A/N: Small correction for last chapter's flashback: Cristina was 9 and Cicciu was 6.
Jane breathes puffs of frigid air against the cold atmosphere in front of St. John's on a Thursday morning, and shrugs her pea coat closer to her body. She is dressed in an all-black suit, with a matching Armani scarf draped against her lapels like a priest's stole. Maura, in a black dress, sheer leggings, and matching coat, holds onto Jane's arm for warmth and for comfort.
The heels of their shoes, Maura in Zanotti and Jane in flat Gucci oxfords, click against concrete as they shift from leg to leg with the cold, waiting outside the church for the doors to open and the funeral mass to start. Maura then drops one of her hands from its place around Jane's bicep to thread with Jane's fingers. When the men and women around them begin to walk toward the entrance to the church, she hugs Jane's arm and kisses the shoulder close to her lips.
Jane smiles at her sadly, looking handsome with her lips closed and her eyes dark and glossy. Lorenzo DiVincenzo, the third DiVicenzo brother who had spent the last ten years in New York, was gunned down by a rival dealer for encroaching on that dealer's territory. He and Jane had been close before he moved for better opportunities and more money, and now he's returned home in a casket.
"Are you ready to go inside, sweetheart?" Maura asks her once most of the mourners have filtered in. Jane squeezes her fingers.
"Ready as I'll ever be, I think," Jane says with a sniffle. "I gotta see Tom and Mario anyway."
Maura nods. She lays her head on Jane's shoulder. "I'm sure they're wondering where you are," she responds, and they pass through the doors into the ornate sanctuary. "They need you."
Jane breaks their hold in order to stand just behind Maura, with a hand on her hip. They both look to their left and dip their fingers into the holy water font, blessing themselves in the way they had been taught since they could walk. "Find us a place, yeah? I'm gonna go pay my respects real quick," Jane whispers into Maura's ear. The smell of Maura's shampoo and the silkiness of her styled hair brings Jane an old sort of peace, one that she's gotten to experience daily for the last twelve years.
"Ok," Maura assents. Jane watches her walk to an empty pew, kneel and cross herself out of habit and not out of faith, and then sit down.
Then Jane walks past her and finds Tom standing near the front row, talking to an older woman. "Hey, Tom," she says.
He turns from his conversation, and his face falls for a split second. "Hey, Jane," he breathes out, and she hears tears threatening to break through. They hug so that she can spare him any indignity. "Thanks so much for the flowers. I'm glad you're here."
"Of course I'm here," she says. "Lorenzo always did right by me. I'm so sorry."
Tom pulls back and dabs at his eyes with his finger. "Thank you. What're you gonna do, you know? This is the life that we've chosen. We accept that things like this may happen. Now I gotta coordinate with New York to see how we can solve the remaining issue."
His statement, not radical or new by any means, still strikes her. Despite the cold stone around them, the temperature from outside creeping into the old structure, she sweats, mostly on the small of her back and under her arms. "Y-yeah," she agrees because she has to. Because there is no alternate truth for her to hold onto. This is the life that they've made for themselves. "Still. It's a shame. Lorenzo was a good man, took care of his kids. Hell, took care of me."
"Yeah, he was," Tom says, choking up. "Mario's taking care of something out front. Find him when he comes in, would you?"
"Course, Tom. Course," Jane appeases him, with one hand on his elbow and the other in front of her as if to wave off his request as a foregone conclusion.
"Thanks, Jane. And thank Maura, too. I know she's the one who picked out the arrangement," says Tom, with a tiny smile.
Jane blushes. "I will. She'll come see you before the day's done," she says. "I just-"
"Needed eyes in back," Tom finishes for her. "I understand. I got a couple guys on the sides, too. What a fuckin' trip, huh? That we have to be this diligent at my own brother's funeral?"
"Yeah, it… it sucks," Jane finally stutters. They share a laugh at her choice of words. It's brittle and feels small, but it is at least some kind of mirth. They say their goodbyes, and by the time Jane returns to where Maura sits, she's a little misty herself.
"How is he doing?" Maura turns from her front-facing position so that she can take Jane's hand in her lab and rub it. "How are you doing?"
"He's doing the best he can, considering. I can tell it's hittin' him hard," says Jane. She watches Tom from her seated position, as he mourns with members of the DiVincenzo family and his brother's New York crew alike. "I'm… I dunno. I'm ok. We didn't exactly keep in touch when he went down to New York. But, I'll never forget how he took me under his wing when I was young and dumb and stealin' cars."
"I understand," Maura says. Jane's fingers are cold in her own, so Maura strokes the thumb of her other hand rhythmically over the top of them. They've become used to this pattern, because they've attended an unusually high amount of funerals in the past couple of years. "Connections that are forged early in life, at such a formative time, can last the lifespan, as well as the feelings that we associate with them."
"Yeah," says Jane. She rubs her free palm over the top of her thigh in an anxious habit. "What about you? I know you didn't really know him, but you've had to live with me for the past few days. How're you doin'?"
Maura sighs. "Funerals always make me want more children," she admits to Jane. "I think it's my brain rebelling against the death that surrounds me when we're here." She says it lightly, in an off-handed way of processing her feelings out loud, but Jane hangs her head. "Jane? Jane, what's wrong?" she asks, mortified that she's said something to make Jane upset, but not sure what it was.
Jane throws her head back up and sniffs loudly. It echoes against the columns around them when she looks at the gold design of the ceiling. "I… I can't," she says, not looking at Maura.
"Can't what, my love?" Maura makes her voice soft, inviting. The last thing she wants to do is make Jane even sadder, but it appears she's unable to help it. Jane frowns anyway.
"Give you any more," Jane laments. "Give you any more kids."
"Jane, I was just telling you how I'm feeling. I wasn't saying I actually wanted-"
"No, but I'm just saying. Even if you, down the line, decided you wanted more, I can't, Maura. Cristina's eleven and Cicciu's eight, and leaving them would be… in this life or the next, I don't think I could forgive myself. But leaving a baby? I won't. I refuse," Jane cries now, with one tear that trails down her right cheek. "That uh," she stops and wipes her cheek with her sleeve, and it reminds Maura of Cristina, "that says nothin' of leavin' you. But at least you're an adult, you know? You can take care of yourself."
Maura doesn't draw attention to Jane's crying because she knows that would drive Jane away. So she settles for curling a lock of black hair behind Jane's ear. "I can take care of our children, too," she says with finality. "Don't think I didn't enter into this knowing exactly what could happen to you. I knew the risks. I grew up in the risks."
Jane's wave of melancholy passes. "Yeah," she agrees. She knows that Maura is right. "I know."
"And we've put enough away that, god forbid, if a time comes that you can't be here with us, we will be alright," Maura continues.
Jane nods in silence.
"Take care of yourself so that your children don't grow up without a mother. Or because you want to spend the rest of your life with me. Not because you think we won't be able to make it without you," says Maura, and then the mass begins.
Three bullets from the assailant's pistol pelt the back door of her car on the driver's side, and Jane can hear her heart in her ears. She feels it pounding in her fingertips. She feels blood flooding her shirt under her coat, and she can smell the tang of it. "Fuck!" she curses, because she left her piece in the glove compartment instead of stuffing it into her waistline.
The man shooting at her is tall, and lean, and could be any number of enemies she has made throughout her tenure. He wears a tight hood so she cannot see his hair, and gloves so she does not recognize his hands. Finally, with one arm, she wrests the driver's door open, and shuts it behind her. She throws herself over the center console so she can get to her gun, pull it out, and lay her own waste.
One shot.
Two shot.
Four more shots.
One grazes the bicep of the shooter.
"Hands up! FBI!" Nina, having secured the passersby around her car, storms into the scene, gun drawn and pointed, but the shooter has already bolted down the street. He hops a fence and runs down an alley, and Nina is frozen by indecision. She starts to run after him, realizes that he has disappeared into the maze of businesses and old tenements, and then turns her focus to Jane. "Get in my car!" she yells, tears in her eyes. "I'll take you to the hospital!"
Jane is already sliding into the driver's seat, fumbling with her seatbelt. "Uh uh," she says out her rolled-down window, breathing heavily, panting through the pain. "You wanna help me, go tell Frankie! Tell him to find me at my place!" She starts the engine and puts the car into drive.
"You need a hospital, Jane! Jesus, you're bleeding all over the place," Nina puts her hand on her forehead and tries not to panic. If anything happened to Jane, Frankie would… well, she doesn't want to think about it. It's going to send her into a panic attack. She's already dangerously close.
"I got a surgeon at home, Nina," Jane tempers her voice despite her agony, in order to keep Nina calm. "Think, ok? Breathe and think. They know they botched the job. They're gonna have guys waiting for me at every hospital in the city. I can't go, not yet."
"Ok, ok," Nina says, convincing herself as much as she's also accepting Jane's logic.
"Good," Jane pulls forward a few feet and then makes her next point. "Call it in," she orders, staring down at Nina's radio. "Because this is the last chance you're gonna get to take care of this yourselves."
Maura grimaces as she slides one of her diamond earrings into place, getting it just right. She turns her head to the side so she can look at her handiwork in the mirror, and she's satisfied with what she sees; the jewelry shines nicely against her warm, rosy skin. She had moved through her morning routine without event: finishing her yoga, hopping into her shower, styling her hair. Now she tightens her floral robe over her otherwise naked frame and decides on a light breakfast before she gets dressed and heads to Bellissima. The morning is cold, she can tell by how clear the air seems outside when she looks out the hall window on her second floor, and how she shivers with a passing chill.
She pads down the hall barefoot, passing the messy rooms of both Cristina and Cicciu, promising herself to have yet another conversation with them about it when they get home. Or maybe, she'll have Jane do it, she thinks, since their sloppiness comes from her.
As Maura takes the first step down, the front door flies open with a weighty groan, then slams shut, and she thinks she hears hinges stressing the wood. She furrows her brow, checks her watch - 9:04. Odd, she thinks, Jane is supposed to be at The Waterfront lofts. "Baby, is that you? Did you forget something? I thought you were-"
She silences herself when she gets halfway down the stairs. She had trotted this far, confused but excited to see Jane again, so she nearly catapults down the rest of the way when the carnage at the front door comes into view.
There is Jane, standing against it, but only just barely. It's more like leaning, what she's doing, and she is so pale. Her eyes are hooded and glossy, and Maura dreads the gaze she will have to take from Jane's obviously injured shoulder to the floor below her. In a split second she does it, and sees blood already pooling. "Jane? Jane!" The split second is over, and Maura is sprinting down. "Oh, my god. W-what happened?!" She shoehorns her own shoulder under Jane's good one.
Jane is grateful for the relief and the support. "Someone was… waitin' for me," she struggles to say. "Outside Milano. It was an ambush. Good thing… Nina was there. She chased 'em off."
Maura swallows down bile, it rebelling against her empty stomach and seeking any way out. "Are you hit anywhere else?"
"No. Well, my leg got clipped. Just a scratch, though. The shoulder's, agh, the worst," Jane yips when Maura helps her fall into a chair at the kitchen table because it jostles her arm. She just doesn't have the energy to sit easily. "I don't think it's as bad as it looks, though." She uses her other hand, covered in dried blood, to try and push off her coat.
Maura swats Jane's hand away. "Fammillu vidiri," she orders, let me see it. She peels as carefully as she can, and the nausea returns when the firearm smell hits her. Her features are stony and focused, even though tears run down her cheeks.
"Hey, don't cry," Jane croaks, and she hears how stupid that sounds in her strained voice. "I'm here."
Maura shakes her head and goes into the foyer to get her doctor's bag. "I'm going to clean this, but... ai bisognu du spitali," she says shakily.
"No," Jane rarely sounds so firm with Maura. "You know I can't go. They're gonna have someone at every hospital in Boston. I… already told Nina this."
"But you could have fractures, vascular involvement, Jane. I… I don't have the imaging necessary to-"
Jane slams her good fist on the table. "So you can do oral surgery on a late payment, but you… fuck, can't do this? C'mon, Maura. Babe, I need you. Please."
Maura's hands are already covered in blood and she hates it. She takes shears out of her bag and cuts away Jane's clothes near her shoulder. "I'm sorry about your coat," she says, making eye contact with Jane. She's looking for signs of vitality, and Jane, tired but alive, gives her one. A smirk.
"I'll buy a new one," Jane says. She looks away when Maura exposes the angry, round red wound. "Or you will."
Maura winces for her. "Let me get some hot water and some towels. I'll need to irrigate before I can look at anything."
"Don't be too long," Jane whispers. She resembles a child, lost and scared, when Maura looks up at her from her kneeling position.
Maura wants to sob. Instead, she rises slowly, kisses Jane softly. "I'm just walking a few feet behind us. Promise." She goes, and returns some minutes later with a warm bowl of water and four or five white towels. Jane is fading - her eyelids flutter when Maura steps in between her legs. "Eyes on me, please. You can't sleep yet. I know the temptation is strong."
Jane snaps awake. "Ok," she says. It's docile and quiet. Un-Jane.
Maura fills a large syringe from her bag with water. "This is going to hurt, baby; I'm sorry. But I don't have any anaesthetic."
Jane shuts one eye tight and waits. "S'ok," she slurs. "Don't need any."
Maura takes Jane at her word and flushes the wound with hot water. Jane screams and jerks away. "I really really think we should go to the hospital," pleads Maura, pulling back. "Do you want me to have my father and some of his men meet us there? We can protect-"
"No!" Jane finds some font of strength to summon a yell. "Just do it. The more time we spend yackin'-"
"Janie!" The door swings open for a second time that morning, and this time, Frankie's voice bellows from down the hall. Maura pinpoints the exact moment he sees the trail of blood to the dining room, because he says "holy fuckin' shit," on his way to them. "Fucking christ, Jane. Nina callled - what the hell happened?"
Maura takes control so that Rizzoli chaos doesn't shave precious minutes off of their time, if Jane truly insists on an at-home surgery. "Frankie, later. Grab your sister, hold her down."
"Wh- what?" He stops in his tracks, halfway between the kitchen and Jane.
"Do it," Jane stares him down, dares him to defy her. "Get over here."
Frankie, of course, obeys, trading in his wild anger for frantic worry as he looks between his sister and her wife. "O-okay," he pushes her good shoulder against the chair, and then her bad arm against the side of it. "Shit," he curses when Jane whimpers.
"No no," Maura assures him. "That's good. Hold her there." She snaps on some nitrile gloves and flushes water into the bullet hole one more time. She palpates forcefully on the wound.
"Ah minchia!" Jane wants to let out a string of curses, but only has breath enough for the one.
"It's superficial, sweetheart. That's good. It won't take long for me to get it. Try not to push against Frankie too much, ok? I need my forceps," says Maura, speaking easily and softly, slowly so that Jane can process it. "Then I'll need to suture the wound."
Jane puffs air out of her nose. "Ok," she says. "Make it quick."
Maura pulls the forceps out of her bag, wasting no time. "Jesus fuck," Frankie says when he sees how large they are, like giant tweezers. Maura glares at him. "Sorry. You're gonna do great, Janie. You got the best doctor on the Eastern Seaboard operatin' on you."
Jane laughs, and then grimaces with pain. "Get me a shot of somethin' first," she hedges suddenly.
Frankie thinks that's a fantastic idea. "Got it," he says. He returns with two shot glasses full of whisky, the strong Irish kind that Jane hates. He hands one to her and they knock them back.
"Fuck," Jane shakes her head. "Ok. Do it."
"Ok," Maura says, content to wait for the alcohol to hit. Then, she wields the forceps, digging them into Jane's shoulder to find the bullet.
Jane screams, but holds fast in her chair until it's out.
Finally, at eleven, Maura has gotten Jane changed into comfortable clothes: sweats and a warm hoodie over her gauze-padded wound. She leads her to the couch and turns to ESPN on low volume, pressing the side button on Jane's seat so that she can recline while Frankie mops up the mess in the front hall.
Jane is cold to the touch, and she's drifting in and out of awareness. "Kind of a far cry from this mornin', huh?" she jokes when Maura kisses her forehead to feel for temperature. She glances at Maura's new outfit, almost as casual as her own, and clean since Maura had tied up her hair and rinsed in the shower as soon as she could. She needed to rid herself of the gore sticking to her hands and her robe. "Not as naked, either," Jane says just before she closes her eyes to steady her stomach.
Maura laughs quietly, once. "Shush. Your body is working hard to replace fluids and white cells. The less you talk, the better."
"Did you just shush me?" Jane is indignant, though she looks pitiful when she rolls her cheek against her headrest to glare at Maura.
"I did," Maura shoots back. She walks a few steps away, squeezes Jane's foot in a clean, warm Nike sock on her way out. "I need to go check on Frankie."
Before she can get to him, however, there is a shriek from the doorway. "Oh my god, Frankie! Janie, honey, are you alright?! Kids! Stay outside for a second!"
Jane snaps up. "Who told my mother?!" she shouts as best she can.
Maura darts to the front door. Kids? She sees Angela, arms full of reusable grocery bags, standing at the threshold in front of a sheepish Frankie with a mop. Maura's children hover behind their grandmother in their school attire, frightened and frozen. Cristina has streaks on her face where tears have fallen too quickly for her to catch. "Oh Maura, thank god. I got here as soon as I could. Picking up the kids was a nightmare at both schools, but they finally let me get them," Angela says. "Where's Jane? Where's my baby?" She pushes past, now satisfied that Maura can handle the children, and goes off in search of Jane.
Before Maura can pick her jaw up off the floor and do damage control, Cristina sees the partially-cleaned mess on the hardwood entryway: it's just a few streaks of pink now; Frankie has done well, but it's obvious what was there before. "Oh my god, is that Ma's?!" the girl yells, hysterical all over again. Cicciu waits just inside the door, rubbing his lips together so that he doesn't start crying, too. "Did she bleed all over the floor?!"
Maura refrains from speaking to her for just a moment, because she knows Cristina won't hear what she'd say. "Ciccinu, honey, come inside. Put your things down. She's in the living room, you can go see her. It's ok. She's ok."
He drops his backpack and lunch pail in the entryway and runs that way.
When Maura turns to talk to Cristina, the girl pushes her on the way to where Jane lies. Maura recoils with the force of it, but then follows her children into the living room. "Jane-" she goes to say, but Cristina's wail cuts her off.
"You got shot!" Cristina cries, crawling into Jane's lap as if needing to ensure she was a material body in the room, and not an apparition.
Maura nearly bursts into tears again. "Watch her shoulder," is all that she can say. Cicciu has sense enough to grab his mother's good hand, while Angela waits a few steps away for her turn. Cristina is not in a mindset to be so rational.
"I'm ok, bambina," says Jane, wincing. "Car jacking, I think. Well, attempted. I got the Range home, as you probably saw."
Cristina sobs into Jane's midsection, and Jane looks at Maura for help, unsure what to do for the first time as a parent when it comes to Cristina's emotions.
"Franciscu," Angela says to her grandson, making him look at her. "Mamma's ok. Come help me with the ziti, a'right? Give her some space."
He rises reluctantly, but Jane nods to him and he kisses the side of her head, just like she always does to him. He then follows Angela out, and Jane, Maura, and Cristina are alone together.
"Cristina," Maura says softly, "honey. Give your mother some space. Sit next to her, if-"
"Back off!" Cristina shouts. "She almost died! She almost died and where were you?!"
"Hey," Jane perks up again, and removes Cristina by the shoulders, forcing her into the sofa spot next to her. "Don't talk to your mom like that. Show some respect."
"Oh fuck that-"
"Upstairs," Maura commands, before Jane can blow a gasket. Cristina is rigid in her seat, defiance on every inch of her face despite the fat teardrops rolling down it. "Upstairs, now."
Cristina runs, ultimately obeying.
"Maura," Jane starts.
"I'll handle it. Rest please," Maura snaps and follows swiftly behind their daughter. She hears her running up the stairs, so she follows suit. She catches Cristina's bedroom door just before it gets slammed in her face, and pushes her way in. "Talk to me," she says. She sounds angry, but the love in it makes Cristina cry.
"I wanna know where you were when Ma got lit up!" Cristina screams, voice dripping with condescension. Maura is sure that the rest of the house can hear it, so she shuts the door.
"Here," Maura answers honestly. "Getting ready for work. Mamma had an appointment with Uncle Frankie, and someone was waiting for her just outside the café. She got away with just the one injury, and I was able to sew her up, honey. She's ok."
"How fucked up is that, Mom?!" Cristina laments. "Do you even hear what you're saying?! Why did you do it?! Why didn't she go to the hospital?!" Maura gapes, trying to think of an answer, but she has shown weakness in her silence. Cristina, being her daughter, capitalizes. "I'm not stupid! A car-jacking?"
"That's just what Mamma thinks," Maura stumbles. "We don't know what-"
"Oh bullshit! If she really thought that, where are the cops? Why didn't she call 911? Again, go to the hospital?!" Cristina rages. "Don't think that I don't know that your jobs aren't… shady! And if you didn't do all that shady shit, this wouldn't have happened!"
Maura stands up straight. "Sweetheart, I'm going to be very honest with you. You think you know what you're talking about, but you don't. Our jobs put this roof over your head. They buy your world-class education and all your designer clothes, and will eventually pay your way to any college your heart desires."
Cristina looks down because she doesn't want her mother to see that she's lost it, that she's sobbing. "I'd rather be poor! Because what happens when she's not as lucky?! What happens when she doesn't make it home next time?! What if she d-dies?" Her voice falls at the same time as her body, and Maura makes it just in time to catch her. Cristina holds onto her mother's waist tight enough to hurt, and unburdens herself.
Maura only allows herself to cry silently as she holds Cristina close. "She won't," she whispers, but they both know the promise is hollow.
It's the life they've chosen.
At four pm, the ziti is nearly done. Everything is handmade, and Angela reports to Maura that Cicciu has a knack for Italian cooking. She's released him to sit next to Jane on the couch and watch tv while Jane sleeps. Angela pours the sauce over the pasta in the pyrex dish by herself.
Maura watches. "He always helps me, too," she says tiredly.
Angela notices her puffy eyes and her tired shuffle. "I don't think I've ever seen you in athleisure," she jokes, pointing her wooden spoon down at Maura's attire.
"I just needed to be comfortable," Maura admits. Instead of meeting humor with humor, she meets it with vulnerability. "At first I was angry that you brought the kids home to see Jane," she says. "But now I see it was the right choice for Frankie to call you. Cristina would be even angrier with me if no one had told her until she got home from school."
"She still pretty mad?" Angela asks, not acknowledging Maura's assertion that she had indeed been correct.
"Yes, but less so. She's a mess, Angela," Maura swallows back tears. "I told her to collect herself and take a nap next to Jane, but she refused to let me leave her side. She didn't want to talk to me, but she wouldn't sleep unless I held her."
Angela sighs heavily. "Can you blame her? She almost lost her mom today. And I think she made the connection, if I heard her screaming right, between what you and Jane do and today," he says, winking when Maura blushes, "And she realized that you could be lost just as easily."
Maura fiddles with her wedding ring, twisting the diamonds entirely around. "I… I'm sure you're right."
Angela's voice is thick when she speaks again. "Frank was never high up enough for this to really be a probability, but it was always in the back of our minds as a possibility. And, I never, ever wanted this for them," she sobs. Maura goes over to her, places her hand on Angela's forearm.
Angela pulls her into a full embrace. "But they found it anyway, didn't they? I worry about them everyday, Maura. That somethin' like this will happen. Somethin' worse."
Maura hugs back tightly just to keep all the pieces of her together. "I don't want this for my children, either," she whispers into Angela's shoulder. "I want better for them. I don't want to… have to go to their funeral."
"Don't think about that," Angela hushes her. "Think about how to get them where you want them to be. And let them be mad for a while. It proves that they can still be saved. It's when they start accepting what you do that you have to worry. Trust me."
Dinner is eaten in awkward silence on TV trays in the living room. Maura gets Jane to consume something, finally, about half her usual serving of ziti, and considers it the greatest success of the day. Cicciu and Cristina, finally convinced that Jane will ultimately be alright, retire to their rooms for some much needed processing time alone. Once Angela finishes putting the leftovers into containers for the week and labelling them in the fridge, she says her goodbyes and goes home.
Which leaves Maura to help Jane up the stairs alone. After hours of recuperation, Jane is at least able to walk pretty well, albeit slow. She wraps her good arm around Maura for support, but they make it to their room without incident. Jane is exhausted and sweaty with exertion, but she gets into the covers under her own power.
Maura sits at the edge of the bed, and savors their first moment alone since Angela burst through their door. "Wake me up for pain meds, ok? No broken bones or nicked arteries, that's good. But it will be pretty sore for awhile."
"Few days?" Jane hopes. She is propped up on a bunch of pillows and puts her hand in Maura's lap.
"Try a few weeks," Maura replies. She pulls Jane's hand up to her face and kisses its knuckles.
"Ti vogghiu," Jane says after some silence. "Ti amu." She wills Maura to feel it, before she succumbs to sleep. I love you. She is tired and solemn.
Maura leans forward and presses their lips together. Jane groans, clearly wanting to deepen it. Maura rejects her kindly, with a tongue swipe just on the bow of her upper lip. "Jane?"
"Hmm?" Jane answers.
Maura's brow narrows. Her eyes turn hard and cold. "Who was it? Who did this to us?"
"I don't know," Jane responds. "He was tall, pretty lean. But he was wearing this sweater with a hood, tied tight around his ski mask. He didn't talk, and I didn't get close enough to see if I could recognize him. He bolted before I could even think about it."
"Do you think it was random?" Maura asks. "Really just a senseless attack?"
"Hell no," Jane says. "It was too quiet when I got there, now that I think about it. And the usual people weren't workin' the counter when I got there. Just this grizzled old sicilianu that I know from back in the day. Which tells me, they knew about it."
Maura nods. "So you think it was someone Italian, who called the hit. Because Milano knew something was going to happen today."
"Yeah. Unfortunately, I do," Jane says. "But it could be any one of the wise guys that goes to Milano regularly. That doesn't really narrow it down."
"Well, I at least have my connection with Giovanni. I doubt he'll know much, but maybe he can point me in some kind of direction," Maura says with resolution.
"You don't have to-" starts Jane.
"I do," Maura says. She dims the lamplight and kisses Jane's forehead. "We're going to find out who tried to take a parent away from my children. And then we're going to make them pay."
A/N: As an homage to the canon, lots of the dialogue in the bullet extraction scene comes from Maura's extraction of Paddy's bullet in 2x09. Also look out for some Godfather and Sopranos nods in this chapter (and let's be real, every chapter, lol).