Author's Note: All right, the editing of 'Sins of the Fathers' is refusing to let me move forward until I get this particular piece of head-canon back into place. Originally posted as 'Blue Blooded', its intended purpose and scope has been changed. It'll be a three shot dealing with the end of the Season 1 finale and after: at the scene, at the hospital and once Jane comes home. This way, I've only got one ongoing R&I fic in the queue and I can just write the one-shots as they wander close enough for capture.

Like my other stuff, no Rizzles, no apologies. There are plenty of good stories covering that ground if that's what you're looking for. This one, along with 'A Rizzoli Childhood' and 'Crossing Lines' can be considered my head-canon for the diverging storyverses of 'Judge, Jury and Executioner' and 'Sins of the Fathers', along with any other stories I write that take place later in the timeline.

"Shoot him!"

Shattered safety glass scraped and rolled against linoleum and concrete as Detective Bobby Marino dragged Detective Jane Rizzoli through the shot-out front doors of the Boston Police Department's downtown headquarters, left arm locked around her neck and the barrel of his pistol jammed against her temple. As her boots scrabbled and pushed, looking for any traction, Jane could see from the corner of her eye the motionless body of someone lying in a pool of blood near the elevators.

Cop? Bad guy? Fuck...both? She didn't know; the world had turned abruptly on its ear when Marino had shot the perp that she'd thought had been holding all four of them hostage. A detective she'd known for years had been running drugs, had killed his partner, had brazenly raided BPD with his gang to steal the evidence that would incriminate him, had shot Frankie.

Frankie.

She could see Frost, Korsak, Cavanaugh and the rest who had been drawn out of HQ into a manhunt for the killers of an undercover detective, never dreaming that the killers would come to them. Guns were leveled, fear and helpless rage on every face, and she knew that none of them would dare take the shot, because they didn't know...

"Shoot him!" she screamed, trying to get the rest of the words past the terror that was clawing at her chest, her own safety the furthest thing from her mind. Frankie was in the basement, in the morgue, bleeding out internally, because this bastard or one of his goons had shot him point blank, causing major damage even though he'd been wearing a vest. Maura had done what she could, but he needed surgery now, and he wasn't getting it because none of the responders were going to go in while Marino was out here with a gun leveled at her.

Her little brother was going to die because of her.

"Get your keys!" Bobby shouted in her ear.

"Bobby, please, it's over!" She wanted to kick his ass, wanted to slap the cuffs on him and toss him in a cell where he'd never again see the light of day, but more than either of those right now, she needed to get him to let her go, end this so that Frankie could get help. "It's over!" Couldn't he see that? They'd come up together, she knew he'd seen this same scene played out before from the other end of the gun, seen how it always ended, sooner or later.

"Shut up!" he roared, dragging her toward her car, keeping her body between himself and the guns on the street. "Get your damn keys!"

"Just shoot him!" Her voice rose to a shriek, her eyes finding Korsak. "Vince, forget about me and get in there! Frankie's shot, he needs help -"

"He's probably already dead!" Maybe Marino thought that this would defeat her, get her to focus on her own life, but it was like pouring gas on the fire in her blood, sending up an inferno that seared away everything but a single imperative.

The scream that tore itself from her throat felt as though it had been dragged over broken glass as she kicked back, knocking him off balance. Her hands came up, locking around Marino's and dragging the Glock down until she felt the barrel jammed into her lower abdomen. She forced her finger through the trigger guard on top of Marino's, pushing hard...

The report of the shot filled her world, the flare of pain as the bullet tore through her all but lost in a swell of savage triumph as Marino jerked convulsively with the impact, the force lifting them both up for an instant, then dropping them like a pair of tangled puppets with cut strings.

The pain flared brighter as she hit the pavement, the gun skittering away from their combined grips. She could feel the warm wetness on the front and back of her shirt, feel it spreading, feel the odd sensation of her own blood pulsing from her with each heartbeat. She pushed Bobby's arms away, rolled forward; damned if she was going to die with that bastard still holding her.

Frankie.

She forced her eyes open, tried to lift her head up to look, to see if they were going to help Frankie, but her head felt so heavy, and it was a fight to keep her eyes open. She was tired...God, she was tired, but Frankie...

She heard it then: her name being screamed, and she knew the voice. It was Maura. Maura was here, and that meant that Frankie had to be okay, because Maura wouldn't have left him otherwise. She wouldn't have left him if he wasn't okay.

Frankie was all right. Jane closed her eyes and let go.