Disclaimer: This is my own work of fan fiction with characters based off of the show, "Rizzoli and Isles" on TNT.

Is someone calling me, you think, finding it difficult beneath the dense fog that had settled onto your mind.

You're pretty sure you are lying down, although your head feels a bit tilted.

You know you drank more than you should from the acrid taste in your mouth.

You hear the clinking of glass and so someone else must be in the room.

They come closer to you, and you smell spice. Somehow, it warms you from the inside out.

They say something to you, but you can't really make out the words. For some reason, you picture white lilies.

You crack open an eye.

Then quickly shut it and groan.

They settle down next to you. "Jane?"

You definitely hear her this time. Her fingers trace along your forehead where you've furrowed. She gently pushes back hair that must have been plastered to your face. You lean into her caress.

Maura.

"Jane," she says again, softly.

Slowly this time, you open both eyes.

The first thing you make out through the blinding brightness is a pair of green eyes looking back at you.

"Maura," your voice cracks.

She smiles at you. Automatically, you grin back. A pained, and small grin, but she seems to take it as a good sign.

"Here's some water." She keeps her voice calm and quiet as she pushes a cold bottle of water you're your hand. You manage to sit up enough to take a few sips.

You start to feel a bit more awake. You look around the room. Tribal masks, medical books, desk. You are in Maura's office, lying on her less-than-comfortable 'designer' couch.

"What am I doing here," you ask yourself.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," she says as she crosses her legs and leans into yours. She looks at you, waiting to hear the story.

I wanted to see you. "I had a few."

"Yes, I figured out that much." She gestured to her desk where she had relocated your bottle of whiskey and glass. "I didn't figure you a whiskey drinker."

"I'm not, usually." You take another sip of water. "Only when I need it."

Understanding flashes through her eyes. "Ah, the Brighton case."

Shayna Brighton. You exhale deeply and bury your face in your hand as the pain and frustration with that case floods back.

She was a runaway found dead just within Boston's city limits. She was 16 years old, killed by a bullet to the back of the head. Shayna Brighton was also 5 months pregnant with a girl. DNA of the fetus was tested against the database and found the father was Samuel Birch; leader of a so called 'religious sect' and under FBI surveillance for fraud and suspicious activities. You and your team were granted a warrant to search his compound for the gun used in Shayna's murder. You found the weapon. But you had to let Birch walk because you could not place him at the scene of the crime or get any of Birch's followers to testify against him. Your instincts screamed at you that he did it.

Meanwhile, the FBI used your case as grounds to raid the compound. They uncovered a mass grave of infants and close-to-term fetuses; eighteen bodies total. All of them were girls. Turns out, one of Birch's beliefs was that the world needed more good men like himself. So, he impregnated most of his female followers and only fathered boys. That's why Shayna ran with her baby girl, to have a chance. That's why you know Birch killed her.

And you can't convict him for it.

"She deserved better," you say, trying to keep tears from spilling.

"Out of life or from you?"

From me. You don't say it out loud, but Maura hears it anyway.

She takes the water bottle, places it on the table, and pulls your hands into hers. She grips tightly, forcing you to look at her. "Jane, you did everything you could. I know it feels like you lost one, but you did your job."

You snort. "Easy for you to say." Your defenses are kicking in.

They kick into Maura.

She drops your hands, her face turns away from you. "It's actually not."

You know you said the wrong thing, but you are not sure exactly how to fix it. "Tell me," is all you can offer.

She faces you again, her green eyes a bit misty. You hate that you are the cause of it.

When she speaks, her voice is terse and strained. "I think you have forgotten two things. The first, is that every case you work on, is also a case I work on; I also feel when we've lost."

You look down, ashamed of yourself for discounting Maura's presence as part of your team.

"The second," she continues, "is that I have literally lost lives in my hands when I was overseas. Although it was a lifetime ago, I can still tell you about each one."

You internally chastise your hung-over mouth. Shit, you idiot.

You wonder what sort of memories haunt her. You want to ease them from her.

You take her hands; they're so small yet sure in yours. You try to apologize with a touch and a look. "How did you deal with that?"

She looks back at you, forgiving you with a squeeze of her hands. "I continue to do my job. And I take a victory when I can, even if it might not seem like much."

"But Birch deserves worse than what court law can possibly punish him with," you spit out. "Because of Shayna. Because of all those baby girls. Because of every life he's ruined. Because he is a monster." You feel yourself shudder with emotions. You look towards the bottle of whiskey.

Maura reaches out and cradles your cheek. You instantly snap your attention back onto her.

"Birch is going to jail. He's going to be punished for a very long time because of his warped ideals, which includes the murder of Shayna Brighton. That's a victory, Jane." She holds your gaze, green eyes pleading for you to believe her.

You do.

"Thanks, Maur," you whisper. You take deep breath in. Spices. You feel calm now.

"Of course," she brushes away a tear that escaped your eye. "Now, come on, let's get you up. You need to continue to do your job. Your shift starts in half an hour."

You groan as she helps pull you up from the couch. When you stand upright, she's at eye level with you; that only ever happens when you are barefooted and when she is wearing heels. You notice how close you two are.

Did Maura always have that freckle on her upper lip, you wonder. You feel light headed. You tell yourself it's a head rush.

"Jane, you really shouldn't sleep in your button downs. The polyester blend wrinkles readily enough without overnight use," she says seriously to you as she fiddles with your untucked shirt.

You hold in a giggle and it settles to a smirk, "Relax, Maura. I have spare clothes in my locker."

"Well thank goodness for that."

You roll your eyes.

"And remember, to get through your hangover drink lots of water and eat a light breakfast. Maybe a banana and some toast? Definitely no coffee."

You grumble, "Thank you, Dr. Isles."

She smiles. You pick up your boots, and turn to leave when she stops you.

"Jane, you're forgetting these," she grabs the bottle and glass on her desk and brings it to you.

"Oh, right," you wrap them up in your jacket. You know she's watching you, probably taking note of how full the bottle is.

"By the way," she leans in a bit closer, "you never said why you came down to my office." She looks at you, expectantly.

You pause. Do I dare?

"I knew it," she exclaimed.

You brace yourself.

"You do think my couch is comfortable." She beams at you, showing off all her dimples and claps as if she's won something.

You think it's the best hangover cure in the world.

A/N: i finally put something up on here. it's my first ever piece of fan fiction and i'm excited to hear what you think.

inspired from the song "From Eden" by Hozier.