Chapter 4

The base captain was an older man who didn't mince words or talk down to her. That Jane didn't particularly like or dislike him was, well, progress.

She answered his questions. Explained how she had woken up, somehow alive, in a stale hospital bed, and managed to not get bitten or raped long enough to be sitting here. It surprised her how little there was to tell. The days had bled into one another, a never ending routine of running, foraging, and fighting.

She still had nothing to show for it.

"So Detective Jane Rizzoli-," he said casually, flipping through a file. Jane assumed it was hers.

"I'm not a detective," she said. There was a time when those words would have absolutely gutted her. But the world didn't need detectives anymore. Cause of death and motive were pretty fucking obvious these days.

"Aren't you?" he questioned sincerely. "The plague didn't take away your training or experience. It certainly didn't take away your skills in the field. This report claims that you single-handedly exterminated three undeads on your own. Is that true?"

"Exterminated?" She nearly laughed at the term. "Yea okay."

"With a machete. Would it not have been safer to use your firearm?"

Now she was laughing. He, however, was not.

She cleared her throat and leaned forward.

"You're kidding right? I blast off at every rotter and outlaw that comes across my path and I might as well shoot up a flare and ring the supper bell."

The captain pondered this quietly. Surely this was not new intel? Something was off but Jane concealed her growing disbelief. Not one of the soldiers had been carrying an edged weapon.

"We're done here for now," he closed the folder in front of him. "And we're always looking for good soldiers. This base isn't much yet, we're still working out the kinks. In the meantime, everyone does something. You should consider joining up. Your unique experience would be invaluable."

"I'll think about it," she said. It actually didn't sound horrible.

"Soldiers are allowed to carry their weapons on base," he pointed out. "I'm sure that would make you more-"

He was interrupted by a very dramatic, very annoying wail coming from the other side of the office door.

Jane found herself all at once horrified and completely overjoyed.

"JANIE! OH MY BABY GIRL LET ME SEE MY BABY GIRL!"

They heard Frankie trying to frantically shush her mother.

"JANIEEEEE!"

She winced involuntarily and glanced at the captain. He was altogether unfazed. Perhaps he'd become familiar with her mom's antics. Good grief, most likely everyone here had.

She shifted in her seat. "I better go." Halfway out of her chair, an old habit surprisingly kicked in. "Um, am I dismissed?"

"Dismissed," he said. "I look forward to seeing you again, Jane."

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Frankie literally clamped his hand over his mom's mouth.

"Ma! What'd I say? I told you I'd only bring you up here if you promised to hold it together. That includes not crying like a banshee while Jane is getting debriefed by the freakin' captain."

Angela obediently nodded her tear-stained face, his hand moving with her. Going against his better judgement, he removed it. She sniffed once and stood quietly.

It lasted seven seconds.

"JANIE!"

"Ma!"

The door swung open and a half-exasperated, half choked-up Jane emerged.

No one moved. Her brother appeared to be readying himself for an epic meltdown. What would be the appropriate thing to say? She had never returned from the grave before.

"Hey, Ma."

Her mother's strong Italian arms flew around her neck, nearly strangling the life out of her. Jane could see the headlines now: Newest Base Member Exterminated by Own Mother. Then came the kisses. Kisses rained down all over Jane's face, each one punctuated by kissy sounds. Only her mom could go from zero-to-smother in three seconds flat. It was dizzying.

A firm hand gripped her jaw, squeezing her cheeks together.

Oww...

"Janie, look at you. You're alive. You're alive!" The hand shook her face with each syllable. "Oh my God..." her mother bemoaned, then stepped back to take in her daughter. "What are you wearing? You're so thin. Did you forget to eat? Are you hungry?"

Jane wasn't even annoyed. "I missed you too," she said.

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"You're almost done," Frankie said encouragingly as he led her along a concrete walkway.

The cell blocks had been repurposed into housing for the base population. The prison facilities were modern, instead of bars there were metal doors and reinforced plexiglass. People roamed freely, going about their daily activities, whatever those were. Jane scanned the cells as they passed. Most were decorated sparsely - a picture here, a poster there, books, small electronics, boardgames, lamps.

Home sweet home.

"Our ratio of civilians to militia is about three-to-one. That's considered low compared to the other bases," he explained. Other bases? "It's probably cause we got a lot of kids here. Lots of families. We're the only compound that I know of that offers schooling. It's kinda nice in a way."

Jane listened silently. God she was tired. Her pounding headache decided to make an encore performance right about the same time she had reunited with thier mom. She was convinced the two were correlated.

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"I'm alright. Feel a little like a fish out of water."

"You'll get used to it," he smiled. "Infirmary's next. You get a physical, then you get cleaned up and that's it. Oh and just so you know, the showers can run out of-"

Jane stopped in her tracks. "I can take a shower?"

"Yea," he scrunched his nose. "And you could use one."

"Forget mom. If you'd just told me that I would have driven you boys here myself."

They exited the cell block and made their way down a wide hall, the bustle of the living quarters fading behind them. Frankie nodded at an armed guard as they passed through a set of swinging doors.

Rows of hospital beds lined both sides of a large room lit brightly by flourescent lights. The infirmary walls were a pale orange color making the place feel warm instead of sterile.

"Usually there's a nurse in here." Frankie frowned at the empty room. He motioned to a row of chairs against the wall. "Let's sit down."

Jane took a seat while he stepped over to a water cooler. The liquid contents made a 'glug, glug' sound as he filled a disposable cup. He gave it to her before plopping down himself. She stared at the offering in her hand and couldn't help laughing.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head, "Nothing. Nothing it's just..." she turned to him. "It's like the virus never happened in here. It's weird, Frankie."

"No it's not. You've just been running around out there for too long. Didn't I tell you things were different?" He nudged her gently with his elbow. "You don't have to be scared anymore."

"No. No, that's the problem," she said concerned. "You do."

"Man, you are paranoid."

Jane rolled her eyes and sipped her water. It tasted cool and crisp and was without a doubt the cleanest thing to pass her lips in months. She could have chugged the entire thing if she wanted. There was a full tank waiting to dispense refills, but every braincell she had was telling her to ration it. Old habits die hard, she thought. Hers especially.

A few moments passed before she noticed a small metal tray sitting on a wheeled cart. Tiny sterile tools sat upon it, all of them perfectly aligned. A huge steel sink resided in the far corner and next to it a long counter with various glass jars holding various hospital-y things. Cotton balls, swabs, antiseptic, latex gloves...

Jane's heart lurched in her chest.

She would never get used to how fast it happened; how bitterly painful it still was when the dull void of Maura's absence transformed itself into full blown heartache. This room was a veritable museum dedicated to her medical examiner. Was that a fucking lab coat? Jane shuddered. The linoleum floor between her dirty boots had suddenly become very interesting.

Frankie was observing her so closely his eyes were burning a hole in her head.

"You okay?"

"Yup." The word came out short, clipped.

"You sure?"

She nodded sharply not taking her eyes off the floor.

He waited a beat.

"I know this place looks a lot like..." he trailed off.

Oh please don't go there.

She felt his strong hand on her back. "Janie, why haven't you asked about-"

"Frankie." She warned. It took every bit of self control she had not to crush the poor styrofoam cup in her hand.

"Alright, alright. Hey..." He tried to make eye-contact but she was unwilling. "Everything's gonna be fine." He gave her a final, reassuring pat. "I'm gonna go find the medic. Wait here."

She nodded again and he was gone.

The faint click of a door echoed in the room as Frankie disappeared. Jane released a breath she didn't know she was holding and slouched backwards against the wall. A few creature comforts got dangled in front of her and she'd lost sight of everything. The guilt hit her like a slap across the face. What had she been thinking? Joining up? She cringed into her hand.

She couldn't stay here. Not when she had so much to lose.

Frankie and her mom would just have to understand. She would promise to return when it was all over. Already thinking about how in the hell she was going to get her weapons back, she heard the sigh of a door opening and footfalls. She ignored it until the muted rhythm of the steps squeaked to a halt. Jane needn't look up to know that those didn't belong to Frankie's military issued boots.

"Look who I found," he called out.

The phrase "deer in the headlights" then took on a whole new meaning. The cup wobbled in her hand and somewhere far far away, Frankie was grinning like an idiot. He might as well have been back in Boston as Jane struggled to accept what she was seeing; that the person standing next to him was not some hallucination born of the environment or from the anguish that so recently constricted her heart.

The medic was obviously struggling just as much as she was. It was enough for Jane to know she was real.

Her clothes were casual but neat, something Jane herself might have worn on a lazy Sunday in that other life. Absolutely nothing would differentiate the woman from the rest of the population other than the stethescope hanging from her delicate neck. Sandy blond locks were pulled back into a ponytail that was more functional than fashionable. She was entirely plain.

Entirely beautiful.

And Jane was ready.

"Maura," she breathed.

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Extensive studies have widely speculated that for every individual in the world, there existed a doppelganger. Not an exact replica but someone similar enough to deceive a casual acquaintance. Maura and Jane were by no means casual acquaintences and yet here she was, dangerously close to believing.

This imposter was not Jane. It was simply not possible.

She reasoned that this was either a callous trick by Mother Nature, or that Jane was risen from the ashes, literally, like a phoenix. Both scenarious were highly unlikely given the declining numbers in world population and the fact that Jane was not a mythical creature.

Maura.

The voice, barely audible, stretched across the room and drew her in. With an unmistakable inflection, it slotted into place next to every memory of Jane that Maura held dear.

The symptoms immediately began to manifest themselves. Tachycardia. Shortness of breath. Disorientation.

Maura had watched Jane die twice. Witnessed it with her own two eyes. The first time, Jane had sacrificed herself in front of BP headquarters on an otherwise sunny afternoon. Her blood seeped into the hem of Maura's dress as she knelt beside her, hands pressed hard against Jane's abdomen. The blood flowed like little rivers through her fingers.

Jane's eyes fluttered shut and Maura would not see them open again.

She would die her second time at Boston Medical. While the paramedics managed to stabalize her, the blood loss was too great. By the time they reached the hospital, she coded in emergency. Maura screamed helplessly through the glass as the defribrillator charged and violently shocked Jane's limp body, over and over. She would eventually be led away by Korsak and two nurses. For weeks after, Maura would hear the shrill beep of the heart rate monitor flat-lining in her dreams.

The following day Jane fell into a coma. Maura stayed by her side until the shadow of the outbreak fell over the city and forced them apart forever.

Maura would be miles away when the voice on the radio announced, in cruel real-time, the structural targets of the government mandated "cleansing." She and Frost listened with quiet horror, riding side-by-side in the rear-seat of a FBI vehicle.

The hospital had been the second building destroyed.

As it happened, she darkly imagined that Jane would crack some sick joke about how 'third time was the charm.' Maura wept and laughed deliriously before a wave of nausea overtook her. Agent Dean pulled the car over, and she wretched the contents of her stomach onto the side of the highway. There would be no more jokes.

As time went on, she would try to find solace in the facts. A comatose Jane would have felt no pain. In death, she would not have to witness the tragedy of the virus. She was in a better place...

All of these thoughts gave not one ounce of comfort to Maura, and she knew it incredibly selfish to want nothing more than to have Jane back. Selfish and unfeasible.

It was silly to hope for such things.

Her heart was racing.

Remain calm, she repeated to herself. Maura could surely rectify her current state of emotional distress. She initiated a countdown, attempting to take deep breaths, but discovered the room was mysteriously devoid of any air. That was odd. Her legs moved without permission and the ground dissolved beneath her.

The distant tapping of an object striking the tile.

Her name shouted through the distance.

Falling and floating in simultation.

Jane.

And then Maura drifted into darkness.

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