Author's Note: So, I sort of forgot about this, huh? I lost everything I'd written in a fire, blah blah blah, but then promised breezie531 that I'd update this morning, so here I am, writing this chapter as I wait for my train. Which hasn't showed up. You know what? Fuck you, Arriva Trains Wales, I'm going to the beach instead.

Jane was worried. In fact, she just might go so far as to say she was terrified. Even after spending all of her adult life on the force, facing down countless criminals and bearing witness to unspeakable evil, nothing could prepare her for what was coming through that door.

Three sharp knocks.

"Come in, Maura," Jane called weakly, being mindful of her sling as she straightened out her baggy shirt in an attempt to look more presentable. There was no stopping it now.

"Hello, Jane."

And there she was, looking as radiant as ever. Uncomfortable, but radiant nonetheless. Maura had always looked the way Jane wished she felt; beautiful and confident, with an irrefutable answer for everything, but now she looked... broken. She was still beautiful, her skin glowing, and nothing would persuade Jane to think otherwise, but there was a hollow echo in her gaze, her eyes flat and filled with dust. And that dress — damn, that dress...

Maura already had enough expensive outfits in her wardrobe to clothe a small, Eastern European village for an entire year, and Jane was sure that the cost of this particular dress rivaled that of her latest medical bill, but there was something familiar about it. Had she seen Maura wearing it before? She didn't think so. It was the acidic orange of the fabric, the way the belt cinched in her narrow waist, how the — oh, God! Was she? She was...

Yes, whether it was intentional or merely the subconscious product of guilt, Maura had decided to dress herself in a prison jumpsuit.

The anxiety over this visit that had been plaguing Jane for days on end was gone in a flash as she let loose a loud, unbridled cackle.

"Jane?" Maura was frozen in the doorway, looking absolutely horrified — an increasingly common sight for Jane, so it would seem. "What is it that you find so amusing?" she asked, craning her head around in search of the joke.

"Oh, it's nothing," Jane took a few seconds to compose herself, "I'm just happy to see you." And she was; despite everything, she missed Maura more than her out of whack limb. "I like your dress, it's... interesting," she clenched her jaw as what may as well have been laughing gas filled her lungs to capacity.

"Thank you," Maura smiled nervously. In the two weeks they'd spent apart, the doctor still hadn't developed a sense of humour.

It had been a very difficult fortnight for both women, to say the least. Jane barely listened as her surgeon explained in gruesome detail how her clavicle had practically exploded when the bullet had clipped, embedding shards of bone in her pectoral-something-or-other, told her all about the long-term effects of nerve and muscle damage, and that her severe blood loss had lead to other complications that she didn't really want to think about; she had her mother to fuss over that. Jane was too busy worrying about Maura.

The detective had been furious when she heard that Maura'd quite happily turned herself in at the station, refusing to release any circumstancial details; she told them that she'd shot Jane, on purpose. Apparently, the doctor had neglected to mention the fact that, while she had indeed shot Jane, she was under the impression that she was facing an attacker, possibly even her best friend's kidnapper. In Maura's mind, she had to be punished. She'd hurt Jane, and nothing beyond that mattered anymore.

It had taken two-hundred-and-thirty-seven grueling hours, six-hundred-and-twenty miligrams of morphine and a combined fifty-seven fluid ounces of tears and vomit before this little problem could be rectified.

Even after Jane had made a statement convincing everyone that it had been an accident, it had taken a little more than that to bring around the medical examiner herself. More specifically, a photograph; taken on New Year's Eve when the pair had escaped from a dreadfully festive party, shrieking hand-in-hand as they ran for their social lives. Upon bumping into an old flame they'd once bailed on — neither could specifically remember where they recognised the man from, but came to the (il)logical conclusion that he'd most certainly tried to date at least one of them — they'd drunkenly clambered into a photobooth to hide, giggling behind twitching curtains as the man passed by.

The photo had been a prominent feature in Jane's wallet ever since, dog-eared and well-loved; Jane was more attached to it than she would ever say, but she would be happy if she never saw the thing again, as long as they were given the chance to take another.

Jane wasn't certain if that's what had done the trick, or if Korsak had, upon her suggestion, verbally beaten some sense into the woman, but whatever it was, it had worked. Just three days later, what should have been a tower of paperwork had been miraculously filled in and filed away — Jane suspected she'd be owing a few favours after this — because here Maura was, loitering at the far side of the room, looking disjointed and so very out of her comfort zone.

"Welcome," she blew a strand of hair from her eyes, dispersing the last of her giggles. "Are you really gonna make me yell across the room?" Jane arched an eyebrow as Maura muttered an apology and scuttled closer to the bed. Jane didn't think she'd ever seen Maura Isles scuttle.

"So, how are you feeling, Jane?" Maura eventually asked, immediately scolding herself for making it sound like such a routine, unfeeling question. She was trying not to let her emotions get the better of her, for both their sakes, but, truth be told, she was absolutely terrified of what Jane's answer might be.

"Eh, you know," Jane's face did all the shrugging, "I've been better, as you might have noticed." Maura nodded, not really knowing how else to respond to that. "I'll be glad to get out of here, though. Don't get me wrong, they're taking good care of me, and Ma's been great, but you know her," she made a sock puppet-esque motion with her hand, "yap, yap, yap. I just want some peace."

"I'm sorry, would you like me to..." Maura trailed off, secretly hoping that Jane would jump in and beg her not to leave, "...go?" she finished uncertainly, eyes fixed on something to her victim's left. Because that's what she was, wasn't she? Her victim.

"Nah," Jane's smile was lazy, but genuine. "Pull up a chair, Doc," with effort, she motioned to a duo of uncomfortable-looking hospital chairs next to the bed as she shifted to sit sideways on the sterile mattress. She felt drained of life, and it showed; her usually olive complexion was unnaturally pale, the whites of her bones shining through her skin. The image haunted Maura from the corner of her eye as she turned to adjust her seat, and she could barely bring herself to look back at the woman. But Jane was her ghost, and she must face her down.

"Are you managing alright?" Maura grimaced on Jane's behalf as she wrestled with the sheets.

"I've been working on using just my right hand," she offered Maura a reassuring smile. "Not that I have much choice," she added with a deliciously low chuckle, "but it's going well, see?" the detective thumbed through a stack of magazines and old case files that she'd insisted Frost brought in for her to look over. Naturally, Korsak had turned down the request, muttering something about her needing to rest up and keep her mind off work, but, even from her hospital bed, Barry was too afraid to refuse his partner.

"Jane, your penmanship is still awful," Maura narrowed her eyes at the scrawl slanting across the proffered notebook in Jane's outstretched hand. "You shouldn't be forcing yourself to write with anything but your dominant hand," she shook her curls for emphasis. "Now, I know that, on average, only eighteen-point-eight percent of left-handed people's language functions are controlled by the right-hemisphere of the brain," Maura began.

"On average, huh?" Jane interjected with a smirk.

"But it's still a dangerous thing to attempt," Maura continued, ignoring the brunette entirely. "Do you want to develop a stammer, Jane?" she shot Jane a look — one of those looks.

"What am I supposed to do?" she tossed her hand into the air, along with the note pad, which took a nose-dive to the floor, pages fluttering like a featherless bird. "Ahh, shit," her anger fizzled away as soon as it hit the lino, and she struggled to bite back a laugh as she caught sight of Maura, who was looking as if Jane had picked up a chair and smashed her way through the window, not dropped her writing pad.

"Jane..." she wasn't sure if that was meant to sound soothing or serve as some kind of warning.

"Sorry... Uhh, would you mind?" Jane inclined her head towards the notebook at Maura's feet, feeling sheepish for having to ask for it back.

"Of course," Maura fumbled on the ground for the paper, but kept her eyes lowered for a few moments, even after she'd snatched up the book. Jane couldn't even reach down to the floor without wincing in pain, and, after two whole minutes of blissful ignorance, Maura remembered the reason why.

"Gimme," Jane wiggled her fingers impatiently, grabbing at the pad. "I gotta practise," she balanced the paper on her thigh and began scribbling enthusiastically. Maura was certain it was just to piss her off.

"If you need to write something, I can do it for you," Maura was the definition of exasperated.

"No way," Jane continued to marr the paper's surface with her pen, "once I'm through with all this, both of these babies will be hitting targets better than Billy the Kid!" she looked down affectionately at her hands. "Ahh got a horsch and the Wescht is wiiide," she drawled, pen now gripped between her teeth, "ptchuuu!" she grinned to herself at the thought of wielding twin pistols, probably wider than was necessary.

"Puh... chu?" Maura repeated mechanically, brows knitting together.

"Yeah," Jane spat out her pen with an indignant look, like it should have been obvious, even to the doctor, "ya know," she cocked an imaginary revolver in demonstration, "ptchuuu!"

"Yes, I suppose I see what you mean," she fudged, but the coroner thought she had some idea of where Jane was going with this. "Actually, William Hen-"

"Don't wanna know!" Jane cut in, heart still set on living out her little Western fantasy. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know," she shook her head as firmly as her shoulder would allow.

"I was merely going to inform you that Wi-"

"Lalala! Can't hear y- nooo," Jane howled when she realised she could only cover one of her ears. "Aaand the moment's gone," she sighed, slumping sideways against her itchy pillows. "Wow, way to shoot me down, Maur."

Silence.

Laugh or cry? Jane silently pondered when she realised the implications of what she'd just said. Luckily for Jane, the medical examiner chose this awkward moment to suddenly sprout a funny bone and burst out laughing, painted fingers gripping the hem of her guilty-looking dress as tears formed in her screwed-shut eyes. The detective followed suit, clutching at her shoulder as the giggles kept on coming in relentless waves. After all, it was a good pun.

"I di-didn't... I didn't even mean to saaay that!" Jane wailed between snorts, swatting at Maura who continued to laugh.

"It's funny because I really did shoot you!" Maura roared hysterically, voice a little too shrill for Jane's liking as she doubled over in her chair.

"Maur?" Jane struggled upright and tentatively laid a hand on the blonde's knee as her fits of laughter suddenly gave way to choked, gutteral sobs that racked her entire body, tears spilling freely down her blotched cheeks. This isn't good.

"I'm fine," Maura waved Jane off, covering her face with her free hand as she swallowed back another sob. "Just stop- Jane, I am fine," she grasped Jane's wrist tight as the brunette tried to comfort her again.

"You're not fine," Jane told her calmly, gently tugging her arm free of Maura's vice-like grip. "And neither am I," she admitted slowly.

This made Maura look up from the refuge of her delicate fingers, eyes still shining with tears.

"Look at us, we're not," the detective mirrored Maura's famous you-should-know-better-than-that glare, though there was a softness to her gaunt features. "But that doesn't mean that we won't be," she brought her hand down to rest on the doctor's thigh for a third time, and Maura allowed it, "we just need to work through this. There are... certain things we gotta discuss," a little colour finally tinted her pallid cheeks, "and I know you're sorry, I really do, but all of this will come up when it's the right time. I just... I can't do it right now, I just really..." she fought off a sigh, "really... need to pee," she finished, sounding shocked at her own revelation, like it had suddenly snuck up on her from out of nowhere.

"Ohh!" Maura scooted back in her chair like Jane had announced that her waters had broken.

"What, human bodily functions are suddenly unnatural to you, now?" Jane was incredulous, rolling her eyes as Maura actually seemed to be taking a moment to think it over as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Of course not," she eventually answered, awkwardly rising to her feet, like she was unsure if she should be getting up to help. "Do you...?" Maura offered.

"Hah, I think I got that part, M," she snickered as Maura half-crouched to sit again.

"Yes, right, of course," Maura still didn't fully sit down.

"May I have this next dance?" Jane held out her hand, swinging her legs with a playful grin.

"Of course," Maura repeated, returning the smile as she took Jane's hand, carefully lowering her down to solid ground, "it would be my pleasure," she even threw a little twirl into the mix, easing the tension that had been breaking her back.

"Why thank you, Doctor Isles," Jane swooned as Maura helped her shuffle towards the bathroom door, "I'll take it from here," she winked, and the pathologist reluctantly released her dance partner.

As Maura attempted to settle back into what truly was an incommodious chair, her eyes drifted over to the conveniently-placed scribble pad perched on the edge of the bed, Jane's angular handwriting carved into the open page.

'I forgive you.'

Maura cracked a small smile as she read the words again, feeling relief beyond explanation. This didn't fix everything, and she knew it. This certainly wasn't the end; they'd talk about it, because God knows there was a lot to discuss, but it would happen when they were ready. For now, she was content with emptying her thoughts out into a nice, quiet space in the back of her mind and locking the door behind her, leaving her free to listen to Jane curse and yell from the bathroom.

"Umm, Maur?" Jane's muffled voice called out from behind the door.

"What is it, Jane?"

"I, uhh, think I might need a little... help."

Well, this should be fun.

Ptchuuu! Come on, say it with me, now.