried to do it, wincing as pain rushed through her shoulders, so he carefully helped remove it. She dropped the plain prisoner's shirt and pants in the small garbage can. "I don't ever want to wear those again," she explained, standing there in the institutional underwear she'd been given in captivity.

He rubbed some cream on the burn marks he found on her body from electric shocks. There were too many cuts and bruises to count. He'd never wanted to protect someone and hunt them down at the same time as much as he did Jane. Of course everything about her pulled him in different directions. She was too numb to feel much of anything.

They turned out the lights in the bathroom before going back out into the main room. They both looked out the windows, making sure no one was in the main house and that they were still safe.

"Are we going to take turns sleeping?" she asked.

"You go first," he replied.

She settled on the futon while he took a spot in a chair, gun in hand, and leaned back, keeping careful watch.

He watched as exhaustion took her into a deep, unavoidable sleep. She dreamed, obviously remembering unpleasant things, and he wondered how she was still alive after all she'd been through. He wondered how she could be the toughest and most vulnerable woman he'd ever known. Strangely, being with her, even in a situation like that, felt so much better than how life had felt without her.