Jane woke with a crick in her neck. Her tiny sofa was not a surrogate bed designed for an adult, let alone one who was nearly 6-ft and all limbs. It was only 8am so she hadn't even been asleep for more than a couple of hours. Squinting across the apartment, she could see that the open window shades were the culprit.

She groaned ruefully. It was such a cliché - that guiltless moment when you first regained consciousness. It felt so free, so light and unburdened. You got the feeling that the world was all fresh and new…just before reality dropped like a cartoon anvil on your head.

She was on the sofa because her mother was in her bed. Her mother was in her bed because they had stayed up until close to 5am. They had stayed up until 5am because Jane was having a nervous breakdown. And Jane was having a nervous breakdown because she had finally admitted the truth…out loud.

"Alright. Come on," Angela tried to coax her daughter around the back of the sofa to at least sit down. The sobbing had receded to a tired weep. But she had to keep control of the situation before Jane recovered enough to bolt from her own apartment.

They sat together. Angela let Jane fold defensively into herself, settling for contact with a hand on her thigh.

"Janie, I'm sure there must be a book I can read to tell me how a parent is supposed to respond. But it doesn't really have much to do with who you are attracted to. I wish I could just help you to stop comparing yourself to everyone. You are so damn competitive. Been that way since you were a little girl. But who cares what people think as long as you are happy."

"Do I look like I am happy?" Jane's chin was tucked down into crossed arms over raised knees. Her gravely voice echoed into the cavity she'd created around her chest.

"Well, not so much right now. But I hope you at least feel a little bit relieved. That's a really big weight to carry around as long as you have. But you took the first step toward putting it down. Or at least sharing the load. You know I love you unconditionally, no matter what. I know you don't think you need a mother anymore, but I hope that this might be one last thing I can support you through."

Jane slowly lifted her head to put red-rimmed eyes on her mother. Italians were natural nurtures, but she was a little surprised that this hadn't crossed her mom's Catholic conservative bounds. "Geez, Ma. Where do you learn to be so sensitive?"

"Oprah."

The chuckle was a relief. Angela's eldest child was an emotional enigma. It was difficult for her to judge sometimes if she was helping or hurting. There was silence in the room again and Angela let it be. Her patience was rewarded when at long last Jane stretched out her limbs and they began to talk.

They started with neutral topics just trying to diffuse some of the energy in the air. Eventually, the diminishing gyre brought them back to Jane's pseudo-admission. She talked about how all of the teasing as a tomboy made her damn-near homophobic. How her inability to find a guy she was emotionally interested in was rationalized over and over in her head. The pressure she felt from her mom's obsession with grandkids. Mostly, how she honestly didn't even really have feelings like that until the last couple of years.

Angela had been on her best behavior through all of this. She tried not to interrupt unless it was to offer support or an apology for her own role in the pressure building. However, there was a niggling thought that she just couldn't shake. A question she needed answered, or maybe a question that she needed Jane to answer for herself.

"Janie," she ventured cautiously. "I'm just asking, 'cause I just think you should consider…well, that maybe this has something to do with things that changed in your friendships over the last several years?"

Jane pinched her brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Um," she hesitated but decided there was nothing to gain by beating around the bush. "Do you think you are gay-gay or maybe just Maura-gay?"

Angela braced for an explosion that never ignited. Instead, Jane looked at her then blinked her gaze to a spot on the carpet. She could see the gears churning in an attempt to put the puzzle pieces together. The detective was sifting through memories that were confusing at first, but lining up toward a bigger picture. Like a bloodhound on the scent, Angela could see her daughter zeroing in on a conclusion. What she didn't expect was the look of self-reproach when she got there.

"It was me."

With uncharacteristic restraint, Angela waited for her to continue.

"I did this to Maura. I'm the one…" Jane's breathing came in shallow, distressed puffs. "Maura doesn't read people well, not living people anyway. That's why she doesn't have friends. And I took advantage of that."

Angela could see the anxiety rising. "What do you mean, Janie?"

"I…I think I knew that I could do things with her, to her, that she wouldn't understand for what they were. So I could, you know, experiment with my feelings and Maura wouldn't…I don't know…call my bluff."

Angela wrinkled her brows in confusion. "You girls have always seemed very…flirty."

"That's my point! Maura doesn't even know I'm flirting." The lanky woman was nervously weaving her fingers together and rubbing her palms.

"What happened on the island? You made it sound like Maura started it."

Jane's face read of shame. Her voice was high, tension constricting her throat. "I'm an idiot. Worse than that, I'm an asshole. I…I let her believe this was her fault. Oh god, I was so…and she almost…"

Tears welled in Jane's eyes as she looked hopelessly at her mother. Angela reached for her daughter's hand. "Janie, honey, I still don't understand."

"I was so angry with her." Jane began her confession. "I just thought…she goes out with guys all the time. Assholes…but guys. I thought she was safe for me to…"

Then she went on to lay out the evidence of her own crimes. How she understands now that she had treated Maura differently, teased her emotionally and taken advantage of her social inabilities.

"Maura thinks that she crossed a line with me." Jane's guilt seemed to flow with every tear. "I let her think she ruined our friendship. I…I left her!"

A mane of dark hair flopped into Angela's lap. Her daughter curled into a ball convulsing from the strength of her sobs. Angela rubbed a shoulder with one hand and stroked hair with the other. While she struggled to process, there was little else to do than comfort the woman until fatigue finally won out.

Jane slouched on the sofa with her head tilted back at the ceiling. Her mind was alarmingly blank. She felt a heaviness of anticipation, or more accurately dread. But she couldn't tangibly connect to exactly how the dread was destined to manifest. She just knew she didn't feel lighter and free like her mother had hoped.

With a deep sigh, she pushed herself up and headed to the kitchen. Maybe coffee would help. And breakfast. Action was always her mind's savior. She busied herself with the coffeemaker and a search through the kitchen for things that wouldn't require her long-expired milk or eggs.

The clatter and java smell roused her mother. After some futzing in the bathroom, the woman made her way into the small area and quietly took up buttering the toast. Jane handed her a cup of coffee and they sat side by side at the counter.

Jane marveled at her mother's restraint. They had eaten, finished their coffee and cleaned up before the older woman ventured back to the inevitable questions.

"Maura."

It was a statement and a question and an accusation.

"I need some time to think, Ma."

Miraculously, she seemed to accept that. "You're sure she's OK? She's safe?"

"I'll call the hospital today."

Angela gathered her things. She hugged Jane a little longer than normal than pulled back to look into brown, sullen eyes.

"I love you, Janie. And I love Maura, too. I'm going to pray that things work out between you two, whatever way it ends up."

"Thanks, Ma. I appreciate your support." And Jane meant it.

Maura sat on the plane looking out over the ocean. They were flying directly over a small island that looked to be uninhabited. She wondered somewhat ambivalently if it was the island they were rescued from. Probably not. The flight attendant stopped by her first class seat and offered her a drink. She ordered sparkling water with lemon.

Nervous hands fidgeted with the material in her lap. It was Jane's BPD sweatshirt. She had asked them to wash it for her. It was the only thing she had besides a foreign issue passport and US$40 cash for the taxi ride home. She crossed her arms around the jacket and let her head fall back against the seat. The plane ride was so very different from the one she shared with Jane on the way down. Everything was different, Maura thought to herself. And everything would be different from now on.

She had settled with her decision to leave Boston. She wasn't being a martyr. She simply had more options than Jane did. Jane wouldn't leave her family and the police department was her home. In fact, it was the only job she'd ever had. Maura had to let her have that. She had to let Jane have the life she'd worked so hard for.

Yet still, it was Boston she was returning to. She was not looking forward to what lie ahead. Her life and the Rizzolis were tangled from years of shared experiences. She would have to help Angela before she could sell her place. She'd have to resign and face the questions from Kent, Vince, Nina…Frankie. Frankie was going to be the difficult one. He wouldn't understand, and she had to make sure he didn't blame his sister. When they'd fought after the warehouse fire, after Jane had shot Paddy, Frankie had openly sided with her. She suspected it was because he still had a bit of a crush on her, but it had really wounded Jane. Loyalty was her highest calling.

Those had been some awful weeks for everyone. Maura couldn't put her friends though that again. She'd put Jane through enough. Time to learn this very hard lesson and move on.

About six hours later, the aircraft pulled in to the international terminal at Logan Airport. Maura deplaned with forced pleasantries for the flight attendants and made her way to the cavernous baggage area. Tourists and families bustled about gathering their belongs and funneling toward customs. Maura felt odd with no luggage and nothing to claim. Her lack didn't absolve her of the need to shuffle through the meandering labyrinth with several hundred other passengers.

Eventually, she suffered through the curious questions of the custom's officer and was waved through to American soil. As she approached the exit, her eye caught the warning sign mounted on a metal post.

No Return Beyond This Point

It was poignant.

Maura pushed past the crowd of welcomers welcoming and scanned the directional signs for the taxi stand. Finding her path she squeezed past the tumult into the open terminal area and stopped cold.

Standing 40 feet away was Jane Rizzoli. She was wearing a dark grey, polyester suit and blue v-neck t-shirt, her badge and gun attached at the hip. Her stance was strong and regal. She looked confident and in control.

In her left hand was a large bouquet of yellow roses.