A/N: Sorry this took so long to update! I realized after I published it that while I liked the idea of this story, I wasn't really sure how to go about developing it. So in other words, it's going to be short. Meanwhile, please indulge me in my melodrama.

Frankie was the one who called her with the news. "Maura?"

"What is it? You sound worried."

"It's Jane. She…she didn't make it." Maura couldn't bring herself to say anything as the shock consumed her, eating her from the inside out. She held the phone to her ear for several long moments, waiting for words to come to her, but her mind was a blank. Seeming to understand, Frankie eventually said, "I don't know what to say either, Maura. I'll hang up now… just call us when you feel up to it."

When the line cut off, Maura sat numbly back down on her couch, trying vainly to process what she had just heard. Jane was dead. Jane Rizzoli was dead. Nothing could bring her back… and Maura's father had done it. Maura felt a chill come over her, and she hugged herself to fight off the cold and the shaking and the bile fighting its way up her throat. Jane is gone, she told herself. Jane is gone…

She would never hear that beautiful voice again. She would never cause that sweet laughter again. She would never feel that warm embrace, see those scars, witness that courage, experience that loyalty, admire that walk, or look into those eyes ever again. Jane was entirely gone. Her one true friend, her greatest champion, and her fiercest love had been taken out in one shot.

Maura tried to tell herself it was impossible. She could have sworn that bullet only pierced Jane's shoulder, and an ambulance had come readily enough to save Jane from bleeding out… hadn't it? Now the memory of yesterday seemed hazy somehow, and the more she thought about it, the more she believed she could remember Doyle aiming his gun at Jane and shooting to kill. Yes… that bullet had gone straight to Jane's heart, and Frankie's phone call was a mere formality. Of course Jane was gone. Thanks to Doyle, Maura would never see her again.

A blazing hatred swept over her then, chasing away the numb disbelief like fire. She hated Patrick Doyle more than she had ever thought possible, in that Maura had never thought she possessed the potential to feel any emotion so strongly as this. It was a good thing Jane had never taught her how to properly use a gun, because suddenly all Maura wanted to do was hunt Doyle down and shoot him like he'd shot Jane—cowardly, point-blank, needlessly. Jane had just been doing her job… she had been defending herself, her partner, and Maura… she didn't need to lose her life for that.

The worst part of this, she realized, was that she had no way of escaping her pain. In this situation, Jane might have taken up boxing to vent her emotions. An artist would paint, a musician would play the piano. What could Maura do—examine some dead bodies? Read a scientific journal? Jane had always been her sole confidant, but she couldn't ever be Maura's soundboard ever again.

It was then that Maura realized she was crying heavily. "What do I do without you?" she whispered in a choked, strangled voice.

The words echoed in her head and in the silent, empty house surrounding her. She drew her phone back out of her pocket, going to her contact list and pulled up Jane's information. There was a small photo of her that Jane herself had taken, raising an eyebrow and pretending to frown seriously. Despite her current despair, Maura had to laugh weakly. Then, perhaps foolishly and a little recklessly, Maura dialed Jane's cell phone number. She wondered after the fact whether Angela or Frankie had taken Jane's phone and seen Maura's number come up. But at the time, she didn't wonder if they'd answer. She cared only about hearing Jane's voice:

"Hi, you've reached Detective Jane Rizzoli. I'm sorry to have missed your call, but if you'll leave a message with your name and number, I will get back to you as soon as I can."

So impersonal. So professional. So not what Maura had hoped to hear. Not that it mattered anyway—this was just going to make her feel worse. Was this masochistic behavior? Probably, but that didn't stop Maura from remembering that she also had Jane's landline number. She wondered if it would be worth it to call that phone, because it seemed to her that Jane had been on the verge of getting rid of it. Maybe she already had, and just hadn't thought to tell Maura, so the number was still there on the doctor's phone. Trying not to think too much about it, Maura dialed it, and her efforts were rewarded:

"Hey, this is Jane…but obviously you know that, because the only people who have this number are you, Ma, Pop, Tommy, and Frankie. No, Ma, I don't want to go shopping; sure, Pop, let's talk soon; no, Frankie, I can't just make you a detective since you're my brother; and Tommy, don't take this personally, but I prefer to walk Jo Friday myself. Please stop asking me. Oh, and Maura! You have this number, too. Well, whatever you're calling me for, the answer is yes."

This was the only thing that could have made Maura weep even harder. It had reached the dramatic point of making it difficult for Maura to breathe properly, and she heard herself gasping for breath, choking on the misery of her own tears. Jane had needed her, had loved her, even if it was just as a best friend…

The worst part of this was the horrible, gut-wrenching devastation of wishing she had at least once told Jane how she really felt. Even if she had just shared an inkling of that passion, that desire, that sheer want for their relationship to become something more, Jane might have done something about it. But Maura had put it off for too long, so sure that there would be time later, or that the opportune moment would arrive. Now Jane had died, had been killed in the line of duty, and she left this world without ever knowing... Maura knew she would have to reconcile Jane's death (Jane's murder) to herself if she wanted to go on functioning in life at all, but it was going to take an eternity to rid herself of that desperate, horrible pain of knowing she, Maura Isles, had never been brave enough to tell Jane how she really felt…

Maura awoke with a start.

There was nothing to account for her sudden awakening; no thunderstorm, no alarm going off, no drilling outside, no ringing phone. Her eyes just shot open and she realized she was staring at her clock, clutching her bedspread tightly to her chest. It was just past seven-thirty in the morning, and the sun was barely starting to creep into her bedroom.

She wasn't sure why, but Maura rarely remembered her dreams. This one, though, had left her trembling in her bed, her heart pumping in fear. It slowly dawned on her that yes, that had been a dream. Maura reached for her phone and saw that there were no missed calls… one of the Rizzoli's would definitely have called during the night or the morning if Jane had died. Which of course she hadn't.

Maura almost felt like crying again, though this time with great relief: Jane was still alive.

However, this couldn't be the end of it. Maura knew there were still plenty of things she needed to confront, starting with the feelings her dream had stirred up. It was an entirely unavoidable truth that Doyle could have killed Jane. Sure it would have been unintentional, but he could in that moment have erased Maura's best source of happiness. Maura knew Jane's job was dangerous, and she hated having to remind herself that basically every day, there was a chance Jane could lose her life. But her blood would be on the hands of a stranger, of a potentially faceless, nameless, thug. Maura wouldn't ever be expected to forgive that person, or to express sympathy to them. She knew that in any instance, Jane would always be in the right. There was no way she could ever be killed by someone better than her, greater than her, more respectable than her.

But yesterday, Maura's father had come close. Not only had he shot Jane (although allegedly not on purpose); he had done it in plain view of his daughter. And, with another lurch of the stomach, Maura realized he had done so while knowing how much she loved Jane.

And that was her other problem. As soon as she realized Jane's death had been a horrible, horrible dream, Maura was struck by two immediate thoughts: thank God she's not actually dead, and I still have a chance to tell her. Yes… there was still hope. Maura now knew how greatly it would pain and destroy her if Jane were to die without ever knowing how deeply she was loved. Of course, Maura told herself, it was entirely possible, even probably, that Jane didn't reflect those feelings. Perhaps it could be as simple as "I just want to be friends," or… could it go worse than that? Might she be revolted that Maura even saw her that way? After all, the Rizzoli's were a Catholic family. There was a very good chance they would all be horrified and scandalized if Maura were to divulge this information.

So which, then, was worse? Never knowing, or being disappointed with the response?

Maura wearily got out of bed, knowing she had solved absolutely nothing and sort of hating herself for it. As she poured herself some coffee, she considered calling Jane's house phone for real, just to hear her voice and know that she was in fact alive. But then she remembered that in real life, Jane actually had disconnected her landline phone. That was something Maura figured she ought to do as well, because she couldn't remember the last time anybody had ever used it except solicitors. It was pointless. As this thought occurred to her, she spared the kitchen phone a glance, and noticed that a small "1" was flashing on the screen. She had a message?

Curiously, she walked over to the phone and picked it up, scrolling to see who had called the most recently. It was Jane, precisely one week ago. Wondering what on earth could have warranted a call to the phone Jane knew she never used, Maura pushed the button that would replay the message. She gave herself no time to debate whether she should feel nervous or excited, and just willed herself to listen anxiously:

"Hi Maura, it's Jane. Um…so we're at work, so I know you won't be picking up, and, God, I'm nervous, sorry… uh… geez, I don't know if you are even aware that you still have a house phone, but that's kind of what I'm banking on. I want to talk about something with you… it's important, but I'm really too—I'm such a coward, Maura, because I couldn't even bring this up in person, I… I dunno, it could be a month or a year until you realize I left this message, or maybe you'll see it tomorrow, or tonight! Oh, God, I hope not. I need more time than that. Anyway, uh… whenever you do hear this, please let me know. I'm not going to bring it up until you tell me you got this message. Okay? Okay. Bye, pal."

For a long time after the message had ended, Maura stood rooted to the same spot in front of the machine. Typical Jane—rambling and not very clear. It was cryptic, and yet it wasn't, unless Maura was reading something into it that she wanted to. She replayed the message twice more, getting increasingly fretful each time. What had Jane wanted to tell her? With everything that had transpired since this message, would Jane still want to have it brought up?

Maura turned and went back to the kitchen island, leaning against for support. Would Jane even want to see her after what had happened? It was, after all, Maura's father who had nearly killed her… could Jane forgive her? Could she ever look at Maura without seeing Doyle, without being afraid? How much would this change everything? Her head was swimmingwith contradictory thoughts and feelings, and she wondered how people could ever handle running on their emotions all the time. She could almost feel a migraine coming on.

After nearly thirty more minutes of internal agony, Maura realized her cell phone was ringing. Nearly tripping over Bass, she sprinted to her bedroom to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Maura?" It was Frankie.

"Yes, how—what's going on, how is Jane?" Oh please, please don't tell me you have bad news…

"Uh, Jane's gonna be okay. She's gonna be all right."

"Oh, thank God…" Maura sank onto her bed in relief, putting a hand over heart in a silly attempt to calm it down. "Frankie, I was so…" Well, maybe telling him about that dream wasn't such a good idea. "I was so worried."

"Yeah, we all were," he said fervently. "But she just woke up, and we all got to talk to her and…"

"She seems all right psychologically?"

"Yes, yeah, she does."

"I'm so—oh, I'm so glad."

"Yeah, us too."

A long pause followed, as if Frankie was hesitant to divulge whatever was on the tip of his tongue. "Frankie?" Maura asked. "Is there… anything else?"

"She said she wants to see you."

A/N: Reviews are the best kind of love.