'Did you ever love me? Did you ever care for me at all? Or was it all just a cruel joke?'
Those were three of the last sentences she ever uttered to me. Three of the shortest she's probably said since before she could talk. Actually, sometimes, even now, I wonder what she was like as a baby, as a child. Sure, she told me little things, like how the other kids would chant 'Maura-The-Bore-A,' at her, and I know for a fine fact her so called 'parents' were barely more than whispers in the wind, blowing in and out of her life as and when it suited their extravagant lifestyle, but I suppose what I really wish is that I could have been there. For all those lunch hours spent alone in the library, for every tear she had to hurriedly wipe away before anyone saw, for the cold nights she had to put herself to bed and fall asleep without even a simple kiss on the cheek goodnight.
We ended up outside the night I said goodbye. It was dark. It was so dark that if I dared to turn round and break eye contact with her, the only light would be that of the moon. In fact, the moon was shining down strongly that particular night. Maybe it felt like it had to, seeing as the darkness desired to prevail against it. So it beamed down and kept the darkness at bay as much as it could. I respected that. She was standing above me, in the doorway, bathing in the ethereal glow of the porch light. I felt like I was on stage, performing. Perhaps, in a sense, I was. Only this performance was one that could never end, this performance had no curtain call.
Maura was above me in every sense of the word, literally, metaphorically, spiritually. Maura Isles is on a whole other level compared to Jane Rizzoli, everyone knew that. I drink cheap beer; she drinks hundred year old expensive wines. I rotate between wearing the same ten shirts to work and she has a seemingly endless supply of beautiful, tasteful clothes. Somehow, god knows why, we gravitated towards one another. Two lost souls stumbling around in the dark with no moon to guide them. We found each other and became attached, so much so that, often, I forgot where my being ended and hers began.
Maybe our shared dependence upon one another transformed into our ultimate undoing, for if it wasn't for the way we were so inexplicably intertwined, mind, body, heart and soul, we probably wouldn't have ended up this way. It took time for our relationship to finally blossom into what I left behind. Time, patience, a lot of agony, but we got there eventually. After years of telling ourselves that whatever we might feel underneath, past the love we assuredly did have for Ian and Casey respectively, couldn't possibly mean anything, could never become something more. Ours was a different love, one that was more of a disease than anything else, and I know that isn't the most romantic of descriptions, but Maura's the wordsmith, not me, so it'll have to do.
It was rooted in our very foundations, we each burrowed through the other's defences without it ever being addressed, without ever really bothering to consider the repercussions further down the line. And it started to eat us from the inside out.
It started with arguments and jealousy. I couldn't help but instantly hate every possible suitor she lined up in front of me for my honourable inspection as her best friend. 'Isn't he handsome Jane? Isn't he such a gentleman Jane? Isn't he so interesting and knowledgeable Jane?' No, no, and a resounding no. And Maura? Well her disdain wasn't as plain to the naked eye. She couldn't help but try and smother her own implausible disgust for any man that came into my life and stayed for longer than usual, namely, Dean and Casey.
It bubbled just beneath the surface for years, until it slowly started to push its way into our lives. Arguments occurred, words were said and immediately regretted, and we pushed each other away, too terrified to lose our precious friendship over something that shouldn't happen between best friends. After that god awful day in the warehouse when I shot her sperm donor father, Paddy Doyle, and the consequent months of hell and hatred, I convinced myself nothing could be worse than that. But I was wrong. At least we had a concrete, unavoidable reason to be angry after that day. The weeks of cutting remarks, passive aggressiveness, backhanded comments and subtle sniping that seemed to go hand in hand with the aftermath of Casey's injury and operation was something that neither of us could control. We became strangers. Familiar, professional strangers.
In all the daydreams I would find myself indulging in a little too often, not once did I ever imagine our first kiss being born out of rage and frustration. Some punk ass kid got friendly with his fists and I refused point blank to go anywhere near a hospital, so Frost drove me to Maura's. One cold, pissy look from her and I lost it. We argued for over an hour before we both calmed down enough for her to treat my facial wounds. That moment changed everything. We were both white faced with fury, there was still blood clotted in my nose and mouth, but when her eyes drew level with mine I recognised myself inside them.
I recognized the sight of another woman who was tired of hiding her true feelings with superficial relationships, who was tired of fighting, and who was slowly drowning. And I'd like to say it was a deep, loving, sentimental moment where time stood still and choirs of angels burst into song inside my head… But I'd be lying. There was blood in my mouth and it hurt when she pressed her lips ferociously against mine, and it was badly angled so teeth clashed and noses bumped, but to us, it was pretty much perfect. It was relief mixed with desperation, it was rage weaving itself into forgiveness, and it was love and passion finally, after too long, breaking free.
It wasn't all plain sailing after our first kiss. We had to build our relationship, which had suffered so much, back up again. It didn't take as long as I had feared, thank god. But it took a hell of a lot longer for everyone to accept us as a couple. It was difficult at work. I damn near got myself suspended after that prick Crow made a vile comment about Maura and I decked him with one punch. Cavanaugh was furious with us both. I had my ass planted on desk duty for a solid month. Tommy, who I suspect still had feelings for Maura at that point, didn't take it well when he first heard. Frankie was shocked, but as always, he came through for us quickly. Frost and Korsak barely batted an eyelid. In fact, I'm pretty sure when we told them, they high fived as we left the room. Ma... Well, it can't be easy for a Catholic woman to suddenly have to amend her beliefs so late in life. She managed it, and she grew to be so incredibly happy for us, but it took time. Pops appeared on the scene out of the blue one day, and when I told him, he just looked at me; all disappointed, and said 'Oh Janie.' I guess it hurt, but by that point I was beyond caring what anyone else thought of us. Maura made me so happy I could hardly contain myself. And let's face it, the advice and opinion of a man who fucked off with a woman half his age, and with about as much sense as Jo, aren't exactly what I would call valid.
I had everything planned for that night. What to do and say and when to do and say it. Frost and I went over the story about a hundred times, drilling it into his brain almost as much as mine. For the plan to work, it had to be one heckuva convincing story, and luckily, Frost was good at creating that sort of thing. When my mind went blank and I panicked, fretting that I would never be convincing enough, that Maura would see through my act and presenting it to the wider public would be fruitless, he fed me lines. I guess he was sort of my prompt, you know those people who sit in the wings by the stage and help out the actors when they forget their words? That was Frost. I definitely owe him, not just for being my prompt, but for being my only confidant during that time. Not that it's likely I'll ever get the opportunity to repay that debt. We forged a plausible tale, one that even I found myself believing now and then, when the lines of reality and fantasy blurred.
We considered a great many things before deciding on the story that has now become my life. We tossed around the idea of faking my death, but that was soon deemed too far fetched and impractical. Anyway, if Maura had her way she would have insisted on an autopsy, just to check for herself it was me lying in some cooler. She would want to see my heart lying still inside my chest before she truly believed I was gone. We thought about simply staging a disappearance. That one night, I go out for a run and just… Never come home. Again, we had to dismiss that. It would gain far too much attention and news coverage. Our colleagues would want to look for me, of course they would. It would start a goddamn frenzy, imagine my Ma! God almighty I don't even want to think about it. Frankie and the team would knock on every door and pound every sidewalk looking for information, looking for me. We couldn't risk them exposing what was really happening.
We couldn't risk anyone finding out why I really had to leave. No, it soon became clear that the only way I could leave, and not have anyone come after me, was to turn myself into a pariah. Maura had to hate me, my family had to at least be disgusted and angry with my actions, and leaving had to make me a coward. That way, nobody else would be at risk, and my story would remain infallible.
I sound like fucking batman or something don't I? "The hero Gotham deserves but not the one that it needs," or some bullshit. Being alone for all this time does things to your mind, I can vouch for that.
I didn't have a choice. You have to trust me on that one. If there was any other way, if there was even the slightest chance that something else might have worked, I would have given anything to stay. But in order to protect her, I had to leave. I had to turn my back on her and disappear. For the only way I could ever ensure that Maura Isles didn't come after me, didn't come running into the dark at my back just like she's always done, didn't hunt my sorry ass down to the ends of this very earth… Was to make her believe I no longer loved her. And not only that, but to convince her my feelings had always been questionable at best, and that she had amplified them herself.
It is cruel.
It is vile.
I hate myself every day for what I've done.
And in the eleven months, fifteen days and nine hours since I left her standing on her porch alone in the darkness, I haven't touched, never mind glanced at, another human being in a romantic sense. For me, it was always Maura, and it will always be Maura.
At least inside my head I can still love her.
I spend my waking and resting hours in a state of constant high alert. I may have left Boston, but the threat hasn't left me. The people who want me dead won't just stop because I'm no longer around. They're powerful and ruthless. A dangerous combination. To silence me, they were willing to go through Maura and my entire family.
That's why I had to go. I had to lure them away from everyone I love. But they'll probably always be one step behind me. That's why I never stay in one place too long. I'm always on the move, from one shitty motel, rented apartment, tiny rooms with barely passable utilities, onto the next. I work odd jobs to make just enough cash to survive. Having a plumber for a Father finally came in handy.
The sensation of being observed, like a specimen under Maura's microscope, and being hunted like some weak animal, never dissipates.
It hangs loosely around my neck. A noose waiting to tighten at any moment.
When I look in the mirror on the rare occasions there happens to be one wherever I'm staying, I scarcely recognize the woman gazing back at me.
I look haunted. I look jaded. I look old.
Detective Jane Rizzoli is but a distant memory. A shadow in the past. My name is Clare Evans now.
And I am the hunted.
A/N: This was intended to just be a little something to give me a break from my other story, 'Where's Jane,' but I got carried away a bit. I might actually have to continue it now, well of course if you guys like it that is. Reviews/suggestions/comments/criticism welcome as always.