Column A Column B
Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli and Isles! WHY NOT TNT and Tess Gerritsen!? Am I not worthy!?
Summary: A little Maura/Jane drabble - Rizzles, One-shot
Rating: K
Author's Note: Dedicated to my dear buddy Msadidas, for her 'column A, column B' reference that automatically FORCED me to write this
Agitation, tension, rage.
"Really!?" The word is her own bullet – ricocheting off the walls like it knows exactly where to go for heads to turn.
Her head lowers between two scarred palms.
"Seriously, Maura, I hate this."
"Jane-" You say.
"No." She looks up, sharply. "NO. I know what you're going to say and I'm not backing down from that word." She jabs her finger forward. "I hate this. I hate it when people think it is acceptable to hide behind money to not answer questions, I hate it when they shove their fancy lawyers in our faces. I hate that they all think they're better than us. Yes us- Maura." She narrows her eyes at the slightly startled expression you are subjecting her to. "You included. You're slumming with us, remember?"
You don't react immediately. The words are weak against the two of you, after all this, and you know she knows, but even still it is a moment too long against the unspoken charade...
"Damnit, Maura." She slaps the desk and stands, shoulders square and dangerous, dark tendrils of hair dancing fiercely around her.
"I hate when people think they can get away with that." She grips the sides of her torso and shakes her head. "They won't. I will make sure they won't." Her blazer flicks out with a swish of her hands. "I hate how hard they make this…."
You know this well, you don't move, you just draw those eyes to your own and ask, for the first time of many…
"And?"
She scoffs, angry at the invisible argument, the one you know she expects at every turn. One that makes her bristle instinctively even when it is you… only you. "And I…. hate idiots who don't know how to collect evidence that doesn't skate the line of inadmissible." Her hand flies to the file at her desk and she shakes it at you.
You stand stronger, willing the argument out.
"And..?"
She glares at you, raking a hand over her hair in a practiced move you have drawn comfort from as uniquely hers, "I hate that we have to clean up their Goddamn mess all the fucking time." She says, vehemently. "I hate they can't get their shit together."
You know what she is referring to - you brought it to their attention, after all. They contaminated your evidence. It took you all day, until twenty minutes ago - twenty minutes and one phonecall ago - to build some semblance of a case.
You each had plans, far longer ago than this.
Jane glances, irritated, up at the ceiling then back to you, and you know what is coming.
"I hate the fact that we should be having the night off, but as a result of this monumental cock-up, we're still here." She jabs the forefinger of her right hand against the file. "We're still. Fucking. Here."
And you realise the swearing doesn't bother you like it normally would…. Because you know it will sooth her… towards this-
"And?" You coax one more time, because you know it is coming..
The file lowers, slowly.
"I hate-" she pauses, and her eyes flash once in defiance before her shoulders drop just a fraction. "-the fact I'm cleaning up their mess, preparing for the lawyer's shit, when it should be movie night… "
Finally. You've found your way in.
You step forward.
"But?" You tilt your head, and she closes her eyes briefly, knowing what you are doing, knowing and shifting and adjusting and you almost feel the imperceptible shudder in her body as it does, until her eyes open and she looks at you again.
You're greeted with a remnant glare for only a moment, barely that before it too, weakens, and the corner of her mouth arcs up only slightly – a tell hidden to most – but obvious to you. "I like that we're stuck here together…"
You advance again, a smile creeping across your own lips, She continues.
"I like that I have the smartest Medical Examiner in the entire United States helping me get these bastards…"
You shake your head and roll your eyes.
"And?" You ask, deflecting the comment.
"I like… that Korsak left me his last glazed donut."
You make a face, but advance again.
"And?"
Her lips are twitching into a small grin now, just as you knew they would. "I like… that the Red Sox just won."
"Of course –" You whisper. Another step. "-And?"
"I like…" You are close enough now that it takes less than a moment to reach out to her hands, tight against her sides... and as soon as you do she acquiesces; giving you the space to slide your fingers into the gaps between hers, giving you control to pull them outward from her body.
She looks at you, silently. Watching.
"Jane?" You return, gentle, coaxing.
She is staring at you, and you know your eyes are dancing with the connection as you tug her hands gently towards you, wrapping them around your body until her fingers find your lower back on their own.
"I like… our perfect pizza." She murmurs. You squeeze the fingers in yours. Her breath hitches. "I like… that… I get to share it with you." Then her eyebrow quirks upwards in a smirk, as if attempting to regain control of the moment. "And not have to clean up afterwards."
The feeling is impossible for you to resist, snaking up your spine to your neck and back down to your toes – a perfect, tingling reassurance. Your hands leave hers and glide elegantly up her blazer to her shoulders.
"And?"
The delicate warmth of your breath against her makes her eyes flutter closed, just as you knew they would. Your fingertips wind around the back of her neck, teasing the soft hairs at her nape.
"And?" You whisper, so close to her lips now you can almost feel her answer before you hear it
"I like… coming home to you." And you taste her words through your own parted lips, and feel the warm caress of her voice as she adds. "I love that I can."
You answer with a light pressure against her mouth and flick of your tongue. The fingers against your lower back clench reflexively, and a long-held sigh leaves her body, draining tension with it.
"I love being with you."
Her shoulders curl around yours, relaxed, and you feel the warm puff of breath against your mouth. Pulling back, you press another kiss to her lips before you ask, for the final time, with a smile.
"And?"
And in a practiced routine, she smiles in return against you, closes her eyes, and lowers her head to your shoulder.
"I love that I am yours."
You cradle her head and kiss the side of her hair... just like you always do.
Calm, soft, quiet.