This dark(er) fic comes from a place I typically prefer not to talk about with 99.99999% of people. But I had to get this out of me after a rough couple of days, both at work and personally.

Dislaimer: I promise things look up at the end of this if you can make it through the sadness.

She stared at the bottle of vodka sitting in front of her on the coffee table and gripped the orange prescription bottle tighter in her left hand. The painkillers were left over from when she'd shot herself a year ago during the BPD HQ takeover.

Some days, even before then, were better than others. Things had intensified since then though. On the good days, she almost felt normal, happy even. But then there were some days...some days like this when she wanted nothing more than the courage to end it all. Everything seemed pointless and hopeless. More often than not it seemed these days, the bad guys won.

And on top of her dark feelings, she just felt so exhausted all the time. Or maybe the two were related. But no matter how much she slept, or didn't, she usually just felt like a zombie dragging her feet around, like she was constantly just going through the motions most days. But she'd learned how to manipulate her thoughts and actions just enough that people didn't ask questions or suspect anything. Maybe that's why she felt so exhausted.

But when she was alone, and she no longer had to pretend, her thoughts ran wild. She'd thought so often about all the ways she could end it. She'd narrowed it down to shooting herself, or overdosing. She knew which one was messier, and she intimately knew the protocol for both situations. In the end, ironically she always thought, overdosing seemed like a better way to go. Less mess for all anyone involved. Because of her years on the force, she'd know exactly what dosage would be lethal for her. And having all this knowledge scared the ever loving fuck out of her.

Yet every time she thought she'd found the courage, that the day had been horrible enough to let go completely, she only thought of one thing.

Maura.

The thought of leaving Maura behind was as painful as how she felt on an almost daily basis, and the thought of leaving Maura in this way...she just couldn't bring herself to act.

So she always sat there. And let herself fall so far into the darkness that she was sure she'd never be able to find the light again. And while she sat there, she drank herself unconscious, each and every time.

Nobody seemed to notice, and she wasn't sure if she rejoiced in this fact, or hated them for it. It was a double-edged sword.

The thought of Maura always made her hesitate when everything became too much and she could no longer drown out the negative her brain seemed to thrust upon her.

But this night, she'd gotten off her shift early. She'd ignored Maura all afternoon, not in the mood for conversation or interrogation (because Maura could always do that face-reading thing she hated sometimes).

If Maura really knew what went on inside her head, she would have her committed, or make her commit herself. Have them put her on suicide watch or list her as a suicide risk, or whatever they'd decide to do.

She didn't want anything to do with hospitals, or doctors (except Maura), and especially not any that were psychiatric.

So she just sat there, her phone on silent, pill bottle in her hands, staring away at the vodka bottle, wondering when she'd gather the courage to act.

She couldn't remember what normal felt like anymore. She just felt consumed by this demon, this thing deep inside her that she couldn't seem to control if there wasn't something there to drown it out.

It taunted her. Dared her. Mocked her relentlessly.

She never heard the soft knocking at the door. Nor did she hear the keys in the door after, or the click of the lock as it turned and the door cracked open.

She didn't hear the door closing, or the lock turning again.

She only barely registered a dip in the couch beside her and finally, slowly turned to look at a very calm Maura now next to her.

Without a word, Maura took the pill bottle from Jane's hands and put it in her purse. She sat her purse on the floor, a rarity for her. She pulled out some tissues from a small travel pack deep within her bag and wiped off Jane's cheeks gently, discarding the now wadded up tissues on the coffee table next to the vodka.

Jane, though, just looked at her, unable to speak, unable to convey the desperation she felt within herself. More tears welled up and one escaped down her cheek.

Maura leaned toward her and kissed her cheek, right where the tear had slipped down,.

"I love you," Maura whispered. "And I will fight with you until you don't have to fight anymore, okay?"

At Maura's quiet words, she started sobbing and fell forward onto Maura's chest.

Maura wrapped her arms around her and held tight. She said nothing more, but it appeared no words were needed from either one.

After several minutes, she stopped crying and her breathing became more steady. Finally she pulled back, wiping at her face.

Shifting herself to lounge along the back of the sofa, elbow bent and her cheek propped against her palm, Maura patted the space in front of her for Jane to lie there.

She laid down beside Maura, the top of her head touching Maura's arm.

"How long has it been like this?" Maura asked quietly, without judgment.

She gave a noncommittal shrug and averted her gaze, looking instead at the wall across the room.

"I didn't know it was this bad, Jane," Maura confessed. "I only just realized something deeper was going on. The pieces didn't really fall in place until this afternoon."

She turned her gaze back to Maura and tears burned her eyes yet again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Maura replied. "You could have told me."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm supposed to be the strong one, Maur."

"Being strong has nothing to do with it. You're not infallible – you're merely human."

Opening her eyes again, she felt a tear slide down her left cheek into her ear and wiped it away with her hand."But I'm supposed to take care of you, not the other way around. It's my duty, remember?"

"And it's my duty as your," Maura hesitated, "friend to take care of you when you need me to."

"I didn't want to bother you with my problem," she mumbled and looked away.

Maura gently placed a hand on her cheek and she looked back up at her. "Jane, you are the most important person in my life. Your problem is my problem. Especially when it's something this serious, do you understand?"

She nodded softly as tears threatened to fall again.

"We're going to fight this together, okay?" Maura whispered, tears springing to her own eyes.

"Every time I thought I could finally do it, I always thought of you and I stopped. I couldn't when I thought of you," she confessed in a trembling voice, tears finally sliding down her cheeks. "And I always thought of you." She closed her eyes.

"Oh, Jane," Maura murmured, as she moved her thumb back and forth across her cheek, which was wet with tears.

"I don't know where I'd be without you, Maur," she whispered.

"Well I don't want to find out," Maura stated.

Jane sniffled. "Stay with me?"

Maura smiled and pulled Jane closer to her in response.

If you (or someone you know) are having suicidal thoughts or tendencies, or even just thinking about hurting yourself, please seek help from someone - even a stranger who's willing to listen. I know it can feel hopeless and most days you may not know how to go on. I have been there time and time again, and I am still here today. If you need someone to talk to, I am available to listen. If you don't want to talk to me, I know there are plenty of others within the R&I fandom who'd be willing to listen.

Somebody, somewhere, cares about you. I promise, with every fiber of my being. Just hang in there, kiddo. ^.^