"So beautiful," that scratchy voice cooed. "Aren't ya," he added with that all too familiar clip.
That intense, raw ache throbbed through her hands, and Jane blinked to see they were pinned again. White hot. Jane's mind skittered, unable to focus. Pull them out… hurts so bad… don't move… move fast, get it over with…
"Ja-ane," Hoyt leaned down, his face too close as he knelt over her. "I don't think you're listening." Fingers curled around her shirt, tugging it aside. "Show me the scar…Did you do this?" His finger tapped at the puckered scar, and he flashed that sickening grin. "It doesn't match your hands. Look, it's so messy…"
She shuddered, thoughts racing again, and she squirmed, trying to bite back a cry of pain as the blade pressed, searing against her gut. It was like fire, and she couldn't tell what hurt worse—hands or side—her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Her mind screamed in protest, but nothing would come out. No words. They utterly failed her, and she could see the insanity in his eyes and he pressed the blade more firmly against her. Into her.
"Crimson is such a lovely color. It looks good on you." A bit deeper, and she struggled to gasp, to make a sound—
"Ahhh," Jane jerked awake, twisted in her sheets, her struggling-to-heal injury aching painfully and making her gasp for air. Which hurt more. She was cold, sweat covering her body, but she was shivering, which made everything hurt even more. Fingers searched blindly for her injury, and she slid them back as the tender skin throbbed around the bullet wound.
Her fingers came away wet, and she hissed with pain as her other hand searched for her phone. Gotta call… call… "Um… hey.. oh!"
"Janie?" the bedroom door opening startled her, and she let out a pained curse as she tried to shift on the bed. Frank Senior was at her side immediately, sitting on the side of the bed and trying to straighten out covers. "You okay?"
"I… no," she whispered, blinking as the hallway light flooded in. She tugged at her shirt, shivering again. "Cold… hurts…I dunno, feels wet."
"God, Janie, you're bleeding," Frank spoke up, gently pulling her shirt clear to look at the wound. "Busted stitches. Damn, it's all red."
She gasped and bit into her bottom lip in an effort not to cry out. "Call Maura," she answered through clenched teeth.
"Hang on," He disappeared from the room for a moment and returned with a cloth, pressing it gently against the exit wound. As he held it with one hand, the other dialed. "Dr. Isles… sorry- well it's… yeah, Jane. I don't know she's bleeding and hurt. Stitches came out, but it's all red around it… okay… yeah… okay."
Jane's nails dug into the pillow, burying her face as she struggled to breath slowly, to focus on that and not the pain. To keep her mind from going back to the nightmare.
Her father was talking to her like she was a little kid again, patting her shoulder as he held the cloth against her back. "Maura's on her way… it's okay, sweetheart, she's gonna come. She said she was on her way. Can I get you anything else?"
The brunette shook her head into the pillow, protesting weakly when her father coaxed the pillow away. He was making her eat some crackers and swallow another pill—it seemed like all she did was sleep and take medicine these days—but he was telling her that Maura said she needed to. That it would help with the pain. Time was getting hazy, and she didn't really care if it was the medicine or her fever.
"Jane? Jane," came a soft, insistent voice, and the detective blinked owlishly in even the dimmed light of her bedside light.
Expert hands gently rolled folded up the hem of the shirt and urged some folded towels against Jane as Frank helped support Jane. "Frank, drape those blankets around her, up to her waist, and then why don't you get the thermometer so we can see how high her fever is."
The cool hand to her forehead made Jane shiver harder, but she pressed against it, longing for the comfort of the touch and thinking her head hurt a little less. "Hey… can you talk to me a little?" Maura asked, her voice soft and coaxing as she pulled out her pen light and inspected the cuts and stitches.
"So cold, Maur," Jane whispered, "back hurts, too, where it tore."
"Mhmm," the medical examiner hummed in agreement. "Your father's right, you broke the sutures. Did you try to get up?"
"No," came the mumble, dark eyes closing as she grimaced when fingers barely skimmed over tender skin. "Bad dream," she whispered, falling silent again as her father returned.
Maura eased the thermometer into Jane's mouth and sent Frank off to make some tea and get some rest in the living room. "I'm staying the night. I'll be here tomorrow, too." She wisely didn't press Jane for any more details for the time being. As they waited for the thermometer, the medical examiner watched her friend flex her hands, the way she always did when they were aching. "Your hands hurt."
"Mmhmm. Aaaeee," came the replied, muffled by the thermometer.
"No talking," Maura reprimanded gently. She crossed to the closet and dug through the top shelf, finally fishing out a soft flannel scarf that she had bought Jane last February when the cold chill of Boston had wreaked havoc on her friend's hands. Gingerly she took one hand at a time and wrapped them in the warm material. When she finished, she pulled out the thermometer and peered at it. "One hundred point one."
Glassy dark eyes peered up meekly. "I feel like crap."
"I bet you do." The medical examiner reached for her bag and began rummaging through, pulling out supplies. "I need to clean out that wound … your father gave you the pain medicine before I got here?"
Mussed waves bobbed as Jane nodded. "Still hurts… little less, though." She tried to relax as Maura positioned some pillows to help support Jane as she urged her friend to roll a little more onto her stomach.
"Was it Hoyt again?"
"Yeah," her friend breathed, trying to bite back the hiss of pain as Maura began to rinse the wound with saline.
Her free hand rested on Jane's side, clear of the injury, reassuring. "I'm just cleaning everything out, to see what's going on in there… you have a pyogenic infection. How did you tear the stitches, Jane?"
The dark head shook slightly, fingers curling into the warm flannel. "I don't know… I was dreaming… and I woke up tangled in my blankets and I could tell it started bleeding," she answered into the bedding.
"I think when you were moving around in your sleep, it broke open a pocket of infection. Some of it's blood, but some of it's fluid."
"Pus?" Jane muttered, flexing her hands and wishing the pain medicine would kick in faster. It was putting a haze between her and the worst of the pain, but she still felt miserable.
"Yes," Maura replied evenly, dousing the wound again, making sure it rinsed to pure blood before she stopped. She selected a needle and the silken thread, preparing with practiced ease. "This is going to feel cold, but it will help deaden some of the pain." Using a cotton swab, she spread the analgesic cream. "I should send you to the hospital for this. The only reason I'm not is that Byron agreed to drop by tomorrow to check on you."
A noise of disapproval came, follow by a gasp as Maura quickly pieced the skin with the thin, curved needle. "Don't wanna see Sucky," Jane pouted. "Don't make me go back to the hospital… please, Maur. Smells funny and it's so cold there."
"Sssh, relax," her friend soothed, tying off a knot, doing her best to keep it small and neat. "You're not going tonight. I'm getting you patched, and then you're going to sleep. But if your fever goes up to 102, you're going back—No, Jane, I know you don't want to, but I'm not letting you go septic. It's a mess back here, and you were already running a fever earlier today." Maura finished the row, and spread on some ointment. "This is going to be cool, too, but I'm just cleaning up."
She went through several more cotton pads than she had meant to, but finally had Jane cleaned up. "Do you want help changing shirts? This one is…"
"Sweaty. Makin' me cold," came the groan before Jane submitted to help again. It was awkward and meant some tricky maneuvering and a few whimpers of pain before she was in a clean shirt and curled around the pillow again.
Maura tucked the covers close, adjusting the scarf, which had needed to be unwrapped and rewrapped as Jane changed. She held a cup of water close, making sure Jane drained at least half of it before she returned it to the nightstand. "The most important thing is to keep drinking water. It'll help cleanse out this infection. Did you eat dinner?"
"Little bit of rice and chicken broth," Jane answered, her voice thick, interrupting herself halfway through with a big yawn. "Don't make me go back to the hospital."
"Focus on feeling better. We'll get back to the hospital argument tomorrow if we have to," Maura replied, her voice calm but firm. "Do you think you can sleep if I stay here?"
She caught the small nod of the dark head as she turned out the night light. Jane gave a little sigh as she felt the bed shift slightly, no doubt Maura was stretching out on the empty side of the bed.
"Good. Wake me up if you feel worse. Or if you can't sleep… Or if the nightmare—just… wake me up, okay?" Maura felt the urgency welling up in her to protect Jane, hating that she couldn't protect her best friend from the things that haunted the detective the most.
"Promise," Jane rasped, finally giving more and more to the tug of sleep as the pain killers stole through her willpower, drawing her back into deep sleep. "Wanna be better now."
"You'll feel better someday," Maura soothed, finding her friend's arm and giving it a gentle pat. "It's a long road, but I'm here. Always."