A/N: So. The finale. … *picks up dictionary and drops it at your feet* Take the words. Take all of them. Too many emotions to name, my friends. Too many.

Well, this fic is going to be my take on what happens next. It's gonna be angsty, difficult to the core, and as realistic as I can possibly make it, but I hope you stick with me. Trust me, I want this all fixed as much as you do, so it will have a happy ending. We've just got a few…bumps to get over before we get there. Review and let me know what you think!

"Maura! Maura…"

"No, don't touch him!"

"…Maura—"

"No, I mean it! Don't you dare touch him."

3 weeks later

Jane followed Frost, Frankie and Korsak silently into the conference room. She didn't look up, down or sideways: just stared numbly into the distance. Whatever Commander Cavanaugh said was going to change her life. She had made that decision the second Paddy Doyle started breathing again at the hands of the EMTs. Whatever news he had to bring…it would shape her entire future.

The four of them sat down at the table and didn't speak to one another. Frost, Korsak and Frankie alternated between looking at each other and at Jane, who now had her head down and her hands folded, looking very small indeed. She barely even flinched when Cavanaugh entered the room and dropped an enormous pile of manila folders onto the table.

"We have enough files here to put Doyle away for six lifetimes," the commander said with grim satisfaction, leaning on his knuckles. "The moment the doctors say he's well enough to sit up by himself, we get him into court and bring this whole mess to a close. Until then"—he rapped his fingers on the foot-high stack of folders—"I want all of you sifting through this. Take the big details and put together an airtight prosecution. We'll have this thing wrapped up in no time." Cavanaugh straightened and stared seriously at everybody. "Each and every one of you is going to testify, so pull together your own stories as well."

Korsak looked up as his superior headed for the door. "Sir…" He hesitated, swallowed and his gaze darted briefly to Jane. "What about…"

Cavanaugh paid no mind when the sergeant trailed off. "I had to go through a couple of people, but Dr. Isles won't be testifying at all. Her involvement in the situation is far too complicated."

Korsak nodded simply. The commander took one more look around the room, said "Get started, people. We've still got a ways to go," and left.

Everybody was silent for a few moments, thinking. Jane hadn't moved at all, save for some idle tangling and disentangling of her fingers. Cavanaugh's words were still ringing in her ears. They were so simple, so procedural…and yet, so life-changing.

Jane Rizzoli wasn't a coward. She wasn't going to run. She had dug her grave, and now it was time to lie in it. Quietly, unnoticeably, she let out a sigh and unwound her entwined fingers.

"I guess we should get started," Frost offered once the quiet got to him, and he reached for a file. He glanced at his partner uneasily. "Um…Jane?"

The female detective met his gaze. With despair, Frost noted the heavy emptiness in her dark eyes that had become normal within the past few weeks. "Are you going to be able to get through this?" he asked gently.

Pause. Nobody moved for a solid sixty seconds. Then Jane, very slowly, pushed her unruly hair off her face and stood up. "I need to go home," she said. "I need to think."

"Take all the time you need, Jane," Korsak said, concern etched across his face. The elder Rizzoli didn't take a single day off after the shooting. She came in to and left work like clockwork, making her way mechanically through the days. Her old partner could tell that something had snapped and he wished she'd take time to recover from whatever it was.

"I'll be back in tomorrow," Jane said curtly. Robotically, she tucked her chair against the table, but for a split second, human emotion showed as she gripped the wood as tight as she could, her knuckles turning white. She was scared. She was angry. She was overwhelmed.

Then the moment was gone, and the detective left without another word. The three men remaining in the conference room exchanged glances, each one more discouraged than the last.

Back in her apartment, Jane dug up an old laundry bag from the back of her closet. She studied it thoroughly and determined it plain, pocketless, truly-too-small-for-laundry and perfect. Emotionlessly, the detective hung it behind her bedroom door and went out to the kitchen. Jo Friday was there, staring curiously up at her master, but Jane paid her no mind as she approached the calendar on her refrigerator and started to count time. From her experience with suspects and victims alike, she figured it could be anywhere between three to eight weeks before Doyle was well enough to try in court. With a red marker she circled the day exactly three weeks away and exactly eight weeks away, and in her mind the days in between turned red as well. She looked down at her dog, who continued to stare in wonderment, and let out a cynical sniff of laughter. She tapped the calendar with the marker.

"See these days, Jo? All these days? Well, one of them…" Jane swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She didn't want to finish, but she forced herself to whisper on. She had to accept it for what it was. It was her punishment, and she was going to take it.

"One of these days, Jo…I'm going to prison."