Wow, so it's been 12 years since I started this story, and there's really no excuse or reason I can give for leaving you all on a cliffhanger for so long. I'm very sorry for leaving you all high and dry, and I thank all of you who read this story and asked for the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and I apologise in advance if it's not what you had hoped for. I'm a little (VERY) rusty :p

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There was a fine spray of blood as the bullet ripped through his skull, spraying small flecks of bone onto the ground around him. Doyle's henchman, whose finger had been so close to squeezing the trigger and ending Jane's life, fell in what seemed like slow motion. His body gave a dull thump as it slumped downwards, and Jane finally released the breath she had been holding.

Korsak – the barrel of his gun still smoking from the shot he had just fired – shouted at Jane, "Get Doyle! I saw him climbing down the manhole!" She didn't need to be told twice, and she turned back towards the stacks of towering containers before taking off at a sprint, trying to catch up to the bastard who had caused so much suffering and death.

As she ran, she ejected the almost spent magazine from her handgun, and replaced it with a full one. She wanted to be fully prepared before she faced off with Doyle, and she knew she couldn't count on having any backup as they were all busy trying to keep themselves alive and round up the remaining gang members. The last sight before she dropped down into the darkness of the sewerage system running under the docks was one of carnage: so many people lay unmoving on the ground, surrounded by blood and bullet casings. But she couldn't let herself become distracted now.

The sound of gunfire and shouting became muted as her leather-booted feet splashed into the murky, foul-smelling water. Jane took a deep breath to calm herself and allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She regretted it immediately as her nose was assailed by the smell of faeces and decomposing rats. She palmed her torch, flipped it on and pointed it straight ahead. Making sure Doyle wasn't waiting for her, she closed her eyes and listened. To her left, she could hear water cascading downwards into a swirling pool of human excrement. So loud was the waterfall that she almost missed the faint sound of splashing footsteps, getting further away with every second she delayed.

Her eyes sprang open, and she took off again.

The torchlight bounced across the walls as she ran down corridor after winding corridor, and the air became more cloying the further away from the manhole cover she ran. Ahead, she could just make out a soft glow – also bouncing as its holder tried to get away – and she could see that she was getting closer despite Doyle's head start and his greater knowledge of the Boston underbelly. Being a piece of shit himself, he was right at home down here.

There was a loud boom as Doyle discharged his weapon, and Jane felt the bullet whizz past her and ricochet off the wall to her right. Thankfully, the winding tunnels made hitting a moving target a lot harder. Jane kept up her pace, her drawn gun at her side until she knew she had a clear shot. He fired off another shot which went wide, and then turned a corner. Jane was only seconds behind him, but she slowed down before peeking around the bend cautiously. He wasn't there, but from above there was a squeaking of rubber on metal rungs as he climbed up the ladder and through the already-opened manhole cover. This is probably where he had entered originally, and she was sure he had other men waiting for him topside. He hadn't become one of the most well-known and longest-surviving mobsters in Boston by luck.

She tried the walkie-talkie secured at her hip but got only static. No way was she sticking her head up through that hole and getting it blown off, though! Carefully and quietly, Jane climbed up about three quarters of the way and, holding up her phone to just below the lip of the manhole, checked her screen. Yes, reception! Firing off her location to Korsak and Frankie (I hope Frost is alright), she dropped down and sprinted back the way she had come. Not 50m from the ladder she had just vaulted off was another ladder leading up to the surface, and she quickly scaled up and shoved the cover off. It landed with a clang, but the time for stealth was up. She peered over the edge and froze when she saw the building in front of her.

Jane would recognize those dirty red bricks anywhere, and had seen them repeatedly in her nightmares as she relived the night she had been dragged into the decrepit warehouse in front of her before she was moved to Doyle's holiday home of horrors in the woods. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps and her chest tightened. The edges of her vision had started greying as she struggled to draw in oxygen, and the cold sweat slicked down her back. All this happened in the span of only a few seconds, as the pounding of footsteps drew her blurry gaze to two men running towards her from the entrance of the building.

She ducked and her feet slipped on the slick ladder rungs as gunshots ricocheted off the tarred street around the manhole. Drawing a deep, steadying breath and forcefully pulling her mind back from the nightmare it had started slipping into, she slid her feet down two more rungs. She manoeuvred herself until she was sitting on the ladder with her legs hooked around the sides. Leaning back in order to give herself a better view upwards, she extended her gun and aimed at the sky. The sound of footsteps slowed as the men cautiously approached. Jane's vision narrowed and her elbows loosened.

Though they obviously both dedicated a significant amount of time to maintaining their muscles, only one of the men had any sense of self-preservation as the other peeked his head directly into Jane's line of site. He received a well-aimed bullet for his mistake. The force of the bullet hitting the centre of his skull caused him to tip backwards, as flecks of blood drizzled onto Jane's face. She wasted no time as she pulled herself up to the opening above, banking on the other man being momentarily distracted. As she launched her body upwards and through the manhole, she felt the hot bite of a bullet passing through her right shoulder and her back hitting the cold metal of the manhole cover. Again, there was no hesitation as she pulled the trigger and hit the second man in the chest.

Wheezing through her clenched teeth, she spared only a moment before jumping to her feet and sprinting for cover closer to the entrance of the building. She saw Doyle disappear through the door; he had likely been watching to make sure his guys had taken care of her. Seeing no other obstacles (for now), Jane kept low while she made her way closer to the red brick walls and the numerous boarded windows scarring its face. The anxiety and fear, and the adrenaline pumping the blood from the wound in her shoulder, made her lightheaded and nauseous. But she wasn't so far gone that she would go through the front door just to have her head blown off.

Arriving at a window she had identified as having a loose board, she momentarily holstered her gun and slotted her fingers under the corner. She took a deep breath and started pulling at the board slowly so that it wouldn't make a sound. Her fingers – with their soft, still-growing nails – quickly started bleeding, but she couldn't stop or slow down. This ended today.

With enough of a space created for her thin body, Jane stepped beside the window and carefully peered inside. Blades of sunlight slashed through the gaps in the windows higher up, and the dust floating through the air gave the large warehouse an abandoned feel. But Jane knew that there was at least one rat inside.

Surprisingly, there was no one waiting for her, and a quick scan of the empty room didn't reveal any obvious aggressors. Jane hoisted herself through the window – her shoulder screaming at her in protest (FUCK, that hurts) – and landed softly inside. It was deathly silent, the incessant crackling from her walkie-talkie muted earlier lest it give away her position. She hoped that backup was on its way, but wouldn't wait and let Doyle escape.

Still crouching, Jane crept towards the only other door she could see while her eyes scanned the numerous boxes and shelves strewn across the warehouse floor. The blood flowing from her shoulder had slowed, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the blood loss rendered her incapable of carrying on. Momentarily, she thought of Maura and felt a pang of sadness that the love they had just admitted to each other – and the passion they had shared – might not have a chance to flourish. Pushing those thoughts and doubts away, Jane steeled herself for what had to be done. Even if she wasn't around for it, she wanted Maura and her friends and family to have a life free from the constant shadow of Patrick Doyle.

Her distraction cost her.

The only warning she had was a metallic click and she quickly stood to her full height. The blade that moments ago would have plunged into the side of her neck instead embedded itself into her side right where she knew her liver to be, and she spun around just as Doyle yanked the knife out and lunged again. Slowed as she was, Doyle managed to slash across her right forearm. Using the momentum of her spin, she grabbed for him with her left hand and barrelled into him. They both went down.

"Oh, Janie," the psychopath laughed as he tried to find an opening for another well-placed stab, "I really should've killed you. Don't worry, though, I always fix my mistakes."

Jane could only grunt in response as he jammed the hilt of the knife into her right shoulder, her right arm now useless and numb. Her left arm strained against him, but she knew she couldn't hold out for long and recognised that he was just toying with her until her body gave up. They were alone, and there was no way any of her colleagues would arrive in time to save her.

"You know, I really did enjoy our time together, but I'm a little disappointed that you've managed to stick yourself back together so quickly. I'll need to chat to my guys about being too soft," he chuckled as the knife's tip turned towards Jane's chest and drew inexorably closer.

Her good arm grew weaker, and she felt the honed blade slice through her shirt and bite into the flesh just above her heart. This was it.

And then the blade was gone, Doyle rolling away and clutching his bleeding head.

Dust angrily swirling around her, Maura stood with a plank of wood in hand and readied herself for another swing. But Doyle's life belonged to Jane.

Heaving herself to her feet and drawing her gun in a less than smooth motion, Jane wasted no time. She shot Doyle in the kneecap, and revelled in his scream. Limping to stand above his supine form she let a bullet rip into his other kneecap, and then into first his right and then left elbow. She knew she should just end it, but she was ravenous; she hungered for his suffering. Feral, she stomped on his leg and his screams got even louder. Beside her, she heard a soft whimper and Jane stopped, confused. "Maur," she breathed, glancing at her, "Get out of here."

"No, Jane, I can't. Please, don't do this."

"Do what, Maura? Make him suffer like he made me suffer? Make him pay for what he's done to me and so many other people? What?! He deserves this! Get the fuck out!" Jane screamed, and Maura's tears flowed faster. "You want to save your daddy? Even after everything? Everything I went through; I'm still going through?!"

"No, Jane, I want to save you," Maura whispered as she turned from the ferocity in Jane's voice, and the bloodlust in her eyes. "I'll be outside when you're done." With that, Maura walked and didn't look back, the sound of her shoes growing softer as she disappeared through the entrance to the warehouse.

Finally alone, all of Jane's grief and anger came out in a sob. She looked at her trembling hand, at the pool of blood around her feet, and then at the source of all her pain. Without another thought – her mind quiet for the first time in months – she raised her gun and looked Doyle in the eyes for one last time before she planted a bullet through his skull. The silence that followed was deafening, and her arm fell limply to her side – her left arm now as useless as her right. Numbly, Jane followed in Maura's footsteps, and the light which assaulted her eyes as she stepped outside brought Maura's quivering frame into sharp focus.

"I'm sorry, Maur," Jane managed as she crumpled to the ground, Maura's arms reaching out to her as everything went black.

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Jane had been in the hospital for two weeks and, after three surgeries and numerous visits from the physiotherapist, she was ready to go home. Everything still hurt, and they wouldn't be able to tell her if she'd regain function in her right arm for a few weeks yet. But she also felt lighter than she had in so long.

When she woke up from the first surgery, she was greeted by the feeling of warm hands wrapped around her own. Maura had been by her side for days, and her wrinkled clothing and dark bags beneath her eyes didn't detract from how damned beautiful she was. They both cried – for the things they had lost and could have lost, and for the undying love that filled them both to the brim.

Jane's waking moments were filled with visitors: Frost with his arm in a sling and a lopsided smile on his face, Frankie with anger ("You almost died AGAIN, Janie! You'll be the death of me!") and relief, Korsak with his long-suffering admonishments and support, and her mom with a contained full of cookies and unending devotion and love.

And through it all, Maura had stayed.

The night before Jane's promised discharge from the hospital, she and Maura lay side by side. The nurses had long since organised for another bed to be brought into the room, pushing it flush with Jane's. The TV was on and showing highlights from the most recent sporting events straight out of Boston, but Jane's eyes stared through it.

"You did save me, Maur," Jane said softly, breaking the silence and blinking back the tears threatening to escape. Maura turned her body, propping her head up on her elbow so that she faced Jane. "I didn't just want Doyle to die; I wanted him to scream. I wanted to torture him until he was hoarse, until he begged for me to kill him." Maura's face was wet as she listened quietly, squeezing Jane's hand. "I know that I still have a long road ahead, and that I have dark stuff inside me that needs to come out."

Maura sat up and turned to face Jane fully.

"But I can't do it alone," Jane finished, her gaze weighed down by uncertainty.

Maura put her hand under Jane's chin, lifting Jane's head so that she could see the love, strength and determination in her eyes. "You'll never be alone again."

END

Author's (final) note:

Thank you to everyone who's been on this journey with me. I started this story a long time ago when things in my life were very difficult and unsure. Losing myself in my writing was a way for me to escape from reality, and your kind words and reviews gave me a lot of comfort. And then things started getting better, until I was the happiest I've ever been. The story took a backseat as I enjoyed the real world. 4 years ago, I tried to write the final chapter but stopped when I realised that I didn't know how to end this story, and that I didn't really want it to end. But I owed you an ending, and I hope this last chapter has provided some closure to everyone who's still following. Who knows, maybe this is the kickstart I needed to continue writing, and hopefully I'll be able to get some of my own characters out of my imagination and into the world for everyone to read! I wish all of you the best! For the last time – good bye!