A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first part of And I Feel Fine! I really appreciate it. This is the second half. Part 2 of 2. I certainly enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

It seems as though the number of zombies has multiplied again, and suddenly, they're engulfed in a sea of dead, pallid skin, suffocated by the stench of its slow decay. But they don't stop. Instead, they become machines, locking on to target after target, shooting, killing, reloading, killing. But Maura, especially. The unmatched strength and automation of her motions could captivate Jane if she allowed it to. But she doesn't. Focus, Rizzoli.

And then they're in sync. They safeguard each other, exercising just the right amount of caution to keep themselves moving. The throngs aren't thinning, though; every kill is replaced in a matter of seconds, but those seconds are just enough to allow them to make their way through the crowd, tile by tile. It's always about things being just enough. Just quick enough, just quiet enough. These days, "enough" is crucial, but more than enough is very hard to come by.

About the same time as she realizes how far in they are, how many infected separate them from the exits and how many separate them from the street Humvee, Jane hears Maura scream, "grenade!"

And then she hears the blast, feels the heat on her back, the brush of her hair against her shoulders. She doesn't have to turn to survey the damage; she can see the bodies flying in her mind.

It does a lot to alleviate their struggle for the moment – they can focus solely on the space in front of them, separating them from the vehicle. Another grenade in that direction would also be nice, but post-detonation action would involve navigating around a pile of flaming bodies, making the effort absolutely counterproductive.

It takes the discovery of at least four decapitated bodies for Jane to recognize that Maura's gun has been slung behind her. She's begun beheading these bastards with that fucking Medieval Times sword.

The sight is...empowering? Arousing?

Wait, what?

If this weren't a life or death situation, Jane would laugh. Instead, she rapidly fires off another round. She goes to reload and there they are at the epicenter. The alarm is so loud. Jane can't hear herself think. She can't hear the moaning, the shattering, Maura's medieval warrior princess tennis grunting... The whole world is just BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEE –

Jane backs up against the driver's side door, pressing her shoulders against the cool yellow exterior of the Hummer. She resumes playing executioner, waiting for a lull that would allow her to turn around and get in the car. She quickly realizes said lull won't arrive until long after she runs out of ammunition.

Maura's hoarse voice overtakes the white noise of the fight for a split second.

"Find the keys!"

Jane does a double take. Leave Maura out here alone? You would be hesitant, too. But as Jane considers this, Maura drives the stained blade of her sword through one zombie's head, lets it go, and swings her gun around from behind her, back into her hands. She then proceeds to – Jane believes the most scientifically accurate phrase is – "gives 'em hell."

It's pretty reassuring.

Jane turns and breaks the driver's side window, reaches through – "fuck!" – the glass slicing her arm. She unlocks the door from the inside and slides into the vehicle, throws open the glove box. A ridiculous number of papers and manuals and certificates spills out. After tossing aside the paper equivalent of a small rainforest, Jane's hands wrap around a distinctly bulging envelope.

"Please," Jane tears open the envelope and jams the key she finds into the ignition. She can almost hear the angels singing as the car alarm shuts off and the engine roars to life.

Jane unlocks the doors, "Get in!"

Maura flings open the side door behind the driver's seat. Jane props her gun up in the window and starts shooting, covering Maura's ass while she climbs in.

"Drive!"

So she does, finding the Hummer to be extremely effective in plowing through the throngs of undead. Jane had been right – there was no way this many had been hiding solely within the confines of the shopping center; the alarm had been drawing scores from even outside the mall.

They're being slowed by the growing number of zombies that are latching onto the Hummer, and their low speed is just intensifying the problem. Deteriorating arms were reaching through the broken window, clawing at Jane. She releases one of the hands she'd been using to steer with and retrieves her knife, stabbing at every sickly limb attempting to get inside the Hummer. Still, more and more arms reached through from the mob surrounding the car, like the horde itself had arms instead of the individual creatures.

They were moving slower and slower.

"Maura..."A plea.

"I've got it," and then, "grenade!"

Another explosion. Jane tries to look over her right shoulder, to survey the damage, but her view is obstructed by Maura's cleavage, inches from her face.

"What – what are you – "

Maura is yanking at the sunroof, finally managing to pry it open and slide her torso through. Her hips finding their place in close proximity to Jane's face.

"Oh, okay, then."

And then, dozens are dropping in front of them, allowing the Hummer to pick up speed again as it rolls over the bodies.

Just below all the chaos and its noise, Jane becomes aware of something pre-apocalyptic. Familiar and comforting. A guitar riff.

It's the car radio.

"I can't stand it. I know you planned it – "

Maura: "Grenade!"

Explosion.

"I got this fucking thorn in my side,"

There are still radio stations play music?

"I'm telling ya'll – "

Jane flicks the dial in one motion. Vol: max.

"It's sabotage!"

Jane screams.

Maura is fucking annihilating, holding down the trigger, swiveling, fucking sprinkler-ing, clearing a path for them. And it's all sensation. Bass wracking the car. Rolling over bodies. Pulse in ears. Fuck.

They're maybe a hundred yards from the exit now. Jane squeezes the wheel, anticipating the impact of the doors.

Maura is still poking out of the sunroof, and twenty yards closer to the door, Jane realizes that she's turned around, shooting behind them, throwing grenades, completely oblivious to the fact that they are about to have a serious run-in with some metal and glass.

"Maura, get down!" Jane grabs one of her legs and tugs, but Maura doesn't move.

"What? Jane? I can't hear – what are you doing?"

One thing Jane knows is that there is no way in hell that Maura Isles is going to kick this much zombie ass only to be taken out by a sliding glass door.

With one last stomp on the gas pedal, one turn of the cruise control switch, Jane twists around and grabs Maura's hips, yanking her down through the opening in the roof and throwing the two of them into the back seat.

The force of the impact is more than colossal – ineffable – and everything seems to slow down. Maura has some explanation for this frame-by-frame processing, having to do with adrenal glands and cognitive neurons misfiring. But in this moment, Jane doesn't consider that, or anything else really; not the zombies falling away, the glass shards flying by... none of the above. Nope. For whatever reason, a reason that Jane doesn't even really want to think about, all that Jane can think about is the fact that she's straddling Maura's hips.

And then they're free. Cloud-filtered sunlight is shining down on them. It's like they've just left the theater after a movie.

The zombie population outside is considerably less dense. The H3 relaxes over level asphalt instead of piled bodies.

Jane quickly peels herself off of Maura and reclaims the steering wheel. She swerves to avoid crashing into an overturned VW Bug.

Maura lets out a delayed "ouch."

"... DJ-ing your fight for survival since Day 37! No commercial breaks. Ever. Only the most adrenaline-release-provoking hits. Post-'Poc Pirate Radio. Your number one for everything, because for all we know, we're the only station in existence right now..."

"Thanks." Maura groans as she climbs into the passenger seat.

"Don't mention it."

"Welcome to the jungle..."

Maura rolls down her window and spits. Blood, Jane assumes, as she turns out of the mall parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?"

Maura takes in Jane's disheveled appearance and starts laughing.

"Maura!" Jane laughs, failing to maintain a mock serious expression. "I am in pain," she scolds, still grinning. "I almost died, like, twelve times just now. I'm injured. I don't think you should be laughing at me."

"You have pieces of glass in your hair," Maura giggles.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to laugh at that either."

"Hold still." The lithe fingers that were wrapped around a warm gun just moments ago are now delicately pulling shards from Jane's dark mess of a ponytail.

Jane purses her lips. "I've also got a cut on my arm that probably needs sewing up, Dr. Isles."

Maura is still plucking glass when she says, "too bad we didn't find any alcohol."

Jane laughs, turning onto the interstate. "Yeah," she agrees, though she's unsure as to whether or not they mean the same thing. "Too bad."

They settle back into a relieving silence. Jane's heart is still beating in her ears, and she still isn't quite sure about what just happened back there, but she decides not to think about it.

And then? A yelp.

Something yelps.

No, it yelps. It is in the back seat, and it has just yelped.

Jane hits the breaks, coming to a full stop in the middle of the empty highway. She mutes the radio and turns to face Maura, attempting her most vehement glare. Maura, in turn, pulls her most innocent face.

"What was that?" Jane asks, even though, of course, she knows exactly what that was.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad!" Jane says in a tone that is generally used to express anger. She shuts her eyes, inhales, exhales. "I'm just... upset that you didn't tell me that you decided to... adopt him. I mean, we could have picked up some puppy chow while we were out, had you told me." Maura smiles cautiously. This is both her and Korsak's fault. A dog is the very last thing they need right now, but she really can't bring herself to be angry. Really, what did she expect for Maura to do? Leave him?

Jane cranes her neck to look behind her. Maura's backpack is open. Amongst spilled boxes of ammo and food cans and rags and much else is the dog, that hopeful tail-wag undeniable.

Jane smirks. Maura has gone back to giving her that look. The same look she used to give when Jane would call her out on remembering to buy wine but "forgetting" to pick up beer from the supermarket. Jane stares at the road ahead of them, back at the dog, then back at Maura, and finally sighs.

"Okay, okay. One pair of puppy dog eyes is enough," Jane chuckles and puts the car back in motion. "Relax; I'm not gonna throw him out."

Maura smiles, unabashed. She reaches back to pick up the dog and place him in her lap.

"But he's not getting any of my food. His sustenance is coming out of your backpack and your backpack only."

"Uh-huh." Maura nods absently, petting the dog, who has settled over her legs.

"And for future reference, if you sneak a turtle on board, I will throw it out."

Maura tilts her head and asks, "When you say 'turtle,' do – "

"Tortoise. Excuse me. No tortoises. Actually, no turtles, either. No more animals at all, Maura."

Their raillery continues for miles and miles. They stop once because it turns out Jane's arm does need sewing up. They stop again to siphon gas from a cluster of abandoned vehicles. They stop numerous other times because apparently their new pet has a very small bladder. And then it's dark and starry out and they're driving down the east coast.

Around 10 PM, according to the Hummer's digital display, Maura becomes convinced that Jane is going to fall asleep at the wheel (and okay, Jane concedes that her eyelids had been getting a little heavy, but she'd thought her yawn-stifling had been pretty convincing). They decide to pull over and sleep for a few hours. Back on the road by dawn at the latest.

The dog, which Maura has named Bass II, remains asleep on the floor between Maura's feet, wholly unaffected by their halted travel plans.

Jane duct tapes over the broken driver's side window and decides it would still best if they both slept in the back seat. Maura agrees.

Maura also decides that they should sleep side by side to maximize comfort, zombie protection, and body heat distribution. Jane agrees.

So that's how they end up spooning, just to be clear. It was decided upon by, ahem, a doctor as the most scientifically logical sleeping position.

Logic. Efficiency. Body heat distribution. Yet Jane is more awake now than she has been in days. It's not an uncomfortable sort of hypersensitivity, but instead, a warm feeling of contentment, mixed with the cool alertness that comes with this kind of close contact. Plus the crippling fear that she smells worse than Maura. Which is actually likely, Jane realizes, because Maura actually smells really good.

Maura hums suddenly, apparently not as asleep as Jane had previously thought. "Jane?" She whispers, tender and wary.

Jane licks her lips, feeling her own expression soften further at Maura's tone and her still-closed eyes. "Yeah, Maur?"

There's a long pause. Maura inhales deeply. Jane readjusts her arm, slung around Maura's waist. She prepares for the words about to leave her friend's pretty mouth, whichever words they may be.

"What..." Maura swallows. God, could she drag this out any longer? "What did the zombie groom say to his zombie bride at their wedding?"

Jane laughs sharply, resisting the urge to give her a shove. Maura smiles, her eyelids fluttering open.

"I didn't even get to the funny part yet."

"Sorry, sorry." Jane shakes her head, wondering if Maura had just intentionally psyched her out, or if she had really just decided a serious, almost sultry tone was the best to use to reprise her role as a comedian.

Maura repeats, "What did the zombie groom say to his zombie bride at their wedding?"

Jane rolls her eyes, smirking, "I don't know. What?"

"'You look drop-dead gorgeous.'"

Jane rubs her tired eyes, laughing as she takes in Maura's smug expression.

"That was a good one."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Jane humors. "You know, if I manage to survive your bad jokes, I think I'm in the clear."

"Very funny."

"Bad zombie jokes? Yikes. Actual zombies? No problem."

"Ha ha ha." Maura smiles softly as she shifts in Jane's arms, sinking back into her. "Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Maura." Jane murmurs into her ear.

Maura is asleep in minutes, breath gone shallow, shoulders limp. Jane allows her hands to search out Maura's own.

Some nights, while Maura sleeps and Jane is keeping watch, her thoughts go dark and horrid, ruled by 97% and the belief that the two of them are just delaying the inevitable.

But other nights, nights like these, which are few and far between but much more poignant, things seem almost okay. After all, she's got Maura.

It's the zombie apocalypse. Shit has hit the fan. Everything has gone to hell.

But I've got Maura.

And with that thought, the most comforting thought she's had in in 57 days, Jane falls asleep holding Maura's hand.