What if…

Chapter 1: …Gabriel Dean Stayed

Agent Dean watched Jane unconsciously rub the scars on her hands. He, of course, knew what happened to them, but wanted the detective to feel like she had control over her story. He hadn't known her long, but you didn't need to know Detective Rizzoli long to understand her vehement loathing for vulnerability. "What happened to your hands?" he asked as nonchalantly has he could, yet internally stealing himself for the inevitable defensiveness.

The feisty brunette bristled and folder her arms around herself, hiding her hands, "Why are you so interested in this case?"

Deflection, Gabriel noted. "That's need to know," he answered, trying to lighten the mood.

"Seriously? You fed guys actually say that?" she asked incredulously.

Raising his hands, he shrugged. It was the truth, as cliché as it sounded. He could tell the jig was up. Rizzoli wasn't stupid, far from it. She knew he'd read the files. No self-respecting FBI agent would have walked into a murder investigation without knowing all the facts. Without knowing all the players. And Jane Rizzoli was at the center of anything having to do with Charles Warren Hoyt. "I bet you never even once considered leaving the force, did you?"

Just like that, the steely resolve lifted, and the resilient homicide detective transformed into a person. It wasn't vulnerability, it wasn't fear. It's was something else and Gabriel tried to put his finger on it. It wasn't until she started talking that he identified this new quality. Honesty. It graced her features, making her even more beautiful.

"Sure I did," she answered and then her gaze shifted from the agent in front of her to a demon from the past that haunted her mind's eye. "When Hoyt had me pinned to the floor with a scalpel to my neck."

A second's pause was all Dean could detect, and he only picked up on the moment because he was so highly attuned to the moment. In those few seconds, Jane Rizzoli was not present. No doubt seconds were all that was needed for her to remember the immeasurable pain of scalpels piercing both hands and the terror knowing she was helpless. Her ability to fight back stolen from her, the cold metal of the blade resting on her sensitive neck. One flick of the wrist from her tormentor and warm blood would wash over them both.

What if Vince Korsak hadn't burst through the door at that moment? What if his bullets hadn't hit their mark?

She swallowed after the seconds past. "And now there are two of them, hunting me down like a pack of wolves." Her eyes piercing his. Unspoken questions floated between them.

Gabriel held her gaze as long as he comfortably could. She was challenging him to ask another question. She would not volunteer more information, but she wasn't stopping him from probing deeper. He glanced around. He wanted more. He wanted to know more, he wanted to know her. "You want me to stay?"

"Hmm?" It was rare to catch Jane Rizzoli off guard, but it was very clear that wasn't the question she was expecting. "No? No."

The first 'no' was clearly a question, the second a reaction. And they came in rapid succession. Dean tried to hide the feelings disappoint, hurt, and rejection that were no doubt playing across his face.

Jane finally processed the situation and realized how harsh she must have sounded. "I don't me no. I mean no…like no." she emphasized each no, trying to convey the different definitions with different voice inflections, doing her best to smooth over the rough edges. She wanted him to stay. Needed the safety and human contact it would bring, but was battling her insane need to appear strong and independent. Anything but helpless or needy.

Not wanting to push the issue, Dean shook it off. "Well, thank you for the coffee," was all he could muster as he took another sip. The awkwardness of the moment hanging over both of them. "Alright," he stood and walked toward the door and opened it. As he turned to face her one last time, he felt her hand on his forearm.

They both froze. Both too scared to say or do the wrong thing. It was Jane that finally acted. She walked past Gabriel and poked her head out the door, her hand never leaving his arm but keeping it shielded by the door. She searched the hallway for her partner, who was already moving toward her. "Agent Dean is going to stay and fill me in on the FBI's investigation," she said, her grip contracting around Dean's arm, willing him to go with her white lie. "You need to go home and get some sleep, he volunteered to take your post once we're done."

If Barry Frost was reading between the lines he never let on. He nodded his head in confirmation, "Call me if you need anything," he said professionally. "I can come pick you up on my way to work." He offered.

A genuine smile touched her eyes. "Thanks Frost. I'll text in the morning and let you know." She watched him retreat toward the front door. Only once he disappeared from sight did she close the door and look at Gabriel. He was studying her hand. He was amazed how it was delicate, strong, and wounded all at the same time. He realized those were all the reasons he found himself attracted to her. She was a walking paradox. Without thinking, he brought his free hand up and traced the angry scar with his fingers. The old wound was raised on the back of her hand. She was pinned laying on her back, arms above her head, forced to face her attacker. Her hand twitched as if he hit a sensitive spot. His head shot up, searching her eyes.

So many emotions swirled in the black abyss. She hadn't withdrawn her hand, but she was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I'm sorry, do they hurt?" he asked, laying his palm across her hand. Squeezing is gently.

Jane breathed out slowly. "When it rains. When I close my fists too tight," she paused. "When I think about that night…" she finally admitted.

Lifting her hand to his mouth, Gabriel placed a gentle kiss over the scar, trying to will away the phantom pains. Jane watched him, afraid to ruin the moment with some ill-timed comment. Those who knew her well avoided looking at her scars, even fewer dared touch her hands. Frankie and Maura were the only two that dared break the unspoken barrier from time to time. In fact, the last to touch them had been Frankie the night before, reminding her of the danger she was in. It was a bold move done out of love and frustration. He meant well, which was why she hadn't lashed out at him. Only now did she remember Frost objecting to his manhandling. Her protector that would never hurt a fly without cause, but she never doubted his fierce loyalty.

Finally, Jane cleared her throat, snapping them both out of their respective trances. "More coffee?" she asked.

Gabriel leaned in toward he lips. "No thanks, it's pretty terrible," he admitted with a smirk, waiting for some sign of permission to kiss her.

Jane moved in slightly, an unspoken approval for the passionate kissed that followed. Breaking away, Jane leaned her forehead against Gabriel's, their hands intertwined.

"You should try to get some sleep," Gabriel offered, leading her into her apartment, but not sure which direction to move toward her bedroom until Jane took the lead.

-/-

Jane woke with a start, trying to find her bearings. Scanning the darkness she recognized her bedroom. Looking down, she pushed the arm away that had been draped over her midsection. Clearing the sleep from her eyes, she looked over to see Gabriel Dean watching her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to…sometimes it takes me…sorry," she wasn't sure how to explain her regular disorientation that occurred after a nightmare.

"Shh," he whispered and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

Closing her eyes, Jane breathed in and enjoyed the momentary safety she felt in his embrace. They were both still fully clothed laying on top her covers. There were still too many dangers for them to have dropped their guard completely. In Jane's mind the dangers extended beyond Hoyt and his apprentice to the risk of truly letting Dean in to her life. Just as she was about to apologize for falling asleep on him in the middle of their conversation the distinct sound of broken glass shattered the stillness. Both reached for their guns that were only an arm's length away and were on their feet in the blink of an eye.

"Call 9-11," Dean instructed.

"It might just be that dog of Korsak's," she tried to reason, but was stopped when Gabriel cocked his head toward the foot of her bed where Jo Friday lay sleeping. More thumps spurred Jane to reach for her cell phone, but she was dressed for a comforting night in, not geared up for work and her cell wasn't clipped to a belt. "I must have left my phone in the kitchen."

Agent Dean was closest to the phone on her night stand, and reached it in two long strides. Holding her breath, Jane watched the small evidence of concern cross his face, and her deep rooted fear was starting to become reality. "The line's dead," he whispered and set the handset down to get a better grip on his gun. Before another word was spoken, the bedroom door burst open, and a blurry figure charged Gabriel, knocking him to the ground before he could aim his weapon.

Without thinking Jane moved toward the pile of limbs struggling for the upper hand, and felt a white hot jolt hit her in the lower back. Stun gun, she thought as she lost all muscle control and dropped unceremoniously to the ground. She saw boots enter her line of sight, as someone crouched down. "Hi, Jane. So good to see you again," Charles Hoyt said as she felt the prick of a needle pierce her neck. The sounds of struggle across the room began to fade as her world went black.