A/N –Thank you everyone again. I was astounded at the rapid number of story alerts that hit – I hope I do it justice. In the meantime, I've now also come down with a viral infection *roll eyes* although this chapter was already written, so I've decided to post. I've not forgotten my other stories, including the co-written one with Honorcpt, who once again has been a savior in helping me with this! Oh and the reason for the title gets explained here as well.

Enough rambling from me – I'm sure the AN is the last thing you want to read...


Chapter two

"Enough already!" Jane stumbled towards her front door, where someone was continually banging on the wood, making it rattle in the framework. "Jesus, wake the fucking dead why don't you."

Jane flung the door open, and cringed as Angela stormed inside, brushing past Jane none to gently. "Ma! What the hell?"

Angela spun around on her heels, bringing her arms up and folded them across her chest, having dropped her purse on the kitchen counter that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. "So, you gonna tell me what you've done?" Angela then demanded as Jane finished closing her apartment door, locking it as she did. Angela ignored the red rimmed, puffy eyes that Jane was displaying, not wanting to be deviated from her questioning until she was satisfied with the answers she got.

"Me, why do I have to have done something?" Jane began to move towards the coffee machine in her kitchen, and pleased that she'd had the foresight to set it up before she had finally crawled in to bed in the early hours, switched it on.

Angela twisted around to follow Jane's movements. "What did you do yesterday? I hear that Agent Dean is in hospital, so is some kind of mobster, both shot, least that's what Frankie's telling me. Constance is still in hospital having been run down, and somewhere along the line, it all connects, but no-one is telling me anything more, so I'll ask again. What did you do!"

"Shit." Jane muttered under her breath, before her chin fell to her chest and rubbing her hands across her eyes, pushing the palms of her hands in hard, Jane then tipped her face upwards. She looked at her Mother, who was still standing her ground, posture showing she wasn't going to leave until she had some answers. "We better sit down for this one Ma."

Jane moved to her sofa, followed by Angela, who still kept her tense posture, but dropped her arms in to her lap as they sat at each end, turning to face each other. "Well?" Angela finally asked as the silence began to creep up on them.

"Last year, due to a case, we discovered who Maura's biological father is." Jane began and stopped waiting for her mothers inevitable reaction.

"You knew, and you didn't think to tell me!" Angela began, her eye's wide with shock. "And what in the hell has that got to do with now?"

"Ma, it wasn't that simple. Her biological father is someone called Patrick Doyle, the mob boss currently in hospital. In hospital because I shot him yesterday." Jane faltered, and for once Angela remained quiet. "I guess I need to go back to the beginning."

Jane began to talk, telling her mother all she could about Maura and Paddy Doyle, including the incident when Tommy was at Maura's, Angela's eye's widening further, but she still managed to maintain her silence. Finally, Jane swallowed thickly as it came to the latest events.

"I had to shoot Doyle at the warehouse. Dean came out of nowhere and completely fucked the situation up. Now, I think Paddy Doyle was looking for someone to take another shot at him, and I can only think it's because he didn't want the truth about Maura to come out, let alone the prospect of spending the rest of his life in prison. I can't think of any other reason for him to make the movement he did. He knew, as trained police officers, one of us would fire our weapon. Death by cop, rather than live and face the consequences. I was the cop … Whatever, Maura now hates me..." The last words of Jane's confession were hardly heard as she whispered them, tears now streaming down her face.

Angela moved and gathered Jane up in her arms. "Shush baby. Maura doesn't hate you, but it does explain some things." Angela then said, her own voice soft and low.

"I made so many mistakes over this Ma!" Jane said, between sobs. "I was selfish, when Maura needed me. I didn't report Doyle when I should have. I shot him... Dean, he lied to me... Oh god..."

Angela shook her head slightly, as Jane collapsed against her again, allowing Jane time to get it out of her system. Once she felt the tears decreasing, she slowly moved Jane away, who took the opportunity to grab some Kleenex from a box she kept on her coffee table, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. Angela then stood up, and went to her purse, which she opened. She pulled an envelope out, and pulling her purse back up off the counter, she moved towards Jane, and handed her the envelope. "Maura left a note in the kitchen this morning when I got up. I'm guessing she's already at the hospital, anyway, she asked me to give you this. I'm going to give you time to read it, and I'll be back at home if you need me." Angela said quietly, before leaning in and giving Jane a quick kiss on her cheek. "I'll let myself out."

Jane watched as her mother left the apartment, before looking down at the envelope in her hands, suddenly aware that her hands were shaking. She then stood up putting the letter down on the coffee table, and walked to the coffee machine, pouring herself a mug, before taking a deep breath and settling down on the sofa again. She picked the letter back up off the table. For what seemed like an age, she spun it around in her fingers; corner to corner, diagonal to diagonal. She recognized Maura's writing anywhere. Her precise neat script, in ink, so Jane knew she'd used the old antique ink pen Maura had been given by her parents when she graduated Medical school. She let out a quick breath, and without thinking about it any further, she ripped the top off and pulled out the sheets from inside.

Dear Jane,

I pondered about whether to even write to you, and decided whatever has come between us, I still owe you this letter at the very least. I just hope you can accept and understand the decisions and feelings I hope to express here.

First of all, I still cannot find any way to forgive you for what happened at the warehouse. I truly meant it when I said I love you and now I feel that love has been taken away from me and I'm alone in this world again. Yet, you didn't fully grasp my meaning behind the words. I ask you to contemplate this. When did you know me to ever declare my love for anyone? Did it ever occur to you the true depth of meaning I placed in that declaration? To make sure there are no misunderstandings, I am going to clarify it here. I love you Jane. More than just in a platonic friendship sort of way. I cannot say when my feeling began to change, only that it's been a gradual process. It wasn't until Tommy made his feelings known that I really began to face my own change of feeling toward you. I accept that you might not be able to return these feelings, nor do I expect that with this confession. However, I feel it is important for you to know where we, well, where I stand on this.

I have never fallen in love with a woman before, and frankly I never expected to. However you wormed your way in to my heart, and took it in directions that I never thought were possible. You changed me, and helped me in ways I could never have dreamt of. For the better I might add. You came along and with your way, you also managed to change my entire relationship with my own mother. For all this, I cannot thank you enough.

However, the events leading up to today (in comparison to the time I am writing this), I find I am completely at odds with the person I fell in love with, against the person you became. You broke the most fundamental basis of trust between us; firstly by telling Agent Dean about Patrick Doyle, to then shooting my biological father, when I cannot believe for one second he would have taken action and hurt any one of you. I know you are trained to react in a certain way under such situations, but I still find it hard to believe you couldn't have taken a second to process the information, to see if your shot was truly needed. Am I being naive? Perhaps, but I still find myself asking the same question. Did you need to shoot?

I realized that while I was watching over my mother, my adoptive mother that is, you were where? In your own bed, having a sexual liaison with someone who, it turned out, also took your trust and used it against you. Against us. Your lack of judgement though is ultimately what gave Agent Dean the reason to be in the warehouse. I fully believe that had he not been there, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing all this down. We might well be down at The Dirty Robber, drinking to the conclusion of the case. We might have to try and explain the death of someone from a gun no-one from the police department fired, but I'm sure we would have found a way to explain it.

As it is, I am sitting here, trying to write through the tears that don't seem to want to stop. Because of today's events I've made some decisions regarding my own life. I know you are about to roll your eyes at what I'm going to say next, but I find myself drawn to the story of one of Shakespeare's plays, Love's Labour's Lost. While a comedy in nature, somehow the storyline seems fitting for what I am about to embark upon. In the play, the King of Navarre and three noble companions undertake an oath to devote themselves to three years of study, promising not to give in to the company of women.

I am therefore taking an oath to take a year away, not to study but to return to Médecins Sans Frontières. Yes, you know them as Doctor's without Borders. To be away from the company of just one woman. I have already spoken to Médecins Sans Frontières and I leave first thing in the morning. By the time you receive this, I will already be on the start of my journey. Where I will end up, I do not know. I intend to also refresh my medical training while away, and possibly learn more than I already know, so I can perhaps do more in the operational aspect of their work. I do not intend to rejoin Ian. That part of my life is my past, and I intend to keep it that way. It is of course entirely possible our paths might cross, but I know I cannot give him the same love as before. My heart is now given to another, to you Jane.

I have left a separate letter for your Mother, which I have left in the top drawer of my writing bureau plus another letter which I wish to be handed to my own mother. My greatest regret doing it this way is I will be unable to say goodbye to her properly. My one request is that you either call Angela and tell her where to find the letters, or hand it to her yourself, and if you could extend the same courtesy to my mother I would be grateful. I wanted to make sure you were the first to know of my intentions. I will be asking Angela to continue living in the guest house, and to house sit for me while I'm away, and also to look after Bass, via her letter. I will also arrange for monies to be made available to her for any costs associated with that. All Angela knows is I asked via a note, if she could give you this missive when she saw you next. If you wish to help her while I am away, I would welcome it. However, if it would be too much for you to deal with, I would also understand that. The choice, I leave up to you.

I have with immediate effect resigned from my position as Chief Medical Examiner. They would be unable to offer leave of absence for such a length of time and I haven't even bothered to ask for such an outlandish request. I do though intend to eventually return to Boston. As for my employment once I return, that is something I will face once I am back. I would hope to return to the medical examiners office in some capacity, but it would naive of me to expect them to offer me my old position once they fill it. I would most likely have to take an assistant's position to begin with, and I accept this as being as a direct result of my decision to leave. Make no mistake, I am fully aware of what I am leaving behind and the consequences of it, at least in terms of my employment.

I will return, as with the final acts of the play, within one year and one day. I want to know if our love can stay strong, at least as far as our friendship goes. I feel I can only know how true your feelings are by taking this action. I don't want to be blinded by grief and anger as I am now. If you wait for my return, then I hope we can both move on from this entire calamitous mess.

As the bard himself wrote: The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way: we, this way.

Jane, I feel we need to separate, I need to go this way to re-evaluate my life, and those in it. We need to go this way. I also ask you do not try to follow me. I ask you respect my wishes and give me this time.

I wish you no ill will Jane, and I hope you don't do anything rash while I am away. One year, one day and I promise you, I will return. I truly do love you.

Yours, always,

Maura

Jane had no idea she had been crying until a tear drop hit the paper, smudging the ink of Maura's signature ever so slightly, enough for Jane to snatch the paper away from her tears, wiping it furiously, trying to preserve the words on the pages. She automatically began to smooth the pages out, not even wanting a crease from where it had been folded and placed in the envelope to mar it in any way. She wiped the tears from her face, before sinking back on the sofa, unable to stop the sobs that seemed to build from the base of her stomach, erupting with intensity that only seemed to increase. Jo had even scrambled away, and was now cowering in the bedroom.

Angela sank back on Maura's sofa, having had a frantic phone call from Jane, telling her to retrieve a letter from Maura's writing bureau that was addressed to her. Her eye's rapidly blinked, as she tried to focus on the words a second time, knowing it wouldn't change events, no matter how much she wished it would. She then stood up, and purposefully moved, heading towards the hospital. If she couldn't change events as Jane's mother, perhaps it was time to bring in the big guns. Besides, she had been asked, and by god she would make sure that she at least delivered the letter to Constance.

Constance shifted in her hospital bed, her features showing the shock she felt at reading the letter Angela had brought in with her. "I can't believe she would do this. Why?" Constance finally managed to say, handing the letter back to Angela, who took it with a look of understanding and placed it on the small cupboard that sat alongside the hospital bed.

"Do you know Patrick Doyle?" Angela decided that she might as well not change a habit of a lifetime, and her question sounded as blunt as she intended it to be. She didn't miss the quick flinch crossing Constance's before she placed a mask of indifference, and didn't answer the question.

"I fail to see how this is relevant."

Suddenly Angela knew where Maura's ability to deflect some questions came from. She shook her head slightly, "Oh believe me this is relevant. Last I heard, he was lying in ICU, reports unsure if he will survive the bullet wounds, let alone the fall to the floor from around 30 feet that he took. An FBI agent was also injured and is also still critical in ICU, having been shot by Doyle."

As Angela spoke, Constance began to sit upright, hissing in pain the movement was causing her, but not willing to stop. "No, you're lying." Her words were ground out as she fought the pain.

"Why would I lie about something like that?" Angela said, seeing the pain that remained in Constance's eyes by her news. "Patrick Doyle, how do you know him?"

"He..." Constance faltered, before taking as deep a breath as her battered body would allow. "He's Maura's biological father."

"And also an Irish Mobster." Angela supplied, with raised eyebrows. "Maura and Jane have known he was Maura's biological father for some time now, due to a murder case they worked on together."

"And also an Irish Mobster." Constance admitted, looking ashamed. "We were asked to take on Maura's adoption by him, and it was the easiest decision I've ever had to make. Tell me please, what has Patrick got to do with Maura going off to Médecins Sans Frontières? She only says she needed to get away, and will return in a year and a day. That you or Jane would explain it further to me. What has happened?"

"Jane." Angela admitted, "It comes down to Jane. She shot Doyle at a warehouse, and made some decisions, that in hindsight weren't the best my baby has ever made. Maura is angry, hurt and striking out. I've yet to talk to Jane again, who I know was also left a letter, so I'm hoping she can explain it all a little more for us, but until then, I want to know, do you know where Maura might be?"

Constance shook her head. "No. God I wish I did. I'm still trying to understand this all. If Maura knew who Patrick was, and she didn't tell me..."

"I hate to say this, but, like you didn't tell her." Angela replied, her tone level.

"You're right, of course." Constance fell back a little more in to her pillows as the pain began to override her ability to stay as upright as she had been. "I wish, I wish so many things between us had been different, but I thought we were protecting her."

"I would imagine Maura thought she was protecting you." Angela said, with a sigh. "This whole mess seems to have been created by a lot of people not talking at the right time, or when they do talk, it's to the wrong person at the wrong time."

Constance raised her eyebrows at Angela's last comment, but decided now wasn't the time to delve in to more questions than perhaps could be answered.

"Any idea when you're going to be allowed out of here?" Angela then asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. They had formed an unlikely friendship, and Angela was determined they would maintain that, if nothing else. Just because things had faltered between their daughters, it didn't mean they had to suffer the same fate. If anything, their daughters needed their friendship to remain intact right now no matter how badly their own had fractured.

"Perhaps next week. A lot is going to depend on how stable my pelvic area is, and then I suppose I will go home to New York."

"Stay at Maura's." Angela suggested. "I can help look after you, and you won't be as alone. We can then talk about all this, and see what we might be able to do about our daughters, and knocking their stubborn heads together."

"I don't know if I could impose..." Constance began, not daring to admit the idea appealed. Apart from any nursing staff she might need to hire, she would be alone in New York. Surprisingly herself, she had grown to love the gregarious, loud American Italian woman who was currently sitting alongside her bed.

"It wouldn't be imposing. Besides, it's your daughters house. If anyone is going to be allowed to stay, it's you, and Maura has told me to treat it like my own place, so I'm asking you to stay."

"Very well." Constance began to slip back in to the bed a little more, fighting the tiredness that had also now crept up on her, since the pain medication she had self administered a short time before Angela appeared began to take effect. "I will consider it."

Angela could only wear a wry smile as she watched Constance succumb to sleep. She slowly stood up, and she turned, now heading towards Jane's apartment. She wasn't finished for the day, not by a long shot.