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Neither of them knew what to do about Roman. Kurt had grieved with a bottle, alone in his apartment. Jane had followed him home and been no comfort. The best she'd been able to offer was an agreement to leave Roman out of the discussion.
She understood. Kurt could know, in his head, the memories simply hadn't been there before. He had seen Jane's slow progress of months only to get things back at random and just a little too late to be helpful.
Roman couldn't confess what he hadn't known. Jane couldn't absolve him or herself. That left all the fullness of the memory of Emma Shaw's death to Kurt Weller, as he tried to reconcile losing his second mother to the same people who'd killed his mentor.
He grieved in secret, and it was weeks before he brought it up again.
Every crack in the foundation Sandstorm's leader had built should have led to other weak points, but the investigation stalled over and over.
"We have two names for her, and this woman doesn't seem to be found in either of them," Kurt said. "Ellen Briggs might be her legal name, but there's nothing there. All those houses and there was nothing familiar, nothing personal?"
Jane shifted, still feeling guilty. She knew he didn't want her to apologize every time she saw him, and it would only take away whatever moments he felt normal.
"I didn't feel any sense of home. It didn't trigger memories for me. Roman didn't react to the houses. He saw a florist van and knew he'd used one as cover to watch you at a restaurant. When we went to the restaurant he remembered who you were with, and following Emma when she left," she said.
He was holding a pen loosely, as if he'd hoped for a breakthrough worth writing down.
"ZIP is too random, and everything I've read says regular memories are poorly understood. I can't tell you how many little things have come back that aren't remotely important. It's like a scavenger hunt without a list. You can't focus on something if it's not anchored by emotion. I feel at home with Roman, but there's no place that comes to me as a home. Not even here, and I lived in the city with Oscar for years."
Kurt had a notepad and was trying to do a timeline of his own life. He'd wanted to account for places he might have missed Ellen Briggs checking up on him.
“You have to remind yourself Shepherd isn't magical or some kind of psychic monster," Jane said gently. "She's trying to make plans and we're trying to stop her. She has a head start, but she's always having to adjust things. All the moving parts have to work right at the right moments, and sometimes they will fail. She didn't anticipate losing both me and Roman.”
Weller looked at her, and she could feel him trying to phrase something in a way that didn't lean on the hurt feelings of knowing her foster mother had been using her. There was something powerful about the woman, an abnormality that turned her losses into fuel to create more tragedy and believe it was all necessary.
"You think she might have been rolling the dice on you, though," he said, correcting himself. “On losing Remi.”
Jane sighed. It was obvious once she'd accepted the possibility. It was just bleak having her only living parent exposed as a svengali instead of a mother.
"No memories, handed off to someone who was predisposed to care for me and be glad to have me in his life, even with all the confusion of how it came to be . . . The fixed expectations gone, and the guiding principles of the mission erased? I think she was afraid of Remi and her influence on Roman,” she said, letting her eyes drift to her lap.
“I think as a second in command, I was likely pushing to have more input than she welcomed. And I have a very clear sense being raised by her was similar to your time at military school. She allowed affection but I don't think she was overly concerned with our emotional well-being. I think she liked us as we were, a little feral. Angry."
Weller's flash of anger was for her, not directed at her, but it made Jane uncomfortable anyway.
“And now Shepherd - Briggs - has this trail of influence back into my past. I just let her snatch me up,” he said bitterly.
They sat silently for a moment, both of them working through the frustration of not having an action in front of them to promise any kind of direction to take.
“I keep picturing this web and Shepherd is the spider in the middle. I'm not sure where I stand. She spoke to me like I was important, but I literally know nothing about what she wants from me. I'm not sure if I want to have a significant role so I can foul up her plan by defying her, or if I want to be one of many minor threads. If I really can't be replaced, I can make a real difference by not cooperating. But she seemed so sure of herself - that she's going to turn me. And I'm worried about how many other people there are like me with normal jobs, careers they've built, unaware they are where they are because Shepherd wants them in place.”
It was hard to know the line of paranoia from normal vigilance. Jane knew that feeling, but she didn't have an answer. He hardly had a normal job, armed and standing between major threats to New York City. He could cope with violence, but manipulation was designed to dig in and do damage to a person's will.
“How many lives does she own?”
His pen was down, hands spread across the desk like it was the only way not to make fists.
"Just one,” Jane said forcefully. “Her own life is hers, and all the rest are stolen. You can't let her create this belief that she'll make you do anything. It's too easy to start accepting it. She cant have been everywhere for the past few decades. Everything you've accomplished you did by merit."
His lack of response was troubling. If Kurt Weller had any idea quitting the FBI might stop Sandstorm, he would do it. Jane knew it was selfish, but they had no proof his job was what made him valuable to Shepherd's plan. With the FBI at his back, he could fight, and as a private citizen he had no special resources.
"You made your life with hard work and being a good person. Shepherd will try to make you feel part of something bigger. She always made sure to give me credit for mission plans, and I knew it was absurd. Everything I'd known was forgotten," Jane said, trying to explain the weird magnetism of her mother over her. "But she carried herself as if we were almost equals, ironing out the last few details on some unfortunate violence we both knew couldn't be avoided."
There was something crazed in Shepherd that let her commit her life to a goal, always recruiting instead of living. Weller was listening, but he didn't look calmer. His mind was obviously burning over the same words, peeling away at layers of lies.
"She fed and clothed Roman and me in exchange for devotion - not for herself. She wanted us to love her cause. When the CIA had me, I knew they were the enemy. Their job was to convince me I was dying, and my job was not to believe them. But with Shepherd, she wanted me to believe I had a loving mother who trusted me to help find justice for her lost family. And I didn't know I needed to resist. I just knew when I met with her she said the loving things I'd expect, but they made me feel dirty and empty."
If her biological mother had survived anywhere in Jane's memory, it was in the shiver when Shepherd tried to be affectionate. A hug from a mother, anyone's mother, felt different than a snake wrapping you and holding off constricting until the grip would kill.
"If Shepherd found you in school, you have to remember you were too young to be recruited. She was preying on you, and even if you agreed it wouldn't count. When she tries to make you feel dirty, like you're somehow helping her even when you have no idea what her plans are, remind yourself you were a child when she started all this. She was an adult and she will always be in the wrong."
Weller finally spoke. “You didn't ask for any of this, Jane. You and Roman were children, too, younger than I was.”
She shrugged. They were a different situation because she and Roman had been adults and chosen to stay with Shepherd, doing her missions and knowing it was wrong. But she'd broken the horrible chill of her mother's presence in Kurt's mind. The point was to give him perspective that he hadn't been the only one to feature on her mother's chessboard.
"Make a list in your mind of good things you've done, and tell it to yourself until that horrible feeling of Shepherd handling you goes away," Jane told him. "And if you forget your list, find me and I'll tell you mine. Reade has his list, and Zapata, and Patterson. Nas hasn't known you as long, but I had my list after a few days. That's just in the office. Shepherd had us for years, and Roman and I got out. She couldn't see the future to stop us. She's not getting you."
Kurt sent her a grateful look, but he was exhausted. He wanted to act, but had no way to know what was safest. Spinning his wheels made him feel like he was working too hard and not actually doing anything.
"What do we do?" He stood up to pace, stretching his arms and his back. He'd developed a bad habit of hunching his back over the files on Sandstorm, as if Shepherd was reading over his shoulder.
"I don't know yet, other than resist every time she tries to convince us of something that suits her." Jane looked out into the office. It was late but it was never empty. "Do you care if people see us hugging?"
He'd never cared. He'd never been less aware of the world than when he was holding Jane.
"No." His voice was husky, hushed like they were in a private space and talking about something more involved than a supportive hug.
"I mean for a while," Jane said. "I have this guided meditation I do sometimes, and it helps, but you'd need to feel my heartbeat."
"They've seen me hug you a million times."
He was exaggerating. She knew exactly how many, because she'd been counting. "This is different. Then you were holding me but this would be me holding you. It's going to look intimate."
Kurt had never thought of the difference, holding rather than being held. He'd usually been frantic and so, so glad to see her alive. A few times she'd been panicking or crying. He had learned to comfort from his mother, who had needed to be held and couldn't turn to her husband with her emotional moments. He'd been big and tall for his age, and mature from what he'd seen in his home.
He'd never wanted Jane to hold him, until she offered it and it was everything. He wouldn't want people to watch them, but he'd put up with the potential of a glance or two.
"Only if it's something you're comfortable with," he said. "I know you're seeing someone. I would never interfere with that."
"Oliver and I aren't really set on what we are. I can respect my time with him while being aware of other possibilities. And this isn't a move or anything. It helps, it really does."
"Should be okay as long as we're not lying down," he said, taking a seat on the sofa.
"Not necessary." Jane stood up and knelt on the sofa next to him. "Maybe slouch a bit, as long as you're comfortable. Put your face on my shoulder, so you can feel my heart. Face whichever way you'd like, as long as you can hear me. You can put one arm across my lap, if you want, but my arms go over yours."
Kurt turned his face away, just because it seemed more appropriate. He let his cheek rest on her shirt and felt the smallest change of heartbeat from both of them. Jane's arms crossed over his shoulders, and he didn't have a comfortable way to put both arms around her. His hand went to rest on the sofa cushions on the far side of her body.
"I don't know any yoga or tai chi super breathing," he said quietly.
"You just breath normally. You don't have to answer. When I didn't know anything about myself, I used to start with the obvious truths and work my way deeper to what I felt I was like. I know you have your memories, but you forget to appreciate things you have unless you make a point to notice them."
"Your lungs work and you can breathe. Your eyes can see. You can stand and walk, or to run. You can think and feel, though I know those don't always go to good places in your mind. You care about others. You put yourself at risk for them. You have a sister who loves you and a nephew who worships you."
He smiled, blinking slowly. It was all obvious, but each sentence counted toward something, agency in his own life.
"You have a career that means something, and people who back you up because of who you are instead of your rank. They believe in you. You have integrity and strength. You do the right thing, even at your own cost."
Jane spoke with quiet, clear certainty, as if she was reading it from a script.
"You're going to be a good father, even when it's hard. Even when it means more sacrifice and heartbreak than you were expecting. You've never been married," Jane whispered. "You're just choosy enough."
He huffed a laugh, tipping his head back. Her fingers rested on his neck, and he didn't react to Jane maintaining the contact.
"You see people do terrible things but you get out there and meet new ones. You trust and forgive. You honour the past by continuing to go forward. You do your paperwork and then you go out in the field and lead raids, and then you go home and do more paperwork. You have power, and you use it conscientiously."
She said it like it was beyond questioning, akin to the colour of the sky.
"You know duty but you can have fun. You're smart, but you know Patterson is smarter. You shot Rich Dotcom, and I am wildly envious," Jane said. "You know violence as an abhorrence, but you can use it as a tool when necessary. You respect life, and always seek to preserve it."
He'd killed, though, and Kurt felt himself tense. Jane's fingers kneaded the back of his neck, her other hand rubbing along his hair.
"You remember the times things didn't go well despite your best efforts, and you use those bad moments to learn. You cope with heavy things and many, many secrets. You have dangerous work so other people can have normal jobs and security."
They had veered into things she admired as much as they worried her, and her tone went lighter to get back to the relaxation.
"You've mastered the business casual stubble, and having extra shirts at the office for when you don't get home. You got good at a job that didn't feel like yours, and you're a compelling leader."
But he hadn't saved Mayfair, or Jane from her part in Mayfair's death. He'd inherited a title that still felt a little big on his shoulders. Jane's arms gave him a squeeze, and his arm over her lap curled to put his palm on her side.
"You have more patience than you thought, and a set of talents and skills that are unique to you. You made yourself into a man, but you remember what it was to be a boy. You have roots that do not trip you. You are worthy of good things. You don't have to justify your existence."
"You pull me from car wrecks and explosions. You spar with my brother and protect him. You give second chances. You had the courage to try Pennsylvanian beer."
There should be some resentment there, but Kurt liked Roman. He cared about Jane. His nose brushed her shirt and he shut his eyes. Being able to stand up for them was one of the things he was proudest of in his time as Assistant Director.
"You always look grumpy but kind. You're a good cook. You give to other people before asking for things for yourself. You're capable of unbelievable amounts of understanding why people falter, and you don't judge them."
Jane stopped, her voice immediately missed. He moved slightly, trying to catch a few strands of her hair into his beard to feel it stretch between them.
"Is that it?"
She should have slapped him, but the spark of cocky arrogance was welcome. She laid her face against his, unabashedly getting closer. "Nope," she said happily. "But we're going to win."
"Nice! How do we do that," he asked.
"Don't know yet. Patterson builds a robot, Rich Dotcom flies some drones to spy for us, Zapata and Reade rapel from a helicopter, Roman talks his way into the control room, Pellington disapproves of all of it, and I guess we're there already because when are we not at the hotspot of all the trouble?"
It was silly how much better he felt, and Kurt actually yawned in her face as Jane let him go.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “That was rude. I thought I wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight, but I am a lot more relaxed.”
She nodded. “I know meditation is supposed to clear your mind, but my mind was cleaned out and painted over. It didn't make me more relaxed.”
He brought his arm down and folded it across his own belly as Jane turned to sit properly on the sofa.
“Thank you, I feel much better,” he said. “Though you could have led with knowing we're going to win.”
Her face tipped back and toward him, almost an invitation for a kiss. “I was telling you all the reasons why first. You have to earn a happy ending to a story with a good hero.”
Kurt blushed. “You obviously need sleep worst than I do,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow, for another day toward our inevitable victory.”
“Okay, goodnight,” she said, tugging at her rumpled sweater as she stood. “You go home, too. Don't ruin my awesome meditation with more work.”
“I won't.”