Disclaimer: It is probably good that Rizzoli and Isles isn't mine since Janet Tamaro and Tess Gerritsen do a much better job with them than I ever could.

A/N: My first venture into Rizzoli and Isles fanfiction. Hope you like!

Sitting beside the hospital bed, holding Maura's limp hand in hers, Jane feels guilty.

Not because her best friend is here.

Not because she is fighting for her life.

Jane feels guilty because she finally understands what Maura must have felt—when Jane shot herself. She thought she understood before but now it is painfully clear that she really had no idea.

She's seen Maura in danger before, of course. She's seen her threatened and even hurt.

But none of it really compares to this.

And she couldn't truly imagine what it was like for Maura, sitting in the cold and sterile ICU, until now, when she's here herself.

It's a reversal of their usual roles. Usually Maura is on this end of things—the one waiting, the one worrying. It's happened plenty of times. The precinct shooting was the worst, of course, but it was hardly the only instance.

Jane's always getting herself into trouble. Managing to get hurt. Usually it's simple—a quick trip to the ER, some bandages, some stitches and she's good to go—but it's still enough to freak Maura out.

And there are the times when it's more serious.

Last month she had a concussion that kept her in the hospital overnight. Even though she was fine, Maura refused to leave her side and under her cheerful façade, Jane could see her hyperactive brain running down the dozen scenarios in which Jane wasn't fine.

Maura's been there through all of Jane's injuries and mishaps and Jane isn't sure she's ever expressed any real gratitude. More often than not, she's cranky.

She's never really understood before.

She's never quite comprehended what it must've been like for Maura to kneel in a pool of her blood in front of headquarters, pressing her hands to a gunshot wound and begging her not to die. She doesn't think she's ever truly imagined the terror Maura must have felt.

The overwhelming, paralyzing fear.

The despair.

She didn't know. Didn't understand.

She knows now. And she feels guilty because never once did she thank her friend. Never asked if she was okay. How hard would it have been? A few simple sentences-

Hey, Maur, that can't have been easy, seeing me like that. I'm sorry. Are you okay?

Looking at her friend now, listening to the heart monitor, the hiss of the ventilator, she understands with painful clarity.

Today Maura was shot.

Twice.

Through the stomach.

Both through-and-throughs. Both life threatening. One bullet is bad enough and with two…Maura's lucky she made it to the hospital before bleeding out. Thank God for Frost who, for once, didn't get faint at the sight and told everyone what to do.

Jane's had first aid training, just like him, but her mind was blank. She obeyed his orders blindly, holding her hands over one of Maura's gunshot wounds. Beside her, Frankie pressed down on the other.

Hold on, Maura, hold on, they begged her. Please, please hang on.

The memory, only hours old, is haunting. But Jane is almost more shaken by another image.

An image if Maura begging her to live. To hang on.

Of Maura trying to stop her from bleeding to death.

Maura riding in the ambulance, watching in silent horror as the paramedics struggled to keep her alive.

Maura covered in her blood.

Maura at the hospital, being left in the dust as doctors whisked her off to surgery.

Maura waiting for long, agonizing hours.

Maura beside her in the ICU, not knowing if she'd live or die.

Jane did not get it before. But she does now.

"How is she?"

Jane looks up to see her mother hovering in the doorway.

The only reason they're both allowed in here is because Maura has them listed as next of kin. Jane remembers when she did it, when she assumed they were the only ones who would be here should this kind of situation arise.

Perhaps that was true then.

But things are different now, whether Maura knows it or not.

Jane called Constance earlier to tell her what is happening.

I'm on my way, Constance told her, sounding hysterical. No hesitation.

The circumstances are awful but somehow Jane is glad for Maura.

She's not alone anymore.

"No change," Jane tells her mother now, stroking Maura's cool, limp hand.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to go home and get some rest, can I?" Ma asks.

Jane shakes her head.

"Didn't think so." Ma walks over to stand on the other side of the bed, opposite Jane. "She wouldn't leave you, either," she says.

Jane isn't surprised. When she woke, three days after her shooting, Maura was there. She looked like hell. Hair uncombed and greasy, mismatched clothes. She wore no makeup and the circles under her eyes were so dark they looked like they'd been tattooed on.

And yet she still didn't get it.

Ma strokes Maura's hair lightly. Jane hopes irrationally that Maura will stir, but she remains motionless.

"We knew Frankie was going to be okay and the doctors said he'd sleep through the night," Ma says quietly. "And there was…there was nothing we could do for you. They said we should go home. Come back in the morning."

Jane keeps her eyes on Maura but nods, listening to her mother.

"I came looking for her and found her sitting here, just like you are now. In total despair. She was so very, very worried." Ma pauses, straightens Maura's sheets. "I tried to get her to go home for awhile but she refused."

Jane winces as she pictures a pale and frightened Maura, huddled at her bedside.

"She asked why I was being so nice to her," Ma recalls incredulously. "As if she hadn't just saved both yours and Frankie's lives."

Ma might be surprised but Jane isn't. "Maura's been alone a lot," she says quietly.

"I know," Ma says. "You know what she said to me? I asked if she thought you were going to be okay. And she said…she said you had to be. She said 'Jane has to be okay. She's all I have.' I think that's when I knew I'd always look out for her, from that second on."

"You did kind of take her under your wing," Jane observes.

"I always liked her," Ma says. "And she saved you and Frankie—I'll always be grateful to her. And now…now she's family."

"Yeah," Jane agrees. "She is."

For a moment, they sit in silence, watching Maura. Finally, Ma cups Maura's cheek lightly and bends to kiss her forehead. She murmurs something in Maura's ear before straightening up.

"I'm going to head home for the night," she says to Jane. "Can I bring you anything? Frankie has Jo," she adds.

"Oh, that's good," Jane mumbles. She pauses briefly before remembering her mother's question. "Um, some clothes would be good."

Her own clothes are covered in blood and the ones she's wearing are borrowed from the hospital. They're foreign and uncomfortable and she doesn't like that.

Maura, she remembers, stayed in borrowed clothes until Jane was awake and stable and sure to live.

She wonders fleetingly if Maura, too, felt the stickiness of blood on her hands long after they were thoroughly washed.

"Okay," her mother says, jarring her from her thoughts. "I'll see you in the morning. Call me if anything changes." She moves around the bed to give Jane a hug. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Jane says. She is too tired to pull away from her mother's embrace and for a moment, she sags against her. "Thanks, Ma."

Ma kisses the top of her head, rests a hand briefly on Maura's, and leaves.

The room is silent except for the hum of the machines, the steady beep of the monitors.

Maura was never supposed to be in danger.

The crime scene was clear. There were a dozen cops around.

It was safe.

But out of nowhere a gunman shot Maura and, for a moment, time stood still.

Jane remembers screaming. She remembers screaming and kneeling beside her friend in a river of blood. Amid the chaos, Maura's eyes—dark with fear and pain—locked onto Jane's.

Jane only remembers her own shooting in bits in pieces—most of it is a blur. But she remembers Maura's scream. Remembers Maura's face swimming dimly above hers before she passed out.

She remembers Maura's fear.

And she understands now.

She is not used to Maura being in danger. But the reverse is not true. Maura watches her risk her life every day. Jane's never given it much thought. Never bothered to consider the worry Maura must feel.

Until now, when she finally understands.

"Jane?"

Unsure if she's annoyed by or grateful for the interruption, she looks up to see Dr. Slucky standing in the doorway. She hides a wince. She supposes she should be nice, considering he saved her life and now Maura's, too.

Besides, he looks different somehow. Gentler. More vulnerable.

"Hi," she says softly.

"I was just heading out," he explains. "But I wanted to check in, see how she is." He looks sincere, further compelling Jane to be kind.

"I don't think there's been any change," she says.

He looks at the monitors hooked up to Maura, pages through her chart.

"She's hanging on," he tells Jane. "The next twenty four hours or so are going to be critical but she's doing as well as can be expected." He pauses briefly. "I could hardly believe it when I walked into the OR and saw Maura on my table."

He shudders and meets her gaze. The arrogant surgeon is gone, replaced by someone else entirely.

"I did everything I possibly could," he says.

The raw honesty in his expression startles Jane. For a moment, she imagines Maura in her position, talking too Slucky, exchanging Doctor-Speak.

I did everything I could.

Did he say that to Maura, too, when Jane was his patient?

"I know you did," she says, her hand going unconsciously to her own side, pressing against a phantom pain. He doesn't miss the gesture.

"She was just like you," he tells her. "So terribly afraid. I don't think she left your side—not once."

Jane nods.

"I should go," he says. "I'll be by to check on her tomorrow." He pauses briefly. "She has a good chance, Jane. Try to remember that."

"Thanks," she says quietly, watching him go before turning her gaze back to Maura.

She's so pale.

So silent.

Left alone with an unconscious Maura and her agonizing fear, Jane bows her head and cries.

Because her best friend was shot today and might not live through the night.

Because of the blood on her hands.

And because she finally understands.

A/N: I think I'll write a follow-up to this so be on the lookout. Thanks for reading!