A/N: I noticed that some of you are posting stories based on prompts from Tumblr, so I crept over there and saw the different weekly challenges. To catch up, I decided to write a story where each chapter is based on one of the prompts (not in any particular order). My intention is to focus on little 'missing' moments during/between the first 10 episodes that will hopefully create one cohesive piece (fingers crossed) involving the evolution of Weller and Jane's relationship to date, or it will just be a series of one-shots strung together. May or may not ignore some portions of the episodes because… I do what I want :o) Therefore… please bear with me! And as always… thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: Based on the prompt: Bleeding; set during episode 1x03

"The space between the tears we cry,
is the laughter keeps us coming back for more.
The space between the wicked lies we tell,
and hope to keep safe from the pain."

- DMB "The Space Between"

Blood.

It's all she can see. She watches as it slowly spreads from beneath his back over the hard wood of her floor, like fog lazily rolling over a murky sea.

It spreads steadily, the four bullets that precisely pierced his chest having inflicted their intended damage.

Drained of all energy, Jane slides to the floor, her back against the wall, as she watches the blood creep closer to her ink-stained feet.

Then she hears a faint drip… drip… drip. Feels the warm wet as it worms it's way down her chin and drops to the cold wood below. She looks down. Sees the bright red beads that land between her legs. Her hand unconsciously presses against her cheek. A sharp hiss at the pain leaves her lips as her tongue tastes the metallic tang of the offending substance exiting her gums.

She looks back at the bearded man then. A total stranger yet so familiar. She feels like she should feel something for him – for the loss of him – yet his presence in her safe house means no more to her than if it were a stranger off the street.

She knows he'd been following her… was here to try and warn her, but about what?

"We avoid detection. It's part of our training."

They trained together, she knew that much, but under what circumstances? He must have known a great deal about her life before all this if he risked entering her safe house to talk to her with the FBI posted right outside.

"Don't trust them."

'Don't trust whom?' she wondered. The FBI? Or the people who did this to her?

And who killed him? It couldn't have been the FBI. Her detail definitely did not include a sniper. If it did, they would have noticed her sneaking out. What exactly did this man know, and who didn't want her to know what he knew? Like every other clue to her past she'd succeeded in finding thus far, she'd reached another dead end. Literally.

Lost in her thoughts, trying desperately to make connections that weren't there, Jane jumped at a sudden pressure on her arm.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

Jane's bewildered eyes left the bearded man and settled on one of the agents from her detail.

"I knew him," she mumbled as her eyes left his and came to rest once again on the pooling blood.

"Are you hurt? Can you stand up?"

The agent tried to get Jane to respond, but she didn't hear a word he said. Lost in thought… in shock… probably a mix of both, she didn't move, not even when the warm liquid reached her toes. His blood, his death, like so many others, was on her. As her toes curled into the crimson pool beneath her, Jane absently wondered how many more would fall along the way.

Weller broke just about every law on his drive to Jane's safe house. Her detail called him regularly with updates, so when his phone rang, the last words he ever expected to hear were 'gunshots' 'dead body' and 'Jane injured and in shock.'

He parked haphazardly at the curb and took the stairs three at a time. He barreled through the door and found two agents in her entryway.

"She's through that way," one of them offered to Weller, as he pointed towards the kitchen.

Weller slowly made his way through the house, suddenly afraid of what he might find. Never one to delay the inevitable, Weller questioned himself once again as to why this woman had come to mean so much to him so quickly. He knew in his heart, in his gut, that Jane was his childhood friend, but if he was honest with himself, she'd gotten under his skin well before he'd spotted the scar on her neck. Jane had captivated him the moment he'd laid eyes on his name on her back.

Weller rounded the corner into her eating area. A flash of light from an agent taking photographs was the first thing that caught his attention, immediately followed by the man lying dead on the floor. He then noticed an EMT packing up her bag on Jane's table. He didn't see Jane anywhere.

"Where is she?" he asked no one in particular.

"She's in the bathroom cleaning up," the EMT replied.

"Is she okay?" he asked, with a worried look on his face.

"Some bumps and bruises, and a pretty good whack to her jaw that knocked out a tooth," the EMT replied. "She'll be sore, but otherwise she's okay… physically."

Weller nodded, his attention leaving the EMT and focusing on the bathroom doorway.

"Thanks," he replied absently as he made his way across the room.

She'd left the door open, so he only felt slightly like an intruder when he entered. He found her sitting on the side of the tub. He was instantly drawn to the intricate designs covering the canvas that was her skin. Her detail had mentioned the shower had been running when they'd found Jane and the mystery man. Weller hoped that accounted for her current state of undress… and not the stranger lying on the floor in the next room.

The sudden surge of jealousy he felt confused him, but he tamped it down and re-focused on Jane. Her feet dangled under the rush of faucet water, but she was doing nothing to scrub away the red that stained her skin. He watched as the blood swirled down the drain.

"Jane," he said tentatively.

She jumped at the vocal intrusion, but he saw relief flood her eyes as her gaze found his. He scanned her for any visible injuries, noting the redness of her right cheek, and the spots of blood that covered her face and arms.

"Hey," she whispered. "I just um… the blood…" she tried to explain, pointing at her feet, but words failed her.

"Here, let me help," he offered as he entered the small room further. He reached above her to grab the washcloth that was hanging next to her showerhead. He ran it under the water, and then soaped it up with the bar from her dish.

"Do you want to… or…" he asked as he offered the washcloth to her.

"I can do it, thanks," she replied, taking it from his hand.

"I'll grab you some clothes," he said when she started scrubbing her skin. "Once you're dressed, we can get out of here."

She nodded absently.

Weller left the bathroom and made his way upstairs to her bedroom. He opened her dresser drawers one by one, noticing the lack of clothing housed in each. He'd talk to Mayfair once everything settled down. Jane was going to need some decent clothes before winter hit.

Armed with a tank top, long sleeve T, socks, jeans, and her boots, Weller made his way back to the bathroom.

Jane had shut the water off and was passing a towel over her damp skin.

"Here, uh, if this isn't good, just let me know and I can grab something else," he said as he offered her the clothes.

"Thanks," she said, placing the pile on the back of the toilet. "This is fine."

"Wait a second, you missed a..." he pointed at her neck, just under her chin, where a few blood splatters remained.

"Oh, um..."

"Here let me..." he grabbed the washcloth and ran it slowly over her skin, careful not to press too hard on her injured jaw. She closed her eyes and turned into the hand that unconsciously came up to cup her face... to steady her as he wiped the death away. Once finished, Weller brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek before dropping both hands.

"All set," he said, clearing his throat.

"Thanks," she said, her haunted eyes meeting his own, before she turned and reached for her clothes.

He hovered in the doorway while she dressed, but his eyes were on the scene in her kitchen. He watched as two agents worked to take prints and collect evidence. Weller hoped they'd come across something that would help them figure out who this guy was.

"I'm ready."

Jane's voice had him turning his head.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To headquarters," Weller answered. "We'll let the agents finish up here. Hopefully we'll have something to go on in the next few hours."

Weller made to leave, but he noticed Jane's hesitation.

"C'mon," he coaxed as he held out his hand. "It's going to be fine."

Jane shook her head with a small, sad smile, but nevertheless, placed her hand in his. He pulled her out of the bathroom, and then dropped her hand to place a protective arm around her shoulders – shielding her from the gruesome scene as they exited the kitchen and headed for the front door. He kept his arm around her until they reached his car at the curb.

Jane leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. She couldn't stop her mind from replaying the scene, but she felt better knowing Weller was by her side. She wasn't in any sort of state to think clearly about anything, but she couldn't help but notice that the times she she felt most comfortable were when she was in the field, and when she was by Weller's side… sometimes not in that particular order.

He was the only person she trusted. The only one who looked at her like she wasn't a puzzle to be solved.

"We're here," he said as the car came to a final stop.

Jane opened her eyes and found herself in the parking garage. They took the elevator up, and exited on a floor that Jane didn't recognize.

"Where are we?" she asked curiously.

"More offices, more departments," Weller responded, "but I thought you might want to rest somewhere away from our floor."

He led her down a hallway and opened a door to a darkened room. By flipping the switch, Weller revealed two sets of bunk beds and an old, beat-up couch.

"It's a good place to catch a nap if you're working long hours and don't have a chance to go home," Weller explained as he opened a closet and grabbed a few pillows. "Plus it's more comfortable than the couches upstairs."

Jane tentatively sat down on the edge of one of the beds.

"Get some rest, I'll come get you when we need you," Weller said as he made to leave.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Jane asked, standing immediately.

Weller could see the alarm and apprehension in her eyes.

"Reade and Zapata are clearing the scene right now," Weller explained. "Mayfair would like you to talk to Dr. Borden in a few hours so that we can go over all the details. Until then, we think you should get some rest."

"Wait, please…" the desperation in her voice was clear as day. "I don't think I can… I don't want to be… by myself," she finished weakly, unable to meet his eyes.

Weller hated to see her this way. Even though it wasn't directly his fault, he still felt responsible. The FBI was supposed to be able to protect her… to keep her safe. They'd failed miserably.

He walked towards the door and shut them both inside.

"Whatever you need," he said as he sat on the couch, "I'm here."

Jane exhaled the breath she didn't realize she was holding and nodded before sitting on the couch next to him.

"Don't you want to lay down?" he asked.

"I don't know how well I'll sleep… I think I'll just sit a minute," Jane said as she leaned back into the couch.

Weller shot a quick text to Mayfair regarding his whereabouts before closing his eyes and making himself more comfortable.

"Weller?" he heard her whisper a short time later.

"Yeah," he responded without opening his eyes.

"Thanks," she replied.

He lifted his eyelids and found her staring at him. He smiled and nodded his head.

She closed her eyes. Her breath evened out shortly afterward. Her head slowly lulled to the side as she fell deeper into sleep until it came to rest lightly on Weller's shoulder.

He opened his eyes to the sudden pressure and a small smile graced his face. He knew he should move, should let her lay down on the couch, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not yet. Instead, he grabbed the blanket that was slung over the back of the couch and did his best to cover her with the one hand he had free.

He set his alarm, leaned back, and closed his eyes.