Title: Fall in Slumber

Rating: T

Chapter 3 of 10

A/N: A huge thanks to Black Tulip for showing me the errors of my ways. I am very much appreciative of your advice!

The bullpen is quiet for the dark hour, only his desk lamp lighting up the eery silence that encompasses the room. The people of the precinct are home, tucked in safely to their beds with their children, husband and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends. Even Korsak has left for the night, extending a comforting hand to his shoulder without saying a word. A gesture meant to say, We're both going through this. But he feels wholly alone.

He catches himself staring at the picture on his desk, his gaze drifting to it. They're both dressed to the nines in their uniforms, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and a smile on his face. She has a small one on hers as well and her medal stands out on the crisp black of her shirt. In that moment, he was proud of her. Proud to call himself her partner and friend. Especially when in their world, things can often get petty and competitive. He's never felt that way toward her though, always genuinely proud of her accomplishments. Always terribly worried about her well being. Just like now.

He's proud he has never gotten mixed up in the politics of it all, of having a woman for a partner. Sure, he had taken some ribbing about the fact but he never utters a bad word against her. She's fierce, loyal, dedicated. He has always wanted to ask those who ridicule why gender matters so much when she can do everything a male could do, and more. She's a good cop who has his back. That's what matters.

Frost gazes across the hardwood of his work station to hers, rammed up against his. Sadly so empty. So barren. How many days did he take for granted that she was sitting there, running phone records or sending names through the NCIC database? How many times did he tune out her voice running down a list of witnesses to frantically find the tiniest shred of information to break a tough case?

He isn't sure how long he stares, how long he stays planted in his thoughts. Somehow though, the sun peaks over the horizon and he jolts from his reverie when he hears the clank of a coffee cup being sat onto a nearby desk and a computer booting up to begin its daily grind. Night has wound away and day begins again.

Every bone is his body seems to drip with sinewy lethargy and he shakes his head to rid the haze from settling in, like fog rolling in from the bay. Opening an email, he feels his pulse begin to rise. Sitting in the box is a file marked "Case 2631: CSU Print results."

He scans quickly, fiercely, and feels his heart sink. The only prints lifted at the scene were those of Dr. Isles found on the handles of all the doors and on the trunk. The list of things they can do to find their friend and partner are quickly coming to an end.

Korsak enters the precinct doors and takes a seat at Jane's desk. He wants to tell the newly promoted Sargent to move, that where he is resting is only for the woman they are trying desperately to find. He watches as Korsak waves a jump drive in front of him. He can feel himself staring blankly at the man but he doesn't feel up to a guessing game. Luckily, Korsak seems to sense the fact and puts it atop the meager file they have on the kidnapping.

"The files from the security camera. I figured we could take them in the other room and see if we can find something," Korsak offers. "I'm handing them off to you though, since you are the computer whiz."

Frost jumps from his chair at lightening speed, coming to a half walk-half run to the other room. He throws open the door and jams the stick into the USB drive. With each click, he feels the anticipation rise, the desperation to find something that will save his partner and the city's chief medical examiner. To save, above those things, his friends.

"We arrived at the scene some time after eight. Going with the report that Rizzoli and Dr. Isles took the Zumba class at 6:30, we probably need to back track in the footage a couple of hours. Let's start with late afternoon," Frost reasons.

Both he and Korsak turn their attention to the large screens, the time stamp in the top right corner glaring at them. Reminding them that every passing second was one that they might lose the battle. He taps the fast forward key, but nothing too speedy so as to make them miss something important. The images come and go, nothing standing out at all. Faces come and go, turning back occasionally to make sure the alarms on their cars are indeed set and the doors are locked.

He slows the tape to normal speed just before six pm, seeing the dark mane of Rizzoli's hair appear from behind a pillar, gym bag slung over her shoulder and pointing back behind her. He zooms in and sees her arms go out to her sides, facing the direction that she has just come from. She's in workout clothing and tennis shoes with her hair pulled up. He sees her posture droop, a sign of frustration. He knows because he's watched her do it many times when she is exasperated.

A few seconds later, Maura Isles walks up to Rizzoli. She's still in a form fitting dress and heeled shoes, a bag also resting on her shoulder. The two stop and from what it looks like, Jane is giving her friend a hard time. Maura makes a face at the other woman as the bag is pulled from her shoulder. Rizzoli slings it on her empty shoulder, a move that strikes Frost as completely chivalrous. If the word can even be used for Rizzoli.

The two head out of the garage and are lost to the camera's view as they head around the corner. Frost glances at the time stamp in the corner of the screen and freezes it. Korsak leans back in his chair and keeps his gaze transfixed on the screen.

"So they get to the parking garage around 5:42 pm because we have Dr. Isles' car pulling in and then the last image of them has a time stamp of 5:51 as they are walking to the gym," Korsak reviews.

Frost nods and notates the times on a legal pad in front of him. He never mentions to his partner how frustrating it is, to see them both on the camera footage and think of them any other way than as they appear on the screens in front of him: Strong, delicate, fiery, jovial. To him, they feel so real and alive that he cannot possibly entertain any idea of them other than this. Perhaps it is naïve to think because yes, he is a homicide cop and he knows how these things usually end up. With him and Jane standing over a corpse, tortured and beaten. Lost but not forgotten. He feels his throat constrict and instantly clears it to balance himself out.

"Uh, if you want, we can keep moving forward in the video. Maybe see if we can spot something else," Korsak offers, looking toward him with a bit of sympathy etched in his face.

"Yes, of course," Frost sighs and nods.

"Hey, for what it's worth-I know what you are going through. Jane used to be my partner too. The Hoyt cases really did a number on the two of us, even though she suffered the brunt of everything," the older man says.

"Why are you telling me this?" Frost laughs, though mercilessly. A knee jerk reaction.

Korsak stiffens and his eyes grown stern. "Jane's a fighter. Have you ever seen her not capable of having your back? If she can fight off a monster like Hoyt, then I know she can take care of herself and Dr. Isles for as long as it takes."

He stays silent and nods, the truth of Korsak's words hitting him like taking to rounds to the chest. He hadn't wanted to let anyone see his frustration and anger, his grief and pain. He hadn't wanted to bond with Korsak over losing their partner, the same partner. The fact seems like a depressing statistic and even though he knows the words are correct, he still feels like they have both failed her.

His finger taps the keyboard again and the video starts up. Before he even has time to process it, it stealthily passes by.

"Whoa, what the hell was that?" Korsak jumps up from his chair and leans forward.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I saw it too," Frost says standing, and rewinds the footage.

He pauses and looks back up to the screen, a hooded figure turned in profile frozen on the image above. A loose fitting, baggy jacket covers the top portion of the body. Jeans and some sort of combat type of boots cover the lower half. The figure is tall, not bulky but athletic. At his side, one of the figure's hands is balled into a fist. The other rests inside of a pocket.

Frost tries to zoom closer to get a better look at the face but he finds that the father in he tries to go, the grainier the image gets. What is unmistakeable however is the thin smile the rests on the figure's lips, the rest of him a black, indistinguishable shadow.

The Slumberer sits in his modest two story cabin, a summer and winter getaway that his family used to enjoy when the kids were on break from school. If he sits completely still, he can still hear the laughter ring out in the halls, bouncing off of the walls and depositing in his ears. The old though does nothing but warm his heart that most often than not always feels completely frozen over.

Pictures stay carefully placed on the walls, filled with ghosts of a life he can only remember by looking at the frames most times. To most it would seem odd to keep fragments of a broken, lost life but they give him drive, purpose. They remind him that life was not perfect but still beautiful. Beautiful before they screwed it up.

Outside, a light snow has begun to fall from the heavy, overhanging gray clouds. He stares out into the dim light of the day and sighs, ducking his head to look at the contents scattered across his work station desk. He picks up the vials and throws them into his pocket. Opening a drawer, he withdraws two needles and deposits them to join the glass rolling around in his pocket.

This cannot be fudged or done hurriedly. He has to be careful of his steps because one is a cop and the other is a medical examiner. It's not as if he is dealing with people incapable of fitting together a set of clues. It's his job not to leave any, to leave them floundering for some semblance of an idea as to what they have encountered, endured. He has to be delicate and not show his hand until he's ready.

But now? It's time for some answers.

Jane lies still beside her, no words falling from her mouth. Maura feels like they should be discussing things but she knows that the silence echoes the own hollow and empty feeling she has inside. She's never been one to see the glass half empty, a self proclaimed optimist by nature despite her grim profession. But as she turns on her side to face Jane, she feels like crying at the hopelessness sitting tight in her chest.

She brings her body in to Jane's, not even worrying about the implications or the reprimands, instead seeking warmth to send the chill out of her shivering bones. Jane stiffens somewhat beside her and Maura wants to laugh at the predictability of it all, but can find it nowhere in her to release it out into the space they are in. Say something, she thinks. Say something to release the tension.

"How much time do you think has passed?" she whispers against her friend's ice cold skin. She drapes her hand across Jane's lithe form and pulls her more tightly into her body. "I'm trying to get as close as possible to generate enough body warmth so we don't freeze to death."

"I was thinking how unfortunate it would be that you were making a move on me in a place like this," Jane huffs out with a coarse laugh.

Maura feels herself let go and do the same, looking up at Jane's face in the gray-black light. She feels Jane loosen up and an arm snake behind her head, the other bringing her into a tight hug. We're in this position clinging to one another's life source, to the heat, she tries to reason to herself. But she doesn't want this to hang between them and come out in an awkward talk later.

Later.

She lets out a chuff, scolding herself for being presumptuous. The statistics are against them if she really thinks about it. Most victims of abduction are never returned. The sudden image of Frost and Korsak finding her body clinging to Jane's is enough to recall the sadness to her.

"Two days? Maybe more," Jane finally answers. "I don't know. I lost count. And I left my watch in my workout bag."

"As did I," Maura sighs.

Beneath her, Jane's shifts as her stomach rumbles. Her arms tighten their hold on her and she lets out a growl.

"God, I'm hungry!" she says angrily.

"Ghandi lasted 21 days without food, only taking sips of water. Another woman lasted eight days buried beneath the rubble of an earthquake in Iran," Maura ticks off, spouting facts like she has always been good at. The act is somewhat calming and comforting, helping her to forget her own worries.

"Are you trying to make me feel better? Because it's not working," Jane sighs with a head shake.

"I could always talk about how delicious the orrechiette is at Lucca," she teases. Jane moans beside her.

"Okay, I admit that place was a little froufrou for me but their pasta is to die for," she smiles, but then stops herself as if just realizing their situation.

"A healthy human can last four weeks without food and eight to fourteen days without water," Maura chimes in, eager to rid the small space of awkwardness again. She knows Jane is beating herself up over the last comment, but she wishes she wouldn't.

"Still not making me feel any better, Maura."

The two of them drift into a silence again. Maura's thoughts run rampant, over and over the events of what has happened to them. Of the meal she has just mentioned to Jane. Of how much she wants to assure her friend that they will make it through this.

"We have to be missing something about this whole situation," Jane lets out suddenly. "Knocking us out with drugs and stuffing us in a hole doesn't say random 'grab and go' to me. This had to be premeditated. Someone knew we would be at that gym when we were."

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," she feels herself saying, not really knowing what it means.

"What did you just say?" Jane questions, her grip loosening around Maura and sitting up a little against the wall. Maura wants to tell her to not let go, but she feels her own confusion stirring.

"I think that's what he said to me before he injected me. 'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," Maura says again, shaking her head.

Jane holds her worried gaze, brown eyes looking scared and overwhelmed.

"Jesus, Maura. What does that mean? What have we dropped the ball on?"