Series title: Whumptober 2023

Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Maura Isles / Barry Frost / Frankie Rizzoli

Trigger warnings: Death, Major Character Death, Mental Breakdown

A/N: The characters and universe don't belong to me. All rights go to TNT, and everyone involved in the production of Rizzoli and Isles, as well as Tess Gerritsen. Everything else belongs to my twisted imagination.

A/N2: Third part of "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

All of these stories are only meant to be one-shots, but many have asked for more. They are written as part of the 2023 Whumptober challenge. I'm following the list of prompts and didn't intend to write second parts for any of the one-shots. That's why they're all posted separately.

Maura placed the floral bouquet at the foot of the tombstone. She had chosen that arrangement herself. Those weren't his favourite, but the season wasn't ideal for the fragile flowers he preferred. She had done her best to pick the most beautiful flowers that all held a particular meaning. It was stupid when you thought about it because he wouldn't see them. He wouldn't see anything ever again. She had learnt over time that flowers were mostly for the living. It was their way of telling the world that even if their loved ones weren't physically there anymore, they were thinking about them still. It had taken her some time to figure it out. She wasn't a specialist of the living. She was working with the dead and giving them a voice. They were easier to talk to, easier to understand. Death was her range of expertise, and yet, sometimes she was left clueless.

Barry Frost shouldn't have died that young. She hadn't performed the autopsy, but she had read the report. A bullet to the leg and a bullet to the neck. He had lost all his blood in a couple of minutes. Minutes of excruciating pain and fear. Jane had been unable to protect him. Or herself. Back up had been too late. Maura shouldn't blame them, but she did. If they had been there on time. Frost wouldn't have died, and Jane… Jane would be alive as well. In a snap of fingers, Maura had lost two friends and two families had lost an estimated member. The funerals had only made it all too real and the heartache was subsisting despite the time passing. It still felt like everything happened the day before when months had passed. Six months to be precise. Maura was always precise. It was important in her line of work.

Some people were finding comfort in coming to cemeteries and facing a carved tombstone to talk with a lost loved one. Maura had never understood how it could be comforting to talk to a piece of marble. The person you lost wasn't there. Ghosts didn't exist, and the dead's soul wasn't hanging around to listen to the ones they had left behind. She still didn't get it, but she was coming there every week, replacing the wilted flowers with fresh ones and cleaning around. Korsak was often visiting too, but never when she was there. They came alone to pay their respect to their fallen friend. Angela and we're coming around every now and then. Not as much as they would want to, but the place reminded them too much of what they had lost that day. Frankie was on sick leave. The trauma of losing a sister and a friend been too much for him. He had fallen into depression.

"Hi, Barry."

Her voice was hesitant. It wasn't the first time she was talking to him while standing upon his grave, but she always felt stupid to do so. She just needed to talk to someone, to say out loud how she was feeling without getting looks of pity or compassion, without anyone telling her that they understood what she was going through. Six months had passed, and she was still mourning. Still unable to turn the page. Things had gone back to normal at work. Two new detectives had been moved to Homicide. And everything was different. They didn't acknowledge her much in crime scenes, weren't coming down to the morgue to watch her perform an autopsy. They stayed away from her as much as possible. She was the Queen of the Dead. Cold, detached, unreachable. Thankfully she still had Korsak and Susie or she would have moved away from Boston.

"Studies reveal that talking to people you lost helps to ease your grief. I tend to disagree. How could it help to talk to people who aren't there anymore? It's like talking to yourself, which can either be a sign of intelligence or a sign of a deep psychological issue. Maybe I'm losing it. I wouldn't be the only one."

She chuckled nervously and rubbed the nape of her neck. It was a new habit she had developed after finding about the shootout. She used to be so reserved, so professional. She wouldn't let anyone see how she really felt. But everything had changed six months ago. She was a bundle of nerves. She didn't know what to do with the extra anxiety she was dealing with every day.

"If I'm being honest, and you know that I can't be anything but honest, I feel like an idiot standing here and talking to a piece of marble wearing your name. As if you could hear me."

She closed her eyes, raised her head to the sky and took a deep breath. She swallowed the sobs obstructing her throat. Six months and she still couldn't come here without crying. She pulled a police badge out of her pocket and stroked it with her thumb. It was Jane's. She had borrowed it from her belongings at the hospital. She hadn't wanted it to fall into oblivion. She was keeping it on her all the time. It was a piece of Jane. A piece of what she used to be.

"We miss you. Every day. It's just not the same without you, without Jane. Korsak has stayed. I thought he'd retire. I guess he's doing it for you, and for Jane. You both loved the job so much."

She snorted. Once again, it was uncharacteristic of her to do such thing. Her fingers were clenched around the badge to the point of turning her knuckles white. It was that very job that had taken her friends away from her. Keeping her work with Boston PD was a way to honour their memory. She used to love that job. Now she despised it.

"I told you last week that Jane survived the bullet she had in her head. The consequences are heavy. The bullet went through the frontal lobe and got stuck between the Broca and the Motor Function areas. She went through several surgeries to have it completely removed but the damages are there. She can't move on her own, she can't speak. She's got no emotional or intellectual responses. The doctors said that she wouldn't make a full recovery but that she could still recover some of her time intellectual and motor functions. They said she needed practice, and support, and everyone is there for her but… nothing has changed. Not a sign of improvement in months."

A sob wrecked her body. She couldn't hold it back anymore. She had been strong for everyone for too long, but she needed to let out her own despair and fear and sadness over her friend's condition, over the unfairness of their deaths. Jane wasn't dead strictly speaking but it felt like it. Jane was no more, and Maura could tell without a doubt that if the former detective could have a glimpse of her current condition, she would ask for them to kill her off. She would refuse to finish her life like that, stuck between a bed and a wheelchair, saliva dripping on her chin and shirt.

"Angela has finally accepted her transfer to a specialised institute. She signed the papers last week, after my last visit to you. Jane was transferred two days ago. A group of specialists will work with her. I can't blame Angela for thinking that Jane would recover like she always did until that bullet got in her head. She was devastated when she realised that she couldn't even afford the cares her daughter needed. But it's fine. I'll pay for it all. I don't care how much it costs. It's not about money. It's about Jane."

The edges of the badge were cutting into her skin now. She dropped to her knees in the grass, her body shaking from the uncontrollable sobs she had held back for too long.

"I wish… I wish we could go back in time and… and back up would be there. This nightmare would end, and you would both be fine."

But time travel only in science-fiction stories. It was impossible to go back in time, impossible to bring Barry or Jane back. They were stuck in that cruel reality. Her pain was suffocating her, and no one noticed it. Jane would have. Jane always did. And now Maura was alone.

"Maura?"

She raised her head, unsure if she had heard her name or just imagined it in the midst of the madness she was sinking in. She wasn't alone anymore. Frankie was crouched beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder. Something was different about him today. He didn't look as helpless as the last time she had seen him. Was it hope she could see on his facial features?

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you today, but Ma insisted that I came and got you."

"Is it Jane?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"She spoke today."

Frankie had a hard time believing in the miracle he had witnessed with his own eyes and ears. It was the first time in months that Jane was showing improvements. Their dying hope was revived with that simple fact.

"She-She said a word. Well, it wasn't really a word, more like a series of unarticulated sounds but we figured out."

"What did she say?"

"Maura."

"What? What did she say?"

"She said your name. She said Maura."

The gasp of shock that came out of her mouth was inelegant. After six months of taking care of her every day, of hoping for a change in her condition, of waiting for a miracle to happen, Jane had finally broken out of her catatonia. And the first word she was speaking was her name. Maybe things could get better with time in the end...