Photographs
Rating: K
Pairing: Rizzles
Disclaimer: Although I did spend most of my absence from ff petitioning to take ownership of them on behalf of the fandom, I was sadly unsuccessful... so... TNT still owns them, and I promise I don't earn anything from writing these little dittys other than the title of "supreme crazed ff loon"
A/N: Based on a song prompt on tumblr - Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud", but while going looking for it I came across the song "Photographs" and this thing wrote itself immediately.
So, officially a song fic for "Photographs". I don't own Ed Sheeran either... sadly.
Hope you enjoy.
T
Photographs
Fearless
Fearless, they call her. They watch the way she runs, head-long into danger. She knows they watch her. She knows how hard she has worked for it. The reputation she has long built.
Long built, hard fought.
Blood trickles along her jawline – she knows there is a gash, close to her temple. She knows precisely the pattern of pain that is due to come, spreading slowly along her forehead, into her scalp. Just as she knows the way her hair needs to fall, for nobody to notice.
Impervious
It is cold. She can see her breath in almost-opaque puffs of steam, swirling away from her into the sky, now tinted by dusk as it fades so quickly into night. Her hands clench by her sides, and she wills away the ache that comes... always comes with the dark… comes with winter. She can feel the grit under her skin, etched into the lines of her palm… in her fingernails…
She can hear the sound of semi-frozen leaves crunching underneath her boots.
It is cold
"Rizzoli!"
She inhales deeply, blocking out the smell of acrid remnants of gunfire, and blinks away the fifty two hours of awake, takes a second breath. Squares her shoulders.
Relentless.
They gather at the end of the clearing, close to the road. The same place they had been willing to wait. The place they are now waiting… for her.
She had gone. She had taken the risk – taken the trail. Gone forward. Chased the impossible.
…found it.
And it is done.
She can see the flash of red and blue. See the reflective text of the paramedics – she knows they are waiting for her too. She clenches her fists again, preparing to refuse them.
Unyielding
"Brent you asshole-"
She shoots it out, shouts it, like hello... the greeting that she knows they need. The one she knows they want from her.
It is cold.
She can't grip the trunk of the tree she wants to use to haul herself up over the ridge in this rugged landscape, and she lurches uncomfortably forward.
"Getting soft, Rizzoli?"
It's the retort they need to make... The way the game is played. There is a strain in her ankle and bruise on her thigh, another gash across her left arm. But all they know…. All they know is that she's limping only slightly, and it isn't enough to take her down.
It's never enough.
And so they say nothing more.
"You wish!" She counters, voice travelling more easily now. Her tongue feels thick with silt. "Where were you? Too busy with our lawyer friend to get any real work done?"
"Oh take it easy-" The tone she is used to. Spoken by a person who wouldn't sacrifice what she would. Wouldn't put her body on the line like she did. "-you may have got the guy." He says, and she grimaces as an inconsistency in the path pressures her ankle. He only smiles. "I'm going to get the arrest."
Unorthodox.
"Fuck you." She says. It rushes from her faster than she wanted. Hands push her against the side of the ambulance. A penlight flashes in her face and she waves it out of the way with an expertly placed arm.
The red and blue colours her vision and she closes her eyes, tightly.
She is tired.
"I'm fine."
Insistent.
"Rizzoli"
The familiar voice sounds by her ear. A hand rests against her shoulder, and it takes everything she has not to flinch at the soreness radiating into her elbow. She clenches her jaw, carefully wipes the blood back against her temple and flicks her hair forward, to hide it.
"Good job."
She allows herself a moment. Only a moment. She can't afford any more.
"Thank you, sir."
She is tired.
"Go home, Rizzoli."
The sound of the ignition cutting off is the loudest absence of sound she has heard in days.
Her ankle aches. The gash in her shoulder has caused her shirt to stick to her skin, stiffening with coagulation. The dirt now feels like it covers her entire body.
Beaten.
She rests her forehead gently against the steering wheel. The sting has begun clawing its way across her skull… a dull throb settling behind her eyes. Blood trickles off her fingertips down to the floor mat.
She wants to care it is happening. But… She can't.
She can only think of the chasing, the searching, the moving. The suspect. The arrest.
A matted lock of hair swings across her face. She can smell the sweat, blood and dirt.
She hasn't slept in two days.
She feels exhausted.
There is a faint click, before out of nowhere, cold air rushes across her body. She doesn't notice it at first, thinking instead it is a symptom of the various cuts and bruises she has been subjected to.
Thinks is it her body giving in.
She turns her head away from it, the sound of protest barely a murmur on her lips.
Unreachable
Fingertips brush past the gash in her shoulder… peel back the bloodied hair from her temple… find the fingers stubbornly gripping the steering wheel and tug carefully enough for her to provide an alternative.
Her body feels like lead. Her joints fused to immovable.
Something is wrapped around her. Warm, soft like…
She is being pulled… her bodyweight having no option to tip to her left, her leg having no option than to brace herself against the bitumen. Her arm having no option than to reach out-
But she has all the options.
Uncertain
The car door closes behind her.
There is a soft pressure at her back, a light touch to her forearm.
Silent.
The gravel under her boots feels like the path she took towards the roadside. It is dark now, and all she can make out is the small light spilling form a doorway up ahead. She blinks.
She blinks.
She sees the back of the ambulance.
Suddenly, she is unsure whether she ever left the forest. Her breath shortens and she pulls up, abruptly, the cold night air drawing sharply into her lungs.
Vulnerable.
A hand, gentle, warm, rests against her cheek... The pressure on the small of her back, urging her on,
She knows the touch. She trusts it.
She steps, wearily, forward. Watches the way the light spills onto her boots. Sees the spatters of blood blemishing the leather. She feels herself tense again, ready for-
"Jane.."
A voice like breath, like breathing, washes past her ear.
She blinks. She knows that voice.
The hand in hers squeezes softly. The hand at her cheek presses carefully, enough to turn her away from the light. Away from the light and into….
"It's alright-"
…calm.
She blinks.
She can feel the night lifting from her shoulders. Feel the cold withdrawing from her bones. Feel the silt in her tongue, falling away.
She blinks.
She feels the name before she says it.
"…Maur?"
Like it has been said for the first time. Like it is the most important word she knows. Her ankle aches and her shoulder bleeds and her head throbs and she is… bone-tired.
And…she hasn't slept in fifty two hours.
"I'm here, Jane…" The sound is like healing. The warm breath brushes past her ear a second time, third. Fingers slide across her temple, hovering over the gash beyond her hairline. "You're hurt."
"I'm-" Her voice cracks, falters then fades. A finger presses lightly to her lips.
"Shhh." Comes the whisper. "I know. Let me take care of you."
She looks up and this time there it is, the light spilling onto the pathway leading to-
Safe
"You're home."