A/N: Wow, my Muse has been in quite a peak the last few days. I've been working nonstop and she doesn't like to be ignored. So she had me write chapters 3 and 6 in this story, then two other odd chapters on my primary.

So, first, thanks to my two commenters, I really wasn't sure about this idea until I read your comments. It was enough to push me in deeper. So we start with the back story…

Since I'm a writer by profession, I've never came across a story I didn't know how to start until now. So I'm going to break from the normal story and just dive right in with my thoughts.

Of all of the things I've heard about Hurricane Jane, nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greeted Kate and I on that cold, stormy Tuesday night. I expected a woman very much like Kate yet somehow stronger, fiercer, more devoted to justice. Things I actually couldn't imagine, given the woman detective who I sleep with at night. Or maybe more like wonder woman, interesting thought, but in casual slacks and a blazer, a badge and a gun, keep the boots.

Everything I had ever been told about her came from Kate, her friend Olivia and her partner Elliot. A super heroine who shared a telepathic link to my extraordinary girlfriend but it was her strength they talked about, like Captain America's shield, not the Hulk's ability to deadlift. She was invincible. Of course that was stupid, no one is invincible. But they all spoke constantly of her ability to take the punishment life dealt with a core of hardened steel that wouldn't give no matter what. Like the shiny red white and blue shield, she would stand firm and hold fast.

But I learned something that night about both unbreakable shields and about Hurricane Jane. Every shield has its weakness and every super heroine has a kryptonite. I learned Jane's kryptonite; I even learned it has a name.

After closing the case on a double homicide down at the twelfth, Kate Beckett and I opted out of drinks at the local cop hang out, planning to rekindle the fire that had been left burning nearly a week before when the call had come in. The knock at the door came as I was turning Kate on by washing the dishes. Don't laugh. It's a turn on for most women; ruggedly handsome men cleaning. She set her glass of wine down on the table and scooted off the chair where she had been watching me. I leaned over to glance at who ever had dared intrude on our night alone when I heard Kate shouting "Oh, my God, Jane!"

Then I heard the thud of the door, banging against its stops, and Kate's panicked voice, "Rick! Help me!"

I remember letting go of the dinner plate over the counter. I remember it skipping off the edge. I even remember the sound of it shattering as I ran to Kate who was falling backward with her arms wrapped around her friend from Boston PD. I had no idea how accurate that sound would be to the situation that had landed at my door step. I took a running slide to get beneath them before they hit the floor. I remember thinking that I wouldn't make it or that I was going to kick my love in the head as I slid beneath her, but I did make it, and they landed on my chest.

Kate immediately slid out from under Jane and ran her hands all over the other woman's body, I could have said something to get myself slapped but truthfully the thought didn't occur to me until I wrote this very line. My thoughts were on Kate and hers were on Jane, so I was on Jane. She ran her hands over every part of Jane's body, checking for wounds or injuries. I rolled her over when Kate finished so she could check the front.

That was when Kate saw the tears. Those very tears would be a huge part of our lives over the next few weeks. I took in her appearance, her clothing was rumpled and soaked through as if she had been in the frigid rain, the wild ebony hair filled with untamable curls looked matted, dirty and feral even wet as if neglected. But her clothing, although in need of a dry cleaner or better yet a burn barrel, was intact and blood free. There were no bruises on her exposed skin so there went my top three theories, assault, rape, and bullet holes. I was relieved at this revelation but then why was she incapacitated. Her lips had turned blue. Kate saw it first.

"She's soaked from the rain and turning blue. Help me get her into the bath." Kate told me.

I didn't ask, I just slid my arms under her and headed to the master bathroom, it was the closest. Kate slammed the front door and ran into the room to turn the water on. As I looked into Jane's eyes, I couldn't help but think how lifeless they were, had she not been breathing and still shedding tears I would have thought her a corpse. I sat her down on the toilet while Kate stripped down to her underwear an instant later she did the same to Jane.

"She's cold as ice, got to get her body temperature up." She said as she slid into the tub, with a motion, I carefully picked the Italian up and eased her into the running water with Kate who held on to her for dear life. "It's ok, Jane. I'm here, you made it and I got you."

Jane closed her eyes, and mumbled. It wasn't discernable but she was trying to speak. Kate held her tightly, trying to add her body heat to the rising warm water. Jane began to shiver.

It was actually a good sign; her autonomic responses were coming back. Kate held on tight as the shivering became violent but settled to jerky within a few minutes. Kate took Jane's wrist into her hand, feeling for her pulse, after a few seconds she nodded.

I looked to Kate, asked the question she didn't want to think about, "Does she need an ambulance?"

She stared at Jane and shook her head, "I can't see any signs of trauma. Feel her head for knots or depressions."
My fingers dove into Jane's hair, gently probing her scalp but after a few minutes I stepped back and shook my head.

She then looked right into my eyes, the worry there scared me a little, and "I don't think she needs a hospital. Let's wait a little. I need you to get my flannel PJs, socks and underwear."

I left, went to Kate's bureau and pulled out the flannels, a thick pair of socks, and dug into her drawer for the plain cotton boy shorts Kate swears are the most comfortable underwear in the world. I suppose I could have found boxer shorts but I'm pretty sure my hips are bigger than Jane's.

I returned to the bathroom to find my girlfriend gently cleaning her friend with one of those puff ball things and body wash. What do they call that thing, a loufa? Weird because a loufa is some kind of vine that fits in the cucumber family. Hmm. Oh, sorry. About Jane.

I couldn't explain it as I watched the woman I love tend to her friend. The concern and tenderness were things I hadn't seen in Kate before, not like this. And when Kate picked up her shampoo, I reached up to unhook the shower head. It took us a while but we got her cleaned up and into the guest bed. I left so Kate could dress her and before I knew it, she came out with the soaked personals and tossed them in the hamper.

"Her color is back and I got her tucked under some warm blankets. She almost froze to death Rick."

I took her into my arms, she needed comfort. I was one of a very select few who could see this side of her. She was scared for Jane. I was too but she was way worse. She kissed me softly. We heard Jane cry out again. Kate held me for a second, pleading with her eyes that I'd understand.

"Go." I said, "She needs you."

"I love you." was all she said before disappearing into Jane's room. I knew that she would stay by Jane's side night and day until she found out who had reduced her friend, a woman she admired, to the state of a broken child. As I looked in on them Kate was protectively wrapped around Jane under the blankets. I could think of no safer place in the entire world for the woman to be. As I stood in awe of Kate, again, I couldn't help wonder what could possibly have reduced a woman my girlfriend admired greatly to the level of a traumatized child. It was at least two weeks before we got a name, and it was the last thing either of us ever expected…

…it was Doctor Maura Isles.

Maura gasped sharply at those words; again her vision blurred with tears. NO! She threw the book away from her as if it had scorched her hands causing it to knock over and break a lamp on the table.

It's not possible, it's Jane! She doesn't fall like this, ever.

Maura had been prepared for Jane's anger or coldness when she went to New York, she had not expected this at all. That Jane had been hurting so badly over her actions. Had Jane been angry, Maura could have coped with that but to read about her in absolute agony.

It must be a story. Richard Castle is a novelist. This has to be fiction or I don't know how I could live with myself.

Maura forced herself up from the couch and went to retrieve the book. Seeing the shattered remains of the lamp she thought of Jane having to run all the way to New York to find comfort and security. In truth it was odd that she hadn't gone to her family. But after their verbal fight in the airport and before that Jane's fist fight with Ian on her front lawn, Jane had been ashamed of her actions, especially when she had knocked out Frankie trying to get at Ian. Maura thought of that fight again, this time from a different perspective.

After another romantic evening of Ian trying to convince Maura to come back to Africa with him, and to give him another chance, Maura had finally agreed to consider a three month tour, although she had felt guilty about it. She had thought of Jane and the moment she had known her relationship with the surly Italian had transcended beyond friendship. It was that night on the couch, when Jane had been there for Maura after Ian's departure from America to evade charges of smuggling. It was Jane who had caught her when she fell; emotionally in that moment on the couch and again physically with Dennis Rockmond, and so many other times. It was Jane who had been there for her.

This thought had been rolling in her head for the better part of his visit and tonight was the night she was going to inform him that she would not be leaving with him, that she wouldn't love him because she was in love with Jane. She was interrupted by the loud knocking on her front door.

She left Ian to answer it and was surprised to see a very drunk Jane Rizzoli.

"Jane." Maura said, "What are you doing here. Are you alright?"

Jane's eyes landed on her own shoes, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you," she slurred.

As brown eyes met hazel, Maura gasped at the raw need and affection she found there, her thoughts were sharp. It can't be! Jane isn't that way!

Those eyes changed into anger as Ian walked up behind Maura, "Jane? Are you alright?" His hand rested on the small of Maura's back.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" she snarled, "You haven't done enough to her?"

Maura gaped, "Jane!"

"What!" her anger mounted, "Maura, this prick left you in shambles the last time. He's bad for you in every way! Throw him out of here or so help me I WILL!"

Maura's eyes turned cold, "Jane. I know your drunk but that is no excuse for your behavior. You have no right to throw a guest out of MY house!"

She stepped up onto the porch, "I have every right to protect you!"

Ian stepped around Maura, "I know you don't like me Jane, but you should leave now and call Maura in the…"

He never got the chance to finish that sentence as Jane's fist slammed into his nose, Ian tried to push her away but she grabbed him, dragging him off the porch. She threw him onto the front lawn.

He regained his feet and put his hands up, "I don't want to fight you Jane."

"Too bad," she said, her anger fuelling her, "Cause I do."

Within a few hits it was clear to Ian that he had to fight or she would take him apart, the whole while Maura was screaming at them to stop. Angela had run from the guest house with her cell phone at hearing the commotion outside.

"JANE CLEMENTINE RIZZOLI! STOP IT THIS INSTANT" her mother yelled. But her words were lost to Jane's battle cry as she blasted Ian in the face with an elbow.

A police car sped into the neighborhood and came to a screeching halt in the driveway. Frankie Rizzoli jumped out of the driver's seat and promptly tackled Jane. Ian backed off immediately, blood gushing from his nose and his lip split. Jane lost track of Ian for a second and registered the weight on her back, she flipped him over and blasted a right hook into the jaw. He fell and stayed down. Jane stood and realized that she had just knocked out her own brother.

The alcohol that had fueled her cleared in an instant, "Oh god, Frankie." She leaned down to check on him when Maura caught her arm.

"Jane, leave, now." She said sternly.

"Maura..."

"I mean it Jane," she said coldly, "I want you out of here, right now."

"Maura," Jane said, tears beginning to show in her eyes, "I'm sorry. I just..."

"There is no justification in your actions tonight Jane. Nor do I wish to discuss this further. Just get out. Go home, Jane."

Maura turned and walked away, she didn't want Jane to see her cry. She took Ian by the arm and headed inside to tend his nose.

Angela had run to Frankie, "Jane you have gone too far this time."

Jane looked down at her brother, "I'm sorry, I thought he was Ian."

Her mom shot her a cold glare, "What the hell were you thinking? Even if it had been Ian, you don't get to go around beating people up. My god, Janie, you could lose your badge over this."

Jane sank to her knees, "I know but I can't let him…"

"Do what Jane? It's Maura's life." Angela huffed, "you don't get to make those choices for her."

"I love her, Ma." She said softly.

"I love her too Jane. But you don't see me beating up her boyfriends."

Jane grabbed her mom's arm, and they locked eyes, "I love her, Ma." She said again.

Angela's eyes widened, "No." She took a step back, "You're not a lesbian. You've never… you know."

"No." she said, her sorrow tore through her words, "Just for her, only for her."

Her mother's look was one of shock, then shame, "Janie, were Catholic."

Jane stood up again, "I don't care! I'd lose everything for her, Ma." Without another word, Jane walked off and headed down the street.

Maura hadn't known what had happened after she took Ian inside until she came back out to check on Frankie and Angela had told her about how Jane left. But Angela hadn't said anything about Jane's confession to her mother. And when Angela did tell her, months later, she desperately wished that the Rizzoli matriarch had told her that night or even the next morning because although Maura couldn't excuse Jane's actions, she would have understood them. She wouldn't have accepted Ian's offer and she wouldn't have been in the airport less than a week later. That was the very next time she had seen Jane, and the last time she had seen her in Boston.

Maura picked the book up off the floor and hesitated. Underneath was a broken picture of Jane and Maura hugging at the Dirty Robber. She reached down and took it into her hand to study the image.

It had been a celebration over a tough case and it was one of the few pictures she had of Jane and her in absolute bliss. She held it tenderly as she took in the sight. Jane Rizzoli was amazing in every way. Maura thought about what it would be like to be with Jane, in love as a couple, to know that Jane would be there, every day to hold her and protect her. She knew Jane was dangerous, that she had killed a man for Maura's protection despite her own demons pertaining to Hoyt.

Jane had the opportunity to kill Hoyt before, she couldn't do it to save herself, but she had drove the Surgeon's own weapon into his chest with no regret to ensure he never got close to Maura again. It was the closest Jane had ever come to committing murder because justified or not, Charles Hoyt had cut Maura's neck and she had known that Charles Hoyt had sealed his fate. Jane would not let him leave that room alive.

Jane was dangerous, she has and would kill to protect her but would never turn that on her, the thought brought chills to Maura. She knew she loved Jane and she knew that Jane had loved her.

She meticulously removed the picture from the frame and slid it into the book Rick had sent her before she sat back down on the couch with it. Bracing herself, she forced herself to read. If there was a way to get Jane back, she would find it here.