A/N: As you might have figured out from the summary, this piece deals with a bombing in Boston and with the untimely passing of Lee Thompson Young — two issues that, sadly, have hurt real Boston and fictional Boston this year. I hadn't planned on ever writing off or even killing off Frost's character, but I changed my mind for one simple reason: They will have to deal with it on the show at the beginning of Season 5. And I would hate to see it done as a side note, like "hey, Frost moved away, here's your new partner" or something like that. Therefore, for what it's worth, here's a fleshed out version of how I would prefer the episode to unfold. Like it or hate it, ignore it or rip it apart.
If you're into AU or baby stories or anything like that, this isn't the story you're looking for. If you don't like a bit of angst and conflict, this isn't your story either. And if you love Shakespeare, you'll probably hate this because it's been written by a non-native speaker who's desperately trying not to butcher your language. ;-)
But if you dare to read it, I'd appreciate your feedback (good or bad), because some personal experience has found its way into the story and thus makes it harder for me to look at it objectively.
Copyright: As usual, the characters belong to Tess Gerritsen and TNT. Only the story and all language errors are mine.
Thank you in advance for reading!
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Chapter 1 - Prolog & Day 1
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Cold November rain was drizzling down on the city of Boston when a brawny man was anxiously pacing back and forth in a quiet alley near the waterfront at night.
Carl Henslow hated it when people made him wait. Though unexpected delays were an inherent part of his profession, after all these years, he still found it difficult to muster the necessary patience when dealing with even the slightest change of plan. He anxiously checked his watch as he stood in that dark backstreet near the harbor while waiting for his overdue client. 10:36 p.m. Just six minutes late. Certainly not much, but nevertheless, it would put him under unnecessary stress to keep all appointments with his subsequent clients. In the worst case, these six minutes could trigger a relentless domino effect and force him to jettison his meticulously planned schedule for this week's other assignments. He just hated it. And his face said as much.
Before his mind could dive deeper into the consequences of his current client's tardiness, a black sedan with dimmed lights pulled around the corner and stopped a few feet away, its motor still running. Henslow grimaced. Of course, his client would force him to walk over to his car instead of stopping right next to him, even on this damp and chilly November night. It was another power play. No more, no less. If it hadn't been for his client's surprisingly generous financial offer, Henslow would have sent him straight to hell. But the advance he had already received and the promise of three times that sum to be transferred after completion of the assignment were two arguments he simply couldn't refuse. And thus, Henslow tightened his grip around the handle of the brown briefcase he was carrying and strolled towards his client's car. Slowly. Two can play that game, he smirked inside.
Once he had reached the driver's side, the window was rolled down and he handed over the briefcase.
"6 o'clock. Make sure it'll be there in time," he reminded his client of the plan. "I won't sit idle and wait forever."
"I'll do my part, you do yours," a voice from the driver's seat of the black sedan ordered. "And stay away from that surveillance camera."
"Yeah, yeah," Henslow grunted. "I'll be in touch. Always a pleasure doing business with you…"
With that, he turned around and walked away without looking back.
A few seconds later, after the driver of the sedan had watched Henslow leave in the rear-view mirror, the car's window was rolled up again and the dark vehicle drove off into the night.
Unexpected delays were also the order of the next day when several major and minor accidents throughout the city had dashed the hopes of thousands of Bostonians wishing for a smooth ride through the afternoon rush hour on their way home or to their chosen evening activities. The bumper-to-bumper traffic had almost come to a complete standstill — especially for those heading down Huntington Avenue towards Brookline, which is exactly where the blue Prius of Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, was currently stuck with no exit in sight.
Patient as usual, the blonde forensic pathologist had leaned back in the driver's seat, her impeccable and wrinkle-free dress and jacket concealing the stress of the long day that had moved along as slowly as the cars surrounding her right now.
In contrast, impatience was written all over the face of Detective Jane Rizzoli, who was slouching on the passenger seat, cup of coffee in her left hand and nervously tapping against the window frame with her right.
"I should have asked your turtle for a ride," the detective grunted. "Would've been much faster than this."
The medical examiner couldn't help but smile at the thought. "Bass won't carry passengers who refuse to acknowledge that he is a tortoise."
Jane grinned at the blonde but then swiftly turned her attention to the cars in front of them as they — against all odds — began to move, or rather crawl along not unlike the aforementioned tortoise.
The brunette clung to the cover of the glove compartment in feigned discomfort. "Woah, Maura, slow down! I'm getting motion sick."
Despite her slight amusement at Jane's distinctive sense of humor, Maura rolled her eyes and wearily glanced at the detective. "Okay, you've made your point over the last twenty minutes. Are we done now?"
"Are we there yet?" Jane retorted with a mischievous wink.
"Fine, you were right, and I should have taken the route you suggested," Maura grudgingly admitted. "But this one usually allows for much more energy-efficient driving. And how could I have known that there would be an accident?"
"Really?" The detective teasingly arched her eyebrow. "The likelihood of an accident on Huntington during rush hour is 67%, and you couldn't have known?"
Maura squinted in suspicion. "You just made that up, didn't you?"
"28% of all statistics are made up," Jane explained with a straight face before pointedly sipping on her coffee. Too pointedly for the medical examiner to ignore.
"Well, technically, it's all your fault," Maura declared.
"Excuse me?" Jane was all ears.
The blonde nodded at the detective's cup. "If you hadn't forced me to stop for coffee, we would have made it through this neighborhood long before that unfortunate accident and the resulting congestion."
"Whatever…," the brunette shrugged and took another sip, then checked her watch. "I'm gonna call Frost and tell him we're late." She pressed a few buttons on the car's communication console but then sheepishly looked at Maura for help when the device refused to cooperate.
The medical examiner seized her chance. "I'll show you if you promise to stop nagging…"
Accepting the detective's hesitant smile as a yes, Maura playfully slapped Jane's hand away and pressed the correct buttons to call Frost's number. "Isn't it wonderful how enthusiastic he is about organizing the wedding reception for his mother and her partner?"
"Yeah," Jane nodded but then nervously checked her watch again. "I just wished he had chosen a restaurant closer to BPD."
"No, no, the Il Camino is an excellent choice," Maura objected. "Their selection of hors d'oeuvre alone is quite exquisite. I can see why Detective Frost needs our help with picking the menu for the reception…"
After several ringtones, Frost finally answered his phone and greeted his partner over the speakers. "Hey, don't tell me — you're gonna be late?"
"Just a little," Jane quickly appeased him and grinned. "Maura desperately wanted to take a detour."
"Did you make her stop for coffee?" Frost knowingly asked.
Maura immediately leaned over. "Yes, she did—"
"Anyway…," Jane preemptively cut her off. "We'll be there in, like, fifteen minutes. Don't start tasting the food without us."
"I won't. I guess I'm gonna check out their wines until you get here," Frost decided cheerfully, but then a slightly annoyed tone filled his voice. "Uh, guess who just came in?"
"Who?" Jane and Maura asked in unison.
"Andrew Connelly," the young detective announced.
"The mayoral candidate?" Jane uneasily looked at Maura. "Don't tell me there's going to be another campaign event tonight in that restaurant…"
"Nah, he seems to be alone," Frost dispelled her worries, being quite aware of his partner's bias towards politicians. "I'll make sure we get a table far away from him."
The brunette was visibly relieved. "Okay, we'll see you in a few, alright?"
"Sure, I'll be right here," Frost said and hung up.
"Now, we just need to figure out how to actually get there…," Jane muttered and craned her neck to get a better view of the traffic jam ahead of them.
"Patience…," Maura suggested with a warm smile.
"You're so lucky I got this coffee," Jane smirked, took another sip from her cup, and leaned back in her seat.
About fifteen minutes later, shortly before 6 p.m., Maura pulled her blue Prius into a lively side street in Brookline and slowed down to search for a parking spot near the exquisite Italian restaurant where they were going to meet with Detective Frost. Unfortunately, her current streak of bad luck regarding the peculiarities of Boston traffic continued and there was no empty spot in sight. She sighed and questioningly looked at Jane.
The detective shrugged. "Guess we'll have to drive back to that lot two blocks away from—" She stopped mid-sentence and pointed at a white Corvette parked a few feet away at the curb. The car's lights were turned on and its motor seemed to be running. "Over there…"
Maura closed the gap to the other vehicle and stopped her car in the middle of the street. Jane rolled down the window on her side and tried to get the attention of the Corvette's driver. When Carl Henslow finally noticed her and suspiciously eyed the two women in the car waiting next to his own, Jane nodded at his shining lights. "You gonna leave?"
Henslow indifferently shook his head and focused his attention back on the street with the restaurant in front of him.
For a few seconds, Jane just glared at the man until Maura nudged her and drew her attention to another car leaving its spot just opposite the restaurant. "Looks like we're lucky."
"Finally," Jane groaned and slid her empty coffee cup under her seat earning herself a look of horror from Maura. The brunette grinned casually. "Don't freak out — I'll get rid of it afterwards. We're already late."
As soon as the medical examiner had parked her Prius in the empty spot, the detective hurriedly got out of the car and impatiently waited for Maura to follow suit. When the blonde took her sweet time and finally appeared on the driver's side with Jane's empty cup in her hand, determined to dispose of the undesirable vermin attraction right away, Jane rolled her eyes and stomped towards the restaurant across the street. Il Camino, a sign said in red and green letters above the entrance. Golden light illuminated the spacious windows, and cheering and laughter was heard from inside.
"Well, I'm going in," Jane announced in Maura's direction and momentarily didn't pay any attention to the street in front of her. At the last moment, an onrushing cyclist swerved to the right and avoided the imminent collision with the detective.
"Whoops, sorry!" she called after the young man as he stopped his bike in front of the restaurant, got a brown briefcase out of his messenger bag, and disappeared inside without paying any further attention to Jane.
The brunette turned back to Maura, who had finally delivered the empty coffee cup to a trash can nearby and was now rushing towards Jane. "Gee, it's like the whole city is trying to prevent us from getting into that restaurant tonight," the detective assessed their tardiness.
"And notice how it all started with you and your coffee?" Maura teased. "Your addiction will get us into real trouble one day…"
"Would you have preferred to drive me through town while I'm uncaffeinated?" Jane asked half-jokingly as she led the way towards the restaurant.
The medical examiner pondered the question for a moment. "Well…,"
She would never finish her sentence.
All their teasing and joking, all their plans and intentions, all the normalcy of the current moment would be rendered irrelevant within the next seven seconds.
The first second…
… was also the last for those poor souls trapped inside the restaurant across the street… the last time a regular guest would savor his favorite soup… the last time a mother would proudly look at the toddler in her arms… the last time a young couple would whisper I love you into each other's ears…
The next second…
… brought a violent end to all of their lives, to their hopes and their dreams, when the bomb in the cyclist's brown briefcase went off and triggered a sudden wave of devastating destruction that instantly raged through the restaurant's main dining hall… through the kitchen… through the windows… and through the adjacent buildings outside…
The third second…
… mercilessly seized everybody in the restaurant's immediate vicinity… pedestrians and residents being swept off their feet by the shockwave from the explosion… the same ruthless force sending Jane and Maura flying backwards… the detective crashing at full tilt into the car behind her… the medical examiner landing heavily on the stony pavement…
The fourth second…
… saw those who had survived the blast find themselves on the ground… covered in blood or debris or both… trying to make sense of the chaos invading their lives… but eventually giving in to the darkness and seeking refuge in the depths of their unconscious minds…
The fifth second…
… sent one last aftershock through the restaurant now lying in ruins… flames blazing through the shattered windows… ashes and debris raining down on the scene of destruction below and covering everything and everyone in dirt and despair…
The sixth second…
… marked the beginning of the end… the fires gradually leveling off… the last pieces of lightweight debris gently sailing down… and landing around the motionless bodies of Jane and Maura sprawled out on the ground…
The seventh second…
… filled the devastated street with an eerie silence… the only sounds coming from the crackling of the flames… from the scattered groans of those yearning for help… and from the roaring engine of Carl Henslow's white Corvette driving away.
Just seven seconds. And nothing would ever be the same.
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