*19 Months ago*

Maura steps onto the podium with a stride that is both measured and unwavering, the echo of her heels a sharp tap against the cold stone, reverberating like a solemn drum of destiny. Flanked by the silent, stoic figures of three new bodyguards, her ascent seems almost regal, a queen walking to her throne under the watchful eyes of her court.

The sea of faces before her is a tapestry of anticipation and scrutiny. She sees them not as individuals but as a collective entity—a flock of vultures circling, waiting. The sharp scent of their expectation fills the air, mingling with the subtle notes of polished wood from the podium and the faint odor of machine oil that clings to the robotic hum of the camera lenses.

Vultures.

Memory sweeps over Maura like the tide, pulling her back to her first speech. The very thought had haunted her dreams, a phantasmal audience jeering in her sleep. Yet her mother's words were an anchor, grounding her in a legacy that demanded excellence.

"You are an Isles, Maura. You will stand on that podium and do what you must. You will deliver that speech, and I will not accept anything less than PERFECTION. Never forget your name and what it stands for. I will not tolerate any actions that portray you as anything less than you are, Maura Isles."

Crafting that speech was like sculpting marble, each word chiseled with painstaking care until it stood flawless—exceptional, commanding. When it was over, the applause that thundered through the hall was not just a recognition of her eloquence but a rare nod of approval from her parents, Constance and Arthur. It was perhaps the only moment Maura ever felt the warmth of their pride.

Now, as she stands before the teleprompter, the letters blur, swim before her eyes like fish darting beneath the surface of a disturbed pond. She grips the podium, the wood grain a lifeline under her fingers, anchoring her to the present. She knows this speech intimately—every pause and intonation practiced to a rhythm only she understands, her words sharp and precise, a surgeon's scalpel cutting cleanly through the air. Her voice, when she speaks, rolls over the assembly, a commanding calm that brooks no opposition, her gaze icy, a sculptor's chisel that leaves no mark on her stony facade.

Only when Maura sinks into the cool embrace of her car's leather seats does the mask begin to crack. Here, hidden from the world by tinted glass, she allows herself the luxury of weariness, her shoulders sagging under the weight of weeks laden with trials. The sterile scent of the car's interior fills her nostrils, the leather a cold comfort against her skin.

Her lineage, once a mantle of pride, has become a shroud of scandal since the revelation of her ties to Paddy Doyle, the infamous mob boss. Despite her tireless efforts to cleanse her name, to sever all connections with that dark legacy, the whispers persist, a malignant shadow that clings more tightly with each denial. The burden of her heritage is a stone around her neck, heavier on some days than she cares to admit.

Closing her eyes, Maura leans back, letting the car cradle her tired body. Who would have thought righteousness could be so exhausting? That the path of virtue would be strewn with obstacles, critics lurking in every shadow, waiting for a misstep. At times, she deceives herself, whispering sweet lies of denial, clinging to them like a lifeline.

And in those moments of despair, when the darkness is a cloak wrapped tight around her, threatening to suffocate, she remembers Jane's words, a beacon in the gloom.

"You make the world a better place, Maura!"

Jane, her absence a hollow ache in Maura's chest, gone for over seven weeks—53 days and 16 hours, not that Maura counts. The pain is sharp, an iron grip around her heart.

She inhales deeply, the air sharp in her lungs, and exhales slowly, fighting to cage the storm within. Dr. Maura Isles does not falter, does not break. Yet, as she bites down, the taste of blood—a metallic reminder of her humanity—fills her mouth.

"God," she exhales, the word a whisper of defeat as tears escape their confines, tracing hot, saline paths down her cheeks, cloaked in the sanctuary of shadow.

Thomas, ever watchful through the rearview mirror, takes a discreet detour, buying his boss a few more moments of solitude. The predatory gaze of the media, ever eager to feast on her faltering, must not witness this rare crack in her armor. No one must see the toll these weeks have exacted on the composed, unbreakable Dr. Maura Isles.

xxx 4 days later xxx

It is nothing but a dream—the caress of hands over her body, the lingering scent of lavender in the air, and a whisper as soft as the breeze through night-blooming flowers.

"I'm back, babe."

Yet it is only a dream, a merciless fabrication of her subconscious, a dark artist painting scenes too poignant to endure. Every awakening brings the stark chasm of reality, an abyss so vast and deep that each climb from its shadows leaves her more fractured than before. How many more times can she withstand this cycle before she shatters completely?

Her tears intermingle with the ghostly sensations of lips brushing her neck and hands mapping her body as if charting undiscovered lands.

This is merely a dream. She, too, is merely a dream.

"Maura, baby, wake up."

At the sound, Maura halts and turns onto her back, the sensation of a rough, calloused hand on her abdomen grounding her. She opens her eyes, braced for the enveloping darkness, but instead, she finds herself caught in the gaze of Jane's deep, dark brown eyes—a storm captured within irises, profound and comforting.

She blinks, and upon opening her eyes again, the reality of Jane's presence solidifies.

"Hey babe," Jane's voice is a tender murmur, a sound as soothing as rainfall on quiet streets.

Maura lifts her hand with a hesitation borne of awe, her fingers grazing Jane's cheek so delicately, as though she might dissolve into the ether if touched too firmly.

"You're here." A tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down her cheek.

"I'm here," Jane's reply is a whisper, a vow spoken with the soft assurance of dawn dispelling shadows before she seals it with a kiss.

Maura's hands begin an explorative journey beneath Jane's shirt, tracing the sculpted terrain of her abdomen with a touch as reverent as it is desperate. As her fingers venture higher, drawing a path to hidden valleys below Jane's breasts, Jane closes her eyes, surrendering to the touch.

"Maura…" The word escapes Jane in a breath, a whisper of silk against skin.

It's mesmerizing, the way Jane's body reacts to her touch, as if recognizing its counterpart, responding with an instinctive, magnetic pull the moment skin meets skin.

With a fluid grace born of deep familiarity, Maura shifts, now straddling Jane. "I missed you," she confesses, her voice a soft echo between them. Time pauses, the world holds its breath as they gaze at each other. Jane's hands find Maura's bare thighs, her thumbs caressing the silky skin, an artist tracing the curves of a beloved sculpture.

Jane sits up, her face lit by the silvery glow of the moon, turning tears and dewy skin into a celestial map of emotion. Gently, she brushes a stray lock from Maura's face.

"Beautiful," Jane breathes out, the word hanging in the cool night air. She leans forward, capturing Maura's lips in a kiss that promises eternity, her tongue tracing Maura's full lower lip, sending a tremor through both their bodies.

"Jane…" Maura's eyes flutter closed, a heavy sigh escaping her as the world narrows to the point of their connection.

Jane's fingertips continue their ascent, lifting the hem of Maura's nightgown, her finger slipping beneath the waistband of Maura's underwear as if discovering the key to a long-sealed secret.

Maura's eyes snap open, the raw desire within nearly overpowering. "Please, Jane," she pleads, her voice a broken whisper, heavy with need.

In the soft luminescence of the moonlight streaming through the window, Jane deftly lifts the silky nightgown over Maura's head, the fabric whispering secrets as it passes her skin. Jane's gaze lingers on the landscape of Maura's décolletage, where goosebumps blossom like morning dew on rose petals under her watchful eyes. With the gentle yet assured touch of an artist, Jane's hand explores the soft contour of Maura's left breast, while her lips find a tender home at her right nipple. Maura's response is a symphony of pleasure, a moan that vibrates through the silent room, pressing her flesh closer to Jane in desperate intimacy.

Switching her attention, Jane lets her tongue dance a slow waltz across Maura's left nipple, drawing a shiver that radiates down to Maura's core. Maura's fingers weave through Jane's hair, a lifeline as tangible as the breaths they share, anchoring her to the fierce reality of their connection.

As Jane draws Maura's head closer, their lips meet in a kiss charged with the electricity of rekindled passion. Maura's mouth parts eagerly, welcoming the bold invasion of Jane's tongue. In a delicate balance of pain and pleasure, Jane pinches Maura's aroused nipples, only to soothe them with warm, calming strokes of her tongue. Her left hand gently commands Maura's head to tilt back, exposing the vulnerable stretch of her neck to a barrage of kisses and gentle bites, making her way to an earlobe, which she captures between her teeth, whispering huskily, "Tell me what you want."

Beneath the fabric of reality, Jane's hand ventures under the edge of Maura's panties—so close yet not touching, teasing the boundaries of desire. Maura's plea slices through the thick air, "Please, touch me," a desperate fusion of need and longing.

Jane's smile, felt rather than seen against the tender skin of Maura's neck, is a testament to the power she wields. How has it come to this? Maura ponders, paradoxically dominant yet utterly surrendered to the sensations that Jane evokes with her touch.

Time pauses—a suspended heartbeat—as Jane's thumb explores the intimate geometry of Maura's desire. Each slow, deliberate circle is a promise kept, while her tongue continues its own exploration within the cavern of Maura's mouth. When Jane finally enters her, Maura rides the waves of ecstasy, her world fragmenting into blissful chaos at the mercy of Jane's skilled fingers.

Collapsing together, Jane holds Maura close, their breaths mingling in the aftermath of passion. As tranquility envelops them, Maura begins her own exploration of Jane with kisses that are both soft and deliberate, charting a map across Jane's sensitive skin—ear, neck, cheekbones, and the swollen fullness of her lips. "I want to taste you," Maura whispers, her words a velvet caress against Jane's mouth as she resumes her southward journey.

Attending to Jane's breasts, Maura lavishes attention on each pink peak, eliciting gasps and moans that fill the room with an intimate orchestra. Her journey continues down to the sacred space between Jane's thighs, her name rolling off Jane's lips like a sacred invocation. As Maura's tongue ventures into the essence of Jane, the taste is as intoxicating as the finest wine—sweet, complex, undeniably feminine. Maura licks Jane's pulsating center while Jane's hands grip Maura's blonde hair, pressing her down lightly. Maura replaces her tongue with her index and middle fingers, sucking and licking until Jane's world shatters into a thousand colors.

Finally, Maura surfaces, lying beside Jane, tracing patterns over her abdomen, and pausing to admire the inked words on her ribcage, "Per aspera ad astra"—through hardships to the stars. Maura's kiss seals the phrase, a promise of ascension through the layers of their shared experiences.

"What changed?" Maura's question is sudden, pulling Jane back from the brink of sleep. "What made you sleep with me?" Jane's eyes, deep pools of ever-shifting brown, hold stories yet to be told. "Someone died on this mission," Jane confesses, the weight of her words heavy in the air.

Maura's response is immediate and tender. "I'm sorry, Jane." Their kiss is a balm, soothing the raw edges of Jane's confession.

"I love that I can do this whenever I want," Jane whispers, her words a feather-light touch against Maura's lips. Their silence is filled with unspoken promises as Jane's hand roams, claiming territory with a gentle yet possessive touch.

"When we were on the plane, his coffin between us, I asked myself what I was waiting for. My last relationship was difficult. But you're not him, you're different. WE are different. Being with you feels right. And suddenly, I saw no reason to wait any longer. If I had been in that box instead of him, I would have missed out on something really important in life."

Maura kisses Jane, and they are silent for a moment. Jane's hand travels over Maura's thigh, up to her buttocks, over her back, and finally to her neck. She pulls Maura onto her and whispers, "Something really good."

"And we can't let that happen, can we, Commander?" Maura's voice is thick with passion, her words punctuated by fervent kisses.

"No way, Dr. Isles," Jane responds, her voice a velvety growl that promises more than just words, echoing in the quiet room, sealing their fates together in the dance of love and life.

xxx A few days later xxx

"What's the matter, Maura?"

Maura scrutinizes Jane's face. Her eyes have narrowed into sharp slits, her lips pressed into a thin line. The muscles in her jaw twitch with barely suppressed rage, and her cheeks flush with a mix of anger and frustration.

It was too good to be true.

"I really don't see what your issue is," Maura's voice cuts through the air, frosty and detached.

Jane steps forward, decreasing the distance between them. Reflexively, Maura steps back.

"You... you are—"

Jane's words falter, her mouth opening and closing in quick succession. The anger within her simmers like a tempest, fiery and uncontainable, pulsating through her veins with ferocious intensity.

Maura glances at her phone, a deliberate gesture of disengagement.

"This discussion is over," she declares. The aloofness in her tone surprises even her. Maura had mastered the art of controlling her anger from a young age. Unlike Jane's fiery tempest, Maura's anger is an arctic freeze—remote, silent, and devastatingly cold.

"No, Maura. That's not how this works," Jane asserts, a stubborn edge to her voice.

Maura raises an eyebrow, feeling the undercurrents of Jane's words trying to thaw her icy resolve. This time, when Jane steps forward, Maura stands her ground.

"You aren't the boss here. You don't decide when a discussion ends just because you dislike my arguments."

Maura feels it then—the ice within her beginning to fracture. Massive, jagged cracks spread through the frozen barricade she's built around her emotions.

"You should leave now, Jane," Maura murmurs, her voice quivering despite her efforts to sound firm.

For a moment, Jane looks taken aback, but then she steps forward again, closing the gap even further.

"No."

The heat emanating from Jane's body and her relentless defiance melt the last vestiges of Maura's restraint. Anger erupts from Maura like a long-dormant volcano awakening with seismic force.

"What do you WANT from me, Jane?"

Maura advances, her face now mere inches from Jane's, the air between them charged with their mingled breaths.

"YOU are a HYPOCRITE!"

She jabs a finger into Jane's chest with each accusation.

"Even though I don't know exactly where in the world you are and what exactly you're doing, one thing is clear: the bigger the secret, the greater the danger. EVERYTHING about YOUR job is cloaked in secrecy. YOU chase criminals globally, though you'd never admit it. YOU were shot, SHOT! And at our first meeting, YOU were stabbed!"

Her voice escalates with each word, reverberating loudly in the tense air. Dr. Maura Isles, known for her composure, is shouting for the first time in years.

"And YOU dare tell me that I'm being unreasonable for attending this party despite my father's gang war? We are in the CITY, Jane. I have BODYGUARDS. Unlike YOU, I don't rush into the arms of armed terrorists while my girlfriend at home has NO DAMN CLUE whether I'm still alive or already dead in the dirt!"

Silence falls like a heavy curtain, punctuated only by Maura's labored breathing.

"That's what this is really about, isn't it?" Jane's voice softens dramatically, a soothing balm to the heated argument.

She gently uncurls Maura's finger from her chest and places the hand flat against her heart. Her expression softens.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Jane's eyes widen as she watches tears start to form in Maura's eyes, witnessing the crumbling of her furious facade. Maura has blundered, igniting a fight in spectacular fashion, only to see in Jane's response a mirror reflecting her own fears—fears of abandonment and control.

"Maura, baby..."

Maura summons what remains of her stoic facade. "Jane, please leave," she implores with feigned calmness. "We had a good run, but clearly, we aren't meant to be." A chill seizes her heart, but she clings desperately to her composed exterior.

"No, Maura," Jane replies, her gaze piercing. "I'm not going to leave."

As control slips from her grasp, Maura's voice fills with desperation: "Just go! Go and never come back, like everyone else!"

"No, Maura. I'm not just walking away because we're fighting. That's not how relationships work. You don't just abandon ship when the sailing gets rough... Feelings don't just change because we argue."

The floodgates open, and Maura's tears cascade down her cheeks, a torrent of raw emotion that washes over her, threatening to sweep her off her feet. Her legs quiver perilously, the ground beneath her seeming to tremble with the force of her sobs. It's only a matter of seconds before she finds herself enveloped in the sanctuary of Jane's arms—strong, unwavering arms that seem to hold the pieces of her fragmented soul together. Jane's hands move gently over Maura's back, her touch a soothing balm, with occasional tender kisses planted on Maura's temple, each one a whisper of comfort.

Time stretches out as Maura gradually finds her calm, her breaths slowly synchronizing with Jane's, their embrace a still point in the swirling chaos of her emotions. They stand in the heart of Maura's living room, amidst the shadows cast by the dim light, clinging to each other. Maura buries her face in the crook of Jane's neck, her grasp tight, as if holding onto Jane is her lifeline, the anchor in her stormy sea.

"It's okay, darling. I'm here," Jane murmurs, her voice a soft, resonant timbre that resonates deep within Maura, soothing her from the inside out. Maura treasures the sound of Jane's voice, a voice that carries the strength and clarity of a leader, laced with a subtle dominance that's both comforting and exhilarating. When Jane is joyful, her voice lifts, airy and light, floating like a warm breeze that fills the spaces between them with laughter. In moments of intimacy, it deepens, a sultry timbre that sends shivers down Maura's spine, stirring desires without a single touch. Now, it is gentle, imbued with an empathy and love that wraps around Maura like a soft blanket.

Love—a concept so profound yet so fraught with complexities for Maura Isles. She swallows hard, the weight of the word settling like a stone in her throat. She hasn't confessed such a feeling in over two decades. Her memory drags her back to a night marked by the fury of a thunderstorm, the kind that made the old house creak and groan as if it shared her fright. She was only seven or eight, a small, frightened figure engulfed in the vastness of her childhood bed.

On that stormy night, Constance, her adoptive mother, entered her dimly lit room. The shadows from the window panes danced across the walls, mirroring the turmoil inside Maura. Constance's presence was soothing, a beacon of calm in the tempest. Her hands, gentle yet firm, stroked Maura's hair, easing the tremors of fear that wracked her small body. Maura, feeling a rare sense of security and belonging, nestled closer to Constance's leg, her small voice barely above a whisper, confessed, "I love you, Mom."

Constance's hand paused mid-stroke, her silhouette stiffening slightly against the flicker of lightning. She touched Maura's hair once more, her voice steady yet devoid of warmth as she imparted a lesson wrapped in steel. "Love is a weakness, Maura. And Isles have no weaknesses," she declared, her words slicing through the room's charged air before she turned and left. The door clicked shut, sealing the decree within those four walls.

That moment crystallized in Maura's young mind, shaping her understanding and expression of love. Those words, those three little words, never again crossed her lips towards another. Partners came and went, feeling the chill of her detachment. Some, like Michelle, labeled her the "Ice Queen" during their tumultuous parting, their accusations a testament to the walls Maura had erected around her heart.

But now, with Jane, those words hover on the brink of utterance, dancing through her mind with a persistence that frightens her. She's come close, oh so close, to voicing them, only to retreat into silence, haunted by the fear of rejection, of loss. And Jane—does she harbor the same fears? Is their connection merely fleeting, or could it be the harbinger of something true, something lasting?

"Maura?" Jane's voice, laced with concern, draws her back from the precipice of her thoughts. Confusion clouds Maura's expression as she tries to grasp the thread of their earlier conversation.

"I asked, what's going on, Maura?"

Swallowing the knot of anxiety in her throat, Maura ventures a plea, her voice a fragile whisper. "Promise me that you'll try to always come back to me?" She knows the weight of such a promise; it's an oath that could be crushed under the unpredictable forces of fate, yet she asks, hoping against hope.

"Of course, baby! I promise you I'll do everything in my power to always return to you, okay?" Jane's assurance comes with a tender kiss that lands softly on Maura's lips, a seal of her vow.

"And promise me you'll be careful at the party and hire two extra bodyguards?"

Maura nods, a semblance of a smile flickering across her face. "Deal," she winks, allowing a momentary lightness to pierce the gravity of their exchange. In that brief interlude, a fragile peace settles around them, a delicate truce in the shadow of unspoken fears and unshed tears.

xxx Two weeks later xxx

In the confining space of the elevator, the unflappable Dr. Maura Isles feels the unfamiliar clench of fear. Her confidence wavers, leaving her feeling vulnerable, a sensation so alien that even Jane is at a loss for how to comfort her. Nervously, Maura fingers the label of the wine bottle she's brought as a token of goodwill, while her other hand taps an anxious rhythm against the cool metal of the elevator's handrail. She watches the numbers ascend—third floor, fourth floor, fifth—each ding a beat closer to a moment of truth.

Ding.

With a quiet exhale, Maura steps out into the corridor behind Jane, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. "Maybe it's too soon…" she murmurs, her voice tinged with trepidation.

Jane, ever the pillar in storms, squeezes Maura's hand reassuringly and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist. "Relax, babe. They're going to love you. My mom adores you, and my team will too," she whispers with a conviction that makes it almost believable.

As the door swings open, a wave of laughter floods the hallway, washing over Maura and offering a fleeting sense of relief.

"Janie, finally!" Frankie's voice booms as he envelops his sister in a bear hug, then turns his warm, welcoming embrace onto Maura. "Hi Maura, I'm Frankie, Jane's brother."

Soon, Korsak, Frost, and Cavanaugh join in with hearty greetings, their friendly jabs at Jane for her habitual tardiness sparking laughter. As the room fills further with Nina and Kiki, the atmosphere thickens with camaraderie and casual jest.

Leaning against Frankie's kitchen counter, Jane observes the lively scene, her heart swelling with a blend of pride and relief. Frankie, noticing his sister's gaze, pauses his popcorn preparation. "She's… really nice," he says at last. Jane smiles, her eyes twinkling with the secret joy of validation. "I told you," she winks. "You were right. Mom already told me… it's good to have you here, Jane." Frankie places his hand on Jane's arm. "I just want you to be happy," he says hesitantly. Jane raises an eyebrow. "You seem very happy," he continues, and Jane exhales, realizing she had been holding her breath. "I'm glad you've changed your mind," Jane smiles. Their shared look is one of deep familial bonds, momentarily unspoken but profoundly understood.

The game of Monopoly unfolds with a tension that belies its playful intent. Maura, despite her best efforts to restrain her competitive edge, soon dominates the board. Memories of childhood isolation shadow her victory; the brilliance that set her apart back then now threatens to do so again in the eyes of Jane's family. She was always too smart, too strategic, always winning, always alone.

Jane catches the subtle tightening of Maura's shoulders, the nervous rub of her palms against her thighs. In a bold move to break the tension, Jane rolls the dice, miscounts on purpose, and dramatically upends the board. "Enough of this gloom. I'm starving. Let's order pizza," she declares, her laughter ringing clear, setting the stage for a lighter, freer evening.

Maura melts into the comfort of Jane's embrace, her whispered "Thank you" lost in the folds of Jane's shirt, audible only to her.

The room erupts with playful teasing about Jane's notorious dislike for losing, but Jane counters effortlessly, her voice laced with mock arrogance, "Pfff, I didn't need to win… my girlfriend here showed you all up, you amateurs," her casual use of "girlfriend" sending a thrill through Maura's spine.

As the evening wears on, Jane proposes a toast. "To family," she declares, raising her bottle. The sentiment is echoed, glasses clinking in the warm glow of the apartment. Frankie's gaze meets Maura's, his voice serious: „Maura." For a moment, there is tense silence. "Welcome to the family," he then adds with a smile, raising his beer bottle. The others immediately join in, "Welcome to the family, Maura." The sincerity in those words cuts through any remaining tension, wrapping Maura in a cloak of acceptance she'd never felt before.

Family. Not by blood, but by heart, Maura remembers Jane's words. This thought, more than any other, cements her feeling of belonging.

On the drive home, as Jane skillfully navigates through the night, Maura gazes out at the blur of city lights, her mind a whirl of emotions.

"What's on your mind, genius?" Jane asks playfully, her hand finding Maura's thigh, grounding her.

"Move in with me," Maura blurts, the words escaping her lips before she can rein them back.

Jane pauses, processing the suddenness of the request.

Maura holds her breath. Where did that come from? But it's too late. The words have already been spoken. She turns in the passenger seat to look directly at Jane.

"My house is big enough for both of us, and I…" Maura hesitates. Is it too much? Too soon? She closes her eyes and musters all her courage. "…I hate the thought of your things still being in another apartment."

"Okay," Jane responds simply.

"So… okay? What do you mean, okay?"

"Okay, I'll move in with you," Jane says, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and love.

"Okay… just like that?" Maura asks suspiciously.

"Just like that," Jane confirms, sealing her promise with a kiss at a red light, her declaration hanging between them, filled with the promise of a shared future. She briefly embraces her, saying, "I hate having to go back to my apartment. I've been going straight to your place from the airfield these past few times anyway."

"Really?" Maura murmurs into Jane's shoulder.

"Really."

If Jane could capture Maura's smile, she would. And in that moment, she decides she would do anything just to keep that smile on Maura's face.

xxx A few days later xxx

In the quiet dusk, Maura enters the shadowed silence of their shared home. Darkness envelopes the space, and she leaves it untouched, unlit. The house breathes a solitude that resonates deeply with something unspoken within her.

She feels it.

No.

She KNOWS it. Every cell in her body pulsates with the undeniable truth.

Jane is gone.

With a flutter of disquiet, Maura lets her coat fall carelessly over the back of the sofa, her shoes echoing softly as they hit the corner, her bag thuds against the floor by the door.

Her steps are hesitant as she moves toward the living room, where the air seems thick with the echoes of departed warmth. On the large, sturdy dining table, a tableau of abandonment: Jane's phone, her wallet, a lone red rose lying like a streak of blood against the dark wood, and beside it, a note that strikes like a lightning bolt.

"I love you. J"

xxx Meanwhile, outside the city xxx

"How's your cat?" Frankie jests as Jane, the last to board, steps onto the plane, her arrival tardy as ever.

"Good... I hope," Jane replies, her voice tinged with a half-hearted humor.

Frankie's eyebrow arches, a silent query etched into his expression.

Jane had labored over that note, crafting and discarding it twenty times. Phrases like "I'll be back," "Sorry, had to go," and "Don't worry," were all considered and then dismissed, none capturing the essence of her turmoil.

She wonders if it's too premature. The fear that Maura might retreat haunts her. But then again, Maura had asked her to move in.

Frankie's gaze intensifies, piercing the veneer Jane struggles to maintain. He knows, as only a brother can, when her defenses are about to crumble.

"I told her I love her today," Jane confesses under her breath, ensuring only Frankie hears.

He gently claps her on the shoulder. "That's... fantastic, Jane," his voice laden with encouragement yet probing for certainty. "It is fantastic, isn't it?"

Jane's shrug is non-committal.

"Well, technically, I didn't tell her directly... I left it on a note. Guess I'll find out in a few weeks if it's fantastic."

Frankie's laughter breaks the tension. "You're incredible, Jane. You dive headfirst into gunfights, swim through crocodile-infested waters without flinching, yet you tremble at the thought of confessing your love to the woman you live with?"

Jane bites her lip, anxiety gnawing at her. "God... Frankie. Isn't this all moving too quickly? What if she runs? What if she finds my life too chaotic? What if Casey was right? What if it's too much for her?"

"You're brilliant and utterly foolish all at once, Jane. Maura adores you. She's as smitten with you as you are with her. Relax, you've been together over a year. You deserve happiness after everything with Casey. Mom loves her, we all do, and so do you. Just enjoy it and quit overthinking."

To lighten the atmosphere, Frankie raises his voice so the entire plane can hear, slapping Jane's shoulder playfully, "Now focus on the mission. I don't want to end up shot because you can't keep your dirty thoughts off Maura."

"Who needs enemies with friends like you..." Jane retorts, laughter mingling with the ribbing as they soar into the night sky.