Author's Note: Yup. Snafu writes Rizzles. I go where the plot bunnies drag me. 'Sins of the Fathers' will continue as non-Rizzles, and future offerings may be either one or the other, depending on the muse in question.
And KalenCaelli: stop smirking, damn it.
The usual disclaimers apply: Gerritsen, Tamaro & TNT own it all.
"You must think you're real smart, huh, detective?" Dennis Rockmond taunted Jane Rizzoli, keeping Maura Isles between himself and the three guns trained on him, the edge of his knife almost touching the doctor's throat.
Jane shook her head. "No, just lucky. You're much smarter than us." She wanted to kill the bastard, pull the trigger until there were no more bullets left for the look of terror on Maura's face, the tears in her eyes, but she didn't dare. She had to placate him, kiss his ass, do whatever it took to get him to let her best friend go. Then she'd kill him.
"You're damn right," he shot back. "Not even the genius Dr. Isles could keep up with me!" The knife pressed against the skin and Maura let out a sob.
"Please!"
"Begging?" He grinned at her. "Keep begging." His grin shifted to Jane. "God, I love it when they beg." The mask that he'd worn all this time had dropped; the smooth, cultured, confident motivational speaker was gone. His face was flushed and sweaty, his expression an ugly mix of glee, anger and fear. Like most of his kind, he needed to have his work recognized, his talents known, but they had interrupted him before he could complete his "finest piece of work".
Too fucking bad.
I'll make you beg, you bastard, Jane thought grimly, but all thoughts of vengeance stopped cold as Rockmond dragged Maura in front of the open elevator shaft, a three story drop directly behind them.
"No! No, wait! Look!" Jane holstered her gun, held up her empty hands, aware of Frost and Korsak doing the same. "We're in your hands, all right? We're all in your hands." Get Maura away from him. If he escaped, they could chase him down, but she had to get that knife away from Maura's throat, get him to step away from the drop.
Rockmond looked around warily, visibly dismissing Vince and Barry, his eyes coming back to Jane. "You found my mother's hand?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
He swallowed. "You understand why I had to take both of them, right?" He watched her, pleading for the answer, for understanding. For her to tell him that he wasn't a lowlife piece of shit.
She gave it. "So she couldn't hurt you any more." Whatever it took, whatever he wanted to hear, Jane would give it to him. She'd let him go, if that's what it took. Maura was all that mattered.
He nodded, his face twisting into a wretched parody of self pity. "I left my creations at all the places I wanted to go with my mommy," he said spitefully, edging backward another step, dragging Maura with him.
"No, wait!" Jane did a bit of edging of her own, gauging the distance. He wasn't trying to run; he had another end game in mind. "Why hurt Maura? Come on." It didn't fit. His mother had been an abusive monster; the women he'd killed had treated their own children similarly, but Maura had never hurt a soul. She had saved his life.
Saved his life.
That realization clicked in her mind in the same instant that his expression twisted into one of despairing fury.
"Because her healing hands brought me back to this earth! That's why!"
He'd tried to kill himself after murdering his mother. And Maura had saved his life, returned him to an existence he'd wanted to end. And now he was going to kill himself and take her with him; Jane could see it in his face as he kept spewing his justifications. No words were going to change his mind. She had to act.
He stepped back, gravity taking over. Maura screamed, reaching out as Jane lunged forward. Her hand caught Maura's -
- and slipped.
Maura's scream rose into a wail of terror as Rockmond dragged her into the shaft with him.
Jane jerked awake, her heart slamming in her chest, breath caught in her throat as she fought her way free of the nightmare. God knew she'd had enough practice, but it never seemed to get any easier.
Just a dream. Not real. She kept telling herself that, over and over. Rockmond was dead, Maura was alive, sleeping beside her; she hadn't wanted to be alone tonight, so after Angela had taken the baby for the night, Jane had stayed with Maura, talking quietly about baby supplies, names, paternity tests – anything but what had happened in Rockmond's flat. She must have drifted off, Jane realized. She hadn't thought it would be possible, after the nonstop adrenaline dump of that day, and she wished like hell that she hadn't.
She lay still, waiting for her heartrate to slow, hoping she hadn't disturbed Maura's sleep. Maura was the one who had been through hell tonight; she didn't need to deal with Jane's bad dreams.
Maura was alive...right? Christ, it had felt so real, and her heart started hammering again.
Just a dream, damn it. But she found herself reaching out, turning her head so she could see the outline in the bed beside her, illuminated by the moonlight through the window. Breathing. Alive. Relief washed through her, and she withdrew her hand just before it made contact, not wanting to risk disturbing her friend's much needed sleep. But then, the figure drew a hitching, shuddering breath, and Jane realized that Maura was not sleeping.
"Maur?" Jane pushed herself up on an elbow, feeling a stab of guilt. She'd fallen asleep, leaving Maura to face her demons alone. "Maura?"
"I'm sorry," Maura sniffled. "I was trying not to wake you." She had curled into a ball, huddled into herself, facing away from Jane.
"Jesus, why?" Jane reached out, trying to turn her, but Maura resisted, keeping her face pressed into the pillow. "That's why I'm here, sweetie." She wrapped her arms around her friend, drawing her back against her body, feeling the tremors shaking the petite frame, and she wished that Rockmond had survived, so she could kill him herself, with her bare hands. "It's all right. You're safe."
"N-no. I'm still there." The quiet despair in Maura's voice tore something in Jane's heart, and she tugged and pulled until Maura finally turned, huddling into the detective's taller form and hanging on tight. "I can still feel his hands on me." She'd been in the shower for nearly an hour when they'd gotten home, emerging with her skin reddened from scrubbing and hot water.
"They're not," Jane told her, running her own hands over Maura's back and shoulders, stroking her hair, pulling her even closer and wrapping herself around her, trying to do what she should have done: shield this gentle, trusting soul from anyone and anything who would hurt her. She kissed the top of Maura's head tenderly. "He'll never touch you again."
"I can still feel the knife on my throat," Maura whispered, her face pressed against Jane's shoulder.
"It's not," Jane promised her, brushing another kiss over her temple, her cheek, then instinctively dipping her head to press her lips to the spot on Maura's neck where the edge of the knife had rested. She didn't know whether the gesture was meant to reassure Maura or herself, but Maura's sudden, soft intake of breath hit her like a dash of cold water.
What are you doing?
She started to pull back, to offer an awkward apology, but Maura's arms tightened, pulling, and she abruptly found herself on top of the medical examiner, held there with a strength that Jane hadn't realized her best friend possessed and looking into hazel eyes that were luminous in the moonlight.
"Don't stop." The two words were little more than a breath: part plea, part command, and impossible to deny. Jane swallowed against a mouth that had suddenly gone desert-dry, and lowered her head, pressing gentle, careful kisses over Maura's face, tasting the salt of tears, feeling the satin softness of Maura's skin. Comforting her friend: that's what she was doing, right? She kept telling herself that until Maura caught her face in her hands and guided their lips together.
So easy. Like breathing, falling, coming home. Maura's fingers tangling in her hair, soft lips parting, inviting, the kiss slow and unhurried, deepening as their tongues tasted, explored, twined. They parted reluctantly, breath mingling, and Jane stared wonderingly into the face that she knew as well as her own, seeing it in an entirely new light that had nothing to do with the moon's silvered gleam.
"Tell me." These words uttered as softly as the others had been, another mix of entreaty and order, no less impossible to resist, and Jane did not have to ask what she meant.
"I love you," Jane whispered, feeling the full truth of it winding its way around her heart, sinking its roots deep into her soul. She knew, had always known somewhere inside, from the earliest days of their friendship. The possibility had hovered unacknowledged between them for so long, both of them willing to be content with what they had, because it was more than they'd ever had before.
It wasn't enough now, might never be enough again, and that buried truth was the thing that had kept Jane from even contemplating reaching for more. There was no going back from this point, no returning to easy friendship, drinks at the Robber, movie nights on one couch or the other, sharing a bed and talking until they fell asleep side by side as unselfconsciously as a pair of twelve-year-olds. There was only fusion...or shattering.
"Don't stop," Maura whispered again, fingers tracing the lines of her face, intercepting the runaway train of her fears, reading her as easily as she'd always been able to. "I love you, too, and I need this. I need you. Don't stop. Please?"
She couldn't refuse. Didn't even want to try. "I won't," she promised, her thumb gently brushing away a last tear from Maura's cheek as their lips met again.
A.N. - One more chapter from Maura's POV, I think.