Chapter Thirteen

"How do I look?" Maura asked, her crutches tucked underneath the capped sleeves of a red dress more suited for dinner at her favorite French restaurant than for a night of recovery at home. Jane had spent the past ten minutes seated impatiently on the bed, watching as several dresses had already been tossed precariously out of the closet in favor of one more appropriate.

"You sure you don't want to slip into a pair of four-inch heels, too?" Jane asked, pointing to Maura's small bare feet. "Maybe slide a stiletto over that swollen ankle?"

"Do you think I should?" Maura asked, her eyes widening with the sartorial oversight.

A quick smile slipped from Jane's lips, until she realized the earnestness behind the question. "Jesus, Maur, no," she said, shaking her head. "You look like the beautiful, brilliant, neurotic daughter that you are."

Maura glanced down at her dress, pressing out a non-existent wrinkle. "It's venetian red," she said, offering an explanation even though she hadn't been asked for one. "It's supposed to enhance attention to detail. My father loves attention to detail."

Jane surmised that being a world-renowned anthropologist and professor, which was about all she knew about Dr. Phillip Isles, did require some level of obsessive-compulsive thoroughness. "Well, he's probably also noticed how long we've kept him waiting," she replied, getting to her feet. The pain in her shoulder was beginning to move to her temples, creating a cinching pinch across her forehead. This wasn't exactly how she envisioned meeting Maura's father; she generally preferred having both arms in working condition when meeting new people, especially someone as formidable as him. "How many languages does he speak again?"

"Thirteen."

The answer threw Jane for a moment, her mouth dropping open. "Okay," she said slowly, cutting off any further questions, knowing that if she kept prying her own nerves would be just as bad as Maura's. "Let's get out there. After all, this is the same guy that used to change your diapers, right? No big deal."

Maura glanced up at him, slightly confused. "I don't think he participated in childrearing tasks. Josephine, my nanny - "

"Maur."

"Right." Maura eyed the closed bedroom door, knowing she was only buying time, but turned almost immediately back to Jane. "Is your shoulder okay? Do you need me to get you some aspirin?" She moved toward the bathroom once again, but Jane reached out and caught her shoulder.

"It's so sweet of you to try and take care of me as a distraction, but I'm fine." She raised her eyebrow into an embellished arch. "Remember, they're more afraid of you than you are of them."

Maura nodded, the sarcasm wafting past her. "You go first," she said, hurriedly waving toward the door.

"Maura."

"I'm walking at a slower pace. You go first."

Jane sighed, but slipped out of the door into the quiet hallway. She heard Constance's delicate voice, punctuated by the louder spurts of her own decidedly less soft-spoken mother. Listening to the two of them banter was more akin to listening to a sparrow talk to a sea gull.

"Remember to smile," Maura coached from behind her.

"Remember to relax," Jane volleyed back over her shoulder, her lips curling into an exaggeratedly polite grin as they walked into the living room.

Constance stood immediately, leading the way towards them despite the pronounced limp in her gait, a souvenir from the car accident only a few weeks earlier. Her hair was nevertheless flawless, covering the still faint bruises along her forehead, and her crisp blazer sat squarely on her unstooped shoulders. Her smile was warm, but slightly pinched, and she looked at Maura as if she were evaluating a tarnished painting. Phillip Isles followed behind her with a slow, determined stride, the small of his hand protectively on his wife's back. He was tan, his beige skin appearing as if it belonged under a khaki safari shirt rather than the crisp button-down he wore, but the sleeves were rolled up, giving him a studied casualness. He was just as flawless as his wife and daughter, and that made him all the more intimidating.

Constance cupped both hands around Maura's jaw, placing a kiss on her cheek. "Êtes-vous bien, ma cherie?"

Maura nodded, somewhat surprised by the affection, as fleeting as it was. "Oui," she answered, slipping effortlessly into her parents' preferred language. "Nous sommes bien, juste fatigué." She glanced at Jane, all too familiar with the blank look, and offered a haphazard translation: "We're both okay, just exhausted, that's all."

As Phillip leaned down toward Maura, mimicking his wife's peck on the cheek, Constance turned to Jane, her blue eyes narrowed, but not their usual icy shade; instead they were somewhat friendlier. "I'm glad you're alright, Jane," she said, putting a hand on her forearm. "Somehow, you always seem to save the day, don't you?"

Jane nodded, but felt Phillip's assessing eye on her as he took a step forward. "So I've heard," he said, extending his hand. "Phillip."

"Jane," she returned just as briefly, taking his strong grip, thankful that her right hand was uninjured. Her handshake was something she took pride in, and she gave his hand an extra squeeze.

"It's good to finally meet you," he said, glancing quickly at her shoulder, and then down at his daughter, his voice strong and composed. "Although I do wish it were under different circumstances."

Jane nodded slowly, unsure of what other circumstances would actually get Dr. Phillip Isles back to his family and away from his work, but she kept her thoughts stowed for the time being. His eyes were the color of brown clay, almost like the pieces of pottery and artifacts that he recovered in his anthropological digs. "Me too," she said, pointing toward her sling with a casual smile.

Phillip turned his attention back to Maura, towering over her, and she looked up at him with a reverie more reserved for a respected coach than a father. "Ni lazima kuwa makini zaidi," he said quietly, but no less sternly.

"Daima," Maura answered. "I'm always careful."

This time Jane shared a look with her own mother. She was used to the foreign flurry of French that coursed between Maura and Constance, but this was decidedly un-French, and she bit back a frown. Maura turned quickly to her, already reading her mind; where Jane was concerned, her father was being overly smug.

"Swahili," she explained out of the corner of her mouth.

"Of course," Jane murmured, rolling her eyes towards her mother, who promptly gave a stern shake of her head. No matter what Angela Rizzoli thought of someone, she generally kept her opinion to herself until the person had at least cleared the room.

"We brought over some baklava," Constance said, gesturing toward the kitchen, unable to halt her display of perfected etiquette. She guided Maura to the couch, a steadying hand on her daughter's back, and Jane was pleased to see the comfort behind the gesture . Constance had begun to turn a corner before the accident, and it looked as if near-death had only renewed her desire to strengthen her relationship with her daughter.

"Yes," Phillip echoed, transitioning once again into English. "Hopefully it will be acceptable. You all are Italian, correto?" His eyes ran over Jane's face and she unconsciously brushed a hand under her nose, wondering if she had missed something in the mirror. "And I see some ancestral remnants of possibly the Cherokee or Shawnee tribe, no?" he questioned.

"Possibly," Jane replied, inching slightly away from his peering gaze, but Maura spoke up from where she settled into the green cushions of her couch.

"My father is a forensic anthropologist," she offered to Angela and Tommy, almost apologetically. "Specifically focusing on facial bone structure of early and late hominids." She shrugged her shoulders slightly at Jane, but her attention snagged on the high cheekbones and the square jaw; she had herself long ago detected some Native American, but her father had managed to nail the specifics within five minutes of meeting her.

"Ah, yes," Jane said, now attempting to avoid Maura's studied gaze as well as she took a seat in a nearby chair. "Maura's told me so much about you." She glanced pointedly at the smaller blonde, who had never, in actuality, shared much more about her father than the fact that he was a respected professor who had a niche for language and old bones.

Phillip's eyes brushed over the room toward Maura, and he rocked back on his heels as he crossed his arms over his chest. "With all due respect, does someone want to tell me what the hell happened here?" He gestured toward their injured, bandaged limbs.

Maura could tell by the sharpening of Jane's eyes that she was more than ready to jump in with a defensive explanation, but she cut in first, looking up at her father. "It's kind of a long story."

"I don't mind the abridged version," he answered, this time moving his hands into his pockets, pacing once in front of them, nervous energy seeming to guide him.

Maura cleared her throat. "Jane and I were working a case, and I needed to compare a water sample from the scene of the crime. We uncovered evidence of fracking, but were discovered. Our car was rammed, which resulted in compartmentalized syndrome in my leg." She glanced proudly over at Jane. "Jane performed a fasciotomy with acrylic glass from her cell phone."

Jane smiled, but demurred. "Well, without Maura's morse code skills, we'd still be locked inside that flooding car. Even blood loss doesn't impact that brain of hers." She realized quickly that she and Maura were the only ones sharing a smile; Constance and Phillip were staring at the two of them with horrified open mouths. She cleared her throat. "And, uh..."

Maura cut in, her tone clinical and composed. "And, although detectives managed to apprehend several of the frackers, the leader escaped and returned for us." She glanced down at her hands, her composed narrative unraveling as her voice wavered. "But the point is, we're both fine. After all, driving a car is statistically riskier than... being kidnapped by rogue frackers." She looked up at Jane for help, but her father spoke first.

"You're a medical examiner," he blurted. "What are you doing galavanting about chasing criminals? Is this in your contract?"

Maura shook her head, all too aware of Jane's eyes on her. "No, but at times my forensic work does take me outside of the lab. Imagine doing all of your research from inside your office; you have to be in the field as well."

"I don't think my field experience ever left me with a nearly amputated leg."

Constance looked up at him, raising a finger. "Dear, must I remind you of the incident in Angola with the rhinoceros?"

"I'd say that's a bit different," he qualified, his eyes still on Maura. He turned his attention to Jane. "Do you have a partner, Detective? Why didn't he go with you that day?"

"Or she," Constance cut in, patting the couch next to her and motioning for her husband to sit.

"Or she," Phillip sighed, taking a seat, his hands rubbing over his trouser-covered knees, but his eyes still staring expectantly at Jane. "I don't believe as a medical examiner, Maura has been trained in the fine art of apprehending murderers."

Jane took a breath, more than ready to launch into him, but Maura preempted her once again. "I'm a forensic expert," she offered. "Sometimes the scene can't be compromised, and I go along. The detectives at a scene are more than capable of handling the rest."

"And how capable were the detectives that were guarding your home?" he pressed. "Capable enough to allow both of you to be kidnapped?" Constance pressed a calming hand on his thigh, prompting him to give a prolonged sigh.

"I think we're all a bit on edge," she offered cordially. A moment of silence passed between them, but Jane gave Maura an encouraging smile, hoping to alleviate whatever stress her parents were helping to pile onto her.

"Dr. Isles," Angela began, addressing Phillip, but a row of three heads turned towards her, each beckoned by the title they all carried. Jane covered her grin with her fist, making eye contact with Maura, whose lips also curled into a shared smile. Angela cleared her throat. "Uh, Phillip," she emphasized with a wave of her hand. "What sort of work were you doing in Tanzania?"

Jane was proud of her mother, no social exertion too difficult for her; but then again, her mother could have a lively conversation with a wall, as much as she enjoyed talking. And, considering Phillip's stoicism, he was effectively a wall, his flat expression acting as a boundary to whatever it was actually running through his mind. He looked at Angela contemplatively, as if he wasn't quite sure if she would understand the complications of his career, and he offered a layman's version. "Oh," he said with a brush of his hand that was meant to be humble, but came off as self-seriousness. "I was just digging up some old homo erectus."

Maura jumped in, always mending her parents comments with a casual bridge, something she had only attempted to do in the past few years, to make them seem more relatable, even though they had never been relatable to her. "He's working on connecting specimens in Tanzania to the Baoule culture of Cote d'Ivoire," she explained. "It's long been suspicioned that the two connected in some ways, but no one's been able to uncover the appropriate evidence." She glanced over at her father, and Jane caught some admiration in her eyes. "He's like a detective too, in that way."

Phillip smiled, briefly. "I would say solving millions year old crimes is less prescient, but it's a living."

"So, are you like Indiana Jones or something?" Tommy asked curiously.

"Not quite," Phillip answered, and Jane felt a rush of protection for her brother as the older man bristled slightly. "He was an archeologist. A more than glamorized Hollywood version, at that."

Maura pushed forward. "I don't think you've actually ever seen those films," she said, glancing at her father. "You boycotted them, remember?" She looked over at Tommy, smiling, easing over the awkwardness as much as possible. Jane caught the strain in her eyes, physical signs of the stress she always took on when her parents were around. "Although I distinctly remember a trip to Mozambique which ended with you being pursued by members of the Tsonga tribe."

"The feiticeiro was using a homo erectus hyoid bone in his medicinal incantations," Phillip replied defensively, but his eyes twinkled slightly at the memory. "What was I supposed to do, let him continue to heal dysentery with a relic of a prized hominid? A furcula bone and a dose of Humatin worked just as well." He laughed, and Maura joined in, both of them rapt in an exchange of humor lost on everyone else in the room.

Jane had managed to comprehend only a few words and the general idea of their banter, but she smiled easily at Maura's clear admiration of her father. Paddy Doyle may have been Maura's biological father, but clearly nurture had played a large role in her upbringing; she and Phillip had more in common than she let on. As their laughter died down, with Maura tossing a self-conscious glance at her mother, Jane spoke up again.

"I see where Maura gets her love for culture," she said.

Phillip glanced at Maura. "Yes, I had hoped she would use that brilliance in some other formidable field," he replied, his words leeching the smile from Maura's face. "We could have used her medical touch in Tanzania. Angola. You name it."

If she had been able to walk, Maura would have more than likely rose from the couch, busying herself with preparing tea or a haphazard cheese plate, but instead she was resigned to her perch between her parents, their expectations hanging over her. "After Médecins Sans Frontières, I realized that living patients weren't my forte," she said humbly, glancing down at her hands.

Jane felt her teeth click once as her jaw clenched, but she passed over the comment. She was less adept at pursuing conversation, but she was better at pinning people into a corner. "So, Phillip. I see you had a hard time getting back into the States. I'm sure Constance and Maura are glad to see you. How much time do you spend away from home?"

Phillip met her verbal challenge lithely. "I'd say about six months out of the year in a good discovery phase." He glanced at his wife. "Although Constance keeps herself quite busy, I must say. Her projects have begun taking off in Europe."

"When's the last time you visited Boston?"

Maura looked sharply at her, as if tacitly warning her to reign in her budding temper. "Boston hasn't changed, Jane."

"Actually, it has. Before Maura, the city used to have one of the highest backlogs at the ME's office in the country. After two years on the job, she turned it around completely. Maura's lab is now home to some of the most sophisticated forensics equipment in the country."

"I imagine that comes in handy, considering the city's violent crime rate has increased over the past five years, no?" He raised his eyebrows at Maura. "I believe I read that in the Times, recently? It seems as if we should focus our resources on preventing violence rather than just cleaning it up, no? That's a worthwhile endeavor."

"So is bringing closure and justice to families," Jane retorted roughly.

Jane glanced at her mother, and Angela gave a tacit shake of her head, as if already sensing she would be unable to hold in her anger much longer. "Jane, why don't you help me plate some of the baklava?" she asked, and Maura complemented the suggestion with a vigorous nod.

"I don't know," Jane said. "I'm more suited to cleaning up the mess rather than plating it." Before she could take pleasure in her remark, her mother snapped her fingers at her, pointing hastily toward the kitchen. Jane reluctantly stood, making sure to place another exaggerated smile on her face as she passed by the couch. She felt Tommy directly behind her, and she turned, staring blankly at him. "What are you doing? Go sit down."

"Uh-uh," he said. "I'm outta here. You're the girlfriend, you deal with the parents." He snagged one more cookie from his mother's tray before backing towards the door. "This has been great," he called, his voice polite but caked with a veneer of anxiety. "But I'm late for... work." He ignored Jane's scowl as he gave Maura a small smile and a wave before slinking out the back door towards freedom.

"Would anyone like some tea?" Angela asked brightly, holding up the kettle, once again masking over the tension through sheer goodwill.

"Do you have any Rooibos?" Phillip questioned, looking at Maura rather than Angela.

Maura shook her head, resigned to her father's more refined tastes. "No, but I have Honeybush," she offered hopefully.

Phillip held up a hand towards the kitchen. "No, thank you, that's fine," he said. "I'll pass."

Jane watched as his head turned back to Constance, and he leaned into her, whispering something lightly under his breath. "No cookie for him," she hissed to her mother.

"No kidding," Angela whispered back.

Maura was more than aware of Tommy's real reason for ducking out early, and she knew Jane and Angela probably wished they could do the same. She felt her father's eyes on her leg, which was propped onto the coffee table, her bandage a constant object for his disapproval. "Do you remember that time we watched the Elder Medicine Man of the Manitoba tribe perform that amputation of a villager's leg?" he asked, glancing at Constance. He didn't wait for a response, and instead turned back to Maura. "Who would have thought between the two of us it would be you receiving 'bush medicine'."

"It wasn't that bad," she countered, lowering her leg to the floor despite the ache the pumped through it.

"Have you been able to do any more research?" Phillip asked. "The last I remember you were targeting ballistic trajectories in upper respiratory pathways."

Maura glanced at him, surprised that he remembered. She had only mentioned it as an aside in an email to him and her mother, and hadn't expected either of them to pick up on it. "I had that article published actually," she said. "I began working on another project a few months ago, but haven't been able to make much progress yet. Work's been busy."

"Well, maybe an injury will help slow you down," Phillip remarked. "Although it hasn't helped your mother take a break, that's for certain. She's been on the phone nonstop with the gallery."

"Maura, darling, when are you going back to work?" Constance asked. "I was thinking the two of us could take a quick trip out to Collioure before you return."

Maura turned to her with a smile. "Actually, I was thinking that Jane and I could come for a visit in a month or so," she said. "I'd love to show her the city."

Constance raised her eyebrows, not bothering to mask her surprise. "Oh, I didn't think that was Jane's cup of tea," she said, glancing discreetly over her shoulder. "She seems more of the rugged terrain type, no?"

Her father ignored both of them, reaching forward and fingering a bowl on the coffee table. "Is this the Ha-jin that I brought back from Liaoning?"

Maura nodded. "Yes."

"I'd like to go back there at some point," he sighed. "Maybe work will take me there again."

"Oh, please, Phillip, work has taken you nowhere but the continent of Africa for the past ten years. It's a struggle to get you to travel anywhere else. We're never going to get around to that Laos trip."

Phillip leaned back, as if resigned to such complaints from his wife. "Maura, don't you miss traveling for your work?" he asked. "When is the last time you were able to get out of Boston?"

"My life is here," she said quietly. "I enjoy what I do." She also enjoyed who she did it with, but she kept that parcel of knowledge to herself.

"You have a medical degree that could get you anywhere," he said. "You could be doing research."

"I do research," Maura contested.

He sighed. "All I mean is, if you're going to do work on the dead, why not at least make sure it's not dangerous? You don't only have yourself to think about here, Maura."

"I don't think Maura's thinking about herself at all," Jane protested as she carried over a tray of cookies and baklava, intentionally setting it as far away from Phillip as she could. She leaned over and placed a protective hand on Maura's knee as she sat. "I think she performs a valuable service for people. She provides closure to them, after one of the most horrible things in their lives happens."

Phillip's face reddened as he glanced at Maura, then at his wife. "Well, with all due respect, this 'valuable service' has affected our family quite a bit."

"Dad, I'm fine," Maura protested, pointing to her leg.

"I'm not only talking about you, Maura. If that car had hit your mother any harder, you'd be performing one of your autopsies on her." His words drove a stake of silence into the room, and he rose before any of them had a chance to respond, a cloud marring his face. "If you'll excuse me," he said, more than aware that his anger had gotten the best of him. He walked stiffly towards the front door, letting it shut quietly behind him.

Maura sat, her face marbled in horror, as if she were still attempting to absorb his words. Jane squeezed her knee, but it was Constance that put a hand on her shoulder. "Your father is attempting to deal with all of this after being out of the country for awhile. This is his own guilt, darling, not yours."

Jane nodded, rising from the couch. "With all due respect, Constance, I don't think this is the time or place for him to deal with his misplaced guilt." She glanced at the door. "I'll be right back."

Constance rose from the couch, putting her arm on Jane's. "As good as you are at putting people in their place," she said, giving her a knowing look. "I think I can handle this one."

"No," Maura said, speaking up from beneath them, as if reminding them that she was there. "Let me talk to him."

"Maura..." Constance began, and Jane got the impression that things generally traveled through her first: plans, slices of information, as if she was the only conduit between Maura and her father.

"I want to talk to him," Maura repeated, reaching for her crutches. Jane touched her shoulder briefly, but it was an encouraging pat, not meant to hold her back in any way, and for that she was grateful. She made her way slowly towards the door, slipping outside and squinting into the bright sun. Her father stood with his hands in his pockets, more than likely wishing he were a thousand miles from this particular spot, preferring the heat of nature more than the heat of a claustrophobic city. Maura eased herself onto the small wooden bench near her doorway, content with the silence. Her father had always been quiet, like her; she remembered that.

"That wasn't exactly eloquent of me," he said, his voice strained, and Maura was grateful that at least he began the conversation. He rocked back slightly on his heels before turning to her, his normally confident eyes clouded with uncertainty. "If I'd been able to write it over the course of a week, proofread it, and double check my methods, I think you would have found it would have come out quite differently."

"We all need an editor, at times," Maura replied.

"I've spent too much time digging in the field. I'm not used to cavorting with the living."

Maura smiled to herself. "Welcome to the club."

"I'm used to confronting death that's a thousand years old," he continued, his back still turned to her. "It means nothing to anyone anymore, other than a clue to history or a puzzle piece finally fitting together. It's very different when it comes to - " He swallowed, staring into the ivy maze that covered her terrace. "Since the moment your mother and I laid eyes on you, our whole goal has been to keep you safe," he said quietly. He finally turned to look at her, a slight tinge of betrayal in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell us you found out about Patrick Doyle?"

"Because he's not worth talking about," she said, her vehemence surprising her. "I'm not confused about who raised me."

Her father chuckled. "Please, Maura, you practically raised yourself. You had a self-reliance that was almost unnatural. I stayed up a lot of late nights, telling your mother I was researching my thesis, but I was pouring through texts on child biological attunement and attachment parenting. It was nature's cruel joke. Here we were, better equipped than most to take care of a child, and yet, biologically, I believed we were unable to do so."

Maura swallowed, unsure if she wanted to probe further, but she continued. "Then why did you keep me?"

He didn't answer right away, and instead turned and took a seat next to her, placing both of his hands on either side of him and leaning forward, as if at any moment he would rise again. "You were just this little... specimen. Every day was different. You learned something new, gained some new motor function. I'm not the best at showing it, and I certainly don't say it, but you were, and continue to be the greatest discovery I've ever come across."

Maura glanced down at his hand, his veins like small hills under his roughened, tan skin, and she fought the urge to place her own on top of it. Before Jane, before Angela and the makeshift family that had come to color her life, she never would have thought of such a gesture; now, it simply seemed normal. She clasped her hands safely in her lap. "Paddy Doyle doesn't mean anything to me, biological connection or not. He came back into my life by accident, and showed me a couple of photos he kept with him. That's nothing."

"He wasn't afraid to tell you he loved you, though. And on some level, we both know that's what a child needs to hear." Phillip turned to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I bet you he told you how proud he was of you. Didn't he?"

"Not in as many words."

Phillip shuffled, moving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a sleek phone. "I don't always get service out in the field," he said, his thick fingers moving over a few colorful icons. "But I always make sure I have these with me." He angled the screen towards Maura, and she peeked over his arm at a list of titles, her mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Those are my articles," she said.

Her father nodded, scrolling through them. Some she recognized from her professional career, but some were from as far back as college. "Remember this one?" he asked, clicking through it and pulling up a scanned, typed page.

She smiled. "The Bioarcheology of Children: Forensic and Anthropological Perspectives." She reached out, scrolling through the scanned pages. "My professor wasn't keen on the topic. She said I was clearly trying to work out a past emotional trauma and that it was more suited for the counseling program."

Phillip scoffed. "Are you kidding me, this is brilliant work. Groundbreaking. I particularly enjoy the allusion to Agamemnon. I can only hope you weren't alluding to me."

Maura chuckled, but peered over at him. "You've read all of these?"

"Word for word," he responded, absently scrolling through the titles once again. "Of course, they could be about the evolution of distilled molasses and I would keep them. They're my connection to you." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "All of this to say, of course, that I worry about you."

A sliver of silence passed between them, Maura taking the time to appreciate what she was sure was as close to an emotional confession as she would ever get from her father. "I'm sure Mom worries about you," she pointed out. "I worry about Jane, at times, too, but I see her passion for her work."

"Are we transitioning back into the logical realm now?" Phillip asked, grinning over at her. "If that's the case, then all I can say is that I support you." He raised an exceptive finger. "And don't think I didn't catch the parallelism you utilized to describe your relationship with Jane."

Maura caught his smile. "I thought it was subtle."

Phillip glanced back at the doorway, half expecting to see Jane pop out from inside it. "She seems rather... impulsive."

Maura smiled proudly. "At times."

Phillip shrugged. "She does seem a hell of a lot more genuine than that cad you were seeing before, that I met in Tabora. What was his name?"

"Ian."

"Right, Ian. He couldn't tell the difference between a lunate or a hamate bone if you etched copy of Gray's Anatomy on your forehead."

"You'll like Jane."

Phillip glanced curiously at her. "You want me to like her?"

"Yes."

"You never cared whether I liked Ian. Or anyone else."

"No."

"Well, then. Teach her the difference between a lunate and a hamate and maybe I'll give her a chance."

Maura chuckled, taking the humor for what it was, and leaning into him just slightly. She wasn't looking for approval from either of her parents when it came to who she dated, but she was well aware that Jane, for whatever reason, was unlike anyone else. "She's already seen me autopsy enough bodies, that I think she may already know the difference."

"Well, there you go. A match made in the morgue."

Maura nodded. "It's a match."

The door opened to their left, but rather than Jane's unruly set of curls, Constance's perfectly coiffed head peered out at them. "I figured either the two of you were either seething silently or sitting silently."

"We're fine," Phillip answered. "I've been rationally talked down, don't worry."

"Good, then come back inside so that Jane will stop pacing all over the room. She has the adrenaline of an amateur Pollack painting."

Maura laughed, taking the crutches that her father handed to her. "She is not going to enjoy these next six weeks of recovery," she said, stepping back into the house.

"Six weeks!" Jane called, her feet plodding across the hardwood floor as she made her way toward them. "I thought the human body was supposed to be resilient. What am I supposed to do for six weeks?"

Constance spoke up, her voice taking on the lilting pitch of someone uncertain as to how her words would be received. "Well, you can always plan your visit to Chateau du Monde," she offered, prompting a row of widened eyes to turn and look at her.

Maura spoke first, smiling grandly. "I think that's a wonderful idea," she said, reaching for her mother's hand and giving it a quick squeeze. Her mother would never be one to don an apron and whip up chocolate chip cookies, or simply come over for dinner, but this was a gesture that meant a lot coming from her. "Thank you."

Constance looked over at Angela with a welcoming smile, seemingly warming up to the idea. "Of course, the whole family must come."

Jane's grin was suddenly frozen on her face. "Whaaat?" she asked, glancing back at her mother, whose smile had broadened at the extended invitation. "The whole whaaat?"

"Well, we all must be there," Constance replied, glancing narrowly up at Phillip. "A family vacation of sorts."

"Of sorts..." Jane repeated, the same frozen grin on her face. She loved her family, dearly, but they did not belong at a Southern French chateau. Her mother's expression, though, was cracking with excitement.

"Well, I haven't been to France in..." Angela tossed her hand casually, but she caught Jane's stare. "... ever."

Maura smiled up at Jane, reaching out with a fisted hand and giving her a playful jab. "I'd say six weeks is enough time to learn a few choice French phrases, wouldn't you?" Jane's frozen face was more than amusing, and Maura suspected that her offer of six weeks of cooped up language lessons wasn't helping ease her anxiety.

"Oh, that sounds fabulous," Angela exclaimed. "I haven't brushed up on my French in..." again, she was silenced by the brown daggers Jane tossed her way. "... ever."

"What do you say?" Maura asked, once again returning a pair of inquisitive, hopeful eyes to Jane, for once encouraged by the idea of a vacation with her parents.

Jane glanced down at Maura before letting her eyes roam over Constance, Phillip, and her mother, each of them mirroring her own apprehension in their own way. Her frozen grin relaxed, easing into a comfortable smile, and she nodded. "What else is there to say? 'Oiu'."


We have one more chapter to go... maybe? Anywhoo, review while you can ;) Thank you all for your kind words and for continuing to read!

Thanks Cat and Ren for the early read-throughs :)