I don't own anything.

Just To See You Smile - Tim McGraw

"We humans do, when the cause is sufficient, spend our lives. We throw ourselves onto the grenade to save our buddies in the foxhole. We rise out of the trenches and charge the entrenched enemy and die like maggots under a blowtorch. We strap bombs on our bodies and blow ourselves up in the midst of our enemies. We are, when the cause is sufficient, insane." - Orson Scott Card

Maura had already finished sewing the body back up when Jane walked down with the two cans of tuna.

"Lunch?" she asked, meekly.

"That would be wonderful."

Jane popped open the two cans as Maura slipped off the scrubs and latex gloves. Gladly, she took the can and began to eat, slowly chewing as the juice swirled around her tongue. Jane watched with cautious amusement.

"Cause of death is blunt force trauma."

"No shit. His head was practically smashed in. Time of death?"

"Between two and three this morning. Some of these lacerations are post-mortem." Maura paused to take another bite of tuna. "There are also markings around his wrists and ankles. They're very deep."

Jane looked in closer at the markings Maura referenced; "So he was bound? With rope?"

"That's an assumption."

"It's a hunch."

The two fell into a silence, and neither could tell whether the silence was comfortable or simply awkward. The only sound in the room was the low whirr of the fluorescent lights and the scraping of spoon against tin.

"So I hear you're seeing someone." Jane regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"Well yes… I suppose so. There always seem to be plenty of males who want to hook in to me."

"Hook up, Maura. The term is hook up."

"Oh…"

"What's his name?" Too late to go back now.

"Ian. We met before college. Our parents are very good friends, and we ended up going to BCU together. I didn't even know he became a police officer until two weeks ago."

"I thought you liked that yoga teacher."

"That was just a fling."

"Okay."

"What about you?"

Maura regretted her words almost as much as Jane did. She regretted them even more when she saw the wince flash across Jane's face. But the expression was gone as soon as it arrived.

"Nothing special."

It was then when Maura saw again the darkening circles that had made their home around Jane's now sunken eyes. It was then when she saw the muscles of Jane's jaw constantly twitch and tighten, and it was then that she noticed that Jane's hands, when not in use, never left her pockets.

"Good," she ventured. "I have an idea."

"Oh no," joked Jane, meekly.

"Ian and I are going on a date tonight. He said he has a friend who'd be perfect for you."

"No. No no no no. No way."

"He's a doctor..."

"Is he a nurse?"

"No."

"Because if he's like Jorge… That was a disaster, Maura."

"He's not like Jorge. I asked."

"You asked?"

"Yes, I did. Now please, Jane? Please?"

"I don't know, Maura…"

"C'mon, Jane. Please?"

And there it was. The expression. The voice. The combination of which she couldn't deny. Ever. Jane let a small smile touch her face, at Maura's expense. She let a sigh leave her lips, and she let her shoulders fall in acceptance. She let her body show all the indicators of the truth.

"Fine, Maura. I'd love to."

Jane knew that she would hate every moment of that double date. It was more than a hunch. It was not an assumption. It was a fact that Jane was one hundred per cent sure about. But in that one moment, in that one second, Jane did not give one damn about it. The smile that spread across Maura's face, and the elation that flooded over her eyes, made it all worth it.

Just to see you smile, Jane thought. The things that I would do for you, Maura Isles. The things that I would do…

Frost ran into the morgue.

"Uh… Oh God." Frost had caught glimpse of the sewn up corpse on the table. He put a hand on his stomach as he leaned over a little. "Special Agent Colbert's here. He wants to see you, Jane."

"I'll be right up."

Frost ran out of the morgue.

Jane grabbed the two empty tuna tins and made her way towards the door, briefly stopping at the trash. Quickly, she looked over her shoulder to the still smiling Maura. Making beautiful women smile, she thought to herself. I guess that's something I've always loved to do.

"Are you coming?"

"I brought by some visitors," said Colbert, the moment Jane and Maura walked into the squad room. "These are the men in his platoon. You met 1st Lieutenant Daly."

Colbert and Daly both had their covers off, now that they were indoors. They're high and tights were impeccable.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, for my outburst this morning. It was unacceptable."

"No, I understand. You were upset."

"Well, these boys are here to be interviewed. Fick and I just wanted to drop them off before we left. And Jane?" He motioned her closer and spoke to her in a whisper. "We're all stationed on the USS Belleau Wood, and we've only been here for a couple days so far, but we've only got a week before we all ship back out to Afghanistan. This case needs to be closed A.S.A.P."

"Got it."

Colbert and Fick – who Jane had not heard speak even once – both left, their long strides taking them out of the building in the quickest manner possible.

Jane took the platoon into one of the larger rooms, motioning Maura to step inside with them. Maura smiled, clearly delighted. Daly, on the other hand, stepped out.

"I'll wait for them out here," he said.

The eleven of them sat down, their covers all in their laps. They were all in the Marine Corps trademark camouflage.

"What can you tell me about Allen Schindler?" she started.

The Marines looked each other, their eyes expectant when finally falling upon one of the leaner of the group. He wasn't what Jane expected of an older Marine.

"Schindler was a good man, ma'am," he said. "One of the best. A lot of these boys looked up to him. There's no doubt he was a good Marine."

"What does that mean?"

"It means there is no Marine that doesn't like the kid."

"But he was murdered."

The Marines shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Frustration. Maura logged the emotion in her memory. She'd tell Jane later.

"Ma'am, Schindler rode in the truck behind mine. With 2nd squad. You know what's a common insurgent tactic, ma'am? Set up an IED, blow up the convoys and engage the survivors in a firefight. It's a fucking hellhole, ma'am. Well we get hit with one of them IEDs. Our two trucks get blown into high hell. And he's still got his finger stuck on that machine gun trigger, just drawing all the attention to him. So the insurgents, they shoot at the guy with the big gun. The 50-cal. Everyone can get to the med-evac, and we don't lose a single Marine. That's the kind of man he was, ma'am."

"What about the rest of you?"

"The same as gunny says, ma'am. He had all our backs. He was freaking funny too."

The Gunnery Sergeant gave the whole platoon a nod, as if he were a father letting his children know they could speak freely.

"He was my squad leader, ma'am," said another Marine. The boy was younger, probably nineteen. "We were taking sniper fire once, and it was one of them good snipers. Well we couldn't get out of the bunker, and they didn't know where this goddamn sniper was, so everything was real tense. Corporal Schindler just takes his M-16 and holds it up like this." The young Marine demonstrated a commando-style position. "tells us 'Fuck this shit," stands right up, and yells out with his gun swinging, 'C'mon you son of a bitch! Where you at? Where you at?'"

The Marines laughed at the memory.

"We thought he was gonna get shot," piped in another Marine. "But I guess that was the point, wasn't it?"

"The sniper went away after that. Didn't have the guts to shoot."

"Ma'am, we got nothing bad to say about Corporal Schindler."

Jane smiled; "I'm not saying you should. But is there any reason someone would want to hurt him?"

And then there was the pause. And the snatched glances. Deception. Maura logged that emotion too. The way they touched the back of their necks, for one. That she would also tell Jane.

"No, ma'am. There's nothing."

"Alright," Jane said, slowly. "But if any of you think of anything, I want you to call me."

They all rose from their seats, putting their covers into their left hands, and filed out of the room one by one. The younger Marine that had spoken earlier stopped at the door next to Jane.

"Corporal Schindler saved me life, ma'am. You'll catch whoever did this, right?"

"Don't expect anything less."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I hope you shaved."

"Maura!"

Jane nudged her friend with her shoulder, slightly incredulous. But just slightly. She should've saw it coming.

"Well he's a real doctor, Jane. He works in E.R. and he's nothing like Jorge."

Jane spoke out of the corner of her mouth; "he better not be."

"Maura, it's nice to see you again."

Ian. Jane glared at a hair that seemed to stick out of the man's head. Dark hair. Long. For a guy, anyway. And probably still wearing that badge on his belt. He was one of the fraud boys. Worse than the drug boys.

"And how's my detective doing?" smiled Maura.

Silently, Jane wished that Maura had chosen the yoga teacher. Silently.

"You must be Jane," said the other man.

"Yes. That… is me. Jane. Hi."

"Charlie. I'm Ian's friend."

He stuck his hand out towards her.

"No… kidding," she said. She took her hand and patted him on the back.

A host then brought the four to their tables, the two men going in first. Jane quickly turned over to Maura, her teeth shut and only the corner of her mouth moving; "Maura… He's short!"

"Shh! They'll hear you!"

"Fine, fine!"

Dinner didn't go badly, per se. Of course, Jane could hardly believe her eyes when she looked down at the selection on the menu. Everything was expensive. Overpriced. And when the food did arrive, as good as it was, it was much too rich for her. Too thick. She would've liked a good hamburger instead.

But Maura was right. There really wasn't anything wrong with Charlie. Apart from the fact that he was 5'2" and much too short. Nevertheless, he was funny. Nice. Charming. He, too, was practically married to his job, though he clearly had the money to not be. And sure enough, he was nothing like Jorge.

Jane did not care.

All she noticed was the way Ian held Maura's hand, the way he smiled at her, and the way she genuinely smiled back. It was the last that killed her. The she smiled for him, for something that he did. No. It shouldn't be Ian holding Maura's hand; it should be Jane. It shouldn't be him smiling at her; it should be Jane. And that smile. Maura should not be giving that smile to Ian; she should be giving it to Jane.

After dessert, the two men left the restaurant; "We'll get the cars," said Charlie, with a smile. "You ladies wait here. It's cold out."

As soon as they were out of ear shot, Maura turned to Jane; "Well?"

"I don't know, Maura…"

"He's nice! And handsome. And nothing at all like Jorge. His gluteus maximus is also well-formed."

"Maura! Well… I…"

And there it was. That look. Pleading. Hopeful. Expectant. Like a kid camping out in front of the chimney on Christmas day, a plate of cookies in her lap, just wishing for a single, fleeting glance of Santa.

"I think he's great," Jane said.

Maura smiled. Like a kid actually getting to see Santa Claus. Jane had rarely felt this cocktail of emotions: of love and pain, of dislike and like, of devastation and happiness. But that was what she felt at that exact moment: devastated that Maura smiled for another, but elated – absolutely elated – that Maura smiled at all.

"So you'll go home with him, then."

"Maura!"

And Jane did go home with Charlie. And Maura with Ian. And as the cars drove into the Boston night, Jane did her absolute best to think of nothing but Maura's smile.

Just want to take this moment to talk about Sgt. Joseph Garrison (USMC) who died in combat operations in Afghanistan on 6 June 2011. The sniper story is true. Sgt. Garrison stuck his head out of the bunker to bait the sniper, and if the sniper shot and killed Garrison, his Marines would know where the sniper was. The sniper did not shoot. War can breed bad people. But what we oftentimes forget is how war breeds heroes.