Disclaimer: I don't own rights to these characters, the backstory, or, sadly, any of Dr. Isles' heels. Those all belong to TNT, Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro, Jan Nash, etc.
Author's Note: Will become decidedly more Rizzles in future chapters. Written hastily, so please excuse any errors. If anyone has any interest in acting as a beta, I'd love a critical eye to help guide the upcoming chapters.
Cuts Like a Knife
Immediately, it warms her, a sound that dances out to the doorstep and brings her lips into an easy smile. She can envision what awaits her in the kitchen: the detective's head thrown back, curls swaying as a laugh rattles her frame. With fingertips she presses the door open a crack, slipping heels off slowly to allow a continued moment of anonymity.
A glimpse around the corner reveals two backs hunched conspiratorially over the edge of the counter, Frankie and Jane. Eyes skirt across the granite top to spot Tommy, upper body resting heavily upon flattened palms, a deep frown gracing the handsome face of the youngest Rizzoli. His head cranes toward the ceiling in an effort to conceal the playful glimmer that has lightened his features; he's in on joke, too, but does not want to lose ground. Maura cannot help the sharp intake of air as she watches them before her. She marvels at just how comfortably the family exists in her home, how natural and alive this vibrant scene seems to be. She pauses before fully breaching the entryway, not for fear of interrupting, but to steel this visual into her memory.
"Hey, cut it out, will ya?" Tommy protests, earning an additional snort from his siblings.
"Ah, Tommy, we're sorry man," Frankie soothes, elbowing Jane to encourage an additional apology. He flattens the paper he's holding and slides it towards his brother, a truce.
"Yeah," she adds, with a clear of her throat, "Tommy, we're only kidding. Show 'em to us."
"Show you what?" Heads turn to greet the doctor and she can't help but notice the six eyes that drift from bare feet over soft hips and the peaks of cleavage, before finally settling on her smirking, knowing face. It is Jane's two that first crinkle upwards in a smile. Genuine.
"Oh hey, Maura," Tommy gestures with an upward jerk of his chin, "come check this out."
Reaching the island she lends Frankie a warm smile before a gentle hand alights on the crook of Jane's arm, a silent greeting.
Tommy pushes a black canvas wrap towards her before snatching the worn piece of paper resting on the counter. He makes a show of smoothing out the crinkled edges before offering her a look.
Maura's leans forwards to grab it, the hand that presses heavily into Jane's thigh for added leverage does not lift when she rights herself back into an erect position. Reading the pamphlet her eyes flit upwards to meet Tommy's, offering a smile. "Culinary Certificate Program?" He nods.
"Yeah, it's in Cambridge. 19-weeks and then I got a chance to join the professional course, ya know?" He points to the various bullets on the paper that describe the program before unrolling the nylon case between them. "And they got this awesome set of knives, see? You got your baking knives and your cooking knives, and they give 'em to you once you enroll and they're yours to keep." Maura smiles at the pride in his voice as much as at the pride she can feel radiating off of Jane.
"It'll be a good skill to have in case he lands back in the slammer," Jane ribs, lips pursed on the edge of a beer bottle, ready to drink. Maura gives a warning squeeze to Jane's thigh, causing the brunette to jostle the bottle's contents onto her suit. "I think it's great, Tommy. You just gotta finish it," she amends.
"I'm gonna finish," he growls. His tone is not angry, just forceful, and Maura notes a hint of the determination she often finds in Jane's eye.
"Well, you're more than welcome to practice here," Maura offers to Tommy, a smile playing at the corner of her lips, "and I can be the one to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Speaking of fruits, wine anyone?" She pushes herself away from the counter and cannot help but notice the way Jane's body leans backwards with her, as if in an effort to prolong contact.
"Ah, I don't know about that, Doc," Frankie warns with a slow shake of his head to rid his face of the growing smirk, "Janie here was just entertaining us with the story of how Tommy almost burned the house down with his cooking skills."
"One of the stories," the detective corrects.
"I'm sure, with the proper instruction," Maura interjects, "Tommy will be an excellent chef. It appears to be a wonderful program."
"With the proper instruction, anyone could," Jane stage whispers into her shoulder, earning a snort from Frankie.
"Yeah, even you, Jane!" Tommy exclaims with an outstretched finger in her direction for emphasis. An exaggerated eye roll accentuates his next point, "a real Emeril Lagasse ova here."
Jane meets Frankie and Maura's muted laughter with a pointed gaze before fixing her stare on her youngest brother, "Bet I could do better than you," she says tauntingly. She watches as Tommy's lips pinch in a tight smile, eyes challenging. "And I'd be that Giada chick, anyway," she adds flippantly, waving a hand in his general direction.
At this, Frankie guffaws, leaning back in his stool to survey the scene. With a cock of his eyebrow he offers a suggestion, "Well why don't you two make it a little more interesting then? A cook-off, see which of you actually has the stones. Winner gets braggin' right and loser—well, loser has to attend that pottery class Ma has been naggin' me about for the last six weeks. And," he adds, pointedly, "Maura's definitely the Giada."
"Frankie!" Jane admonishes with wide eyes. Frankie ducks his head and offers an upturned gaze towards Maura as an apology, earning an embarrassed laugh from the blonde. "And nah, no thanks," Jane says with a grimace, nursing a long drag from her beer. "Besides, he's getting all of that instruction, I got a job and a life. How am I supposed to learn to cook?"
With a slight gasp and a bright smile Maura reinserts herself into the conversation, "I can teach you, Jane," she chirps. Jane shakes her head vigorously in disapproval, but Maura's smile is unrelenting, she knows she will win. "Please, Jane?" Another shake of dark brown curls. She is pouting now, gliding slowly across the kitchen floor to rest smooth palms on the detective's lean shoulders, "I didn't have siblings growing up," she begins, ignoring the exaggerated eye-roll she receives from Jane. "No one has ever included me in a challenge like this. Please? It will be fun. Educational, even."
Jane sighs, wondering how the woman who cannot lie has managed to become so very skilled in the art of manipulation. "Fine. One cook-off, four dishes each and we'll get Korsak and those guys to judge so that it's an even match, alright?" Behind her Maura squeals, clapping her hands together offering Jane a quick hug around the neck as a 'thank you.'
"You think eight weeks is enough time for you to graduate from Hot Pockets?" Tommy teases. Jane returns the comment with a sarcastic smile and another swig of beer. In a distant room a clock chimes bringing the group back to the moment.
"Ah, shoot," Frankie breathes with a roll of his neck, "Ma's gonna flip. You two can work the specifics out later. C'mon, Tommy, we were supposed to be out there helpin' 'er moves those boxes. We'll be right back." Ushering his brother to the door, he shouts, "Don't start the game without us, Janie, I got it saved on the TV!"
"At Maura's house," she whines, "c'mon Frankie, you got your own queue to fill up with our crap." A low chuckle brings her attention back to the blonde standing beside her. "This'll be good for Tommy." A pause. "Hey, you think I have a shot?" Jane asks with a smile, ducking her head to meet Maura's quickly averted gaze.
A grimace.
"Come on, Maur!" she rasps.
"Your cooking is terrible," Maura squeaks, a deep flush already rising up her neck.
"From you, too? Cuts like a knife," Jane teases, taking a swig from her beer and landing a playful punch on the doctor's arm as she saunters towards the couch. "Good thing I have an excellent mentor," she calls over her shoulder, giving Maura a wink that sends a shiver down the medical examiner's spine.
Later that night, a moment of self-reflection will reveal that perhaps Maura's eagerness to participate has less to do with rewriting events of a strangled childhood, and significantly more to do with the prospect of having Jane in her kitchen more often. Either way, Maura cannot wait to begin.