Hey guys, this story has been tumbling around in my head for quite some time now and I am so pleased to be bringing it to you. I have been working tirelessly to get you some chapters, and hope this story will take quite a drastic turn from my other fic, Her Fearful Symmetry. I'm really depending on your comments, reviews, and messages for reception of the story. I want not only to bring forward my vision for this story but also give you elements you wish to see in the story. I will be combining some elements of the novels into this one, so please don't surprised or upset to find some major players from the novels making surprise visits when they don't appear in the television show. I will make you one promise- Casey doesn't show up. At all. Yay no beards.

That all having been said, I want to thank the amazing kathyisweird for letting me bounce story ideas off her, as well as majorly broadening my Rizzles playlist. A shoutout to everyone in the talented writer's chat who have helped bounce ideas and proofread at least a few paragraphs of this story, you all are amazing and provide excellent ideas. Thank you to thewriterwhoisalone for taking the time to be a proofreader, your insights were tremendous. And finally, to my AMAZING beta, who has spent so much time and energy making sure the Jane Rizzoli presented to you today keeps her wits and sticks true to the character, and also brings a whole new meaning to the song Blue (Da Ba De) with her editing, thenicecheese.

Enjoy! Please let me know your thoughts.

There are many things I pride myself on: being a detective who always has her partner's back is one of them. Loyalty to a fault is another. And when I vowed to keep myself safe from harm, to always come home to my spouse, I meant it. So I don't know why I wasn't surprised to find myself in the ER at 3 a.m.

Not wanting to upset my mother, I called Frankie to come pick me up. The doctors refused to let me drive my nearly wrecked car home with a walking boot on. I didn't see their problem, but I waited patiently for my younger brother to come strutting through the ER, clearly unhappy to be here again. It wasn't my fault that my perp decided to jump out a two story window and I followed him.

That's what cops do, isn't it?

He stopped a few feet in front of me; the concern, anger, and pity on his face made me feel ashamed. For over two years, I'd been deliberately putting myself into dangerous situations, disregarding my own safety at every opportunity.

"Janie, what did you do this time? Get run over by a car?"

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Nope, I'm fairly certain I have that scheduled for next month."

"Very funny," He rolled his eyes and his face became flustered out of annoyance. "Ma's gonna kill you. You've been doing so good."

"Well." I mumbled as I pushed myself off the bed and reached for my jacket, badge, and gun. I don't wait for him to catch up as I hobble out the doors and find his cruiser sitting in the parking lot. He seems to take longer than normal with the paperwork. Probably flirting with the receptionist again.

He's right, though. I had been doing well. It's tough going from a wife to a widow so quickly. Not even married three years, just happily planning our lives together. How could I forgive myself when I knew their death had all been my fault? Of course, all the therapists and grief counselors refuse to let me acknowledge that fact, but that's what it is to me- fact.

"I'm a widow." It's just a whisper as I wait for Frankie. One of the experts I'd seen told me I should repeat this phrase, that it would help me to fully understand my situation. But saying it always made me feel so helpless. I'd failed at everything I was: a detective and a spouse.

And now I was a widow.

Frankie finally came out of the hospital, carrying a small prescription bag. He knew I wouldn't take the pills, whether he claimed they were my pain pills or not. I knew he'd switched the current prescription with my anti-depressants. I wasn't born yesterday. Yet, I couldn't fault him for trying.

Becoming a widow wasn't just hard on me- my family had lost someone too, and not only were they grieving, they were also trying to make sure I wouldn't self destruct. Taking turns talking to me about the medication, even getting my partners involved. I always listened, agreed with them about the benefits and then flushed the pills down the toilet once they'd left.

I never said I was perfect. I just said that I'd listen.

"Can we go to your place?" I asked him once we'd pulled out of the parking lot. He shot me a disapproving look. "I just can't face her tonight, Frankie. It's been a rough day, and she'll want me to talk. About what I am now, about what I've lost, about how I feel. I just can't handle it right now."

He was silent for awhile as he drove. I could tell he was trying to formulate some sort of response. His knuckles were gripping the wheel so hard they'd turned white. "And just what exactly are you now, Janie?"

I sighed and leaned further back into the seat. "Not you, too." Inanimate objects had the best of life. They never had to worry about disappointing someone, or being left behind. They just existed. I wanted to just exist.

"Yeah, me too, Jane." Frankie's eyes flashed toward mine. "I'm worried about you, and I know that doesn't make it easier, doesn't make the pain any less real. But you have to start moving on. There isn't anything any of us can do to change what's happened."

"On second thought, just drop me off at the station." Turning my head, I looked out the window at late night Boston. Frankie sighed and accepted my rudeness. They'd all been letting me win so easily that sometimes it wasn't even worth the wasted sarcasm or witty retorts. They were just worried, but part of me wondered what the hell was wrong with how I was living my life? It was my life, and I could ruin it any damn way I pleased.

Frankie didn't bother getting out when he dropped me at the station. In fact, he barely stopped the car at all. He had every right to be upset with me. I was being a bitch to him for coming to my aid once again. I knew he was the only one who wouldn't rat me out to Ma immediately. I'd have a whole night and day's worth of peace.

Sometimes being a widow had its perks.

But not tonight.

Down in the morgue, I softly closed the small door behind me. Sometimes it was morbid but this closet had been our space when everything else was taken. Shortly after I'd discovered it, I set up a cot here for when I needed a nap at work or had to sleep here overnight. It just became our place.

Mine and Maura's.

I laid my head down on the pillow and breathed in her scent. Two years later and after every trace of her had been eradicated from the morgue, she still lingered here. This space remained as untouched as she'd last left it. One of her lab coats still hung on the door hanger, waiting for an occupant who would never come.

For our first wedding anniversary, we were working a tough case and couldn't leave the station, so she'd snuck in and hung Christmas lights along the ceiling. She found this small, black breakfast set that she placed in the farthest corner, dinner from the Dirty Robber and my favorite beer waiting. I'd snuck out for a couple hours with her while Frost and Korsak picked up the slack. Neither of them minded. I have the best partners, the best wife.

I'd had the best wife. Now I was alone, a widow.

Maura's smile was the last thing I saw as I fell asleep.

Apparently I'd broken the coffee maker. How was I supposed to know that her fancy machine would break just because I'd used pre-ground, instant coffee? Supposedly she'd told me this several times, and why hadn't I just woken her up for a cup? She fretted over the thing while I sat with my legs crossed at the dining room table, my bowl of Fruity Pebbles sitting between my laptop and me.

I was checking our email, we had only been married a few weeks and for some reason, people thought we'd have enough time to stop our busy lives and respond to their emails. Maura was adamant that we keep up correspondence to those we'd invited to our wedding, a wedding that took three years of planning and coordination.

So I had to read emails to my wife this morning as she fretted over the broken coffee maker. Because we had to seem like the humble newlyweds, who weren't so busy catching up on paperwork and solving murders to correspond to people we saw maybe once a year.

"Maur." I called over to her. She just made a huffing noise at me, and mumbled something about three hundred dollars for a lunk of metal that couldn't even make instant coffee. "Your mom wants us to come visit her. When can she expect us?"

"Which one?" She yelled, just a tad too loudly as she tried the grinding function.

"Constance. You know Hope just calls you when she wants to see you." I looked down at the screen to begin typing a response. "Because she's usually already in town by then." I mumbled under my breath.

"I heard that, Jane Rizzoli." But at the sound of my name leaving her lips she stopped and turned towards me, surprise written across her face. "Oh," she squeaked. "I guess it's Jane Rizzoli-Isles, now."

I smiled at her and opened my arms. She began to saunter over. "Why yes, it would be Mrs. Dr. Rizzoli-Isles." Maura frowned at me as she sat down on my lap.

"Jane, you can't say Mrs. Dr. It's not proper."

"I don't care what's proper, I care that legally, you are mine." I began to kiss her neck, pushing back her silk robe as she took my hand, our rings making a noise as they touched.

"I'm not your property, Jane. And even if that were true, which by the way, it's not, then you would be my property."

I stared up at her, pretending to be affronted. "Why Mrs. Dr. Rizzoli-Isles, you can claim me on your taxes any day."

She smiled down at me, her laugh reverberating throughout the empty house. I felt her entire body thrumming as I held her. Maura struggled for air as her hazel eyes met mine. "That's not how it works, Jane!"

I want to say that having lost my wife makes me a more sympathetic person. It doesn't. I want to say that I've rethought my life and the risks I'm willing to take. I haven't. And I know that it should make me think more about the loss of my own life and the impact it would have on my family.

But it hasn't.

My family tells me that I'm depressed. Hell, all the grief counselors and therapists I've been forced to see have all told me this. They drill the word so deep inside me that maybe one day it'll resonate. But all I seem to find are the empty spaces that Maura once filled. I don't think there's a medical term for that and, if there is, Maura would've known it.

And as I lay here on this cot we once shared, I'm full of longing. There are too many days I wake up and all I want is her. The feel of her body pressed against mine with the thin sheet of her pajamas the only thing between us. The way her hair fell as she slept, and how my hands tangled themselves in her locks. Sometimes, even the scent of her would be enough for me.

It always surprises me in moments like this just how deeply I fell in love with her, how happy I was.

Only days after I'd lost her, I barricaded myself in our bedroom, willing her loss not to be true. I was screaming so loudly a few neighbors actually called the cops, but none of them ever came. Instead, my family took turns at the door, slipping me food and water, hoping that I'd come out and let them comfort me.

I never did.

This time, it was Frankie's turn to waste his night with me. He was the only one who'd stopped trying to calm me down. My little brother sat for hours in silence, listening to my soul shattering with only his hand slipped underneath the door.

He knew that once I was done screaming and crying, I'd want that hand. It didn't really take long for that to happen. I'd screamed myself to sleep six nights in a row; there was only so much of it I could take. So, I moved on to sitting in the middle of our bed in complete silence. That night, though, neither the screaming nor the silence was comforting. I needed the touch of another human being.

I finally went to the door and sat down, slipping my fingers between his and squeezing with all my strength. Maybe two hours later, he broke the silence. "Jane?" It wasn't more than a whisper, but I let him believe that I'd fallen asleep. I heard his head slump against the door just beside mine as he whispered to me, "I'm never going to fall in love."

It was that night I realized that I wasn't the only one who'd lost something, some status. I was now a widow, but my mother had lost a child. Frankie had lost hope. Tommy had lost his sense of security. We as a family had all lost Maura, but we'd each lost pieces of ourselves too.

As I pushed myself off the cot and found a clean shirt from a box underneath it, I realized that I might not ever recover. Sure, I was going through the motions of life but nothing was satisfying. There was some part of me that still cared about the light in my family's eyes every day I managed to get out of bed. That was what kept me going. That and memories of Maura.

I'd barely begun the walk up the stairs to the bullpen when my phone rang shrilly from my hip. Yeah, it was just another day in Boston, one to add to the indistinguishable pile that I'd labeled, "without Maura".

Thank you again for reading, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts and reactions!