Title: Silent Ghosts

Author: AoN (bellalinguista)

Word Count: 4,500

Genre: Mystery, Angst, Tragedy

Rating: PG13

Summary: The murder of an archeology professor brings forth memories once buried deep. With little evidence to point them in the right direction, Jane and Maura must hurry to find their killer before they strike again. (Canon up to 5x06).

Chapter One

This was not Jane Rizzoli's first standoff against a perp, who was holding an innocent hostage at gunpoint. God damn dirtbag. No, this definitely wasn't her first rodeo and she knew very damn well that no two hostage situations were the same. Jane could not predict what their murderer would do in this situation, even more so while the Boston PD's swat team in a back alley currently surrounded them. Cornered.

She did not know how this person's brain ticked. She did not know how this person would respond one way or another. The one thing that Jane did know was this: that hostage did not deserve any of this and she would be traumatized for the rest of her life probably because of it.

Not that Jane wanted to know how they – murderers, in general – ticked, though she was usually pretty good at figuring that out. No, Jane was a lot more focused on their victims, the people they harmed, or the people they were going to harm – and God help those sons of bitches if those victims, if those people, were innocent.

Like this sweet, young woman – God, Jane could not even bring herself to call her a young adult, even though that was what she was, technically. What Jane saw being held against her will was just a kid. She was a kid who was being held tightly against her captor's body. She was a kid who was reduced to nothing more than a shield – this young, bright girl, who was just starting medical school. She had a life, and she still had so much more to experience out of it, but did that asshole even bother to care?

No. Of course not. There was a complete disregard for her life.

Jane wanted to protect her, even more so now. Every nerve in her body screamed to lower her own gun. If she were to unarm herself, if she were to stop holding him at gunpoint, it may cause their target to do the same in return. At the moment, Jane did not even have an open shot – no one had an open shot, for that matter, at least, not while the girl was so close to their perp.

Even though Jane could rationalize it, they still could not risk it, could they? If they all lowered their weapons, there still was no telling what this manic might do in return. There was no telling if the bait would be bitten. Jane was already aware of what they were capable: there were two dead bodies in Maura's morgue because of this monster and Jane really did not want there to be a third, not if they could avoid it.

"You don't want to do this," Jane stated, firmly, her focus not faltering, not even for a second. "Not after everything. Come on, you know you don't want to hurt her either."

As soon as she had said it, Jane could see it in the perp's face: she had touched a nerve. Jane knew she was right: hurting this poor girl would go against the plan, whatever the hell that was. It would defeat the purpose of the two previous murders. Now they were all about to see if touching a nerve was a good or a bad thing.

The grasp around the young lady loosened before she was pushed away, leaving their guilty murderer wide open, if need be. It was time for them to make their move. The hostage stumbled onto the ground, momentarily placing herself out of harm's way and, hopefully, out of harm's way she would stay. From over Jane's shoulder, although she was standing a few yards away, Jane heard Maura release a heavy sigh of relief.

For a split second, as her opponent's weapon lowered, Jane foolishly believed that it was all over. That things were going to end peacefully. The metaphoric towel was thrown in and for the sake of this young woman and her family, justice would be served.

Jane should have known better.

Things were still far from over.

Just as Jane had heard Maura, so did the perp. With a quick flick of the wrist, the weapon was brought back up, pointed at its new target.

It pointed directly at Maura.

Instinct took over and Jane raised her own weapon once again, but before Jane could comprehend what was going on, a single gunshot rang out from the alley.

-Twenty Hours Earlier-

As soon as the elevator doors parted, Professor Richard Williamson stepped out, into the long, overly decorated hallway that was lined with identical doors. Doing his best with only a single hand, he fumbled around his pockets for the keycard that would give him access to his room – the second to last door on the right, he recalled. His other hand was holding his cellphone to his ear.

"Yes, now I can hear you much better, Katherine," Richard replied, still digging through his pockets as he tried to remember if perhaps he put the keycard in his coat pocket instead. "My apologizes, I was in the elevator – no, Victoria isn't with me. We parted ways."

He tilted his head back towards the ceiling and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the bickering he was enduring. Keycard now in hand, pulled from the coat pocket he had guessed it had been, he adjusted his glasses and stopped mid-step, with an expression of disbelief.

"Because she's an adult, Katherine," Richard tried to reason. This wasn't the first time they discussed the matter. "I know, I know – she'll forever be your little girl. No, our little girl, but our little girl is more than capable of taking care of herself now – yes, we had dinner together tonight. She looks good, like any other student starting medical school: slightly overwhelmed, wondering what she's getting herself into. And, yes, this is only a single summer course. Do you think it's too late to convince her to go into archeology instead?" he asked with a slight chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

Richard stated to continue down the hallway again, under the impression that the faster he'd get to his room, the better. "A guest lecturer, actually, not a professor," he corrected. "A medical examiner for the state, I believe. Tori is rather excited about it. She's working rather hard to make a good impression – their first exam is tomorrow morning, from my understanding, which is why we had to cut dinner short. She has to study."

He stopped, again, this time right outside his hotel room's door. "I won't see her again until after the conference, two days from now – my schedule won't allow it," he pointed out. "I suggest calling her yourself to see how the exam went. I can't always be the messenger between the two of you."

It had not always been that way: Richard being the messenger between his ex-wife and their daughter. From the day they brought their baby girl home, when they happily became a family of four from a family of three in New York City at the time, until Victoria entered her pre-teen years, the relationship between mother and daughter had been decent, perhaps even good, Richard would dare to describe. The relationship, however, changed after the divorce. It soured, but it remained well-mannered for the most part.

"Regardless, you should call her, see how she's doing," Richard assured. "I, unfortunately, need to get going. It's getting late and the conference starts early tomorrow morning. I'll call during my layover in Chicago. Uh-huh. Goodnight, Katherine."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call, before tucking it away in his pant pocket, all whilst shaking his head slightly. He did not mind playing mediator between his ex-wife and daughter, but there were times where Richard had to convince himself that Katherine wasn't even a tiny bit jealous of the easy relationship between father and daughter.

It was something the two of them had to work out on their own, Richard told himself. For now, he could not worry about it, not when he was scheduled to be the keynote presenter tomorrow morning. He needed to go over his presentation once more. He had to make some final, last minute edits.

Eyes on the door handle, Richard slid his keycard into the slot and a small flashing green light granted him access to the room. He pushed the heavy door open and took a couple steps inside, already making note of some of the changes he wished to make on the speech he had to delivery in the morning.

Those changes, however, would never be made.

As Richard looked up, he could barely process the scene that quickly unfolded in front of him. A person, unbeknownst to him, stood across the room, arm extended. Before Richard could register what was in the intruder's hand, pain erupted from his chest. The force caused him to fall backwards.

As he lay motionless in a steadily growing pool of his own blood, Richard would never register that he had been shot – not only once, but twice, in the chest. He would never know why he was murdered. Why someone would want some archeology professor from San Francisco dead.

And as he continued to lay motionless, his now lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, glasses skewed on his face, Richard would also never know about the second murder. Nor would he be able to apologize for the innocent hotel worker who was just trying to deliver the extra towels Richard had requested from the lobby before heading to his room.

But, most importantly, Richard would never know if Victoria was safe from his murderer.

xxxx

The string quartet emerging from Maura's phone started playing softly before steadily growing stronger and louder, bouncing off the walls of her master bathroom and reminding her of the fantastic acoustics the room possessed. The warm steam that generated from the hot bath fogged the mirror, carrying with it the aroma of lavender flowers and sweet vanilla. Lavender, Maura had chosen, due to the number of scientific studies which have reported the benefits of lavender in various different conditions, such as anxiety and stress, for example. Vanilla, well, it seemed like a good scent to compliment that of the lavender flower.

With a heavy sigh, Maura leaned her head back to rest against the edge of the bathtub, feeling her tensed muscles beginning to relax in the water. She allowed herself to momentarily be carried away by the string instruments that were playing together in near perfect harmony. She inhaled the fragrances deeply, until they both became all too familiar and seemed to fade away – sensory adaption at work.

Usually, during such bathes, Maura kept a case folder within her arm's reach, to look over and see what exactly she was missing in whatever case she had been happening to be working on, to see what bit of information was hidden, ready to finally be discovered in order to break the case. This, however, was not one of those bathes. Surprisingly enough, she actually did not have any open cases, or any trials for which she had to prepare, for that matter. It was as though all the criminals of Boston decided to take a holiday, which was highly improbable. There was no scientific evidence to explain the lack of events: this was all just coincidental – and very welcoming at that.

Normally, it was work that kept Maura's mind busy and buzzing. Lately, it had been another matter completely: Jane. Well, more accurately, Jane's pregnancy and their recent conversation they had while appreciating Maura's latest purchase and enjoying Sidecars. She had tried to mask the heaviness of the situation with a laugh, especially after the actual sidecar came off its hinges, and she had even tried to momentarily escape from the conversation by offering to make another virgin Sidecar.

After the baby's arrival, if something were to happen to Jane, Maura agreed she would take care of this child. That it would be her honor. It was expected of her, was it not? Given their relationship – their friendship... What else could she have said? No? That she was not at all fit to be a mother? Because she was not and she did not even know where to begin to prove that fact to Jane. Maura knew the science behind raising a child, but could one learn to be maternal? Maura could handle the idea of being a part of Jane's village – being there to help Jane raise the child, but the idea of Maura doing it by herself? Doing it without Jane?

The idea was terrifying.

Maura closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, reminding herself that the lavender helps with anxiety and reduces stress, which she felt both begin to creep about, unwanted. This was the problem with having even the slightest bit of free time: Maura's mind got the chance to slow down and think about other things instead of focusing on a case or acquiring an array of knowledge. She liked educating herself about various subjects - it kept her busy. It kept her mind busy.

It kept her mind from thinking how much of a terrible mother she would be if that opportunity arose.

Well, no, it would not be an opportunity at all. The word implied a sense of appropriate or favorable time or occasion. In reality, it would be a tragedy that would bring motherhood into Maura's life. It would have meant Jane's death and that was something she would never be ready to accept - both motherhood and Jane's death.

It was a far cry from an opportunity.

But it would be something she had to do, an obligation. Jane trusted Maura with the life of her child. Jane was under the impression that her child would be in good hands. Maura had not been able to convince her otherwise and she probably never would be able to: Jane was set in her ways, in her beliefs. And Jane believed in Maura.

This was not set in stone, Maura tried to point out to herself. For now, it was nothing more than a hypothetical situation and it possibly could remain to be a hypothetical situation – it may never become a reality.

Maura hoped that it never would be either. She did not know if she would be able to handle a reality where Jane was no longer a part of her life.

No, Maura needed Jane.

She needed Jane in her life because, well... Because Maura loved Jane. She loved her and Maura didn't know how to go about it. How could she confess something so personal? What if it only pushed Jane away? Maura wouldn't be able to handle that either. Jane was the only person in her life Maura felt she could easily be herself around - most of herself. She still couldn't openly be the person who loved Jane with all her heart. Maura was afraid to be that person.

Instead, Maura pretended to be someone else. She pretended to be this person falling in love with the instructor who teaches in the same lecture hall as she, right before her own class. This in hopes that maybe Maura could trick herself into thinking and believing that it was real. Then she wouldn't have to risk Jane being pushed away by a confession that would then, at that point, be entirely false.

But could it really ever be false? Or would she just continuously be lying to herself in an attempt to protect herself from potentially getting hurt?

She exhaled the breath she had been holding, hoping for her muscles to relax once again, but the tension had returned, unfortunately, worse than before. Maura could not even get lost in the musical notes and she was rather fond of the composer and his overall work. Perhaps she could deem this bath a failure and go on to teach herself Italian - Angela would love to have someone to practice with and Maura had always wanted to learn, ever since her boarding school days in France. It would not be too difficult, not with her French comprehension to guide her.

Oh, but that would mean a waste in all this water. She should at least pretend to enjoy it, even though there was no one else in the house to make her feel guilty about it. Bass was not one to complain.

She decided that she would lay here for another few minutes and then get out in order to search the internet for a decent beginner's Italian book.

The melody of the music grew softer and then quickly faded out, only to be replaced by a refrain chanting bad boys, bad boys, watch gonna do? Watcha gonna do when they come for you?

Eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as her nose wrinkled in slight repugnance, Maura sat up a little bit straighter in the tub, frowning. She leaned over the edge to look at the screen of her telephone – the music player had disappeared, replaced by the flashing words of 'Incoming Call.'

Watcha gonna do, watcha gonna do, the chorus repeated.

Someone, without her permission, had changed the ringtone of her phone.

She didn't have to guess who the culprit was, either – not that Maura made it a habit to guess anything, for that matter.

Leaning over the edge of the bathtub, Maura reached out for a towel to quickly dry her hands. She then picked up the cellphone before the chorus could repeat for a third time.

"This is Dr. Isles," Maura answered.

xxxx

Jane paced back and forth in front of the entrance to the lobby of the hotel that was now their crime scene – the fifth floor of the hotel to be more exact. She had not gone up yet – Frankie went on ahead without her. Instead, Jane had decided to wait outside, but she found herself growing more and more antsy. It could not possibly take this long to get here from Maura's house, right? Nor was there a lot of traffic for a 11pm on a Thursday night. What had Maura been doing before she got the call anyway? Jane's nose wrinkled slightly at the potential answers that were now whirling around her mind. Maybe it was best to stop thinking about it entirely.

Placing her hands on her hips, Jane turned around on her heel and – well, speak of the devil! Jane's hands quickly went up to her mouth in an attempt to hide Jane's now wide smile. As Maura approached her, Jane instantly recognized that glaring expression. It was one she had seen many times growing up, mostly from annoyed Catholic nuns and her own mother. Jane landed herself in a spot of trouble and it was usually worth it.

Jane watched Maura look down and dig through her purse; she knew what Maura was looking for. Her assumption was immediately confirmed when Maura pulled out her phone. Jane struggled to keep a straight face. Maura stopped in front of her and held up her phone, eyebrows raised.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Maura questioned, shaking her head slightly. It was as though she was scolding a small child.

"No, I don't think, Dr. Isles. I know," Jane corrected, standing her ground firmly, but her tough exterior was fast to break. "So? Do you like?"

"Do I like the fact that my phone now plays Bad Boys whenever someone decides to call me?" Maura clarified.

"Oh," Jane mumbled, standing up a bit straighter. Frowning, she pointed at the phone. "Really? Is that what you're into these days?"

"Jane.." Maura warned.

"You should hear what it plays when Jack calls," Jane said with a smirk.

Maura looked to her phone again and then back to Jane. "What will it play?" she asked.

"You're gonna have to find out," Jane replied before turning to the entrance of the hotel. "Come on, we got a crime scene to check out," she added, starting to walk.

As Maura's heels clicked with each step, Jane knew she was following, until they reached the carpet, at least. At that point, however, Jane overheard a disgruntled gasp, confirming that she was still behind Jane and that she now knew what Jack's ringtone was.

"You changed his ringtone to that?" Maura questioned. "Well, that's not classy!" she protested.

Once Jane reached the elevator, she hit the call button and glanced over her shoulder. "Good thing I wasn't trying to be," she replied. "Seriously, Maur, you've had that phone for months now – you gotta personalize it a little bit!"

"I have!" Maura showed her the main menu. "My wallpaper is Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. That doesn't come standard with the phone," she pointed out.

A loud ding indicated that the elevator had arrived.

"Nor should it ever be," Jane murmured under her breathe as the elevator doors opened.

"What was that?" Maura asked, stepping in after Jane.

"Nothing," Jane replied innocently, pushing the button that would take them to the fifth floor.

"How did you even manage to get those songs on there?" Maura questioned, putting her phone back in her purse. "They don't come in the standard settings."

"They sure as hell don't," Jane said, biting back a grin. "Let that be a lesson to you – leaving your credit card information in there."

"You used my credit card?"

Jane kept her eyes down, aware of the glare that Maura was probably giving her at the moment. "…Our next trip to Boston Joe's is on me."

"You can't have caffeine-"

"I can every once in a while," Jane now protested. "And it's been a while."

The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor. The doors opened and Jane followed Maura out into the hallway. "Besides, you should be thanking me – your ringtone is not boring anymore!"

"It certainly wasn't boring before," Maura argued.

"It's the only classical option it came with," Jane pointed out.

"That doesn't make it boring," Maura responded, looking over her shoulder.

"Of course not – it went very well with your Venetian man," Jane retorted, slowing down aas they reached the portion of the hallway that was now being blocked off. The officer on duty raised the police tape, just after both Jane and Maura flashed their bdages. Jane stood over the motionless corpus in the doorway. "So, what do we got?"

Gloves already pulled on her hands, Maura knelt down to examine the body.

"Double homicide!" Frankie's voice called out from the room itself.

With her hands on her hips, Jane frowned and leaned through the door frame. "Tell us something we don't know, Frankie."

Jane watched as her baby brother rose to his feet. He had been examining the other body, or judging by the wallet in his hand, Frankie had been trying to figure out who their other victim was. Frankie lingered a couple of feet away from the room's entrance, not wanting to disturb their first body.

"You could try saying please, y'know."

"Frankie, it's late."

She was met with silence.

"And Maura has an exam to give in the morning," Jane added.

"I don't mind waiting," Maura spoke up.

Frankie raised his eyebrows, waiting for Jane to comply.

"Oh, fine," Jane grumbled. "Please."

He pointed to the body near Jane's feet, the one that currently had Maura's attention. "So, we have a hotel worker – his name's Jackson Smith. According to the front desk, he was coming up here to drop off some extra towels and a pillow for the guy we have inside."

"And who's he? …Please."

"The manager says their guest is Richard Williamson," Frankie answered. "The driver's license in his wallet confirms it, too. He was, uh, visiting from San Francisco. We also found a university ID. He was an archeology professor-"

"In San Francisco?" Jane asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What's he doing all the way here in Boston?"

"Most academics visit other insitutions to present on their current, past, or future work," Maura spoke up, standing. "BCU is hosting an archeology conference this weekend. It starts tomorrow morning. It was on their newsletter a couple months ago. I wanted to attend after my office hours tomorrow, but it seems I'll have to pass to get a start on the autopsies."

"Or," Frankie said. "You can do those poor students a favor and cancel the exam altogether."

"What example would I be setting if I did just that?" Maura asked, stepping around Jane and carefully through the doorway. "I knew this type of situation could arise and in such an event, I'd have to fulfill both jobs to the absolute fullest – so, the exam is still scheduled for tomorrow morning."

Jane watched Maura approach the second body and then she looked back over at Frankie. "Okay, then, so we have a professor here on university business, probably," she stated. "Are we sure that's all he's here for? Did he check into this place alone?"

"According to the front desk, no," Frankie replied. "He's supposed to be here with a Victoria Williamson."

"Wife?"

"Not sure," Frankie answered honestly. "It's a double queen room, though. Trouble in paradise maybe?"

"Where is she anyway? This Victoria Williamson?"

Frankie shrugged his shoulders. "Front desk says Professor Williamson came back from dinner, alone, and he was very chummy on the phone – maybe a mistress?"

"And you're thinking the wife found out?" Jane finished for him. "Is there any security footage?"

He nodded in response. "We're taking it back to headquarters to review," he said. "Only two keycards were issued to this room, Janie. One to our deceased professor here and the other, well, I'll let you guess."

Before Jane could respond, their conversation – their pure speculation - was interrupted by a high-pitched wail, causing both Rizzolis to turn to look down the hallway that should have been empty. Frowning, Jane took a step forward, watching the officer on duty trying to keep a frantic, young woman from crossing the police tape and into their crime scene.

"Mrs. Williamson, I presume," Jane heard Frankie murmur from over her shoulder.

But then the young woman started crying out for her father. Jane's shoulders fell slightly as she shook her head. "Christ, she's the daughter," she whispered to herself. "We can't let her see him, not like this," she said. Feeling a hand on her forearm, Jane turned to see Maura at her side. Jane had not even heard her approach.

"Jane, that's one of my students," Maura pointed out. "Victoria Daniels."

To Be Continued