DISCLAIMER: I do not own this show, the books, or these characters. I only borrow them.

Chapter 2

For once in her life Detective Rizzoli hated that she had decided to be a cop. Without that decision at the tender age of 12, she would not be stuck in the Boston Police Department Headquarters with who knew how many gunmen trolling the hallways and offices looking for who knew what. Frankie would not have followed in his sister's shadow to become a cop and so would not be laying on the morgue table with wounds that might keep him there as they couldn't get out of the building to get help. She felt so incompetent: as a cop because she couldn't risk shooting her way out of the building, as a sister for getting Frankie into this mess in a round-about-way, and as a human for not knowing more then the basics of first-aid to even try to really help out. She worked homicide for Christ's sake... not many live bodies to work on.

However, Jane knew that her friend and doctor more then twice made up for any lack of medical know-how on her part. She gazed at Dr. Isles and hoped for a miracle, and the fear for her brother shown through in a odd display of emotion for Detective Rizzoli. The hope was dashed when she saw the worried look on Maura's face; the fear for her brother was raised a few degrees at the same time, so much so that Jane mused it was the first time she did not jump at the dreaded word when she heard her friend state, "I'm a pathologist. I am not a surgeon." Her heightened fear for her brother seemed to smother the ever-present fear of Hoyt, at least for a few moments.

Seeing a medical reference book nearby, and needing to do something to help Frankie rather then just standing and shouting for Maura to save him, or for him to hold on, Jane nearly tore through the pages literally in her rush to find some answers. She almost wished she wouldn't have when she read the severity of the situation. The fact that her brother was on death's door was written there in black and white.

Maura recalled telling Jane once about having a nightmare of not studying for a major test, but upon waking it was easy to shake off the fear because she knew that she would never NOT study knowing there was an upcoming test. In fact she usually started at least a week ahead to make sure that there was not one question that the professors could twist in order to try and stump her. The real nightmare was the few times when preparing for other tests and presentations that one class reading slipped by until too late. She would hear the dreaded words pop-quiz and know that there was no time to study and no way to wake up. And this situation glaring her in the face now was the worse pop-quiz she had ever had to face in her entire life. She wished for the time to go back and take an emergency medical rotation, or to be able to open her eyes to a bright new day with Frankie's arms surrounding her rather then clutching at his abdomen in pain. But now, as then, she could only breath deeply and hope that the knowledge she already had would be enough to survive the challenge.

One thing Dr. Isles loved about being a Medical Examiner was that it was never a life or death situation, unless the crime was so heinous that the death penalty could be the final punishment. But that decision was not up to her, and the bodies on her table were already dead and cold... until now. Before there was time to double check her medical books to make sure that her ideas were correct in their formulation, or to get the opinion of other colleagues and specialists if there was something in the autopsy findings that she had never seen before. All the fears from school about having the wrong answer flooded her. She knew she could make matters worse. She had even seen bodies on her table where a good citizen had caused more injury to a person trying to save their life with CPR...and this was much more critical and medically precise then that basic life-saving technique that could be learned during a weekend training session at any local fire station. "Jane, I could make it worse."

It was ironic when Jane grabbed the nearest medical encyclopedia and almost tore the pages in her rush to get to 'tension pneumothorax' and did the last minute test preparations for the doctor. Her reading the info about using a needle to decompress the chest was not new. The information was cataloged in the recesses of Dr. Isles's mind. It was more the body recall she was trying to think through - the differences between living and dead bodies. As so often was the case, the dead would start to decompose or be in rigor before they ended up on the autopsy table; therefore the amount of force needed to push in a needle to collect blood or to press on the scalpel when cutting on the dead was very different then on a live body. The procedure Jane mentioned, technically known as a needle thoracostomy, was very exacting. The amount of force on the needle would need to be just enough to release the trapped air, and not so far as to puncture to far. Jane didn't know what she was asking for. She wanted a miracle, but then so did Maura.

If she had a free hand she might have crossed her fingers, even though she didn't believe in fate or good luck, but both were poised on the 14 gauge needle as she slowly pushed the three inches of thin metal into Frankie's chest between the second intercostal space on the mid-clavicular line. She felt the needle push through layers of skin, then through the pectoralis major and the external and internal intercostal muscles, and finally felt a "pop" as the needle entered the pleural cavity.

The sound of the air being released through the needle was one of the best sounds Maura had ever heard. It sounded better than what others might classify as a heavenly choir, if she believed in such a thing. That wonderful sound and the brief sense of relief was quickly dashed as she noticed blood clotting the needle in Frankie's chest and heard the tell-tale gurgling sounds of someone trying to breathe while being drowned by liquid...in this case his life-sustaining blood.

Jane heard herself pleading for life for the second time in her life: before in the basement of a house to a madman for her own life, and now in the basement morgue for her friend to save her brother's life. "Please don't let him die, Maura, please."

Frankie glanced at his sister to focus against not being able to get a good breath and the upcoming pain, hoping that he could ease the anguish he heard in his sister's pleading voice. But it was even more then that. He had always looked up to his older sister. It hurt less glancing to her knowing she always seemed the strong one even during situations that would emotionally cripple others. The few glances he shot to his girl broke his heart and seemed to punch him in the gut even more then the bullets he took to the vest did. He always could see past the walls she used in the modification of her facial expression or the cold nature she seemed to give off which helped her earn the nickname "The Queen of the Dead." He could see the slight nuance of pain and fear that she struggled to hide even from herself. Hating that he wounded Maura in this way, he preferred to once again literally look up to his sister from the table he was laying on.

Maura also stared mainly at Jane. It was easier to look to her frazzled friend over the man dying on her "dead-person table." Her thoughts briefly remembered happier times with Frankie that had left her breathless and with all thoughts thrown to the wind, and she became angry at the situation...at Frankie... for putting her in that same emotionally charged place. Knowing she needed to deal with the situation as a doctor and not a lover, and being used to coping with tough situations by hiding her emotions from both her peers and herself, Maura pushed down those confusing emotions and thought of the situation from the scientific standpoint which always made sense.

Dr. Isles had never before been afraid of blood, but she was used to blood pooled around cold bodies rather than gushing out of a warm ones from the hole in the chest wall and bubbling out of the mouth. She tried to be the detached doctor as she used the scalpel to cut in the patient's side and then inserted the tubing to drain out the collected blood, but the personal, emotional side wouldn't let her miss the tensing of the body and then the screams of pain that she was causing to her friend...to her heart. For the first time ever, Maura wished her brain didn't function as it did because in a split second she mentally calculated how long Frankie Rizzoli had to survive with the speed the blood was leaving his body to the amount of blood in the body. She even came up with a shorter time to account for the blood that was probably pooling in the rest of the body due to various internal injuries that she couldn't see without the major diagnostic equipment which were down the hall, but, with the shooters in the building, they might as well have been miles away. Maura hoped that Angela and Frank Rizzoli would not need to be informed today that their son was shot and killed.

It was great news and also a horrible mess that Detectives Vince Korsak and Barry Frost came back to the Boston Police Department Headquarters and radioed for backup. For those trapped inside the building it was wonderful to learn that those on the outside finally knew about the situation and could try and work on taking back the building and getting help for the two injured officers. But the fiasco started with the radio call in for back-up. All cops knew that many in the general public had police scanners, but that fact did not seem as pressing as just wanting to call in the cavalry... the carrion eaters would come out looking for the fresh kill of a good news story. So not only did the police back-up arrive at the building but so did all the major media providers, and a few minor ones too. The police presence also caused the infiltrators to step up their search and the shooters on the roof to send down a metal downpour of bullets with the black storm cloud settling over the recently arrived police and vehicles.

A 20-something, petite, blond reporter drowned on in the same monotone voice, with only a slight upturn of the mouth to show the seriousness of the situation without the mouth turning into a frown to prevent wrinkles from showing on television screens of those morbidly curious watchers in various living rooms all over Boston."...for WHDH Channel 7 News. We are coming to you live from the Headquarters of the Boston Police Department, where it seems that the building has being overrun by a group of madmen. We can only wonder how this situation was able to come about as you would think that there would be enough police offices in their own building to keep something like this from happening. If the police can't even protect their own house and officers, how are we supposed to trust them with protecting the citizens and neighborhoods of Boston.?" And with those words the damage to the police force was raised from serious to critical.

It was so not a good day for the Boston PD. Later in the evening, the news would tell about the earlier shooting of an undercover detective in the narcotics unit which pulled so many of the police force away from headquarters. Any other time the public would understand and support the police as they searched for an enemy that were not deterred to confront the protectors of the city. People could understand the idea of 'looking out for one of your own,' but only while it did not put themselves in a perceived harm's way. That seed of doubt would be planted even deeper when the public learned that one of the shooters in this horrible scenario was a Boston detective.

There would be a long recovery time for all involved: from the wife and children of Detective Clark as they mourned his death, to the family and fiance of Officer Jones who was shot and killed in the main lobby of the Boston PD headquarters, searching for anyone to mourn the girl who tried to be a witness to a deadly crime and paid the price for it, to the Rizzoli family that by the end of the day two of their children were critically injured. Even the building was injured with bullet wounds and the blood smearing the wall looking like a twisted type of tears, and the police department that needed to regain the trust of the community that they serve.

The same female reporter continued her live story. "Going to show a shot from the cameraman in the rear of the building. It can be seen in the video that the SWAT team is finishing suiting up, getting ready to enter the building and try to bring a swift end to the take over of the police headquarters."

The media frenzy was great as the live horror story was playing out. The cameras zoomed-in to showed the bullet riddled police cruisers, the shooters on the roof being taken down with a well-aimed bullet, SWAT infiltrating the building, and then to a hostage-taker using a female as a human shield.

The usual quietness of the morgue was shattered as a smoke grenade was thrown into the large room. It exploded, releasing the condensed chemicals throughout the room. The door was forcefully opened as men in protective gear and carrying heavy-duty firearms poured into the room with as much efficiency and effectiveness as the gas pouring out of the casing in the center of the room.

As SWAT rushed into the room, Maura finally gazed fully on Frankie's face. She wasn't sure if her vision was blurred from the smoke filling the room or from tears that she felt trying to fall from her eyes as the hope of getting him help and the worry for Jane set in. She wanted to say the words 'I love you,' but she still had issues with the truth behind those words as despite knowing the meaning of the word from the dictionary she had always struggled with the emotional meaning behind the words. She hoped that her eyes portrayed her feelings, as she could read the love for her and the fear for his sister in Frankie's eyes. She heard him crook out a painful, "I love you," and before she could think to much about the words, she finally told him just as breathlessly and passionately as he did, "I love you, too."

All she could say about her next moments was that yes...she, the doctor whose brain always seemed to jump from one though to another, and who measured all of her actions knowing that as a public figure they were all viewed and judged...did not think before she acted, or more accurately, reacted. She wanted to be able to deliver some good news to Frankie after the fiasco that he has suffered. She wanted to ease her own mind on the safety of her best-friend. She caressed Frankie's cheek and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead as not wanting to impede his breathing anymore then it already was. Then before she could think about the stupidity of her actions, she left Frankie to the incoming swarm of men and the emergency medical technicians who would be soon to follow and rushed out of the room to follow the trail that Marino had moments before dragged Jane.

SWAT entered the morgue and first and foremost looked to see if there were anymore hostiles that might harm those in the room, members of the incoming team, or even themselves. Usually the people rescued were grateful to be able to be still and let the team take over the tense situation that they had been trapped in, so they were not expecting the female to bolt out of the room nor would any of the men have assumed that she could have run as fast as she did in the heels that she was wearing. So with all the confusion, smoke, and dumb luck, Maura was able to slip out of their area of protection and run after the hostage taker and her friend.

Jane knew the regulations for dealing with a hostage taker, and so did Detective Marino. He knew to use her as a shield to cover his own body and to keep the police back. Jane knew that slower was the best policy, as the negotiators would try to defuse the situation. Jane also knew that sometimes rules and regulations needed to be tossed out of the window, and Frankie didn't have time for the slow and calming negotiation tactics. She watched as her friends and co-workers started to pull back seeing the gun pressed harshly into her temple. She felt Marino dragging her with an odd gait that wasn't just caused by him trying to hold her close, and remembered the thigh wound he had. The idea to end the situation quickly flashed through her head, and while she knew it was risky she knew that was what she did as a cop everyday to people she didn't even know. While earlier she regretted her choice to become a police office, she now was grateful as it gave her the ability to think quickly and rationally in life threatening situations.

Feeling the gun pull away slightly from her head as Bobby told the cops to stay back, she knew her time to move was now. "Shoot him! Just shoot him!" Rizzoli shouted. She knew that unless a sniper could get a shot that it wasn't likely to happen with how he was holding her as a shield, but her words made him turn his attention to the other cops even more to make sure that their fingers were not about to pull a trigger. Jane tried to egg on the cops to shoot even more as she let her anger build. It reached peak point when she heard Bobby say, "Your brother's probably already dead."

She saw red, and for the first time of the day it wasn't from blood that was splattered throughout parts of the Boston PD headquarters, but from anger. That anger helped fuel her voice as she shouted back, "NO." The anger helped fuel her movements as she tried to rip the gun from Marino's hands. She grabbed at his hands, and pulled him in the direction of his injured leg hoping the added weight on the limb would cause him to stumble enough so she could get the upper hand. While she had taken down perps before using similar moves, their forward momentum as they ran toward her helped. Without that momentum helping her motions she was only able to slightly knock him off balance and angle the gun so it was not pointed at her head. She struggled with all her might to get possession of the gun, or to fight her way out of the strong grip on her waist. She was about to succeed as she felt his hands tighten on the tigger, and heard the loud bang of the gun. She knew she did not get the gun moved far enough away when she felt the pain explode in her side. Shit, Jane thought as she felt herself falling and mused, if this doesn't kill me, Ma will. She closed her eyes against the pain as she saw fellow officers move in to grab Detective Marino, glad to know that at least in a round about way she opened the way up for help to get to her brother.

Maura Isles rushed out the main doors to the Boston police headquarters in time to see Jane try to wrestle the gun away from a cop-turned-bad. She heard a gunshot ring out and saw her friend fall to the ground. Not thinking about her own safety, Maura ran over, knelt on the hard cement, and used her ungloved hands to apply pressure on the wounds in Jane's side. Once again, Maura found herself trying to save a Rizzoli cop, she did not want to see them end up on her autopsy table in the prime of their life.

It seemed like forever that Maura felt the beat of blood pushing against her hands to spill out of the body in it's bid for freedom, but in fact it was only moments until the EMTs rushed in to push her away and to take over Jane's care. She watch as her friend was quickly loaded into an ambulance, and with sirens blaring and lights flashing was rushed away to the nearest medical center. Detachment settled in as she seemed to watch from the sidelines as another set of EMTs rushed in to take care of the wounded, handcuffed hostage taker. She noticed all the blood coating her hands and staining the sidewalk. She felt arms go around her shoulders and a voice ask if she was alright, but she was not able to answer. Finally her eyes settled on the new vans and cameras lining the police barricade trying to get a better view of the macabre situation. Maura hoped that Angela and Frank Rizzoli would not watch the nightly news to see their daughter being shot and killed.