A few glaring mistakes have been fixed in the previous chapter. This one is quite long, over 5,000 words, so maybe that will make up for the wait? As always, any comments, suggestions, critiques, and even flames are welcome. -Picc.

'She trusts me, Jane.'

Rizzoli found herself left standing in the threshold of the apartment, looking on in confusion as her former partner walked down the drive, giving the news team a dismissing wave before climbing into his car and pulling into the light morning traffic. She watched the taillights until he turned the corner and was gone.

Did Korsak really think that their dissolved partnership was his fault? They definitely needed to talk, but Jane didn't think she could give him the answers he deserved. It was still too fresh, too painful to revisit that day. She couldn't even face her imagination's version of the Surgeon in her nightmares, much less the very real memories in broad daylight.

Stifling a nervous shiver, Jane became aware of the reporters still loitering behind the police tape. Not the best environment to be processing Korsak's awful insinuations. Her hands clenched painfully, fisted in her pockets as she ducked back into the room to get away from the cameras.

Looking around, she came to an abrupt and rather embarrassing realization. She had just pissed off her ride back to the station. Frankie had left in her car, which she couldn't drive anyway because of painkillers she was stubbornly making a point of not taking, Frost was heading back to the station to request financial records, and Korsak… Jane had the sudden urge to smack her forehead against her palm, but thought better of it.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and scanned the remaining personnel. 'Hey, Mick?' She tried for nonchalance.

He looked up from rummaging about in Lauren's desk, 'Yeah, Rizzoli?'

'How much longer do you think you'll be tied up here?'

He straightened and tugged on his earring, 'About an hour I'd guess, why?'

'I need a ride back to the precinct.'

'Alright, but it might be a while,' he resumed digging through the drawers of the desk, pawing through papers, books, notebooks, and what looked to be a jewelry box.

'I got this, Rizzoli.' Jane stared at Detective Crowe, somehow managing to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. Really? Crowe was being civil towards her, dare she perceive his offer as nice, even. Hell must have officially frozen over. They were never exactly friendly, usually arguing towards the verge of a proper brawl. While she tried to wrap her head around the sheer absurdity, he was apparently getting impatient.

'So, are you coming or not? I'm not waiting on your skinny ass.' That was more like it.

Korsak looked up from his desk to see Jane opening the glass doors to the bullpen and striding in with, Crowe?, on her heels. Seeing his raised eyebrow as she neared her desk, she shot him a look that translated roughly as, 'I dare you.' He decided it was better to leave it alone. If he had learned anything in the time that he had known her, it was that dealing with Rizzoli sometimes amounted to something similar to knowing when to just let sleeping dogs lie.

Jane stood there a moment, leaning one hip against her desk, just breathing. This was where she belonged. Jane watched her co-workers rushing around, brainstorming ideas, dragging in suspects, complaining about the coffee downstairs, and was more aware and alive in that moment then she had felt in weeks.

The normalcy of working in homicide was just that: there was no normal. Jane thrived in the race against time, utilizing all her resources, processing everything she could at light speed, saving lives by hunting the monsters. Jane absorbed the motion around her, invigorated and depressed by turns. The problem with hunting monsters was that sometimes they turned the tables, and she had somehow become a victim, almost reduced to that of those she strove for everyday to protect, a last voice of justice for the wrongful dead.

'Rizzoli!' she was pulled from her thoughts by the lieutenant's barking voice, 'My office, now.' Does he always have to sound like an asshole? Jane secretly thought he practiced that scowl in the mirror every morning. She pushed off the desk, running a hand through her hair, and followed him across the room. She didn't bother closing the door behind her.

'I took the liberty of have these made up as soon as both your surgeon and physical therapist gave the okay,' he never looked up, pushing a stack of forms at her to sign. She reached for the pen he offered her next, but he pulled his hand back, looking her straight in the eye.

'I'm clearing you for active duty, but I'm not sending this off for processing until you've been recertified to carry your firearm. I mean it, Rizzoli, I want you to complete a full marksmanship course before you even think about taking that out the holster,' he gestured to the pistol on her belt. 'If I hear the words 'Rizzoli' and 'shot' in the same sentence…,' he paused, 'well anyway, I'm doing you a big favor by not keeping you on desk duty.'

She took the pen to awkwardly scrawl her signature, and didn't react in any other way than to slip into her most professional mask, shutting down. He shouldn't censor himself for her sake. It felt too much like pity, and on some level, she felt she deserved a few cheap shots after the Surgeon debacle, 'Yes, sir.' Also, she didn't know how accurate a shot she was at the moment.

'What I mean is…keep your cool, just try to stay out of trouble, Jane,' he didn't sound very optimistic, 'For a few weeks at least. The student is technically still Korsak and Frost's case. Looks like the three of you will be working this one together.' Somehow, Jane suspected having to work with Korsak again wasn't a complete coincidence. Tossing the pen, she turned to leave.

'Good to have you back, Rizzoli.' Jane paused in the doorway, the corner of her lip quirking up in a half-smile he couldn't see.

'It's good to be back.' She was only halfway sure she meant it.

Jane heaved a sigh as she sank into her desk chair before noticing a paper coffee cup sat near her computer, steaming suspiciously. She looked across the monitor to eye Frost as she wrapped her fingers around it and took a slow sip, letting the hot coffee burn her tongue. It was perfect. She let her eyes slip shut for just a moment and felt the drink warm her from the inside out, before opening them again to see her new partner looking rather proud.

'You know how I take my coffee? Why, Frost, we've only known each other for a few hours,' she raised an eyebrow.

'Well, I didn't sleep through my detective's exam. And I might have run into your brother downstairs,' he was grinning and Jane happily returned it. It was going to be okay.

'Found anything useful?'

'I'm still waiting on the bank records, should receive her express account records any minute now from the university, but I do have access to academic transcripts, financial aid records, the works. Oh, there's my email, I'll put this other stuff up on the monitor while I deal with that.'

'Good job, Frost. Lauren Elizabeth Aiken, straight A student, majoring in English, concentration in journalism, honors classes- gees, she's taking over twenty hours this semester.'

'Sounds like a death wish to me,' Jane shot him a look over her shoulder, 'sorry.'

'I don't see any names on her financial aid records. All the loans are in her name. Korsak, did you find any parents or guardians?'

'She's an orphan putting herself through school. I've already called Social Services to get in touch with her former guardian ad litem and her most recent foster parents.'

So, the vic's got something of a routine according to her card signature on campus-'

'Lauren,' Jane cut in sharply, her voice rasping low. She was a person. A young person whose life had ended before it really began. She thought of the drive to the scene earlier, the brightening light as the sun rose over the Boston skyline to reach the small, out-of-the-way neighborhood. As a broke, struggling college student, it was probably the best she could afford.

'Right, Lauren,' Frost corrected as he scratched the back his head, 'she seems to follow a pretty steady routine that rarely deviates.' Jane moved to hover over his shoulder, watching him scroll down the list of every time the card was swiped. 'Good student, but a little anal retentive.'

'Until about three weeks ago. Her activity is sporadic, but apparently her grades weren't directly affected by whatever had her acting out of character.'

'This is interesting,' Korsak joined them at the screen, 'She worked for the school newspaper and according to the English Department's website, would have presented her honor's thesis at the end of the year. It's on investigative journalism and illegal drugs. Apparently, she was working on an exposé of a major drug ring catering to college kids all over the state.'

'Sounds risky for a young woman trying to make it on her on. What about her cell phone?' Jane started ask, turning to Korsak, but he was no longer behind her. She whipped around to see him opening the glass door for a woman dressed in jeans and v-neck sweater, her expression tired, holding the hand a small blonde child who looked around the busy space in wonder.

The mother and daughter must be Melanie and Emma Taylor, wife and daughter of former drug unit detective, Richard Taylor, who was allegedly missing. Jane considered the pair for a moment, and then turned back to Frost.

'We need to start making calls. Can you email me her articles from the paper along with her records? I want that thesis if you can find it, too.'

'No problem.'

'Jane,' Korsak walked over, leaving Mrs. Taylor and Emma near the entrance to the hallway, 'I'm going to take Melanie back to room two and take a statement of sorts. If you could-'

'Wait, hold on. You sending her to an interrogation room? And not missing persons?'

'Jane, Richard is a good friend of mine, and I told his wife that I would handle this personally. I'll file it myself, and I'll meet you back here before the lab results get back. Could you entertain the little girl for a few minutes?'

Jane almost didn't dignify the question with a response, her brow arching toward her hairline. 'Really?'

'Hey, would you want a four year old in the room while you discussed the possible reasons for a cop, a drug cop, Jane, to just up and disappear? She's probably scared enough as it is,' he took in Rizzoli's angry posture, 'Then again, maybe she'd be better off with the questions.'

Jane went from annoyed to defeated. 'No, you're right. There's no need giving the kid nightmares about whatever big bad ugly is out there when her dad is probably sleeping off a hangover at a friend's place or something.'

Korsak gave her a stern look before walking back over to the Melanie and the little girl. Jane couldn't hear what was said, but summoned a smile as he returned, said girl in tow. 'Emma, this is Detective Rizzoli. She's going to look after you for a bit.'

'Hi, there,' Jane bent down on her knee to address the blonde child, fishing for something to say or do before noticing a doll in the crook of one little arm. It was a brightly dressed Barbie knock off looking thing, with a horrible plastic smile and brown plastic fiber hair. 'What's her name?'

'Jane,' she answered plainly, looking the detective over.

'Really?' Jane looked up over the blonde curls to see Korsak and Mrs. Taylor on the other side of the glass doors, halfway down the hall. Figures.

'Yeah, a long time ago, my daddy would watch TV and say, 'Jane's a real hero,' a lot. So I named her Jane.'

Jane felt the urge to laugh at a four year girl's impersonation of a man's voice and be sick at the same time. Of course Detective Taylor had kept up with the story. It seemed like every cop in the city, even ex-cops apparently, followed the news closely two months ago. She stood, feeling self-conscious, which was ridiculous really, being cowed by a toddler. A hero? Is that what they really thought? Would that they knew the truth of what happened in that cellar.

'Um,' she mumbled, uncomfortable, 'how about we head down to the café? I can get you a fresh muffin?'

'Do they have blueberry?' Blue eyes brightened with excitement, and Jane couldn't help but smile.

'Probably. Let's go,' turning toward the glass doors, she started when she felt a tug on her sleeve, and then a small hand slipped into hers. She felt nauseous again. Even the gentle pressure of little fingers set her nerves on edge. They had taken maybe six steps between them, one for Jane amounted to two or three for Emma, when she stopped and turned Jane's palm up.

'What happened to your hand?' Jane's composure shattered. It was an innocent question, but made her feel trapped all over again. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her first instinct was to escape.

'Frost, meet Emma Taylor. I'm going down to the morgue,' Frost looked up from his monitor, surprised at her sharp, clipped tone.

'What?'

'Unless you'd rather go talk to Dr. Isles. She should be in the middle of the autopsy by now,' it was a low blow and she knew it, but Emma was poking at the raised scar tissue in the center of her hand. Her heart was racing, her head throbbing. Frost looked green just thinking about the morgue, 'Right, uh, you go ahead, I'll watch Miss Taylor and catch up with you later.'

Jane gently disentangled her hand from Emma, who was already distracted by the shiny badge at her belt. She practically ran out of the room, away from the little girl and her doll, calling over her shoulder, 'Get some breakfast. She likes blueberry.'

The walls of the elevator closed around her, and she was suddenly back in a small underground room, darkness surrounding her, and Cordell's blood on the floor. As well as her own. Gunfire rang in her ears.

The ding of the electronic display on the side panel brought her back to the bottom floor of the precinct, recently renovated and transformed into an in-house morgue. Now she didn't have to drive across town to the city office, which was nice, if she didn't think too hard about having a bunch of frozen deceased underneath her desk twenty-four seven.

Her lungs burned, and she took her first deep breath in two floors. Slowly exhaling air that tasted like the damp of a basement in some god-forsaken nightmare, Jane powered through the automatic doors, never slowing her stride. The bright lights helped drive away the dream.

Everything was shiny and new, gleaming steal surfaces and white walls. Even the tiled floor looked freshly buffered and squeaked under her boots. It looked like the sterile clean of a well-funded hospital wing, not the depressing cement and menthol ointment smell she was usually greeted with at the city morgue. She slipped from anxious and sick into her confident, professional persona seamlessly in the open space. She suspected she was no more squeamish around the morgue than her male colleagues, but she in particular could not afford to reveal any vulnerability. Men in her line of work were too good at spotting weaknesses, and her only colleagues were of the opposite sex, until today.

Dr. Isles was bent over a table, Jane's vic, Lauren, laid out like a pagan sacrifice under the lights. At least the new M.E. had enough respect to cover the poor girl as she finished. It always offended Jane on some level, to see a person laid bare like that, even to catch their killer. These people who had suffered so much in life deserved peace in death.

Maura had traded her designer black dress and heels for black scrubs over long sleeves pushed up to her elbows and practical tennis shoes, and her hair was pulled back while she worked. She didn't immediately acknowledge Jane, giving her the opportunity to study the doctor in profile. The darkness further receded to the back of Jane's memory. She was truly beautiful.

Dr. Isles straightened and turned off the recorder. For a moment, she didn't say anything, just stood regally as though her surgical garb were a priestess's robe. 'Hello, Detective Rizzoli.'

'It's just Jane, doc,' she said quietly, not meeting Maura's eyes and feeling generally lousy for brushing her off earlier. No longer uncertain, she instantly brightened and flashed Jane a brilliant smile. 'Alright then, how can I help you, Jane?'

'Just checking in, got anything interesting?'

'Maybe, but I can't be sure until I've received the toxicology report,' she picked up a scalpel, making a final cut, going through the motions to finish the procedure. Jane wasn't prepared for her reaction to the sight of the doctor's deft hands welding a tool that had taken on a more personal and decidedly sinister significance in her life. The room spun, and for a second she thought she might pass out. She forced herself to focus on Maura's face instead, her perfect makeup, her delicately arched eyebrows.

Maura, oblivious to Jane's inner struggle to stay standing, continued on, 'Cause of death was definitively a blunt force trauma as evidenced by the head wound. There are no outward signs of a struggle or any other significant injuries. However, I found four undigested orange tablets, about the size of aspirin, in her stomach.'

'Pills. Are you thinking drugs?'

'It's possible.'

'Not likely, considering she was going to bust a drug ring on campus for a story in connection with her honors thesis in investigative journalism.'

'That's ambitious for a university student.'

'And dangerous. I'm starting to think she got herself mixed up in something big,' Jane's words were rushed and it was hard to draw a breath, 'Hey, can you just…put that down? While I'm here, talking to you?'

Maura looked up in confusion to see a very pale Jane staring at the scalpel in her hand, 'You know, it's okay, Jane. A lot of people have trouble in the presence of a dead body,' though she never would have thought Detective Rizzoli to be one of them.

'That's not it.'

'Really, I wouldn't think anything less-'

'I said that's not it.' There was a harsh finality to her words that surprised both of them. In the silence that followed, a man in a white lab coat walked in, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

'Dectective Rizzoli, this is my assistant, Dr. Yoshima. If you would be kind enough to wait outside or in my office, I'll clean up and be right with you.' Yoshima acknowledged Jane with a nod, quietly going about his work. He held out a hand for the scalpel in Maura's, and she passed it to him, watching Jane's eyes follow the exchange. She visibly relaxed when he set it down in favor of a hagedorn needle, scissors, and heavy twine, gathering the materials he would need to sew the body back together.

She turned on her heel and headed for the doors. For a moment, Maura thought that she might leave, but Jane stalled at the entrance before turning into another doorway that read 'Dr. Maura Isles, M.E.'

She approached Jane some minutes later, having discarded her gloves, surgical gown, and face shield. This Jane was rather different from the confident Detective Rizzoli she had met early that morning at the crime scene. She sat bent over in one of the chairs near Maura's desk, her arms crossed over herself, resting on her knees. Her dark hair was in disarray, left free to fall around her face and hide her expression.

Maura was at a loss. She wanted to ask what she had done to offend Jane in the morgue. The detective was obviously suffering, but she didn't know enough about her or what was considered acceptable in their working environment to be able to judge how her assistance would be received. But she found herself reaching out anyway. 'Jane?'

Jane nearly jumped out of her skin at the soft voice. Maura knelt beside her, a tentative hand on her shoulder. She avoided looking at her directly, casting her gaze about Maura's office, ashamed she was caught reliving that day.

'I, uh, like what you've done with the place. I don't know how they got the money to do all this.' If Maura understood the abrupt, and rather unoriginal, change towards a subject other than Jane for what it was, she didn't acknowledge it. Rather, she simply stood and moved to the chair beside the one Jane currently occupied.

'The city appropriated certain funds, but I also made considerable personal donations,' she made the statement plainly, no discernable pride coloring her voice, just simple fact. Jane was reminded of Korsak's earlier comment on the riches of their newest member. Her curiosity was piqued, and focusing on the doctor was a surprisingly effective way to push away ugly memories. As long as she wasn't cutting into anyone.

'Where are you from? I mean, before you took over for Dr. Tierney.'

'I worked at the U.C. San Francisco Medical School. It was actually Dr. Tierney convinced me to move back to Boston.'

'So what are doing down here, slumming with us?'

'I want my life to have meaning and purpose, same as you. Working closely with the precinct gives me a sense of accomplishment, in that performing an autopsy for a murdered victim and say, the hospital morgue, are two very different procedures to different ends. Most of my money is tied up in charitable endowments, anyway.' Jane's mouth tipped in a half smile at the indifference with which she referred to money. Wait.

'We're lucky to have you, then. You said, same as me?'

'What? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume anything, Jane. It's just that your coworkers, Detective Korsak in particular, speak very highly of you.'

Not her, too. Jane laughed, 'Don't worry, it won't last. I'm more likely to piss everyone off than inspire any kind of confidence. If we're going to be working together, let's just make something clear. Whatever you've heard about me while I was gone….I'm no hero, Dr. Isles. I'm just a cop.'

'Okay,' she considered the detective for a moment, until Jane started to fidget and she realized she was staring. 'And I'm 'just Maura,' not the Chief Medical Examiner and not to be defined by my family's social standing.'

'Okay,' Jane's smile was genuine. Her next action was well thought out and carefully measured, something she never would have deemed acceptable until this moment, with this woman. She stood and offered her hand for Maura's. 'Friends?'

Maura took her hand, her touch gentle, and looked up at Jane with a bewildered expression. She felt the doctor's thumb slide over the center of her hand and Jane didn't feel threatened or upset. 'I'd quite like that,' Maura's voice held a hint of wonder as she looked up into dark brown eyes, almost black, and warm, 'Friends.'

The preliminary toxicology report came in later that afternoon, incomplete after a single day, but with information that confirmed Maura's suspicions and that she decided was relevant to the case. She had changed back into her dress and a collarless leather coat with cropped sleeves. Her heels clicked across the tiled floor as she exited the elevator and entered what her co-workers, and as of this morning, friend, referred to as 'the bullpen.'

Friends.

She approached Korsak and Frost, who were conversing with a uniformed officer she didn't recognize. Jane was nowhere to be seen. Not to be rude, she held back, a thick manila folder in one hand, her purse in the other. Korsak acknowledged her shortly. 'Hey doc, you headed out?'

'Indeed. However, I'd hoped to speak with Detective Rizzoli before I left,' she had to make an effort not to sound disappointed.

'She's with the vic's parents, or foster parents, anyway. They flew in about an hour ago. You know, she won't admit it, but Jane's good at that kind of thing.'

The younger cop scoffed, 'You can't mean my sister.'

'Can it, Frankie.'

One of the glass doors swung open, and Maura turned to see Jane leaning against the handle, her back facing her as she addressing an older couple still in the hallway. 'I promise we will do everything we can to find out what happened to your daughter. Here's my card. If you think of something else, or need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me or one of my partners.' Maura watched the pair leave, grief stricken, and her heart went out to them. Lauren was lucky to have adoptive parents that so obviously loved her. She watched as Jane made her way towards them, running a hand through her long hair.

'What's with the Yalta conference, and why was I not invited?' she joked as she picked up her abandoned coffee from the desk.

'I've received information from the crime lab that might be of some interest.'

'Alright, shoot.' Jane sat herself on her desktop, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee.

'Well,' she moved to lay the file on the desk, her hand accidently brushing against Jane's thigh, and took out a graph that indicated substances and chemicals tested for in the contents of the victim's stomach, 'these levels indicate that the pills were an illegal drug, MDMA.'

Frost joined in. 'Ecstasy. That makes sense, though it's kind of old. In the 80's students would use it because it made them feel alert and relaxed at the same time.'

'Addiction to Ecstasy, a synthetic stimulant, is rare, though it can induce euphoria, hallucinations, memory loss, elevated body temperature, and increased heart rate. These, however, were laced with methamphetamine.'

Korsak gave a low whistle, 'That will keep them coming back. Maybe she overdosed and hit her head.'

'But Lauren was writing against drugs on campus, so far as to attempt to bust a state-wide organization. How would she have become a user?' Jane addressed Maura, resting her chin on her fist, 'You said the pills were undigested?'

'Yes.'

'Then she couldn't have overdosed. Did the body show any signs of long term addiction?'

'What are you thinking, Jane?' Frost moved around his desk to lean against hers.

'That this kid got involved with the wrong people during this project, pissed someone important off, and was killed for it. The overdose is fake, she was murdered. What about you?' She gestured to Frankie.

'My shift just ended, so I thought I'd drive you home.' Side by side, Maura could see the strong resemblance between the Rizzoli siblings. Based on their accents and surname, she would postulate Italian immigrant heritage, and both shared the same dark hair, and brown eyes.

'Nah, I'll stay here. Someone's got to look for this girl's killer,' she grinned, 'Blah blah, woof woof, right?'

'And the world will still be broken in the morning,' Korsak cut in, finishing the quote, 'Go home, Jane. You can read through this stuff at your apartment as easily as at a desk.'

'Forensics sent up the laptop a few minutes ago. I'll forward all the research and documentation I find to you.' She recognized the black Dell computer from the apartment sitting open on Frost's desk.

'Thanks, guys.' Jane stood and Maura was again reminded of how much taller she was, relatively. She locked her desk. 'Come on, Maura, we'll see you to your car. Goodnight, everybody.'

Jane locked the door to her apartment at 7:15pm. She kicked off her shoes and finally shrugged out of her blazer. She threw her badge and cell phone onto a counter by the door, placed her service weapon next to her laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch. Waiting for it to turn on, she took a moment to look around at the sparsely furnished living room, the blank walls. On the far side of the room, above the dining table was a map of Boston, her only decoration. It was still studded with colored pushpins she had used to mark the Surgeon's kills, tracking his footprints across the city. It was pitiful really, that she hadn't taken them down. Looking at the map served to remind her of her mistakes, of where her drive for recognition had led.

She had a fleeting thought of ordering take-out from the deli around the corner. As usual, the refrigerator was empty. Instead, she spent the next few hours reading through Lauren's research and making notes of her sources, some of which were anonymous interviews. Surely she had a contact list somewhere for her own records.

Around midnight, Jane stretched and let her eyes close, relaxed. She had another week's paid leave, but going back to work today had been the right decision. The only thing that stood between her and full reinstatement was marksmanship training, but she was more concerned with the episode in the morgue, the last place Jane expected to have trouble. Her reaction to Maura's scalpel scared her. Getting over her fear became her first priority, and if that meant more trips downstairs, that was okay.

The phone vibrated just as she was drifting off, clattering across the countertop. She heaved herself off the couch to catch it before it fell. She didn't recognize the callback number.

'Rizzoli,' her voice was rough with sleep.

'Hello, Jane.'

Jane was instantly awake, rooted to the spot, staring blankly at her front door. That gravelly voice slid over her nerves, chilled her. She recognized it from her nightmares. 'How did you get this number?'

'It's amazing how helpful people can be when your name is mentioned, Jane. How easy it is to obtain a prepaid cell phone. You have a reputation here. They call you, the 'bitch with the brass balls.' Did you know that?'

He spoke slowly and succinctly, enjoying himself. She realized she should have disconnected as soon as she recognized the Surgeon. 'What do you want?' Jane Rizzoli doesn't back down.

'They look at me and call you a hero. Tell me, is that what Catherine Cordell thinks?'

Jane wrapped herself in anger. 'I wouldn't know, Hoyt, she's out of the country. Wasn't even told you're still alive. For all she knows, you died in that cellar, she killed you herself. You'll never have that power over her again you sick son of a bitch!'

There was a long pause.

'No, but I do have you now, don't I Jane?'

Thoughts? I know none of this is actually possible in that a student could never undertake a project of this scope, at least not with direct involvement, and I know literally nothing about science or drugs, but when are crime procedural shows ever completely grounded in reality? I thought it would make for an interesting story. The action will pick up next chapter, in which Jane kicks ass!

The friendship/relationship between Jane and Maura is still going slow, for a reason. I don't intend to write gratuitous out of character sex scenes. I want them to be drawn together organically.

As for the end, I intend to develop Hoyt's growing obsession with Jane, which I have not yet seen attempted on this site. There are plenty of origin fics, but none on the progression of his fixation, seeing as he only met Jane that night, and for the rest of the series, set a year later, they have this sick dynamic. Random Fact: The actor who plays Hoyt, Michael Massee, is the guy who accidently shot Brandon Lee in The Crow.

Until next time, until then. -Picc.