A/N there is more of The Rizzoli Kid written, however, due to unforseen technical difficulties, it likely won't be fixed until next Friday when I get paid. Unless my laptop decides to magically heal itself. This is another thing written on the phone, just pure friendshippy fluff. Enjoy.
She can see Maura's nose crinkle in distate as she tosses the box of Franzia on the counter at the packie up the street from her apartment. Its not exactly some fancy wine grown at the peak of the soil season, and she's not quite sure if there are any actual grapes in it, or just grape flavoring like Mad Dog. But this is her liquor store of choice, and she thinks the most expensive bottle of wine here is a whopping $40.
Besides, tonight is about her being selfish. So they're going to eat graham crackers and frosting right out of the can and drink wine that comes in a box and not a bottle. She forks over a ten, shoving the change in her pocket in a crumpled mess, earning another crinkle of the nose. Its almost adorable how easily she can goad Maura into reacting.
By the time they've made it through the first can of frosting, she's tipsy, bordering on agreeing to dance, but not quite to willing to participate in kareoke, and she eyes the box of shiraz, ideas forming in her mind. She pries open the top, earning her a curious look from her friend as she deftly maneuvers the spigot out of the cardboard, prying the bladder inside free. She holds it up triumphantly and the confused look deepens.
Its one of her favorite looks on Maura, and she thinks its just because she so rarely sees it. Maura not knowing something is a rarity, and its all furrowed brows and tilted heads and eager, inquisitive eyes. "Ever play slap bag?" She already knows the answer, but she has to ask anyway. "Have you even drank boxed wine before?" There was a moment where she could see that great brain flipping through events like so many pages in a book.
"Yes, actually. Last year's holiday party at the precinct. The only beverage options were a boxed chardonnay, beer, or hard liquor." Even she crinkled her nose.
"God, they picked the chardonnay for it? Ew. I bet Rondo wouldn't even drink the chardonnay."
"It wasn't very pleasant." She laughed, holding the bag of wine above her head and dispensing a long gulp directly into her mouth. God, she hadn't done this since she was what? Twenty? She'd shied away from wine after being able to make her own alcohol purchases, only reincorperating the beverage into her life at all because of Maura. She handed the bag over, watching the ME move to simply refil the glass sitting in front of her, before laughing again. "What?"
"C'mon, I'll show you slap bag. Just hold the -whatever that is" the word for it has departed her mind and she gestured at the spigot. She held the bag up, inches above where a mouth would me if Maura would tilt back just a little. The woman gets the hint, although there's a wary look in hazel eyes, and there's a moments hesitation before a thumb presses down to open the valve. Once the red liquid started streaming forth, she gave the plastic a hard whap, grinning at the sudden surge, and laughing as Maura coughed and sputtered at the sudden rush of liquid. There's an indignant noise of protest which just causes her to laugh harder, as she pulls the bag of wine away, holding it over her own mouth. She's got good reflexes - usually, but bown that they've easily killed nearly a liter of cheap wine each, they're just dulled enough for her to see the approaching hand and not be able to stop it.
Luckily, she was more adept in these matters than Maura, who - or was it whom? Damn the alcohol for making her ponder grammatically correct language - she was pretty sure had never chugged anything before. It saved her from coughing, at any rate, and she merely shot an indulgent grin across the counter. She wasn't even sure what had precipitated this. She was just on the right side of drunk enough not to care. Vaguely, in the back of her mind there was something niggling at her, but right now she was playing slap bag with cheap boxed wine and her best friend, and all was right with the world. "Is there a purpose to this - game?"
"Yeah, to get drunk. I think we're winning." There's an interminable time that passes, and she ponders the absurdity of watching Maura Isles, still clad in a dress that easily cost more than everything in her apartment combined drinking Franzia straight from the bag and eating frosting out of a can in the middle of her kitchen. She swayed slighty on her feet, the alcohol beginning to affect her balance and she attempted to move them to the couch. She failed, not taking the arm of the furnishing into account, and found herself splayed, the armrest tucked behind her knees, head somewhere near the middle. "C'mon!" She called and watched as Maura considered the scene before sitting primly on the other side.
Well that simply would not do. She reached a hand up, gripping fabric and yanking the woman down so that they found themselves in matching positions, heads next to each other, legs kicked over the arm of the couch, and she raised the bag of cheap shiraz up over her mouth again, taking another long gulp. "The odds of-" she silences whatever protest she knows is coming by holding the bag over a mouth, thumb hovering threateningly over the valve, making her intentions clear. Stop talking, or get covered in wine. There's an attempt at a glare before a jaw hangs slackly open, and she took the invitation to fill it with terrible, peppery wine.
"Hey, we're doing something crazy. You don't get to protest it." She grinned, the reasons why they were doing something crazy momentarily driven from her mind. There was something about rejection and feeling betrayed and something silly about some silly man. She'd deal with all that in the morning. Right now, she and her best friend, a couch, at least another two and a half liters of wine, and a movie even worse than the wine playing on her television. "How the fuck did we wind up watching Zardoz?" She asked, trying to find the remote, not particularly in the mood for Sean Connery in a speedo, no matter how much she sorta wanted to agree with the giant floating head's most famous quote right now. She groaned in frustration as she realized that the remote was still on the counter, raising a hand as though she could summon it. "Can't you like, use your super-smarts to give us superpowers?"
There's a solid five minute explination about superpowers and their history in literature, going back to mythology, and she listens, punctuating points with gulps of wine. Who the hell needed a boyfriend anyway? This wasn't something she could do with a boyfriend. She'd never have to teach Casey the finer points of how to chug alcohol, or giggle at the fact thattheir conversation had just turned into a debate about who had the better abs - Hugh Jackman as Wolverine or Christian Bale as Batman. "While Christian Bale showed his commitment to his craft with the msucle mass he put on to play Batman, Hugh Jackman-"
"You're just picking him cause he's your type. You are, like, the most obvious type-dating person ever." So she wasn't quite making the most sense. Oh well.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean all the guys you date look alike."
"No they don't."
"Yeah they do. Zombie boy looks like Garret Fairfield looks like Giovanni looks like-"
"I never dated Giovanni." She shrugged.
"But you thought he was hot. Until he licked your face." There was another crinkle of the nose. "Shoulda just listened to me in the first place. Admit it, I was right."
"You were not wholly incorrect when you suggested we would be incompatible."
"Nope, that's too many syllables for how much I've drank. Three words. You were right. That's it, all you have to say." There's a glare thrown her way and she laughed.
"Shut up and give me more wine." No, who the hell needed a boyfriend, especially ones that came back from hellholes and greet you with only a it was good to see you. Nope, she had her best friend, canned frosting, terrible movies, and a box of shiraz. And it was all she needed to enjoy her life.