DISCLAIMER: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles nor any of the characters from the show. I am writing this purely for entertainment, not profit. Rizzoli and Isles are property of Tess Gerritsen and TNT.

Please find the full disclaimers in the beginning of Chapter 1.


Chapter 9

It was Christmas Eve, December 24th.

For the first time in the eight years Maura had become closer to Jane and to Jane's family, there was no Rizzoli's Christmas Dinner happening. Her house didn't even look like it was Christmas' time.

Angela was gone.

Tommy was in prison. As was Frank Sr. They both had agreed to a deal to avoid a trial, once the video from the funeral home clearly showed them gratuitously and viciously attacking Jane. A trial would have sentenced them between ten and fifteen years each. Their lawyer had made a deal with the DA: each one of them would serve for five years. If they behaved well, they would be out in three. And they were placed in a prison for first time offenders of lighter crimes per Frankie's influence, regardless Tommy's previous conviction.

At least TJ was with Frankie and Nina, who were declared his guardians at least until Tommy was released from prison. Maura felt sorry for the boy. She knew that if it had depended solely on Jane, no charges would have been pressed, and both would be free. But Maura knew they needed to be punished. For the damaged caused to Jane. Maura understood Frankie's reluctance in agreeing with Jane to drop the charges. If they were not punished now, where the consequences had been moderate, they would likely go on doing something worse, where no deal could save them.

Maura had tirelessly tried to convince Jane to come back to Boston for the Holidays. But Jane had offered a lame excuse of a need-to-know consulting job the Agency had put her up to. Maura doubted it, but there was no way to double check.

Frankie and Nina had tried to convince Maura to join them and TJ for Christmas, but Maura politely declined.

Jane had flown back to DC as soon as her medical leave was over. She was still barely eating paste-like foods (overcooked noodles, mashed potatoes) in the last week of her medical leave, but the moment the doctor gave her the clean bill for her ribs and for her jaw, she flew back to DC to resume work.

Despite her multiple tentatives, Maura had not been able to make Jane talk while she was in Boston. Not with Maura. Not with anyone else. Their longest talk had been on the evening when Maura brought up the fact that Jane had flatlined, and even that had not gone very far.

Since Jane had gone back do DC, Maura had not managed to get Jane to engage in one single video call. She would consider herself lucky if Jane spoke to her on the phone once a week, Maura doing most of the talk. The rest of the days were Maura initiating texts, to check on Jane, with Jane replying monosyllabic, many times not even the same day.

Maura knew Jane was running away. But Maura also knew Jane could not run away from herself – because at this point, Jane was the only one still blaming herself. Even Frank Sr. and Tommy had apologized for their behavior once the dust had settled down – although Maura would always doubt if they were just not trying to alleviate their sentence. She would never know – and she didn't honestly care. After watching them beating Jane senselessly on the funeral home security video that triggered the deal, she wanted nothing else to do with any of them.

Instead, Maura had spent those months doing something she thought could help Jane.

And that was how Maura found herself finally on a plane. Her original plan had been to fly to DC, and arrive to Jane's apartment in time to spend Christmas Eve dinner with her. She was not ready to spend Christmas alone. She was even less ready to let Jane spend Christmas alone, having only her guilt as company.

Boston was snowed in, so the plane was very late to depart. What meant Maura was flying somewhere over the northeast when midnight rang.

The pilot and commissaires made a celebration, that Maura joined without enthusiasm. Her heart was somewhere else.

As soon as they landed, Maura collected her luggage, to find a cab to Jane's apartment. The snow was falling, but the streets were still viable, and Maura felt grateful for it.

She let herself in – she had keys that Jane had handed her the first time Maura visited, a couple of months after Jane first moved to DC. Maura would not wake up Jane if she had already been in bed, it was past 2AM when Maura arrived.

When Maura opened the apartment door, at first she thought Jane was really in a confidential assignment. The apartment looked quiet, dark and pristine, as if nobody had been there for a while. Maura removed her coat and boots, leaving them by the door, before walking further in the dark.

And then Maura saw Jane's form sprawled sitting on the floor, her head resting back against the sofa. At first Maura was concerned – could it be Jane had been suddenly ill? But when Maura turned on a corner dimmed light, she could see the trail of dried tears on Jane's face. Jane had just cried herself to sleep.

Maura also saw a few crumpled papers behind Jane in the sofa, and a misplaced knife. Maura pushed the knife aside, and carefully picked the papers on her hands. It was Jane's scribble.

"The blade feels cold against

The feverish skin

Of my wrist.

Relief.

Escape.

Redemption."

Maura crumpled the paper, tears pinpricking the back of her eyes.

As an FBI training agent, Jane didn't carry a gun any longer. But it seemed to Maura that Jane had contemplated another method to shorten her suffering.

Maura sighed and stood up to try to get a hold of her broken heart. Being honest with herself, she was still learning to live without Angela barging into her house daily. The mere idea of losing Jane was unbearable to think of.

Maura walked to the kitchen. There was nothing on the kitchen sink. All the cabinets were empty. No smell of Christmas in the house. Cookies, cinnamon rolls, mulled wine. Nothing. Maura shook her head, wondering if it was possible Jane had not even eaten or drunk anything. She opened the fridge, and except for a few bottles of water and a few apples, it was completely empty.

Observing Jane with more attention, Maura could see she had not regained any weight. If anything, she actually had lost another five pounds.

And Maura realized what she was seeing was Jane getting ready to reach a final closure. Maura shuddered at the idea.

Walking back to the living room, Maura sat on the floor, by Jane's side, a hand gently smoothing Jane's unruly curls, every bone in her body willing to hold on to Jane and show her she was loved, and innocent, and wanted, and needed. Jane mumbled and shifted in her sleep, making herself small and curling against Maura's side. Maura passed an arm around Jane's shoulder, holding her closer, as Jane's face found a place of comfort in the crook of Maura's neck and shoulder.

This was not how Maura had envisioned spending her Christmas Eve with Jane. She had hoped to convince Jane to eat with her, even if it was a last-minute improvised dinner. And she had hoped to make Jane talk. The only gift Maura had wished for that Christmas had been to be able to lift the weight of Jane's guilt from Jane's shoulders.

But now, sitting here in the cold and dark room, with Jane sleeping curled warmly against her, Maura realized she would not trade this for anything else. Jane had not acted upon what she had wrote in that crumbled piece of paper. And Maura knew she should be deeply grateful for that… Because it meant there was still a thin ray of hope.