A/N: Sorry I've been MIA. It's a busy time in my world. To make up for it, instead of posting a short chapter with a cliffhanger, I've delivered a long (by my standards) update. Hope you all enjoy, and let me know if you're still into this. As I've said before, this is endgame Jane/Maura Rizzles, but it is rated as Angst for good reason.

The day passes by quickly after that; you and Dean quietly fill out the paperwork surrounding Maura's involvement with the case. The only pause in the monotony is Maura's visit, about an hour before you and Dean plan to call it a night.

"Hey, Jane," Maura says softly as she knocks on the boardroom door. You beckon for her to wait a second before you get up to join her on the other side of the door. You don't need Dean listening in.

"Hey, Maur." You're not sure where to go from there, so you leave the ball in her court.

"I was thinking you could come over for dinner. I plan on leaving in an hour, if you want a ride?"

Your mind blurs through multiple scenarios. "Sure, Maur, sounds great."

It's like your mouth is working on autopilot, but your heart aches when she positively beams with your answer.

"Great. I'll meet you downstairs in an hour." You nod, trying to hide the fear in your eyes, and then she leaves.

If it's possible, the next hour passes by even more slowly than the rest of the day has. You have no idea what to do, how to act. Is the kid even mobile at, what, 7 months? You are in so much over your head.

Shit, should you be bringing him a birthday gift? There's a corner store down the block, surely they'd have something you can give a kid. "I'll be back in a minute," you tell Dean, getting up to leave almost as soon as you'd sat back down. You need something to distract him from your behaviour. "Want a chocolate bar?"

He gives you a look that reads 'Duh,' and you let out a shaky breath because he's letting you go. You feel like a madman, as you walk briskly down the stairs and out of the building, searching for that little market.

It takes all of two minutes in the store to realize that there is nothing for the kid here. You slump your shoulders in defeat as you turn to go. The guy behind the counter calls after you.

"You need something?"

You look back at him and shrug. "Something for a kid, but it's alright. I'll figure something out."

He chuckles. "Take a left when you leave the store, cross the street, and turn right. I think you'll find what you need."

His answer is cryptic, but you find hope in it nevertheless. "Thanks," you smile slightly, before darting off.

To your surprise and great relief, his instructions lead you to a boutique toy store. You roam the store for a few minutes, feeling peculiarly lost amidst the ghosts of your own childhood. A stuffed monkey, sitting alone atop a shelf near the back catches your eye. It has a calm smile and when you pick it up, it feels incredibly soft against your calloused fingers. It's plump and cuddly, the kind of thing you vaguely remember loving when you were younger. It has a cute little plaid bowtie and something inside your gut seems to settle.

Some of the nerves dissipate once you've held onto this monkey and you hope it can do the same thing for your nephew.

Holy shit you have a nephew.

You buy the monkey quickly and practically book it back to the precinct.

Halfway up the stairs, you curse, and stomp back down to the second floor. You hit the vending machine for a questionable Oh Henry to appease Dean, and do your level best to inconspicuously drop the toy in your open briefcase on the floor.

Part of you swear his eyes flicker infinitesimally at the movement, but the other part just appreciates his silence on the matter. When you toss the Oh Henry onto the papers in front of him, his eyes light up.

"Ahh, thanks, Rizzoli," he greets, already unwrapping the candy bar and leaning back in his chair. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You sit across from him and resume going through the files scattered across the table. You organize the files you'll need to take into the interview you're scheduled to have with Tommy in the morning, before you finish the last couple of forms regarding Maura's statement.

When Dean finishes his candy bar, you're stacking the last Maura-related file into the pile you have going on the floor, and he joins you as you dive into the Tommy files instead.

You lose yourself in the text for a bit, until Dean stretches and you glance at the clock. "Shit!" You curse loudly. You're late.

"Sorry Gabe, I gotta jet. I'll talk to you later."

He just shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, studying the time. "Yeah, yeah. Go." He stands up to pack it in for the night, too, but you're already gone, locking your briefcase as your sprint across the bullpen and nearly fly down the stairs.

You burst into the morgue in a light sweat, panic etched clearly on your features. Maura's just shrugging on her coat in the corner when she hears you explode into the room.

"Where's the emergency, Detective?" She asks, tone playful with just an edge of seriousness.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry I'm late. I got caught up with-" but your excuses are cut off even as you're gesturing wildly to explain.

"I get it. It's fine, Jane. I only just finished myself." She picks up her purse and scans the room one last time to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," you reply, breathless from your maniacal rush to get here. You follow her.

When you both slip into the car and Maura turns the ignition, you're not sure what you were expecting. But having Yo-Yo Ma erupt from the sound system was not it.

"I thought Yo-Yo was only for the bath?" You joke, trying to lighten the suddenly incredibly thick air. You're grateful that some things haven't changed, even if you're appreciating the fact that you haven't had to listen to this guy for the past year and a bit.

Maura's hands fidget on the wheel and she almost pointedly looks everywhere but at you. You're saddened, but not surprised when it is her clinical voice that responds to you. "I found, during the time you were away, that I required soothing, calming, and relaxing music whenever possible. It helped me focus on what I needed to do and, after a while, TJ had grown accustomed to it."

Your throat constricts with an apology on your lips and the urge to comfort in every inch of your skin. She clears her throat, ejects the CD, and pulls a different CD from the storage space in her door. You balk at the lack of a jewel case, never before witnessing Maura treating an item with any less than the full amount of consideration it requires.

Led Zeppelin thunders through the speakers this time, and it's your turn to fidget. Maura doesn't look over to you, doesn't acknowledge that this is your favourite CD by your favourite band, and in return you don't ask why it's here. You're certain she never owned this CD while you were living here.

You have hunches. Of course you do. But it hurts to think about Maura escaping to her car to blare the Zep and try to mourn you. You're ninety-nine percent sure that that is the purpose of the disc, and that's not just because there was a matching Yo-Yo Ma relic in your Washington apartment. At least, until you'd smashed it one night after encountering a Maura look-alike in the park a few blocks from your place. It was a hellish week.

Dean didn't question the bandages on your knuckles the next day.

You scramble for something, anything to say during this eerily void of talk commute, but by the time Maura pulls into her driveway, neither of you have said a word.

At the door, Maura sticks the key into the lock, and as she turns it, you blurt out, "I got him a gift."

She halts immediately, hand cocked.

"I hope that's okay," you continue, awkwardly opening up your briefcase to show it to her.

You can't remember the last time Maura's smiled that widely.

"Thank you, Jane. You didn't have to. But I'm sure he'll love it."

And just like that, you're in her home-this time at her invitation-and there's an excited infant (toddler? You haven't a clue) bouncing on the couch, awaiting his mother.

TJ takes to you immediately, and Maura's astonished. He hasn't taken to anyone that quickly, except herself. You feel a bit of pride at that, despite not knowing what you're doing. He hangs onto that baby monkey tightly, bringing it with him any time he moves from sitting to lying down, or anytime his mother moves him to a different place in the room. He hangs onto it religiously as he bounces in his seat strung up in the den's doorway.

Maura tells you about everything you've missed, even the stuff that makes her choke up and fight to keep going. You feel like you owe her. So after dinner, after you've had more wine than you've imbibed in the past 15 months combined, you tell her your nightmare.

"It always starts like I'm just waking up, just regaining consciousness…"

Your vision blurs and the first thing you see is Hoyt's face, looming over yours. On instinct, your limbs all jump to get you up, but as much as you pull against the restraints, you're stuck.

"Janie! So nice of you to join us!" He laughs, gesturing in pleasure with the scalpel in his hand. "And you brought a guest this time, so considerate!" His eyes flick over to your right and your stomach feels like it eats itself.

Maura is lying on a table beside you, strapped down as well, with her head lolling to the side like she's unconscious. Something primal in you rips loose and you tear against your bonds again.

"Now, now, Janie, we wouldn't want to wake the good doctor before we've had our fun. If I recall, you escaped my grasp before I could finish my work with you. And you know how much I hate leaving a masterpiece unfinished." He leers down at you, and you can feel the sweat slipping down your temples.

"The only question is, Janie, which one of you should have to watch?"

"Take me, take me, leave her alone, please," you try to cry out through your gag, but he only chuckles and moves over to the doctor. He strokes her hair and you fill with rage at the sight.

"Don't touch her! Damn you, don't you fucking touch her!"

But it gets lost in the cloth on your tongue.

"I agree, Janie," he says, "you should definitely be the one to watch."

It feels like déjà vu, but you don't know why and you don't know how to escape. You're getting nowhere with your restraints and the only one in the room aside from Maura is Hoyt. There are no other variables, nothing for you to try to manipulate.

You are, in a word, helpless.

Hoyt runs a finger gently across Maura's cheek and you pray with every fiber of spirituality in your body that she won't wake up.

Whoever's on the other end is ignoring you, though, because you are forced to watch uselessly as Maura stirs on the table. As she goes to reach up to brush her hair farther from her face, shock flits across her face at her inability. She writhes against the restraints too, just like you did, and she too is unable to escape.

Your pulse is racing and it feels like your brain will spontaneously combust at how much you're trying to find a way out of this. Hoyt's learned since last time, though, because there are no objects anywhere near you. No convenient tray of surgical tools, not even a chair or a napkin. There is nothing for you to improvise with. There are only you and Maura and Hoyt in the room, and Hoyt has the only weapon.

You've never been so scared to be in a room of white before. So clean, so medically bare, so ready for the splattering of gore you hate to admit can't be avoided.

Maura's eyes meet yours across the room. It's maybe six feet between the two of you, but no distance has every felt as unconquerable. Her eyes are still beautiful, still golden hazel and warm, but there is a foggy covering of pure, unadulterated fear.

So you vow to do all you can to keep Maura's suffering to a minimum.

You thrash and you try to yell, doing all you can to draw Hoyt's attention to you. You can feel your energy sapping away with every stilted kick, every uselessly rendered movement of your arms-every snarl that fights through your mouth.

Maura looks at you, pleading with you silently to stop, to let whatever happens happen. You catch the shift in her stare as though she slapped you. She's resigned. She has given up. She knows what's going to come, knows that Hoyt will view you as the male in this relationship, despite its platonic nature, and she knows what will happen to her.

It ignites a fury so massive it explodes out of you. But just as quickly as it arrives, it dissipates as your struggle with your restraints once more shows only disappointment.

"Yes, Janie, keep fighting. I've always loved how much you feel, how much you desire to save people. It will make what I'm about to do to the doctor that much more pleasurable," there's almost a trill to his voice on that last word. It sickens you, but even you can see that there's nothing you can do.

Hoyt unbuttons Maura's blouse slowly, and all you can do is watch, vocalizing angrily, as a tear escapes Maura's eye and into her temple.

"She's pretty, Janie, I'll give you that. It's such a shame," he admits, twirling a lock of Maura's hair in his fingers. "You just can't help yourself, can you, Jane?" He laughs and then shakes his head. "You know you can't have her. You know, if it's not me, someone else will take her away. Rockmond, perhaps?" He shrugs.

"It doesn't matter who does it, you'll always know that it was all your fault, Janie."

"You saved so many people, but you can't save the one you love." He sneers. "I call it just desserts."

His hands move to Maura's waist and you look away. Like a shot, Hoyt is back, turning your head for you, and strapping you down along your crown. He returns to Maura's side, climbs up onto the table, and straddles Maura's hips.

"This one's for you, Janie."

All you can do is watch as he wins.

When you finish telling Maura, the house is deathly silent. Even TJ, who had mewled a little throughout the first part of your recollection, has gone quiet.

You'd focused on the wine glass in your hands while you told her, absorbed in the way the curves meet to the stem and trying to find the smallest bubble in the crystal.

A strangled sob wrenches itself from Maura's chest, and you can feel the pain of it when you look over and see her crumpled on the chair beside you.

"I never understood-" Maura starts, but cuts herself off with another sob. This time she takes a few moments to calm down. You feel like maybe you should have gone over to her, comforted her, placed your arm around her shoulders and been the safe place she could turn to.

You hesitated too long.

She starts anew this time, "Do you remember when you broke up with Casey?"

The sudden shift in the conversation takes you by surprise. Whatever thing you'd expected her to say next, something about Jones was the farthest thing from your mind.

You nod.

"You showed up at my door that night. You were drunk, I could tell by the shine in your eyes and the colour on your cheeks. You told me that you didn't want to be alone." Maura stares stalwartly at the couch cushion beside you.

"I asked you if you wanted to talk about what happened, if you wanted to confide in my why the two of you 'called it quits' I think is the phrasing you used." Maura sighs. "But you just shrugged me off and asked if we could go to bed."

Terror clutches at your lungs. No, no, no you think. That had been a dream. That hadn't actually happened. Please, God, please don't let this have been real.

"I guess you thought I'd fallen asleep. Or maybe you were too drunk to care. There'd always been a gap between us when we slept together like that. Generally, a whole arm's length. But that night, you let yourself come closer. You spooned me and I felt like I couldn't breathe."

She pauses, like she needs a minute before she tells you the rest of the story. You hope she doesn't. Because if this dream wasn't a dream, you know how it ends.

"After a few minutes, one of your hands made its way underneath my shirt. It rested here," she gestures loosely to her lower stomach. "Then you kissed my shoulder through my shirt, and you breathed so deeply, like you'd finally stopped a moment in your life to rest."

She sniffles now and unconsciously swipes gently at her nose with the back of her hand. She takes a sip of her wine. "You told me that you were sorry. That Casey had asked you to marry him. And I've never forgotten what you said after that. It was like the silence of the night freed you."

"You said, 'How could I say yes when I am so in love with you?'"

You massage your palms voraciously, looking anywhere but at the doctor because she knew. She knew and she didn't say anything and for whatever reason that makes it easier for you to be angry with her. It's not her fault, but this undeniable, self-righteous anger has found a hold in your ribs.

"I didn't know what to do, if I should pretend to wake up, but then you continued, and you sounded so heartbroken, God, Jane, I just-I froze. You said, 'But even if in some crazy alternate universe, you were in love with me, we could never be together.'

'I'd rather see you happy with someone else than ever hurt you and risk not having you in my life."

Maura puts her wine down on the table beside her. She tugs at her skirt, a self-conscious movement that only appears when she's inconsolable with worry.

"And you ended it by saying-,"

"I love you, Maur," you jump in, saying it with her. She looks surprised, her gaze automatically shifting to you and the two of you lock eyes.

"I thought I dreamt that," you admit, and a gasping sort of laugh escapes you. But it's not funny, no part of this is remotely funny.

She stares solidly into your eyes. "I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't – I didn't understand how you could love someone and not want to be with them."

"I thought about whether or not I wanted to be with you. I had thought about it, of course I had, over our years together. But one or the other of us almost always had a relationship going and I figured that was a sign. I figured that if you wanted me in that way, that nothing stood between Jane Rizzoli and what she wanted.

"I never knew until that night that you wanted me too. Except you didn't want to want me. You wanted me to be happy with someone else. You didn't want to hurt me." She can't seem to find the strength to stop talking, or maybe she's tired, too, like you. "It was so noble, so self-centred, but for the right reasons. I wasn't allowed to have a say and it made me mad, but I thought that maybe I could change your mind."

She looks away to fiddle with the ring on her hand. "I understand now that nothing I did could have made things turn out differently. Now I know what you were afraid of. It was all there in your dream, your nightmare. You weren't afraid of you personally hurting me. You were afraid of my getting hurt because of association, because I was important to you and bad people could use that.

"I understand now that no matter how flirtatious I became for the month after that night, no matter how many hints I dropped, no matter how much physical contact I tried to initiate with you, that nothing would have changed."

You feel like you're supposed to say something-like you should be bursting at the seams to say anything. But you don't. You just feel empty. Because you each made your decisions and at the time, what Maura did, the way that she tried and then gave up, it's what you wanted. You remember that time, when there was more gratuitous touching than usual, where her innuendos got a little louder, and you had felt tortured.

But now it all makes sense.

"I don't know how long I spent wishing you weren't so damned noble, Jane. I thought that Tommy coming into the picture would somehow propel you into my arms. But the longer I went with Tommy, the more I could see of your personality leaking out from his pores. Not the illegal stuff, but the caring protectiveness, the Rizzoli sarcasm paired with the charm. And I thought, this was a Rizzoli I could love who could love me back and who would love me back."

She smooths her skirt again. "I didn't realize you were hurting so much. I thought that it had just been a little crush because you practically pushed us towards each other. When I invited you to come over, you'd tell me you were busy and maybe I should call Tommy instead. It felt like you were over it and so I tried to be over it too."

You remember, forcing those words out of your mouth because a good best friend is supportive and you would do anything to prove that you were just Maura's best friend.

"We dated for a while and then he proposed and you didn't say anything. You helped with the planning and I deduced that there truly was nothing left. So I decided I should be happy with Tommy. And I tried. I tried so hard to replace you with him even though I wasn't conscious of it."

She chuckles mirthlessly. "So you can imagine my utter shock when I go to your apartment on the night you're supposed to leave and you're telling me how in love with me you are and how you can't stay because of me. You can imagine how wide the hole in my soul rips as you walk out, asking me not to follow, but to let you go."

The tears are falling feverishly now, "And I thought I owed it to you, to let you go and stay away. That I had already screwed up your life so much that if all you wanted to do was get over me, you should be allowed that much at least. It took me some time to come to that realization of course. At first I was just shocked, absolutely frozen to think that you were leaving me. And then I realized that accepting it was the least I could do and so, like a fool, I did nothing."

Your eyes are wide and your throat is dry. You feel like you're supposed to absolve her, lift her guilt like the priest at church. But the words won't come, your mouth won't water enough to make a sound.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I'm so sorry. I spent so much time trying to do what was right for you and I should've just talked to you instead."

It's not a reprimand, but you take it that way anyway. Because it's a two-way street. Had you said something, maybe the two of you could have avoided this whole mess.

And it's not that you want her. Of course you do, but your fears remain, and the fear often manages to outweigh the want, particularly when you remember your nightmares.

You can't decide if you should stay, beg her for forgiveness, and apologize for being an ass.

Or if you should do what you do best. Run.