A/N: Ok so, this is my first ever (and also possibly my last ever) attempt at a Rizzles fic. I only reccently came to know of the shows existence and ever since I have been completely enamoured with these girls (Angie Harmon in particular ;-) ) This is just a little drabble that popped into my head that I felt like sharing!
Please let me know if you liked it...or if it was utter crap...you can tell me that too I won't be mad lol
Enjoy!
You look in the mirror and think you look like shit. Most of your thick, black hair has fallen out of the ponytail you tied it in before going to bed and is now sticking out in all directions and on your cheek is the faint imprint of a wrinkle in your pillowcase you slept on. You gaze wanders in the mirror to the woman still slumbering in your bed. Even in sleep, which usually turns everyone into a wild splay of limbs and hair, she looks perfect, pristine. You can't help but notice the difference even extends to your choice of sleeping attire; you wearing your shorts and a tank top while she much prefers silk pyjama sets or negligees.
You look back to yourself in the mirror, to the dark circles under your eyes. Painted there by years of nightmares and what Maura refers to as terrible sleep hygiene. She has a point, before she became a feature in your bed you most often ended up passing out on the couch while reviewing cases. You've come to view the dark circles as a permanent feature of your face. It doesn't bother you, you never were particularly concerned with your appearance, Maura often pointed out how your shirts and jackets never quite matched, but stuff like that just doesn't really matter to you. It does make you wonder though, about what that perfect, pristine and always immaculately dressed (even for bed) woman sharing you bed is doing with you. With someone so...unpolished.
It's not as if the differences end there, if anything they extend much further. You're hot headed and stubborn as a mule while she is much more composed and practical. She always thinks of things logically while you're too busy letting your emotions carry you away. That's why your mouth has always run three sentences ahead of your brain while she's still thinking of the most accurate way to phrase things.
At work too, your approaches are so different that you have often wondered how you managed to become friends in the first place. You let your mind race forwards, making educated guesses and coming up with theories in the hope that one of them will end up right. She frowns on such practises and would never dream of stating something unless she was absolutely sure of it. It had been the only source of friction in your working relationship.
The more you think about it the more differences you see. She is totally girlie. Her hobbies are shopping and she loves ballet and the theatre. You, on the other hand, are ever the tomboy. You can't stand shopping (to the point where you pretty much let her fill your wardrobe for you) and you'd much rather be at a baseball game than at some stuffy theatre. She also has this impossible amount of tolerance for your mother that you can't even begin to fathom.
She stirs in her sleep behind you and you turn to look at her full on. Completely in awe that this wonderful woman has seen fit to chose you as her mate; you don't think you'll ever lose that feeling either, you've accepted the fact that you're probably always going to be in awe of her.
Careful not to wake her before she has completed her full sleep cycle (you know better than that by now) you rejoin her in your bed and softly tuck and errant strand of hair behind her ear. It hits you all over again how much you love her. How the love you feel for her seems to take up your entire being sometimes. The guys at the precinct like to give you crap about how badass, tough as old boots Rizzoli has been softened by the Queen of the Dead. Though you would never admit it, you know they're at least half right. You also know you don't care. Loving her, having her in your life is well worth losing a little piece of your rep.
All the differences, and the few similarities that are there too, don't really matter. At the end of the day, or the start of it as is more correct, you just thank your lucky stars that you found each other. You smile down upon your sleeping girlfriend as you pull the covers back over yourself knowing that she loves you just the way you are. Unpolished.