A/N: I never intended for this to be as long as it is, but I truly hope you all enjoy it. I feel like I just raised a child and am now sending it out in the world.

By the way, you should check out normal-is-overratedx and LaoisePotter, because both of them were super supportive when I was getting angry at myself for writing this. :) Also, a specific passage was inspired by a conversation I had with Laoise... so check their stories out!

The Diary of Jane Isles

Meeting 1

June 25th, 2012

I have not written in a journal since I was a child. It seemed strange then and it seems even stranger now that, as a grown woman, I am confessing what could very well be the most emotionally trying day of my life, to a piece of paper. Part of me would like to call Jane, to cry and fall asleep in her arms as I have many times before, but I can't bring myself to do it. I have forgiven Jane. Shortly after the incident itself, I realized that there would never be a single thing in the world to make me stop loving Jane Rizzoli. Coming to that realization, though, makes it harder to go back to someone who will never return what I so desperately want.

Today Jane gave me a gift wrapped in red that I have yet to understand the ramifications of. Perhaps it would have been more prudent to stay ignorant of my mother's identity for the rest of my life. Ignorance is bliss. But instead of being the cautious Maura that I pride myself in being, I took the address and ran with it. I did not take Jane with me like I know now that I should have. Maybe she could have talked me out of going there like I did. Maybe having her there by my side would have stopped me from telling a gut-wrenching lie. Maybe I would have not soiled one of my favorite dresses after falling ill because of that lie.

But if that were the case, one of Hope's dresses would not be hanging at the front of my closet this very second.

It smells like her.

It smells like my mother.

Jane promised that she would find Maura's mother.

Jane never broke a promise.

So as Maura stood on the front porch of an average sized family home not too far from where she had lived her whole life, Jane's name flitted back and forth in the young doctors mind. Their friendship had not yet bounced back from what happened and when Jane slipped the piece of paper on her desk, Maura could only look up in a mixture of awe and gratitude. The thank you never quite made it past her lips, but Jane understood. She nodded and left Maura alone, and then Maura arrived at the little door painted blue in a suburb of Boston.

Thank you, Jane.

A red jeep sat in the driveway. She knew someone was home. Would Hope have a husband? Children? All Jane had given her was an address and if she knew more, Jane didn't offer it. Maura stood painfully still as the many scenarios passed through her had. She hadn't thought this out at all. The woman thinks I'm dead. How can I just show up and tell her I'm her daughter? But just as Maura turned to walk back down the driveway back to her Prius, the front door squeaked open.

Maura froze.

"May I help you?"

She hasn't seen my face. I could run. No, that would be rude. I can't be rude. I can't... She spun back around and her mouth fell open, both from the paralyzing fear that she felt as she looked at the woman standing in front of her and from simply not knowing what to say. Maura had very few physical expectations for Hope. She had always imagined her mother to be kind, involved, to be very much like the Angela Rizzoli whose affection was boundless. But never before had Maura imagined what she looked like. She had seen the picture and the portrait, but neither were as detailed as Maura would have liked.

And from what Maura could remember, this woman looked absolutely nothing like the girl in the photo.

She was much older now with thin wrinkles stretched across her forehead. She and Maura's cheekbones were similar and their mouths the same shape. Even their eyes were the same blue, sprinkled with green. But Hope no longer had the beautiful, dark brown hair that Maura had seen thrown over her shoulder in the photo. Her skin was very pale, a bit too pale for Maura's comfort. On her head was a beautifully wrapped silk red scarf. Not a single tendril of hair fell from the sides. Hope's eyes followed up to wear Maura's latched on. Her smile dimmed only slightly. She pointed to the scarf with a long, pointed finger.

"I know what you're thinking." she muttered. "This color just does not go with this shirt."

Maura forced a laugh. "I'm sorry to stare. That was very rude."

"No need to apologize." She took another step forward. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Never before had Maura been so relieved that Jane taught her how to choose her words carefully. Her stomach flipped, but there was a fragment of truth in her words, so she squashed the feeling. "A very long time ago." she said despondently.

"And your name?"

"Jane." The name had slipped before Maura could stop it. Waves of nausea slapped angrily against her stomach, but Maura refused to surrender to an anxiety that had crippled her for her entire life. "Jane Isles." she said fully, her voice cracking a bit.

"I'm sorry," Hope shook her head. "I don't think I've ever met a Jane Isles."

"Your name is Hope, yes?"

"I – yes. Yes, my name is Hope."

"It was such a long time ago for both of us, we-" and then Maura fell forward clutching her stomach. The action elicited a surprised gasp from Hope who, seeing Maura scrunched over in pain, knelt down and rubbed her back. The nausea had come fast and hard and Maura could feel her cheeks hot with embarrassment. "I-I'm so sorry," Maura finally muttered. "I've been ill."

"No, no, no. Come here. Let's get you inside and cleaned up."

"Oh no, really."

"I insist, Jane."

She was very kind to me, just as warm and nurturing as I had always expected my biological mother to be – exactly opposite that of Constance who, though I love and always will love, was not the kind of mother I would have chosen for myself. Hope and I talked for hours. She is very intelligent. There is a twinge in her accent, almost as though she lived part of her life in the south. We talked very little about our personal lives. To her, I was Jane Isles, a perfect stranger she may or may not have met years prior. We talked about the news. Fleetingly I wondered if she had seen anything regarding Patrick or myself, but how could she if she allowed me into her home without so much as a glance? If she knew who I was, if she had seen the papers... naturally, that would have caused her to react?

It was enjoyable, talking with her. As it would be with a friend or colleague. We agreed to coffee next week. I asked to go someplace small, someplace away from Boston. I am too well known now, even before, and I do not want to risk running into someone that I know.

I can't be Maura to her. She's sick. I don't know how sick, but I cannot in good conscious tell her that I am her daughter. To the world Maura Doyle is dead, but I sit here in flesh and blood penning this ridiculous journal. And for however long I must be Jane Isles to keep Maura Doyle dead, I will do it. Because I am being selfish enough caving to my emotional need of knowing her, of hearing her voice, of discovering who I am through her, and I will not bring her into my own Hell.

For now,

Jane Isles

Meeting 2

June 29th, 2012

She was wearing an orange scarf today. It was quite beautiful. I did not have the courage to ask her why she was sick. It seemed improper, rude even. I don't know her well enough and I am not entitled to that very personal information, especially when I am not being honest either.

I still have a chance to pull away from this. I can choose to never call her again, to not show up to our new lunch date, but I am so enraptured in her presence that I cannot imagine never seeing her again. This is a part of who I am. When I learned Patrick was my father, Jane insisted that genetics didn't make up the person. In part, I believe this to be true. To a certain point we are influenced by our parents and by the blood that runs through us, but our decisions are ours alone. With Patrick, I believe I was creating a pull towards him after the shooting because of my inherent desire to know who I am. With Hope, it feels entirely natural.

Maura opted to drink her coffee black. She was sure that she didn't need any coffee at all, as her heart was already beating abnormally quick at the anticipation of Hope's arrival, but all night she had tossed and turned until it was time to get up and go to work. The day had been long and fraught with more homicide detective dispatches than either she or Jane would have liked, By the time it came to leave for her afternoon lunch with Hope, Maura was strung up on mostly adrenaline and nerves. Her body ached for sleep, but all Maura could do was keep going.

"Jane!" Maura turned at Hope's voice rather than the name itself. Her voice had been playing continuously through her head since the first day that they met. Every day it faded until it was nothing more than a possibility of the truth. Maura vowed to memorize that voice as if their lunch date was the last time she would ever hear it – and, Maura reasoned, it could very well be.

"Good afternoon." replied Maura kindly. She stood from her seat, unsure of whether to shake Hope's hand. It seemed improper to hug a woman that she barely knew, especially given the circumstances. Hope made the decision for her and reached out, hugging the medical examiner warmly. "I hope you don't mind," muttered Maura as she pulled away. "I ordered some coffee. It has been a long day."

Hope chuckled. "It's barely two o'clock. Your work must be is it that you do?"

"I'm a doctor." It was the truth.

"A doctor, my." A waitress came over and took Hope's drink order. Just water. "My late husband was a doctor."

Maura's ears perked. "Late husband?"

"We must have met a very long time ago if you didn't know my husband." She laughed in good nature and took a sip of the water. "He worked at Boston General. Everyone adored him. It was almost exhausting simply to be his wife."

"He must have been very good."

"The best. Though, I am biased. So, Jane." Hope folded her hands on the table and leaned back. Maura took in today's scarf – bright orange to match the light cotton t-shirt. She was dressed casually, almost so casually that it reminded Maura of Jane. "We never really did get a chance to discuss when and where we met."

Maura knew this would come up eventually. She took another sip of coffee – it seemed utterly tasteless at this point – and then set the mug back down on the table, her mind reeling. Given that she knew she would have to give Hope an answer one day, why did she not put more thought into it? "To be honest, Hope." she began. "It wasn't I who met you. My mother spoke fondly of you."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. I... she was a professor at Harvard. Constance Isles. I'm not sure what exactly it was to push me in finding you, but my mother seemed to feel very strongly about you. She said you were quite brilliant. My mother... hasn't exactly been a part of my life in a very long time. I've been searching for answers."

Hope scrunched her face in concentration. "The name sounds familiar, but I'm sorry. I don't believe I knew your mother. I didn't go to Harvard, actually. My father worked on campus there and I would visit him often. I suppose she could have known me through him. It was such a long time ago."

Smiling vaguely, Maura nodded. "Yes, perhaps. I'm so sorry to have wasted your time."

"Time isn't wasted when you have so little of it." she tipped her glass to Maura, almost as if to toast to something that was not as morbid as what it was she just said. "Besides, it's nice to get out of the house and talk to someone above five feet tall."

"Pardon?"

"I have a seven year old daughter." She opened her wallet and flipped one fold forward, revealing a small portrait of a little girl. Her skin was smooth and tan, her eyes perfectly almond shaped and she had black, raven colored hair,, tinted just slightly red, that fell straight to her bottom. "My husband and I were in the process of adopting her when he passed. Her name is Meghan."

"She's beautiful." croaked Maura. And my sister. "I'm sorry to hear about your husband."

"Everything happens for a reason. At least I have to believe so." Their waitress came to take their order. Maura fell silent and allowed Hope to go first, partly out of inane curiosity at what she would order, and remained silent when she realized it was the exact same thing that she herself had planned to say. An odd flush of embarrassment came over her and, when prompted to give her order, changed it to something different."You say you and your mother are having trouble?" Hope asked after their waitress left.

"We're very different. We lead very separate lives."

"And what were you hoping to accomplish by scouring Boston for her old acquaintances?" The question was not unkind. Her words were laced in humor.

"I suppose I was just hoping to find a part of myself that I lost." she replied bluntly. "To understand my mother a little bit in order to understand myself. Does that make sense?"

Hope paused and nodded. "You speak like a child of adoption."

"I wasn't." said Maura quickly. "Adopted, I mean. I was not adopted."

"Well, Jane. I'm not sure I can help you understand your mother, but everyone needs a friend. I must say that our meeting has been a tad unorthodox," she chuckled. "What with you puking in my begonias."

"-again, I am so-"

"There's no need to apologize. If truth be told, I hated those flowers. I only had them planted because a kind neighbor gave them as a gift." They both smiled. "I prefer daisies."

Maura paused before responding. "Me too." she said quietly.

We enjoy the same types of foods. In fact, she ordered the same thing I was going to order. It seems ridiculous now that I went so far as to change my order out of, what, embarrassment? But it truly caught me off guard. She told me a little of her daughter – my sister – who is only seven years old. I am a thirty-three year old woman with a seven year old sister. It seems even more ridiculous when I write it down. They adopted her from Korea after years of conception struggles. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to raise the child you longed for, for so long, without the man you thought you would be raising her with. Indeed they were older when they adopted her, but it seems like a fate too unreal to imagine, and now Hope is ill as well.

I haven't spoken to Jane about any of this. As we haven't been having our usual lunch dates together, she didn't seem all that surprised when I told her that I had plans. I want to tell Jane, I do. But I also feel like I need to do this alone. I have always been alone, and I think I need to do this by myself. Besides, I'm not entirely sure Jane would approve of my methods. Lying, deceiving Hope, not telling her the truth. I am not sure if I approve of my methods either, but why cast more heartache on a woman who is clearly ill? Who has already suffered the supposed death of her daughter and then her husband?

Hope would like to be friends. I could not be more elated at the idea. We have another lunch set for next week. I still feel foolish for writing all of this down, but maybe one day, when Hope is better, I can tell her the truth and maybe looking back at my writings here will help me determine the best way how. I have only lied about who I am, but my lies are thinly veiled in truths. I told her I am a doctor and I told her that I had a distant relationship with my mother. I am cheating the system, but it does not feel as wrong as I know it should. One day I will tell her the truth.

As of now,

Jane Isles

Meeting 3

July 6th, 2012

My head is reeling. I met with Hope again today, but this time at her home. It really is lovely. Small, but quaint. Her decorative tastes are very different from my own. Whereas my home has always been decorated in light beiges, whites and blues, hers is vivd and warm. There are so many different colors that, even if I tried, I would probably not count them all. I like it. It's different. It makes me wonder if my own tastes are the responsibility of my mother's. Would my home look different if I had grown up with Hope? Would I be different?

She drinks tea. I have never seen someone enjoy tea as much as myself, but we both had several cups. She is also an excellent cook. Could cooking be genetic? Constance was never much of a cook, though truth be told, I can't remember a time where we did not have someone cooking for us or where I was not away at school. Hope made spaghetti and home made garlic bread. It was delicious. She told me it was a family recipe. It was so hard not to ask her to share it with me.

The nerves settled by the time Maura had pulled up to Hope's home. Instead of going out for lunch, Hope had called and told Maura she would rather order in, as she wasn't feeling very well. Hardly able to pass up on another opportunity to see her mother, Maura agreed to meet at Hope's home for the second time, though this time was less nerve wracking. At least this time, as Maura stood on the porch, she knew exactly what to expect.

And this time she could be sure that she would not throw up.

"Jane, right on time." Hope smiled and waved her in. They bypassed the hug this time, for which Maura was both grateful and a little let down. She was ushered into the sitting room where they had sat only a few days before feeling all too uncomfortable. Around her the air smelled faintly of garlic and tomato. "I hope you don't mind that we met here instead."

"Not at all. How are you feeling?"

"Cancer is no walk in the park." she said lightly. "But I'll survive the nausea."

"Your daughter is at school?" It seemed like a ridiculous question to ask; naturally a seven year old would be in school on a Friday afternoon, but Maura couldn't help but wonder about her younger sister. Would she ever meet her? It would certainly be an odd request to make to a new stranger, even if they had formed a strange friendship on the foundation of a very large lie.

Hope nodded. "I won't have to pick her up. She goes home every Friday with her friend Clara. Her last day is Monday, though. Soon I'll have her home for the summer."

"That's sweet. They're good friends?"

"Inseparable." Maura watched Hope's lips turn up into a coy smile, as if she were remembering something fondly. "If I didn't know any better, I would say I have two daughters instead of one." Hope didn't notice Maura's flinch. "Would you like some tea? I made some pasta and bread, I hope that's alright. We didn't have much else in the house."

"I love Italian. That's perfect. You didn't have to cook if you weren't feeling well, I could have easily picked something up."

"Cooking keeps my mind off of it."

"The smell doesn't bother you?"

"Not as much as it probably should."

They shared a smile. "I would love some tea."

By the time the pasta was drained and the sauce was added, Maura could hardly remember the last time she had enjoyed talking with someone so much. She took note that their laugh was the same and, when Hope laughed, her eyes crinkled just as Maura's did. Maura wondered if Hope was noticing the things that Maura was noticing, wondered if she would ever put two and two together herself. But why would she ever believe Maura was anyone but Jane Isles? She thought her daughter was dead.

"So tell me about yourself." said Hope as she twirled spaghetti against her fork. Maura bit her lip, struggling to find an answer. This was something she didn't want to lie about. If there ever did come a day where she felt Hope was strong enough to know who she was, she didn't want a single thing about her to be a lie.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, we're two perfect strangers that have been brought together. I enjoy your company."

"And I yours."

"So new friends should get to know each other."

"I, well. I'm thirty-three."

"I'm above fifty and below sixty."

Maura chuckled. "My mother never reveals her age to anyone either."

"A wise woman. Once you hit forty, you are forever twenty-one." Hope winked and took a sip of her tea. "And you say you're a doctor? What is your specialty?"

"I may have misled you with that." responded Maura, trepidation in her voice. Would this be telling too much? Would she ask where she worked? There weren't many medical examiners at the Boston P.D, let alone females, and a quick google search would easily bring up her real name. "I work as a medical examiner. I have a degree in forensic pathology."

Hope shivered. "I admire your work. Working with the dead like that?" she shuddered again. "It's noble. Not many would do it."

"I love my job. The dead are more honest than the living."

"I like that." Hope smiled. "The dead are more honest than the living... it's very true. We're prone to lie, not only to others but to ourselves."

Uncomfortable with the subject of lying, Maura diverted. "Did you go to school?"

"Oh yes. Yes, my father would never have allowed me to go without an education. I was his only daughter. He thought very highly of education. He didn't have the opportunity himself. For a very short time I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my life. I..." her eyes shifted down to her plate. "-went through a rough period when I was eighteen. Met a boy, the ridiculous love story." She moved her eyes back up and forced a smile. "But I eventually got to school."

"And what did you study?"

"I started in English but I soon realized that as much as I enjoyed reading, I did not enjoy analyzing every fragment of a sentence. My plan was to teach. I got a degree in psychology and later went back for education. I taught for many years, until my husband and I decided to start trying for a child."

"When did you decide to adopt?"

Hope let out a long, drawn out sigh. "Well, we started the process when we were 39. It seemed like a long shot. They generally prefer younger parents, and for a long time we had given up hope. Every time we would get excited at the prospect of bringing home a child, something would go wrong. Five years went by and all of a sudden, one day out of the blue, we got a phone call that a little girl had been born and we were qualified."

"Five years of waiting? That's such a long time."

"And so incredibly painful. But, it all worked out. We brought Meghan home only a month after that. Hardly prepared, of course. We never intended on becoming parents at age 44, but there we were with a beautiful baby girl and a half-finished baby room."

Maura looked over to the photo of Meghan placed on the counter. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail. With two feet firmly against the ground and propped up carefully on a shining pink bite, she grinned at the camera, showcasing her missing two from teeth. "She's a beautiful little girl."

"Do you have any children?"

"I've been focused on my work."

"Any special guy?"

Jane's face flashed before Maura's eyes. "No." she said stiffly.

"Being trained in psychology has its advantages. I notice things others might not. You flinched."

"I did not."

"You did, I saw it."

Laughing slightly at the absurdity of the argument, Maura shook her head. "There is... someone. But it wouldn't work out. I'm not even entirely sure of my feelings and they certainly would never be aware of theirs."

"A bit dense, this one?"

"No! It's just a complicated situation."

"Life is wasted on those who live without love in their hearts." she replied briskly, pushing that day's scarf back a bit further on her head. It was a bright, sunshine yellow. "Never go a day without telling someone you love them and never close your heart to possibilities. Success has never and will never be measured by the money you make at your job, how many shoes you own, or how big your house is. Though," she paused. "I do love my shoes." Both she and Maura laughed. "Success is measured only by the amount of love you have given and received. Sometimes that means taking risks."

Maura took the words and let them soak in before responding. "But what if taking that risk meant there was an equal possibility of destroying some form of love, as much as there was the possibility of gaining something wonderful?"

"I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

"Robert Frost." whispered Maura. It was one of her favorite poems.

"Life is 50/50, Jane, but neither lead to a dead end." And repeating her action from the café, Hope tipped her glass forward as if to toast the honey-blonde sitting in front of her.

She quoted Robert Frost. Of all the authors, why choose him? She said later that it was her favorite, when I asked. It's mine too. How many other things do we share?

I cannot stop thinking about what she said. Should I choose the road with Jane at the end? Is that my road less traveled by? The risks are astronomical. Choosing Jane's love could mean destroying our friendship. I know it would not be possible for us to hold on to any remnants of our friendship if she did not return my feelings. Our friendship is barely holding itself together now. Do I deliver the last blow and not look back? Do I try and salvage what remains?

Hope said that life is wasted on those who live without love, but I am loved. Jane loves me. I know Jane loves me, and I love her. We simply love each other very different. Would I not be living without love if I pushed Jane from my life? By pushing Jane, I surely push Angela along with her, and Frankie and Tommy. Jane made that clear when she made Angela move out of my guest house. She made Angela choose. Would she do that again?

The Rizzoli's are the only family I have ever loved. There are no expectations. The love is not granted by permission, but given through the heart. How can I take such a big risk?

I'm meeting with Hope again next week. The more time I spend with her, the more I want to tell her who I am.

Until then,

Jane Isles

Meeting 4

July 11th, 2012

Love. Do I love my mother? Do I love Jane? Do I love both of my mothers? Do I love my fathers? Love. Why does that word seem so foreign to me? I have said the words before; to Jane, to Ian, fleeting to my parents as they walked briskly out the door... but love. Why does the word seem so different now than it did only a few weeks ago? There is an urgency to the word, as if I don't say it right now to everyone I love, I may never get the chance again. All the relationships I have made over the years seem meaningless without the concept of love being carefully intertwined with each individual person.

Hope and I met at the docks today. Sometimes it is like she reads my mind. Is that normal in a mother-daughter relationship? Reading minds is a myth, but could it simply be mother intuition that I never had with Constance? Angela is always picking at Jane for little things, nagging at her for things that Jane hadn't yet said aloud yet. Is it body language? Or is it love, again? Love of a mother?

"What is your relationship with your father like?"

Hope and Maura sat on the edge of the dock with their feet cooling in the water. It was an exceptionally hot July day in Boston. Hope wore a green scarf to protect her head from the sun. The color reminded Maura of fresh, well watered grass. It didn't quite match the lime green shirt that Hope wore, but both colors were aesthetically pleasing. It had been decided that their meetings were too reliant on food, and Hope insisted that they change their meeting. Sitting on a dirty dock was no what Maura would have ever chosen, but in their few short meetings, Maura realized that Hope loved the stranger things in life and seemed to have a thirst for Maura, eager to please, would not turn down any opportunity to spend time with her mother.

Maura wasn't sure how to answer her question. She kicked her feet in the water a little bit, watching the disturbance she caused with a keen eye. It was eerily similar to how she felt inside. Describing her distant relationship with her mother was easy. It applied to both Constance and Hope. But her father? Fathers? Robert Isles and Patrick Doyle were two very different men.

"Strange." Maura finally said. "My father was always traveling. It was like I didn't know him at all." Good. It was true for both of them.

"For a child largely ignored by her parents, you seem to have turned out remarkably well. They must be very proud."

Proud? Sometimes Maura wondered if her father even remembered her name. He never did approve of her career path. When it came to Constance, Maura felt queasy. Her relationship with her mother had improved before the accident, but where were they now? Maura had barely spoken to the woman after she was released from the hospital, and Constance made no effort to call. "My parents are very complicated people."

"So how do you credit for your well upbringing?"

Maura laughed. "My parents weren't awful. They showed me the finer things in life. We traveled Europe a lot. I loved there for many years while I attended a boarding school in Scotland. I was very lucky." she dipped her finger in the water and twirled it around. "I don't think I was the daughter that they ever expected to have. My parents were and are socialites. They adore the camera and people and parties and I just wanted to stay in my room and read. For a long time they would push me into dreses and make me sit for their engagements, but after a while they gave up. Maybe they gave up on me a little too. Sometimes I think they forgot I was there at all."

"No parent ever gives up on their child. Not entirely. Your child stays with you for the rest of your life despite their mistakes, their errors in judgment, illnesses or even death. No good parent could ever give up on their child, forget their child. There are times and situations in life and in parenting where you have to take a step back and let your child move on without you. They have to make it on their own. It doesn't mean you forget them, though. Or that they forget you."

"I do love my parents." insisted Maura.

"But you hate them too?"

An inhuman laugh exploded from Maura's mouth. "I think hate is too strong of a word."

"It doesn't matter how old you get, you will always hate your parents. Hate them for all the little things they did that you think they did wrong and screwed you up for. It doesn't mean you don't love them. It's easy to blame your parents for screwing you up or the problems in your life. They raised you. I still haven't forgiven my parents for cutting my hair into a pixie cut every year until sixth grade. Personally I believe that's the reason I'm bald now." she winked.

"You remind me of my friend."

"Why is that?"

"She and her mother bicker constantly. I know that she loves her, but I think she loves to hate her, too. I've always been so jealous of her, of her relationship with her mother." Maura paused, smiling at the visual of the Rizzoli family forming at the front of her mind. "Her whole family is like my family, brothers are wonderful. Her mother treats me like a daughter. It's strange that I feel more of a connection with them than I ever have with my own family." Until now.

"Sometimes true families are not born, they are made. You're lucky to have found that. It's a gift."

"It truly is," Maura muttered. They sat quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the calming sound of the ocean slapping against the wooden dock. Maura was watching an ant carry a crumb across the dock when Hope said:

"She's the one you love, isn't she?"

"What?" spluttered Maura.

"Your friend with the family."

Maura shook her head. "Why would you think-"

"When you talked about her, you had that look in your eye. I know that look." Maura gaped at Hope, her own cheeks reddening at the revelation. Hope seemed entirely alright with the woman next to her being in love with another woman, and Maura couldn't wrap her mind around it. As if reading her mind, Hope said, "Love isn't political. Love is what you feel. Love is what every good person deserves. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently."

Maura remained silent.

Hope doesn't know that I am her daughter, but I feel more of a connection with her than I ever have with Constance. She feels like family. She feels like Angela. Warm, comforting... and despite not knowing me for very long at all, she seems to understand. She doesn't know that I'm her daughter, but I feel like she loves me. Has an affection for me, at the very least. If she didn't, why else would she be meeting me so often like this? Talking to me? Giving me the advice that I did not realize I even craved for?

She approves of a relationship with Jane. Or, with a female. She doesn't know that it's Jane. I couldn't very well tell her that I was in love with a woman named Jane. She would probably believe that I was incredibly narcissistic.

Hope said that love isn't political, but every time I think of Jane and I in a relationship, I see the good first and then the backlash comes creeping in. The looks. The stares. I was stared at my entire life for being different. Do I really want to now be stared at for being perverse? For being what many call a sinner? And how in the world would Jane handle that? She prides herself on her reputation, even more so than I do. On being tough, on being independent. On being nobody's and everyone's expectation. Could she handle it?

Can I?

We're going shopping next week. She has as much of a love for shoes as I do. I'm excited and nervous. I wonder if I will ever be anything but.

Until that time.

Jane Isles

Meeting 5

July 15th, 2012

Meghan is a very lucky little girl.

Maura spotted Hope immediately. A light blue scarf was wrapped around her head to match the summery flower blouse and blue jeans she wore. She saw Maura at seemingly the same time that Maura saw her and the two met in the middle of the shopping mall with a quick embrace. Hope linked her arm through Maura's and tugged her forward into the very depths of the mall. It was busier than Maura liked it. High schools had cast off their graduates and, for the most part, children were off school. It was a Sunday afternoon but there was not a lack of shoppers.

"I wanted to get Meghan some new shoes today." said Hope loudly. Loud was the only way she would ever be heard in such a crowd. "I don't think she has ever kept a pair of shoes in good condition for more than a month." She guided Maura into the payless, greeting the cashier behind the counter with a friendly wave. They walked down the children's aisle and Hope poked at a few pairs of shoes. "She's so picky."

"What does she like?" asked Maura, eager to help.

"That's the problem. She prefers not wearing shoes at all. I think she destroys them on purpose."

Laughing a bit, Maura picked up a pair of white sandals with a cute, pink flower on the very top. She extended them out to Hope and cocked her head to the side. "What about these? These are cute."

"They have pink on them."

"She doesn't like pink?"

"It reminds her of cotton candy."

"So she doesn't like cotton candy."

"She loves cotton candy. She says that, when she sees pink, she thinks of cotton candy and wants some, and she knows that I only let her have it on special occasions. She says she wants to avoid the temptation."

Maura burst into laughter. "And she's seven?"

"There must be something in the water." said Hope, with a shrug and a laugh.

"These are cute. They would be good for summer." The sandals were charcoal black with a thing purple stripe going down the middle. Hope considered them for a moment, picking them up and kneading the leather with her fingers in an attempt to judge their durability. "Or does she have an affliction with the color purple as well?"

"Purple is her favorite color. These," she held them up with a smile. "-just might work. Thank you, Jane. You have a good eye. I have a feeling you and Meghan would get along very well."

"Really?"

"Meghan is very smart. She reminds me of someone much older. I don't know where she gets it. I've always wanted to try and find her birth parents, to thank them for what they gave me. My daughter is very bright, very unique." Hope dropped the shoes on the counter and pulled out her wallet, but Maura stepped forward and put her hand on Hope's.

"Let me. I insist."

"Oh no, don't worry about it-"

"Please." said Maura, not waiting for a response. She pulled her debit card out and handed it to the cashier. "A gift from me to Meghan. The shoes really are cute. If I were seven years old, I would definitely wear them." They paid and exited the store, mindlessly wandering the shopping mall. Hope swung the bag happily at her side, almost in a child like manner. Maura smiled. "I hope she'll like them."

"Oh I'm sure she will." insisted Hope. "Have you ever thought about having children?"

"I think that's an improbability considering the gender of my affections." Maura said playfully.

Hope rolled her eyes and smiled back. "There are other ways. Adoption, naturally."

"Yes, of course." Maura bit her lip. "I've just never been sure if I would make a good mother. I always wanted children, but I never wanted them before I knew everything about myself. I can't imagine raising a child when I myself have so many questions regarding the world and me being in it. And my job forces me to realize the true horrors of the world. I'm not sure if I can consciously raise a child that may be plighted with my genetic inadequacies as well as the inadequacies of the world."

"You would be surprised how much you learn about yourself through your child. There are things you would never have imagined. Fears, hopes, dreams."

"What have you learned from Meghan?"

She took a moment to think. "Well," she drawled. "I've learned to live with the cards we have been dealt. It may seem strange that such a small little girl can change your perspective so much, but Meghan made me realize that our lives don't necessarily turn out the way we expect them to. People come and go, and every single person that comes, even if they leave soon after, is important. To me, her biological mother and father are the kindest people in the world, because whatever their reason, they gave up their daughter and I was blessed with her. They weren't in her life for very long, but they gave me one of my most precious gifts."

Maura fought back the emotions that were threatening to tumble over. "You seem like a wonderful mother," she said quietly. "You love Meghan very much."

"There is nothing quite like the love a mother can feel for her daughter."

It is so obvious that Hope loves Meghan more than anything in the world. I wish that it could have been me growing up, but that is a selfish train of thought. Even though my parents did not show it in the traditional ways, they did love me. I'm ashamed to even think otherwise. I did not suffer a terrible fate at the hands of my parents. Who knows where Meghan would be if Hope did not adopt her? No child deserves to feel unloved and it is so plainly obvious that Meghan will never feel that way.

Hope makes me question all the things I have never been sure that I wanted. Children seemed like such a distant concept, but the way Hope talks about Meghan, about her daughter, about how much she truly loves her, it makes me want that. I've always wondered whether or not I could be a good mother when I wasn't sure what a real mother was. Perhaps when Hope is better and I am able to tell her who I am, I really will discover what being a mother, and having a mother, is all about.

Until that day,

Jane Isles

Meeting 6

July 21st, 2012

She called my father an asshole!

"I'm not entirely sure I understand the phenomenon." said Maura as she and Hope, her head adorned with purply-blue scarf, very close to indigo, exited the movie theater. The Hunger Games had been pushed to their local dollar theater and, wanting to try something new, Hope and Maura decided to go. Maura hesitated a bit – generally, she preferred reading a book first before seeing the movie it was based off of, but Hope seemed eager to see it and she couldn't turn her down. "Kids killing kids. It's morbid."

"It reminds me of Soylent Green."

"I'm not sure I know what that is."

"A movie. All of these people in this dystopian future based their survival on rations of processed food. They were dying out from all of these different things...you know, overpopulation, pollution, greenhouse effects. They were fed Soylent Green, which was like this small green wafer. Long story short, the wafers were made out of processed human remains. Political corruption, riots."

Maura's mouth fell open. "That sounds horrid."

"It was widely receptive in the film culture, especially for its genre and during the time. Did you not like the Hunger Games?"

"It's not that I didn't like it." replied Maura thoughtfully. "It's just... it very well could be our future,"

"Kids killing kids?"

"Well, not necessarily that part. But the society. A world in shambles. A corrupt, controlling government. A world where death is an entertainment value. I think, as a culture, we are already so enraptured by the suffering of others. It really has become an entertainment ploy. Book deals and movies for murderers, television shows and commercials for children suffering in third world countries where they will likely never see the money made on their exposure. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I have been offered an exorbitant amount of money for my professional opinion regarding a trial that I worked on, whether it be for a movie or a book. I think it's disgusting to cash in on something so tragic."

They reached the car as Maura finished her small speech. "You're right," said Hope at once. "It is disgusting. There are some people that shouldn't be in this world. Luckily there are people like you who are here to help catch them and give them the fate that they deserve."

"My friend does most of that work. I just talk to the bodies."

"You're so much more than that. You speak for the dead. You are their voice after theirs is gone. I think to work in the kind of job that you do, you need to be incredibly brave. You see the horrors that most people get to blissfully ignore after they turn off their television. But you live it, every day."

"My father never ceases to remind me of that when I see him. He says a woman should never have to work with their hands, and they should never be around such destruction and decay. My work is admirable to him, of course, he understands why it needs to be done and why it is important. He just doesn't feel that I should be doing it. He tends to stereotype people. There are societal roles that he feels everyone should succumb to. Everyone he knows is placed in a category, and he doesn't realize it, but he does so in the rudest, most ignorant way imaginable."

"You want to know what I call people who say things like that?"

"Sure."

"Assholes."

I am not sure which father that could apply to more, but I can truly say that I have not laughed that hard in a long time. Our meeting was short today. She wasn't feeling very well. I hope it is only the treatments that are making her tired, though we haven't talked very much about that. I don't even know what kind of cancer she has. Sometimes I remember how little I know about her and I feel like I have deluded myself into believing I am forming some kind of relationship with her. We really and truly know nothing about one another, and yet I feel like I have known Hope my whole life.

There are days and months and years ahead of us, though. I have to keep remembering that. Days where I am, to her, not Jane Isles, a perfect stranger, but Maura Isles, her daughter. Days where I know who I am and where I came from. Maybe the possibility of life with Jane could really happen. Maybe one day I will be introducing Hope to her granddaughter or grandson. Maybe not with Jane at all. Perhaps I will find someone else in my life.

Maybe my future holds more than a long life of autopsies, platonic friendships and pseudo-families.

Until that moment,

Jane Isles

Meeting 7

July 30th, 2012

Sometimes I wonder if I am forever trapped in a body whose mouth speaks before its mind.

"I hope you don't mind that we met here." said Hope as she took a seat next to Maura on the bench. She looked more tired than usual, the dark circles under her eyes telling the secret of insomnia. "It isn't often that I feel well enough to take Meghan to the park." She pointed in the sea of kids to a little girl, barely tall enough to reach the pull up bars, who was giggling with a girl about her size and age. "I also hope you don't mind that Meghan joins us."

"Not at all," replied Maura breathlessly, staring out to catch another glimpse of her younger sister. "I looked forward to meeting her."

Hope waved to her daughter who, seeing her mother's smile, clambered over. The girl she had been talking to followed close behind. Her braided hair was a murky yellow and her grin was as toothless as Meghan's. Freckles dotted her cheeks, all the way down to her neck and arms, and her skin was milky white. She looked the exact opposite of Meghan who had sun kissed skin and dark, almost black hair.

"Meghan, this is my friend Jane." Meghan turned to look at Maura with vague curiosity. She stretched her hand out to reach for Maura's.

"Hi."

Surprised at the manners of such a young child, Maura took her hand and squeezed. "Nice to meet you."

"You and my mom have the same eyes." Her head tilted to the side as she spoke, examining both women with a curious eye that only a child could have. Maura's head shot down immediately and to cover her quick, unprecedented nervous movements, she smoothed out her unwrinkled dress. "That's pretty cool. I've never seen eyes like my mom's before. They're pretty."

Maura's voice caught in the back of her throat. Luckily it was Hope who responded and, even more luckily, changed the subject. "Meghan, do you want to introduce your friend?"

"Oh." Meghan laughed, as if an introduction of the girl behind her was the most absurd thing in the world. She wrapped her arm around the blonde girl's shoulder and tugged her forward, them both giggling at the same time. "This is my friend Clara. She and I have been in the same class since preschool and next year we're both going to have Ms. Parada. She's the nicest lady at our school. She gives out jolly ranchers in the hallway to kids who remember to wear their id tags."

"Jolly ranchers?" asked Maura, confused.

Meghan's mouth dropped in shock. "You don't know what a jolly rancher is?" she squealed. Maura shook her head, a little embarrassed that she didn't know what something that sounded so silly and childish was. "It's like, it's like," her voice was airy and excited. "It's fruity and, you know, there is like... flavors. Like blue and red and purple."

"Those are colors," said Maura kindly. "Not flavors." But she realized after she said it how offended the girl became.

"Well people who know what jolly ranchers are know what I'm talking about."

"Meghan." chastised Hope. "Red is cherry, right?"

"Yeah." she responded softly.

"So purple is..."

"Grape. And blue is blueberry."

"Apologize to Jane for your tone."

"Oh, no, really, it's-"

"I'm sorry Ms. Jane."

"That's quite alright, Meghan. Perhaps if I see you again, I'll bring some jolly ranchers and you can show me which ones are the best."

Her eyes lit up and grew wide and she nodded fervently, ending the conversation with giving Maura a brief hug and running back towards the playground. All Maura could do was laugh, because not only was that the first time she had spoken with her sister, it was the first time she had even spoken to a child without feeling uncomfortable. Maura had always liked kids, but she had just as much of a difficult time connecting with a child as she did with people her own age.

"She's wonderful." Maura finally said.

"She seems to like you."

"I'm not very good with children." admitted Maura.

"Could've fooled me. Your birthday is next week, isn't it?"

The question caught Maura by surprise. She had entirely forgotten that Hope knew her birthday, and for some strange reason it barely phased Maura that it was even coming up. She had completely forgotten. "You remembered."

"That date is special for me." she replied. "But even more special for you, as it's your birthday. Do you have any plans?"

Maura could reply with nothing but honesty. "No, actually. I had forgotten about it. I haven't been very fond of my birthday in quite a long time." And that was the truth. Maura could not imagine celebrating her birthday ever again, as to many people from a long time ago, her birthday was the day that she died. How could she celebrate a day that Hope probably grieved? Hope clucked her tongue and shook her head.

"You need to celebrate life! You're going to be thirty four."

"Don't remind me." groaned the doctor.

"You're not old enough yet to lie about your age. You have plenty of more years for that. Besides, you barely look a day over twenty-five."

"If only. You know, I've noticed. Your scarves are always so colorful."

Hope reached up and let her fingertips graze the silky, violet scarf that covered her head. "What's life without a little color?"

"Did you lose your hair to the chemotherapy?"

"I was not about to wait around on my ass and let my hair fall out on its own. I shaved it." Maura turned to her, surprised. "My father always used to say that if you want something, you go after it. You need something, you go get it. You want to win a fight, you go into the ring swinging. I wanted and needed to win, and my hair was going to go eventually anyway. I wanted it to be on my terms."

"That's admirable."

"I don't miss it much, anyway. In the winter, it was cold. Now that it's warm, it's actually refreshing."

"Are you going to win?" The words flew out of Maura's mouth. "The fight? Will you win?" Hope remained silent. "I'm sorry." Maura said quickly. Hope held up a hand to stop what would have been Maura's incessant rambling. Time seemed to slow around them as the silence crept in the crack that Maura had opened. Finally, Hope turned to Maura.

"To be honest," said Hope quietly, looking out at Meghan and then back at Maura. "Lately I've been feeling like I already won."

Today was a good and bad day. I met with Hope at the park. For the first time of what I hope is many, I met Meghan. She really is an adorable child. I could hardly believe when she shook my hand. Do all children have manners like that? Not that I assume all children are barbarians, but really! She wasn't at all shy. At that age I could hardly look another human being in the eyes, let alone allow physical contact. I was impressed, to say the least. She also introduced me to jolly ranchers. I'm still foggy on the concept. I still have a very vivid visual of farm ranchers laughing happily, but tomorrow I plan on making a stop at the store and looking for them.

She wore a violet scarf today. I asked her about her hair. It still causes me to cringe in embarrassment. Should I have asked something so personal? Of course, she didn't seem shy about the answer. Clearly I got my social anxieties from some far off branch on our family tree. Neither she or Paddy seem all too socially inept.

Lately she seems more tired than usual. It could be the treatments, but I am beginning to get worried. She barely touched the basket lunch that she packed for us and I could see her energy depleting as the day went on. She says she feels like she has already won, but I'm not sure what that means. She never did give me an answer regarding her health, but I'm not foolish enough to believe I deserve one.

Hope asked to see me on my birthday. My emotions are impossible to pinpoint. When she mentioned it, I felt unbelievably excited. Constance almost always missed my birthdays, and here is my biological mother, asking to spend time with me on that very day. But is that not the same day as my death? Maura Doyle's death? And though I am here and alive, there is a very real part of me that did die on that day. The grave that marks my death is not there marking a lie. It marks the loss of a life I could have had with Hope, and the more time I spend with her, the more tragic that thought becomes.

After our meeting I called Jane and asked her to accompany me. Maybe between now and then I will decide to tell Hope the truth, but I haven't given it too much thought. I supposed it will all depend. We will be working during the day, but I told Hope to bring Meghan to my home and we could have dinner. It would be too complicated to include Angela, Frankie, Tommy, Detective Frost and Sergeant Korsak. But I want Jane there, and she understands why I'm lying to Hope. She has agreed to use a different name for the evening. I tried to get her to use her middle name, but for some odd reason, she flat out refused.

Jane Clementine Rizzoli. I really never would have imagined.

Until my birthday,

Jane Isles

August 7th, 2012

The day proved uneventful. Angela, in all of her enthusiasm and love of birthdays, had showed up early in the morning with donuts for the team and balloons for Maura. It was a kind gesture, one that Maura certainly did not want to refute, but nerves had settled in from early on that morning. Her mind was constantly drifting to the dinner that she and Jane would share with her mother and sister later that night. Maura was still undecided on whether or not to come clean to Hope. She knew that, if she was going to, it could not be around Meghan, but she had confided in Jane and Jane promised that, if Maura made the decision to talk to Hope, Jane could distract Meghan.

And that made Maura smile.

"You doing okay?" asked Jane as she sauntered into autopsy for lunch. It was the first one that they had shared in a long time. Jane placed two bags of take out on the counter and hoisted herself up to sit. Maura repressed an eye roll and tugged off her gloves. "Ready for tonight?"

"No." replied Maura honestly. She grabbed her chair from behind the desk and rolled it over to where Jane sat, grabbing a carton of chinese and poking open the lid to see what was inside. "But I suppose I don't have much choice."

"You never did tell me what name you told her. That might be important if you don't plan on telling her tonight."

"Oh. I..."

"What? Is it something weird and foreign? You would find a name that I can't pronounce. I'm not much of a friend if I can't pronounce your name. What an impression I'll make..."

"Jane."

"What?"

"No," Maura set down the carton. She refused to look up. "That's the name I told her. Jane."

"My name?"

"Unless you have an equally embarrassing first name as your middle and you just haven't told me yet, then yes, I gave her your name. Well, your name as my name. My name is your name."

"I'm going to ignore the first half of that." Jane stabbed a piece of chicken on the end of a chopstick and leaned back against the wall. "Why'd you give her my name? What name am I supposed to go by now? And don't say Clementine!" She pointed the speared chicken at Maura with a scowl. "I'll never forgive my mother for that."

"You never forgive your mother for anything."

"That's not true. I forgave her for bringing me into this world."

"Jane,"

"Come on, Maur. Tell me. Why'd you give her my name?"

Maura shrugged. "It was the first name that popped into my head."

They silently ate until the cartons were empty. It didn't take long. Maura hadn't realized how unfathomably hungry she was and Jane, who could almost always out eat Maura, wasn't slowing down either. With the cartons tossed in the trash, they were left sitting there, each avoiding the other's eyes. Maura stood and went over to her desk, pretending to shuffle through some papers to find something. Jane jumped off the counter and walked over to her.

"We're good, right?" she asked.

"What?"

"Like, you and me. I know it's been a little weird lately."

"That's more my doing than yours, Jane. I've been distant. I apologize."

"Please don't. I'm sick of us apologizing to each other." Jane tapped her fingers against the desk nervously. "Can we just start over?"

The doors to autopsy slid open. A man dressed in a blue plaid shirt and dark jeans was standing there, a visitors tag clearly clipped to his breast pocket. He carried a medium size brown box in one arm and Maura could see a plain white envelope on top of it. "Excuse me for interrupting," he muttered, meeting both their eyes. "Is one of you Maura Isles?"

Jane jumped forward in front of Maura. "Who are you?" she said protectively.

"I just have a delivery."

"You don't look like a delivery man."

"Jane," said Maura softly. "It's okay. Do I need to sign?"

"No, ma'am." His eyes looked sad as he left the box on the desk. He barely looked at them as he turned to leave and, when Maura thanked him, he only replied with a simple wave over his shoulder. Soon he disappeared behind the elevator doors.

"Do not open that until I know what it is."

"Oh Jane."

"Maura, I'm serious. You don't know-"

"I don't hear any ticking and it's not large enough to contain an animal that could pose any kind of threat. It's fine." She put a hand on Jane's forearm and squeezed. "Relax." Opting to read whatever was in the envelope first, she grabbed her letter opener from the cup on her desk and scraped it along the edge.

"Better hope that's not anthrax." muttered Jane snottily.

"Do you realize how unpleasant you are sometimes?"

"Do you realize how irresponsible you are sometimes?"

"You don't have to be so snarky."

"Snarky?" snorted Jane. "I am not snar-" but Jane stopped in the middle of her sentence when she saw Maura's face. The letter was opened in her hands and Maura placed a shaking hand over her mouth. The blonde fell back against her chair, her legs either too weak to keep her standing or she simply couldn't bare the thought of standing anymore, and choked back a sob. "Maura," Jane crouched down in front of Maura and rubbed her knee. "What's wrong? Talk to me, sweetie."

"It's from Hope."

"What's it say?"

It was a long time before Maura looked back up at Jane. Her eyes were pointed down at the letter, continuing to read until there was nothing left on the page. She flipped it over a few times and then, unable to speak, pushed the letter in Jane's direction. Her hand was still held over her mouth and she stared straight forward, her eyes just beginning to water.

August 6th, 2012

Dear Maura,

If you are reading this, it means that it was delivered to you. The man who came to you with the box and the letter is my nephew on my husband's side. He was kind enough to promise me that he would deliver it to you on your birthday. I am so sorry that I won't be able to make dinner, my beautiful Maura.

In this box are journal entries that I have written for you over the years. Some are in notebooks, others in bound journals. I began them the day Patrick told me that you had died. A part of you was still very much alive in me and the only way I knew how to communicate with you was through writing. I wrote what I imagined you would be doing at that moment, what you would look like, how you would feel on important days like birthdays and graduations and ballet recitals. In my mind, you lived a happy life filled with love and family and friends. I can only hope that, whatever life you led without me, it included everything I imagined for you.

We both kept the truth from each other in a quest of protection. I did not seek you out because I did not want to burden you with the finality of my illness. I assume that you lied to me because you did not want to startle me, given my state of health. When you showed up on my porch, I knew exactly who you were. Who could you not be? As my Meghan stated just the other day, you have my eyes. I feared every day that I would not wake up to be able to tell you myself who I was, and that I knew who you were. Now I am gone, and I only hope you can forgive my cowardice. I was so afraid of hurting you, Maura, my baby come back to life. I wanted to preserve the time we spent together. Perhaps it was selfish, as I knew our time together would be so short, but you have given me more joy in the past few weeks than I have felt in a very long time.

Meghan will be living with her uncle and aunt just a few blocks away from my home. I have explained to her who you are. I have no expectations of you to bond with her or be a part of her life. I only wanted to be sure that, before I passed, Meghan knew the part of me that had left me broken for so many years had come back and put me back together. I meant what I said the other day in the park. Between you and Meghan, I truly believe that I have won this fight, even if I am not around anymore. On the back of this letter I have given you the address of where Meghan will be living, if you ever have the desire to speak with her, but that is entirely up to you.

I hope that, in some way, I have helped you put together the pieces of yourself that you lost. I know that is why you sought me out, for answers, for some semblance of the truth of what is inside of you. Maybe my journals to you will help. I've included some photos from when I was younger, a few tidbits of my life here and there. Keepsakes that may or may not be worthless to you, but had some small meaning to me. There is a locket buried at the bottom that my mother gave to me when I was very young. I want you to have it, as my oldest daughter.

Our time was short together but it was cherished. I have spent many nights wondering what my life would have been like if Patrick hadn't stolen you away from me. I keep reminding myself that the wonderful woman you are now could be the outcome of two wonderfully loving parents. Who knows, I could have ruined you. You are beautiful, well established, personable and intelligent. But remember, Maura. Please remember what I told you. Success is not measured in careers and money, but happiness and love. We talked only fleetingly about the one who might have taken your heart, but I implore you to chase after it.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Love always,

Mom.

When Jane had finished reading, Maura had finally leaned forward and grabbed the box. She stared at it for a few moments before slicing the thin layer of tape with scissors. The two flaps popped up and Maura pushed them aside. The box was filled with more notebooks and journals than Jane had ever seen collectively together away from a store. Each one was labeled with what looked like a year. The first one on top had 1979 written clearly on the cover and, in scrawl similar to Maura's and the letter's, was The Diary for Maura Doyle.

As the letter had promised, the box was also filled with small items. The aforementioned locket rested on top of a dark, leather bound journal that was cast off to the side. Maura wasn't looking at the locket, though, and Jane found her way to where Maura was staring. In the very top corner of the box was a folded scarf. Maura picked it up and discovered that, beneath it, there was another. She pulled each scarf out one at a time until they were laid out on the desk. One red, one orange, one yellow, one green, one blue, one indigo, and one violet. It was a beautiful rainbow of silk. Maura cupped her mouth again and stumbled up from her chair.

"I can't." she croaked. "I need..." Jane reached out to Maura to grab her hands, but the smaller girl pulled back and pushed past her. "Air." she finally spat out, and Maura was already out the back entrance towards the garage where they drove in the bodies. Jane chased after her but Maura was quick. She was already standing outside by the time Jane reached her, her arms and shoulders shaking with the sobs that clawed their way out of her throat. The clouds cried with Maura, soaking she and Jane in warm summer rain. Jane hooked her arm through Maura's and pulled her up from her crouched position.

"Come here." Jane wasn't sure if Maura could hear her over the rain, but she fell into Jane's arms as if she did. "I'm so sorry, Maura." she whispered, stroking Maura's hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." They stayed enveloped in each others' arms. Jane tried tugging Maura into shelter away from the rain but she was adamant to stay where they stood. She only squeezed Jane harder when the detective tried to move them and finally Jane gave up. As the rain slowed, so did Maura's tears. When she pulled away from Jane, Jane couldn't tell what were Maura's salty tears and what was the rain.

"I need you to stand still."

"What?"

"Stand still." demanded Maura, stomping her foot a little bit and causing a puddle of water to splash against she and Jane's legs. Jane didn't dare move, both interested and afraid of Maura's strange request. Maura came waltzing forward, not smiling, but not frowning either. Her face was furrowed in concentration. She brought one hand up and cupped Jane's cheek with it, stroking the flesh with the soft pad of her thumb. Jane sucked in a breath. "Stand still." Maura repeated, this time with less force. She stood on the tips of her toes and brought her lips to Jane's, lingering only for a moment before pulling away and falling back to her feet. "Okay."

With a pale face, Jane spluttered at Maura. "Okay? Wha – I... Maura. Are you having a breakdown?"

"I needed to do that."

"Again, I repeat, are you having a breakdown?"

"No."

Jane stood still in her place. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Then what-"

"Would you let me kiss you again?"

"What?"

"If I asked you to kiss me, would you kiss me?"

"Maura-"

"Answer the question."

There was a moment's pause. "Yes." replied Jane, a little breathless. "Yes, I would."

"I have to go do something, but may I come over tonight?"

"Do you want me to come?" Jane asked quickly.

"I would love for you to come, but I need to do this by myself."

Jane nodded. "I'll wait for you at my apartment."

"Thank you." whispered Maura. She leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Jane's cheek, pulling away before Jane could grab onto her friend's waist and pull her closer. "I'll see you tonight."

Maura controlled herself enough to climb in her car and pull away from the BPD. Her tears had subsided and she found herself more confused and angry than sad; Hope knew. The entire time, Hope knew who Maura was. Was it time wasted? They could have spent it being mother and daughter, not strangers. Strangers with a peculiar friendship. Though, Maura had to admit. It explained Hope's easy attachment to her. She was all too quick in accepting Maura into her life. Her excuses, her reasons for being there and finding Hope were pathetic at best. Did she have a good laugh after their meetings? Maura shook the thought from her head. No, Hope said she enjoyed their time together.

And so did I, thought Maura. She wiped at the lone tear that threatened to fall. The box of journals, keepsakes and scarves was in her back seat. Jane surely could have taken it upstairs with her, but Maura didn't want it away from her for too long. After a quick stop at the store, Maura continued on her way. She finally pulled up to the house she was looking for after thirty minutes.

It was bigger than Hope's but certainly smaller than Maura's. A dog wagged its tail at the gate leading into the backyard and he barked happily as Maura made her way up the drive. The walk up to the door stopped short in front of steps that led to a porch which wrapped around the entire front of the house. A window in front was open, letting the cool summer breeze air out the house. Taking a deep breath, Maura knocked three times on the front door and waited.

The man who delivered the box answered. He didn't at all seem surprised to see her. Instead of welcoming her, he simply stepped aside and allowed her in. Maura looked at him helplessly. She didn't even know his name.

As if reading her mind, he said: "My name is Chris."

"Maura."

"Took Aunt Hope hours to write that last letter to you," he waved her into the kitchen and brought down two mugs, pouring coffee into each. "Never seen her so determined."

"Was she in pain?"

"Just tired. She went peacefully."

Maura nodded and accepted the cup. "You're Meghan's cousin?"

"I suppose I'm your cousin too."

"Oh." Maura bit her lip. "In a way. Step-cousin."

"Welcome to the family." he said sarcastically.

"Meghan will be staying here?"

"With my parents. I'm home visiting."

"Is she here?"

"Room." he tipped his head towards the hallway. Maura looked at him apprehensively. She didn't much like the idea of wandering around someone's home, especially with no idea where she was going, but Chris didn't seem much like the type for conversation. Either that or he was so wrought with grief that he had forgotten even the simplest of manners. Only one bedroom door was shut and Maura knocked twice. She could hear someone inside moving around. Finally the door swung open and Meghan stood in front of her, her dark hair greasy and unwashed, her eyes streaked with red and her skin pale and lifeless. She looked older than her seven young years. Maura bent down wordlessly, digging in her bag until she had pulled out what she was looking for. She held out a bag of jolly ranchers.

"Teach me?"

It was late when Maura got back to Jane's apartment. She was immediately greeted with a glass of wine. Jane saw the hesitation in Maura's face – as a general rule, Maura didn't drink after ten o'clock – but only moments later the blonde accepted the glass and took a generous taste. Wordlessly Jane removed Maura's summer jacket and placed it on the hook behind them, then took her hand and guided her into the kitchen.

Maura had to laugh when she saw the table set for the two of them. On each plate was a grilled cheese and sitting in the middle of the table was a lit candle. A bottle of wine was chilled in an ice bucket next to the table and Jo Friday sat dutifully on the floor next to the table. Chocolate covered strawberries waited on the counter. Jane smiled sheepishly up at Maura, scratching the back of her ear nervously as Maura took in the scene.

"Thank you."

"I know it's not much of a birthday, but..."

"No, this is wonderful. Really, Jane." Maura wrapped her arms around Jane's middle and let her head rest against Jane's shoulder. Jane rubbed circles on the small of her back, a quiet hum resonating from the back of her throat. "I know you put a lot of work into this." Jane laughed. "But do you mind if we just... sleep?"

"Anything you want." Jane took Maura's hands and guided her to the bedroom. She pulled out a pair of yoga pants and a tank top for Maura to slip on and soon they were both changed and under the covers, each on separate parts of the bed.

"Jane?"

"Hm?"

"...hold me?"

Jane couldn't be sure if Maura was already crying or just at the border of doing so, but she rolled over and wrapped her arms around Maura's waist, pulling her in so that the tiny doctor was spooned in her arms. "Maura?" husked Jane.

"Yes?"

"What are we?"

Maura paused. "Successful." she finally said.

Unsure of what to make of that, Jane leaned forward and brushed her lips against Maura's cheek. It didn't matter right then and Jane knew it.

They both drifted to sleep.

Last Meeting

August 11th, 2012

"Maura, why don't you let me go in first?" Jane said as she stepped in front of Maura. The funeral arrangements were made by Hope's in-laws. After much pleading, they agreed to let Maura cover part of the expenses. Maura found that she liked the people taking care of Meghan very much, though they only had met a handful of times at this point – once the day that Maura had come to see Meghan and three times after that for funeral arrangements. Not once during that time had Maura thought to ask if it would be an open casket funeral. "Let me just check."

"Jane, I'll be fine if it is. I'm a medical examiner, remember?"

"And I saw what performing an autopsy on your brother did to you." she replied seriously. "Let me go in."

"And if it is open casket? What are you going to do, barge in, flash your badge and tell them they have to close it?" argued Maura. "I know you're trying to protect me but the best thing you can do for me right now is to hold my hand."

So Jane did. Not many people had arrived yet. Meghan sat curled in a chair on the opposite side of the room. Her lips curled into a small smile at the site of Maura but she didn't make any motion to move. Instead she waved, her tiny fingers dancing through the air. Maura waved back. Jane looked between the two and was certain that she had never seen anything more beautiful and tragic. She gripped Maura's hand tighter and squeezed; their eyes locked on each other for a moment, just long enough to see what Maura was feeling inside. Broken. Confused.

But also, okay.

Maura squeezed Jane's hand back and smiled, leaning into the taller woman. Sure enough, just as Jane had expected, an open casket was propped at the front of the room, Hope looking as though she was only lost in a deep sleep. Jane felt Maura go slightly limp against her. "We can go outside for a few minutes," she whispered down at her. Maura shook her head fervently. "Okay, then let's sit." Again, Maura shook her head. Jane looked around nervously. "We have to do something."

"I have something to put in the casket." said Maura quietly.

"Are you, uh, allowed to do that?"

"The tradition of placing things amongst the dead is centuries old, Jane." muttered the doctor as she straightened herself up. "For as long as the practice of burial has been around, really. The ancient Egyptians-"

"Okay, okay." replied Jane softly, rubbing Maura's arm. "No need for that today. I get it. Do you want me to come up with you?"

"Yes, please." squeaked Maura. Together they walked to the front. The few people that were there already looked at Maura oddly. To them, she was a stranger. Very few knew who Maura Isles was, let alone Maura Doyle. Most, if not all, the family and friends gathered around were from Hope's husband's side. Maura wondered if she had ever told them anything about the baby that had died. Maura's fingers rested on the edge of the coffin. "It's only right that you have these," she whispered just loud enough for only Jane to hear. Maura unlatched her purse and pulled out a few pages of paper that were folded and pinned neatly together. "You deserve to know everything I was feeling when I met you. You deserve to know how we were both selfish." she paused and slipped the pages in the side of the casket. "You deserve to know how much I love you."

Maura knew there were tears coming from her eyes, but she didn't care enough to swipe them away. Jane's hands were on each of her shoulders. She respectfully gave Maura enough space, but not enough that if she needed Jane, Jane wouldn't be there. Jane watched as Maura's hand crept from the sides of the casket up to Hope's hand which laid gently against her stomach.

"You okay?"

"For the first time..." she swallowed hard. "I know who I am. All of me."

Maura and Jane walked to Jane's car, their hands linked together and Maura's eyes still brimming with fresh tears. Maura clicked her seatbelt and leaned back into the chair, both emotionally and physically exhausted.

"Want to stop for lunch?" asked Jane.

Maura shook her head as she reached forward to grab her water bottle from the cup holder. "Can we just go back to my place? I'd like to take a nap." she asked. Jane nodded. Maura uncapped the bottle and took a slow drink. As an afterthought, when she moved to put the bottle back in its place, Maura brought it back and tipped it forward just slightly in the same way that Hope had done to her the few times that they had seen each other. "To success," she whispered.

A faint rainbow stemming from the murky grey clouds above Boston was the last thing Maura saw before she drifted into sleep.

I hope you all enjoyed this little (ha ha) one-shot. Please leave me a review and tell me what you think! I'd love to hear from you all.