x. mysophobia; fear of germs. why you knew you'd only get her covered in dirt. why looking at yourself in the mirror always seems to hurt. why you will never be happy without being hers. out of this whole messed up world, she was the only thing pure.
- top ten fears, inkskinned
This is part one of a twoshot that I already hate myself for writing but has been hanging around in the back of my mind for a little while. Please prepare yourself with tissues, chocolate, etc. Honestly.
There had been a time, weeks ago, when she had to scowl and flash her badge at the nurses for them to quiet about visiting hours. The clock would strike midnight and they'd still leave her alone, terrified by the intensity in her eyes and the scars on her hands that bulged as her fists balled and her voice grew low. Now, there are no frightened looks among them. There's just something like pity. And there had been a time, weeks ago, when she would have fought against it, rebelled against these strangers who dared pity her. Now she keeps her eyes on the sterile floor and only looks up when she reaches the right door, making sure to knock lightly.
Maura looks up when she enters, lifting her head from where it had been resting on the hospital bed. The bags beneath her eyes are carved deep, like purple bruises inflicted – probably – by herself. They only make the pallid tone of her skin all the more dramatic. It makes her heart stutter for a moment. It does every time. Maura has looked like this for weeks. Pale, tired, hair messy and piled on top of her head. She always has a panicked look in her eyes. Like there's something she's forgotten to do, as if maybe she's left the gas on or locked her keys in the car. There have been so many moments in these past few weeks when she has simply looked away from the pain. Her own has been so embedded deep within her, crawling and curling around everything, changing her, that she has been unable to cope with the idea of Maura hurting. She makes sure to look away again. She thought, perhaps, she might have gotten better at this as time passed. But time only made it worse.
"Sorry. If I'd known you were here…"
"We can sit in the same room as each other, Jane," Maura says sharply, but then she rubs a hand over her eyes and speaks softly. "I've been here since midday. It's my day off."
Jane's eyes track the hand covering Maura's eyes. Her ring finger is empty. Plain. Not even a mark in the place her wedding band used to sit. She slides her own left hand into her pocket as she sits on the other side of the hospital bed to Maura.
As she does, Maddie begins to stir. She wrinkles her nose uncomfortably as she becomes aware of the cannula at her nose, one small hand reaching to tug it away. Jane catches the hand before Maura can, pressing her lips against Maddie's knuckles and breathing her in, closing her eyes. She has always smelled faintly of vanilla. Even when she was a baby, she would sit with her nose at her hair for hours, obsessed with that smell, wondering how something could be so uniquely her. She had never once asked Maura about it – a little terrified that some sort of science would explain or dismiss it. No. She has always believed that her daughter is just special.
"Shh, baby, it's okay," she murmurs when Maddie whines, eyes beginning to flutter open. "You need that to help you breathe, okay? You're okay, baby."
Maddie mumbles, holding her arms up and, carefully, avoiding the tubes and wires attached to her, Jane cradles her in a hug. Maddie's elbows dig into her shoulders as she pats Jane's hair, playing with it like she always does. Ritualistic.
"Your hair's all flat, mommy," she rasps, and Jane laughs a little, releasing Maddie so that she's laying again.
"I haven't washed it in a while, that's all. Promise."
Once she's settled, Maddie's left hand reaches out for Maura. Jane stares at the two of them. It used to make her heart pound, noting how alike they look. The same honey coloured hair, hazel eyes, sloping jaw and distinctive nose. It used to be a blessing. Now it just makes her stomach flip, and if she had eaten anything in the past twenty four hours then maybe it would come flying back up. No. No, it is no longer beautiful. Still, she loves her daughter. She loves Maura. Loved.
Nothing is beautiful anymore.
"I'm thirsty, momma."
Maura no longer smiles. She used to, as some sort of comfort for Maddie. Now, Jane watches her nod, squeezing her daughter's hand before she grabs her a small glass of water. They sit in silence as she sips it, barely able to lift her head. Maura supports her skull with the palm of her hand.
When she is done, Maddie does not smile. Instead she breathes wheezily, hands gripping each of theirs tightly.
"Mommy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
She leans forward to tuck a fallen lock of Maddie's hair behind her ear.
"Can I get a dog for my birthday?"
The laugh she lets out is a strangled, choked thing. Cups her daughter's cheek and blinks away tears at the paper thin feel of it.
"You can have two."
"You really mean it?"
"I promise."
Maddie looks over to Maura. "Momma?"
Maura is remarkably composed. The only thing that gives her away is the way she's trembling. Not just her hands, or her arms, but her whole body. Sometimes, she finds herself wondering when Maura is going to bolt. When it's all going to be too much and she'll abandon them when they need her the most. They've lost so much already, even each other. Maddie is all they have left.
"Anything you want," she answers calmly.
Maddie smiles weakly. "I want a husky. Cos they're big. And they live in the snow, so they'll be okay when it's cold."
Jane watches Maura breathe in and out slowly.
"We'll get you as many huskies as you want."
Maddie frowns. "Momma, your hives."
Maura drops her daughter's hand to place her palm against her sternum, where the skin is already beginning to turn red. Jane keeps quiet, kisses Maddie's hair, as Maura excuses herself from the room. She closes her eyes at the soft snick of the door.
Maddie is already asleep.
Maura had been beautiful through pregnancy. Jane had been so utterly transfixed by her. She had been so full. Of life. Of love. She'd never been aware of just how soft she could be. Patient.
The decision for Maura to carry their child had not come easily. Not because Jane had fought against it, but because Maura would always evade the subject of children. Years into their marriage she would always pass her off with one day. Not just yet. She had been forced to endure her mother's endless hints at wanting another grandchild, uncertain whether she would ever be able to fulfil that wish. Not just for her Ma, but for herself too. Until one night, Maura had rolled over, found her hand in the dark, and finally agreed to talk about kids.
But the talk had barely happened. It had been mentions of adoption, or of a sperm donor – debates that always felt one-sided, Maura always needing to be dragged away from their discussions by something else. She had looked half-heartedly through adoption forms and always shrugged at the possibility of Jane carrying their baby. Slowly the talk turned sour. The ring on Jane's finger had never been heavier. She hadn't recognised the woman she had married; the one who had once been willing to look after Jane's baby before the miscarriage, before they were even together.
And then, two weeks later –
"Jane?"
She'd grumbled, noticing the time on the clock only reading three in the morning. But Maura was sat upright, knees pulled up to her chest. Vulnerable and almost child-like. She'd propped herself up on one elbow immediately.
"Maur? What's wrong?"
Maura had trembled a little when Jane reached to curl a hand around on of her knees, squeezing her eyes shut tight before she answered.
"I want to carry the baby."
Jane sat up quickly, ripping the sheets away from her legs so that she could kneel in front of Maura. She'd felt her own hands beginning to tremble.
"Really? You really do want to have a baby together?"
Maura eyebrows knitted together as Jane felt herself smiling.
"Of course," she'd replied. "But I – I want to carry the baby. The first one. If we have more than one, that is."
Jane had grabbed her cheeks, pulled her close to kiss her fiercely. The little hum of surprise Maura made made her heart pound. Maura had been thinking about having multiple kids with her. Kids plural.
"That's – Is this why you've been acting weird whenever I talk about kids?"
"I wasn't acting weird."
"Uh, yeah, you were. I was beginning to think you didn't want any at all."
Maura had sighed, finally stretched her legs out and away from her chest. Jane had leant back against the headboard so that Maura could curl into her side. It had been so easy then. She could just place a kiss on her forehead, her hair, her cheek. Anywhere she wanted. It had been so simple – loving.
"I thought… I thought you might think me a little selfish for my reasoning," she'd murmured. "I thought perhaps, if we favoured a sperm donor instead of adoption, you might want to carry the baby. And I didn't want to take that away from you because of… because of your miscarriage."
Jane had huffed, rolled her eyes. "Maur, I don't care how we have a baby. I don't care if we adopt from our next door neighbours or use Cavanaugh for a sperm donor at this point, so long as we can have one."
Maura's nose wrinkled. "Cavanaugh? Jane, that's disgusting."
"I know. I think I just threw up in my mouth."
They'd laughed softly in the dim light together. After, Jane cushioned her cheek on top of Maura's head and let one of her fingers drift up and down Maura's arm.
"Why have you waited so long to tell me about this?"
Maura buried herself a little deeper into her side, tangled their legs together. Like trying to hold on. But she had never needed to ground Jane back then – the possibility of existing without each other had been absurd. Impossible. Unwanted.
"I suppose I felt the ridiculousness to my own argument. I know that I will love any child we have together regardless of whether I am biologically related or not. I love my parents very dearly and we have no blood connection. I love your family, too – they're my family, with or without blood. But… I've always wanted it. That connection. And not just the way I've experienced with Doyle and Hope, who were too misguided to love me the right way. When we had the case with my half-brother, all those years ago, do you remember? It was the first time I'd ever felt a connection to anything. A solid one. I know that a blood relation doesn't mean that the child won't ever abandon me or reject me. But for once I would… I would like someone who looks like me, who is, in some ways, just like me. So I don't feel that disconnection anymore."
Maura had sat up a little to look her straight in the eyes. "I do not undermine adoption in anyway. And I would not love a child that is biologically yours any less. I just. I need this, Jane. I never realised how much until the opportunity was presented to me. Please don't think me shallow."
"Maura, you are anything but shallow. If this is what you want, then it's what I want too."
She'd kissed her again. Because she could. Back then, she had always thought that privilege would remain.
She loses it with a suspect one day investigating the murder of an eight year old girl. Korsak has to drag her practically kicking and screaming out of interrogation, pushing her into an empty room nearby to give her the chance to calm down. She paces up and down, worrying the wedding ring on her finger. What's the point of it? What's the point of any of it, when healthy, vibrant little girls are killed in broad daylight and her parents don't even care that she's missing?
"You know, I still remember the day you told me Maura was pregnant."
Jane turns with tears in her eyes when Korsak speaks. He rests against the edge of the table, smiling.
"Thought I'd never see the day I saw Jane Rizzoli turn into a big softie. But then you just sort of… bloomed. Over night. Just like that."
He clicks his fingers. She turns away to rub the back of her hand against her cheek, catching the stray tears that fall. Yeah. A big softie alright.
"Seeing you two with that little girl brightened everyone's day around here. You remember when she stole that uni's hat, and he just let her have it for the rest of the day?"
"Yeah," she rasps. "I remember every damn minute I've had with Maddie."
When she turns back to him, he stands, dragging her close even as she hesitates. It's been so long since another person has comforted her. Even her own mother – everything has been focused on Maddie. As it should be. She's just not quite sure how to hold the pieces of herself together until the end. But Korsak is solid when she finally falls into his hug. Constant.
"You've gotta stop focusing on what time you've lost, Rizzoli. Focus on what you have left," he murmurs. "Nothing else matters but that."
When Maddie had first been born, both she and Maura had been equally as red in the face. Through the two days of labour Maura had been in, she had distracted herself by reciting statistic after statistic about the time length of birth rates, the weight of the baby, the chances of the baby being born breech. When it had come to actual delivery, she had almost forgotten to do the breathing exercises – which she had already made Jane practise with her over a dozen times – because she was so intent on distracting herself from the pain.
But the minute Maddie had been born, screaming at the top of her lungs, Maura had fallen silent except for her harsh breathing as she attempted to recover. Her iron grip on Jane's hand finally relaxed, and, once Maddie had been cleaned and weighed and swaddled in a blanket, she had finally been placed in Maura's arms and the first thing she did was cry.
Jane had reached out, trembling fingers pressing against her baby girl's cheek. So soft, so smooth. Brand new. And she had found herself crying too.
"Hello, Madison," Maura whispered through her tears. "We've been waiting to meet you for a long, long time."
She'd turned away from the new baby for a split second to look up at Jane.
"I love you. I love you so much."
Jane leant forward to kiss her.
"I love you too."
She does not pay attention to the sound of a patient flatlining as she heads down the hallway.
Jane knows every patient in every room. After spending so much time here, it's practically impossible. She knows that the patient who has just flatlined is little Michael Monroe. It tugs at her heart uncomfortably. Michael was only five. But she keeps walking, hands in her pockets, head down, as always. She still cannot focus on other people's pain quite yet.
As always, Maddie is asleep when she enters. Maura's bag sits at the end of the bed, just beneath their daughter's chart. Madison "Maddie" Rizzoli-Isles. Stage Four Acute Myeloid Leukemia.
In her sleep, Maddie shifts, frowning a little. She reaches her side and rests her hand against her palm against her daughter's cheek. Maddie settles almost instantly. It's something she used to do as a baby, too. She would fuss and refuse to settle, wailing in her crib the moment she was alone in her room. But the moment she or Maura placed a palm on her stomach, she would fall asleep instantly.
It is a small thing but she is grateful for it. Nowadays it is the only way she can help.
"Jane."
She turns to find Maura emerging from the ensuite, drying her hands on a paper towel. She looks like Hell. Hair greasy and sticking to her cheeks, blouse and skirt wrinkled.
"Maura…"
Maura passes her, throwing the paper towel in the wastebasket. She sits on the other side of Maddie as always, tucking her legs up onto the chair too. It is only then that Jane notices the way the clothes are practically hanging off of her. Her cheekbones become a little sharper, cheeks too sallow, pasty skin clinging around the bones of her wrists. Just like Maddie.
"You need to go home," she says firmly.
Maura's eyes fly up to hers. "I'm fine."
"When was the last time you ate? Or slept? Or even changed your damn clothes?"
Maura's eyes fill with tears almost immediately. She climbs to her feet, trembling.
"Just because this is easy for you – "
"Don't you dare," she growls. "She's my daughter too, Maura! Or did you forget that?"
"Of course I know that, but would it bother you so much to act like – "
"Mommy?"
They fall silent instantly, both turning to Maddie as she wakes, rubbing at one of her eyes with one small fist. Her eyes flutter open slowly, hazel a little duller than normal. She's only getting worse. It's a fact she's known for two months now. There's no hope of her getting better again.
"Hey, baby," she murmurs, instantly soft for her daughter. Sits beside her and takes her hand. "How you feeling?"
"Sleepy."
She smiles. "You sure you're not turning into a sloth? They must be the sleepiest animals on the entire planet."
"No, that's koalas," Maddie replies. Almost manages a little smile. "Momma taught me."
"My clever girl," she whispers.
Maura finally composes herself, reaching for her bag. She pushes her greasy hair up into a half hearted bun, only drawing attention to the severity of her weight loss. Jane looks away.
"I'm going to go home and shower, Maddie. I'll be back before you know it," Maura tells her, kissing her daughter's cheek.
"You should sleep, momma," Maddie says. "It's good for your immune system. If you get a cold, you can't visit me. I'll get an infection."
Maura stills, her hand curling around Maddie's shoulder. "I didn't teach you that."
"Mommy did."
Jane slips her ring from her finger in her pocket, twirling the metal band. In sickness and in health.
In some ways, Maddie had become everything Jane everything expected her to be by the time she was four. She was intellectually gifted, just like Maura had been – she'd already learned the name of the majority of the constellations in their solar system. She could do basic algebra and mastered the basic piano chords Jane had taught her. She was reasonable and did not throw tantrums. But there were so many facets to her that she hadn't expected. She hadn't expected her daughter to be so witty so young. Perhaps she should've expected the bruises and skinned knees she got from playing soccer with TJ. She wrinkled her nose whenever she watched Maura applying her make up and once burned off a whole layer of her hair attempting to curl her hair like Jane's. For a long time, Jane had wondered how much like her Maddie was in comparison to Maura, until the day she caught Maddie pretending to perform an autopsy on a stuffed teddy bear with her stolen cuffs attached to another. It didn't matter how much was her and how much was Maura. Maddie was her own unique and wonderful being. She loved her. Simple as that.
The topic of other children hadn't been discussed in years. They had never really planned on more, but they hadn't decided against it either. All of their energy had simply been put into raising Maddie. She had been enough.
But then, two weeks after her fourth birthday, Maddie walked into the kitchen where Jane was attempting to show Maura how to bake cookies. Put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot, making Jane raise an eyebrow.
"Someone's in a mood," she whispered to Maura out of the corner of her mouth.
Maura had hushed her, swatting her lightly. She had never found Maddie's strangely adult temperament half as amusing as Jane did.
"Do you have something you wish to say, Madison?"
"Melody Parker is gonna have a baby brother. Her mommy is this big," she'd said, holding her arms out in an exaggerated circle in front of her stomach.
"The kid from your preschool that cries every time she's dropped off?"
Maura nudged Jane sharply, hushed her again. Jane just smirked and popped half of an overdone cookie into her mouth.
"I want a baby brother."
Jane choked a little and reached out for her coffee to chug down the cookie. Maura circled her palm against her upper back and laughed softly.
"You know that the gender of the baby cannot be determined by humans naturally, Madison."
"But you can put the baby in here," Maddie argued. She walked forward and pat Maura's stomach. "That's what you did with me. You put me in there until I grew big enough to be born."
"We did," Maura agreed. "And, I suppose, we could do it again."
"Maura," Jane hissed. "Don't you think we should talk about this first?"
"I'm simply noting that it is a valid option. We could have another baby."
Maddie grinned, holding her arms up. Jane had rolled her eyes and picked her daughter up regardless. Pinched her cheek and made her laugh.
They had been happy.
They hadn't suspected anything.
Maura arrives a little later than usual. Jane's in the middle of giving Maddie a bed bath – something she learned to do over a month ago – when Maura practically bursts into the room. The sound shocks them both. Jane simply startles a little and Maddie yelps, but relaxes when she spots her mother. Jane finds her eyes running over her wife. She looks a little harried, yes, and she has not miraculously gained weight since the last time she saw her two days ago. But the clothes that she wears are not wrinkled, her hair freshly clean, the bags beneath her eyes not so deeply imprinted.
"I overslept," she says breathlessly, rushing forward. "I'm so sorry, Madison, I – "
"Told you, Momma. Sleep helps your immune system."
But Maura still seems bothered, repeatedly kissing Maddie's forehead, stroking her hair. Jane looks away and focuses on the repetitive motions of the sponge. She gets it.
Once Maddie is bathed, Jane settles in her regular seat. Maura pulls a large and heavy book out of her bag, eyes still brimming with tears, and presents it to Maddie with a smile. Maddie is too weak to hold it, but manages to reach out and hand and press her palm against the cover, smiling a little.
"I found it online. I thought it could be an early birthday present."
"I still get my dogs?"
Maura's smile wavers. "Of course."
She places the book in Maddie's lap and helps her flick through the pages. Jane leans over to see what the book is about. She smiles to herself as she spots them leafing through illustrations of constellations.
"Look, momma. Lupus," Maddie says, pointing to a clutter of stars on the page.
"I love that one too," Maura murmurs.
Carefully, Maura slips onto the bed with Maddie. She manoeuvres herself around the wires and tubing until Maddie is tucked into her side, head resting on her shoulder, the book in her lap as they discuss the stars. Jane's throat goes dry and she scratches at the back of her hands, feeling for her scars. She used to find them like this. Before. She'd get home from a particularly heavy case after insisting Maura go home to be with Maddie hours before. She would want nothing more than a slice of pizza and to go to sleep, but the minute she stepped into her and Maura's bedroom she would find them laying like this and learning together. And suddenly she no longer wanted to sleep, she only wanted to be with them. Her family.
Maddie falls to sleep ten minutes later, little jaw falling slack and drooling slightly on Maura's shoulder. She doesn't show any sign of wiping it away or disgust. Simply kisses her hair and breathes her in, ignoring Jane's eyes on her.
"You look better," Jane says, cutting through the tense silence.
"I feel well rested. After all, you're right. I can't risk not being able to see her."
Jane nods, looking back down at her hands, twisting them. Sometimes, late at night as she tosses and turns desperate for sleep, she is terrified that will happen. That something as minor as a cold will prevent her from seeing her daughter. And what if those few days are Maddie's last few days? She's been living on borrowed time for two weeks now. Neither of them can risk it.
"Thank you, Jane."
She looks up to find Maura watching her. Her eyes are softer than they have been in months.
"Don't mention it."
They had a meeting planned with a fertility clinic the day Maura had noticed the bruises.
It had been put on hold in favour of taking Maddie to see a doctor. Jane had rolled her eyes. Insisted that it was just a result of Maddie's usual roughhousing with TJ. She hadn't been able to sway Maura from her decision however. A couple weeks after, all plans of a second child had been put on hold as a specialist sat before them and informed then their daughter had stage one AML.
"But she's not even five yet," Jane had protested weakly. She covered Maddie's ears as if that would make it go away. "She can't… Can't you get rid of it?"
Maura had reached over and taken her hand as the doctor explained treatment options, Maddie resting her head at her shoulder, disinterested. The doctor's voice had faded away quickly. The only thing she could hear were the small breaths Maddie took and the way they felt as they blew out against the skin of her neck.
In and out.
She closed her eyes.
TBC