I do not own Rizzzoli and Isles. There wil be angst and crime and rizzles. First fan fiction so please be aware.
Monday morning 12pm
"Why is he here mother?" Jane is a step away from seething.
"Why is who here honey?" Angela Rizzoli is in the middle of stuffing shells. Her hands are covered in ricotta and herbs and cheese. The smell is a comfort to Jane. One of the lasts bits of comfort there is in this world. This as a rail yet food is till, as everyone else in the free world, a go to when she needs a moment's peace.
Jane stares at Angela. "You know who I mean Mother. Where's Tommy? You know the fucking murderer. Where your special boy mother."
"Look" Angela waves her hands wildly despite being covered with food, "We, you, have got to leave all that behind us, he went to war Jane. He risked his life. He was over there a whole year. He's a soldier. He's a hero, Jane. He regrets what he did. It was a lapse in judgement."
Jane shouts, "Mama, I'm a cop. I risk my life every day for this whole fucking city."
"Oh come on honey. Those men at that station keep their eyes on you. You ain't got nothing to worry about." Angela says with a sickeningly sweet voice.
"You don't even know how much I really hate you." Jane spits out.
"I just wish they would let you wear your hair down. You've always had such pretty hair. So thick. Look, it's a shame that it happened."
Jane pushes the newspaper off the table that she had been reading and stands up to leave.
Angela placates Jane for a moment, "Oh now stop that. If you hated me so much, you wouldn't come over here and eat at my table every week. But I get it. It's a shame that all those court shenanigans had to happen. I'm so glad it was private and the whole town didn't seen it happen…it just would have been a real shame, coulda been real bad, Jane. Him being a man and all."
Jane stands very still and stares at her mother. She starts to talk but catches herself. She purposely clears her throat and lowers her voice. "You know ma, even talking with you like this, I don't want to be here. I'm too chicken shit, even with this gun on my hip to eat it. I don't care if someone kills me. That's why I'm a good cop. I don't care. I chase these fuckers for miles I'm not confused. Despite everything, good and the bad and the fucking shenanigans, I still know that after all this time I still got nothing to give anybody. I got absolutely nothing. I watched what he did. I watched it and for that I live with the guilt every day. Where's his guilt. Ma? Where is it?"
Without even missing a beat Angela says, "Don't be so selfish Jane. I worry about you."
Jane turns and leaves, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair, and silently walks to the door, as the front door slams, Jane's mother runs to the screen door and shouts out to Jane, "Without forgiveness you won't go to heaven. Remember that."
Jane gets into her cruiser without even looking back. She throws in it drive and speeds off, talking a right turn to leave the block she grew up on. Once out of her Mothers ignorant sight, she pulls over. Both hands are on the steering wheel. Ten and two o'clock, just like they teach you in the academy. Her head feels like she has been punched in the temples repeatedly, she sweating and red faced. Not crying. She is mentally numb. She thinks to herself that those people who commit suicide by death by cop have the right idea. Like she said to her mother, she is too chicken shit to kill herself. What's the point? She lays her head on the steering wheel. Her head is facing left so the heat of the center metal plate of it feels like she is burning her face. On purpose. Staring into space, her eye glances at a red pickup. A very pregnant woman is getting into the passenger side. Clothes too tight for her pregnant frame. Clearly too poor to buy maternity clothes. Too poor or doesn't care. Either not really a choice but a fact. Staring at this woman, she sees what looks like a bulge in the back of her pants. The woman's shirt is raised on her back, not reaching her waist. This is what makes it easier for Jane to spot what she wants to see. A gun. Now she has a distraction. She doesn't even call it in until she's half way there.
Monday 3pm
It's a Monday. Nothing good happens on a Monday. Jane had calmly walked up to the pregnant woman and arrested her for illegal gun possession. Upon entering the house that the suspect came from, she found a dead man in the living room. Once the whole crew got there, they processed the scene as usual and began the investigation. Nothing new. Very routine.
Anne Armstrong had been sitting in the interview room for an hour. Saying very little and drinking the coffee Jane had given here. She motioned for 8 sugars. Jane pretty much drinks the same so no judgement there. Anne easily weighed 250 pounds. Between the pregnancy and her already overweight body, she seemed, defeated. Jane thought to herself that the look on her face and her posture probably had nothing to do with the murder she most certainly had committed. They had already begun the investigation with a visit to the apartment that Anne lived in. A perfunctory investigation had turned up quite a bit of damning evidence. Seemed open and shut, which disappointed Jane. She had been hoping for something more complex. Something that would satisfy her drive and desire for distraction. This is what Jane excelled at.
At this point all that was needed was a confession and a match on the gun residue resting on Anne's hand. She was waiting for the ME, Maura Isles to come into the room with the positive results. Janes spent a lot time with the ME. Before Maura came up from the morgue, Jane decided to go in and talk to Anne. Why waste time she thought to herself. She and her partner Vince Korsack, a portly man with kind eyes, entered hesitantly. She began once she sat down directly across from Anne.
"Anne." Jane says quietly. "We found a page from your diary in amongst your things. You have been thinking and talking about Christopher for close to 30 years now." Anne shifts in her seat. Her weight, causing the chair to creak. Jane can tell she is nervous. Nervous that the chair might break under her weight. Jane is pained by this. This woman. This possible murder suspect has been under the worlds thumb her entire life. Abused and neglected and ignored. Jane knows she's guilty. She just needs the confession. Jane can't help but think that the confession might give some peace to Anne. Maybe even a feeling other than self-hate. Jane, "I'm just going to read it Anne."
Jane clears her throat. A lump had formed. "Dear Diary, I'm so glad that duct taping you to the top of my closest didn't ruin the paper on the front. I know Luke is trying to find anything to torture me with. I hate him. I was thinking that if I talk to Christopher at school, I will have to make a good impression with my charm. Clearly he doesn't like fat girls, so I will have to make up for it somehow. I have nice hair. I can smell good. My clothes are tight but only because my mom buys them too small to force me to stop eating. Why is she so mean? My stomach hurts sometimes they are so tight.
Anyway, back to the good stuff. If I sat next to Christopher and I could talk to him with him turning and making fun of me, I would say:
If you aren't good at guessing games we probably shouldn't be friends. I'm fraught with questions. . I realize by saying this I have intrigued you and now you are most likely wanting to be my boyfriend. I can't actually date because we are too young, but I will consider you a friend until our angst reaches its peak and then we can crash into each other like the people on television. We will kiss and rubs our hands on each other's backs. Like on Dynasty or Dallas. Ugh. My mother is home and screaming my name. I have to go. I hate her. Anne."
Jane sat back and watched. Anne let a single tear fall from her eyes and spoke. "He wanted nothing to do with me once he found out I was pregnant." I loved him.
"I understand Anne. Can you tell me what happened?" Jane asked.
"I shot him. That's what happened. He found out I was pregnant and wouldn't let me near him. He was disgusted." Anne stated factually.
Jane looked at Anne, with a knowingly nauseated stare and asked Anne, "Is the baby your brother Luke's?"
Anne rubbed her swollen baby and said simply with no remorse, "yes."
Monday 5pm
Jane sat in the confession booth. She remained silent for some time until the priest had to clear his throat signaling to her that she was at this point, taking up his time. "Father. I just. Am I deceived by God? I think the violence in my world…Do I retreat from it? Do I go towards it? If it's not happening to me why do care so fucking much?"
The priest began to talk, "My child…" but was quickly cut off by Jane. "Do I have a shot at redemption? I want to let people in. I do. My secrets are too deep and too dangerous. I can't think of a single person that would want to know or invest anytime in me. That's a lie. I just. Who wants to listen to me and my inevitable boring selfishness? I would like a coffee. Maybe I will have enough time to grab a cupcake at the new place before I catch my train. Thanks Father." Jane makes the sign of the cross and bolts out the confessional with a purposeful walk.
Monday 10pm
After getting the much desired coffee and 2 cupcakes, Jane and Frankie are slouching in their unmarked cruiser 2 blocks down from where they are sitting and waiting for their perp to come home. For cops this is the perfect time to have the dumbest conversations. Partners get to know one another. They end up closer with their partners than with their spouses. My work wife. My work husband. Phrases that are more than accurate. Frankie, drinking a hot tea, a fact he is mercifully tortured for back at the precinct, begins the first of many conversations for the night.
"I'm pretty sure that the only women, who chew gum actively, specifically are Americans. More specifically, southern women, spearmint, and Latin women juicy fruit, and black women, fruity or from a blow pop. Bet I could get a grant to study this. "
"You should be studied Frankie." Jane says with a smirk that accentuates her dimple eight miles deep.
"Right" Frankie says and proceeds to take a burning sip of his tea, "Damn. I fucking burned myself."
"Sooth the burn with your scone." Jane deadpans.
Frankie just stares at Jane and whispers under his breath. Nothing coherent but just loud enough for Jane to feel her arrow hit his ego deep enough to leave a small bruise. Target hit.
"Let's get out of here. He's not coming Frankie." Jane says.
"What a bust of a night. Wanna get a beer?"
"Yeah. I'm going to call the doc." Jane says matter of factly. "She earned one today as well."