Don't own them. Just playing, will put them back when I finished. The story however is mine.
One shot. Maura. P.o.v.
AU. kinda of. Time line end of forth series.
Enjoy.
Rain.
It's not the raised edge of skin, or the exposed muscle beneath, that stays her hand. Nor is it the obvious evidence now revealed, that indeed this case is a homicide, that gives her pause. Yet she's stopped, the scalpel frozen in movement, purpose redundant. She tries to focus, breathing in, but the air's inhale is filled with death and decay, suddenly to raw on her senses.
She stiffens, fingers tightening around the silver instrument. Head turning without her permission, to look up and over to the row of windows lining the top of her lab. It is the rain, the sound of drops hitting the glass, a tempo repeating, growing in strength as the down pour outside escalates. This has broken into her concentration, intruded into her work, her world, her mind, made her stop. She draws in air again, trying to blink away the distraction. But she can't, something is being drawn, like a leech has attached to memory cells and is sucking them to the surface.
''I can't... I'm sorry.''
She blinks, straightening up, breaking the stuttered image, dispelling that voice, that moment. Hand shaking slightly, she carefully focuses on stepping back, her movements are strained. Placing the scalpel down onto the tray, heavier than she anticipated, the ding of metal on metal echoing, showing she hasn't the control she thought she had. She exhales, focusing on turning off the recorder, on reaching to pull the white linen sheet up over the victim, covering him, unable to continue with the autopsy. Another step back, has her pulling off the blue gloves, annoyance making her grab and tug the remaining rubber from her left hand, ripping latex free with a snap. The protective goggles removed in a rush and tossed totally out of character, haphazardly onto the work top.
The rain above increases, thumping sounds, like a pulse of blood in her veins. Her eyes close, swallowing as her throat tightens.
''Maura... please... please don't hate me.''
Eyes snap open, she turns, moves fast, as if the act of distancing from the windows will stop this, stop this cascade. She walks purposely towards her office, heels tapping out her tattooed retreat. Only halting once she is inside, slamming the door hard, leaning back against the wood, willing her body weight to be a stronger barricade to the assaulting sound of rain.
''I'm going... going to say, yes.''
She's growling, annoyed, angry, angry at herself that she cannot control this! She's worked so hard, put it away, dealt with it. But right now, three months, thirteen days of controlling, defences are being ripped to nothing. She'd rebuilt all those walls, withdrawn to how she used to be... alone, emotionless, protected. Now all because of a weather phenomenon, a natural occurrence, she's being pulled back, dragged down. She battles it, reciting Newton's Laws. Wanting the calm of science, her true companion, her true friend. But still it ripples, the third law vibrating in her mind, sticking like an old gramophone record...repeating... Actioni contrariam semper et æqualem esse reactionem: sive corporum duorum actiones in se mutuo semper esse æquales et in partes contrarias dirigi... To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction: or the forces of two bodies on each other are always equal and are directed in opposite directions.
Her hands go into her hair, fingers cupping her skull, as if the act will still the words... but they don't. Opposite directions - that was her, thrown into oblivion by the force of another. She had thought it was equal, they were equal, one thought, one mind, on the same course. But she'd been wrong, oh so very very wrong.
She can't focus, she can't tear her mind away from it's own destruction, the dominoes are falling, tilting, each one toppling the other to the inevitable. She's shaking, muscles tensing, releasing, nerve endings sending distress. Her heart rate has increased, blood pressure elevated, whispers of adrenalin are scratching her insides raw. She closes her eyes, inhaling, exhaling, trying to regain control. Logic waging a war against the emotions. Logic won't win, she knows this, logic is never triumphant, over inbuilt responses to an emotional breakdown.
Her arms drop, curling hands into fists, fingers seek shelter in her palm. But still she can hear it, still she can feel the vibration against her ear drum, sending signals like Morse code to her brain, S.O.S rip apart her resolve. She isn't here in the lab any more, she's back there.
The car, the storm, the lightning electrifying the world to a point of beginnings and endings.
''I'm going... going to say, yes.''
The words echo... leaving behind a silence that doesn't even hold the sound of breathing, as if each of them are holding it in, lodged somewhere under erratic hearts, stuck. Silence so loud it hurts, everything hurts. All Maura can do is stare, mouth opening and closing. She has no words to voice, because if she does it will the truth inside... But Jane is going to marry him. It was wrong, so wrong. Panic is lacing through her, weaving pin pricks of reality, she is going to lose, lose Jane. If she doesn't tell, if she doesn't let it out, Jane is going to go, leave. She can't, she can't lose her.
''Please don't... Jane, please, you can't.''
Jane's head jerks up, shock evident, irises cobalt, tracing gaze across her, Maura swears she can feel it.
''Why?'' is asked.
Now, Maura has to do it now, give the answer, give the truth. ''I'm in love with you...'' the words a whisper, the confession a prayer, they pull from her like a knife slicing, the emotion of love choking.
Jane is still staring, silent. But Maura sees the spark of light that fills dark eyes, an expanding aura ring. Hears the way breathing stutters. The reaction sets Maura on fire. It burns for a different reason when Jane looks down, breaking from her, the moment slipping away. No no no no...
But the turmoil of the act is evident, Jane's hands are wringing together, nervous motion against scars. Maura doesn't wait for thought, it's instinct. She reaches across, grabbing the hands, stilling them. Jane eye's shoot up, locking. Time doesn't exist, everything is there on view. Maura sees, and it's glorious. She moves fast, a hand to a neck, pulling forward, ignoring the resistance that doesn't last long, bending Jane forward. Foreheads touch, breaths exchange. Lips meet... Maura isn't sure who instigated it, but, Oh god, she is home. Finally, finally she tastes; Coffee, peppermint and uniquely Jane. Everything loses focus, consuming, starving, taking. She can't stop the sound that rumbles outward, as mouths open, tongues caress, they dance.
The lightning outside, pales in comparison to the electricity streaking through her body. She is a live wire, no earth to bind too. She is Frankenstein's monster awakening from death, blood pumping, muscles contracting, synapses firing, life returning. She curls her tongue, touching teeth and ridges, taste buds registering bitter and sweet... oh so sweet. Getting lost in the sensory overload as Jane's tongue mimics, swirling. She shifts forward, grabbing anything to anchor too. Wanting to fall deeper, to give over to the first meeting of skin. Nails rake her back, the silk of blouse doing nothing to mute the feeling, it sends shock waves to her core. She rocks, legs parting, connecting to a muscled thigh, grinding. The moan Jane releases, vibrates everything into fire... Fingers grip, search, glide, touch. Maura is blind and Jane is Braille.
Suddenly there is space and air. Hands encompass her wrists, a vice. Tugging, breaking her grip, shoving her away. She stumbles back, chest heaving. Mind blank, lost in the haze, stuttering to reboot. Finally it returns enough to focus, to see. Jane, Jane's face, tears covering skin, pain rippling over every pore, eyes avoiding, head shaking.
''I can't... I can't... I'm sorry. Maura, please... please, don't hate me.''
Jane releases her. The car door opens, cold air blasts. The door slam makes her jump, reality screaming... Jane is gone.
Maura's world breaks, she breaks. The gods must hear it, feel it, Zeus's thunderbolt crashes. Thor's hammer flashes. The heavens open, weeping a torrent of rain onto the wind screen, Oden's maidens wail...
She sits, inert, staring, staring into nothing, unable to do anything, but breath through the storm.
The bang of thunder, makes her jolt, breaking her from the past. Another so intense, rumbles the foundations and stutters the lights above, flickering the masks on the wall into macabre watchers. Her hand is at her mouth, sealing the sob, holding it hostage, not letting it out, she can't... she can't do this again. Her body shakes harder with the act of forced silence. Her eyelids flutter, leaving a moment, no more than a second for Lachrymose to appear and reap his sorrow. She'd forgotten, how had she forgotten the agony of it? Her knees don't want any part of this, they release their burden, her weight, the cross on her shoulders pushing her down, down... She crumbles. Breathing now is a gift not bestowed, she has to fight for every inhale and exhale as the the pain and agony consume and break free. It rages, the sorrow, the loss, the rejection.
She weeps, sucking in air, beginning to think it will never end. But it does, it ebbs, the last of it leaving her weak, broken again. She just sits, hunched, legs drawn up, chin resting on her knees. She feels like a child, watching as others mock, walk by and never stop to touch. It shudders through her, the remembrance of loss, of neglect. But she'd over come it, became who she wanted to be. She is better than this, she is stronger than this. She's survived heart ache before. She will do it again. She breathes, letting the action sooth, expanding diaphragm, ribs, slow, deep.
The memory now is not as sharp, not as brutal. Jane... Maura had felt it, seen it. Jane had responded, her eyes and body couldn't hide the fact of her arousal, want, wanting Maura. But it was Jane's mind, Jane's will that had won, withdrawing, chose him, not her. Maura had begged, gone to Jane the next day, begged like a pitiful fool, lowered herself to a place that made her hate herself, hate Jane. The second rejection was just as brutal for them both... Maura had walked away finally accepting no matter what the evidence, Jane was not going to back down, to give in to it. Maura distanced, reinforced her will, remade what was left. Their professional meetings were painful, stunted, robotic. The toll on both of them on view to all. Now they were just an M.E and a Detective, no semblance of what they used to be remained.
Gathering herself, she wipes a palm across her face, pushing hair back into place as she rises, a phoenix from the flames. Methodically moving to her desk, to sit. Grabbing at tissues to clean her face, not caring about make up and how she must look. She sniffs, ignoring the urge to run, to hide. Recomposing, shifting the plates of armour back into the place. She stares down at her hands, extending each finger until the shaking subsides. Breathing deeply, she shifts, tilting her head back until she is staring at the white of the ceiling. Eyes closing, straining to listen, to listen for the rain. But it's gone, the storm has passed.
Her spine straightens, her eyes dip as she opens the drawer, removing the small bag. Mind is focused as she pulls free the small mirror, staring at the reflected face, she doesn't recognise it. Quickly she begins the routine; reapplying mascara, eye-liner, dusting a light foundation, finally a kiss of lipstick. The image now looking back she knows, her mask is in place. She clicks the bag shut, replacing it in the drawer. Rising, she smooths down the black scrubs, walking swiftly, now her heels tap a tattooed advance. She doesn't pause on opening the door. She steps into her domain.
When she removes the sheet, her hands are steady. As she pulls on fresh gloves, there is no hesitation. When she restarts the recorder and speaks, her voice shows no evidence of what has just transpired. As she slices through arteries, and cups the heart, removing it to place on the scales, there is nothing there at all to show hers is broken.
Because now, now there is no Maura Isles, there is only the Queen of the dead and the dead can't hear the rain.
...Fin...
A/N
As always thank you for reviews, and taking the time to read. All guests and lurkers, I thank you too. Don't be so shy, I don't bite... much. :P