AN: Y'all are too sweet for words.

Unedited, for your viewing pleasure.

Next update, perhaps a rescue, tomorrow. P'rhaps. You'll have to read and find out.

PS - This chapter might be a trigger warning for some. There is some violence/abuse.

"No signal on her phone. I can't track it," Frost sounds angry from his seat at the monitor.

"C'mon, think." Korsak mutters, staring helplessly at the wall size screen that is so far showing them no new information.

Frankie is pacing behind Frost, scowling down at the carpeting. He'd taken Angela home and gotten her settled before returning to the precinct to help Jane's partners look for her. It'd been more than five hours and so far they didn't have any leads.

"We're in the middle of this double homicide case," Korsak continues, talking to himself more than anything.

"We don't know if it's related," Frankie cuts over the older man's mumbling. He doesn't understand why this is happening. Now of all times.

"We know Dr. Parker called Jane," Frost disagreed.

"The dead guy? Why'd he call her?" Frankie wasn't aware of this and he stops his constant movement to stare at the detective.

"Don't know," Frost looks apologetic, biting his lip and turning back to stare at the computer screen.

"Well did Janie know that he'd been calling her?" Frankie pressed.

Frost shook his head no. "I didn't get his phone records until after she'd left. I texted her, but-" he shrugs.

"She was already gone," Korsak finishes.

Frankie slams his palm down on the desk in frustration. "This is bullshit," he declares to the room at large. The other two men don't meet his gaze. "I wish Maura were here," he growls. At their confused looks he continues, "She'd know what to do…"

"We could call her," Frost suggests, but even as he says it, he knows it isn't really an option.

The middle Rizzoli child is already shaking his head. "When Ma told Constance, she freaked out. Insisted that Maura not find out until we had this cleared up."

"Dr. Isles is going to know something's up when Jane doesn't get back to the hospital," Korsak points out, shaking his head in consternation. "She's probably already figured it out."

"I know," Frankie looks put out. "But, I'm certainly not going to be the one to call her. She's got enough on her plate." What with dying and everything, but this goes unspoken.

The three men stare blankly at the screen, waiting and hoping for inspiration to strike. Anything that might help them find their missing comrade.

Jane isn't sure how much time has passed. There is one window in the corner of the room, but from her prostrate position on the bed, she can't see anything other than a thin sliver of sky. It's completely black outside though; night has fallen. She wishes she knew the time, but it was definitely past the point when she'd promised Maura that she'd return. She tries not to let the moan of need, of pain, pass her lips. Her arms are killing her and her back is starting to cramp up. She attempts to shift position, but the restraints bring her up sharp. At least her head isn't pounding as terribly anymore; she can focus.

She looks down, along the bed, trying not to catch her captor's eye. Dominick is sitting on the bed beside her, stroking his fingers gently up and down her arm, eyeing her as though she is a prize he has finally managed to win at the carnival.

"You took off my clothes," she says, simply to fill the silence and mask his heavy breathing.

"Oh, yeah," he answers, as though this is the most obvious course of action he could have taken in such a situation.

Jane tries hard not to squirm against his touch. She needs to hold onto some semblance of control.

"Do you like your new outfit?" he questions, more than a note of warning in his tone.

She looks at him sideways, trying to judge how upset she might get if she were to tell the truth. He glares back at her. Very. Lie it is. "Yes."

"Yeah?" And his round face breaks out into a grin matching that of any five year old who has just been told he's allowed to have dessert before dinner.

"Mhmm," she manages to make it sound positive. "I love pink." He smiles and nods, urging her on. "And ruffles."

"Oh, good," leaning forward, he nuzzles into her neck, his two day stubble rough against her cheek. She does not pull away, as much as she wants to. Maura, she reminds herself, bringing an image of the other woman to mind. Sweet, soft Maura. "Mmm," he moans, exhaling stale breath across her face. She gags, losing the image she'd managed to conjure of Maura on their last date. At the ice rink, her pale face shining with happiness as she'd watching Jane skate around the rink. She shuts her eyes, scrunching up her face in concentration. Maura. Think of Maura. "You look so beautiful," Dominick murmurs. Maura is beautiful. Maura is gorgeous, even sitting in a hospital bed. The most beautiful woman in any room.

Finally, seemingly haven gotten enough cuddle time, the man pulls away to stare happily down at his captive.

"Dominick," she begins slowly, deciding to try and take advantage of his good mood. "My wrists really hurt. Is there any way we could loosen these up just a little bit?" She gives the handcuffs a shake so they rattle against the wooden headboard. She knows immediately that it's a no-go, even as he stands, he weight leaving the bed, the mattress settling itself into a more level position.

"You are sly," he points at her, not in a menacing way, more like she's a tricky fox he's just caught attempting to run across the road undetected. "Nooo," he purrs.

She nods, trying to look as though this is not a devastating answer. Her muscles are aching.

"I'm gonna go out and get dinner for us. Okay?"

Jane nods again, thankful that at least she won't have to keep up the act for a few minutes. Except he takes this opportunity to lean down and press his lips to hers. She feels as though she is being smothered, as though he is sucking all of the oxygen out of her lungs. His lips are chapped and cracked and hard. Nothing like Maura's – no, not right now. She mustn't think of Maura. Not when he is doing this to her; she refuses to let the image of the doctor in her head be stained by this man. Finally, he pulls away, looking satisfied and pleased with himself. She wants, more than nearly anything, to spit in his face, but she restrains herself. That would only make him mad, and this will be easier if he isn't angry.

"I'll be back in a little bit," he reminds her, heading for the door and slipping through it.

She relaxes as much as possible in her constrained position as the door swings shut behind him and she hears a deadbolt slide into place. Lock her in. That's fine. She can't out of these handcuffs anyway. She feels the lump grow in her throat, and the urge to vomit is nearly overwhelming. She wants the taste of him off of her tongue, the feel of his hands touching her, roaming over her body, causes shivers to run uncontrollably up and down her spine. Struggling, she bites back the tears threatening to spill over her eyelids. She will not cry. She will not.

She has to get away, and crying isn't going to help her. If it was dinner time, her absence would have been notice by now. Frost and Korsak would have found her car, still parked outside the precinct. They'd be looking for her. They would find her. She knew they would. And they'd get her back to Maura. She just had to keep a cool, rational head on her shoulders. So she didn't let the salt water fall, instead, fixing an image of Maura, radiant and smiling before cancer stole the life right out of her eyes, before she turned into a shell of her former self, alive and lovely and smart and funny, firmly in her mind's eye, Jane began her sweep of the room. She ran her eyes up and down, as far as she could see, searching, scanning, looking for a way out, a way home.

"We've sedated her," Ryan is speaking calmly to the two people in front of him. It doesn't matter how old your child is, as a parent, you are always going to be terrified when she's in the hospital and you don't know what's going on. He knows this. He's experienced the wide-eyed terror of parents before. So he keeps his voice low and soothing, doing his best not to spook them, not to make bad news worse.

"Se-sedated her?" Constance Isles has mascara smeared across her cheeks, but she doesn't seem to have noticed.

"It's best for now. Her pain levels appeared to be extremely high," he continues. "I'm afraid the shock –"

"But we didn't even tell her!" the mother cuts him off shrilly. "She wasn't supposed to find out."

"Connie," her husband's voice has also assumed that slow, calming tone one uses with frightened children, or parents. "She must have heard us talking out in the hall."

She stares at him in shock, having been unable to process this option in her rattled state. "But-Bu-But-"

"It's too late now," Richard continues. "She must have heard us, and now she knows."

"And now we need to keep her calm," Ryan picks up where the older gentleman finished, having been filled in on the situation by Richard Isles earlier. "Which is why we've given her some more morphine and sedated her. She needs to rest and to not overexert herself."

"O-of course," the patient's mother agrees. "Of course not."

"This shock, well, I don't think it will help her situation," he does not want to say these words, but it is his job, his duty. He's come to feel quite close to Maura Isles and her family, Detective Rizzoli included. He knew her from school of course, but in the past few months, having watched her struggle, watched the relationship between the two woman grow, watched the way they were with one another, even in the silence between conversations, he'd come to think very highly of them both. And although he tried not to get attached to his patients more than was necessary, because in his line of work, attachment could very well be fatal, he'd become quite fond of Maura Isles and her girlfriend. Jane Rizzoli was tough, she didn't take any bullshit, and he respected her for that. So to hear that she was missing, well, he felt quite put out by the whole situation. And he knew that Maura, in her already weakened state, could only be negatively affected by the news.

"Ryan." Mrs. Isles is staring at him, wide-eyed and fearful, and he realizes he's gotten caught drifting.

He straightens his spine, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Your daughter, Maura, that is to say, she's very weak," he manages, failing utterly to remember any of the professionalism he was once so adept at.

Richard is working his jaw, glaring past the doctor as though if he only stares hard enough, thinks hard enough, he'll be able to come up with an answer, a solution to the problem.

"You said there was still time," Mrs. Isles disagrees, and she takes a step away from her husband to slip out of his grasp, unable to stand being touched at this moment, being held.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, because that is what a doctor is supposed to say to a parent whose child is dying in the next room, but also because he means it. "Her body is beginning to shut down."

She stares at him, her mouth opening and closing silently. "I-w-we-but Jane! What about Jane!"

"They're looking for her, Connie," Richard is still staring straight ahead. "They're looking for her."

Dr. Wilde glances over towards the closed door, behind which Jane's girlfriend is sleeping. He hopes so. More than anything he hopes they find her. Quickly.

"Ma! Ma, what are you doing here?" Frankie is exhausted and exasperated, his voice heavy with fatigue. They've been at it all night, and the sun has just poked its watery head over the horizon, but they are no closer to locating the missing detective. "I told you to stay at home. That we'd call if we found anything."

"I couldn't just sit on that couch all by myself," she reprimands him shortly. "And Tommy had to go in to work." She presses a hand to his cheek lovingly. "Besides I brought breakfast," she holds up the basket in her hand, and he can smell the warmth of fresh donuts and coffee seeping out into the stale air of the room the three men have holed themselves up in all night.

"Thanks, Mrs. Rizzoli," Barry says appreciatively, taking the coffee she's offered him.

She glances around the room, papers scattered everywhere. "Anything?" she asks, trying for lightness, but failing miserably.

Korsak shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he tells her, but she brushes him off. They're all doing their best. She feels almost as though she's been here before, déjà vu. She's got two children in law enforcement, and this is not the first time one of them has been in a dangerous, perhaps lethal situation. Angela Rizzoli may push her way into her children's lives, she may nag and gripe at them all the livelong day, she may seem a bit unhinged to outsiders, a bit too involved and excitable, but in cases like this one, where one of her babies are threatened or hurt or in trouble, she always manages a sense of calm. She is the eye in the storm. The home base. And so she is not fluttering around in a tizzy as her middle child seems to expect her to be. She is calm. She is controlled. And she knows, without a doubt, that they will find Jane.

"You'll find her," and she isn't afraid to let them know that she has faith in them.

"Any word on Dr. Isles?" Barry asks his partner's mother.

She glances searchingly at him, as if determining whether or not the information she has to offer will help or hinder their investigation. "She's not doing well," she finally releases, watching as the three men seem to slump a bit more in their chairs. "She knows something's wrong, that Janie is missing. And it's hitting her hard. Constance called me about an hour ago to let me know that they gave her a sedative last night."

Korsak is the one pacing now, coffee cup clenched tightly in his hand. "Wait a minute," he stops suddenly, seemingly unaware of the hot caffeine that slops over the edge of the cup to land on his wrinkled suit. The other three people in the room look up at him quickly. "Dr. Parker."

"The dead guy. Yeah. What about him?" Frankie asks.

"Well we know that he called Jane a few times last week."

"Yeah, but we don't know why," Frost this time.

"He treated patients with severe delusional disorders, right? It'd be his ethical obligation to call someone to warn them if he was treating someone who might pose a danger to them…" he trails off.

Frost is staring at him. "So, if Dr. Parker had a patient who was a danger to Jane –"

"He'd be calling her to warn her!" This is Angela, sounding excited suddenly.

"Pull up the patient list, Frost," Vince orders, already turning to study the hanging screen.

"And she was getting those strange text messages," Frankie muttered, coming to look over Frost's shoulder. His mother nodded forcefully in agreement. Frankie frowned though as the list popped up, "There are more than a hundred names on the list. It'll take hours to get through them."

"Hang, on, Korsak, what about the partial print on the shell casing?"

The two detectives have forgotten about the Rizzoli's in the room. Both of them are running through the entire case file in their heads.

"And the one on the inside of the glove," Barry continues.

Frankie and his mother are looking between the two men quickly. "There were partial prints?" Frankie asks.

"But putting them together…" Korsak looks askance at his partner, ignoring the officer.

"It's a long shot," Frost shrugs.

"What's a long shot?" Angela asks loudly, throwing her hands up in confusion.

Silence. Finally, the Vince nods slowly. "It's a long shot, but it might work. Pull 'em up." They all watch as Frost punches a few keys and two separate partial finger prints appear. "We'd need a few more points," Korsak mumbles. "Rotate it to the left just a bit," he orders.

The younger detective nods, fiddling with the keys, until the two prints line up. "That might work," Frost says doubtfully.

"Run it!" His sergeant agrees.

Angela hasn't realized that she's holding her breath until she feels herself sway in her place. She lets out the air that's been trapped in her lungs in a giant whoosh, just as a match is found in the database. "But that's Dominick!" She cries.

"Dominick?" Her son asks.

"Dominick Bianchi. His parents used to own that Bakery over on Lexington. A-and now he delivers the bread to the café. I saw him. Today! I saw him today, and Ja-" she clutches her hand to her throat suddenly, turning pale.

"Ma? Ma!" Frankie leads her to a chair.

"He and Janie – I re-introduced them this afternoon when she came in to visit. H-he remembered that she likes ciabatta. I-" she broke off, looking at her middle child helplessly.

"We'll find him, Ma. Okay? We'll find him," Frankie looks to his left where Frost is searching furiously for any and all information on Dominick Bianchi.

"Served eight years for stalking and maiming," Korsak recites off the criminal record on the screen.

"He was Dr. Parker's patient," Frost announces triumphantly.

"You have an address?" Frankie asks, standing, one hand still resting on his mother's shoulder.

"It's just the bakery."

"Aw, Hell," Korsak swears quietly.

"We should send someone, just to check," his younger partner says.

Korsak nods. "I'll tell Cavenaugh. But-"

"I know," Frost nods in agreement. She won't be there. It's too easy. And these things are never, ever easy.

Jane wakes from her fitful sleep, feeling as though she hasn't gotten any rest. Her wrists started bleeding at some point during the night, and she can no longer feel her feet, still stuffed into those ridiculous pink heels and strapped to the bedposts. The blanket that Dominick placed over her the night before has slid off onto the floor.

Events from the night before are a bit hazy. She remembers him bringing dinner in, but she'd refused it, unable to stomach the idea of eating anything those hands are cooked. He'd gotten angry. Really angry. He'd drugged her again, a sedative of some kind. She'd still been awake, but it had been like looking through a foggy filter from up above.

He'd paced for awhile, shouted maybe, threw some things. About how he was her husband and she, his wife. About how she didn't appreciate him. About Dr. Parker. And then he'd unlocked the handcuffs for a blessed moment and dragged her into the bathroom. She vaguely remembers relieving herself and then being half-carried back into the bedroom and locked up once more. After that, she thinks she might have fallen into a drug-induced sleep. Her mouth is thick, like cotton. Her throat dry from lack of water and as she thinks about it, her stomach gives a decidedly hungry rumble. She tries to ignore it.

It's morning; she can tell by the slanting, single ray of sunlight coming in through the one window. Morning. That means she's missed an entire night with Maura. Oh, god, "Maura," she whimpers, unable to keep the name trapped inside any longer. She'd kissed her goodbye, hadn't she? For some reason, Jane's having a difficult time remembering. Of course she did. Wouldn't have left without kissing her love goodbye, not anymore. They always kissed hello and goodbye, good morning, good night, it's three in the afternoon and I love you so I'm going to kiss you, it's almost sundown and you look lovely and I'm going to kiss you.

She forces herself to stop thinking about kissing Maura. Thinking about Maura only makes it harder to think about how she's going to escape. But thinking about Maura is also the only thing keeping her sane.

The door opens. She quickly rearranges her face into one that she hopes passes for expectant and pleased.

Dominick grins at her as he enters. "Oh, you're awake! Good! Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. Thank you," she answers, having learned that being polite keeps him calm.

She watches as he takes her in, and then he glances around the room. She follows his gaze, noting, for the first time the way the room is decorated.

"I couldn't see everything in your bedroom," he answers her unspoken thought. "But I figured as long as I got it close. Are the sheets okay?" He's approached, running a hand along the item in question, and then sitting down beside her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. He smells of stale beer.

"Yeah, they're fine," she nods slightly. "I-I don't remember having you over," it's a question, carefully posed.

"You know the building across the street from your apartment?" She nods. "If go up the fire escape, you can see through your window. And when you leave the shades open," he laughs as though she's done something silly.

She grimaces. "Right." Except she's hardly been at her own apartment in the past month or so. Spending every night at Maura's and then at the hospital.

Once again, he seems to know what she's thinking because his forehead creases in consternation. "You haven't been by lately."

She freezes, hardly daring to breathe. She's not sure what might set him off.

"I talked to Dr. Parker about it. He said that maybe you were working nights," he glances at her as though waiting for her to confirm this possible story.

"Nights? Nights, yeah," she nods vigorously.

But he's still staring at her, frowning. "You weren't with anyone were you?"

"W-with anyone? No, of course not, Dominick," her thoughts flit to a pale, small woman lying in a hospital bed.

"You were!" He stands, pointing an accusing finger at her. "I knew it!"

"No, no Dominick, I swear!" She hates that she sounds as if she's begging. "I promise. There was no one else."

"You're lying," he growls, straddling her and raising a threatening fist.

So far he has restricted himself to slight caresses and kisses. This, pinning her down with his entire body weight, feels like a violation. She wants to cry, to sob, to scream for help, but she knows that no one will come; no one will help her.

"Dominick, please –" he slaps her hard across the face and she tastes blood where her teeth have cut the inside of her cheek.

"Who was it?" He asks, looking angrier than he ever has. "Who touched you?"

"No one!"

He slaps her again, the other cheek this time. She is certain there are two red handprints staining her skin. She grits her teeth, determined not to cry out.

"Tell me," he orders, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her roughly against the mattress. "Tell. Me."

Her arms, which had fallen asleep hours ago, are now screaming in agony. It feels as though he's going to push her joints out of their sockets. Her wrists are bleeding again, sliding against the sharp metal of the cuffs.

He leans down, pressing his lips against hers possessively. "You're my wife," he is laying claim to her. She knows better than to argue. "Mine."

"Yes," she whispers as he trails hot, wet kisses down her neck. "Yes." She stares up at the ceiling, towards a God she isn't sure she even believes in. "Yes," she's praying, praying like she's never done before. A single prayer, over and over and over again. Please. Please. Oh, God. Maura. Please. I love you. I love you more than anything. Maura. Maura. I promise I'll come home to you. Maura. Don't leave me darling one. Not yet. I love you. Please.

"Where is she?" she asks, but she isn't sure the sound escapes past her dry lips. There is a straw there suddenly. She sips; cool, refreshing liquid making it's way down her parched throat. "Where's Jane?"

"Maura, honey. You're alright," that's her mother's voice, shaky, tired.

"Connie," her father. A warning.

The woman forces her eyes open, squinting against the dim glow from the overhead lights. She glances towards the window, knowing it's her best guess for the time. The curtains have been pulled – pulled to block the glare of the sun. That means it's morning; she's slept through the night. She tries to focus on the two people standing beside the bed, her mother's face swims blearily into view.

"They're looking for her," Constance begins, her hand clenching the cup so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.

"Where is she?" Maura wonders if her mother has spilled water on her face for a moment, until she realizes that the water is salty. She's crying.

"They don't know, darling." Constance's voice breaks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She reaches forward, attempting to gather her daughter into a hug, but Maura pulls away, looking to her father, her stoic, strong, smart father to clarify that her mother's words are, in fact, true.

"Her car was left outside the precinct," he tells her, speaking slowly. "Detective's Frost and Korsak have been working nonstop on locating her. They said they'd call with any news. Last night, you collapsed. They sedated you, kept you under, tried to give your body time to recuperate a bit."

She nods, ignoring the pain that shoots down her spine at the movement. Jane. Jane. Jane. She hasn't realized that she's mouthing the detective's name soundlessly until her father covers her tiny hand with his own. "They'll find her, Maura," but she wonders how he can presume to make such a statement. He doesn't know; he has no idea where Jane is, if they'll find her. He has no idea, and she opens her mouth to argue, to disagree, to demand that they do everything, absolutely everything to find her detective, but she's already sleeping back under. The pull of the morphine too much for her weak body to fight. She's asleep in seconds. Dreamless, weightless sleep.

"Dominick has erotomanic delusional disorder," Vince reads slowly from the chart in front of him, having had it sent over from Dr. Parker's old office.

"That doesn't sound good," Frost comments dryly. They haven't had much good news in the past few hours, and this will most likely be the icing on the cake.

"It's apparently a pretty serious disorder," the sergeant agrees. "He believes a stranger, most likely of a higher status, is in love with him."

"So, he thinks Jane's in love with him?" Frankie speaks from the corner, where he's hunched over, holding his head in his hands. The other two detectives stare at one another. That is definitely not good news.

Her entire body hurts. Her face is pounding where he'd slapped her, and she's sure she looks like a chipmunk with swollen cheeks. She isn't sure that if she was untied immediately, she'd be able to so much as crawl away. Her vision is blurry again, and she's certain that she's dehydrated. He hasn't offered her any more water or food since she rebuffed his dinner of the night before.

It's cold in the room. The old radiator hasn't let off so much as a drop of heat. And the sun has disappeared, most likely hidden behind a cloud. At least, she hopes it's just a cloud, and not already night again. She's losing track of time. Her brain is rebelling against itself, against the agony her body is being forced to endure.

"Do you remember Hawaii?"

She nearly screams in fright, not having realized that he was standing by the corner of the bed, watching her. He nods towards the framed pictures on the wall across from her prison. They've been photo shopped – poorly. Dominick and her smiling face on someone else's body splashing in the ocean, wearing a white wedding dress, sitting astride a horse. She almost snorts at the dress; she'd never wear something so poufy, and for a moment, she forgets where she is. She wants to point the picture out to Maura so they can laugh together. She can almost hear her mother's voice in her head, "Oh, but you'd look so pretty in a dress, Janie!"

"Dominick," she's saying, before she can stop herself. "You know we never went to Hawaii."

"Yes we did! We had our honeymoon there. We kayaked," he points to a picture that is meant to serve as evidence to that effect. It's the picture from her senior yearbook. She wonders how long it's been since he cut it out and put it on the woman wearing the orange bikini. "You surfed for the first time." Another picture. "We went to that all you can eat luau with the pig. Remember?"

It's simply easier to agree. Less painful. "Yes. Yeah, I remember now."

"Liar!" he roars, and she jumps, her wrists giving a painful twinge. She doesn't know what's set him off this time, and she tries not to cower as he advances on the bed. If only she were free, untied. He wouldn't dare touch her, wouldn't dare threaten her. "Don't play me," he growls. "We didn't go to a luau."

She shakes her head no quickly, hoping to soothe him. It must work to some extent, because he turns away, his large head cupped in his hands. "Don't be like Dr. Parker," he whines.

"Yo-you and Dr. Parker talked about me?" This might be stable ground.

"Yeah," he says, sounding like it's the most ridiculous question that he's ever heard. "I'm allowed to talk about my wife with my therapist."

"Course," she whispers. And louder, "Course you are."

"Damn right!" he nearly yells, spinning quickly and jumping onto the bed. She shrinks away reflexively, unable to hide the fear on her face. "Oh. Oh, baby, I'm sorry." He nuzzles her cheek, suddenly gentler than a lamb. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Anything?" It's Cavenaugh. He's come in to see how the three men are getting on. Mrs. Rizzoli has been set up in the café, and Tommy is on his way over to sit with her.

"Checking his financials now, sir," Frost answers. "Wait! He bought a bunch of computer equipment recently. Looks like he set up a webcam."

"A webcam?"

"Think you can track it to the bakery website?" Korsak asks, sounding hopeful for the first time in 24 hours. They're getting desperate.

"Trying a telnet port," the younger detective mutters. "Yes! I'm in. He's sending the feed to his bakery so he can watch it 24/7."

The film comes up on the screen and the three men stare at it in horror. Jane, is lying on a bed, handcuffed in the crucifix position. There is dried blood on her arms. Her face is swollen and one eye is turning black. She's dressed in a long skirt and flouncy blouse, except the clothes look wrinkled and slept in. There's a man, pacing in and out of the video feed.

"That's him?" Cavenaugh asks.

"Yes, sir," and Vince's lip curls in disgust.

"Oh, God, Jane," Frost whispers. He's never seen his partner in such a state. He wonders if this is what she looked like after Hoyt the first time, and he glances swiftly over at Korsak to see how the older man is reacting. If he's made the same connection. Judging by the pallor in his face, Frost is fairly certain that he has. It makes him want to be sick.

Frankie is staring at the screen. "Tha-that's Janie's apartment," he nearly shouts.

Barry squints. Yes, that looks like her bedroom.

"Go," Cavenaugh orders, but the three have already started for the door, jackets in hand, guns secure. He turns back to watch the screen in growing horror.

"How is she?" Angela asks, speaking quietly into the mouthpiece so none of the cops seated nearby can hear her.

"Worse," the voice on the other end answers. "The doctors are worried that the stress on her body will send her into shock."

She gasps.

"I don't think any of else realized how much she relied on Jane, relies on Jane," he corrects himself quickly. "Dr. Wilde finally said that he was surprised she's managed to hold on this long. They thought she wouldn't live past that fever back at Christmas."

"No!" Mrs. Rizzoli feels as though she is quite suddenly losing two of her children in the same 24 hour period. She hears him run a hand down his face over the phone.

"I think she was holding out, living really, for Jane. You know how the two of them are…"

"I do," but she does not need to agree verbally. It's a truth which need hardly be spoken aloud.

"And now that Jane is…"

"Missing," she fills in for him, touched at his sensitivity, but unafraid to state the obvious.

"Yes. Well, I think Maura's body is simply winning out, she's losing the war." He's losing control over the line. She can tell, and she knows he'd rather she not witness it.

So, "I'll call. As soon as there's news. And you'll call me?"

"Of course," he's grateful that she's letting him go. "Right away." The line goes dead.

"He's not in the room any longer," Cavenaugh barks over the phone to Vince who is standing outside Jane's apartment door, Barry and Frankie flanking him on either side.

"Yessir." He hangs up. "One. Two. Three," they bang open the door, guns held aloft, flashlights in their other hands.

"Police!"

"Boston PD!"

They sweep the living room quickly, the kitchen, the hall, the bathroom. Outside the bedroom door, they pause. Frost nods, and Frankie bursts through first. But the bed is made, the sheets unwrinkled, unslept in.

"Dammit! He's not here!" Frankie yells, swiping his hand across Jane's dresser and sending a few photographs flying.

Barry frowns, moving to pick up the frames. Jane and Maura's smiling faces look up at him, Jane's arms wrapped around Maura's torso from behind. He can just make out Bass in the background – this was taken at Maura's house, before the Doctor lost her hair, her blonde curls flying free, mixing with Jane's brown ones.

"They're not here," Vince repeats Frankie's words, dejection settling heavily across his shoulders. "Shit."