A/N: This one's short, but I always felt a scene with these two would be interesting.

Frank had already woken up in a bad mood, and was sour as ever when he finally accepted that whoever was ringing his bell non-stop wasn't going to give up and leave. Three times there were pauses that gave him hope, but the buzzing always picked up again, and he'd had enough. They'd ignored his silence. They'd ignored his "go away" and "no solicitors." Time tell off this son of a—

He opened the door and barely had time to take in the sight of the gorgeous woman on the other side before she pushed past him into the apartment with a "Mr. Rizzoli, I presume?"

"Excuse me, who the hell are you?"

She turned on her heel to face him again, her eyes first sweeping the apartment. "I am Constance Isles. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but all things considered…"

Frank closed the door and walked towards her, trying to take this in. Constance had a more sophisticated air than anyone he'd ever met, even more so than Maura, who at least exuded a sense of warmth and affability. Constance's eyes were shrapnel, her posture perfect, and her expression deadly.

"I suppose you know why I am here," she said.

He did not invite her to sit down. She did not in any way indicate that resting would be appreciated. They stood between the living room and the kitchen, not quite five feet apart, as if at a showdown where the weapons were guilt, neglect, and parental love.

"You raised your daughter one way," Frank said. "I raised mine another. Maura can do whatever she wants, I don't care. But Jane is my daughter. I did raise her with certain ideas of what a family is."

"And I suppose your parents raised you the same way?" Constance asked. "I'm sure they approve of the fact that you left your wife of several decades for a younger woman?"

"Angela and I had our marriage annulled," Frank muttered. "And I began another relationship."

"Outside the sacred bonds of marriage? Tsk, tsk," Constance said.

"You know what, get the hell out of here. I don't need to explain myself to you."

"No. You don't. But I just wanted to make sure of one thing."

"And what's that?"

"I want to make sure you understand the type of woman Jane is, and the type of person you are."

Frank stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Oh?"

"Yes. You know the first time I visited Boston after Jane and Maura had become friends, Jane really…what is that delightful saying? She ripped me a new one." Frank's eyebrows went up at such a woman as Constance using that phrase. "Mothering never came naturally to me, Mr. Rizzoli, but my husband and I did our best to provide for our daughter. When Jane sensed that I wasn't being as open as I might be, she called me on it. She was angry to see her closest friend being treated … not as she deserved, and she berated me for it. So you see I wondered, at first, why she didn't come directly to you after that nasty note you sent in response to the wedding invitation," she said, and Frank flinched at the word. "But then it dawned on me. Jane still loves you too much. You are her fallen idol, but an idol nonetheless. She can't bring herself to get angry at you to your face. She's been too hurt."

Constance let that sink in, and as she saw Frank avert his gaze, she couldn't believe that this was news to him. Surely he had to know how much Jane had loved him, how she'd grown up admiring him above all others. On some level their closeness had occurred to him; that's why he felt he had the right to feel betrayed when she had fallen in love with a woman. That hadn't been his plan for his only daughter.

"I am here on Maura's behalf," Constance went on, and that, it seemed, was a bit of a surprise. "And rest assured, she would have come here herself, but she was afraid she would physically harm you." Constance couldn't help letting out a short laugh, which got Frank to look up at her (albeit in consternation). "Not that I know whether she'd care about that on your end, but she's still not quite as an apt a fighter as she'd like to be, and was wary of damaging her own hand in throwing a punch. I've had much more practice than she when it comes to controlling my mood, so here we are."

"Here you are, and here's the door. You're welcome to use it," Frank grumbled, gesturing broadly to it.

She went on as though he hadn't spoken. "No, we need to have a parent-to-parent lecture, first. I've made my mistakes. I will be the first to accept that I have been far from a perfect mother. But I want you to ask yourself this, Mr. Rizzoli. Ask yourself seriously and answer yourself honestly: what kind of father have you been?"

"That's none of your business."

"I didn't say it was. It's yours and Jane's, and whether you like it or not, Maura's. Because I can tell you this, Frank. Maura has had many sleepless nights, tending to Jane's tears."

"Jane doesn't cry," Frank mumbled.

As soon as the words came out, he knew they should've stayed in his thoughts. Constance wouldn't understand. She didn't know how Jane had been bullied as a kid, how she'd gotten hurt on the field, how she had never once let tears drop because it was a sign of weakness. Not in front of her family, her friends, her teammates, her tormentors. Nobody could see her cry. Constance had to be exaggerating.

"Maybe she does now because she's found someone who knows how to comfort her," Constance offered. "Someone who's not afraid of tears or confused by them. Ask yourself what kind of father you are, Frank. I'm not asking you to tell me. I just think it's a damn shame to let you keep wandering around, thinking you deserve that—" And she pointed to a mug that was in plain sight on the table, and old gift from his kids declaring him World's Best Dad "—when in my eyes, it's almost farcical. The world's best dad doesn't resent his daughter for falling in love. He doesn't withdraw his affection from a child who adores him because she is being true to herself. He understands that her 'choices' are not made to hurt him, to get back at him, to be willfully disobedient. They are made so that she may be happy, and safe, and well. The world's best dad wants what is best for her, and is proud when she is able to figure out that path for herself. That's the type of father who deserves that mug, and that is the objective truth. Accept that. Or accept that you are a selfish and uncaring man who has put his own interests ahead of the family he's turned his back on. Those are your options."

With that said, she walked past Frank towards the door again. She opened it, and stopped in the doorway. Frank looked at her over his shoulder.

"There is one other option, I suppose," she said. "You may accept the fact that change—on your part, not Jane's—is possible."

Just as she'd told no one she was going, Constance told nobody where she'd been upon her return. Three days later she was back in Europe with plans to return two weeks before her daughter's wedding. The days after her departure were filled with endless attempted calls from Frank—to Jane, to Maura, to Angela—where he hung up before the phone barely had a chance to ring. One night about two weeks after Constance had left, he drove to Maura's house.

It was about ten o'clock, and the lights were off with no cars in the driveway. The guesthouse was dark also. Figured; it was a Saturday night, they were bound to be out. But he'd come all the way here, and he was determined to wait. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there on the porch when one car finally slowed down, and pulled into Maura's driveway.

They didn't notice him at first. Maura got out of the driver's seat, and she and Jane were both laughing. Jane slid her arm around Maura's waist as they headed up the walk together. Comfortable. Content. Then Maura glanced at the porch and saw a man sitting there, and she came to an automatic stop. Jane noticed as well and protectively stood in front of Maura. Frank got to his feet and stepped into the moonlight.

Jane's voice pinched his heart: "Daddy?"

"Hey, kiddo."

Maura threw him a disdainful look and stepped away from Jane. "I'll be inside," she said, making it clear that Frank was not welcome in the house. Without looking at him, she passed him and shut the door loudly behind her. Leaving Jane alone might not have been the most supportive thing to do just then, but seeing Frank had made Maura suddenly feel very ill, and she didn't think she had the stomach to keep looking at him. She'd never known hate like this before.

"So?" Jane grunted. "What is it?"

Frank sat back down on the porch and patted the spot next to him. "C'mon, Jane. Let's talk."

"What about?" she asked distrustfully, still keeping her distance.

"Well… I don't know. But maybe I can start us off with an overdue apology."