A/N
Trigger warning for self-harm.
Characters from Rizzoli and Isles do not belong to me.
The gun is cold.
It feels like its icy exterior is spreading from the palm of the hand it's nestled in, up your arm and through your body, slightly cooling your sweaty flesh.
Another dream, another restless night, another chink in the Jane Rizzoli armour everybody else thinks is impenetrable.
He'd won. He'd well and truly won.
The pleasure you felt ripple through you as you plunged that scalpel through his chest now disgusts you because you know, you know you're just like him now.
You watch the sunrise from your couch. You'd never tell Maura just how much you really enjoy being awake this early, seeing another day begin and another night end.
The gun is warming, acclimatising to the heat radiating off your skin, skin he touched, he marred. You wish you could peel off your flesh, he couldn't have touched that deep, could he? But you already know he touched way deeper than any physical part of you.
Your stomach churns, tears fall, hands shake.
Enough. You've had enough.
You pick up the bottle of whisky from the table, taking a few mouthfuls and savouring this kind of heat.
The pinkish hue to the early morning sky has now turned blue. Birds chirp, the air is warm, it's a beautiful day, a perfect day to surrender to.
You look down to the gun in your grasp and notice your disgusting, scarred, murderous hands that he designed specifically for you. You have to change them, take away what he did to you.
You know what you have to do.
You press the barrel of the gun over the back of your hand that lies on the table in front of you, right where the scalpel tore through your flesh. You're shaking. You gulp in air, before summoning the strength to pull the trigger.
The bullet blasts through your flesh, it feels as though your hand has shattered like a window pane and you swear the pain burns white before your eyes. You see his smile – like the Cheshire cat – appear before you and you imagine your one fucked up Alice that can only see red right now.
You drop the gun and lean back, cradling the bleeding appendage to your chest. You feel the blood covering your sweat ridden tank top and running down to cover your legs and the couch. The couch you and Maura had spent so much time together on.
Maura. Sweet, sweet Maura who's going to be so upset with you when she finds out what you did but you can make her understand, can't you?
You wish you could lift the gun in your right hand and finish what you started but you know you couldn't lift a thing right now. Your breathing becomes a little heavier, a little slower and the red you see begins to slowly fade to black, to empty, empty black.
You catch sight of the clock hanging on your wall, it's 6:37am and Maura will be here at 7. You pass out before you can do anything to stop your own Queen of Hearts from being broken.
…
"Jane." Maura's scream wakes you.
"Maura, what're you doing here?" You move and feel the blinding pain emanating from your hand. "Maur." Your face softens in sympathy. You didn't want her to be the one to find you like this.
"What-what happened?" She's crying, crouched down next to you and observing the self-inflicted wound that tore through your palm. "Jane, what did you do? What-why?" She's clutching at your legs, on her knees and begging you to help her understand. You know she knows what you did. The gun is on the couch to your left and the whisky is still on the table, telling the story without any words being needed. You even see the whole the bullet punched through the wood to make. "We-we need to get you to hospital. We need to get you seen to."
"Maur," you plead with her. She's a professional. Cool, calm and collected. Not this, not what you made her. Now, now she's no doctor. Now she's broken hearted friend.
"No. Just no, not now. C'mon, Jane, get up." She runs into your bathroom and comes out with some towels. "We need to stop the bleeding and clean you up a little." You stand to take the towels before swaying a little. "Are you okay to stand?"
"I-I'm fine. I mean…I can walk, Maur."
"Okay, here." She places one towel in your left hand and lightly wraps the right in another before picking up her discarded bag near the door. "Let's go."
You're sitting on the hospital bed, waiting for your marching orders. Your hand has been operated on and is now in plaster splint, the pain numbed by painkillers but you know that this is only the beginning. You haven't moved any further from when you plunged that scalpel into him, from when you felt pure pleasure from murder.
You feel sick but you have to explain to Maura. She – of all people – needs to know.
"I-I just. He-I couldn't look and see what he did to me anymore, Maur." You can't bring yourself to look at her. You don't deserve the comfort looking at her brings and you don't want to see sympathy. "He scarred me on the inside, why should I have to look at it on the outside?"
"You can get help, Jane. You can. I can help if you'll let me." She's standing in front of you now, running her fingers across your bandaged hand. "I can help make it better." But that's not her job. You're frantic now, pulling back your hands and shying away from her, from the one thing you've never wanted to taint. You don't want her to become as sick as you.
"No, no you can't. You have to go, you have to leave."
"What? No. Jane, no. I'm not leaving; I'm not ever leaving you." You still won't look at her but you see her legs come into view.
"Don't you get it?" you whisper.
"No, don't you get it? I love you. I need you. I'm selfish and I'm not going anywhere." She reaches for your hands again and holds them softly.
"Maur, I'm just like him."
"You're nothing like him. Not in the slightest."
"But I am. Do you know how good it felt killing him? Do you know how happy, how free, how good it felt? I'm a monster. A sick, sick monster just like him." You cry. Everything about you shakes as you lay yourself bare for her. You try to pull away but she keeps a hold on you.
"No, you're nothing like him. You're good and kind and brave and nothing like Charles Hoyt." She pulls your hands closer to her.
"Don't say his name."
"Why, Jane? He's dead, he can't hurt us anymore and if you're a monster, then so am I. Do you know how good it felt to know he couldn't hurt us anymore, that he wouldn't breathe the same oxygen as us anymore? Do you? Do you?"
"Yes."
"Then you must know that I'm a monster too."
"No. Not you, not ever." You have to make her understand. You look up and stare into her eyes as if that could make her believe you.
"But Jane, what makes me so different?"
"I-I don't know but you're not. You're not a monster." She leans in closer to you, resting her forehead on yours.
"And neither are you." She swipes away some of the tears running down your face with one hand and continues looking in your eyes. You see trust, friendship, love, affection, everything you've ever wanted from her. "You, you are not a monster and you're nothing like him."
You lower your head, resting it on her chest as you cry more, cry harder than you ever remember doing before. She lets go of your hands and cradles your head to her chest. Her heartbeat begins to lull you, comfort you into relaxing and you wrap your hands around her waist.
"You're coming home with me." She tells you. "You're coming home with me and we'll make this better, Jane. We'll find a way to make this better, I promise." She kisses the side of your head. You're tired, so, so tired and finally somewhere where you feel okay.
"Okay, Maur."
"I'll look after you. I can be strong enough for you, I promise."
"I know you can, Maura. You're the strongest person I know."
"And you're the strongest person I know," she whispers back.
"Sorry to interrupt, Detective Rizzoli," Doctor Peyton says, entering the room. You both pull apart and look to him as he continues on. "As you know, you'll have to come back for some physical therapy to get your hand in working order again. We've managed to repair the tendons in your hand but we'll have to wait and see how successful the surgery was. You'll also need to take the prescribed medication to reduce the pain and prevent infection."
"With Doctor Isles around, I won't ever have to worry about infection." Both and he and Maura smile at you, but after a brief glance at the doctor, you focus on her. "Right, Maur?"
"Yeah, that's right, Jane." She takes hold of your uninjured hand and holds it tight. Reassurance.
"Well, that's good to know. Not all our patients are lucky enough to have their own, personal doctor. Anyways, I have your discharge papers here so why don't we make sure everything is in order and get you out of here, hmm?"
"Yeah, sounds good, Doc."
"Hey, Maur?" you say. The sun is beginning to set and the events from a few mornings ago seem so far away now, now you're in the comfort of Maura's home. She's in the kitchen cooking and you're on the couch watching TV, just like normal but you can still feel the darkness.
"Yes, Jane?"
"How come my Ma didn't come and see me? How come Frankie and Korsak and Frost didn't?"
"I phoned them, explained everything. You didn't need to see them; it would've upset you more. I mean, should I have let them in to see you?" She walks in to stand in front of you and you notice her brow furrows. You zone in on her phrasing.
"What do you mean 'let them in'?"
"I mean I banned them, Jane. Your mother, Frankie, Korsak and Frost all came to see you but you didn't need that, you don't need that right now so I made them leave. That's why you made me your next of kin, right? For me to look after you when you need me to? As for Cavanaugh, I explained everything to him, Jane. I mean, everything that was necessary to know and as of yesterday, you're on sick leave."
"Maur," you say in sympathy. She's taken care of everything, even when you royally mess up, she still looks after you. "Thanks, Maur. You're the best." Her smile is disarming as she shrugs.
"You don't need to thank me, it's what I'm here for."
"You're not here just for me, Maur." She walks over and sits down next to you, wrapping her arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder.
"Sometimes, Jane, I think I am." You can't resist kissing the side of her head and pulling her close. "I've made you an appointment for next Tuesday," she says after a few minutes silence.
"Mhmm and what might this appointment be for?" Maura pulls away. She bites her lips before looking anywhere but at you.
"It's with a psychologist, Jane. I can help, I can but I want you to have the best help out there. I know you don't like anyone else knowing."
"Maur."
"You need help but I don't care. You do need it and there's nothing."
"Maur."
"Nothing to be ashamed of, Jane."
"Maura," you finally shout and she finally looks at you. "It's okay, Maur. I know I need help and I trust you, okay?" She collapses into you.
"Thank God, Jane. I was scared you'd be angry at me."
"I don't think I have a right to be angry at you right now, not after what I did."
"Jane."
"No, Maura. I-I'm sorry. You shouldn't have seen me like that. I should have done something sooner but I-I-I don't know. I'm still so tired, Maur. I just wanted it all to go away, I just wanted to sleep and it's still all I want and I'm scared but I'm so sorry, so, so sorry to you Maur." You pull her closer. "I'm so sorry and dammit, why can't I stop crying for five minutes."
"You're under a lot of emotional stress at the moment. It's perfectly reasonable for you to cry. In fact, studies have shown that tears from emotional stress are different from those caused by a physical irritant. They contain prolactin, adrenocorticotropic hormone, and leucine encephalin which are protein-based hormones we produce when under stress. You're flushing out those toxins from your body, Jane. It's good for you and don't worry, I won't tell anyone so you can keep you're bad ass reputation." You briefly smile and you mean in for the first time in a long time.
"Maura Isles, don't ever change."
"I'll try not to." Your smirk.
"Maura Isles, the foods burning." She jumps up and runs into the kitchen and you know she'll get you through this, whatever this is.
You look down to your hands and frown.
You've a long way to go.