A/N In terms of Rizzoli & Isles, this takes place somewhere in the middle of season two.

This was not happening. Jane's whole world was tilting, there was blood on her hands and noise in her ears and everything was out of focus. Her gun was somewhere, she might have dropped it. Her fists were curled around something, fabric, someone's clothes, her father's. Her dad.

Her dad was lying on the floor without a pulse.

Now someone was pulling her up, prying her away and she couldn't react correctly, she couldn't talk, yell, whisper, beg them to just leave her there. Just leave her there with him.

She felt cold metal on her wrists and some man was gripping her arm, walking her out of the room. Why didn't they understand she just wanted to stay with him for a few more minutes?

Of that day, Jane had brief flashes of crystal clear memory and long periods of dullness where she couldn't remember much of anything; a fog covering all her senses, nulling them and numbing her mind.

The interrogation was one of those numb moments.

Detective Beckett came in tough, strong, purposeful. She was dealing with another cop this time, one who was extremely emotional and, judging from the ordeal that was getting her into the back of a squadcar, also potentially violent. Kate sat down opposite the suspect, keeping her eyes on the other detective, who's gaze was firmly aimed at the floor.

"Detective Rizzoli." A picture slid across the table. "I understand this is your father?"

Jane studied the photograph. Why did they have to use that picture? Could they not find one of him while he was alive? How long had it been since she had been taken away from him? How long had she been in holding that they already had the body taken to the morgue, taken pictures, and put together a case file for the woman across the table asking the questions? Hadn't it just been a moment ago that she felt his blood on her skin?

Unconsciously, her hand spread over the photograph, wanting to hear his voice, to see his smile, to have one more hug from her father. But it wasn't enough, her desire, so she curled her fingers and pushed the picture back across the table and nodded.

"Yes." That's my dad.

"You're from Boston, what exactly were you doing here in New York?"

"Just…" Her eyes searched the room, unseeing. "He called me."

Rizzoli's voice was soft, so Beckett lowered hers to match it, "When did he call you?"

"About noon. He wanted me to come see him."

Kate glanced at the two-way, hoping Esposito understood her non-verbal message to check the victim's phone records to see if that was true. Bringing her focus back to Rizzoli, she continued, "Was that typical of him?"

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Jane answered, "No. No, I hadn't seen him since…" A breath. "I hadn't talked to him in a while. I need to call my Ma."

"Jane. What happened in there?" Kate was gentle, but she needed to hear the entire story. She doubted Rizzoli killed her own father, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

A shaky hand combed through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Sharp memories tugged at her consciousness, she had just gotten off the elevator, just stepped into the hallway, when she heard the gunshot. One loud, resounding, pop from the end of the hall, and the screams of the neighbors. Her gun came out and she ran toward the source. The door had been open a crack. She paused when she noticed the number. 11D.

The same number he said over the phone.

"I just walked in and found him." Barely more than a whisper.

There had been a window open, she remembered that because she hadn't been wearing a jacket and it was cold. She had checked each room for the killer. He had to be hiding somewhere, but she couldn't keep looking because he was laying on the floor with a hole in his chest and a white shirt stained red and how did this happen?

Kate stood and Jane's gaze followed her. "I don't know how it happened, but we're going to do our best to figure it out. We'll get you a phone so you can call your family."

Castle joined Kate outside the interrogation room and they walked to her desk. "You don't think she did it, do you?" In his version of this story, the daughter was not the killer.

"I don't know yet." She knew the exasperated look he was giving her before she even turned her eyes toward him. "Castle, I don't want it to be her, but she has absolutely no alibi, and a gun that could be a match."

"Oh, come on. She has no alibi because she was there! She practically witnessed the shooting."

"Except she didn't witness it. No one can put her in the hallway when the gun went off, and if it wasn't her, where did the killer go? Her story makes no sense, probably because she's so emotionally distraught from killing her own father that she can't come up with a better one."

They stopped in front of the murderboard. Kate studied the almost empty white board, Castle studied her. "Alright, but what's her motive?"

There was a pause while she thought it over. "Well he lived alone and we didn't see a wedding ring. Maybe it had something to do with her mother?"

"Maybe… Didn't she say the window was open when she went in?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That's it! The killer obviously went out onto the balcony and crawled down to the alley where his escape car was waiting to take him away, probably to the airport, and from there, someplace tropical…"

"Really, Castle?" Her eyebrow went up and his expression lost a little excitement at her tone. "You think we didn't check that? There is no balcony; there is no ladder to the alley. It's just a window. And the window that does have a balcony was locked. From the inside."

"Oh." He frowned. Kate suppressed a laugh because she would swear she could see the inner parts of his brain working the problem.

She left him alone to concoct ideas as she went to the Captain's office to give her an update on the Rizzoli case. When Kate came back to her desk about five minutes later, Castle was in the exact same spot, eyes fixed on the almost-blank murderboard, hands fidgeting with his phone but not really paying attention.

"Maybe… some coffee would help?" It was really more a suggestion to give Castle something to do; he looked like he could use a break.

Tearing his eyes away long enough to glance at her, he nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Kate opened her mouth, and then closed it.

Sensing her inaction, Castle turned toward her. "Oh." He registered the look on her face. "You meant I should… Right."

"Well I just, I have some phone calls to make."

"Sure." He shrugged and headed toward the break room. As he was turning on the espresso machine, he noticed the suspect, Jane, through the window. She was standing with a uniform, a phone pressed to her ear.

By some miracle, she had kept it together. Jane didn't break throughout the interrogation. She was just starting to think that maybe she had control when they let her use the phone. Her first call went to voicemail, so she tried again.

It was as if Maura's voice was the key to open the floodgates.

"Jane? What's wrong?"

Jane felt overwhelmed, and incredibly alone in this New York precinct. She didn't know how to start.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I'm okay, I…" She took a deep breath, wishing she could talk face to face with Maura. "I'm not okay, but I'm not hurt."

"Jane?"

"Is my Ma there? She didn't answer her phone."

"She went out to get some groceries for dinner, she must have left her phone here. Do you want me to tell her to call you when she gets back?"

"No, I don't have all day. Look, Maura… I need you to tell her something for me," Here Jane completely broke down. Her father had been shot. She was currently the only suspect. She was miles away from home, and she couldn't even let her mother know personally. But Maura could, and out of everyone she knew, Jane was glad it was her. "Can you tell her… Tell her my dad's dead."