"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

Sir Walter Scott

Another day, another drink in some nameless, run down bar where nobody pays any attention to the silent customers who sit in the corners and drink away their problems. Although, actually getting drunk wasn't an option for me seeing as it took a hellish amount of concentration to manage the distinct accent that would instantly mark me as an outsider. Don't get me wrong, it was damn near impossible to completely get rid of my unique drawl, but it was easy enough to tamp it down a little.

San Francisco's all well and good. It's got some undeniably beautiful places to visit. And I'm a real fan of the Golden Gate Bridge, I have to admit. But it ain't Boston. You remember those irritating things your parents used to say? 'You don't know what you have until it's gone?' Well, turns out they're right. It was pretty obvious I would miss Maura and my family like hell. I just never thought I'd find myself missing things and people I didn't even care about in the past. I shit you not; I would sell my soul to the devil himself for Stanley of all people to hand me my coffee in the mornings. It could taste like crap and I'd still drink it like it was liquid fucking gold.

There are nine other people in this bar including myself. All of them are male aside from the woman behind the bar who has continuously put up with my strange requests and behavior for the past couple weeks. Some bartenders ask far too many questions for my liking. They don't mean anything by it, they feel it's their duty most of the time, but it instantly puts me on edge. Answering more than one question about myself puts me on guard. I can't risk slipping up and revealing something incriminating. There's no excuse for putting someone else in danger. If they were to discover my location, which was entirely possible, maybe even likely, then they wouldn't hesitate to gather information using the only method they understand; violence. And not just your typical, everyday violence, a few punches here and there, break a couple of fingers. Shit I used to see quite a lot on the job when someone wanted info that their victim didn't want to give freely. No, that wasn't their style. They're professionals. They wouldn't dream of lowering their high standards.

I could tell you the tiny details I noted as each one of my fellow drinkers walked into the bar. Tiny details that just might save my life if any one of them turned out to be looking for me. As it stood, it was clear none of these men were here for any other reason aside from escaping their lives for a couple of hours and disappearing into their half filled glasses. Take the large fellow in the corner. For the past hour, he hasn't stopped twisting his wedding ring back and forth, off and on, and every time he takes it off, he stares at it dejectedly. Maura would chastise me for guessing, but I'd say the poor guy just went through a divorce he either didn't want, or didn't see coming. And judging by the way he's been scrolling through pictures of two little kids on his phone I'd bet she took them with her when she left. Who knows, the guy might be an asshole, but I silently saluted someone else who had lost everything.

Mary was the barmaid's name. She was pretty, even if a little washed out looking. Her best feature was definitely her hair, which reminded me of Maura's. It hung loose and naturally wavy around her shoulders. And sometimes, when she turned her back on me, I could almost pretend she was Maura, pottering around her kitchen, preparing a meal for Bass. Mary has three kids, two boys and a girl, and a soldier for a husband. She respects his job, she loves his dedication to protecting their country, but she hates him for leaving his family behind. It practically radiates from her, the sadness and longing. Perhaps that's another reason she chose not to ask questions. She could see her own emotions reflected back at her in all their festering glory.

That night, back 'home' in my current crappy apartment, complete with all the amenities a woman could ever desire, I allowed myself some time to think about what might be happening back in Boston. Surely by now Maura's moved on and got someone new in her life? Part of me hopes she has, really really hopes, because if I can't be there to protect her and make her happy, then someone else has to fill the position I left wide open behind me. I wonder if she remained on good terms with my family, maintained her position as 'Auntie Maura' to little TJ. For some reason, I just know she has. Maura wouldn't be Maura without her admirable ability to look beyond my failings. I wonder if she still catches herself ordering a half mushroom, half pepperoni pizza and hates herself for it.

I wonder how Tommy and Lydia are coping with TJ. He'll be turning four soon. God, that's completely crazy. I remember the day the building collapsed on top of them when he was just a baby like it was yesterday. I can still taste the cloying dust which permeated the very air around us. I hope Tommy's got himself a steady job to support his family. I pray that he's being a good Father to that little boy. For some reason, although I know he hasn't been the most reliable, or the most sensible in the past, I believe with all my heart he's changed for TJ.

I find myself worrying about everyone, even though I know it's pointless. I worry about my Mother. Hopefully she and Maura still have their bond as honorary Mother and daughter. They probably banded together and formed a 'We Hate Jane' club, complete with badges and jackets. Not that I would blame them for doing such a thing. I deserved to have a club dedicated to hating me. In fact, that was the very least I deserved for doing what I did to the person I love most.

I worry about Frankie. I know he always looked up to me. As kids he would always tag along, trying to prove himself, be my friend. And as adults, he even followed me into the dangerous profession I chose over a normal life. Now, he's been left to deal with the fact I turned out to be the biggest bitch known to mankind, and a coward to boot. Maybe he's made Detective by now. I'd like to think he's working alongside Korsak and Frost, and even Crowe. I'd like to think that even though I had to sully the Rizzoli name, he's doing what he can to make it shine again.

I worry about Korsak. Even when I was at my lowest point, he always believed in me, consistently defended me. He's been a constant presence and influence in my life for so many years, and it breaks my heart to reflect on how disappointed he must be in me. I hate to think about how I made him feel by walking out on him without a goodbye. Frost and I deliberated over whether or not to tell him for a long time. Throughout the entire process, we considered letting him on it. But we had to make the decision to keep him in the dark. The less he knew, the safer he was.

Thinking about Frost makes me inexplicably, unavoidably, disgustingly depressed. Perhaps even more so than thinking about Maura, simply because I didn't permit my thoughts to remain fixed on her for very long. It was safer to focus on Frost. It must be slowly destroying him, having to pretend to know nothing, having to pretend to hate me like everyone else, whilst constantly being alert, just in case. The day before I left, I clearly and plainly wrote down a number on a slip of paper which I told him to treat like his own child. It was the number he was to use to reach me if and only if (I hammered that point home to him) someone was to directly threaten my family. Or if there was a chance we could expose him without putting ourselves at risk. If they grew tired of hunting me, I was aware of the fact they might try and draw me back home, where they would be waiting.

I'm in this position because I started investigating. I was doing my goddamn job. It started with little things, 'Blink and you'll miss it' kind of things. Chain of evidence would be broken somewhere along the line and it would become inadmissible in court, giving one side an unfair advantage. Evidence would disappear from lockers and never turn up again. Deaths went unreported in the media; mostly the homeless and other less desirable members of society had their voices silenced. Frost and I suspected someone, or a group of someone's, were doing their best to influence the outcome of our cases. We were convinced that those people were paying others to keep quiet about certain events, or to commit a felony in order to change the outcome of trials. We started to question the motives of our fellow officers. At crime scenes, we remained constantly vigilant, ensuring no evidence was tampered with. Information was grossly inaccurate in every news story. We had a string of violent deaths that went completely unnoticed by the public because nobody, and I mean nobody, was talking about it.

We kept our interest quiet. We told no-one. If we were to show too much of an interest, maybe we would find ourselves pinned for a crime we didn't commit, or suddenly assigned to other, less high profile cases.

Frost and I decided to dig deeper.

Big fucking mistake.

Mr. Theodore Newman, who held an upstanding position in The Boston City Council, needed to prove that the crime rate was falling. His main initiative and promise to the public was to clean up Boston. On the surface, he appeared to be everything he claimed. He was handsome, charming, and likeable. He came from a blue collar background which made him relatable, and most importantly, he seemed dedicated to making a difference.

The Council needed a representative like him, one who could appreciate the general public interest, one who could accurately transfer their opinions to the wider council and incite action, incite progression. Beneath this façade, Newman was nothing more than a thug and a bully. Frost and I delved far back into his past and we found some pretty incriminating stuff. We found a sealed criminal record from his childhood and, looking back, that was probably the point where things started to snowball. We were getting too close for comfort, we were asking too many questions, and because I was a little better known than Frost, I took most of the heat.

Again, it started with little things. Informants ceased all contact with me, my name disappeared from the news, cases I slaved over and reports I spent days putting together were tampered with and practically discarded before they made it anywhere near court. It seemed they wanted to erase my influence and decrease my credibility. Well, I had to hand it to the bastard, he succeeded. The threats started to escalate because I refused to let it go. How could I walk away from this? The biggest cover up I've ever been witness to and I was expected to let it go? Close my eyes and pretend it wasn't happening? Hell no.

I began to notice I was being followed wherever I went, to work, to the grocery store, home… Everywhere. There were hired men playing dress up, acting like 'normal' people, everywhere I went. When one morning I went outside and found a neat little bundle of pictures of Maura sitting there idly on the porch, I lost it. I stormed back inside, pulled on my work clothes and my badge and gun, and drove like a woman possessed to his council office. I badged my way through reception, ignored anyone who tried to hold me back, and practically kicked down the door. Our conversation lasted around a minute before security dragged me out and my deranged, outraged face was slapped on every newspaper the very next morning. It was time enough for him to tell me, 'I warned you Detective. You have to be willing to accept changes. To move with new developments.'

And then someone tried to shoot me. In broad fucking daylight at a crime scene. Korsak took him out before he could get another shot in, and so I never did get to question the little prick. But I did recognize him. He was basically a gun for hire, though evidently not a very good one at that, and not a week before he escaped a jail sentence because some evidence went missing. It was a message to me, a message to Frost, we had to stop digging.

But we didn't. It only encouraged us.

To be honest I'm not sure how I managed to keep most of this from Maura. Sure, she knew we were investigating something, but because I wasn't even sure what we were doing, she chose not to push me. That probably saved her life, because Newman soon turned his attention to her, and my family. When they started play games, sending pictures of TJ with tiny black crosses over his eyes and one of Maura with a red target on her chest, I knew things were getting out of hand. Frankie had his apartment broken into and trashed, one day TJ went missing from kindergarten only to be found a couple of hours later in the park holding an ice cream and telling his Daddy how a friend of 'Auntie Janie' told him it was okay to come with her.

They were circling me, drawing closer and closer. It became a constant onslaught, and that's when Frost and I decided I had to leave. For the sake of everyone I loved, I had to leave. I only hoped my departure was convincing enough, because if Newman and his associates thought for second anyone else was in on it, they would not hesitate to use any force necessary to extract information.

We were close to exposing him. That's the only reason I can come up with to explain his desire to get rid of me. And I failed. I left with my fucking tail between my legs. I left my city at his mercy. But it was the right thing to do.

A/N: So I decided to keep going with this, I tried to make it as believable as possible, I hope I succeeded. Let me know what you think!