Author's Note: Hello! I cope with finale-induced angst by writing fics that reassure me that everything is going to be okay. It's like an exorcism, but with more typing. I firmly believe that our team will make it out of this & will clear their names in S5, and I refuse to consider any other outcomes!

Jane couldn't remember the last time she'd slept, but she couldn't close her eyes any more than she could let go of Kurt's hand. If she did, if she let him go, just for an instant, he could be gone again, just as she'd thought when the shack had blown up.

The time between that moment and the arrival of Vala in an SUV, to tell her that the team had escaped into the tunnels beneath the shack, could have been minutes or years. All she knew was that her whole world had ended, and then abruptly lurched back into existence with Vala's hand yanking on her numb arm.

Events after that blurred together in her mind. Patterson had made it out to the other end of the tunnel, but the portion directly beneath the house had collapsed. She and Jane had rushed into the confined space to find Tasha, frantically digging in the rubble with her bare hands. Jane had joined her. And then more men had arrived, shoving Tasha and Jane to the side, to dig with shovels and lift larger chunks with crowbars.

They'd pulled Kurt and then Reade from the rubble. Both of them breathing. Kurt had opened his eyes, looked first confused and then frantic until she'd bent over him. And Jane allowed herself to breathe again, too.

Vala had also called a medic. Kurt had numerous scrapes and burns, more serious burns across his back and shoulder, a vicious cut on his head that bled copiously, and several broken ribs. The medic—she'd forgotten his name—had cautioned her that he might have internal injuries, but without x-rays, he couldn't be sure. Reade was worse. His left arm was broken in at least two places, he had burns across his back, a deep gash on his thigh that had required numerous stitches to close, and had taken a serious blow to his head. He had yet to regain consciousness.

Tasha sat in the chair beside Jane, her posture a mirror image of Jane's as she bent over Reade. She was clutching Reade's hand as though he was the sole tether that held her to the earth. Tasha had washed her face and hands, but her clothing was still filthy from the dirt in the tunnel, and her fingernails were raw and bleeding from her frantic battle with the rubble.

The door to the safe house opened, and Patterson entered. She'd cleaned up and wore fresh clothing. "New plan. We'll take a different boat, in two days. But it will take us four hours to drive to the cove where we meet it." Her worried blue eyes skimmed over Reade and Kurt, prone in their cots.

They were all counting the minutes. If they didn't wake, if their injuries were more serious than they appeared, they would have to take Reade and Kurt to the hospital, and they'd all face a life in prison. Or they abandoned them, left Vala and her cohorts to transport them, and might never see them again. But if they didn't, both men could die. What was the price of freedom?

Jane nodded to Patterson, but her gaze returned to Kurt. He lay on his stomach, so there was no pressure on the dressings over the burns on his back and shoulder. His broken ribs had been wrapped to try to immobilize them. He should have awakened by now. Was the wound to his head more serious than the medic had thought? Had he had enough air to breathe, buried in the rubble as he'd been? The specter of brain damage loomed in her mind, but she pushed it away. They'd had nothing to give him for pain, so perhaps his body was seeking simply seeking refuge from his injuries.

She pressed her lips to the back of his hand, clasped tightly between her own. His skin was warm beneath her lips, and she clung to that. He was warm, he was alive. He would be all right.

Patterson had been the one to tell her what had happened. Weitz had called them, and Ice Cream had answered. He'd sent messages to their phones, but there had been no time to respond. Kurt had hesitated, wanting to make sure she was okay. Tasha had grabbed his arm, yanked him into the tunnel, Reade pushing him from behind. They'd barely made it in before the drone strike had hit.

Jane had found her phone in her pocket, blinking with the message. The ringer had been turned off when she'd been given the phone, and she'd never noticed.

"You should rest," Patterson said, touching both Jane and Tasha on their shoulders. "I'll watch them."

In unison, she and Tasha shook their heads, making no move to leave their posts.

Patterson gave them a small, sad smile, squeezed Tasha's shoulder and then Jane's, and then retreated to an empty cot.

The minutes, maybe hours, passed. Her back hurt from her curled posture, but she didn't move, didn't let go, barely let herself blink. Open yours eyes, Kurt. Look at me. I'm here.

As if she'd spoken out loud, his eyes opened and met hers. She held her breath, and then he inhaled, and his slack fingers curled around hers.

"You're all right," she told him, as much for herself as for him. "Burns on your back, stitches on your head, and some broken ribs, but you're going to be fine."

He shifted his head, a suggestion of a nod. He swallowed and frowned.

She leaned forward, closer to him. "We don't have anything for pain, I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" His voice was deep and raspy from the dust he'd inhaled.

She blinked. He'd been buried alive, but he was worrying about her?

She gave a tiny, choked laugh, but just that tiny motion was enough to jar free the tears that she'd held back so fiercely, and they spilled down her cheeks. She tried to wipe them away, but more took their place.

"Hey." Kurt shifted onto his side, giving an involuntary grunt of pain. She reached out, trying to keep him from moving, but he ignored her. "Come here." He tugged her toward the small space in front of him on the cot.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said, resisting.

"Come here," he repeated. "So we can both rest."

She nodded and kicked off her shoes, curling herself to fit in beside him, her back to his front. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She put her hand over his and squeezed back. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, and she both heard and felt as it slowed and relaxed into a deeper, easier sleep.

They were alive, and they would be okay.

In the next bed, Reade stirred and opened his eyes. Tasha bent over him. Jane couldn't catch her murmured words, but she saw Reade's hand tighten on Tasha's, just as Kurt's had on hers.

She finally let herself relax, secure in her husband's embrace and the knowledge that her family was all right. She exhaled and let her eyelids close.

They would all be okay.

For the moment, that was enough.