The next time he saw Isobel was when she showed up at his apartment five days later.

Before he had the chance to say anything, she stepped inside. "We've made an arrest."

Those words didn't feel as satisfying as he thought they would. He had fantasized it would heal him, knowing that they'd put justice to her name. Instead, it just brought him some relief. Though he could revel in the fact that the guilty would be punished, it wouldn't raise the dead.

She was still gone.

With justice, there would be less reason to talk about her. They would expect him to move on. And ever so slowly, everyone else would, and he'd be left behind in his grief.

Grief. More than once, he'd wondered if he was cursed. Life didn't let him be happy for long. If it wasn't so tragic, he'd laugh at the fact that the universe seemed to have a personal vendetta against him.

He cleared his throat, realizing how long he'd been quiet. "You did?"

"Valerie Dupont."

He furrowed his eyebrows. What did she have to do with anything?

Isobel must've sensed his confusion because she clarified: "She was the shooter."

He replayed all the moments he'd seen the therapist since losing Maggie. She hadn't wanted to heal him: She sought him out to keep tabs on the investigation. It made sense. How could he not have seen it?

Rage was a funny thing. It burned, and it burned, and it burned. Once it really settled in your bones, rage became all-consuming, eclipsing any heartache or guilt or grief. It becomes fuel, a reason to breathe. Simultaneously, it drowns. Morals get corrupted, any sense of rationality disappearing with it.

For a moment, all he could think about was breaking into the interrogation room to channel all his hurt onto the woman responsible. He imagined breaking her ribs, just like Maggie's had broken when he'd tried to save her.

Only for a moment, though.

He shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. He wasn't that kind of person, and he hated that it had even entered his mind. "What- why?"

"OA, I-" Somehow, she seemed more hesitant to tell him this, than telling him that Maggie had passed. "Before I tell you anything, I need you to know that it was my decision alone. Not Maggie's."

He frowned. Maggie?

"Three weeks ago, she approached me with some concerning information regarding Dupont's patients." Isobel looked away from him, still hesitant. "The short version is that she recruited vulnerable agents for powerful people. The rest of the story is above your paygrade."

"I don't care about politics." He didn't mean to sound so emotional, but he couldn't keep his voice from rising. "She is still my partner, Isobel." To hell with bureaucracy: Death didn't stop his loyalty to her. "I need- deserve to know everything. You owe me that much."

"I know," she agreed, surprising him. "There will be time for all of that soon. I promise." It was unusual to see Isobel this soft-spoken, especially when spoken to like this. "Right now, all you need to know is that I tasked Maggie to discreetly look further into Dupont." She shifted her stance, eyes dropping. "I banned her from telling you, or anyone else. It would be the end of her career."

Secrecy had got her killed. Had he known, he could've had her back, protected her. He wouldn't have left her. "She died doing your bidding," he said coldly.

"No, OA-" Her voice was even softer now, almost alien. "She didn't die."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"I needed you to convince Dupont with your grief," she said. "I couldn't let her suspect Maggie had survived the surgery."

Finally, he sat down. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Her face broke for a second, and if he didn't know any better, he could've sworn he saw guilt in her eyes. But only for a second. She regained her composure. "She's alive, OA."

"She's okay?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes. She is currently recovering at a safe house an hour away from here." She attempted a smile: "I hear she is doing well. She woke up four days ago."

He placed his forehead in his palms, feeling the heat rise within him, accompanied by the accelerating drumming of his heart.

"I am sorry, OA. Truly," she continued. "But I needed to make Dupont believe her secret was safe. Had she fled, we wouldn't have tracked her to her contacts."

It wasn't worth it.

"And I was worried she'd target Maggie," she added, more to convince herself than him.

He didn't think he'd ever hated anyone as much as he hated Isobel right now. She had toyed with his emotions, pushed him toward Dupont for the sake of a case. Selling his grief to finance a promotion or something along those lines.

Had it not been for the simple fact that she was the way to Maggie, he would've thrown her out of his home, and said things that would ensure he never stepped foot inside a federal building ever again.

"Who knows?" He couldn't, wouldn't, stop the edge to his voice.

If she was feeling any regret, she wasn't showing it. "Her family, Jubal, and a few people in the bureau."

I'm family, too. He took a deep breath. Calm down. "I'm going to see her."

"Jubal is waiting outside for you," she said, stepping away from the door to let him leave.

He didn't trust himself to say anything else, swiftly fleeing the apartment, only one thought on his mind.

Jubal stayed mostly quiet after explaining the whole ordeal. For that, OA appreciated him.

Instead, the older man stole a few glances, trying to figure him out. Not that it took a profiler to do so. OA was sure he could get "I don't want to speak with you ever again" from just looking at him, hence the aforementioned silence.

OA tried not to look at him, rather spending the drive looking out the window, studying the scenes they passed. For the past fifteen minutes, all he could see was trees. They had hidden Maggie away in some distant corner, far not only from her enemies, but also those who loved her. Completely alone.

It was still a lot to process. Part of his mind was convinced this was some cruel prank, or that he was asleep and his ravaged mind had finally gotten the better of him. Part of him was drunk on hope, yearning for this to be true.

"We'll be there in two minutes." It was odd, hearing Jubal speak so nonchalantly about this. "Go easy on her."

He chuckled dryly. "I'm not mad at her."

Isobel had been clear it was her choice, not Maggie's, to ensure they "sold it". If OA believed her dead, everyone else would, too. He was a pawn in whatever game Isobel had going on, and whilst he logically knew she didn't do it to hurt him, he couldn't help but hate her for it.

Still, as furious as he was, none of his anger was directed at Maggie. Jubal had told him how she'd reacted when she found out. He could only imagine how powerless she felt.

"Okay. Good. You shouldn't."

Jubal turned a corner, revealing a cabin in the distance.

A pang of nervousness hit him then, mixed in with his anger. Two minutes. "Does she know I'm coming?" Did she even know that he knew?

"I informed the marshal that we are on our way."

It was unfair, but he felt a twinge of jealousy towards the marshal. What right did he have to be there? OA was more than capable of keeping her safe. The marshal didn't even know her. He supposed that was the point, though. The less who knew, the better. Besides, he should be grateful they cared for her safety enough to task a marshal to stay with her.

The car came to a stop, and without missing a beat, OA sprung out of the car, nearly crashing into a woman he didn't know.

"Woah!" She jumped back, quickly regaining her balance. "You must be OA." She beamed at him. "I'm Jemma, Maggie's doctor."

Jemma looked happy. The woman keeping his partner alive was happy. That must be a good sign.

"How is she?"

"She is very excited to see you." Jemma motioned for him to follow her through the front door. "She never shuts up about you."

He almost smiled at that. "She's healthy?"

The doctor nodded. "She is exceeding expectations. I doubt she'll suffer any long-term physical effects after physical therapy." That sounded like her. "That said, her ribs and nose are still healing. Be gentle with her."

Of course. "I will."

"Good." They paused in front of a door at the back of the cabin. "Also, make sure she doesn't make any sudden movements. I don't want her to pull her stitches."

"Understood."

"And don't… stress her out, emotionally, " she continued, hand hovering above the doorknob. "She cares a lot."

"I care, too. I'm not mad at her." Though he appreciated the doctor's need to protect her, he couldn't hide the impatience in his voice. "I just want to see her."

She nodded and pushed open the door. "Let me know if you need anything," she said, and disappeared out the back, sensing the need for privacy.

And there she was.