It didn't take long for Jane to fall asleep. Maura had hoped that the beer would pushed her friend in the right direction, because sitting there making pleasant conversation any longer would surely send her into an emotional tailspin. She had no energy for it, really. No energy to joke, no energy to pretend that everything inside her hadn't been broken that night. She and Jane had made their way upstairs to her bedroom where the detective had sprawled herself out, her boots still in her feet and not even changed into pajamas. Maura watched her for a few moments, haunted still by the look on Jane's face over the live stream.

Would that image ever escape her?

Could she ever shake what she felt, that horrible, gut wrenching terror?

Maura choked back a sob; she promised herself that she would not let Jane see her cry. She promised herself that she would cry no more. And how could she, when Jane didn't even cry herself? How could Maura collapse when it wasn't her that was taken? When it wasn't her that had been tied to a bed, completely unsure of her fate? How could Maura even pretend, for a second, to have felt what Jane was feeling?

She moved to Jane's side of the bed and knelt at her feet, carefully unthreading Jane's laces and tugging at the boot. She knew from experience that Jane wouldn't wake. She never did. Maura did this all the time. It actually made her chuckle, a sound that surprised her – Maura had been sure just hours before that, if Jane didn't survive, she would never laugh again. But it made her laugh, the thought that this had become routine. That she often was dealt with the task of pulling Jane's work shoes off and tossing them in the corner with the rest of Jane's things. A task not of a friend, but of a lover.

The thought caused a shudder to travel the length of her spine.

When had this happened? When had Jane become so much more to her than what she was supposed to be? And why did it feel so right and agonizingly wrong at the same time?

Maura knew that she had been scared plenty in her life. And even Jane, even Jane had scared her. When Jane shot herself, when Maura wasn't sure if her best friend would live or die, she felt a pain that she had never felt before. Something new and terrifying and something really rather real. But had Maura known how to process it? Not in the least. And if the Maura Isles sitting on the edge of the bed was the same Maura Isles that pressed a hand to her shot best friend's wound, she wouldn't be considering the very real possibility that she was in love with Jane Rizzoli.

Considering?

No, Maura knew.

Maura knew exactly what she was feeling.

"Oh God," Maura's hand came to her mouth and she bit down, trying desperately to hold back the tears. She turned to look at Jane. She indulged herself in the sweet gift of sleep – a rare gift to study Jane, an innocent Jane, a Jane unable to hide behind a facade of bravery or her sarcastic wit. She could not crack jokes, she could not hide behind a smile. All Jane was lay there on the bed in front of Maura. Her fears, her worries, the terror she felt. It was all laced in the lines stretched across her quickly aging face. Maura knew Jane was lost in her nightmares – not dreams, but nightmares, the same nightmares that haunted her from the first time Hoyt ever took her, only enhanced by the horrors she saw at her job every day. And now, Maura knew, with this. With him. With the man that came closer than Hoyt ever did at taking everything Jane could offer to the world. Taking her soul, taking her pride.

And taking her away from Maura.

She couldn't stop it this time. The tears came, they flooded her, drowning her. Maura stood from the bed and crossed the room, her legs so weak, her head clouded with nothing but Jane's horror stricken face. The room felt suffocating. She could feel her chest clench. The only sound she could hear was her own heart thrashing against her chest. Her back hit the wall and she slid down until she met the floor. Maura clenched her shirt in her hands, squeezing her hands together so tightly that she was sure there would be marks from her nails. The air seemed thin, she couldn't get enough of it.

A pair of warm hands pulled her back in – into the real world, into perspective. Jane was crouched in front of Maura.

"Maura, hey. Maura."

"I – "

She couldn't speak. She was embarrassed, she was frightened. Jane wasn't supposed to see her like this. Broken. Afraid. She had promised herself.

"Talk to me." insisted Jane.

When Maura didn't speak, Jane pulled her forward until Maura's body was pressed firmly into Jane. She rubbed the blonde's back and whispered reassurances into her ear, even though Maura was entirely certain Jane was saying whatever she could in hopes of getting Maura to stop crying.

"Jane," Maura buried her head into Jane's shoulder. Could the words come out? Would they burn her throat as badly as they scalded her heart with their brutal honesty? "Jane, I-I love you. I was so scared. I love you, Jane. I love you."

Maura felt Jane tense, but her shoulders relaxed and she only held onto Maura tighter. "I-I know, Maura. It's okay. I love you to. You know that. It's okay, I'm safe."

But Maura knew Jane didn't know.

The words were lost on her, lost in the rubble that had become Maura and Jane.

After that episode, I just really needed to write.

Let me know your thoughts.