Part one of a three? four? shot about what happens when Jane's worried about Maura instead of the other way around. Thanks for reading! I always love comments. Who doesn't, right? Enjoy :)


Detective Jane Rizzoli was doing research, which wasn't all that unusual considering the wide range of victims whose murders she'd been tasked with solving. But that night, as she sprawled out on the couch in her apartment, she was doing medical research. And that was unusual.

She ran her thumb and forefinger across her eyebrows, an old habit to release tension. Normally, she would just ask Maura about any questions regarding the human body. She dropped the file onto her lap and took a swig of her beer. Normally, she would just ask Maura questions about almost anything, actually, and the chief medical examiner would know. But that night she couldn't ask because Maura was on a date, the first she had been on with a guy who wasn't a total creep in a long time, and Jane was determined not to let work interrupt it.

"What do you think, Jo?" she asked the mixed breed bundle of fur that was currently curled against her side. "Because I think it seems a little ridiculous to be wasting my time reading all this crap I don't understand when I can just have Dr. Walking Google tell me in the morning."

Jo looked up, her ears flat with sleep.

"Glad we agree."

Jane stretched out on the couch, wrapping her long arms around the back of her head. She finished the last of her beer and let herself drift in and out of sleep while she watched the Red Sox game she had dvr'd. She knew that her team had won already, Frankie had taken all of about thirty seconds to spoil the ending at work that morning, and so she didn't fight it when the exhaustion from another long day overcame her before the eighth inning had ended.

She had a dream about Maura. Not weird- her subconscience was probably far more accepting than her waking brain of how deeply etched the doctor was in Jane's thoughts. But what was weird was the fact Maura was wearing a Red Sox jersey. It was just two of them, Jane and Maura, standing in a very empty and very magnificent Fenway Park. A familiar form in her hand distracted Jane enough that the teasing comment she was about to make that Maura wearing Pedroia instead of Vera Wang died in her throat. She gripped the ball in her hand. She felt the roughness of the laces. She realized she was on the pitching mound. Her best friend grinned at her from home plate.

"I think you're supposed to throw the ball at me, Jane," Maura offered, her tone an obvious attempt to mimic the sarcasm of the detective.

Jane smirked. "The word you're looking for is pitch, Maura. I pitch the ball to you, not at you. And be careful what you wish for."

Just as Jane wound up to pitch, Maura interrupted. "Aren't you supposed to yell, 'Hey, batter, batter or something?'"

"Okay, first of all, not unless I was 12," Jane answered, awkwardly coming out of her windup without letting go of the ball. "And second, don't talk while the pitcher does her work here."

Maura chuckled. Jane wound up and fired a fast ball low and over the middle of the plate. It thudded against the dirt and bounced to the backstop.

"You might wanna try swinging."

"I would have, but I read I wasn't supposed to attempt to make contact with the ball unless it was pitched in the strike zone."

"Why, Dr. Isles. I see you have a bit of a competitive edge after all."

Maura looked affronted. "I am simply attempting to comply to the specified set of rules."

"Just, that whole sentence, Maura. Crap like that shouldn't be said in Fenway. Swing the bat."

"I will, if you pitch a strike."

Jane wound up and released, the laces heating her fingers with their friction.

This time Maura did swing. And Jane knew immediately she was going to make contact. The wood cracked almost poetically against the leather and sent the ball flying straight back at Jane. She didn't have time to duck- the line drive slammed into her stomach traveling far faster than she had thrown it. All the air in her lungs was knocked out of her and she doubled over, fighting for breath.

The panic woke her up, and she clutched at her chest, still gasping for air. She had almost managed to calm herself back down when her phone vibrated loudly from the coffee table. Her heartbeat picking up still more speed, Jane grabbed the phone. 3:14 am. Maura was calling.

Jane tried to disguise the panic she knew must be filtering through her voice when she answered. It was probably nothing. She was probably just calling to talk about her date, assuming the detective would still be up mulling over the files from their most recent case. "Hey, Maura. What's up?"

"Jane," Maura whispered. And the little calm Jane had managed to regain immediately drained away.

"Maura," Jane answered, her voice louder than normal, almost like she was compensating for softer tone of her friend. "What's wrong?"

There was a distinct pause on the other end of the line, and then something that sounded like glass breaking. "Maura, answer me right now." Jane's felt ice clench against the frantic rhythm of her heart, and her voice reflected it with deadly tranquility.

"I'm stuck in my car."

"What happened? Did you crash?" She grabbed her keys and jacket as she spoke, rushing out the door without even bothering to turn the TV off.

"No. I..." she paused, her breathing growing more labored. When she spoke again, her tone was robotic. "Someone followed me after my date dropped me off at my car, which I had left at the lab. They forced me off the road, and now I'm stuck."

Jane jumped into her own car and started the engine before she realized she didn't know where to go. "Maura, where are you? Are you hurt?"

Another long pause. And then, quietly, "I'm in an alley off of Route 9. Jane, the man who followed me is getting out of his car."

"Maura, get out of the car. Get out of the car and run, right now." Jane ignored the drain in her chest, which continued to expand by the second. An eery silence hung on the other side of the phone. "Maura," she repeated, her voice almost a growl, "Get out of the car and get the hell out of there, now. I'm coming to find you."

"I already called 911. They told me to stay on the line with them, but I had to call you. I just wanted..." the usually articulate doctor seemed at a loss for words. Jane slammed the gas pedal down harder and flipped her siren on. Route 9. The Back Bay. Five minutes.

"You just wanted what, Maura? Keep talking to me, okay? Is he getting closer?"

"He has a club, Jane. Some kind of pipe. He's about to swing it at the back windshield of my car. The alley's too narrow for the doors to open. I can't get out."

The detective heard a sickening crash through the phone, and something inside her broke. "Maura," she screamed, partly into her cell and partly into the night. "Maura, please, answer me."

"I just wanted to make sure that if I only heard one more voice before I died that it would be yours," the doctor whispered.

And then the line went dead.