Alright, folks. Here's the continuation of Deceptively Complex. While it's not necessary to read that series first, it might be helpful in order to fully understand where the characters are coming from and, more importantly, what Jane and Maura's relationship is in this story.
This story, quite obviously, is Rizzles (or will be).
Jane and Maura are not mine… Trust me, it's actually one of the saddest things about my life right now. ;)
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
It had been less than a day since the doctors had taken Jane off of her respirator, but to Maura, it felt like weeks. There had been seconds after the machines were turned off and before Jane's first breath of her own in days when Maura began to consider what life without Jane would be. Nothing. She had, in those seconds, definitively come to the conclusion that without Jane, she would have no reason to stay at her job or in Boston or anywhere near it. Without Jane, she knew she would slip back to the periphery of the human race. Without Jane –
And then Jane had gasped, even through her unconscious state fighting for air, for life. Angela had fallen into Frank's arms then rushed out of the room to Frankie's to tell him Jane was breathing on her own. Frank had moved to a chair by the window and dissolved into silent sobs. Maura didn't move, didn't blink. She remained standing, clutching Jane's hand to her heart, feeling Jane's pulse and reassuring herself that the heartbeat was all Jane's doing, that Jane was in there, somewhere, fighting.
When Angela returned to the room, she coaxed Maura back into the chair she had occupied since Jane was first placed in this room.
"Honey, it's ok. It's going to be ok. Jane's going to be ok."
Angela gently rubbed Maura's back, searching for a reaction in eyes that had been glazed over since they first rested on Jane lying prone and pale in the hospital bed. Maura briefly turned to Angela and nodded absentmindedly, and Angela's tears turned from ones of happiness to ones of concern for the woman they had all gladly adopted into their family.
The hours since then had seen Jane's color slowly return and the impressions on her face from the apparatus fade away. Angela and Frank had gone home to bed, and the floor of the hospital sat in heavy silence. Maura still occupied her chair next to Jane's bed. While she had been unable to touch the cool, almost lifeless skin of her friend before, now she couldn't seem to let herself lose contact with Jane for even a minute. Studies had shown that even when unconscious, patients could tell when someone was with them. Maura was determined to make sure Jane knew she was never alone.
Maura's thoughts drifted, as they had been doing so often since she and Jane had taken up residence in the hospital. In her wildest dreams, this was certainly not how she had ever pictured they would live together. Maura briefly acknowledged that, since the Incident, she had been doing more daydreaming than she'd probably done in the rest of her life combined. Was that accurate? She reasoned it most likely was, particularly if one discounted the years before she could read.
Mostly, she'd thought of Jane and all the plans and hopes she hadn't known she harbored for them. In them, that Jane would return her feelings was a given. That was the benefit of dreaming, she mused. Maura was not an outwardly romantically inclined person. However, as she sat thinking, fixated on the still face of the person she knew she couldn't do without, Maura realized, for the first time, that she did want the fairytale, as it were. Before Jane, Maura considered the idea of lifelong monogamy unreasonable. She was painfully aware now that she had no desire to start again. If anything happened to Jane, whatever secret hopes Maura had for the future would go with her. Until Jane, Maura had never seriously considered marriage or children. Perhaps she briefly had when she was with Garrett, but she knew now how childish that vision of her future had been. As her brain relished the free reign allowed by Maura's deliberate lack of control, every scenario was considered. Every ache and pain, every hardship faced together. The good times, too, of which Maura was sure there would be many, if past experience was any indicator, which she was sure it was.
While Maura hadn't slept properly in nearly a week, she now allowed herself to be lulled into a half-conscious state by the steady beeping of the machines monitoring Jane's vitals. Her breathing fell into the same patterns as her friend's deep, steady breaths. Empty amusement flitted across Maura's face as she realized how fitting it was, for her breathing to be in sync with Jane's, and she momentarily wondered if Jane stopped breathing, would she, too?
Minutes slid into hours, the hours into the time just before the sun starts to rise when the world is at its quietest. Reassured by being physically connected to Jane, Maura allowed her eyes to travel to the window. Angela had drawn the shade before she left, gently insisting that, even if Maura wouldn't go outside, at least she should be able to see it. Maura was grateful for the thought now as she allowed herself for the first time in days to consider life's constant passing outside of the hospital room. How long had it been? Four days? Five? She really had no idea. Did it matter? Ruefully, she realized it didn't. When had she become so tied up in another person that her life as an autonomous being ceased to matter? Again, she had no answer, and for once the uncertainty didn't bother her.
"Maura?"
The dry, hoarse voice echoed uncomfortably through the silence. Maura froze, sure the voice she had so desperately been waiting to hear was a figment of her imagination, that she had finally lost the tenuous grip she still held on what was real. Slowly, so slowly it almost pained her, she turned her head to face the woman she'd been keeping watch over. Nothing seemed to have changed. Just as Maura had finished convincing herself that she had, indeed, imagined the sound, she detected a slight movement behind the eyelids, felt a twitch in the hand beneath hers. The eyes slowly opened and struggled to focus in the dimly lit room. They finally settled on Maura. A pained smile hinted at the edge of dry lips.
"Maura," Jane croaked. It was no longer a question, but a statement, a statement of what Jane hoped and somehow knew she would find when she finally fought her way through the fog.
Maura struggled for long minutes to find her voice, realizing she hadn't said a word in perhaps days, though she couldn't be sure. When a look of concern began to work its way onto Jane's face, Maura reacted, determined to keep any unhappiness or worry from Jane that she could.
"I'm here, Jane. I'm here," she managed before she broke down, tears falling for the first time since she watched the bullet force its way through Jane's body. Deep, violent sobs ripped through her as she fell apart, her head buried in her arms on the side of Jane's bed. Slowly, painfully, Jane rested her hand on top of Maura's head, stroking her hair as best she could even though her unused muscles cried out in protest.
With each pass over Maura's hair, Jane felt herself returning more and more to her body. She took stock of each sharp pain, each uncomfortably stiff muscle. When she realized that the aches and pains were too many to concern her first waking moments with, she turned her attention back to the sobbing woman beside her. Though she'd been able to feel Maura there with her, somehow, even in her unconscious state, Jane felt a profound sense of relief when the first thing she saw was Maura. Being awake was nice enough, but having Maura be the first thing she saw? Heavenly, Jane inwardly smirked.
Jane felt tears welling up in her eyes and fought to keep them back. She didn't want to worry Maura, and they were happy tears that she didn't think she had the wherewithal to explain right then. Instead she concentrated on the warmth emanating from the place where Maura leaned on the bed, focused on the smooth, soft hair beneath her hand. Though tired, she noted her friend's condition, her lack of designer clothes. Jane noticed that Maura smelled different, too, devoid of the faint mix of shampoo and perfume that usually wafted around her in intoxicating waves. Jane decided to take it up with Maura later. Later, she would thoroughly scold Maura for not taking care of herself. Now, though, she could already feel the pain medication and weariness overriding every desire she had to stay awake to be with Maura. Jane struggled to communicate one last time before falling asleep.
"I know," she sighed contentedly and slipped into sleep, her hand dropping to the bed next to Maura's.
Maura finally calmed herself, wiping the tears. She could feel a smile beginning to work its way onto her face, though the muscles there felt rigid after days without use. When she had collected herself, she rose from her chair and walked over to the phone beside Jane's bed. As she waited for the answer on the other end of the line, she pushed the button to page a nurse.
"Hello?" Angela groggily answered.
"She's awake. Jane's awake."
As she listened to Angela burst into grateful tears and rouse Frank, Maura laughed. As foreign as it sounded to her after days of silence, it felt good. Her joy bubbled up in her and by the time the nurse arrived, the usually perfectly composed Dr. Isles had dissolved into a very unladylike giggle fit.
"She's awake," Maura managed. "It's going to be ok. She's awake."
