You wake just before the phone rings, almost as though your subconscious knew. Before you answer, you know that something is wrong. Maybe you have ESP, even though you don't believe in such things. Maybe you felt the cold sheets beside you in bed, and missed her presence. Or maybe it's just that you are so connected to her that you can feel her pain from all across town. You answer the phone in a haze; you hear the word 'hospital,' and 'suspect,' but it is the word 'stabbed' that has you climbing out of bed, cradling you rounded stomach with one hand. Jane, you think, and you are filled with terror, cold and unyielding. The baby moves under your hand, nudging you into action and you grab your jacket, shoes, keys, phone. You move down the dark hallway and pause in the doorway to your son's room, watching his sleeping form for a moment. You sit awkwardly on the side of his bed, your large stomach making it harder and harder for you to move as smoothly as you used to, and you smooth his hair off of his forehead.
"You have to wake up now, baby," you say quietly, rubbing small circles on his back. "Luke, honey, you need to wake up."
He stirs slightly, opening up bleary chocolate eyes. Jane's eyes.
"Mommy," he says, his voice rough with sleep.
"Hi baby."
"It's nighttime, Mommy," he reaches an arm out for you, even as he snuggles deeper under the blankets.
"I know," you say, "But we have to go see Mama. You can sleep in the car, okay?"
He nods sleepily and clambers into your lap, clad in his tiny Red Sox pyjamas.
"Cuddle," he says, tugging your arms around him, and you pull him as close as you can with your belly in the way. You rise carefully, holding him to you in this way, making sure to scoop up his favourite bear as you do so. He snuggles against you, resting his head against your shoulder and you have to hold back tears. You need to see Jane, you need to feel her and know she's okay. You don't know how to be strong for this little boy on your own. You don't know how you'll get through the last month of your pregnancy on your own.
You take Luke to the car, carefully locking the door behind you. He is asleep again as soon as you strap him into his carseat.
You have to rest your head against the steering wheel for a moment, and you take a few deep breaths before you start the car, one hand resting against your belly. The baby nudges your hand gently, and you think it wants Jane just as much as you do.
The drive to the hospital seems to take forever. You stick to the speed limit anyway, knowing that you could not compromise the safety of your child, your children, in order to shave a few minutes of the journey.
Luke grumbles as you gently tug him out of his carseat, holding him close to you. You can't blame him, he needs at least another four hours to complete his usual sleep cycle.
The nurse at the front desk eyes you warily as you approach, no doubt you look terrible, your hair a birds nest and your coat thrown on top of oversized pyjamas. You don't care.
"Jane Rizzoli-Isles," you say to her. "Where is she?" You know you sound desperate but you need to see her. You won't calm down until you do.
The nurse is checking details on the computer.
"I'm afraid Miss Rizzoli-Isles' condition is stable for now, but there are no visitors apart from family permitted."
You fix this woman with your best glare and she cowers slightly. The baby kicks, hard. I know, honey, you think. I want her too.
"It's Detective," you spit at the nurse. This woman who is trying to keep you from her. "And I'm the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. And I am her wife." Your voice is low and angry and your mind is already preparing ways you can hurt this woman if she won't let you through. Thankfully she doesn't even try, her gaze softening slightly as she takes in your disheveled state.
"Follow me."
She is so pale, almost as white as the sheets covering her. You tremble slightly as you take in her still form and you clutch Luke tighter to you. He mumbles something into your shoulder and clutches a handful of your curls in his tiny fist.
"Just press the call button if you need anything," the nurse says and you force yourself to nod at her.
You move to the chair beside the bed and lower yourself into it carefully. Luke shifts against you but stays asleep, even as you scoot the chair closer to your wife. With your free hand, you reach for her own scarred one, bringing it gently to your lips.
"Hey baby," you say, and now the tears fall. She looks surprisingly small and so still lying in the hospital bed. If it wasn't for the steady beeping of the machines she is hooked up to, you might almost think that she is dead.
She's not though, you remind yourself. She is alive. Hurt, but alive.
You pull your hand from hers in order to wipe at the tears streaming down your face. You try to hold them in, you don't want to wake Luke, but a choked sob comes out, even as you press your hand against your mouth to stifle it.
She is alive this time, but what if next time she isn't? What happens if one day she doesn't come home to you?
Your body is shaking with sobs now and you can feel Luke shifting as he wakes. You rock him gently, trying to lull him back to sleep, even as your sobbing keeps him awake.
"Mommy?" he asks, and he pulls away from your shoulder and looks up at you with huge, brown eyes. "What's wrong?" He mumbles the words, still half asleep, but he reaches a tiny hand up to press against your wet cheek. You hold back a sob and lean into his hand.
"It's okay, honey," you say. "Mommy's just being silly. We're okay. We're all going to be fine."
He looks at you warily and then readjusts in your lap, so that his head is against the steady beating of you heart. One hand stays against your cheek while the other curls around to rub circles on your arm, like you do to comfort him when he cries. You marvel at how smart your son is, how beautiful and how perfect.
"I love you," you tell him, and you press a kiss to his dark curls, relaxing slightly as you focus on the weight of him in your lap, curled around your rounded stomach. You can feel the baby moving slightly and it calms you.
"I wuv you, Mommy," he mumbles, already drifting back off.
You sit, listening to the sound that tells you that your wife is still living. The tears are still slipping down your cheeks but they've slowed. You need to stop panicking like that, stress isn't good for your baby. It has taken you so long to conceive again that you have been even more careful this time around. You aren't going to mess up with only one month to go.
You breathe in, deep. You listen to Luke's breaths and try to steady yours to the same even beat.
Jane is alive. Luke is safe. Your baby will be fine. And you... you will be okay. As long as you can hold onto this, hold onto this feeling of being surrounded by who you love, you know that you'll be okay.
You take another deep breath, eyeing your still sleeping wife, and settle yourself more comfortably into the chair. You will catch a few hours sleep, and then Jane will wake up. She will look at you with those gorgeous, brown eyes, and she will make you feel silly for worrying. You smile a little at the thought and your eyes drift slowly shut.