A/N: There is a moment in this chapter inspired by something from ri-fan's story "Summer Camp," which is an AU that I totally recommend reading if you haven't already.

Maura had promised to stop by Garrett's once she had finished with Jane, and she found him sitting on his front porch reading a paper. The driver of the coach she had commissioned from town helped her down, and she asked if he wouldn't mind waiting for her; it had been a long day, and she did not anticipate spending too much time with Garrett. As she walked up to his porch, he lowered the newspaper, revealing a frown.

He had a cut imbedded in a bruise above his eyebrow and, having never been the recipient of intentional violence before, was acting as though a limb had been dismembered. He had not been pleased that Maura, in the middle of treating his wound, had jumped up when Korsak had driven by and asked for her help with Jane. Without even sparing a backwards glance for Garrett, Maura had leapt into Korsak's carriage and ridden away, with her fiancé only half-taken care of.

"So how's Jane?" he asked stiffly, folding his paper.

With a sigh, Maura sat in the chair next to him. "Oh, she was terrible. Gunshot wound and whipped! It was so bad, she fainted. When we got her in bed, it took another twenty minutes for her to wake up!"

Garrett's frown became more pronounced. "And did you treat her while she was unconscious?"

"No," Maura said, looking confused. "That wouldn't have been ethical or feasible in her condition."

"So you just… sat there, waiting for her consciousness to come back? Instead of being with me, finishing taking care of me?"

Maura furrowed her brow, finally catching on to Garrett's perturbed tone. "Garrett, I apologize for leaving you so quickly, but your wound was minor, straightforward and easy to take care of. Jane was in an awful state, and I wanted to be there when she woke up so I could remedy her pain as soon as possible."

"Well what about my pain?" Garrett asked, sounding petulant. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Of course it means something," Maura said. "But in instances like this, you have to remember I am not only your fiancé; I am also a doctor. Jane needed me more than you did. You were more scared than hurt, weren't you? Startled, not scared," she corrected herself, noting his resentful expression at her word choice. "You're not in pain now, are you? Jane is going to hurt for a while every time she walks, every time she breathes in too deeply, every time she sits down! I did what I could to lessen the pain and the length of time it will take to heal." She had spoken authoritatively, not just as Jane's defensive friend but as a medical professional. Garrett looked slightly cowed, prompting Maura to add, "Now. Don't you feel a little silly?"

He was too proud to concede so soon. "You start smoking, Maura?"

"Excuse me?"

Garrett jabbed his thumb behind him, indicating the house. "I went to get a cigar and one was missing. I have smoked three from the box you gave me, and four are absent. Do you know where it is? Or did someone come in my home, see all the furniture and valuables, and steal one cigar?"

"I gave one to Jane."

For a moment, Garrett looked surprised, but then he settled back into his chair with a skeptical snort. "Smokes cigars. Wears men's clothes, drinks whiskey—not much of a lady, is she? That's not to mention jumping on a horse and almost getting herself killed by chasing down a common criminal who had nothing to do with her!"

"Well what about it?" Maura asked a bit louder than was called for. "So she tried to get your money back for you—and succeeded! Or did you forget that already? It was certainly more action than you took! You got a bruise and couldn't bring yourself to go after him! What kind of man are you?"

"You've been listening to too many stories about this land, Maura," Garrett muttered. "You would never expect me to act so rashly in Boston, would you? No. You would have me contact the proper authorities and let them take care of it. I am not ungrateful for the return of my money, but Jane had no business doing what she did. I asked her not to get involved, and what happened to her is her own fault."

"You're saying she deserved it?" Maura asked testily.

"In a way, yes! There are risks involved when you become engaged in dangerous activity like that, risks women shouldn't take! Nobody asked her to do it. I've heard plenty about this so-called Calamity Jane—wants everyone to be impressed, to be intimidated. Did you ask her why she did it? Did she explain her motivation?" When Maura just gaped at him, Garrett sneered. "Of course she didn't! She did it to boost her own image, to play the hero!"

Maura got abruptly to her feet. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Fairfield, I would appreciate it if in the future you would refrain from postulating so rudely about people you know nothing about!"

Garrett remained seated, but raised his voice as Maura walked back to her coach. "And I suppose you know her? After having spent less than five days in her company?"

Maura turned back to look at him as the driver leapt down to assist her into the coach. She wanted to yell back that Garrett shouldn't presume to know everything about her, either, but his comment (and its volume) had already pushed the boundary of impropriety and Maura had no intention of disgracing them in public any further. As she was driven back to town, she reflected that she shouldn't have left in such a huff: it was never a good idea to part on bad terms, especially with one's fiancé. She swore to herself to make up with him tomorrow. After all, while his attitude might have been objectionable, not all of his points were bad ones. And so she went to bed thinking hazily about how she might apologize in the morning.

But when she woke up, all Maura could think about was Jane: how she'd be feeling, how her family was holding up, but mostly what Garrett had mentioned: why had Jane felt the need to chase down this crook herself? As she got dressed, Maura reasoned that she ought to have asked Jane about it yesterday, but she had been so preoccupied with healing her and making sure the woman was comfortable that it had slipped her mind.

Well, she thought, buttoning up her periwinkle-blue jacket, not today. Today I get answers!

After a rushed breakfast, Maura was out the door and en route to Jane's house. The Rizzoli part of town had fallen into disrepair, and as much as Maura admired Jane's home, she had to admit that the street itself left much to be desired. Yesterday she had been here in a closed coach, and had been paying more attention to Jane than to her surroundings.

Garrett probably wouldn't want me in this part of town, especially not alone.

Many of the houses were falling apart, and the only other person outside was an old man sitting on his porch, talking to himself. He made some kind of animal noise as Maura walked by. She quickened her pace and averted her eyes to the road, which appeared to be made up of dried mud and broken beer bottles. As this vantage point forced her to look at her increasingly dirtied boots, Maura refocused her gaze on Jane's house, which was at last within sight.

Tommy saw her through the window, and rushed out to the porch while she was still several yards away. "Maura! What're you doin' on this side of town?"

"I'm here to check on your sister," she replied, almost tripping on a single abandoned boot.

Hurrying down the walk to get to the road and meet her, Tommy said, "Ya shouldn't have come here alone. Why didn't you have Mr. Fairfield bring ya, or ask one of us to come pick you up?"

"Didn't have the time, and it didn't occur to me," Maura said, following Tommy back up the walk and to the house. "I have much to get done today, and I thought seeing Jane first would work best for both of us. Is she awake?"

"Uh…yes," Tommy said slowly, opening the front door for her.

She raised an eyebrow at him before walking inside. "You sound hesitant."

"Well… that's because she's uh, Jane's not quite herself at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothin'!...just, well, she was good after you left yesterday, but she woke up in the middle of the night, moanin' somethin' awful. I don't figure she even knew she was doin' it, like she was makin' noises in her sleep, y'know? But I thought she was in pain maybe, so I went into her room and saw that yeah, she was sleepin'. She said your name a couple times before I could wake her up, and boy when I did, she looked about ready to slap me. She hurt real bad. I asked if she wanted a drink to kill the pain and she said sure, and she—well, she drank quite a bit."

With a heavy sigh, Maura headed down the hallway to Jane's room. "Tommy, while I appreciate the intentions behind your efforts, please don't do that again. Alcohol will make her very unresponsive, and while it dulls the pain for a while, it makes it that much more difficult to track." She placed her hand on the doorknob of Jane's room and turned to look at him, surprised to find him still on her tail. "Would you please do me a favor and stay out here? I don't want to be disturbed."

"Right, right," he said, backing away. "I'll make sure nobody bothers ya, Dr. Isles. I mean, Frankie ain't here, and neither's Frost, but…if either of 'em come back, I'll tell 'em to keep out till you're gone."

"Thank you." With that, she twisted the knob and stepped inside. Jane was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking very anxious about something, and almost guilty. "Good morning, Jane."

"Doctor Isles! How are you?" Jane asked loudly.

"That's what I'd like to ask you," Maura said, walking over and sitting next to Jane on the bed. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Jane waved her hand. "Great. Fantastic."

Maura frowned, smelling the alcohol on Jane's breath. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Whaaaat? No! No. I had a little bit, Maura, just a little bit," Jane said, holding her thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart. "But only because I was hurtin' so bad and the whiskey made it go away! It made the hurt go away, Maura. Ain't that what's supposed to happen? Ain't that your job to make it stop hurting?"

"Jane, there is no such thing as a miracle, over-night cure," Maura said. "Whiskey may seem like it helps now, but you're not doing yourself any favors—it's only going to hurt more later."

"You're crazy," Jane muttered. "What'd you come over for, anyhow?"

"To follow up on you," Maura answered. "Although I don't know if I'm going to be able to be of much help when you're in such a state."

"You shoulda told me not to drink," Jane said. "Why wouldn't I? Did you say you drink, Dr. Isles?"

"I don't."

"Ya don't. Hm. Well you should try it sometime."

"Yes, I'm sure some day I will. Now J—"

"Will ya? Will you really?"

"Jane…" This is when it would have been helpful to know a last name, because Maura found it difficult to fully express all of her frustration and exasperation with one syllable. "Jane, please focus. Can you just focus for a second?"

"On what?"

"On me."

"Sure, Dr. Isles," Jane said with a shrug, leaning closer. "That's all I ever do is focus on you. When I'm waitin' to go to sleep, and when I'm trying to close a deal, or sometimes when I'm just eatin' or somethin', I get to thinking, 'I wonder what Maura's up to?'" She hiccupped and shrugged again. "Hell, that's why I got in the scrape I did was 'cause I was focused on you. This thing on my back, I mean. And my waist, come to think of it."

"What do you mean?" Maura asked, unsure whether the whiskey was just making Jane ramble, or if it had just loosened her tongue.

"I mean you think I give a rat's ass about Garrett Fairfield?" Jane asked. "No. I don't. I only care about him 'cause he's important to you, and I care about you, Dr. Isles. If someone got away with his money, then there'd go the money he shoulda been spending on you. I don't like that guy, Dr. Maura. Dr. Isles. I don't like him. If I were Garrett Fairfield, I'd have married you years ago. You'd be a mother five times over by now. How come he ain't lavished you with his riches, with his love? All he's got, he oughtta do nothin' more than get down on his knees and thank God every day you ain't left him."

"Jane, you—you aren't yourself, you don't know what you're saying…"

"Wrong," Jane said, her voice little more than a husky whisper. She moved closer, numb to the pain as she shifted one arm over Maura's stomach, clutching her waist. "I know what I'm saying, exactly what. Out here we don't got time for fancy, long engagements. We get things done. Do you reckon there's somethin' the matter with Garrett? How come he ain't made you his, yet? Don't he know he could lose ya at any second?"

Maura hadn't spoken up until now because being in such close proximity with Jane was making it hard for her to do anything more strenuous than breathe. It had taken her this long to become strong enough to stand up, pushing Jane's arm off of her stomach. "Would you kindly explain what you meant by that remark?"

Appearing unfazed by Maura's sudden move, Jane said, "Certainly, ma'am. Just 'cause you've got a fiancé don't mean other men can't look at ya, and it don't mean you can't look at other men. Take me, for example. Or Jake Wyatt, rather."

"I beg your pardon?"

Jane shook her head. "Pardon not granted. I remember the first day I met you. I was in disguise. I am the master of… being Jake Wyatt. That's why I'm him. I can shoot good and I can scare people good and I can tell when women want me." She groaned and got to her feet, not having liked the position of being beneath Maura and having to look up at her. Maura took a small step back, but Jane just smirked, slipping her hands into corduroy pockets as she walked closer. "There's somethin' about their eyes. Somethin' in the way they look at me, the way they breathe. The way their voices sound when they talk. Whether they like me 'cause I'm dangerous, or they're afraid of me 'cause I seem mean, they are intrigued." She had continued to move, walking Maura back into the wall, and when Maura hit it, Jane placed a hand just over the doctor's shoulder. "You don't fool me, Maura. You were attracted to Jake Wyatt, weren't you?"

Maura's heart was pounding in her ears; she was overwhelmed by the scent of whiskey but mostly by Jane's assertions. Most troublesome was the fact that Jane hadn't let her last sentence stand as an assumption, a statement—she had turned it into a question, one she expected the always-honest Maura to answer.

"Jake Wyatt isn't real," Maura countered, still fighting to avoid a direct response.

Jane just laughed. "Oh he's real, all right. Don't you worry your pretty head about that. I can vouch for him. Jake's the real thing, but he's also a real gentleman. He don't act on it when women try gettin' his attention. He lets 'em alone." Through her tipsy haze she recognized Maura's raised eyebrows, and moved back, allowing Maura to take a small step away from the wall, but remain standing between it and Jane. "Say, I've been meanin' to ask ya—what kind of fella is Garrett Fairfield, anyhow?"

Looking surprised, Maura asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean…well just by looking at him, you can tell he's smitten with ya, and I don't blame him for that. But is he …is he decent? Or… do you think there's a chance he might, uh…" She waved her hand, struggling to come up with the right words. "Act indecently towards you?"

Maura gasped, not caring whether Jane was intoxicated or not. This was not at all an appropriate thing to suggest, and Garrett was right, what was a lady doing so drunk, anyway? "Jane, do you realize what you are implying? Garrett Fairfield is a gentleman!"

Shrugging at Maura's righteous indignation, Jane said, "He's also a man, ain't he? A tall, strong man engaged to be married to a beautiful, little woman."

"What're you saying?"

"You're smart, Dr. Isles. I think you know exactly what I'm saying."

After a short but loaded pause, Maura said, "You are a rogue. To imagine that every man, simply due to his sex, has such things on his mind."

"I'm just sayin' this for your benefit," Jane said. "Would you be ready if it ever happened?"

"If what…?"

"This," Jane said gruffly, stepping forward and grabbing Maura's wrists with two strong, gloved hands. At the same time, she pushed Maura up against the wall, keeping their hands down between them. Jane leaned in close, her face mere inches from Maura's—and if Maura hadn't been holding her breath, Jane would've felt it breaking against her own lips. "What would you do?" Jane asked in a harsh whisper. She felt Maura struggle; Jane tightened her grip and repeated the question.

Maura's eyes were wide and frightened, but Jane was unmoved in her determination. When she was able to catch her breath (or enough of it, anyway), Maura whispered, "Please, Jane—you're…you're scaring me…"

Jane's eyes were dark and cold, heartless. Unbeknownst to Maura, this was straight out of the gate of Jake Wyatt: the need to feel in command, the calculated lack of emotion

"You're scared?" she growled. "Good. You should be."

"Please, Jane," Maura whimpered, redoubling her efforts to wrestle out of Jane's strong grip. "Please—"

Jane's voice was unrecognizable to herself when she hissed, "Please what, Maura?"

Maura didn't or couldn't verbally respond, but she tried again to pull herself free, and this time her hand knocked into the recovering wound on Jane's waist. The forceful contact finally cut through Jane's tipsy state, causing a rumble of pain to ripple through the numbness. She was struck suddenly with the enormity and villainy of what she was doing—

"Please, sir—please!"

"Please what, Janie?"

Jane unconsciously slackened her grip, and sensing this, Maura was able to push her off. It was a gentle shove, but Jane stumbled back as if Maura had kicked her in the stomach. The long scar on her back was now also starting to ache, but Jane ignored the feeling as she tried to take a moment to collect herself before looking at Maura. Jane was instantly struck with self-loathing and guilt, knowing that it was her fault Maura looked so hurt and so scared.

"Maura," Jane breathed, her tone entirely different, apologetic and filled with sorrow. She blinked and tried to orient herself. "Maura—Maur, hell, I-I'm sorry—"

She was tripping over her words and thoughts, hating how empty they sounded. Maura wasn't convinced either: she took a step towards Jane and slapped her hard across the face before storming out of the room.

As soon as Maura was gone, Jane hissed in agony and gingerly touched her cheek, surprised that Maura hadn't knocked out a tooth. She tried to move her jaw, and pain shot through the length of her face. Great, another injury. Jane walked backwards until she felt the bed at the back of her knees, and she sank onto it, resting on her stomach. Once she felt she had collected enough strength, she pulled herself to the edge of the bed to pick up what she had stowed there before Maura's sudden arrival.

Just then, Tommy opened the door, looking confused. "Jane? Why'd Maura take off like that?"

"Like what?" Jane slurred.

"Boy, was she in a foul mood!"

"Never mind," Jane grumbled, picking up the near-empty whiskey bottle and holding it up for him to take. "Don't ever leave that in my room again. Don't ever give me whiskey. Don't give me nothin', you understand? Just let me be. Let me be for now. Alone. Get out."

Looking hurt by her remarks, Tommy just said "Okay," and took the bottle out of her hands. He left the room, shutting the door after him.

Jane wished he hadn't come in, last night or just now. She had in fact woken up a few hours after Maura's departure yesterday, and remained awake for a while, feeling only a slight ache whenever she moved. But when she had fallen asleep and woken up again much later, suddenly the pain was worse, and Tommy's only solution had been to give her some whiskey and leave the bottle. Talking to him now had made the side of her face hurt where Maura had slapped it.

You deserved that, you damn fool, Jane thought miserably to herself, leaving the warmth of her hand on her reddening cheek. Why'd you go and do a stupid thing like that?

Jane reached under her bed for the sheaf of papers she had hastily thrown down there earlier. Somewhere rolling around on the floor was the nib pen Frankie had leant her, but she didn't feel up to searching for it just now. Her vision was blurry as she tried to focus on the words she had practiced writing over and over yesterday, the first time she had woken up. Helo, Maura Isles. Maura… Maura Isles… she had loved the way the letters in Maura's name came together.

She didn't realize she was crying until one tear slid into her mouth and another left the first of many wet dots on Maura's name.

A/N: A few quick items of business- 1) Happy Easter, everyone! Seriously. Great holiday. 2) I feel kind of funny about this, but after stalking tumblr pages for months, I decided to cave and get my own. It's easier to manage than a blog. If you feel so inclined, check out jobethdalloway dot tumblr dot com! 3) Holy CRAP. Are there any other Gilmore Girls fans out there? Aside from being the one reason I can't bring myself to completely hate Dean (Billy Burke was the only guy I liked for Lorelai aside from Luke, and sometimes Jason), Tommy Rizzoli had a role in an episode I just watched! I totally freaked out. It's the one where Rory and Paris go on spring break, and Paris and Madeline and Louise keep telling Rory to flirt with him. With Tommy Rizzoli. He popped up like six times and had dialogue and everything. I've never particularly cared for that episode, but I may start watching it a ton more now...(in spite of its les-ploitation, a.k.a. Madeline and Louise saying they make out with each other to get stuff they want from guys. Ah, well.)

Oh, and thank you all for the continued support and reviews!