Author's Note: A standing ovation for IsaBabisa without whose help this chapter would have been 10 times worse.

Also guys, I'm dying and your feedback is my only salvation.

Besides that, I REALLY hope you will enjoy this chapter.

Happy reading.


You love Frankie Rizzoli and there's simply no other way to say it. You've never thought possible meeting someone so mature at only fifteen, but against all odds you are as impressed by Frankie as you were impressed by Jane, though it is for completely different reasons.

You go to the cinema, where you watch an action movie full of unrealistic ideas and continuity mistakes. You want to kick yourself for every comment regarding the plotline you make, but Frankie doesn't tell you to shut up or look at you in a way that makes you feel like an outsider. On the contrary – he smiles, or nods, somehow making you go on with your analyzing. He even laughs out loud when you make a remark about people flying in iron suits and how it goes against all laws of physics.

You've always thought of action movies as quite childish, but when you step outside in the cold November air and the sun blinds you. When you turn your head and Frankie grins at you from ear to ear.

You want to watch action movies for the rest of your life.

You spend the whole day together and you talk almost the entire time, though you never would have thought you'd have so much in common.

Well, the only thing you really have in common is Jane.

He talks about her the way you'd talk about Marie Curie, or William Bass. Fervently, like she is not even real. A myth. Not his own older sister, but a legend everyone knows about and loves.

And he is fierce. His eyes are big and wild and he stands a little straighter when he talks about her.

Proud.

Protective.

Loving and loyal.

He'd die for her.

And when he looks at you and tells you all this, you know he does not exaggerate.

He shows you their hiding place. Where they all used to play ball with their father. A place where they didn't have to hide their wings.

It's a little park in a neighborhood you've never been before. It's hidden from the rest of the world by tall white oaks, though you have a feeling it's mainly angels that live in this part of the town.

It's there in between a set of rusted swings and a see-saw that he opens his wings. A white so pure it makes your eyes burn. Slightly smaller than Jane's, but just as graceful.

And he rises from the ground after a powerful flap, the fallen leaves going up with him.

He smirks at you from above, before leaning down and extending his hand.

You're too afraid to take it.

He comes back down and walks up to you. His eyes are serious, despite his playful tone.

"Come on, Maura. You're dating an angel. You should at least see what it's like to fly."

"Well, I'm sure Jane will take me for a ride if I ask her."

He looks like he is in physical pain. The way you used to look at Physical Education, when someone threw the ball too forcefully at you or tackled you unnecessarily on the football field. And from the look on his face, you know what he says is not what he really means.

"Oh, come on, Maura. Take a risk! See what it's like. Let me do this for you."

You know from his anxious smile he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

It's okay, though. Even if he couldn't voice it, the sentence "Jane can't fly anymore" screams at you like a mother watching her child die in her arms.

But you nod, and he comes closer before turning his back to you. You climb atop his back, putting your arms around his neck and locking your legs across his waist.

You close your eyes.

And fly.

You want to scream, tell him to let you get down. You even consider jumping, but when you calculate that you'd break at least 2 ribs and the possibility of being stuck in a wheelchair is sky high, you decide against it.

He tells you to open your eyes, and there's something in his voice that makes you do it against your better judgement.

You want to gasp but there's no more air in your lungs. You're at least 150 feet above the trees, able to see a large part of Boston. You hover there, levitating for a few moments, the sound of his wings flapping loud in your ears.

You feel him relax against you, and little by little you start descending back down to the park. With a soft thump, you're back on solid ground.

You jump down from his back, all flushed and panting from the adrenaline still coursing through you. He turns and looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

"Someone could've seen us!"

Louder than you intended. Accusing.

"Not really, no." Sure of himself. "Knowing how smart you are, I bet you already figured it out."

You purse your lips, wait for him to continue.

"There are only angels that live here in this part of Boston. It's our neighbourhood."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, we need to fly every once in a while. Heh,"

A light snort.

"there's a spell. It surrounds our neighbourhood, so people from the outside can't see us when we fly. If we go outside the border, well… it usually happens on cloudy days so no one sees us. But in here? It's as safe as it gets."

"But what if there's a stranger that enters the neighbourhood? Can they see you?"

"Nope. Only when we take off or land. Not when we are actually flying."

Long pause.

"Why can't Jane fly?"

You want to swallow back the words just as they leave your mouth, but Frankie only shrugs and looks at you…sadly?

"That's Jane's story to tell."

You keep talking about nothing and everything, hanging out like you've known each other your whole lives. Before you know it it's dark outside and you find yourself in front of your house, genuinely sad the day is over.

"What're you doin?"

You look at him, frowning.

"Going home, of course."

"Don't you wanna see what Jane prepared for you?"

"Well, isn't she…?"

"In your house?" He looks at you, amused. "Course not! C'mon."

And how could you refuse him?

You walk up to the top of the hill, when you see her to the side of the road, waiting for you.

She's dressed with a hoodie too large for her slender frame and washed up blue jeans. Leaning casually against a tree, a big smile spreading across her face when she sees you approaching.

You can't help but smile back at her.

"Hey beautiful,"

A blush creeps up your neck.

"Hi."

Her arms find their place around your waist and she hugs you tightly to her body.

"How was your day? I hope Frankie didn't threaten you or something, otherwise-"

"What, no! Of course not. It was a great day actually,"

You turn your head from Jane's embrace and smile at him.

"He was great."

"Good."

Jane pulls apart but keeps one hand around your waist.

"Thanks, little brother."

He looks at her and you know what he is telling Jane has nothing to do with what he actually says.

"Anytime, Janie. Anytime."

His eyes turn to you and nods once, before heading back down the hill.

Jane watches him go for a moment, before turning back to look at you.

"Ready to go?"

"Where are we going?"

Your fingers intertwine with hers, not really looking for an answer. You'd go anywhere with her.

Everywhere.

"C'mon."

You climb what's left of the hill when Jane takes an abrupt turn to the right. It is there, after a few trees where her surprise awaits.

It is there, in the middle of the night with Jane looking at you looking at it that your breath catches in your throat.

It is there, below the stars that you wonder if this kind of feeling is even supposed to exist. It is too powerful to have a name.

And it is only after Jane squeezed your hand to bring you back to the present, looking at you with concern and apprehension that you realize you have been staring dumbly without uttering a single word.

Because she built you a blanket fort on top of Beacon Hill.

A huge tent with the opening facing you, so you get a glimpse of the warm blankets and huge pillows that are waiting for you inside.

There are candles surrounding it, bathing the place in a warm, dim light.

It is magnificent.

You turn to her and kiss her deeply, locking your hands in unruly raven curls. She begins smiling into the kiss and you back away slightly, giving her a chance to explain herself.

Though no explanation could ever make you believe this is real.

Real, and most importantly, happening to you.

"I just wanted to apologize."

"Jane, there's no need-"

"There is." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and when she opens them again her eyes are kind. And determined. "There is need, Maura. I'm sorry for how I treated you for the past two months, it's just…"

She is no longer capable of holding your gaze.

What comes out next is mumbled, like she's ashamed of herself.

"I have trust issues, and I…I was a coward. I was a coward afraid of taking any risks and I'm sorry for that. You didn't deserve that."

She looks up at you again, sad and hurting.

You want to help her but you don't know how. You squeeze her hand tighter.

"You deserve so much more than me. You don't deserve to be with someone so-, so broken a-and damaged, and-…"

She sighs, frustrated at herself.

"I just, I don't get it. I don't get it how someone like you could possibly want to be with someone like me, but…you do. You want me, broken and damaged and all. So I guess I just wanted to say thank you…and that I'm sorry for running away. For keeping you away. Just…I'm sorry."

You caress her cheek before cupping her face with both of your hands. You make sure she's looking right into your eyes before you start speaking.

"Okay, now listen to me very carefully, Jane Rizzoli, because I'll only say this once. You are not broken. No one can break you unless you let them. Yes, you may be a little battered and bruised,"

She chuckles and tries not to smile.

"but doesn't mean you're broken. And for the record, I'm lucky to have found you. Remember that, Jane Rizzoli. And never sell yourself short again, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Her smile widens.

You pinch her side but can't help smiling back at her.

"Don't call me ma'am. Now let's enjoy the evening, shall we?"

You turn your back to her and head to the tent, soaking up every single detail. She comes behind you and rests her hands on your hips as you bent down to look inside.

A flashlight is hanging on the metallic support at the top of your heads. Otherwise the place looks like it is made of feather pillows and cozy blankets, not just filled with it.

"Wanna get in?"

You crawl your way inside, leaving your shoes at the entrance. She comes in behind you, and you hear the sound of something being zipped up. You crane your neck and watch her settle herself against your back. She gives you a peck on the nose before leaning forward, taking your body with her.

You close your eyes, memorizing the feeling of her unraveled mane tickling your face, soaking up her scent. Drinking up her presence, bottling it up somewhere deep within you. A place warm and safe and so full of love, it would never want to leave again.

When you open your eyes again you're no longer met with the sight of the dark blue material from which the tent is made.

Instead, you gasp at the sight of Boston, illuminated only by the stars above and flickering street lights.

Jane drapes a woolen blanket over you before hugging you closer to her body.

You feel soft chapped lips press to your neck, along with the hairs from the back of your head rising. You sigh contentedly, and she rests her head of your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

"Like the view?"

You turn your head to look at her as you answer, hoping she'd get the hint.

"Best I've ever seen."

She smiles, more with her eyes than anything else, before kissing you softly.

Tenderly.

Fervently but slowly.

Like you're the best thing that has ever happened to her and she wants you to know it, but in the same time she doesn't want to scare you away.

You bite down softly on her lower lip, before soothing it with your tongue. She moans into your mouth, making you feel warm all over. Your hands wind up into her hair, tugging her impossibly closer. Her tongue slips into your mouth, skirting around yours, trying to convey feelings too powerful and complex to be expressed with words.

Your hands slip under her shirt, palms wide spread on her hot skin, over the marks covering her abdomen. Your mind is clouded from her show of affection, but the feeling of something pulsating against your hands cuts through the fog and makes you pull away to look at her.

Jane's eyes are closed and she's breathing heavily, trying to calm herself. The pulsating beat gets weaker and weaker, until it disappears completely.

You retreat your hands from her body, laying them in your lap over the blanket.

You wait for her to open her eyes before the words spill from your mouth.

"Wha-…What was that?"

"My wings, they…We keep them inside with the help of self-control and years or training. So when we're about to lose our cool, they start battling against us until we have no other choice but to… y'know…let them out."

You let out something between a long breath and a laugh.

"You're going to be the death of me, Jane Rizzoli."

But she doesn't laugh. She doesn't laugh or smirk or chuckle. She doesn't raise an eyebrow or smile smugly at you.

Her face is noticeably paler, otherwise emotionless.

She looks at you and into you and through you, staring you down but in the same time putting as much distance between you as possible.

Not physically. She hasn't moved a muscle since your failed attempt at sarcasm.

"Jane, I…"

"Don't."

Her voice is harsh and hoarse, full of invisible tears.

Like she is in despair.

Try again! You have to try again and make her see it was just a joke! That you didn't mean it!

"Jane I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Stop. Please, just…"

She drops her head to her chest, her hair falling down her shoulders effectively hiding her face. "I'm sorry, Maur. It not your fault, it's not something…"

She looks up at you. Still tense.

"It's not your fault."

No. Maybe it's not your fault but it's your doing that she has closed up again and you want to kick yourself. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes soften, and she almost smiles.

"C'mere."

Her arms spread wide apart, inviting you to snuggle up against her.

You move over until you're pressed against her front. After you're all settled you take each of her hands into one of your own and bring them to your lips leaving small kisses all over her knuckles.

When you make sure each inch of skin received the same amount of affection, you bring her hands into your lap and squeeze them between yours.

You stay like that for a long time, simply admiring the view, silence all around you. You're about to fall asleep into her arms when she speaks again, low and steady. Her voice raspier than usual from lack of use.

"It happened."

You hold your breath, hoping it will keep her talking.

"Someone…they…"

Her voice cracks, along with your heart.

"Sh-…she died because of me, I…"

You wait for the imminent surge of fear and terror to come. To feel your blood run cold in your veins.

All you feel is hurt and pain and heartbreak for the girl sitting behind you. You lean back against her, bringing your bodies impossibly closer.

"Emma?"

She breathes sharply.

"How do you know about her?"

How do you even begin to explain?

"Frankie told me you dated and, well, I assumed-"

"Frankie told you we dated?" She hisses.

Spits the words out.

"Yes," you try to maintain your calm. "The day before you came back, he told me you dated and she left when you told her about yourself. He didn't say what exactly you told her, just that you 'let her in'."

"That's…that's all he told you?"

"Yes."

She exhales…relieved?

"Jane,"

"Yeah."

"Don't shut me out."

"I'm not, I'm-"

You crane your neck and kiss her words away.

"Jane?"

"Mhmm"

"Please."

"Okay."

You allow yourself a little smile. "Tell me about her."

She does.

And maybe if you had learned about her any other way you would have been jealous.

Maybe if the words had been floating away from someone else's lips you would have hated them. Dreaded them.

Given anything to not hear them.

But it's Jane's voice whispering into your ear and Jane's fingers tickling your skin and Jane's scent intoxicating you.

So you absorb everything like a sponge.

Someone else would've remembered the big things: that Jane has been in love with a girl named Emma, who ran away when she found out Jane is a fallen angel.

They would've remembered she came back some time later to apologize, and then had dated Jane for a few months.

Someone else would've remembered only that she died, shutting away all the other details.

But you're not someone else.

You're you so you cannot not remember absolutely everything Jane is willing to tell you.

You don't only keep in mind the big stuff. The stuff that matters.

You hang onto the details. You hang on to the fact her name was Emma Charlotte Andrews, and had been in the same class as Jane but they had never talked. You hang on to how they bonded over a cup of coffee Emma brought Jane because in her opinion, she "looked like crap," and to how in proper Rizzoli style Jane answered "Beat it, Andrews."

You can't not imagine her deep-red hair and blue eyes. Her "punk" smile, as Jane calls it.

You can't not concentrate on the fact Emma had brought Jane coffee every morning, and how every time Jane's smile grew just a little wider and their conversations grew just a little longer until Jane found on her cup of coffee a little post-it with the details on the movie running at the cinema the following night.

You can't not hear it when Jane tells you she looked like crap and started slacking at school because Tommy had run away from home, and she was desperately looking for him.

You can't not hear the crack in Jane's voice when somehow from talking about Emma's unwavering attempts at getting to know Jane better, Emma walking away, coming back, apologizing, she gets to telling you how the redhead helped her look after her little brother.

How they found him. How he ran away again.

How he called after two more weeks asking to meet Jane, alone. How, of course against Jane's requests, Emma went with her.

How it was all a trap.

And you can't ignore the sob escaping Jane as she struggles to tell you how Emma died without completely breaking down.

It's not the big stuff, but the details that rip and tear and cut and split you open.

If only listening to this makes you ache so badly, you don't even try to comprehend what living through it did to Jane.

So you turn completely in her arms and look at her face, drenched in the liquid form of shame and guilt and resentment.

She crawls into your lap and you hold her closely to you. Your hands untuck her shirt and spread wide open onto her bare back.

And she cries. You don't know for how long. You don't really care either.

Finally, when the crying and whimpering and sobbing subside and transform into occasional hiccups, you dare to move.

But she doesn't let you. Just as you draw back, her arms contract around your waist, bringing you back. You hear a faint "don't" and that's all it takes for you to move back as close to her as possible. You kiss her temple but don't say anything.

There's nothing left for you to say.

Just as you want to suggest lying down, she speaks again into your chest.

"That's when I lost the ability to fly."

She sits still for a moment letting that sink in and all you can think about is Frankie's face from earlier today when he told you this is Jane's story to tell.

"That…bastard that killed Emma, he…he was really after me. More like, after my wings. He wanted to destroy them. And if Emma hadn't been there, he would've succeeded." Long pause. "There was this virus he injected made to turn my wings black and then slowly destroy them. He was like, halfway through when…she knocked him off. Found a tazer and just…went for it, y'know?" She laughs…proudly? "But the shock wasn't big enough and he came back but I…I didn't see it!" You don't think it's possible for her to get any more bitter than this. "It was a through and through."

You hear what she's really saying.

"Jane, it's not your fault."

She snorts. "Yeah, right."

"No, Jane, listen to me-"

"No, Maura, you listen to me. If it weren't for me, she'd still be alive right now!"

She leans back and she looks at you and you've never seen someone so desperate before.

"She died for me, Maur. I could've just as well pulled the trigger."

"You couldn't have known."

She shakes her head, defeated, but you don't give up just yet.

You take her in your arms again and kiss her, hard.

You whisper it again and again against her lips, hoping against all hope that if you said it enough times, she would start believing you.

"You couldn't have known."

You don't ask why Tommy ran away from home in the first place.

You don't ask why she and Frankie never seem to need words to communicate.

You simply lie there, in the safety of the night, holding her fragile heart in the palm of your hands, doing your best at holding the broken pieces together.

It's also there, with dark deep eyes gazing at you, that you realize there's nothing else you'd rather do.