Tyres rolled slowly over the asphalt. Angela's gently weeping interspersed with the occassional wracked sob from Constance; sounds that were miles away to Jane Rizzoli's ears.
She stepped mechanically from the car, limo? She didn't know. Her eyes were trained in the rich, mahogany box riding on burly shoulders. Father O'Flannery spoke softly; other would wax poetic about his eulogy for days after but Jane heard nothing, not anymore.
What could he say really? The truth as Jane was it would be 'inappropriate'. Maura had died and it was all Jane's fault.
The church was full, a twisted mix of Boston elite and blue collar, raised by the street cops. Gentle sobs were stifled by the well-to-do while officers of all ranks sat stiffly in their dress uniforms, not bothering to hide their grief.
Outside the church, many came to offer condolences, a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, a brush of her arm. Jane knew she should feel something, anything. Instead she was cold, empty. The light and warmth had been ripped from her on that tropical beach.
She paused, staring blindly at the car before her. Hands ushered her forwards and suddenly she was moving again.
Unbrellas were offered at the graveside but Jane pushed them away. Rain hammered down relentlessly as Jane rested her forehead against the warm wood. "Even the universe is crying for you." she whispered.
More talking, more words, each one punctuated with the damp floral scent of grief and each one pointless. They finished quickly, hastened by the turn in the weather.
As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Jane welcomed the emptiness that filled her. There would never be another Maura, another reason for Jane to wak up each morning. There would never be light in her again.
As the mourners slowly left the grave, Jane was vaguely aware of people trying to move her on. She brushed them all away, staring silently into the muddy hole.
In the end, she assumed they all stopped trying and so she sat in the icy rain and stared.
The man that came, hours later, to fill the grave tried in vain to make her leave, his insistent words falling on deaf ears. Eventually, he too gave up and went about his business, cautious of the sotic brunette.
Without warning, the rain stopped. Jane felt the heavy jacket as it was draped over her shoulders.
"You don't need to be out here."
She knew that voice, of course she did. She'd known he would come. He moved silently, a cat stalking it's prey. Crouching before her, weathered hands cupped her face gently, guiding her eyes up to meet his own.
"What do you need, Jane?" Patrick Doyle looked small, his face red and puffy. Had he been crying?
Jane stared at him intently. What did she need? She needed to wake up from this nightmare, to apologise to Maura for every cross word, every water ring she'd left on the coffee table and every time she'd called Bass a turtle. She needed to be better for Maura. Worthy.
When she finally spoke, it was with someone elses voice. A cold, steely sound that was foreign to both of them.
"I want him dead." There was no doubt in her tone, no hesitation. "I want to shoot that bastard right between the eyes."
Doyle pulled back, the hatred that flowed over him was unprecidented.
"You can find out who organised it." It was a fact they both knew. "I want in."
"You what?" Doyle was stunned. The woman that sat before him had always been just and true, he'd expected her to lock him up countless times but she never had. Because of Maura.
With his daughter gone, he had expected that unspoken agreement to end and he had welcomed it. It had been the reason he was crouched in the mud before her. He was tired of running, tired of the life.
"I want in." Jane repeated slowly. "When you find the bastards that did this, I want the hit."
Doyle couldn't believe his ears. "You mean?"
"I will avenge her." Jane swore solemnly. "Nothing else matters." She met his gaze once more, her cold, dead eyes confirming her words.
Reaching for her hand, he pulled Jane to her feet, all the while searching for any sign of doubt.
"You know there's no going back." He said softly, his voice shaking slightly. Jane only nodded, her cold gaze penetrating deep into him. "There's initiations; the guys aren't gentle." Jane shrugged. She couldn't feel anything anyway, what would it matter? "They won't accept you. It will be hell."
"I want in." Jane repeated firmly.
"You know she wouldn't want you to lose yourself." It was a low blow, he knw. What Doyle hadn't expected was the left hook that appeared from nowhere, cracking into his face and rattling his teeth.
"I. Want. In." She repeated yet again, watching as Doyle wiped the blood from his mouth.
"You got balls kid." Paddy grinned as he tucked his handkerchief into his pocket. "Welcome to the family."