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Jane didn’t remember much after she’d stabbed Hoyt. She remembered the gunshots, Mason falling, and Frost going to Maura. Good, that was good. Someone needed to look after Maura. She felt torn apart, disconnected, her nerves fried and every bone in her body burning with adrenaline. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who she was. All she knew was that it was over, finally.

She remembered Korsak, his arms around her, safety, comfort, love, and she remembered sobbing into his shoulder like she had that first time when he’d found her in the basement with Hoyt. She didn’t care that Frost was there, or that the prison warden she wanted to punch was watching just outside the door. All she cared about was being done. It was done. Hoyt was dead. She would finally be able to rest.

Hours passed in a blur of medics and voices overlapping and the same awful, persistent shaking, her heart flying into her throat every time she thought she had finally calmed down. The EMT tried to drape another shock blanket over her shoulders, but she fought him, his eyes too wide like Hoyt’s, his hands calloused like Hoyt’s, a threat, a danger, a promise.

She didn’t go home that night.

Instead, Korsak and Frost drove her and Maura to Maura’s house without a word. Jane wondered sometimes if they knew, even before she and Maura had, by the way they acted. It was like they understood, better than even she had at first, that Maura was the only person who could make Jane feel safe. It made no sense, really; Maura wasn’t a detective, and she was the only member of their little team that didn’t carry a gun. Jane offered more protection than she could, but it didn’t matter. When it came to nights and dreams and images burned like a hot brand into her memory that she wished she could unsee, there was no one better.

Jane could tell Korsak and Frost were reluctant to leave, but after a few gentle words given to them by Maura and the best half-smile Jane could muster, they finally got into their car and drove away, leaving Maura and Jane alone for the first time since they’d been in the infirmary with Hoyt.

Jane let out a deep, shuddering breath, and sank to her knees without pretense. There was no pretending with Maura; she knew her too well. She couldn’t act like she didn’t feel broken, not here; Maura could see right through her, and she didn’t want to lie to her, anyway.

Maura didn’t say anything or ask Jane if she was alright; instead, she crouched next to Jane and offered the other woman her hand. Jane took it gratefully, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. It was grounding, something to settle in, and Jane tried to breathe with it.

It’s over.

Hoyt is finally dead.

Jane closed her eyes and allowed the tears of relief to fall unchecked.