A/N: Before we pick up with our ladies, I would like to take this opportunity to give my heartfelt thanks. 'Frustrated' was such an appropriate name for the last chapter...mostly because it frustrated the living daylights out of me. I did the very best I could with it, but was still nervous about posting. When you took the time to let me know that I had successfully depicted what I had hoped would be a humorous scene, it really lifted my spirits. You are my inspiration. Thank you so, so much!

A two hour drive southeast of Bangkok brings you to the city of Pattaya, Thailand.

About ten minutes north of Pattaya is a training camp and gym called Fairtex. This destination was a last minute addition that I made to our travel plans.

We will be flying out of Pattaya to go much further south into the Gulf of Thailand. While researching possible activities to enjoy before we departed, I stumbled across this facility.

Although Jane is mainly struggling with depression, I feel that she harbors much more anger than even she is aware. I wanted this place to be a means of drawing the aggression out of her.

So, I contacted the facility and reserved time with one of the training gurus.

The look on Jane's face when we entered the grounds was priceless. As we pulled up to the sign outside of the main lodge, she turned to me in disbelief.

"Muay Thai? You brought me to a Muay Thai training facility."

I smiled at the mix of astonishment and excitement in her voice.

"Yes. You will be working with one of the camp instructors for the next two days."

At the risk of sounding conceited; coming here was a fantastic idea.

As I understand it, Fairtex used to be a much less developed establishment. Apparently, most of the rooms didn't have air conditioning or even modern mattresses. As it gained popularity, it has developed an almost resort-like quality. However, it still produces some of the most skilled and successful Muay Thai fighters in the world.

We reached this destination yesterday morning. After checking in and getting settled in our simple but clean room, we explored the grounds.

However, we didn't have much leisure time. Jane's first session with her instructor started only a few hours after our arrival.

She changed into workout clothing and we both headed to the designated training area for farang, or so they called foreigners.

I sat in an observation area just to the side of a ring as Jane climbed in and began to stretch, throwing a few kicks and punches to loosen up.

While her focus was on physically and mentally preparing for the next few hours, I took the opportunity to really regard the form of my friend.

I have always been able to admire the physicality of both men and women. I appreciate the symmetry of well toned and defined musculature in both sexes.

I find it attractive in both sexes.

This has never been a source of concern for me. I don't believe that sexuality is as black and white as a great deal of people would like it to be. Although I have never embarked on a relationship with another woman, I tend to think that I fall in love with the person, not the gender.

After all, Jane is undoubtedly female.

And I have fallen for her.

I'm uncertain of when it happened. One day I simply looked at the detective that had befriended me so quickly and my heart began to flutter like a hummingbird's wings.

I don't know what to do with my feelings. Just when I think the moment is right, or that I've gathered enough courage to 'make a move', I completely fall apart. I'm so afraid of scaring her away. The possibility of losing her has always won the battle over my growing desire. However, I'm not sure how much longer caution's reign as champion will continue.

Especially after watching her physical performance.

A sheen of sweat formed on her skin as she grew warmer with her movement. I watched, a little mesmerized, as beads of sweat began to slide down her face and neck and disappear under the neckline of her t-shirt.

I never thought I could be so envious of a drop of perspiration.

Jane has been kickboxing for years, so the movements she ran through looked natural and effortless. Her brow furrowed in concentration and her eyes were fixed on an invisible opponent.

After about fifteen minutes, a man climbed into the ring and introduced himself. He was only a few inches taller than Jane, but he was very well built. When I made the reservations, the receptionist suggested him as a trainer because he spoke English and worked best with foreigners.

He bowed in greeting and the detective returned the gesture. Then, with pleasantries out of the way, they got right to business.

They started off with focus mitts; I assume so that he could get an idea of Jane's technique and accuracy. After a few minutes of adjusting to some of the new strikes he showed her, she fell into a comfortable rhythm and excelled in the exercise.

Next, he took her to an area that had numerous heavy bags hanging from rafters. They continued to work on technique, but it was obvious that the purpose of this was to evaluate Jane's power. She did not disappoint. Every impact rattled the bag's chain and made the beam it hung from creak.

After two hours, we took a break. We ate a light meal and Jane took the opportunity to change into a fresh set of clothes.

When we returned to the ring where we started our day, we found her trainer was covered in protective padding. He wrapped Jane's hands and gave her shin guards to put on.

Professional Thai fighters train to the point that, over time, the nerve endings in their shins die. This is because the shin is utilized as the striking point for kicks. For farang, training without shin guards can be a painful experience.

Once my friend was set, the two began to spar. The trainer would practice advancing on Jane and retreating from her so she could learn how to attack and defend. In each hand, he held a focus mitt that he would hold out in front of himself at will for Jane to strike. The two danced around the ring for over two hours, taking only a few short breaks to rehydrate and towel off.

Jane kept up with the trainer like she'd been doing it all her life. She only had a few awkward moments as she adjusted to some of the new Muay Thai techniques.

One of these techniques being the clinch.

The clinch is a control tactic in which the competitors engage in a collar tie by grabbing each other behind the neck. From this position, a fighter can throw a multitude of strikes including elbows and knees.

It was not Jane's forte. Her arms and legs are long enough that she never really got the hang of it.

Her fighting advantage is her power. She may not be the fastest, but the force behind her strikes are fearsome. To really accentuate this advantage, she needs to keep a certain amount of distance between herself and her competitor.

The detective drew a small crowd as trainers and fighters alike gathered around to evaluate the new female farang who was so determined in her efforts.

After the day's session had ended, I saw two men approach Jane and her instructor. I couldn't hear what was being said, but they kept pointing back towards a group of fighters and motioning toward Jane's ring. They eventually started talking directly to Jane and, although I still couldn't hear, I could see the apprehension in her body language.

She looked between the men as they took turns talking and eventually nodded her head and bowed in farewell as they departed.

After returning to our room that evening, my friend informed me that she had agreed to fight one of the other female farang in the camp...a female who had been training there for almost a month.

These events have caused my current state of panic as I sit ringside this afternoon.

I'm a frazzled wreck as I watch the trainers finish wrapping Jane's hands in preparation for her fight. She'll be wearing protective head gear, gloves, and a mouthpiece, but no shin guards.

I amend my earlier statement. This whole thing was a terrible idea.

How could I have known that she'd agree to fight a competitor that she knew absolutely nothing about? We haven't even seen her...she could be a professional fighter, or an amazon...or a ninja. We have no idea what she's up against.

A man, who I assume is the ring official, comes over and checks Jane's gear before allowing her to climb into the ring.

She takes off her shirt and steps onto the platform in her sports bra and a pair of spandex fighter shorts that we purchased at the camp's gift shop. They have 'Fairtex' printed across the back.

If I wasn't so deathly afraid for this woman's safety, I would have swooned like a damsel before her knight in shining armor. Jane dresses so conservatively most of the time, it's easy to forget that she has a body which appears to have been expertly sculpted from marble.

She does a few laps around the ring and bows to the corner where her trainer stands, ready to coach her through the fight.

A small crowd has gathered around the event and my body continues to hum with nervous energy.

Suddenly, I see the official on the other side of the ring checking the gear of the other competitor.

She has dark hair like Jane, but it's cropped short. Her skin is much lighter than the detective's and she is overall a little bit smaller in stature.

She climbs into the ring and does a few laps of her own before bowing to her trainers and turning around to face my Jane.

The official calls them out to the middle and explains a few rules, then sends them back to their respective corners.

I'm bursting out of my skin with anxiety as a bell rings and the women come back out to face off. They circle each other and throw a few light jabs, trying to judge one another's reach and distance control.

It doesn't take long for the opponent to step in close and throw a few body shots. She's fast. Faster than Jane. But her strikes don't have near the power that Jane's do. Even so, I see my friend grimace and try to put more space between them.

Sensing the detective's preference for distance, the other woman stays as close as she can.

I'm not sure when I started yelling encouragement, but I am suddenly aware of my own voice drowning out those of the other spectators.

Jane is holding her own, but she's obviously getting frustrated. The hits she delivers are powerful and they do a decent amount of damage, but she's only landing about half of what she throws. Her adversary is quick and, even though she isn't as strong, lands more strikes.

Then something bad happens.

This was a terrible, terrible idea.

Jane's counterpart steps in and clinches. She grabs Jane by the back of the neck and begins to jerk her around the platform. As taught, the detective pushes her hips into the embrace.

The smaller woman begins to thrust her knees up, trying to break Jane's posture. It starts to work and her knees begin to come into solid contact with the my friend's toned stomach.

I can hear Jane's coach yelling from their corner.

"BREAK! BREAK!"

Yes. Jane has to break out of this engagement. She's getting pummeled.

In an attempt to separate, the detective pushes her hips back and, consequently, her head angles downward.

I'm on my feet and yelling her name before I'm even able to fully register what happens.

Jane's movement leaves her face unguarded and her opponent takes the opportunity to deliver a sharp elbow to her brow.

Blood begins to pour down the detective's face within seconds of her skin splitting open. She does an incredible job of staying on her feet and keeping some semblance of a fighting stance as she stumbles a few steps back.

It's a good thing.

The smaller woman is a shark and there's blood in the water. She immediately charges, in the hopes of finishing the fight.

And then...something incredible and inspiring and just plain sexy happens. It freezes me in place.

The enemy's aggressive advance is careless. She sees what she hopes is an easy victory and forgets the most basic defense tactics of the sport.

Jane recognizes her chance and takes advantage of it. She swings her leg with all her might and her shin makes bone shattering contact with her opponent's diaphragm.

The noise of the impact sounds something like a cinder block being dropped into a beanbag chair.

Without so much as a grunt, the smaller woman wraps her arms around her midsection and goes down like a tree cut from its trunk.

The ring official begins to count down, giving her a chance to pick herself back up. However, she is too hurt. I'm not sure if she's even taken a breath since being kicked.

Jane has emerged the victor. First round TKO.

She is a fighter. It's something I've always known about her; but to have it demonstrated in such a literal way is breathtaking.

There is a minimal amount of cheering from the surrounding group, but for the most part, everyone just goes back to training.

As is customary, Jane bows to her opponent's corner and then to her own.

Once out of the ring, her instructor congratulates her and says she can come back and train with them any time. He removes her gloves, cuts her wraps, and then he leaves.

She comes to stand in front of me and gives me a look like she's worried I'll be mad. I haven't moved since her amazing show of perseverance.

Blood has started to congeal over the wound on her eyebrow, but a substantial trail of the now sticky red substance has reached the waistband of her fight shorts.

The amount of blood is what eventually snaps me out of my trance.

As gently as I can, I take her chin in one hand and feel around the gash with the fingers of my other.

"Are you dizzy?"

"No."

"Nauseous? Vision blurred? Do you know where you are?"

"No. No."

She smirks.

"Disney Land?"

She chuckles, but stops at the unamused look on my face.

"I'm fine. Really."

I check the movement of her eyes and the dilation of her pupils before I am satisfied that she has not suffered a concussion.

She doesn't complain about my tests. I'm sure she can tell how important it is to me that I conduct them.

The injury on her head doesn't look too terribly deep. I would like to put a few stitches in it, but I suppose a butterfly bandage will suffice.

I take a step back from her and wrap my arms around myself. I lift my hand and wipe furiously at the tears that begin to run down my face.

Jane sighs.

"C'mon, Maur. I'm okay. Better than okay actually. Hey, how badass did I look?"

I'm not in the mood for humor. I know she's okay. It's just, what if...

I barely manage a whisper.

"What if you weren't?"

"What?"

A little bit more forceful this time; a little bit angrier.

"What if you weren't 'okay' Jane? I don't know what I'd do if you..."

My head drops down and I begin to shake it back and forth, trying to dislodge the images of a severely injured Jane Rizzoli from my mind. I've had to see the actual images far too many times, I don't need these 'what if' scenarios running through my head.

The tips of her toes appear in my downcast vision as she steps close to me. I feel two hands rest on my shoulders and then slide slowly, tentatively, up to cradle my neck. The embrace causes my head to lift and she begins stroking the sides of my jaw with her thumbs. She captures my gaze with her beautiful brown eyes.

Sweaty, bruised, and covered in blood, this is the most gorgeous human being that I have ever seen.

All of a sudden, images of a much different Jane Rizzoli fill my imagination. Much more pleasurable ones.

"It'll take a lot more than an elbow to the face to take me away from you. I'm not going anywhere, Maura. Got it?"

Her voice is quiet, but fierce and full of promise.

I can't speak.

She's looking at me with the admiration I have grown used to, but there's something else. Something much, much more. It's like the filter that automatically sensors her affection is absent. I am on the receiving end of the raw emotion that she hides away so often.

I like it.

Nothing else exists in the world as she closes the distance between us. I don't know what I'm expecting to happen, but I let my eyes slide shut in anticipation of it.

I feel my pulse in every part of my body and my nerve endings vibrate with excitement.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

And then...I feel a chaste kiss being placed on my forehead.

I slowly open my eyes to see her pull back and smile at me.

Sadly, the filter is back in place. She drops her hands.

"Let's head back to the room. I need a shower."

I give her the best smile I can muster. I feel like I've just missed out on the most amazing opportunity.

"We're stopping by the medical station first. That laceration needs to be properly cleaned and bandaged."

She laughs and it is relaxed and happy.

"Yes, dear."

She is strong and resilient.

She is a fighter.

I have always known this about her. And now, I believe she knows it about herself.

A/N: Scenes from this chapter were inspired by the book, 'A Fighters Heart' by Sam Sheridan. If you have any interest in martial arts, I recommend giving it a read. I'm a recreational martial artist. I don't practice Muay Thai, but I have a great appreciation for it. If I have inaccurately described any training/fighting scenarios where this discipline is concerned, I apologize. I hope you enjoyed Jane in all her badass glory! Thank you so much for reading! -SJR