Chapter 9

Jane wove her way through the yellow tape that lined the front walkway of a small, squat house that sat close to the sidewalk, giving her badge number to the uniform that was stationed there with his arms crossed officially over his chest. "Shit," she said, shaking her head at Korsak as she walked towards the body of a man that looked to be in his mid-fifties, judging by the ring of gray hair around his head. Or, what was left of his head, as most if it had been blown away by the gun that lay on the floor beside him.

"Looks like a cut and dry 10-56 by the looks of things," Korsak said. "We'll be in and out."

"That sounds like an assumption," Maura said from behind them as she entered the house, her requisite black field bag hanging from her arm.

"Well, well, if it isn't the assumption-police," Jane said, welcoming her with a smile. "Did this cut into your dinner?"

Maura shook her head, focusing on the body as she carefully stepped around the yellow markers the techs had placed near it. "No," she said, offering nothing more as she bent towards the cadaver, her hands already gloved and ready.

Jane raised her eyebrows at the clipped reply. "Well, how did it go?"

Maura squinted towards the wound. "It went fine," she said, brushing a latex-covered finger over the skin. "This angle looks a bit off."

Jane took a step forward, bending over her shoulder. It simply looked like a self-inflicted bullet wound to her, but Maura was nothing if not thorough. "So, what did you guys talk about?" she asked, glancing over at the medical examiner, deliberately not stepping back from her.

If Maura was nettled by the sudden closeness, she didn't show it, and turned her attention to the back side of the man's head. "You know," she breathed. "This and that."

Jane straightened, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Maura probe the man's head. "Why are you being so mysterious?" she asked. It didn't have anything to do with the corpse in front of them, she was certain. They had certainly talked about more trivial things in front of the dead.

Maura rose from her hunched position.

"This angle is all wrong for a self-inflicted wound," she said, her eyes taking in the whole of the man's body. "And I'm not being evasive," she added. "I just need to process things."

"How is the angle wrong?" Jane asked.

"If this were a self-inflicted wound, you would expect the trajectory of the bullet to have gone upward, but instead the pathway veered downward."

"So you're saying he didn't kill himself?"

"No, I'm saying the angle is not consistent with a self-inflicted wound."

Jane sighed, giving Maura more room to maneuver. If she wanted something conclusive, she'd have to wait, at least until Maura had exhausted her initial examination. She reverted back to Topic Number Two: "Well, what was the conversation like? Did she ask anything about you?"

"She asked me about work, why I became a medical examiner – "she squinted, poking at the wound with a curious finger – "Oh, I can see the caudal middle frontal gyri."

Jane frowned. She didn't usually become queasy at a scene until Maura began getting extracurricular with the science. "I think the reason's pretty obvious," she said, turning her attention to the blood patterns on the back of the chair and the wall. "Ballistics can confirm whether this was done with the gun found at the scene," she said, fingering the weapon that was now bagged and numbered. "Did she give you any insight into her relationship with Doyle? Or why she gave you up?"

Maura glanced briefly up at Korsak, who was busying himself with a uniform in the far corner of the room. "Yes, she did. Things were rough for her, Jane. I felt sorry for her."

Jane's mouth dropped open slightly. "You felt sorry for her?"

Maura rounded back in front of the man, lifting his flannel shirt around his midriff and uncovering an oddly shaped bruise. "I had a visceral, emotional response to her, yes," she replied, clearly frustrated by more than just the body in front of her. "Looks like this just got a lot more complicated."

"I'll say," Jane agreed, her double meaning not lost on the medical examiner.

"I meant the cause of death," Maura clarified, probing at the bruise. "This is a newly formed hematoma, one right over the kidney."

Jane sighed. "Unless that was his Plan A for killing himself, it looks like we might have some foul play going on." She glanced over at Korsak. "All right, we're dusting everything," she said. "So much for cut and dry, ay?"

"It looks like he's been dead less than an hour, which is consistent with the police call, correct?" Maura asked, glancing up at her.

"Yeah," Jane confirmed with a nod. "Look, Maur, with all due respect, I don't think you owe Emily Lawrence any sympathy at all."

Maura fished through her bag. "Jane, I couldn't help but feel bad for everything she's been through. You know she never had any more children? And never married?"

"That doesn't mean her life has been miserable, Maura, step into the twenty-first century." She was attempting to walk a fine line between being supportive and being constructive, which didn't always go well for her. Judging by the grimace on Maura's face, it didn't seem to be going well now, either.

"Well, she asked to see me again before she leaves." Jane saw uncertainty flash briefly through the shorter woman's eyes. "She clearly wants to know who I am. Maybe she wants to be a part of my life."

"Sure," Jane replied, doubt knifing into her. "She's curious. That's great. Really."

Maura looked at her suspiciously over the man's head. "Why are you using that tone?"

"What tone?"

"That tone you use when you don't believe what you're saying."

For someone so completely aloof half the time, Maura could notice a physical cue in a heartbeat. "I don't not believe what I'm saying. I think it's great that you were at ease with her – "

"I wasn't 'at ease' with her, whatever that imprecise term means. My heart rate was increased the entire time, my liver wasn't metabolizing as it should, and my CVT levels were off the charts."

"Is that your way of telling me you were nervous?" Jane clarified. "Because if so, that's understandable."

Maura didn't respond, instead focusing on shifting the body in order to utilize the thermometer she held in her hand. "I liked her," she said. "We had a rapport that I don't have with - " she changed course - "I didn't think she would be so open."

Jane frowned, bending down to her, wanting to put a hand on her back, but conscious of the people milling around her, she kept her hands to herself. "Well, that's good, right?"

"He's been dead for little over an hour," Maura confirmed, ignoring the question and popping the thermometer back in its disposable sleeve. She stood, dropping it haphazardly back in her bag. "I'll see if the van's here yet." She started to turn, but turned back. "She wants to see me again," she said. "I know she regrets how things turned out, Jane. I know she does."

"Maura, I think that's great, I do." She should stop talking, should simply smile and nod and let things be, at least until tomorrow. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up based on one dinner." The hardened expression turned, walking away from her without allowing her to finish, which was probably a good thing, judging by how frequently Jane was inserting her foot into her mouth lately.

"If you're done here, I'll have the body removed to the lab," Maura called stiffly, not bothering to look back. "I can have an official cause of death for you by Friday."

"Strike two, Rizzoli," Jane muttered, her hands hanging uselessly by her sides. She saw Korsak walk over to her, his head bent towards a notepad in his hand. "I think we got most of what we need," he said. He raised his eyebrows toward Maura, who was just stepping out the door, peeling her gloves from her hands. "You really put your foot in your mouth just then."

"No shit," she muttered, but then did a double-take towards him. Her mother had promised not to say a word. "What do you know about it?" she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged noncommittally. "Only what you tell me. But enough to know that your opinion is generally the only one that matters, when it comes to Maura Isles." He nudged her towards the door. "I'll see you early tomorrow morning. Our day tomorrow just got a lot longer."

She retraced Maura's footsteps, catching sight of her about thirty yards ahead, and putting her long legs to good use, caught up with her, calling out her name. It was either Maura's inherent politeness or sheer exhaustion that forced her to at least turn around and look at her. "Look, I'm just trying to look out for you," Jane offered.

"You weren't there, Jane. She was kind, caring, brilliant." Maura diverted her eyes for a moment. "I sat there and couldn't help but see who I could have been."

Sadness pinged its way through Jane. No matter how Emily turned out, Maura would invariably compare her to her own adoptive parents. "That's fine, Maur, but life isn't like Sliding Doors. You can't torture yourself like this."

Maura crossed her arms over her chest, hurt, but defiant. "You know I hate it when you use pop culture references to make a point," she said.

"Fine," Jane said, throwing up her hands. "Look, Maura, you know I couldn't be happier that you finally had dinner with your biological mom. I'm on your team, remember? But I wouldn't be doing my job as your significant-friend-person if I didn't also remind you that she isn't perfect."

Maura's eyes blinked over her. "My significant what?"

"Friend-person."

"Is that what we are?"

Somewhere along the conversation Maura's head had clearly switched gears, but Jane's mind was having trouble following. "I guess." She shrugged. "I don't know. We're just – us." She sighed, putting a hand behind her neck and craning it sideways. The late night, the conversation, the threat of tomorrow's meeting with the FBI, were all taxing more than just her brain.

Maura tipped her head sideways, her eyes darting to Jane's shoulders. "Is your neck bothering you?" she asked, a sudden, clinical concern etched across her brow.

"What? No. A little." Truthfully, it had been killing her for more than a couple of days, but that didn't mean she had to show it.

"Here, let me," Maura said, walking around behind her and placing her hands along the tendons in Jane's shoulders.

"Maura, now's not the time for a massa – OW!" Whatever Maura had done was a far cry from the gentleness of a massage, and Jane felt a sharp pain radiating from a muscle just below her neck. It quickly faded, however, and she felt looser, the tension already leaving her shoulders. "What in the hell did you just do?" she asked, reeling around.

"You had some extra vertebral tension along the posterior longitudinal tendon. Is something stressing you out?"

"What, aside from the guy who just blew his brains out or everything else that's happened over the past three weeks?" Frustration rattled her voice.

Maura shook her head, her eyes pining deeply into Jane's own, and she sighed, knowing that the night would just grow longer if she didn't explain exactly what was bothering her. She had refrained from bringing up the continued investigation into that night, but Maura leaned into her, demanding her to spill. "It's nothing," Jane said with a wave of her hand. "It's just some Feds coming tomorrow to finalize their investigation."

"Into what happened at the fire house?"

She nodded, and Maura shook her head, slightly confused. "I thought that was already finalized," she said. "They got everything they needed from you."

"It's the FBI," Jane replied. "Someone was killed. They're just covering their tracks." Except they were attempting to cover them with her actions, but that was beside the point. She hoped.

"Can't Gabriel fix this? You didn't do anything wrong, Jane."

"Maura, I don't necessarily want to end my night with this." She turned back to the house. "Why don't we just talk tomorrow once this all over?"

"Wait, Jane," Maura said, darting forward and grabbing her arm. "You can choose not to talk to me about this, and that's fine," she said. "But you have to know that I, along with everyone else in that building, knew that you were doing what was required of you that night. That's all."

"Well, I'm sure the FBI will come up with whatever story fits them in a better light," she said, fidgeting with the scar on her palms. "They have conflicting reports on who fired the first shot, apparently." She shrugged. "It's no big deal, Maur, it'll be fine. It's just paperwork and logistics."

"Do I need to give another statement?" Maura asked, bewildered. "I was right there. I saw everything."

"No," Jane replied, shaking her head. "I just really think they want to find out that I was the one that took the first shot, not Gabriel, because it makes them look cleaner. They'll fuck off eventually." She cringed at her choice of words. She must be stressed. She was usually more creative with her vocabulary, especially when she was angry.

"You're still questioning what happened, aren't you?" Maura asked, the corners of her lips tugging downward.

She questioned, dreamed, hallucinated. Name the image, and she had somehow conjured it up in her head, but she still hadn't been able to reconcile that she had fired the bullet that killed Patrick Doyle. She stared at the ground, the toes of her boots shining under the moonlight. "Of course I do." She slumped against the hood of Maura's car, pressing her palms against her thighs. "It's not something you just forget about."

Maura sat next to her, and put an arm around her, rubbing the small of her back. For someone to grow up without any sort of matronly influence, she did have a knack for knowing when to offer comfort. "No, I know," she said softly. "Jane, everything was chaos in that place, but you are a trained, capable cop, and you followed standard procedure. You did what you had to do to protect Agent Dean… yourself… me."

"Yeah," Jane replied, placing her hand on Maura's thigh, appreciating the vindication. "I'm usually pretty good at telling myself that. I'm just not looking forward to rehashing it tomorrow, that's all." She sighed, standing, and gave Maura her best "okay" smile, but she didn't seem to be fooled.

"I'm so sorry we were all there that night," Maura whispered. She cleared her throat. "But no one, me included, blames you for what happened." She paused, swallowing. "What can I do to help?"

"You just did it," Jane said, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. "Come here." She pulled her into a hug, oblivious to the techs milling around in the yard less than thirty feet away. Pressing a kiss on her cheek, she led Maura to the driver's seat. "Go home, get some sleep, and we'll rehash everything in the morning." She leaned into the car window. "And stay away from my mother."

Maura took advantage of the proximity of her lips, pressing a quick kiss against them. "Okay," she said, letting her hand squeeze Jane's own. "Just get some rest." She paused. "And try to sleep on your back, to help with the posterior longitudinal ligament."

"Thank you, Dr. Isles."

As Maura drove off, Jane trudged back to the crime scene, the idea of work the next day exhausting her completely. The FBI and solving a murder: clearly, the week couldn't get any worse.

Maura stepped off the elevator of the Hotel Rodenthe towards the corner penthouse, a room that she knew all too well, if only because her parents preferred it over any other room and board option in Boston. The hotel was small, only three floors, but it treated its guests like royalty and offered a comfortable environment. Comfortable, that is, if one was used to a chateau in Paris.

Her father answered her knock at the door with his usual composed smile. "Come in," he said, as if gesturing in polite company. "Your mother's just getting settled."

Maura nodded. "I see she got her way," she said. "I thought Dr. Ralston was going to keep her until tomorrow."

"Your mother always gets her way," Phillip said, motioning toward the bedroom. "I haven't been able to get her to lie down yet. You'd think the gallery would have spontaneously combusted, as much as she's been on the phone this morning."

His eyes narrowed, but Maura detected the mirth in them. If anything, her parents wanted to slide back to normality, and Constance's desire to do so gave her father comfort more than anything else. She held up a small paper bag. "I brought over some fresh juice," she said. "It's made specifically to balance alkaline in the body."

He took it from her, holding up one of the bottles. "Very green," he said, walking towards the small kitchen off to the side of the room.

"Yes," she echoed, unable to tell whether to smile or frown at the comment. She edged toward the bar, unsure if she should disturb her mother or not.

Phillip kept his eyes averted as he busied himself with the scattering of paperwork that littered the countertop, which seemed to have converted itself into his work station. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, glancing down at his watch. "It's about time for a second cup, I'd say."

Her father always woke before the sun rose, and she distinctly remembered the mornings he was in town when she was a child. She always awoke to the smell of strong, bitter coffee, which overpowered the usual scent of her mother's black tea. "No," she said, declining the offer. "Besides, I think your idea of coffee is my idea of engine oil."

He chuckled, seemingly pleasantly surprised by her levity. "I would imagine you could more than likely run your Prius off of it, yes."

Their lightheartedness idled into silence, and Maura took in the wide, light-tinted windows that edged the front of the living area. "Does Emily have a room here?" she asked, her biological mother's name sticking slightly to her tongue.

Phillip glanced up from his paperwork. "No," he replied. "I believe she's staying at the Hilton." He paused, shuffling a few papers. "How was dinner?"

"Fine," she offered, unsurprised by the casualness with which he asked the question. Her father's demeanor had always been smooth, as if polished over to mask any nicks or uncertainties. "We're quite similar." She quickly qualified her statement. "Physically, I mean."

He studied her. "You both have the same septumal structure, that's true." His anthropological language was one facet of his life that connected them, and she nodded. "But your demeanors couldn't be more different."

She looked up at him. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, for one, you're immensely more sensible. More level-headed."

Nurture descriptors. She sighed, fidgeting with her hands for a moment before stuffing them into her lap. She turned at the sound of her mother's voice, which was weaker than usual, but still with its usual European lilt.

"Maura, darling, it's so nice to see you outside of that drab hospital room." Her mother wheeled towards her, still in a standard-issue wheelchair, the lower portion of her left leg in a white, bulky cast that was only half-covered by the loose-fitting pants she wore. "Would you like some tea?"

Once again, Maura declined the offer. "I can't stay too long," she said, her mind already drifting toward Jane and the uncomfortable, not to mention unneeded and unfair meeting she was being subjected to.

Her father's cell phone ring, a clipped rendition of Dvorak's 9th Symphony, trilled into the air, and he moved quickly to answer it, giving a polite nod of his head as he excused himself to the bedroom. Constance looked up at Maura, and motioned her over to the couch, which was considerably more eye level than the current bar stool on which she was perched. "Come sit," she said, her bright eyes still somewhat cloudy from the drugs.

Maura sat beside her mother's chair, the bright light accenting the hospital-induced pallor of her skin. Fortunately, the juice she had brought had a healthy dose of Vitamin D. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Constance smiled. "I'm feeling behind," she offered. "The gallery is in the midst of setting up for a new show." She sighed off the question. "I'm more curious as to how you're doing. Emily says she very much enjoyed dinner with you."

Maura tried to judge the glint in her mother's eye, wanting to detect some sort of worry, but Constance was exceptionally good at masking herself, and she was left with no definitive emotion. "I'm glad I got to meet her," she said finally, keeping her voice even.

Constance nodded. "Of course." Glancing out the window, she swallowed. "I hope she was able to answer some of your questions." Hesitation fluttered across her chin. "I haven't done the best job of that, I know."

"You didn't adopt me until I was five," Maura stated. It wasn't a question, but it required confirmation nonetheless.

"No," Constance said with a shake of her head.

"Did you really want to adopt me?" she asked.

"Darling, yes," Constance said, leaning over, but refraining from reaching out to her. "Your father and I wanted to keep you safe, and happy, and away from anything that could – anything that would hurt you."

"Is that why you kept all the records closed? Everything? So that I wouldn't find my way to Emily or Patrick Doyle?"

Constance's eyes were confused for a moment. "We didn't make that decision, Maura. Patrick and Emily ordered the records sealed. I only kept in contact with Patrick throughout the years because he asked me to. And after awhile, I could see that it was the only thing that lent him some sort of happiness – that tangential connection to you."

"What about Emily? She asked you to keep in touch with her, too? You sent her letters."

Constance's eyes saddened. "I sent her letters, yes." There was something left unsaid, something that she tucked just under her tongue, and for some reason it angered Maura. "I think I will make some tea," Constance said, readying her hands along the wheels of her chair. Whatever courage had prompted her to begin their conversation had quickly disappeared, and Maura felt a wave of frustration run through her.

"I'll get it," she offered, motioning for her mother to stay put. She eyed her mother, who swallowed, pointing her eyes towards the rectangled light of the window.

"Maura – "

Her mother's voice was cut short by a knock at the door, and Maura walked over, opening it, expecting the concierge or a hotel employee. But her mouth dropped open and her heart rate quickened as she glimpsed Emily standing in front of her.

Emily seemed just as surprised to see her, fumbling the bag in her hands. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't expect to see you." She held up a paper grocery bag. "I told Phillip I would drop off a few things."

Maura backed away from the door, darting a glance toward Constance, whose shoulders stiffened, but she maintained her polite, regal air. "Come in, Emily," she said with a cordial wave of her hand. "Maura was just putting on some tea."

Emily placed a hand on the small of Maura's back as she passed, giving her an easy smile and walked towards Constance, leaning over and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "I talked with Dr. Ralston today over the phone. We're both concerned about the possibility of any pressure on the brain. If you feel even the slightest headache, let him know right away, okay?"

"Both of you, always the doctors," Constance said with a frozen smile.

Emily darted a glance over her shoulder, placing the bag onto the counter. "I brought you some juice," she said. "You'll need much more iron and Vitamin K after that hospital stay – " her voice cut off as she opened the refrigerator door, glimpsing the bottles of green juice that Phillip had already stowed. "Well," she said with a grin. "It looks like you have enough juice to last you through Boston's next snowstorm." Winking at Maura, she grabbed the tea kettle from the tiny, two-burner stove.

"Tea for three?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "I see Phillip's already ingested his morning tar," she said with a glance at the coffee mug that sat next to his binders.

Watching Emily in awe, Maura darted a glance at her mother, who was staring at both of them in turn, a cold, protectiveness filming her eyes. "No," she replied, shaking her head, breaking the momentary spell. "I'm on my way into work."

She may have detected relief in Emily's shoulders, a slight slumping of her shoulders, but she hid whatever she was feeling behind a quick smile. "Well, then," she replied. "I guess we can't compete with work." She rounded the corner, giving Maura a quick half-shoulder hug. "Enjoy ruminating with the dead today."

Maura exhaled a smile, but it faded as she felt her mother's eyes on her back. Rarely had they shared a morgue joke, or any joke at all, and guilt coursed through her, but only for a moment. She walked towards her mother, leaning over and giving her their requisite kiss on the cheek, the action suddenly unsatisfying after Emily's warm embrace. But she did feel Constance take her hand, giving it a desperate, sudden squeeze. "Come by again when you can," she said.

"Of course," Maura assured her with her usual smile. Grabbing her purse, she waved, unable to look back at either woman as she walked towards the door, only exhaling once she was back in the hallway.

She may not have been having fun with the dead, but the autopsy that awaited Maura offered some form of welcome reprieve, both from thoughts of her mother and from her concerns about Jane. As the hours ticked away with no word from the detective, she became more and more distracted, finally venturing up to the precinct. It was only after Frost let her know that Jane had left, fuming but otherwise uncommunicative, that had led Maura's high-heeled Jimmy Choos down the hallway toward a third-floor conference room that she had only been in once, for a particularly egregious explanation about an exhumed corpse.

But now, her footsteps were buoyed by a protective, forceful anger. She rapped against the door, and smiled politely at Korsak, whose bushy eyebrows raised so high they were underneath his hair. "Dr. Isles?" he said, perplexed by her presence.

"May I have a word?" she asked.

He glanced behind him, and nodded quickly, taking a step outside, but Maura shook her head, brushing past him. "I meant, with all of you," she clarified, taking in the three men that ogled her from the table. Her white coat didn't quite mesh with their rumpled suits, but it was the only part of her wardrobe that gave her some authority.

She recognized a couple of the men, and he at least nodded at her, even if his mouth hung open in blatant surprise. "Good morning," she said with a polite smile. "I'm Dr. Maura Isles, biological daughter of Patrick Doyle."

"Uh, Dr. Isles," Korsak said, clearly unsure of how to deal with her interruption. She turned toward him, giving him a promising smile.

"This won't take very long," she said. "I just wanted to make sure that you all had reviewed the autopsy reports and the witness statements accurately, as they will clearly demonstrate that Detective Rizzoli a shot a9mm standard-issue bullet into Patrick Doyle's upper left shoulder, a non-lethal maneuver that is taught specifically to incapacitate an armed perpetrator. You'll also recall that Patrick Doyle fired the first shot towards FBI Agent Gabriel Dean, who returned fire immediately. It was only after Patrick Doyle fired his second shot, incapacitating your Agent, that Detective Rizzoli fired her weapon."

"Dr. Isles," one of the men began, but she held up a finger at him.

"If you studied the autopsy results, which I believe your forensic pathologist, who I hold in quite high esteem, performed, you will see that Patrick Doyle did not die from a gunshot wound, but from a fractured spine, which severed the Occipital nerve that effectively rendered him brain dead." She felt her throat threaten to close up on her, but she railed on, intent on finishing. "All conclusive results point to the fact that Detective Rizzoli was simply doing her job."

"That's not our only question here," the same man piped up, but again she silenced him with a raise of her finger.

"You'll also note, if you've done your local research, that The Boston Globe has reported extensively on this incident, and that this story alone is responsible for a twelve percent increase in readership over the month of last June. I'm more than certain that they would be willing to reignite the story if they heard that a federal investigative team was using federal taxpayer dollars attempting to incriminate a storied local policewoman, who, I might mention, was also the recipient of the Boston Police Department's Medal ofHonor this past fall."

The room was silent, the men exchanging uncomfortable glances at one another. One of them cleared his throat.

"I hope I didn't take up too much of your time," she said with a saccharine smile. "Good day, gentlemen." She gave them a small nod and turned, patting a stunned Korsak on his shoulder as she exited, closing the door behind her.

It was only when she slammed her way into the women's restroom that she finally exhaled, giving a cross between a yelp and a sigh, leaning over and splashing cold water on her face for the second time that week. This time, however, her face was red from anger, rather than pale with fear, and she couldn't help but give a proud smile at her reflection.

Jane slammed open the doors to the precinct, the beer she'd treated herself to in the middle of the day only slightly calming her nerves, if not her anger. She had veered straight past Frost's curious glance after the feds had asked dismissed her, heading straight for The Dirty Robber. How dare they dismiss her? What, so they could make whatever unfair decision they were going to make behind her back?

She sighed, allowing her irritability to overrule her anxiety. Korsak wasn't going to hang her out to dry, but she wasn't looking forward to going back to her desk, and hoped that most of her fellow detectives were still at lunch.

Of course, nothing else was going her way that week, so she wasn't surprised to hear Frost and Korsak's voices carry toward her as she stomped down the hallway.

"You're telling me Dr. Isles went gangster on a roomful of feds?" Frost asked.

"She went off on them like she was Tony Soprano," Korsak responded with a chuckle. "The woman's definitely Patrick Doyle's daughter, that's for damn sure."

Jane walked into the precinct, her brow arched, as she pointed to both of them in turn. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

Frost grinned up at her, and motioned at Korsak. "Ask your boss," he said.

"I'm not in the mood for this," she said, turning toward the older detective, an expectant look hardening her jaw.

"Well, first off," Korsak replied, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "The investigation's over. The feds are packing up and closing out. And your hide is safe."

It took a moment for the words to settle in, the relief exiting her chest in an audible sigh, and she for the first time that day. Still, she was curious. "Wait, what's this about Maura?" she asked, trying to keep the protectiveness out of her voice, but as usual not doing a great job.

"Well," Korsak said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Turns out your girlfriend's got bigger balls than most of the men in this building." He gave Frost a colluding glance.

"Most of the men in this building," Frost emphasized.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jane reiterated, her patience thinning.

Korsak laughed. "Maura bamboozled the meeting this morning after you left. Barged in and started railing on the agents, tossing out autopsy and ballistics facts like she does it for a living." He cleared his throat. "Which, she does, I guess, do for a living. The point is, she had your back in there, Jane. She even threatened to go to the press if they didn't drop the investigation."

"Zing!" Frost called, tossing his pencil up in the air. "Your girlfriend's an OG, Jane."

"Wait, what?" Jane asked with a shake of her head, still attempting to process, but one word made her snap her head up. "What do you mean, 'girlfriend'?

"Isn't that what you call it?" Korsak asked innocently. "A girl that's your friend?"

"Right," Frost said, attempting to cover up a grin. "It's just a term, Jane."

She smacked Korsak on the shoulder for the hell of it. "You two better keep your mouth shut," she said, a warning in her voice that she was sure the two of them understood. "I'm going to get this straight from the source."

"Wait, wait," Korsak said, sifting through his desk drawer. "I got something for her. Man to man," he said with another chuckle.

"You guys are chauvinistic imbeciles," Jane sighed, but whatever Maura had managed to do, she couldn't help but harbor a little bit of pride for her. But it was the flowering of something else, of feeling quite distinctly that she wasn't alone anymore, that brought a smile to her face.

You all are being so awesome about reviewing, which I really appreciate. The fandom is only as fun as readers make it, and you all are so much fun. So thank you for the feedback, and please continue!

And the quick updates couldn't come without a quick editor: Renconteur. *fist bump*