A/N: Hi there, everyone. First of all, don't worry. This isn't going to be a crazy long fic - I've already got two of those brewing, I know. But this is a story I've been meaning to write for a while, and it will be a short one (somewhere between 5 and 10 chapters). It's holidayish, so I wanted to get it started. As is stated in the summary, it's based on the film "It's a Wonderful Life." Yes, this is problematic when your George Bailey is Maura Isles, because it's sort of a fantasy, isn't it? If you want to read, just be ready to go with that flow.

This chapter has a trigger warning: (thoughts of) suicide. It will not be touched on again in the remaining chapters.

It didn't take a good eye, or even a sober one, to know that this woman didn't belong here.

She was clothed in a tailored red dress and sleek brown leather boots, her long jacket draped over the back of her barstool: all said, her ensemble had likely cost more than a month's rent on this place. Her posture was perfect as she clasped her glass of beer with both hands, drinking it down slowly. Nobody was with her. She wasn't saving a seat. She didn't even appear conscious of her surroundings.

"Hey, there. What's a class act like you doing in a place like this?"

Maura didn't realize she was the one being addressed until the man touched her forearm. She scowled, and when she looked up at him, he laughed. The beer on his breath was overwhelming; she scrunched her eyes shut and turned away, shaking her head.

"C'mon, don't be like that," he said, rubbing her arm now. "Doesn't do for a pretty girl like you to come to a place like this alone. Our little dive. Why don't you come over to my—"

"Go."

"—table and we'll see if I can't—"

"I said go!" Maura shouted hoarsely.

In jerking her arm away from the man's grasp, her drink sloshed out and doused him. He looked much more outraged than the situation called for; he threw a few choice unsavory words in her direction before stomping back to his table. Maura ordered another drink. Nobody bothered her.

Nobody except the voices that were getting louder and louder inside her head as she continued to drink.

"Stop being such a whiny pain in the ass!"

"What the hell do you mean you haven't got an I.D. yet? You're the medical examiner! This is your job! What, should we go get Pike? See if he can help you?"

"Thanks, Maura, I think I can take it from here. Jane, let's go inside."

"Hello; you've reached Constance Isles. I can't come to the phone at the moment, but if you'd leave your name and your number, I will be sure to get back to you as soon as possible."

"Hello; this is Dr. Hope Martin, I'm sorry to have missed your call! If this is about an appointment, please call my office to schedule. Otherwise, leave me your name and number, and I will get back to you."

Nothing was going right. Nothing.

"Hey, honey. You all right?" With a sniff, Maura looked up and realized the bartender was talking to her. "You want me to call you a cab?"

"Did you know?" she asked. "According to the American Society of, um… of Nephrology, patients who've undergone a kidney transplant have a higher mortality rate if they are moderate drinkers. Not abstainers or heavy drinkers …somewhere moderate, that means somewhere in-between. I just donated a kidney. I'm not supposed to drink. No, no, it's all right now. The transplant team said it was safe now. That's why I'm here."

"Sounds rough," grunted the bartender.

"Mm-hm. Yes. Very. It was for my sister, my little baby half-sister. She needed a kidney, and I said all right. So I did it, I did the surgery, even though she hates me and my mother—our mother hates me. They really hate me. So do you know—you haven't even …I haven't even heard a thing from them. Not a thank-you card or note or email, or a text or a… anything. Not anything.

"So I thought okay! Okay, that's fine. I didn't have them before in my life and I don't need them now, do I? No. I don't. So I called my mother, my real mother, and she hasn't gotten back to me. Nobody gets back to me. My best friend doesn't want to listen to my problems because that's all I am, you know …I'm one big problem. She's got her soldier to deal with and I've got nothing to do that way. Nothing comes easy with me. Nothing is pleasant or nice because that's just not my life. All I do is bother her with my problems when she's got more important things, like Casey and all I'm doing is screwing up my job—which screws up her job—and my family would rather I wasn't here at all, and… here I am."

Somewhere in there she had started to weep, but didn't seem to realize it until a tear trickled into her mouth. She sputtered at the taste, and within moments, was slumped over the bar, sobbing. It wasn't like her to come to a place like this at all. Her mind had drifted while driving home, and she'd gotten turned around, and this place looked warm and comfortable. It looked like a place to try and forget the fact that she was a drain on everyone she came into contact with.

"It w—it wouldn't be so bad," she cried, her tears and voice muffled somewhat by the arm she had half-buried her face into. "I can live with that. I can live with nobody choosing me. Nobody, not my parents or my adoptive parents, or Ian or anyone. I'm not as important. That's all right. I know I'm insignificant. We're all insignificant, but at least some of us do better than others at changing something for good. What've I done? I don't help anybody. I'm a doctor and I don't even help people, not living people. I can't help anybody. I…"

She lost her point, and banging her fist against the bar didn't bring it back. The bartender reached over and gave her arm a light shake. "I'm gonna call you a cab, miss. You just sit tight."

Within ten minutes, Maura was being driven home, her immaculate car standing out in the dive's grungy parking lot like a pack of snowflakes on a grimy window. After paying the driver, she stumbled into her house and fell into bed without changing her clothes. When she woke up the next morning, it was with a clearer head than she had been expecting. That isn't to say her head didn't ache, though; there was actually a small bruise on her forehead from where it had hit the bar last night.

But what got to her most this morning was the silence.

It was a quarter to six, which meant Angela wouldn't be coming in for breakfast for some time. Maura groggily removed her clothes and was about to get in the shower before she thought a walk might help perk her up a bit. It would at least raise her metabolic rate, which would help her clear herself of toxins associated with metabolizing alcohol.

She changed into some sweats and a coat, pulled her hair back, and went out.

The neighborhood seemed strangely quiet, although that may have been because it had snowed in the night. No one was out. And yet, the streets were paved. Maura decided not to think about it too much, and started to walk. At first there was something nice about being alone out here, but it soon became eerie. She knew she was being paranoid, but it was as if the block—and the next few after it—had actively decided to shun her.

That got her thinking of all the events which had led to her excursion last night. How everything seemed to be piling up all at once against her.

You could only stack so many blocks before one of them started to fall, and the tower crashed.

A piercing wind picked up, and Maura closed her eyes against it. It was much colder out here than she'd thought it would be. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing near a small bridge. She'd passed by it many times on her drive home, but never actually walked over it. A river ran beneath it and Maura idly wondered where it went. She stopped dead in the center of it and folded her arms atop the rail, peering down.

It became rhythmic. Soothing and frightening at the same time. She wondered just how cold the water was as a large twig went coursing beneath the bridge.

I am that twig, she realized. It takes a lot of twigs to make up a tree, but if one goes missing, nobody notices. Not even the tree. It's just there for decoration. It doesn't need to exist. And if it ceased to exist, well, so what? What would it matter? It's replaceable. Like me. I am replaceable.

Who would care, really?

I'm not even supposed to be here. I am not supposed to exist. I've seen my grave. Everyone would have been so much better off without my being here—maybe that's the answer. I wouldn't have burdened Hope with my reappearance in her life. She could've found another match for Cailin. The Isles would have been free to live how they wanted, instead of being burdened with a child they had never anticipated having. Ian wouldn't have wasted those years with me. Jane wouldn't have to deal with a whiny pain in the ass like me. She wouldn't have to deal with a naïve know-it-all who's afraid of people. Afraid of herself.

So I was wrong. If I wasn't here, it would make a difference. A difference for the better.

"Please, no."

Maura might have been startled, but the gentleness of the voice was oddly comforting. It made her feel warm, in a way she used to only associate with Jane's presence. That's why she was half-expecting to look up and see Jane there, even though it had been a man speaking.

He was about her height, but looked to be twenty or thirty years her senior. His hair was gray and his face was wrinkled, and while he didn't carry a particularly distinguished air, there was something sweet about him. Maybe it was the quietness with which he was now approaching her, trying to appear friendly even though his face was covered with concern. Moving slowly, deliberately, he sidled up to the bridge, leaning against it a few feet down from Maura.

"What did you say?" she asked, wiping away tears she had only just realized had fallen.

"I said, 'please. No.'"

"No…what?"

He gave her a sad smile. "I saw the look on your face, young lady. Made me nervous about what you were aiming to do."

Maura knew she ought to be anxious, or maybe ashamed, but all she felt was a need to prove this man wrong. His tones were round and rich, like he had all day to talk about what he presumed to be her problems and was happy to discuss them with her—present concern notwithstanding.

"I was just thinking," she heard herself say.

"What about?"

"Oh, I suppose the sort of question most people find themselves facing at one point or another."

"Would that be the meaning of life?"

"Something like it. The meaning of my life, to be specific…if I may say so without sounding pretentious," she said with a rueful laugh.

He reached over and covered Maura's with his own. She instantly felt its warmth, and didn't pull away. She also didn't look him in the eye, although that was probably rude. She was experiencing the odd sensation of feeling comforted by his presence, yet afraid of it at the same time. Or rather, afraid of what he seemed to be able to intuit.

"You are worth something, you know," he said.

"How can you know that?" she countered. Her voice was quiet, and not accusatory. It merely sounded tired and defensive.

"There is a point to every creature's life, Maura."

"I…how do you know my name?"

"Ah. That's right. How rude of me not to introduce myself." He removed his hand from atop hers, extending it to her to shake. "You can call me Gerard."

"Gerard."

"Don't be alarmed, Maura, but I've known you since your birth." And somehow, Maura did not find this alarming. "In fact, as your father asked me to keep an eye on your mother, you could say I knew you before you were born. When I say your father, I do mean Patrick Doyle. Not Desmond Isles."

This was the first time Maura felt inclined to shrink away. How could a man who seemed so genuine and kind be associated with that monster?

"Don't get the wrong idea," he said, as if again reading her mind. "I'm not in Doyle's line of work. It's my job to try and protect people, particularly children. But given the nature of Doyle's occupation, it seemed necessary that I help him keep an eye on you. He's a busy man, you know."

"Yes, I've gotten than impression. I suppose it's his fault I'm here in the first place. His and Hope's." What if his father had found out about me? What if he'd just killed me then?

"I suppose you know Patrick was worried about his father coming to kill you," Gerard went on. "You and Hope. You live. Your life has such worth. I know it hasn't quite been a bed of roses lately, but you must try to keep a more eternal perspective."

Anger had started to settle in. "Oh, I must? Go to hell. You don't know half of what I've been going through."

"Oh, my girl. Don't go taking all that out on me. I know you don't mean it."

She sighed. "You're right, I don't. I'm sorry."

"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "You think everyone around you would be much better off if you'd never been born."

Hearing somebody else say it out loud made Maura feel like a billiard ball had been lodged in her throat. She swallowed heavily, and tears again leaked out of her eyes without her will. "It's true," she croaked. "It's true, Gerard, and I'm sorry but you can't convince me otherwise."

He put a hand on her back. "What if I told you I could prove to you that the world would not be a better place without you?"

She tried to laugh. "I would love to see you try."

"Well, then. Let's not waste anymore time." The wind stopped, and Maura's headache suddenly ceased. She put a hand to her forehead in wonderment, and Gerard said, "No more bruise." Maura looked down and noticed the clip on her sweatpants was gone. "No cell phone. No I.D. There is no Maura Isles." Now, Maura actually did look concerned. She shoved her hand into her coat pocket, and Gerard calmly told her, "It's not there either, Maura."

"What's not?"

"The little note from Jane. The one that was in the box when she gave that coat to you last year around this time. She didn't write it because I'm telling you: there is no Maura Isles. Never was. You've been given a great gift, my dear: a chance to see what the world would be like without you."