A/N: While writing the last chapter, I thought I hinted at this enough, but I guess not. Eh. Makes it a lot more fun to read your reactions. :-)
A shot rang out from the kitchen, Maura's body tensed and she stood up, and Jane's arms dropped to her sides as she ran into the kitchen, throwing back one last glance at Maura. It was a look of apology, of fear of not being forgiven, a look of ultimate desperation because Jane knew it was going to be hard to win back Maura's trust. But that was something to think about later, now she had to find out what happened.
In their moment of love, neither of them had noticed the door to the kitchen swing shut. Maura didn't even have time to register that Jane left.
She...she lied. Well, technically she didn't, because she never...wait, yes she did. She did say she was drunk. Well, she agreed with me. That counts, right? That means she said she loved me while sober. She loves me. But she left me.
There was a very sad and very confused Maura standing in the pub. She slowly sank to the ground, and pulled her skirt over her legs. She leaned against the bar stool, and She noticed there were tears welling up in her eyes, then vaguely registered pain in her left leg. Then it became a searing pain, which caused her to completely lose it. I've been shot, and Jane left me.
She started to cry quietly. The pub was completely empty as Maura wallowed in self-pity. She knew it was wrong, and that she should be doing something about her leg, but she was just too upset and concentrated to think about anything else.
Meanwhile, Jane was oblivious to her pain and glanced at a body. It had a balaclava over their face, so she couldn't identify it. A nearby pot had a ricochet mark on it. The back door swung shut as soon as Jane glanced up. She was immediately alert, and ran for it. All of her body weight slammed into the door, and she hit her head, falling to the floor. The shooter ran away.
Maura heard nothing because she was still trying to keep quiet. Finally, she had cried so much that she was calming down a bit. Then she lifted up her skirt and examined the bullet wound. Shot through quadriceps, slightly on the inside leg. Did not make contact with femur. Physical recovery: five weeks. Mental recovery: possibly two years.Oh, right. Finding out your best friend loves you, pretended to be drunk, kissed you, and left you. Physical recovery: Not required unless self-harm occurs.
Mental recovery: Depends on what happens next.
A/N: All right, it sucked, it was way too short, but I had to get something out. I procrastinate way too much. I am totally fine with being written to. I am open to suggestions. I have almost no idea where this is going in terms of who was shot. And by the way, if nobody knew, and I hope they did, a balaclava is a ski mask. Not to be confused with baclava, a type of european/middle eastern pastry. Yum!
