They're sitting at the dirty robber, snacking on peanuts, sipping on their drinks, and waiting on their food to arrive. Maura looks at Jane, and innocently asks, "What made you become a cop?"

Jane swallows the beer in her mouth, and drops the peanut shell that is between her fingers. She looks up with Maura, as if she's been caught off guard. After a few moments, and careful consideration, she answers.

"Maura, you shouldn't ask questions that you don't want to know the answers to."

"Why wouldn't I want to know?"

"Maura, please, just don't ask me that."

Maura furrows her brow, "Why, not? You know why I am a medical examiner..."

Jane cuts her off, "Because you wanted to be a doctor, but your social skills with live people, were lacking."

"That's not very nice."

"It's true."

"But you don't have to put it like that," Maura argues, "There is more to it, than that."

"I know."

"So, why don't you want to tell me, what made you want to be a cop?"

"Because I would have to lie," Jane responds.

"You would lie to me?"

"I don't want to have to kill you."

"Are you insinuating that if you told me the truth, that you would have to kill me?" Maura raises an eyebrow.

"That is what I am saying."

"Come on, I am sure that it's not that big of a deal," Maura argues.

"Yes it is," Jane disagrees, taking another sip of beer.

"Just tell me."

"I could tell you the story, that I tell everyone else," Jane volunteers.

"But?"

"It would be a lie."

"You lie to everyone, about why you became a cop?"

"Not everyone," Jane shakes her head.

"So some people know?"

"One person knows," Jane admits.

"One? Just one? It has got to be more than one."

"It was two," Jane reveals.

"What happened to the second? Did you kill them?"

"No, my grandmother died, of natural causes."

"Oh," Maura sighs, "Sorry, I didn't know."

"It's ok."

"So who knows?"

"My mother."

"Good," Maura smiles.

"Good? She won't tell you."

"Of course she will. I'm her favorite. She can't keep a secret, and if I ask her to tell me, she won't be able to lie," Maura explains.

"You're right, she's not very good at keeping secrets. Most of the time, she can't keep anything to herself. To my knowledge, she's never told anyone."

"I am sure that she has," Maura furrows her brow, in disbelief.

"Maybe my father, but I don't think that even he knows."

"Why not?"

"My mother would do anything for her children. It is a secret that I asked her to keep, and I know that she will."

"How do you know?"

"She promised to take it to her grave."

"So?"

"She will," Jane answers.

"I don't understand why it has to be such a big secret. Did you get mugged, or something?"

"No I wasn't mugged."

"Or something?"

"Maura! I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

Jane breaks eye contact, and returns to her drink. She stares blankly, at the bottle label.

"Was it something traumatic?" Maura continues to query.

"Maura, just leave it alone."

"Jane," she lowers her voice, "I am your best friend, you can tell me anything."

Jane looks at her half empty bottle of beer, "There would have to be a whole hell of a lot more alcohol involved, for me to ever tell you."

"You have to be drunk to tell you?"

"I would have to be drunk, before I'd let it slip."

"So, let's..."

Jane cuts her off, "And, I've never been that drunk, in my entire life."

"Tell me, why is it ok for you to keep secrets, but not for me to?" Maura poses the question.

"Revealing your secrets, doesn't hurt anybody."

"That isn't true. What about Hope?"

"It's not the same."

"Explain it to me," Maura implores.

"Maybe, one day, on my death bed, I will confess to you, the event in my life, that took place, that made me decide to be a cop."

"What if you outlive me?"

"Then you will never know."

"Jane, whatever it is, it can't be that big of a deal."

"Maura, you have no idea."

That night, Jane lies in her bed, wide awake. She stares at the ceiling, above her bed. She breathes in, and out, slowly. The door to her room is slightly cracked. She listens to the sound of the second hand of the clock on her living room wall, ticking. She fights her sleep, knowing that it only brings nightmares. Nightmares, never dreams, not anymore.

She used to have dreams, every now, and then. Years ago, before she lost all hope. Now, any dream, came in the form of a nightmare. Eventually she sound of the ticking clock lulls her to sleep, but not a peaceful one.

She's a teenager, sitting on the porch, of her grandmother's home. She rocks back, and forth, on the porch swing, numbly. She looks up, at the scene around her. There are cops, all over the porch, talking to her grandmother, who is still in a bathrobe. It's the middle of the night. The only light, is from police cruiser's, because the street lamps nearby are all burnt out. Jane fixates, on the police tape, across the front door.