A/N: Happy New Year's everyone! Thank you for all the support- I hope this update warrants it. I had written more, then quickly realized this chapter was getting far too long already, so... I guess this story is going to wind up being twice as long as I had originally envisioned.

Jane got no sleep that night. She didn't even get off the couch for probably thirty minutes, because every time she tried to stand up, her legs felt too unstable to support her. So in defeat, she remained lying on the couch, trembling as a myriad of emotions continued to course mercilessly through her. Her hand traveled up to stroke the back of her neck, smoothing down the short hairs that had stood on end when Maura's fingers had been there. At the time, she had been so utterly lost in the moment that she hadn't fully appreciated the tenderness of the move, the subtle desire behind it. Sometimes she was overcome with how senselessly beautiful Maura was.

Every now and then a short stupor would descend upon Jane, and she would forget briefly where she was or why she was just sitting there. But then she would recall the feeling of Maura's body in her arms, of her skin beneath Jane's lips, the saltiness of her tears on Jane's tongue. Heat consumed her at the mere memory of their physical closeness, and the biggest bomb of all: …if I weren't in love with you, too.

Maura was in love with her. How long had she felt that way? Had Maura felt it as a long, tortuously slow burn, like Jane? Or had the realization only recently struck her? Actually the more she thought about it, the more Jane believed that the latter was partly true of her as well. It felt as though she had been pining after Maura for months, building a crush that terrified her with its implications. If she was completely honest with herself, she had found women attractive before, but had never pursued anything largely because of her Catholic upbringing which stipulated marrying a man and having many of his children. Her ability to engage in romantic relationships with men made her feel that perhaps she could be the (straight) woman her parents had always hoped she would grow up to be. But it had become harder and harder to ignore one Maura Isles. Everything about her sent chills down Jane's spine: the gentle timbre of her voice, her soft laugh, her penetrating hazel eyes, her subtle perfume, her ridiculous intelligence. It seemed as though every day, Jane found some new aspect of Maura to obsess over, be it something physical or personality-related. Granted Maura had her flaws—that google mouth could get annoying now and then, and her constant inability to differentiate between literal and figurative sayings was starting to lose its quirkiness and become tiresome. But those were such minor things compared to the compatibility between her and Jane that was somehow simultaneously effortless and strenuous. The tension had finally broken between them with that one shot at Doyle…

In the past few weeks, Jane had realized just how hard she really had fallen for Maura. She had taken the woman's presence in her life for granted, and had not taken into account how drastic an impact her absence would leave. Jane was restless, and unable to fully concentrate on her work. Out of sight, out of mind? Complete crap. Despite knowing how fully she had betrayed Maura, and despite worrying that forgiveness would never be possible, Jane had sat by helplessly as her love for Maura rushed unapologetically onwards.

But the wait was over. In one very bold, very frank letter, Jane had expressed her feelings with unmistakable clarity. And Maura had returned them. Lord knew how they'd overcome Doyle's death, but Jane was determined to do whatever was necessary to get Maura to like her again. Her stomach twisted itself into anxious knots as she thought about the next day. She and Maura would be back at work together again, after all of this. Amid the fear and concern and self-disgust, Jane allowed a small sliver of hope to worm its way into her consciousness.

She finally rolled off the couch and walked towards the peg on the door with a dog leash slung over it. "C'mon, Jo," she said, smiling as her loyal pet came bounding over. "Let's go for a late-night walk."

Jane didn't get back to her apartment until around midnight, at which time Maura was still lying on her back in her own bed, in the exact same position she'd gotten into as soon as she'd returned to her house. Initially it had been a measure to calm herself down: a terrible migraine had overtaken her on the drive home, and she didn't even check in on her father before taking some Advil and going to bed.

It had been very surreal having her adopted father present so soon after her birth father had died. Shortly after Constance's near-fatal experience, Maura had managed to get a hold of her dad and he'd flown in from Tanzania as quickly as possible. In a move that wound up saving a lot of people from a lot of awkward discomfort, Angela had temporarily moved in with Frankie while Maura's father took the guest house. He was a good man, her father. All he'd wanted was the best for his daughter, and he had provided it the best way he knew how. His was a case of benign neglect: perhaps he had not been the most demonstrative person regarding his feelings, but Maura knew deep down that he cared very deeply for her and would never do anything wrong. Lately she'd been wondering how much she took after him in this regard—how many of her feelings had been left unexpressed? How often had she assumed that people (well, Jane) would just be able to know how she felt, without her having to say anything?

And then this horrible accident had happened. Not Constance getting hit by the car; that was no accident. Doyle's death. Maura struggled long and hard to decide whether she had been right to lash out at Jane so quickly. Shouldn't she have been relieved to have this murderer of the streets? Yes he had fathered her, but he hadn't raised her. He hadn't been willing to change enough to be there for her. Once she'd found out his identity, Maura had always felt safer whenever he wasn't around. This was a little odd, she knew, because his basic motive in contacting her was to protect her. But she didn't need Doyle for protection when she had Jane. Doyle popped up intermittently, never welcome, and always bringing with him a dull sense of dread that pervaded Maura's very being. The only feeling that was even comparable to this aching dread was the one that had welled up in the past three Jane-less weeks.

Maura had made the mistake of assuming that if she avoided places she associated with Jane, she wouldn't think of her. She could sidestep the pain. It had been part of her motive in taking off work, and furthermore she stayed away from the Dirty Robber in addition to any of the restaurants or stores she had been in with Jane. But it was futile. Her relationship with Jane wasn't stuck in those places; it was everywhere. Maura could no sooner escape her longing to see Jane than she could escape the sky—it covered absolutely everything.

But the desire to see Jane was confusingly mixed with fear and anger about what had happened regarding Doyle. She recalled the conversation they had had the second time Jane came by the hospital, her only visitor.

"We'll get him, Maura, don't worry."

"I'm not sure I want you to anymore…"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "That's not really up to me."

"I know. You need to do what you have to do."

"Look. I won't tell you that it'll be okay when I don't know that it will. But I am here for you."

Her voice was respectfully low, and cracked with emotion. Maura held out a battered, wounded hand, and Jane clasped it between both of her own. That simple gesture instilled such a sense of peace and comfort in Maura's hectic world, and she found herself wondering what she would ever do without Jane Rizzoli. Who would be her anchor? Who would build her up when she felt down? Who would listen, who would laugh, who would love her?

Nobody. Nobody could replace Jane.

Jane had always been the stronger one, so maybe it wasn't that surprising that she was the one who had finally re-initiated contact. True, Maura thought she had been first with that tactless text message, but Jane had really delivered. After all of the turmoil she had been experiencing recently, Maura found it truly difficult to imagine that she had any tears left inside her, but Jane's letter had made her weep. It had been so honest, so open, so sorry. The words stimulated Maura's affection for Jane, hating that it had been marred, yet also making her feel as though perhaps their cause wasn't a lost one after all.

Her reasons for going to Jane's apartment that night had been two fold: she wanted to clear the air between them, but mostly, she hoped to hear Jane speak some of the things she had written: I'm in love with you. Reading the words had been wonderful beyond anything Maura could have dreamt up, and it had suddenly become extremely important to hear them spoken aloud. It had never been her intent to declare her own love for Jane that night. The words had just come out, making for what Maura was, in retrospect, embarrassed to call a melodramatic move. She supposed somewhere along the line, her subconscious had felt it unfair to leave Jane without echoing the sentiments that the detective had so bravely shared.

Maura gently touched one of her cheeks, shivering at the recollection of Jane's lips there. She had never been kissed like that. Jane had basically been given permission to do what she wanted, and that was the move she had made: kissing away Maura's tears. It wasn't possessive, it wasn't inappropriately passionate, it wasn't calculated. It was a sweet expression of her sorrow and her guilt, but above all, her love for Maura. The fact that she didn't take it any further told Maura two very important things: firstly, that Jane was even more respectful of the gravity of their situation than Maura had thought; and secondly, that if there had been any doubt before, Maura was dying to eventually feel Jane's lips on hers.

Groaning lightly, she turned on her side and shut off the lamp on her nightstand. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad. You won't go down there and talk to her since you're the one who took the shot, and Frost won't go down there to talk to her, because you only took that shot in his defense, and Frankie won't go down there because he's your brother and thinks Maura doesn't want any contact with any of the Rizzoli's!"

Jane sighed shortly. "I meant the newest victim, Korsak. In the case."

"Well I don't know, because no one will go down to our chief medical examiner for her input!"

"And you won't go down there because…?"

"Because I can't be the one always making the trip, Jane. I know what happened at the factory was obviously difficult and thorny for you two to deal with, but if you guys can't get your act together for work, BPD is going to be in for a lot of trouble. Our top detective and our chief medical examiner need to be on speaking terms." When this elicited no response, Korsak continued: "Jane, come on. It's like riding a bike! You crash and fall off, but that doesn't mean you never get on it again!"

"Shooting your best friend's dad isn't comparable to falling off a bike," Jane muttered. She knew that Korsak was just trying to help, but she was still too afraid to be alone with Maura so soon after their conversation—especially at work.

"Look, maybe I'm a bastard for asking this, but when did you start calling Paddy Doyle her dad? Weren't you the one always putting the emphasis on his only contribution being the sperm?"

Jane snorted and looked away. "Yeah. Yeah, Korsak. But I think Doyle was trying to turn it around—his relationship with Maura, I mean. When I shot him, I took away his chance to redeem himself in her eyes."

"Redemption? Too little too late, Jane." He held out a thick case file and asked, "Are you going to take care of this, or am I going to be your middle man again?"

With a grimace, Jane took the file and headed for the elevator. She passed Frankie in the hallway, and noting where she was headed, he hopefully asked if she was on her way to talk with Maura.

"Just about the case," she said, getting into the elevator.

"Try talking to her, Jane. Kiss and make up already, please! Ma's killing me."

Jane knew Frankie hadn't really meant anything by the "kiss" part of that statement, but her heartbeat spiked at the word anyway. She glanced up just as the elevator doors were closing, but Frankie was already walking away, and too soon Jane had reached Maura's floor. Tightly clutching the case file in one hand, Jane clenched the other into a fist and resolutely walked down the hall to the lab. With each step, her façade of confidence and control began to crumble. Any second now, Maura would come into view, and they would be forced to confront what had happened last night. All the cards were on the table now: both of them knew they were loved by the other.

Something that had kept Jane up all night was her concern that perhaps she should have followed Maura. What if she had missed a golden opportunity? What if Maura had expected Jane to come running after her, to talk more or to kiss her? She had dropped a bombshell, then just left. Left! Sure, Maura sometimes struggled with what Jane perceived to be obvious social customs, but even she must have been able to appreciate how awkward that was, and how uncomfortable work was going to be. They shouldn't have left things on that note, knowing they'd have to see each other the next day.

Finally, Jane reached the windows of the lab and saw Maura sitting at her computer. Standing stock still for a few moments, Jane guessed that Maura hadn't noticed her yet, and she took the time to try and collect herself. She also couldn't help observing that while Maura studied the screen, a finger curled itself around a thick strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. She's playing with her hair, Jane thought. Sexually frustrated, Dr. Isles? Argh! Rude, Rizzoli! Just then, Maura happened to glance in her direction, and Jane quickly tried to act as if she had just shown up.

Maura stood up as Jane walked into the room, and each of them waited for the other to say something. Jane wondered if Maura was facing the same internal crisis as she was, trying to decide whether to address her formally or as a friend. The moment before she attempted to test the waters with a "Hello, Dr. Isles," Maura spoke up.

"Jane, I'm glad it's you," she said softly.

Taken somewhat off guard, Jane fought to maintain a neutral expression as she approached the table holding their victim. "Yeah, me too," she said in a rush. "So, uh, did Dr. Pike's notes and stuff make sense?"

"Yes, I reviewed them yesterday."

"Right, right."

"This is the girl Detective Frost and Frankie found last night."

"Oh, yeah, Korsak was just telling me. You figured out cause of death?"

Maura raised an eyebrow, and Jane actually spared a glance for their victim, who she only just noticed had a clear bullet hole through his forehead. "Oh."

"Of course, I don't like to jump to conclusions," Maura sighed. "But after my initial inspection, I failed to notice any other abrasions, fractures, or otherwise noteworthy wounds which might explain his death." She glanced up. "Detective."

She was taking her behavioral cues from Jane, who folded her arms and clamped her eyes tightly shut for just a moment. Already she was screwing this all up.

"Maura," she said in a gentle, pleading voice. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"Excuse me?" Maura asked, her brow knitting together.

"Tell me what you think, yes or no."

Maura leaned over their victim's body, pretending to study one of the incisions she had made. "Objectively speaking, of course you're not a bad person. You put others before yourself, you adhere strictly to the law and enforce it, and you …do all within your power to stay loyal to the people you love."

"You don't think I've killed too many people on the job?" Jane asked, her eyes glued to the wound on their victim.

There was an ominous silence before Maura answered: "No." She looked up to see Jane biting her lip and fidgeting. "Do you?"

Jane took a deep breath to steady herself. "Sometimes I—I wonder afterwards if I moved too quickly. It keeps me up nights, worrying if I made the wrong decision." Her voice broke, and she couldn't believe she was about to cry in front of Maura again, but here came the tears. "What if—you know, what if I didn't take the shot? What if he—or whoever, she—was bluffing, or had missed? Why is it always my first instinct to pull the trigger?"

"Jane, it's not," Maura said softly, walking around the end of the table to be on the same side as Jane. It was obvious that even though Jane could technically be talking about any number of people, she was dancing around the subject of Doyle. This was the closest she was ever going to get to asking Maura outright for vindication, and Maura found herself at a loss for words or actions. Jane's head was tilted away from her; she'd be staring at the floor if her eyes had been open, but they remained largely shut as tears continued to be squeezed from them. Maura lifted an arm as if to stroke Jane's, but she changed her mind and instead let it hang by her side as she foraged blindly onwards with speech: "A bad person—a bad cop—would enter every situation firing off bullets. You don't. And you don't take a shot unless it's warranted and you can't see any other way out of it."

"I could've found one," Jane insisted in a tone resembling a remorseful whine. "That day, I could've found another way."

"But you didn't, Jane." The doctor steeled herself as Jane finally lifted her head and looked at Maura, her big brown eyes sheen over with tears. "Again, objectively speaking, I know you did the right thing. You are not a bad person. Patrick Doyle was."

"He loved you."

"That may be true, but it doesn't exonerate him from the atrocious crimes that he committed. You stopped him from ever having the chance to apologize to me again, or try to build a relationship with me. You stopped him from telling me who my real mother is. But you also stopped him from murdering other people. You stopped him from robbing other families of their fathers."

"But he only killed people who deserved it," Jane persisted. "He's—I mean, isn't he like me that way? He didn't kill anyone who was innocent."

"He took the law into his own hands," Maura said. "His own violent, cruel hands. Don't get romantic about mob life, Jane. All it does is feed the legends Doyle grew up on that made him want to be a killer. Do you think I could ever forgive him if he had harmed Detective Frost? Or you? Crime bosses weren't his only victims, Jane. You and I both know that several of your peers lost their lives crossing that thin blue line around Doyle. I almost lost you trying to do the same."

"But Maura, I—"

"Dammit, Jane! Please stop trying to come up with reasons why I should be upset with you! Do you want me to be mad at you?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

"All right then!"

"It's just…"

"Just what, Jane?"

"Last night. We said things. Big things."

"Yes. Yes we did."

Jane stared at her. "So… what now? Are we just going to leave it?"

"Is that what you want?" Maura asked calmly.

"Well—no."

Maura sighed. "In light of recent events, I thought perhaps it would be difficult to envision pursuing any kind of relationship with you, if not impossible. As you're well aware, I'm not accustomed to letting emotions run my life, and I'm afraid that's what I let happen on that day. By giving myself some distance, I was able to rationalize and reason that your actions had been appropriate for the circumstances, and if I were to take Doyle's side over yours, I would be condoning his life's work."

"Objectively speaking."

"Yes."

Jane took a small step forwards, reaching for Maura's hands and clutching them both, drawing them upwards between her and the startled doctor. "Maura, I can't have you looking at me, at us, objectively all the time. Love isn't supposed to be objective. That's the point. That's what makes it unique for every couple. I need to know if you can still love me on a subjective level." Her voice shook as much as her hands as she tried to read Maura's expression, which appeared somber but not disapproving or necessarily angry. "I need to know if you can love me in spite of what I've done to you."

"What you've done to me?" Maura whispered. "I understand what you're getting at, Jane, but your point of reference is frustratingly small."

"What d'you mean?" Jane asked hurriedly.

"You have never done anything to intentionally hurt me. You have never neglected me. You have suffered and put pain before pleasure on my account more than once. You've been my shoulder to cry on, my champion, and my cheerleader. Before I met you, I was content to keep my feet solidly on the ground—and although I admit that I prefer keeping reality in check, it is nice to metaphorically let my head rest in the clouds now and then. You taught me how to do that." She gripped Jane's hands more tightly, never dropping her gaze from those soulful brown eyes. "I know you think that you betrayed my trust, but the truth of the matter is Doyle betrayed it long before you ever did. And unlike you, he did it consciously."

Before Jane had a chance to even begin thinking about how to respond, they jumped apart when Jane's phone vibrated noisily in her pocket. She reached for it automatically, scanning the text Frost had sent her. "They've got another suspect. I need to check him out." She looked up to see Maura standing away from her, hands on the table by the victim's legs. Hastily wiping her tears away with the back of her arm, Jane asked, "Look, can we get lunch later? Maybe talk some more?"

"I have plans."

"Oh. Okay. All right. Then I guess I'll…be going."

As she was about to leave, Maura blurted out, "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if I could come to your apartment after dinner?" She ascertained by Jane's raised eyebrows and widened eyes that while maybe not presumptuous, the request was still surprising. "I would ask you to come over, but my parents are still with me, and…"

Not initially sure why that was a problem, Jane nonetheless said, "Right, sure, yeah! Yes, come over whenever you can." She started backing towards the door again. "I'll just be home, so… come over any time." Jane was a few steps outside the room when she heard Maura call her name. "Yes?" she asked eagerly, backtracking to the doorway.

It looked as though Maura hadn't meant to say anything, but now felt pressured to do so. "Just in case there was any doubt …regardless of everything that's happened, Jane, I really do love you."

Go. Kiss her. NOW.

No sooner had this thrilling thought occurred to Jane, then two lab techs suddenly entered the lab through a pair of doors on the opposite side of the room. One of them handed Maura a thin sheaf of papers, while the other stood close by, apparently with a question on his lips. He was looking at Jane as if waiting for her to leave, and inwardly cursing her bad luck, Jane turned to do so. But before making yet another exit, she said, "Dr. Isles."

"Yes, Detective?"

"That, uh…that thing you just said? Me too."

"I know."

The words would have been enough, but Jane felt weak at the sight of Maura finally, finally smiling at her. Yes it was hesitant and yes it was restrained, but it was undeniably a warm smile, directed at her, Jane Rizzoli. When Jane reflected it, Maura felt her grin widen slightly, and she was amazed at how good it felt. There was no guilt associated with it, no remorse. It was nice just to be able to smile again.

Jane was grateful for a difficult case that kept her preoccupied for most of the day. She'd been working steadily since the incident with Doyle, but she felt a renewed sense of purpose since hearing Maura's appraisal of her work. Culpability had translated into commendation, and while she would forever be plagued with doubts about her actions in some cases, she could feel assured that overall, Boston was a safer place because of her dedication to her job.

Once the workday was over, though, she went through hell. Not the same kind of hell that had imprisoned her in a windowless box of shame and self-reproach for the last three weeks, but the anxious hell of waiting. The year-long, then month-long, then week-long wait for Christmas. The wait for that first (and only) family trip to Disneyland as a kid. The wait for high school graduation to end, ushering old classmates out of her life and bringing exciting new people and things in their stead. Each of these anxious waiting periods varied in longevity, repetition, and payoff, but none of them could compare to the agony of waiting for Maura's arrival at her apartment that night. Adding to the torment of it all was not knowing exactly when she planned to come, although perhaps that was just as well—if she had said 8:00 and was late, Jane would've gone mad worrying about the implications of it all.

To try and keep busy, Jane attempted to clean up a bit. She started off well, but then turned on the television for background noise, which quickly became foreground noise. A particularly violent college basketball game kept Jane glued to the couch, forgotten rag in hand as she checked the clock every few minutes and commercial break. Twice she received a false alarm: the first was a phone call from her mother, the second a text from Tommy. Both were treated with probably a bit more brusqueness than was called for, but Jane couldn't help it. Her hopes had risen both times, only to plummet so hard at seeing it wasn't Maura that it felt as though a lead ball was being dropped into her stomach.

It wasn't until around 10:30 that Maura texted her: Sorry it's so late. Can I still come over?

Earlier, Jane had planned on letting the text sit for a minute or two, so Maura could at least be subjected to just a fraction of the anxiousness she had put Jane through. But in her eagerness to just get the woman over as quickly as possible, Jane forwent her original strategy and immediately responded: Of course!

Great. See you soon.

Even though she had showered earlier, Jane returned quickly to the bathroom to sponge away the nervous sweat that had been accumulating for the last couple of hours. She put on a pair of dark jeans and a rust colored V-neck shirt, not wanting to appear overly casual or overly formal. Somehow Maura always showed up looking appropriate for any kind of occasion, while Jane was consistently unprepared for proper attire. Maura looked amazing in anything, from sweats to the fanciest of her expensive dresses. Of course recently, she had started wondering what exactly Maura would look like underneath those clothes—but almost instantly she felt ashamed for thinking about it. This was hardly the time or the place, and she reached forward to grip the bathroom sink tightly as tried figuratively to get a grip on herself.

"I need a drink," she muttered. Just something to calm myself down.

She knew just what she needed, too. A meager beer wasn't going to do it—she needed whiskey. Jane went to her kitchen and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels, a brand she rarely went for except in times of desperate need. Actually she had succumbed to it a few times during the last couple of weeks, but that had been to help her feel anything besides tormenting guilt and abandonment. Now she needed it to try and calm her nerves, and if Jack couldn't do it, nobody could. Bypassing a glass, she drank straight out of the bottle. And man, that metaphor would never get old: it felt like liquid fire going right down her throat.

Jane jumped and nearly dropped the bottle when she heard someone knocking at her door. It couldn't be Maura already, could it?

Oh. Yup. It could.

"Sorry," Maura said, stepping inside. "I suppose I should've told you that when I thought to text you, I was only a few blocks away."

"Oh," Jane said, trying to mask her surprise. "Oh, no, yeah, that's all right." She told Maura to take a seat somewhere and hurriedly went to shut off the television.

By some miracle of nature, Jane was still overwhelmed by Maura's beauty every time she saw her. You'd think she would've gotten used to it by now, but nope. It didn't matter that until recently, Jane had seen Maura every day. It seemed as though her remembrance of the doctor's features were only ever half-formed, never fully doing her justice. Aside from that, various outfits and hairstyles served to highlight different traits, and Jane had quickly learned to pick up on even the least noticeable variances. Take this evening, for example: Maura was wearing a relatively low-cut black shirt that hugged her form, accentuating her ample chest without looking crude. Actually what the low-cut aspect of the shirt showed off best were Maura's collar bones. Jane wasn't sure exactly how to explain even to herself why she found that part of Maura's body so lovely (perhaps it was because there was only so much of that body she could admire openly, leading to an excessive obsession with otherwise unremarkable pieces of her anatomy). Perhaps it was the perfect symmetry of the collar bones, directly halved by a silver pendant hanging around Maura's neck. Her sleeves were three-quarter length, something else that inexplicably turned Jane on. They put Maura's delicious forearms on display, firm and leading to slender, dexterous hands. As usual Maura was wearing high-heeled shoes, a fashion choice Jane knew was partly responsible for the insanely toned legs that were currently covered by a pair of fitted, gray slacks. All in all, it was an outfit that was far from revealing—but therein lay part of the attraction. An attraction Jane still felt somewhat guilty for feeling.

Maura had seated herself by Jane's kitchen counter, staring curiously at the bottle of Jack Daniel's that had been left out. Embarrassed to have been caught with it, Jane walked back to put it away, but Maura beat her to the punch.

Picking up and inspecting the bottle, Maura asked, "Do you know where the word whiskey comes from?"

"Uh…no, I guess I don't," Jane said, standing behind the counter and waiting for Maura to hand her the bottle. "Never really thought about it before."

"It's an Anglicization of the Celtic words uisce beathe," Maura explained. "Literally translated, it means the 'water of life.'"

"Huh," Jane snorted. "I'd have thought it would be more like the fire of life."

"Are you referring to its taste?"

"Yes…haven't you ever tried whiskey before?"

Maura shook her head. "I had an uncle with a fondness for Scotch, but mixing his drinks was as close as I ever came to trying it."

Jane reached for the still-open cupboard and pulled out a shot glass, setting it in front of Maura. "Go ahead. No time like the present."

"No, I don't think I'd like it," Maura said, now trying to hand the bottle back to Jane.

But Jane just smiled at her. "Come on, what kind of scientific approach is that?"

"I know the etymology of the word, isn't that enough?"

"Really?"

"Well—I will if you will."

"No, no, I've already imbibed."

"Jane, this is ridiculous!"

"All right, all right." Jane pulled down another shot glass, took the bottle out of Maura's hands, and poured two shots. She had to smile at the dainty way in which Maura tried to pick up the tiny glass, looking at it doubtfully. "Here's to you," Jane murmured before downing the shot. She slammed her glass back down on the counter in time to see Maura taking a hesitant sip of the whiskey. "Maura! Come on, haven't you ever done a shot before? One gulp!"

Rather than risk having Jane knock it down her throat for her, Maura quickly complied. She coughed heavily as the drink went burning down her gullet, and she wondered if the feeling were at all analogous to what a sword-swallower at a carnival would experience. Her eyes swam momentarily with hot tears as she handed the glass back to Jane.

"Well, at least now you've tried it," Jane said, doing her best not to laugh as she capped the bottle and returned it to the cupboard.

"Would you like to know where I was for lunch today?" Maura asked abruptly.

A long pause confirmed that the question was not rhetorical. Still, somewhat thrown by the sudden change of topic, Jane said, "Um—sure?"

"I was with my father. My adopted father, Desmond Isles. He's been in town with me these last couple of weeks to be with me and my mother as she recuperates." She crossed her legs and a hand went up to run itself through her hair as she tried to focus, tried to say precisely the right thing. Keenly aware of the fact that Jane was staring directly at her, Maura looked down at the countertop and proceeded: "My dad is not a bad guy. He's respectable, he's intelligent, he's kind. He's just—distant. So much of my childhood was spent with him in the background, I think because he didn't understand children and didn't know how to interact with me. I never realized …I never thought…"

She was silent for so long that Jane prompted her: "Thought what, Maura?"

Maura sniffed loudly and raised her head to catch Jane's eye. "My mother felt well enough to have dinner with us, and that's when we had it all out. It's all right, everything is all right, but I never was aware—they knew Paddy Doyle fathered me."

Jane shifted uncomfortably, trying to gauge Maura's feelings. So far Maura had managed to refrain from crying, and Jane silently prayed that that would remain the case. She wasn't sure she could handle another sob-fest from either of them.

"I won't go into it now," Maura whispered. "But that was part of it, another part of why I wanted so desperately to speak with Doyle again. He had visited my mother in the hospital, and she had recognized his voice. I wanted to know the connection but was afraid to ask her, in case it upset her. But she—tonight she brought it up." She took a deep breath to steady herself, leaning slightly against the counter. "I've always been so caught up in studying dead bodies, but I never bothered to look into dead bodies I couldn't see—I mean, my adopted ancestry. Genealogy is more related to anthropology and sociology than science; I mean, it's a hobby for so many people. My dad—I never knew my dad lost innocent family members to gangsters. They were collateral damage."

"To Doyle?"

"No. But in my dad's opinion, that violence was all the same. When he and my mother agreed to adopt me, he said he wanted to get me as far away from that crime life as possible. He wanted me to get the best education possible, to travel across Europe, to never even know a hint of my real father's past. I think, though, that my dad was haunted by my association to the mob for years. That's why it was hard for him to get close to me. Or…" She shrugged. "Or he really didn't know how to interact with children. Regardless…" This time it was more of a sigh, not breath to try and control herself. "I know he loved me. And I've always been thrilled to see him because of that. And now that my mother is more involved in my life, he's vowed to do the same, and that's all… that's all because of you, Jane. Because you had more courage than I ever did, and you told my mother what I'd always wanted to."

"It wasn't my place," Jane mumbled.

"Jane, I'm glad you did it."

"Did they tell you who your birth mother is?"

Maura bit her lip. "They were going to."

"But…?"

Furrowing her brow, Maura averted her gaze again, saying, "I don't know what's come over me, but suddenly it didn't seem so important anymore. Desmond and Constance Isles are my parents. I will accept no substitutes. And one more thing—my mother said she heard Patrick Doyle telling her to live for me. She said the only way she could do that was if I was happy again, and Jane—Jane, I don't know how to be happy without you, even when I hated you."

In an instant, Jane was on Maura's side of the counter, pulling her into an embrace.

"I need you," Jane said in a husky whisper, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Maura's. "And I hate it when you hate me, even if I deserve it."

With a shaky laugh, Maura said, "I hate it when I have to hate you."

Please, tell me you forgive me.

Actions speak louder than words.

Fueled by equal parts pain, desire, love, and whiskey, Maura pulled Jane down into a fierce kiss.