Maura coughed, muttering under her breath as she navigated the streets of Atlanta looking for a cab. It was hot, too hot, for November. Of course, Maura figured her fever didn't help. She just needed to get to her hotel where she could take a cold shower and go to bed. Every joint in her body ached, her nose was running, her head hurt and Maura just wanted to go home and sleep. Preferably with Jane holding her close. Since that wasn't an option, a hotel with running water was the next best thing. Maura had felt run down the last few days, her body sore and tired, her throat scratchy but that last interview had taken it out of her. Thankfully, the host had kept it graciously short and sent her home quickly.

Maura fumbled with her key card, fighting to unlock the door while the light remained steadfastly red. Maura leaned forward, resting her head on the cool wood of the door. She let out a small moan as some sense of relief washed over her. Maura swiped the card again, the light changing to green as an audible click let her in. Maura threw everything she carried on the first surface she saw and immediately began undressing. She left a trail of clothes behind as she turned on the shower and finally, finally, felt her body cool down. When she began to shiver, Maura turned the temperature up slightly and finished washing off the sweat and grime of the day. She wrapped herself in a towel, retrieved her phone from her jacket on the floor and video called the only person who could possibly make her feel better.

'Hey Maur, what's u-woah,' Jane's voice was better than a shower. It was cool and refreshing and everything she needed. 'You don't look so hot Maura.' Maura could hear the concern in Jane's voice, 'and I say that when you're wearing only a towel which should be very hot.' When Maura didn't stop her Jane went on, 'actually maybe it's that you look too hot. Are you running a fever?'

Maura nodded, a small whine coming from her chest, 'fix it?'

Jane's eyes softened, 'aw, baby, I wish I could.' Maura just moaned in response. 'What's your room number?'

'405' Maura managed to moan, 'are you going to come wipe my brow?'

Jane hesitated and Maura could see her considering it. 'I can,' Jane offered softly, 'say the word and I'll be there.' Maura knew she was serious. It was part of what Maura loved about Jane. She was always willing to be there for Maura.

'No,' Maura moaned. 'It's fine. I'm just going to be sleeping.'

'I could hold you while you sleep,' Jane offered.

Maura let out a long moan, 'stop making it harder.'

'Sorry,' Jane said looking sheepish. 'I did just order you some supplies though. Should be there in fifteen.'

Maura grunted, 'you're going to have to keep me awake.'

Jane pulled out all of her tricks, cajoling groans and chuckles in equal measure from Maura. A knock at Maura's door made her drag herself from bed. 'I told them to just knock and leave it so you won't have to deal with anyone,' Jane's voice echoed through the speaker on her phone.

'I love you,' Maura whispered fervently as she opened the door to find hot soup, cold medicine and plenty of Maura's favourite kind of gatorade.

'Love you too Maura,' Jane said softly, 'sorry I can't be there with you.'

Maura drank the soup directly from the container, not bothering with a spoon, simply sipping from the styrofoam side. It soothed her throat and helped chase away some of the ache in her head. Maura downed a glass of water and took some of the cold medicine too. When she felt somewhat normal she returned her attention to Jane, who was lying on the floor snuggled up with Boston and Berry, giving absentminded ear scratches. Maura smiled at her family. 'I can't believe how big they've gotten.'

Jane laughed, 'they haven't grown that much, I promise.'

Maura pouted, 'they're growing up and I'm missing it.'

'All you've missed is them trying to gnaw on everything,' Jane retorted.

'My poor babies,' Maura said, 'their mouths hurt. They're just teething.'

Jane rolled her eyes, 'are you feeling somewhat better?'

Maura found her way back to bed, nestling in softly under the covers, 'I am. Thank you.'

'Anytime,' Jane responded with a smile. 'Although, next time, you'll be home and I'll make you soup from a can which you'll hate and that tea that you love. I'll hold you and kiss your forehead and you'll tell me that I'm going to get sick too and I'll tell you that its worth it and it will be.'

Maura stifled a yawn as Jane spoke. The picture Jane painted warmed her heart. 'And then you'll get sick and I'll tell you I t-t-told you so,' Maura said teasingly, a yawn interrupting her, 'but I'll still make you soup from a can which you'll love and that tea that you hate and I'll kiss your forehead and promise you that I can't catch your cold because I'm already immune.'

Jane grinned at her, 'and I'll tell you that you can't be immune to me because I'm too charming.'

Maura smiled lazily at that, 'and I'll agree with you because you're sick.'

'And because it's true,' Jane countered, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Maura closed her eyes, 'it all sounds too good to be true.'

'But it's not baby,' Jane's voice was softer now, as if she was intentionally lulling Maura to sleep, 'you just have to make it another week and you'll be home with me.'

'Home,' Maura repeated softly, 'Jane.'

'Yeah,' Jane said in barely more than a whisper, 'home Maur. Our home.'

'I like our home,' Maura murmured tiredly, her words blurring as sleep encroached.

'Me too baby,' Jane whispered. Maura thinks she hears a 'goodnight. Sleep tight,' followed by another, 'baby,' but she isn't quite sure.

Maura does know that when she wakes it's to the peacefully sleeping face of Jane through her phone screen. Maura rolls over, taking her now dying phone with her, plugging it in and setting it so Jane could still see her if she woke. Maura doesn't know why but knowing Jane was there, on the other side of the phone, that she hadn't hung up, made Maura's chest ache in a good way. Like she was just beginning to understand how deep love could be and it should frighten her but all Maura has to do is look at Jane. This beautiful, wonderful, insane woman who didn't hang up the phone when Maura fell asleep. Maura wasn't sure how such a simple little thing could make her feel so much but Maura was grateful that it did. So instead of questioning it, she whispered a quiet I love you towards the woman in her phone and let herself drift back to sleep, resting in the knowledge that Jane was there.


Paddy sat patiently in the prison infirmary, awaiting a check up that would tell him he was far worse off than he was. From there, he would be moved to one of Boston's finest hospitals for a round of testing that would end with his being a jail bird. Money and power could move mountains when you knew who to ask and who to press and Paddy always had a knack for just that. Paddy patted his back pocket where he had his favourite photos: one of Maura as a toddler and one of Hope, laughing at something he had just said. He had them memorised, could probably have sketched them from memory if he had to but they were all he had left of them now. He couldn't leave them behind. He wouldn't. Inside his pillow, Paddy had left a note for Agent Dean. Paddy felt somewhat bad for what he was about to do. He liked Dean, considering he'd shot the man. So Paddy had done what he could, signing a confession and promising to turn himself in when his affairs were settled, provided he lived that long. Dean would probably come under some heat but that couldn't be helped. All that mattered now, was getting out of his cell and finding out who was after his baby girl and making them pay. Painfully.

When the young and somewhat pale medical technician approached, Paddy began to wheeze. It wasn't hard these days. His breathing always troubled him. Letting it fill the room was simple. The technician, somewhat painfully, responded. His actions were overdramatic and too rehearsed but the guards took the bait hook line and sinker. Paddy let his breath fill the transport, watching as the guards paled under his gaze. They knew a death rattle when they heard one. For Paddy it was the first time he had breathed normally in weeks. Maybe, he thought, listening to his own chest struggling to draw in air, Christmas was just a bit too far away. He was dying at a disarmingly fast rate but he wasn't dying tonight. Not that the guards needed to know that. So Paddy let that awful sound go on and on, rattling through the air, reverberating through the ears of those two men assigned to guard him until they visibly flinched, fingers touching their own chests, as though their own breathing was faltering.

The hospital was bright and vibrant if a bit sterile. Paddy didn't mind that smell. Antiseptic reminded him of Hope, of Maura. Of the lives they saved, the good they did. They were the angels to his demons. Paddy wheezed on. He wheezed as the nurse gave him an initial examination. We wheezed as they changed the hard cold metal cuffs to softer leather restraints. He wheezed as his guards shifted from foot to foot, their brows laden with sweat and their eyes wide with fright. The threat of imminent death paralysing those who, Paddy was sure, were otherwise brave men.

Paddy watched with mirth as the doctor in his employ banished the guard to outside the room, pulling a privacy curtain around the bed. Slipping from the restraints was simple enough. The guards had been too convinced of Paddy's frailty to restrain him properly. A few controlled jerks and Paddy's right hand was free. A moment more and his left followed. Paddy slipped from the hospital robes he had been given and changed in to a pair of scrubs stored under the bed. A surgical cap and a surgical mask completed the outfit and Paddy slipped out the side door in to the adjacent exam room and out of the main hallway without a second glance at the two men he had so deeply unsettled. Paddy shivered as the cold night air whipped around his light cotton scrubs. He walked slowly towards his destination, his every movement, every breath controlled. With every step Paddy pulled the fraying threads of his persona around him, rebuilding the vestiges of his position as he went. He was Paddy Doyle. He was the boss of the Irish gang. And someone out there had made the mistake of making things personal. Paddy would make sure that was the last thing they ever did because no one messed with his family. No one.