The dead girl's name is Rebecca Milson. Mulaney (Or Dugan) relieve the homeless woman of the purloined coat, and the wallet and ID still zipped into the inside pocket.

She is also, much to Korsak's dismay and Jane's delight, the owner of the burned out condominium that is Frankie and Brisby's arson case.

The Thursday after finding out Rebecca's identity finds all four of them sitting around a table in the conference room, pouring over the information on hand.

"It's too similar to the Kohut case to be a coincidence," Frost says. "There's no way."

"No way," Brisby echoes. "I totally agree."

Jane leans back in her chair. "But why Rebecca?" she asks the room at large. "I mean, unless that apartment wiped out an extremely large secret, there is absolutely no connection."

"Maybe...to throw us off?" Brisby offers.

"It's working," Frankie snorts. "Maybe we just want it to be connected," he says hesitantly.

He is talking directly to Jane, but Frost answers for her.

"No. The burning temperature, the accelerant used. This is the same guy."

"Or a copy cat trying to cover up his motive," Frankie counters. "I'm just saying," he continues, seeing the look on the rest of their faces, "Shura - or Sofiya - was possibly a woman hiding the decades old murder of her parents. Rebecca Milson is an American born caterer with poor credit and a catering business five months from bankruptcy. There is no. connection."

For a moment there is a prickly silence. Jane feels responsible for both Frost and Brisby's belief in the case's connection, and she is just about to speak up, when a soft knock makes them all turn.

Maura is standing in the door in her scrubs, her hair pulled back.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she says, brandishing a manila folder. "Detective Korsak said that you four might appreciate some additional information."

Brisby jumps to his feet, his knees hitting the underside of the table with a painful sounding thunk.

"Dr. Isles!" he says, stumbling away from the table and gesturing at the chair he's just vacated. "Please! Sit!"

Maura smiles, only the quirk of an eyebrow giving away her amusement. "Thank you, Andrew," she says gently. "I'm not staying. I just wanted to drop these off."

She holds out the folder to him, and for a moment he just stares at it as though he doesn't understand that it's for him. And then, when it's clear that no one else is going to jump up and take the folder, Brisby reaches for it with wide eyed reverence.

"Oh!" He says. "Thank you!" he opens the folder tenderly, and takes a long time scanning the preliminary report.

"Do you have any questions, Detective?" Maura asks after a moment.

Brisby jumps. "Oh! No! This is...the most meticulous report I've seen in a long time!"

Maura beams at him, a genuine smile of gratitude for the praise, and Jane has to admit that Frost has done a good thing, bringing the rookie into their circle.

"Well, you're in the big leagues now, Detective. Get used to it."

Brisby flushes down into his collar. "Yes ma'am," he says. "I m-mean Doctor!"

Maura gives a quick smile to the rest of the group, her eyes lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Jane, and then she turns and heads back the way she's come.

…

It is two days later that Brisby approaches Jane about a lead.

"I cross referenced all her documented catering attendees," he says, handing her a stack of pages. "And I listed out any repeat guests, looking for anomalies."

Jane blinks at the lines of notes and highlighted lines. "Anomalies?"

"People at events they shouldn't be at. CEOs at picnics, low level employees at business dinners, that sort of thing."

"And?"

"I found something," Brisby says nervously. "I mean…" he bounces on the balls of his feet. "I think."

Jane scans the lines of work again, not to check his comparisons, but to look at his meticulous handwriting, and the color coded stripes of names.

"You did all of this yourself, Bris?" she asks after a moment.

Brisby blinks confusedly before answering. "Yes, ma'am," he says. "Most of it off the clock. I didn't slack on my other duties or anything."

"No, that's not why I'm...woah!" Jane cuts her sentence short as she flips the page and sees the name of the person who has appeared thirteen times at Rebecca Milson's catering event.

"Tucker Franklin?"

Brisby nods. "Yeah," he breathes.

"No way. The hockey player?" Jane looks up at him. "The guy who just got moved up like….six months ago?"

Brisby nods again. "Yeah," he says. "And if you look up his bio on any major search engine, you'll see it's public knowledge that he played for four years of professional hockey in a foreign league."

"Which one?" Jane asks, because she wants him to have the reveal he's hoping for.

"Russia!" Brisby cries. "That's the connection."

Jane pulls in a breath. "Well," she begins, watching his face fall. "It's not nothing."

Remember yesterday, how Frankie said that Rebecca Milson's catering company was months away from bankruptcy?"

Jane nods.

"Well, that got me thinking. The coat that officer Dugan recovered costs almost a grand. And if Franklin was attending these events where she was catering, they weren't just small, no money gigs."

"You know a lot about catering?" Jane asks. It is a genuine question, but Brisby looks stung.

"Yeah," he mumbles after a second. "I guess."

Jane frowns. "I didn't mean anything by it," she says, feeling unaccountably awkward. "I don't know shit about any of that stuff." She pauses, but Brisby doesn't answer.

"So what's your theory," She says after another beat of silence.

"Oh!" some of the excitement comes back to the young man's expression. "They're lovers!"
Jane bites back the immediate retort. "Who?" she asks instead.

"Franklin and Milson! What if Frankie's theory is right, and Tucker Franklin used the other arson as a cover to get rid of his lover?"

Jane has never wanted to simultaneously cradle, and punch someone who is not related to her.

"I think it's a stretch," she says finally. She looks back down at his notes in her hands. "But I don't think this was a wash. There's something here, and this is the beginning of it."

"Haha," Brisby says harshly. He's looking at the floor, his mouth set in a straight line. Jane thinks he looks like Levi, when the older boy doesn't want to admit he has emotions.

"I mean it," she says. And when he still won't meet her eye, "Andrew, I mean it. This is really good work."

Brisby searches her face for the lie, and Jane can see the difficult training years, piled on top of a lifetime of bullying. She can see it all there, like he's given her a book of his life.

"Seriously?" he asks her, still doubtful, but now on the brink of excitement.

"Seriously. Thirteen times isn't a coincidence. And it's the best, most concrete lead we've got. So I say we take it to Korsak."

For a moment, Jane thinks that the detective is going to shout with joy. Instead, he hugs her.

She thinks a shout would have been less embarrassing.

"Detective Rizzoli, you are...you are just...the...you...everyone always said that you were, but I never imagined...so right…"

Jane puts her hands on Andrew's shoulders, and pushes him off of her gently. She can hear the wind whistling through his nose as he pulls in excited breaths.

"Bris," She says, making sure that her tone will keep the barb gentle. "I'm taken. Remember?"

This time, Brisby laughs.

…

…

Dear Jane,

Thanks for your last letter, and thank Maura for the cookies. I shared them with everyone on my hall, and because of her note, the night nurse let me keep some in my room after dinner. The girl who lives next door to me, Bex, said it wasn't fair, but the other kids told her to lay off. They told me she was jealous, and I couldn't figure out what they might be jealous of, until I realized...It's you guys. I've never had anyone be so nice to me, or care about how I'm doing or any of it.

It means a lot to me.

Isabelle told me about what's going on with you and your dad. I hope it's ok that she told me. I don't want you to think I'm being nosy or anything. She told me how he's sick and about Tommy taking TJ and Noah over there. I got so mad thinking about it. I don't understand why he doesn't see all the amazing things you did for him, or why he doesn't care I guess. I know you don't need my opinion and you probably don't even want it, but...I don't think you have to forgive your dad. In my therapy yesterday, my therapist said that I don't have to forgive my mom for the things she did. And she said I can love my brother for trying to protect me, even if he did it the wrong way. I think you can love your mom for trying to protect you...even if she's late.

My therapist is okay. I'm trying to talk to her, like you said, and she's not as dumb as I thought, so thanks. Maura sent me this really cool stone with a groove in the middle where I can put my thumb. She told me it would help keep me grounded in group, and it really does. She says you gave it to her a long time ago.

I hope Isabelle and I have a life like the one you made with Maura. It's the only thing I want in the world.

I'm reading the book that Levi sent. It's really good, have you read it? American War. At one point, someone asks the main character about the size of her vengeance, and that got me thinking. I didn't do what I did on purpose. Even though I knew she took and hurt those boys, even though she wasn't always good to me...my vengeance never would be so big as that. It might destroy me if I let it.

You said it's always good to end pen pal letters with a question. Here's mine.

When it comes to your dad, your brother...What's the size of your vengeance, Jane?

Mkenz Brown

As she finishes her second reading of McKenzie's letter, Jane smiles faintly. She folds the letter back along its worn creases, thinking again that her daughter's girlfriend is too wise and too naive for the world she lives in. She's sliding the envelope back into her pocket, she hears the front door open, followed quickly by the sound of her youngest and eldest children.

"Why can't I come with you and Nadia to the movies," Noah is whining as they appear in the kitchen.

Levi pulls open the refrigerator and sticks his upper body inside, as if all the good food is hidden on a back shelf that only he knows about.

"Because the movie's rated PG-13," he says, sounding irritated, "and Nadia and I are going on a date. No siblings allowed."

Noah turns away from his brother, catching sight of his mother at the dining room table.

"Hi Mama!" he says coming to hug her. "You said you wouldn't be home for dinner."

"Well, good news!" Jane says sarcastically. "Your mama's boss is a jerk, so I'm home early today."

Noah giggles, too used to his mother's griping to take any insult about Korsak seriously.

"What'd he do?" Levi asks, mouth full of leftover chicken pot pie.

"Oh," Jane shrugs. "I had a theory at work, and he's refusing to let me follow up on it because the possible suspect is famous."

"That is not why," a voice calls from the hall, and a moment later, Maura appears in the kitchen, trailed by the twins.

"It is," Jane insists. "If Franklin were just some average joe schmoe off the street, Frost and I would be out questioning him right now."

"Uhm," Sofia interjects, eyeing her older brother. "When was the last time we had pot pie."

Everyone is silent for a moment, trying to remember, and then Levi turns and spits his mouthful into the sink.

Maura rolls her eyes as the rest of them laugh.

"Honestly, Maura," Jane says, picking up where she left off. "Tucker Franklin is the only person we haven't talked to about the victim. And the Russia thing isn't nothing."

"You know how I feel about double negatives," Maura says, shooing Levi away from his second attempt to raid the fridge. "Will you be home for dinner, Lee?"

"Yeah, the movie's at 2:15, so I shouldn't be later than 5."

Maura nods. "Don't forget to text if that changes, please."

Jane huffs. "Maura, you said yourself that the arson had to be done by the same arsonist."

"I said no such thing," Maura says, spinning to face Jane. "I said it was unlikely we were looking at separate events, given the timeline, and similarities between the fires."

"Okay. So, do you admit that the guy who was at 13 of Rebecca Milson's 24 catering jobs, who also spent a good deal of time in Russia, should be at least on the suspect list?"

All the children are watching the conversation as though it is a tennis match.

"Mommy," Sofia whispers quietly to Isabelle.

"In your dreams," Jane hears her whisper back.

"It could be a coincidence," Maura says. "Franklin is a hockey player. He's traveled widely, and Russia is just one of many places he's been.

"But it's not a coincidence in this instance, Maura, you can't argue it. There are more than three coincidences, which mean that it's actually something."

Maura turns to the cabinet to get the cookbook down, and everyone in the kitchen waits, barely breathing.

"Fine," Maura says grudgingly. "But the point is moot, Jane, because your Sergeant told you to leave it."

The room seems to exhale as one.

"Oh man!" Noah says, slumping in his seat. "I always pick wrong."

"So does Sofia," Isabelle says, giggling as her twin pushes her. "It was Ma from the beginning, no question. Right Lee?"

Levi nods from the breakfast bar. "Yeah. You two need to bone up on that book mommy gave us last Christmas on body language."

"You know," Maura points a wooden spoon around at all of her children in turn. "Some might say that choosing sides on your parent's arguments was slightly uncouth."

Everyone laughs.

"You only comment on us doing it when you lose," Noah points out.

Jane ruffles her son's hair, chuckling. "This one," she says. "This one is my favorite."

…

They don't discuss Rebecca Milson or the Kohuts again until they are getting into bed that evening. Maura had started texting back and forth with someone right after dinner, and she does so up until the moment they are climbing into bed.

"Should I be worried?" Jane teases, reaching to turn off her light.

"No," Maura says with a little smirk. "You should be grateful. You know that Fundraising event this Friday? The one I was going to take my mother to?"

Jane nods, yawning. "Is it cancelled?"

"Better," Maura says. "You're coming with me!"
Jane sits upright to look at her wife, scandalized. "What?" she screeches. "Maura, no. I thought you were taking your mother because she's actually good at schmoozing. You want money for medical research, you should take someone who can spell both of those words!"

Maura's triumphant look fades into one of consternation. "I don't like jokes where you downplay your intelligence, sweetheart," she says. "And I'm bringing you instead of Constance because there's someone on the guest that I think you'd be interested to talk to."

Jane slumps back into her pillow. "I'll have to wear a dress," she whines. "And heels. You know I can't do anything in heels."

"Jane."

"And I bet that there's gonna be those delicious mini quiches there, and dresses never have pockets."

"Jane."

"Although, if you brought your Berkin-"

"Jane Rizzoli. Stop planning your hors d'oeuvre heist, and listen to me please."

"Sorry," Jane says, sighing heavily. "Who's going to be there, Maura?"

"Professional hockey player Tucker Franklin is the guest of honor," Maura says, and the smirk is back. "I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to an enthusiastic fan."

Oh yes, the smirk is back full force.

Jane doesn't even care that it's at her expense. She wiggles closer, draping an arm around her wife's waist.

"Did I ever tell you how absolutely stunning I think you are?" she asks, nuzzling into Maura's neck.

"Mmmm. You've neglected to mention that recently."
"And sexy, and smart. And God, such a good cook."

And Maura laughs, letting Jane pull her closer and kiss the shell of her ear. "This is the only assist I'm giving you," she says, closing her eyes. "I'm bringing a clutch. You're on your own with the quiches."

…..

…..

The worst thing about the hospital for Jane is the smell. She is sure that Maura could tell her all about the olfactory trigger that links the smell of sterility and antiseptic to some of the most traumatic moments in her life, but right now, Maura is not here.

She is alone, in the hospital, about to see her dying father.

"Get TJ. Go home," she murmurs under her breath. Her pumps make sharp click clacks with each step, and again, she wishes that she'd had a change of clothes in her car as usual. She doesn't want to see her father when she's dressed in her normal clothes, and she certainly doesn't want to see him now, with her tight dress and nowhere to put her hands.

"Get TJ. Go home."

"Excuse me?" The nurse at the station leading to the Oncology ward is looking at her with a sympathetic smile. "Did you say something? Can I help you?"

"Rizzoli," she says, clearing her throat. "Francesco."

The nurse does a miniscule double, and then answers without looking back down at her clipboard. "Room 1220. Your mother and brother have already arrived."

She walks slowly down the hallway, trying to stop her palms from sweating.

She thinks suddenly of McKenzie's last letter, of the question that she's still not sure she knows how to answer.

What is the size of your vengeance, Jane?

She doesn't know. She isn't sure that she will ever know exactly what it is, but she knows it does not extend to leaving a little boy stranded in a hospital when he has called her to come get him.

She has made a promise, and she intends to keep it.

The room is private, a coveted single on a floor where most are made to share, and as Jane enters, Angela looks up from an armchair pulled up to the bed.

Tommy is standing by the window, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and sitting at the little desk in the corner, eyes glued to the screen of his cell phone, is TJ.

Jane grits her teeth as Angela jumps to her feet.

"You came!" she says softly. "You came!"

She lets her mother hug her. "I came for TJ," she says. "He called me to come take him home."

"That's fine, that's fine," Angela says, putting a hand to Jane's cheek. She seems unable to speak without repeating herself. "He's asleep. Just sleeping off some of the meds they gave him when they admitted him. But he should be coming around any time now."
Jane looks to where Tommy is standing by the window. He is looking at the bed, his face full of barely disguised anticipation.

She wants to punch him in the gut, just so that it will make another expression appear on his face.

She wants to leave.

Get TJ. Go home.

"I'm not staying," she says. "I just came to get TJ. He doesn't want to be here anymore."

As if she's said the magic words, TJ jumps down from the chair and walks toward her. He gives her a weak smile.

Jane looks up at her brother and finds herself looking directly into his eyes. She wants to ask him if he remembers the pillowcase full of rice that he filled to simulate the size and fragility of his newborn son. She wants to ask if he remembers the way Sofia called him "Unc" from the very first moment she met him.

He doesn't speak, or stop his son from leaving, and TJ is halfway across the little room when a different, deep and scratchy voice protests.

"Where you off to, little boy?"

Frank is awake. Jane knows he can't see her, hidden as she is by the jut of the bathroom wall, and she is glad. The surprise of his voice makes her shudder.

"Um," TJ looks at Jane briefly, and then swings his gaze around to his grandfather. "Goin with Aunt Jane," he says hesitantly. Jane can tell that he's considered lying, and she loves him for it.

"I got a class tomorrow morning. And I don't want to miss it."

Frank coughs before he answers, and the sound is like nails along a gravel road. Jane comes out in goosebumps.

"You got school on a Saturday?" Frank wheezes. "You're not a retard are you?"

Tommy twitches. Just a slight movement of his shoulders. "He's not, Pop," he says roughly. "He's smart. He's taking spanish at the Y with his cousin. He likes the languages."

"Smart, hmmm," Frank says. "Lucky break, son."

This is not a compliment. Jane gestures to TJ. "C'mon, hon," she says softly. "Let's go."

"Now hold on, just one moment," Frank calls, his voice getting a little louder. "You drove all the way down here. You might as well come around the corner and see your old man."

Jane grits her teeth until her jaw hurts, and then she steps into the middle of the room, and looks around at the bed.

Her father looks pale, and shrunken, and bald...and old.

"I see an old man," she says, unable to help herself. "But not mine."

Tommy makes a noise. "C'mon Jay-" he begins, but Frank waves him off.

"You bring Sofia?"

"No," Jane says simply. "She doesn't want to see you."

"You mean you banned her from it, same as Noah."

"I banned them all from it," Jane concedes, "but she wouldn't want to see you anyway."

"Course," Frank nods, as though wisdom has been gifted to him as a consolation prize for his illness. "You only ever told her about the bad times."

Jane squeezes her left palm between the index finger and thumb of her right hand, directly over the scar, hard enough to make it hurt.

"I don't think the good times count for much when they were as few and far between as they were," she says. She beckons TJ again. "Let's go, Teej," she says. "You ready?"

TJ nods. He grabs his jacket off of the end of his grandfather's bed. "Bye Grampa Frank," he mumbles.

"I'm dying, Jane," Frank calls as she turns away. "I'm gonna be gone soon. Months! This is how you want to end it?"

Angela follows them into the hall. She takes her daughter's arm to hold her back, though she looks a little scared by the expression on Jane's face.

"I think...you should talk to him," she says after a moment of hesitation. "I think...it would help."

Jane looks down at TJ. "Will you wait by the nurses station for a second?" she asks him.

He doesn't even argue, just turns and walks away.

Jane turns back to her mother. "You tell Tommy that that man was never a father to us."

"Jane," Angela begins.

"No," Jane cuts her off. "You tell him that Frank Senior did not give a damn about us, because he couldn't get sober and treat his kids right. Not while they were kids."

Jane pulls her arm from her mother's grasp. "But Tommy did. He did it. For his nieces, and his son. He got and stayed sober, and so that makes him ten times the father that Frank ever was. And that will be true whether or not Frank says it before he dies."

And with that, Jane turns and walks down the hall. TJ looks up at her as she approaches, and when she is close enough, he offers her his hand, which she takes gratefully.

"Were you at a party?" He asks her, taking in her appearance.

"A fundraiser," she says with a little smile. "Yeah."

"Oh," TJ says. "I'm sorry."

"No way," Jane says. "It was boring. The famous guy I was there to see was super jerky and kind of smarmy. And there was no way to smuggle out the shrimp cocktail."

TJ frowns. "Was Maura with you?" he asks. "Did she have her Burberry?"

Jane laughs, a surprised, genuine peal of laughter. She gestures that he should press the button for the elevator.

"You are my favorite," she says.

TJ beams.

…

…

Maura is not home when Jane gets there.

She makes sure TJ gets settled in Noah's room, and then goes to her own room, texting Maura on the way.

Are you planning on coming home at all? :)

When she comes back from washing her face and brushing her teeth, there is no answer.

If you're still talking wine with that Adams guy, wrap it up. We have to take TJ and Noah to Spanish, and Sofia and Isabelle to Soccer. Double duty.

There is still no answer when she is finished peeling herself out of her dress. Jane pulls on her pajama bottoms, toying with the idea of worry.

But no. When she'd left, Maura was having a lovely time, talking some poor doctor's ear off at the bar, drinking her favorite wine, and frowning at the number of shrimp Jane was eating.

I'm going to bed, love. If you're running away with Adams, please wait until tomorrow to come for your things.

Jane chuckles at her own joke, and then reaches to turn off the light.

She is afraid at first that she won't be able to sleep, that thoughts of her father, and waiting for Maura will keep her up. But she slips into unconsciousness without much trouble, and the next thing she knows, the alarm clock is blaring, and the early morning sun is streaming through the window.

Jane swats the alarm clock until is shuts off, and then rolls over to face her wife, the smart quip about her late night already on the tip of her tongue.

Maura isn't there.