Chapter Two

The sun sluiced in thin lines across her bedroom floor, indicating the late hour, a time in the morning when Maura was normally already dressed and enjoying a second cup of post-dawn tea. But the arm around her waist felt too good to leave behind, and she closed her eyes against the morning brightness, preferring to let her mind drift back to the senses that had overtaken her the previous night: the feel of Jane's skin, soft and supple in places, hard and taut in others; the ripple of muscles underneath her fingers; the jagged, panting breath against her neck before a shattering pleasure coursed through her. Lastly, the tender, quiet silence as each of them drifted into sleep, their limbs still messily entwined.

Maura sidled closer to the warm body behind her, enjoying the feel of Jane's length pressed against her back. She had no regrets about the sudden need that had engulfed her after Hope left her; rather, she had enjoyed letting instinct govern her actions, moving her as if she were a puppet on a thin, breakable string. Jane's lips pressed against the back of her neck, bringing her back to the present, and she felt a sense of immediate safety, as if a warm blanket had been draped over her. She had never felt a gesture as natural, and it pulled a content, sated smile from her.

"Hi," Jane mumbled, her lips tickling Maura's skin.

"Good morning," Maura returned, as articulate in her morning haze as she was behind her desk or hovering over a lab table. Jane, on the contrary, wasn't able to utter more than a cohesive word or two before a healthy cup of caffeine, a trait that Maura was now more than used to. She didn't turn over, preferring the respite of Jane's arms; it was much better than the hole she'd felt herself sliding into the night before, and she hugged the strong hands harder around her waist.

The move rustled Jane from her early morning drowsiness, and she raised her head, glancing down at Maura. "How are you feeling?" she asked, moving a piece of honey-blonde hair off her shoulder to give her a better view of the woman lying next to her. The question was meant to be about Hope, but it was as two-faced as a double-sided coin. She wanted to make sure they were both okay after their new intimacy. Jane had often thought about the possibility of sleeping with Maura, but her fantasies usually involved the World Series and her hitting a needed grand slam in the bottom of the ninth; rarely had they involved taking advantage of her when she was most vulnerable. A tiny bulb of guilt blossomed in her chest, and she buried her lips once again in Maura's hair.

"Better than I have in a long time." Turning in her arms, Maura wore a smile confident enough to erase any fears Jane may have held, and climbed deftly on top of her, straddling her waist. "How are you feeling?" she asked, returning the question and its tacit implications.

Jane felt a touch more comfortable at the now familiar weight on her pelvis, and she grinned. "I'm feeling like I just hit a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth."

Maura laughed lowly, as if afraid to disturb the morning quietness. "You definitely got to third base," she murmured, bending down to press a light kiss against Jane's collarbone.

"Who knew you were so up on your baseball metaphors," Jane observed, impressed, as she arched into the grazing lips.

"Don't get used to it," Maura replied, her mouth edging up to the curve behind Jane's ear. "That's the extent of my rhetorical baseball repertoire."

Jane chuckled, more from the tingle of the lips suckling the particularly sensitive spot than anything else, and her hands moved of their own accord, coasting over the curve of Maura's hips, the sheet draping casually off of them.

"You feel so good in the morning," Maura said softly, moving her lips upwards to catch Jane's mouth, wanting to feel weightless once more. Last night she had been pulled from a rabbit hole of guilt, and she wanted that same abandon to course through her again. Jane had always managed to lift her out of her troubles, either with a smile, a misplaced joke, or, now, a well-placed touch.

As if connected to her subconscious, Jane's hands found their way under the sheets and down Maura's hips, cupping their curves and lowering over the backs of her thighs. Maura's tongue found its way inside her mouth, pushing inward with a gentle need at first, but quickly escalating into a pulsing thrust. As Jane's fingers moved precariously toward the inside of one thigh, Maura felt a new, more pleasurable ache inside of her that needed to be extinguished. "Please make me forget again," she mumbled, her words spilling into Jane's warm, welcoming mouth.

As her murmurings registered, Jane stiffened, the warmth inside her suddenly cooling. Maura's eyes were half closed with desire, but they popped opened as they registered the sudden bristling of the body beneath her. "You know I'd do just about anything to make you happy," Jane said quietly, softening her words with a small smile even as she pulled back. "I'm fine offering some distraction… but not like this…" A small part of her had wondered if Maura, as curious and as experimental as she was, had only initiated last night's turn as a way to escape her pain. She raised slightly, and forcing both of them into a sitting position, with Maura still straddling her lap. Fully aware she was being far from eloquent, she shifted nervously. "This isn't just… a distraction for me…"

Maura's desire gave way to a new guilt as she peered into the brown eyes staring uncertainly up at her. They held a raw vulnerability, which Maura knew from experience would soon be smoothed over with a cool, reserved suspicion. "Oh god," she uttered, shaking her head vehemently, almost embarrassed by the physicality that had controlled her. "That's not what this is." Her hands, which had rested comfortably on Jane's chest, now jerked away as if they had been burned, pulling the sheet around her. "That's not what this is at all, Jane. Am I that much of a cyborg that you can't see that?" Maura's smile was an attempt at levity, but Jane caught the regret in her hazel eyes, which glazed over with a sudden wetness. "Our relationship means much more to me than a one-night distraction. I promise."

Maura's voice wavered, penetrating through whatever dam of uncertainty Jane had erected, and she felt the sudden need to replace the blonde's frown with a smile. She leaned forward, studying Maura's neck with an intense and narrowed eye.

"What are you doing?" Maura asked, placing a self-conscious hand to her throat.

"Checking for hives," Jane replied with a grin before leaning in and placing a forgiving kiss at the dip of her collarbone. "Come here," she said, pulling Maura back into her arms, the blonde head settling onto her shoulder.

Maura sighed, her breath tickling Jane's skin. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"You can't lie to me."

"Touché."

Jane grasped Maura's hand, pulling it to her chest and outlining the thin, lithe fingers. "Unfortunately my biological mother has always been within twenty miles of me at any given time, so I can't imagine what you're going through right about now. If you want to talk, or want to use my punching dummy, or whatever, I'm here to help."

"Thank you," Maura said, her left hand tracing a small mole on Jane's stomach, the slow, meditative movement complementing the thoughtfulness of her voice. "When I was in grade school, I loved reading science books. I would speed through them, naturally absorbing and understanding every word. The books that I pined over, though, that took ages for me to get through, were novels. The emotions, the poetry, the words that were governed not by science or natural order, but by the messy schema of the brain... they were always so intriguing to me." Her fingers moved up, connecting the first mole on Jane's stomach to another one nearby. "I feel like I'm living in one of those novels... I can't make sense of what I'm feeling."

"Well, maybe you should write your own novel," Jane replied with a small grin, watching the lithe fingers work their way across her stomach.

Maura smiled into her shoulder. "This wouldn't work as a novel," she said, turning to look at her. "There's no antagonist."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "There isn't?"

"No self-respecting reader could possibly blame Hope for her reaction," Maura surmised logically. "She's spent the last thirty-seven years believing I was dead. She's entitled to feel confused, and hurt, for that matter."

"She's not entitled to go bat-shit crazy on you," Jane blurted, her point much less eloquent, but just as valid. "And she's not entitled to blame you for not being dead, either."

"She didn't need to find out this way. You were right, I should have reached out to her and told her from the beginning. How could I have lead her on like that?"

"Uh-uh," Jane said, pulling Maura back onto her lap and cupping her face with her hands. "I'm not going to let you blame yourself for how all of this turned out. If anyone's the antagonist of this whole fucking story, it's Paddy Doyle."

Maura nodded sadly, her eyes finding Jane's once again. "I'm more like her, don't you think?"

Jane searched her face. "Like Hope?" Maura's nod was almost imperceptible, as if she were ashamed of even thinking such a thing after the way things had gone with her.

"Let's see," Jane began. "She's a brilliant doctor, she dresses like she stepped out of a Vogue magazine, and she knows the history of the wooden coffee stirrer. Yeah, I'd say like mother, like daughter, for sure." She let her thumbs run across the softness of Maura's cheek. "Of course, you also speak French, pronounce all your fancy cheeses correctly, and won't tolerate crumbs. I'd say that makes you just as much like Constance, too." She pressed a kiss against Maura's forehead before moving down to her lips. "You have a whole peanut gallery of people who love you, remember that. If Hope comes around, so be it, but until then, we'll have to be good enough, okay?"

Maura smiled, the curl of her lips meeting Jane's thumbs, where they still cupped her jaw. "You're more than good enough."

Jane gave a satisfied nod. "Good." She moved her hands down to Maura's waist. "Now can I distract you with breakfast and a morning jog?"

Maura's eyes drifted playfully over Jane's chest. "I have other ideas for a morning workout," she said, pressing her against the pillow. "It burns the same amount of calories, but it's easier on your sacroiliac joint."

"I love it when you talk Google to me," Jane replied, smiling as she captured Maura's lips.

They eased into the kiss, their bodies melting into one another as their hands explored what was still somewhat new territory. Jane's fingers roved across Maura's back in the same way they had the night before, only now they were a touch less reticent, and they moved eagerly around to cup a full breast, pulling a pleased whimper from her.

The sound of the back door opening and the slow padding of footsteps across the tiled floor of the kitchen, followed by a rambling "It's just me!" caused both of them to lurch away from each other. Jane tumbled Maura off her lap, pulling the sheets haphazardly over her. "Jesus, is that my mother?" she hissed, panicking as she eyed the room for her clothes, realizing they were more than likely still strewn across the living room couch. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"She has a key," Maura whispered, launching off the bed and jerking a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt from the bureau drawer. She pointed a stern finger at Jane, motioning for her to stay put as she wriggled into the pants, pulling the shirt roughly over her head and scampering into the hallway.

Jane moaned, muffling the sound with the sheet as she pulled it completely over her head. Her mother had the timing of an old, broken cuckoo clock: inconvenient, sporadic, and always completely arbitrary.

"Hi Angela," Maura called breezily as she made her way into the living room, wishing she knew how to accurately feign a yawn or two.

"Oh, sorry to bother you," Angela replied with an apologetic smile. "I came over for some of that tea you let me try. I ran out. It's so much better than coffee; it doesn't make me jumpy."

"No, help yourself," Maura insisted politely, her eye catching a pair of blue briefs sticking out from the couch. She moved hastily, stuffing them out of sight, attempting to determine where the rest of her and Jane's discarded clothes had ended up.

Angela looked at her curiously from behind the counter, her face a mirror of concern. "How are you doing, Maura?" she asked sincerely. "I hope Jane made you feel a little better last night."

Maura nodded, reddening slightly. "Yes," she swallowed. "Yes she did."

"Is she up yet?"

The question caught her off guard. "What?"

"Her car is still outside." Angela pointed casually out the window.

"Hey, Ma," Jane said, bounding into the living room in a pair of yoga pants that fit more like bicycle shorts on her long, lean legs. Her smile was too bright, too un-Jane for this early in the morning, and Maura glanced warily back at Angela, sure that their thin ruse was up.

"Hey, Janey, how'd you sleep?"

"Good," Jane replied, purposefully avoiding Maura's gaze. If they had to resort to lying, which was more than likely considering her mother's tendency to pry, she would have to be the one to pull it off. She mimicked an exaggerated yawn, stretching her hands over her head. "Like a log. Maura definitely knows how to treat a guest." She could practically feel Maura's eyes burning into her.

Angela nodded. "Sometimes a good sleepover with a best friend can help you get through hard times."

"I'm going to take a quick shower before work," Maura blurted abruptly, having reached her threshold for withholding the truth. She wanted to take no chances, and needed to get away from Angela as soon as possible, or risk having to pull out her EpiPen.

As Maura quickly rounded the corner out of sight, Jane waltzed over to the kitchen, yanking the tight pants out of a particularly uncomfortable place. "Ma, you can't just barge over here anytime you feel like it."

Angela frowned up at her. "I didn't realize this was your house," she said smartly.

Jane clenched her jaw, but kept her mouth shut as she took a seat at the counter, fiddling with a stray tea bag. She liked the idea of waking up at Maura's, even if it meant running into her mother.

"How is she doing, really?" Angela asked, breaking into Jane's thoughts. She angled her head toward the hallway. "She seemed completely torn up last night."

"I don't know," Jane said with a shrug, smelling the tea bag and cringing before tossing it back on the counter. "You know, Ma, we pushed all of this on her. Encouraging her to reach out to Hope in the first place." She was surprised at how easily her misgivings slipped out; rarely was she open with her mother, at least before a second or third beer.

Angela looked knowingly at her. "Maura is a big girl. In the end, she did what she thought she needed to do. What's important is that you're there for the fallout. You have to handle her gently."

Jane raised an eyebrow, recalling the way Maura had confidently overtaken her the night before, her hands far from timid as they explored her flesh. "Not too gently," she mumbled.

"You were just trying to do what you thought was best," Angela replied, rounding the counter and patting her knee sympathetically, but her face morphed into a disapproving grimace. "These shorts are too small for you."

Jane ignored the observation, more than aware of the fact. "Do you think I need to fix this?" she asked.

"The shorts?"

Jane tapped a fist on the counter. "The Hope thing, Ma," she grumbled. "Should I go talk some sense into her?"

Angela knew better than to put an arm around her, and instead went for another pat on her knee. "Janey, as much as you want to protect Maura, this isn't your fight. You stay away from Hope, and just be there for your friend."

"What was that?" Jane asked, jerking away from her. "What was that inflection?"

"What are you talking about?" Angela asked innocently, moving back around the counter. "I'm brewing you some coffee before you blow a gasket."

"Whatever," Jane said, with a slump of her shoulders, eyeing her mother carefully. "While you're here, you want to griddle up some pancakes?" she asked hopefully.

Her mother shook her head, almost pained by the idea of denying such a request. "No time. But if you come by the café later this morning, I can promise they'll be on the menu."

"What, you have too many fancy orders coming in from your website?" Jane teased, but she was cut short by the ring of her phone, which trilled out from someplace inside the couch. She lurched out of her chair, searching for it, finding it nestled next to a bra that had been stuffed in between the cushions. "Rizzoli," she answered, glancing cautiously at her mother, but Angela was focused on sifting through Maura's plethora of assorted tea boxes. "So much for a relaxing morning after," she sighed, tossing the phone in one hand as she hung up.

Maura's voice came from the bedroom, acknowledging the identical call the she had more than likely received as well. "I'm going to change really quickly. Five minutes!"

Jane glanced down at her own attire, which was more suited for a yoga studio than a crime scene, and she quickly bent down, grabbing her black trousers, which peeked out from underneath the couch. "Might as well put on grown-up pants," she said, heading back to the bedroom.

"Coffee, coming right up!" Angela called behind her, seemingly under the impression that she was already at the precinct cafe. Jane grinned, giving her a thumbs up as she made her way back to Maura's bedroom.

The blonde was already inside her closet, her voice muffled by its wall-to-wall clothes, shoes, and accessories. "Now this," she called, "is a distraction."

"The murder, or your closet?" Jane returned with a smirk as she peeled the too-tight pants from her legs, stumbling slightly. "I don't think my Ma's gonna be able to work that espresso machine of yours. We'll have to stop on our way to the scene."

"No, I showed her how to tamp," Maura replied, poking her head out of the closet with a pleased smile. "She's a pro now. She can barista with the best of them. You should see her grip."

Jane watched her disappear once again, her lips parting with a vague disgust. "That is an image I could do without," she muttered. She angled her head toward the closet. "Got a shirt or something for me to wear in there?" This time Maura's head popped out, her eyes flashing with possibility, and Jane quickly put up a warning finger, shaking her head. "Don't even think about it," she said, thwarting whatever fashion project Maura was concocting in her mind. "All I need is a pair of pants and a t-shirt. Don't go all Alexander McCrazy on me."

She took Maura's silence for exactly what it was: complete, utter disregard. "Maura?" she called, testing her. Sighing, she took a step inside the door. "Jesus, is this your closet or Narnia?" she asked, the organized rainbow of dresses, skirts, and scarves overwhelming. She sighed again as she caught sight of Maura nestled among a row of blouses. When it came to fashion, Jane had little recourse in putting up a fight; Maura was always, without a doubt, the clear victor.

Jane shrugged her shoulders in the leather jacket she wore, checking herself once more in the rear view mirror. She had complained profusely at the idea of draping something so blatantly expensive over her torso, but she had to admit that she looked a hell of a lot more intimidating than she usually did. Maura reached over, fumbling once again with the scoop neck shirt Jane wore, until she was shrugged impatiently off.

"Relax, I'm fixing your wrinkles," she explained.

Jane pulled away from her. "You can't do that when we get to the crime scene."

"Why do you think I'm doing it now?" Maura quipped, pulling at the fabric until it sat just right underneath the leather. "You look great."

"I don't care about looking great; I care about looking like a cop." Jane glanced in the rear view mirror again, tossing her head confidently, and quickly changing her tune. "I do look like a badass cop, don't I?" she asked with a pleased grin.

Maura leaned back in her seat with a placating nod as she glanced down at the GPS on Jane's dashboard. "You've always looked like a 'badass cop'," she said with a smile. "It says this address is MAC Disposal Industries," she said. "Isn't that the company that picks up half the city's trash?"

"I don't know, I missed the latest issue of Garbage Monthly," Jane cracked, taking a sharp turn to the right. "Your hobbies sometimes frighten me."

"The first trash 'collectors' in the United States were actually swine animals," Maura offered, her tone morphing into that of an educational documentary, and prompting a resigned sigh from Jane. Rarely was she able to hold off the medical examiner's informative lessons, even with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Trash was loaded into collection vehicles and taken to local pig farms in order for them to consume. Of course, the onset of vesicular exanthema virus resulted in the death of most of the unfortunate animals chosen to complete the task." She shuddered. "Before that, in the early 1800s, most waste just trickled through the sewer system and into the streets. Do you know what nineteenth century Boston smelled like?"

Jane reached beside her, picking up her to-go mug of coffee. "No, I don't, and I consider myself lucky."

Maura nodded. "Imagine the malodorous scent of a de-co combined with marine decay and wet feces."

Jane gagged, setting her mug back beside her. "Jesus, Maura. How can words so disgusting come out of such a perfect mouth?" She shook her head, punching a button on her GPS. "Can we change the subject, please?" She glanced over at her, smiling brightly. "Maura, how's your kidney doing this morning?" she asked formally. "Is it feeling unwanted, neglected, or generally glum?"

Maura chuckled despite herself, as she turned her gaze out the window. "My kidney is laughing, at the moment, thanks to you."

Jane grinned, but she was more than aware that their light banter was a thin varnish over a knobby, gnarled pain. "You know, if anything, Hope's not going to let your kidney go to waste. No matter how stubborn Cailin is."

Maura placed her thumb just inside her lips, a nervous gesture she made whenever she thought deeply. "I don't know," she said. "I just don't want to care anymore."

Jane glanced briefly over at her before letting her voice take on a robotic, halting lilt. "Cyborg: cue emotion levels to minimum." She caught Maura rolling her eyes, and continued, reaching over and patting her thigh. "Today, we solve a murder. Tonight, we distract you further by taking in a movie and going to dinner, what do you say?"

Maura smirked. "After three years, are you finally asking me out on a formal date?"

"If you call pizza and the new Avengers movie 'formal', then yes."

She felt Maura's discerning, more than likely disapproving, gaze on her. "A comic book movie is not an ideal distraction. And neither is pizza."

"That's where you're wrong," Jane protested, welcoming the disagreement with a raised finger. "A book based upon a graphic novel, which in no way mimics normal life or normal emotion, is a perfect way to get you out of that big old brain of yours. And cheese and bread is the perfect comfort food. Much better than the cold, aloof meat and cheese plates you're used to eating."

Maura grinned over at her, chuckling. "Fine. But I reserve the right to call 'bad science' at any point during the movie. Their idea of physics and the time-space continuum is quite flawed."

"Fine," Jane said easily. "As long as you do it in your head." As she rounded another corner, turning onto a smaller, narrower road, she scrunched her nose, cupping a hand over it. "Jesus," she muttered. "We must be close. I can practically hear the property values sinking."

"This is nothing," Maura replied casually. "You should take a trip to The Body Farm in Tennessee. Hundreds of specimens decaying naturally in two-point-five acre field." She sighed. "The smell of scientific progress can be quite daunting."

"Your brain can be quite daunting, too," Jane replied, pulling behind a line of squad cars, their red and blue lights casting a glow against the faded brick building. She opened the car door a crack, wishing she had to a face mask. Hopefully, Maura had come prepared. "Oh, man, that's tough," she said, pressing her hand back to her nose. A tall, white building, complete with three cylindrical structures loomed in front of them.

Maura sniffed the air, her nose crunching only slightly. "They make odor battalion lines to cut eliminate some of the malodorous stench that comes with this line of work," she offered. "Clearly, this company hasn't renewed their contract this year."

A row of garbage trucks lined a far lot, which was outlined by a tall fence topped with a spiral of snarled barbed wire. "Quite the security setup they have here," Jane commented with a wave of her hand. "I didn't think garbage trucks were such hot commodities. Seems like the resale value wouldn't be so great."

"Did you know that the first truck compactor was invented in 1938?" Maura asked, pointing to the line of parked green and white trucks. "The hydraulic press technology has progressed since then, but it's still the same mechanical structure. It doubles the amount of waste a truck can hold."

Jane turned to look back at her, pausing fully. "Thank you, Oscar the Grouch. Now can we please just get to the body and get out of this... dump?"

Maura kept silent as they made their way toward the team of uniforms already milling through yellow caution tape near a small paved lot, where a line of green dumpsters sat like small, crouched industrial frogs. Jane grimaced, hoping the body was laid conveniently outside of a dumpster rather than in it; she was in no mood to dive through a sludge hole of garbage. She caught sight of Korsak bent over something along the ground, what looked like a pile of mislaid trash. As Jane strode closer, she felt bile rise in her throat, a feat that rarely happened now that she was more than ten years into the job.

"Oh," Maura balked, her own reaction registering as she came to a stop beside the pulped body.

Jane peered closer at the mess on the pavement as she inched closer to Korsak. It was something that looked like it had once been human, but it reminded her more of the dead squirrel she had passed on the way to the scene, only this one looked like it had been one gigantic squirrel. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is this?" she asked, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, wishing she had a rubber body suit instead.

Korsak cringed up at her, jerking a gloved thumb behind him. "Why don't you go ask your partner over there?" he huffed with a small smirk.

Jane followed his gesture to the other side of the paved lot, where Frost was doubled over, his head nearly between his knees. She smiled, giving him the benefit of the doubt. "Well, this one does look particularly gruesome," she said. "Are we looking at a hit and run, you think? Whoever this is, looks like he got run over by a semi."

Maura knelt carefully beside the body, attempting to make some sense of its crumpled, mangled parts. "This doesn't look to be a high-impact incident," she says.

Jane gawked down at her, disbelieving. "It doesn't? What, you think this kind of damage comes from an out-of-control bicycle, Maur?"

"I mean, it doesn't look like this was done by a car," she emphasized, peering closer. "I don't seen any tire tracks or ripping of the flesh that would be consistent with a vehicular impact. It looks like his or her organs were compressed by something."

"Well, this day just got a hell of a lot longer," Jane sighed. Her eyes darted around her. "What else do we have? Any cars, any identification?" She checked her watch. "I'm guessing first shift on scene caught this?"

Korsak nodded. "We got the 9-1-1 caller inside, waiting to give a statement. It looks like the body was dumped here," he pointed out. "There's no blood splatters or anything around here." He glanced down, turning his nose up slightly. "And I'm guessing whatever did this was sure to leave a mess."

"He's right," Maura spoke up, running a gloved finger along a particularly jagged rim of skin. "There's some sort of reddish material along the lacerations in the dermal layers."

Jane cocked her head. "Yeah, I'm guessing being squeezed to death causes a little blood loss."

Maura looked up at her. "I'm not certain it's blood."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Of course not." She swayed her hands around her. "We are at a garbage dump, it could be ketchup, for all we know, right?"

Maura stood, looking around at the scene around them, her hands hanging away from her sides. "It could be any number of chemical compounds. I'll have your definitive answer after I run it through the lab."

"So, what this body was dumped as some sort of message or something?"

Maura glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "It would be the literal interpretation of 'trash-talking'." She smiled, pleased with her own attempt at humor, although it earned her a couple of blank stares from the two detectives standing in front of her. "What?" she asked innocently, suddenly unsure of herself. "It's a double entendre."

Jane tossed Korsak a grin. "Good one, Doc," he said with a nod and a placating smile, which seemed to be enough for Maura, as her face morphed with the pleasure of a joke gone well.

Frost returned, ambling over to them, his face wan, but he managed a nod, hoping to regain some authority. "Hey, Jane."

"Hey Frost, how ya doing?"

"Better than him," he replied, pointing a finger at the body below him. He nodded at Maura. "Morning, Doc."

"Good morning, Detective Frost," she replied, taking a step closer to him. "Drink a bottle of soda water, and you'll feel much better."

He paled, nodding. "Uh huh."

"Who owns this dump?" Jane asked, giving Frost a quick pat on the back. The last thing she needed was for her partner to pass out on her.

"The garbage service is owned by Ivan McAllister," Korsak answered with a frown, darting a glance at Maura. She looked up at him, then at Jane, both of them wearing frowns that were governed by more than just the dead body at her feet.

"Who is Ivan McAllister?" she asked, the skin prickling along the back of her neck.

Jane darted a quick look at Korsak before placing her hands on her hips, taking a deep breath. She had done enough sorting through Paddy Doyle's old evidence boxes to know exactly who the man was, and she was in no hurry to share the information with Maura.

"Who is he?" Maura asked again, her words clipped.

Jane met her eyes, pursing her lips into a thin line before she finally answered. "Ivan McAllister is the head of the second-most powerful mob in Boston." She shifted on the balls of her feet, a nervous gesture that still got the best of her sometimes. "He's Paddy Doyle's biggest enemy." She saw Maura bristle, her eyes steeling as her composure faltered for a fleeting moment.

"Paddy Doyle is behind bars," she answered matter-of-factly, but she swallowed nervously.

Korsak glanced at Jane, giving a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "Paddy may be off the streets, but he's still in charge. If this is a hit, he ordered it. We just need to figure out why."

Jane watched as Maura's eyes darkened, as if a cloud had passed over her face. "We don't know for sure this is connected to Doyle," she said, hoping to alleviate the worry that flickered across the medical examiner's forehead. "Let's not make assumptions."

Any other time, Maura would have appreciated the irony of Jane employing her usual adage, but this time it struck her bluntly. She stared down at the body, wondering what answers it would give her. The thought of her biological father rotting in a jail cell was almost satisfying on some level, but as the smell of death wafted up to her nostrils once again, she wondered if her battle with Paddy Doyle would ever be over.

I don't seem to have a great track record with one-shots. If there's interest in seeing this continue, I'll keep it going. Thanks for reading and reviewing :)

Oh, and props to MaurasKidney on Twitter for being the first to anthropomorphize that particular body part. And to smarterthansexy on Tumblr for always calling out 'bad science' when she sees it.

Thanks Cat and Ren for the read-through!