At the nondescript office building Jane had only visited once before, an armed guard verified their identities with a fingerprint scanner. Anna swayed violently on her feet but insisted on walking on her own.
Inside, the rest of the team was assembled and Jane took their cue, refusing the seat offered to her. Anna's weight was heavy against her.
A balding man in a navy suit entered the room, a manila folder in his hand.
"I'd like to thank you all for your service," he didn't bother greeting them. "You saved one hundred and twenty eight lives last night. Those children escaped from a life more horrendous than any of us could imagine- thanks to you. I'm sure most of you will ask not to be involved in any more missions, and I understand. You're free to return to your lives now, but know the door is always open. The FBI thanks you. Those of you who need medical attention, see McGee on the way out."
Without another word, he left the room.
Jane didn't feel the relief she expected. Instead, she felt like an overfilled water-balloon in a game of hot potato. One wrong move and she would burst apart into irreparable shreds.
"You get used to that," one of the men shrugged, pinning her with a knowing gaze. "See you around."
"Don't take this the wrong way fellas," Jane grumbled. "But I hope we never meet again."
They all laughed gruffly and Jane followed the first man out of the room. Anna braced herself against the wall and Jane met her gaze, holding it for a minute before leaving the room.
Outside, the sun seemed to be losing its fight against the clouds. A light mist blanketed Boston.
Jane realized her t-shirt was caked in Anna's dried blood, maybe some of her own blood as well. She hailed a cab, too exhausted to drive. Giving Maura's address, she fished a twenty-dollar bill out of her shoe and closed her eyes.
Outside Maura's house, Jane paused, swaying on her feet. She wanted desperately to be inside, to be in Maura's bed, to have Maura wrapped around her.
She wanted it all to be over.
She wanted peace.
When the front door opened and Maura appeared, Jane thought she must be dreaming. Maura, in black slacks and a Kelly green cashmere sweater, her hair neatly arranged, was staring at her expectantly, softly, compassion in every line of her face.
Without a word, Maura took Jane by the hand and led her inside, the soft click of Maura's heels at total odds with the squish of Jane's running shoes. Maura led Jane to her bedroom, and then on through to the bathroom.
Turning the water on in the shower, Maura removed Jane's shirt and untied her shoes, helping Jane step out of them. She waited while Jane slid out of her pants and then took the dirty clothes, leaving the door open a crack behind herself.
Jane cried in the shower, silent tears streaming down her face, and eventually she sat down on the floor to keep from falling. When the water went cold, she was too numb to do anything about it.
Maura reappeared and wordlessly turned off the water, wrapping Jane in a fluffy, warm towel. She seemed detached, almost clinical, and Jane wasn't sure what to do to break Maura's trance, or her own.
Guiding Jane into the bedroom, Maura helped her into a BPD t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants before coaxing her into bed. Pulling the covers over Jane, Maura turned but Jane mustered all her energy and grabbed Maura's wrist to stop her.
"I'll be right back," Maura assured her, voice soft and soothing.
Jane reluctantly let go and Maura disappeared from the room. When she reemerged, she had a glass of water and some pills in her hand.
"Take these," she commanded gently. "Your leg must be very painful."
Jane didn't bother telling Maura that her entire body was numbingly weary, the pain a constant throbbing from head to toe. She sat up and accepted the offering, swallowing the pills and half the glass of water in a single gulp.
Maura stood next to the bed, looking shy and forlorn and hurt and disappointed.
"I'm sorry," Jane croaked, lying back on the bed.
"Rest now," Maura encouraged. "You can tell me later."
"No," Jane knew Maura was right, knew she should gather her wits and then try to explain later, but she couldn't stand the look in Maura's eyes.
The love and light that normally ignited when Maura looked at Jane were dimmed to an almost imperceptible level. There was none of the trust and hope and understanding that Jane had become so accustomed to.
Not even a hint of the friendly affection she had come to rely on.
"Jane," Maura cautioned.
"Please," Jane sighed raggedly. "Just let me explain. I can't stand that look in your eyes. I don't want to go to sleep while you're looking at me like that because I won't want to wake up knowing that's what's waiting."
"Jane," Maura exhaled, and it was a warning and a plea.
"Just hear me out," Jane begged. "And if you still hate me then I'll understand. But you should know, Maura. It wasn't because I'm afraid of being with you, or afraid of loving you. I mean, those things scare the hell out of me but you're more than worth it."
Maura collapsed ungracefully on the bed by Jane's hip, visibly deflating. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed.
"About six months ago," Jane began. "The FBI approached me. They found out about this child-smuggling shipment that was coming in to Boston. Only they also had a leak, and their guys kept going missing. So they figured they could use some outside help, started asking around for BPD officers with dicey pasts. I came up. They figured they could make it look like I went rogue pretty easily, given all the things I've been through."
Maura's soft breathing lulled Jane into a trance, the words falling from her lips almost without her permission.
"Only thing was," Jane continued. "We knew they'd check up on my friends and family, on my relationships. To make it look like I'd gone over the deep end, to keep you safe, I had to push you all away. Otherwise, the bad guys woulda known and come after you, they would have tried to use you against me. And Maura, when they showed me pictures of some of the things that happened to their FBI agents, guys with kids, families. No one should have to go through that. They told me the containers were full of orphans, full of kids no one would miss. They were gonna be used all over the east coast for horrible things. When I thought of what might have happened, if you hadn't been adopted, and instead things were completely different- I thought I was gonna be sick. I knew I had to do it, Maur. I had to help them."
"Even if it destroyed you?" Maura's voice was soft, curious.
"One hundred and twenty eight kids," Jane met Maura's gaze. "I couldn't say no. Even if it meant throwing my whole life away. I… I know that makes it seem like I was choosing them over you, but I hoped you'd eventually understand. That even if I lost your trust, I could earn back enough of it to at least be your friend."
"You'll always be my friend," Maura replied. "So you were successful then?"
"Yeah," Jane swallowed. "They're safe now, Maura. They can lead some kind of normal lives here. And Anna, that woman you helped, I think she's gonna be fine."
"And what about you, Jane?" Maura asked. "Are you going to be fine?"
"That depends," Jane said honestly.
"On what?" came curious the reply.
"On whether or not I've lost you," she answered.
Maura's lip quivered and a few tears spilled over, and Jane wanted desperately to reach for Maura but wasn't sure her touch would be welcomed.
"No, Jane," her voice wavered. "You haven't lost me."
Tentatively, Jane reached over and skimmed Maura's arm. Maura turned into the touch, her hand reaching for Jane's. Their fingers laced together and Jane felt her own tears spill over.
"I'm so sorry, Maura," Jane apologized. "You can't even begin to imagine how sorry I am."
"I just don't know what to do," Maura sobbed. "Because I want my best friend to comfort me, to make me feel better, but I can't get over this fear that if I let my guard down you're going to break my heart again."
Jane's tears increased, her breathing erratic. She pulled on their joined hands until Maura burrowed her face in Jane's neck. Jane wrapped both arms tightly around the smaller woman, holding her as close as possible.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Maura. God, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Maura whispered against Jane's neck. "Just make it better. Make it stop hurting so badly."
Jane felt like Maura was performing open-heart surgery on her right there on the bed.
"I don't know how," she admitted helplessly, stroking her hand through Maura's hair, the other clutching tightly to her back.
Maura nuzzled her nose against Jane's neck sensuously and awareness hit Jane like a ton of bricks. Her hands stilled against Maura's body.
"Please Jane," Maura begged. "I've missed you so much. I know we were never intimate but I've missed you as though we were. I missed your voice, your touch, your scent. I just want to stop hurting so badly."
Suddenly, the pain and the numbness were stripped away and Jane could feel nothing but raw desire for Maura coursing through her. She was bone weary, exhausted beyond all reason, but her body could process nothing except the soft, supple body draped over hers, pleading with her.
Begging.
"Maura," Jane rasped, her voice thick and dark. "I don't think this is a good idea."
Jane had been in enough PTSD-induced romantic entanglements to know that the regret that followed was crushing.
"I don't care," Maura nibbled gently on Jane's collarbone. "I want you."
Jane sighed when Maura kissed her tenderly. Her body alerted her to the desire racing through her and Maura stoked those banked fires by smoothing a hand up Jane's abdomen to her breast. Even through the fabric of Jane's shirt, Maura's touch was electric.
Under her desire though, Jane's body protested. Her leg hurt, her eyes felt gritty, never before had she felt so thoroughly depleted. She wanted the first time Maura touched her to be something she remembered, not something she had to cling to through the haze of exhaustion churning through her.
"It won't solve anything," Jane hedged, her voice cracking when Maura's tongue snaked out to trail across her skin.
"It will," Maura murmured against Jane's neck. "I won't ache so badly, and I'll have you back, finally. Please Jane."
Maura pulled back and met Jane's eyes. Maura's normally light eyes were a dark tempest, a swirling maelstrom of need and desire that made Jane's breath catch in her throat.
Jane wanted Maura with a force that the immortals couldn't have resisted, but something told her this was not the time. She wanted Maura to come to her out of affection, out of love and joy.
She didn't want to begin their relationship with desperation, anger, despair. She didn't want to brand their love with the sorrow swirling around them.
"Maura," Jane closed her eyes, digging deep for a strength she didn't know she possessed. "We should wait. This isn't the right time."
Maura looked poised to argue and Jane watched as she snuffed out the desire that had been clear in her eyes only moments before. Jane almost relented, her mouth opening to take it back, but she remembered all the ways she had already hurt Maura and she was determined to make it right.
"Jane," Maura exhaled harshly. Jane couldn't decipher the tone of her voice, and when Maura pulled back and slipped out of Jane's arms, fear tangled in Jane's gut. "You should get some sleep."
Clinical, detached Dr. Isles was back, and Maura slipped into the sterile persona as easily as a Chanel dress.
Jane wanted to ask her to stay but knew it would only lead to trouble.
"Yeah," she agreed instead. "Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?"
Maura's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, but Jane caught it, caught the look of, so you are still the Jane I fell in love with. Six trillion more tiny actions and words and maybe Jane would be able to earn back Maura's friendship.
"No," Maura shook her head, pulling the blanket up over Jane. "Get some rest. I'll come check on you later."
Jane nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.
Maura disappeared from the room, and Jane couldn't help note the slightest slump to her normally impeccable posture.
Jane was surprised how quickly she fell asleep.
As she drifted off, she wondered idly if she'd lost her only chance at happiness.
