Somewhere along the line, time had split the atom.

Everything happened so frighteningly fast, yet at the same time, it all somehow moved with a profound slowness. Emotions went pummeling through Jane faster than she could keep track of them all as hell broke loose around her. Their prime suspect pulled a gun on Maura. But before he could pull the trigger, he was shot down himself, drawing all eyes in the building to see where the bullet had come from. It was Doyle, standing a story above them with his gun drawn. Jane knew he would be there as soon as she saw Dean, who she felt sincerely shocked to see had broken his word. I should've known better than to blow off steam to a federal agent. Her regret was too late.

"Drop your weapon, Doyle!"

"Gabriel, no!"

But he ignored her, and shot to kill, but his aim was off. Clearly not having expected the attack, Doyle was still able to deliver retribution, firing back at Dean without hesitation. Jane and Frost ran into view, both momentarily thrown and not sure exactly what action to take. Frost was visibly nervous and on instinct cocked his gun, praying that would be enough to cool Doyle's heels.

Jane's throat felt completely dry as she hoarsely called out, "Frost, get down!"

Doyle was too far away to be able to clearly make out his expression, but Jane could see he was preparing to fire back at Frost if necessary. As a precautionary tactic, and with her gun still raised, Jane rammed herself sideways into Frost to get him out of the way—and a second was all it took. She had overestimated Doyle, hoping that he wouldn't fire at Frost, someone who had been trying to protect his daughter. It was Frost's initiative that had worried Jane—if he was the first one to fire, all bets on Doyle's behavior would be off.

But she had to admit, she was overcome just as much with shock as she was with pain when she felt Doyle's bullet collide with her chest. Her eyes screwed shut instantly on contact, and she stumbled back onto the rubble-filled floor. Someone—it must have been Frost—was instantly at her side, exerting pressure on her while he shouted into his phone for Korsak to call an ambulance. Now he was urgently trying to talk to her, but Jane couldn't hear anything except the piercing cry of "no!" that had come from Maura's direction. Frost kept telling her to breathe deeply; he didn't understand that each time she tried, she felt a razor-sharp pain near her collar.

Then a softer pair of hands latched onto her, and Jane forced herself to look. Frost and Maura were bent over her on opposite sides, but Jane had eyes only for Maura—poor Maura, covered in grime and tears and clearly scared out of her mind.

"Where's…Doyle?" Jane choked out. The question only made Maura cry harder, and as nice as it was to have her so close by, Jane wished she would back up a bit. She could tell she was going to black out soon, and was frankly grateful for it as the word "pain" was no longer feeling sufficient to describe what she was currently going through. "Please—Maura, I'm gonna be fine…"

She lost consciousness moments later, and was thus unable to hear the next exchange between Maura and Frost.

"Detective Frost, you need to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"The next time you see Doyle, don't hesitate."

Visiting hours were over, and as Maura wasn't a family member, it was back home to a big empty house for her. Just like last time. Angela would insist on staying at the hospital all night long by Jane's side. Just like last time. Maura didn't begrudge Angela this opportunity, but she did envy it. After all, she had been the one who had to watch that bullet go through Jane, the one who saw her fall, the one who was there when her eyes shut for an what felt like an eternity. Just like last time.

Last time, Jane had shot a renegade cop through herself to save her brother's life. Maura very distinctly remembered that in spite of all the grisly scenarios she had watched unfold and all the various gory, bloodied bodies it had been her job to analyze, watching Jane shoot herself had felt like watching a movie. Her eyes sent the message to her brain, but she could not accept what she was seeing as reality simply because she did not want it to be reality. With heartbreaking clarity she recalled how Jane's last few conscious moments had been spent looking directly into Maura's eyes and limply reaching out for her. Maura was only grateful that today, she had made it to Jane's side in time, that Jane had more supportive arms around her than those of a dead murderer. In both instances, it hadn't mattered that Maura knew the chances of Jane surviving the gunshot wound was overwhelmingly in her favor at over seventy percent. Rationale couldn't save her from the fallibility that hits every human being when someone they love is hurt, and they automatically assume the worst.

Pulling into her driveway, Maura was unsurprised to realize she had been crying softly all the way home. With all the things she had witnessed in the last few years, it was a wonder that anything could surprise her anymore.

And so when she walked inside and saw Paddy Doyle sitting at her dining room table, she was taken aback only at the realization that she had been expecting to see him there.

Unfortunately for Doyle, this did not translate into a positive attitude. "Get the hell out of here, you bastard."

"Let me explain, Maura."

"There is nothing to explain! I should've known better than to take your word—you said you never killed women, or people who didn't deserve what they had coming to them—Jane wasn't going to do anything to you!"

"She's a cop. She had a gun."

"She would've only used it in self-defense!"

Doyle stood up and walked around the end of the table, sighing gruffly as Maura backed towards the island in the kitchen. "Don't get hysterical."

"Don't you dare condescend to me!" Maura growled, grabbing one of the larger and more dangerous looking knives from the topmost drawer.

Doyle had to work hard to fight a smirk. The idea of Maura trying to fend him off with a knife was certainly amusing, but he knew this was hardly the time to mock her. "I didn't want to shoot Jane. I was taking a warning shot at that guy who cocked his gun. Or didn't you notice that I was attacked first?"

"The man who shot at you was a federal agent, and the man you claim to have been aiming for was Jane's partner!"

"Claim? Maura, I thought were starting to understand me. You're the only thing in my life more important to me than my job. You have a dangerous career, and regardless of what you say, I know you can't protect yourself all the time—and unless I want to get caught, I can't be around to protect you. You think I'd even entertain the idea of trying to kill the one person I know would give up her life to save yours?" He walked closer, knowing he had Maura's full attention, even if she was still clutching the knife. She was stymied, at least for the moment, and Doyle continued: "It's my main goal in life to see you safe, and to see you happy. I couldn't live with myself if I killed the woman you love."

Maura's mouth dropped slightly as this statement, but she quickly clenched it shut again. "You don't know anything about me," she whispered. "I know, you have photos, but that's all. That's all you've got as proof, and it's pretty meager. If I were more important to you than your job, you would've done something legitimate with your life when I came into it. You gave me away."

"I didn't know how to take care of you."

"How could you know if you didn't at least try?" Maura asked. "Jane's my best friend, and you're right, she would do what it takes to make sure I'm all right. She doesn't worry me, like you do. She always does the right thing."

Surveying his daughter through narrowed eyes, Doyle asked, "You sure Jane is just your best friend?"

"What're you talking about?" Maura acidly shot back.

"I think you know what I'm talking about."

Maura dropped the knife against the island with a clatter. "You've got some nerve, Patrick Doyle. You really do. I mean I knew you had to possess some amount of guts, Jane would say, to go around doing the things you do. But I'm honestly floored that you would break into my home and have the audacity to try and have this conversation with me after what you did today."

"I wanted to stop by the hospital and see her," Doyle said. "But I knew you'd be there, and I knew this time I wouldn't be able to stop you from screaming, or telling someone who I really was. That's why I had to come here."

"What, you want me to tell Jane you're sorry you could've killed her?" Maura asked darkly.

"No. You don't have to tell her anything, although it'd be the truth to say I didn't mean that bullet for her."

"Why'd you have to come here? Why did you come here?"

Taking a step back, Doyle muttered, "I dunno." He grimaced and reached for his clumsily bandaged shoulder, a move which elicited no sympathy from Maura. As far as she was concerned, he'd deserved what he'd gotten. Did he expect her to be moved by his showing up at the factory that day? She had no doubts whatsoever that Jane would have protected her from any harm. She didn't need Doyle.

"Leave," she said in a gravelly voice. "Now. Before I call the police."

"Wouldn't do you any good," Doyle said. "I'd be gone before they got here."

"Jane's brother is a cop," Maura said, nodding in the direction of the guest house. "He's been staying with me while he waits for the lights in his new apartment to get turned on. I'm sure he'd love to say hello to you." Her arms were tightly folded and she forced herself to sound smooth. It was a white lie—Frankie was a cop, but not the brother who had just moved out of the guest house. As long as Doyle didn't push it, she ought to be all right. She felt a small thrill of victory as Doyle grimaced again and headed for the door. "When you leave, I don't ever want to see you again," she said.

Doyle hesitated by the door. "I understand," he said. "Even though what happened today was an accident, I can see why you'd be angry. I hope someday, once Jane recovers, you'll be able to forgive me."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Let me say one thing."

"What, more fatherly advice?"

"Shut your damn mouth for a second, Maura," Doyle said, and this sudden rudeness indeed got her to be quiet. "I know you think I'm a low-life scumbag, and I know I'm not the fancy, educated guy your adopted father is. But that doesn't mean I don't know anything about the human heart or emotions. I know that Garrett Fairfield guy you used to be involved with. Didn't work out, did it?"

"Yes, well, he turned out to be a murderer. Like you."

Appearing unruffled by this, Doyle said, "Doesn't matter. You liked his type. I can tell you right now that I won't stand for it if you marry some guy that's just rich and has nothing else to offer you. I won't allow you to marry a man who's going to have his secretary send you flowers and write you something nice on your birthday. You've gotta have someone who'll swim rivers for you, climb high mountains for you. They've got to perform great deeds for you and cherish you, and realize what a gift and blessing it is you have in their life. She's gotta slay dragons for you. Don't you settle for anything less."

Maura was so stunned by this proclamation that she had barely registered the shift in pronouns. All she knew was that all of a sudden Doyle was gone, and she collapsed into one of the living room chairs.

She had been so sure that Doyle knew nothing about her, that all he had were photographs of various important ceremonies and events of her life. That alone implied a certain distance. How could he know anything of her true feelings, her true desires? And yet tonight he had proven that he knew his daughter more deeply than she had ever imagined. He had picked up on her unspoken need for her friendship with Jane to be something greater, something more meaningful. Now all she wanted more than anything in the world was the bravery to tell Jane about it.