The first video Jane received made her vomit. After the second, she hit a brick wall hard enough to break two bones in her knuckle and nearly dislocate her shoulder. By the third video, Jane Rizzoli was no more numb to what she was watching than in the previous two. This time she gritted her teeth, dug fingernails already bitten to the quick into her palms, and vowed she would not sleep until she personally delivered into justice the person who was torturing one of the people in her world who mattered to her the very most.
Jane Rizzoli had always felt driven, even as a child, to fight for the underdog, to protect the weak and fight for justice for those who were harmed or taken advantage of. As a police officer, her need to save lives, even at the expense of her own, sometimes drove her into recklessness or even self destruction. When it came to citizens she had vowed to serve, she gladly put herself at risk if it might keep them out of it.
But when it came to those she loved, and especially when it came to Dr. Maura Isles…watching her suffer and knowing she could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to prevent it, that it was guaranteed to continue until she could put a stop to it, was enough to make Jane think that she was beginning to truly understand how it might feel to go insane.
The videos were not easily traceable. They were not sent by email or phone or any other more modern method, but rather in simple padded envelopes with no return address or postage, most likely dropped off for their receiver in person. The videos had been made by an older camera and were recorded in VHS format, no fingerprints found on either envelopes or VHS cassettes, and the very first of them was lying in the doorway of Jane's apartment, her name written in bold capital letters across the envelope's surface.
With the first video, Jane had only been mildly curious as to its contents. Truth be told, she had kicked it inside the door to look at later and headed on her way to work without a second thought. It still hadn't occurred to her to wonder about the video later, when Maura was very uncharacteristically not at work without having called in first to give notice. Even after several concerned, increasingly frantic phone calls and texts, all which Maura did not respond to, Jane made no connection to the package at her door.
Even now, she was angry with herself for what she viewed as neglectful behavior. Had she opened the package immediately, no matter how late for work it made her, had she viewed the strange circumstances of its existence and watched the video right away, how much more quickly would she have realized the dire nature of Maura's absence? How much sooner could Maura have been found, and how much less suffering could she have endured?
It was in Jane's estimation, when she later repeatedly bludgeoned herself with this knowledge, that it took her at least seven hours from the time she received the video to actually retrieve it and watch it- and this occurred only after she had stopped by in person to check on Maura's home. To Jane, this seven hours of not knowing were inexcusable, a betrayal against her friend she could never repay.
After the first video, security had been set up around Jane's apartment, not only for Jane's protection, in spite of her protests, but in an effort to catch any further efforts from Maura's captor at communication. The sixteen hours in between Jane viewing the first and second videos were agonizing. She refused to sleep, to eat, to drink anything but cups of coffee to fuel her already wired body to push through, to work the case enough to find something, anything that could help to get Maura back.
But the worst of it was the dark possibility swirling through her thoughts- that what if her efforts were too late, and Maura were already gone?
The second video was almost a relief, in that it confirmed that two hours before, according to the time displayed across the video's screen, Maura had been alive. But Maura being alive was the only positive aspect of its contents.
In the first video, Maura had simply been somewhat disheveled, though fully clothed, a few bruises and one bloody abrasion marring her face and arms. She had been unconscious but clearly alive, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and her limbs had been left free. It wasn't until the video's end, when she was awakened with a sharp blow just before the screen cut off, that there was any sort of violence shown on screen.
The second video was different. It opened with a close up on Maura's face, her eyes wide, pupils dilated, but she was looking not at the camera, but rather at the sharp blade of the knife against her throat. The person holding it wore all black, its face covered with a dark ski mask, but it appeared masculine in shape and size. When the person stepped back, moving behind the camera and panning out its lens, it revealed Maura to be tied with thick rope at the legs and arms, her skin already rubbed raw and chafing from their friction. But the worst of it to Jane was the fact that Maura was now entirely undressed, bare and exposed to the camera's lens.
The camera zoomed in on her chest, heaving with her sharp, terrified breaths, on the quick pulse at the hollow of her throat. It panned down the length of her body, lingering over her breasts and at the crevice between her legs, and with this slow reveal, just before cutting off, it was made obvious that fresh, still bleeding cuts now marked the pale skin of her thighs and hips.
The second video had driven Jane into a rage that was nearly blinding, almost as powerful as her agony at Maura's pain. To know that someone had laid his hands on her, that he had touched her bare skin, had taken a knife and cut into it, marking it forever, was so unthinkably vile she could not keep from lashing out, even against something as unresponsive as a solid wall and her own skin. She could not have thought she could feel stronger emotions and still survive, but she hadn't yet watched video three.
The last video was somehow slipped into Angela Rizzoli's handbag without her noticing the person in action. Bemused by the package and the blank video cassette suddenly in her possession, she had texted her daughter about it as a casual remark, in between questions about the progress in locating Maura. Recognizing the video for what it was, Jane had demanded she bring it by the station, and in spite of the strong protests coming from Korzack, she had viewed it along with the rest of the team on Maura's case.
In the last video, Maura's physical state and level of torment had clearly escalated. Her limbs still bound, her body still unclad and shuddering with shock and pain, she squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her blood-streaked cheeks. The same man was present, the knife held to her torso as he slowly, steadily cut the shape of a letter into her skin. When Maura screamed, attempting to twist her body away from the knife's blade, the man held the knife to her throat until a bead of blood broke free.
"I can cut there, or I can cut here. Your choice."
Jane knew that for the rest of her life, she would not be capable of forgetting the raw anguish in Maura's eyes as she went still, forcing her body to submit to being cut into, over and over, as the man's intended words bled out across her skin. She could never forget the hopeless sound of her efforts to suppress her sobbing, of the dullness that crept slowly into her gaze until she stopped crying entirely. But most of all she could not forget the way the man had turned away, facing the camera as he spoke quietly but clearly, a message for Jane alone.
"This is for you, you know. This is all for you."
And as he spoke, the words cut into Maura's stomach could be read for the first time- an admonition of Jane's failure to that point.
"So slow."
The contrast in the video between the horrific actions of filmmaker and the utter normalcy of the background that they occurred in made them all the more harrowing to observe. Maura was being held in what appeared to be a bedroom, perhaps one intended for a guest in a middle class home. The room had no windows but was nevertheless cheerful in appearance, with sunny yellow walls, shelves lined with porcelain figures and knick-knacks, and bland but tasteful reproduction paintings on the walls, each professionally framed. The room appeared feminine in nature, and Jane speculated until her head ached about what sort of home it might belong to, about the person or people who lived there. Or was the house vacant, the abductor taking advantage of its emptiness for his crimes? Had the owners been killed or otherwise disposed with for him to utilize their living space?
It was Korzack who had eventually been clear-headed enough to notice, just at the edge of the frame, the framed photograph resting on the knick-knack-covered shelf. With the right computer program, they were able to zoom in on the video frame enough to see the face of a white woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties. Facial recognition programming had identified her as Grace Farmer, who had been arrested and found guilty of second degree murder of her teenaged lover some seven years ago.
It wasn't until she was identified that Jane remembered her, one of her earlier cases, and the details behind it. The victim, fifteen-year-old Darren Pitts, had been found stabbed in his own bedroom, naked on his bed. The parents and an older friend of Darren had been the main suspects, but Jane's efforts had eventually found the evidence needed to discover his relationship with Grace, his friend Alden Farmer's mother, as well as her identity as his killer.
Prison records revealed that Grace Farmer had been killed in a prison dispute the year before, so it was not plausible that she had anything to do with Maura's abduction. But her son Alden Farmer was now just under 22 years old, a legal adult and perhaps quite upset over his mother's imprisonment and death.
It was a big lead, giving them a prime suspect with a motive to work with. Further online research had yielded other very useful information- most damningly, Alden's online journal, which he had not bothered to make private or put under a pseudonym. As Jane had read through the mostly incoherent rambling of his most recent posts, she quickly formed the impression of a young man who was in a rage at the world and what he saw as the cruelties committed against him. He didn't bother to hide his rage or to keep from naming names; the last post clearly stated his blame for the "crooked pigs" involved in his mother's case, specifically, Jane Rizzoli. She, beyond all others, he saw as responsible for his mother's death, and in his last entry, he vowed to "make her pay" by "showing her how it feels to lose what matters most."
It didn't take a psychology degree to know what he was referring to. Maura. Somehow, he had determined that for Jane, Maura was what mattered most.
At the time of his mother's imprisonment, Alden Farmer had been put into the guardianship of his grandmother. Her death six months ago had left him to inherit the home in which she had raised him. Within fifteen minutes of piecing this together, the team on working on Maura's case had located the address of the inherited property and set forth with a warrant to search it. It was more than likely, Jane believed, and the others with her agreed, that this was the location of the room in which Maura was being held.
Seven officers in all were called to take part in the siege to subdue and capture Alden Farmer and to find and rescue Maura Isles. Had there been more available, Jane would have wanted them involved as well. There couldn't be enough priority placed on bringing her home, nor enough back up to make sure that it would happen.
All participating had been advised that Alden Farmer was likely armed and dangerous, and the team had been given leave to shoot to kill if need be. Jane had already made up her mind before the permission was granted that if she had opportunity and any reason at all to take it, she would kill Farmer, whatever the higher ups had declared. In her own mind, she had steeled herself already, not just ready, but anxious to take that shot.
When Jane's thoughts flashed back to the rescue, in spite of her best efforts to push the memories deep down, beyond her mental access, it seemed to her that most of the actions taken to actually break into the Farmer house were nothing but a blur. She didn't remember the drive over at top speed, sirens turned off in an effort to keep Alden Farmer from being aware of their approaching presence. She didn't remember barking out the warning of police presence at the doorway, nor advising all inhabitants to open the doorway or have it broken down. She didn't remember Frost and Frankie working together to do as they had forewarned, nor the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through her, mingled sickeningly with her fear for what might lie ahead for her to see.
Alden Farmer too, was a barely noted presence in her memories. She had not been the first to spot him, coming towards Frankie from a side doorway in an aggressive lunge, one hand clutched around a kitchen knife as though preparing to stab or slash out at him. She was not the one who barked out a final warning, nor was she the first to shoot, but she did know that forensics showed her gun had been fired, and she was one of the two who had got in shots at him. All of this was unreal to her, then and afterward, Farmer's crumpled body on the floor hardly more meaningful than that of a fallen mannequin, in spite of the blood soaking through his thin shirt. What registered to her most deeply then was the still unresolved question of Maura's location, but more importantly, her present state of being. Maura was all that was real to her. Maura was all that mattered.
She could never forget, could never fade or blur or push away the vivid memory of calling Maura's name, of hearing her weak, barely audible response to her. The rush of relief to hear that familiar, beloved voice, to have knowledge at last of Maura's continued survival, was quickly dashed aside when she lay eyes on her.
It had taken a few more minutes for Jane and Frankie to force open the door of Maura's makeshift prison as Frost, Korzack, and the others present focused on making sure the rest of the home was clear of any other possible perpetrators or victims in need of their immediate attention. As they worked on it, Frankie grunted and swore occasionally, calling out to Maura occasional assurances that they were coming, that she was going to be all right. Jane couldn't do the same. Her pulse had risen into her throat, making it impossible to form words.
Jane heard Frankie's sharp intake of breath when the lock gave way. She saw him go rigid with shock, his features freezing up as he saw Maura in person for the first time since her disappearance, 63 hours before. She remembered dimly hearing him speak in a choked tone, making no move forward, not at first.
"Maura…oh jesus, Maura…"
Time seemed to stand still, in those first moments, each second trickling by at torturously exaggerated length. Jane's legs felt leaden and without strength as she staggered forward, eyes wide, hands automatically reaching out. To hug Maura? To help her, or pull her away? Even thinking back, she didn't know. She only knew she needed to go to her, to touch her, to somehow replace with her presence the previous horrific attentions Maura had received.
Jane had seen Maura in many moods and states of being over the past few years, both as a coworker and as a friend. She had seen her silly and angry, anxious and confident, fearful and determined, sad and guilty, drunk and sober, and in all the stages in between. She had thought that when it came to Maura, she had seen and was familiar with just about everything there was for her to know. But she had never seen Maura undressed and bleeding, shaking with terror and shock, her eyes wide and red with broken blood vessels from weeping in pain. She had never seen her entire face seem to crack and break apart at the sight of Jane and Frankie standing near, had never heard her say her own name in a voice that Jane would not have recognized as Maura's, had she not watched it emerge from Maura's mouth.
She had seen Maura hurting and sad, grieving and in pain. But she had never seen Maura looking so utterly broken.
Jane had finally called out to Maura in a hoarse whisper as she continued to stumble forward. She didn't hesitate to begin working unknotting the ropes around her. To hell with any evidence she was destroying in her touch. The fucker who had done this was dead, and there would be no trial or prison sentencing to be concerned with. When Frankie regained some of his composure, calling out to the other officers that Maura had been located and was safe, Jane almost snapped out at him at his choice of words. How could he say that she was safe, when her entire body was streaked with blood and scarring wounds? How could he call her safe, when she would always carry with her the physical and emotional marks of what had been done to her?
What she didn't realize then was that Jane, too, was not safe, at least at her emotional core. How could she be, when Maura was not okay?
Even so, despite the clear evidence of otherwise right in front of her face, Jane tried to tell her this was so as she worked on the knotted ropes, her voice high and uneven to her own ears.
"You're going to be okay, sweetie, you're going to be okay. It's all okay now, baby, it's all okay."
She said that, even as she watched Maura flinch and give a short shriek of alarm when Frankie made a move towards her in a motion too sudden for her to regard as unthreatening. She said that, even as Maura cringed away from the all too male eyes that suddenly filled the room, as she did what she could to hide behind Jane, to use her as a shield from their view and possible touch. She said it, but she could speak no more when Maura, freed from her bindings, went limp on the bed, still wracked with sobs and unable to support her body enough to sit up. Jane gathered her into a cradling embrace, rocking Maura back and forth and feeling the physical and emotional fragility she now carried radiating off of her.
There could be no more words now. Only memories that seared to the heart of them all.
88
Jane awakened with a gasp threatening to burst from her throat, her body jerking in sharp response to her sudden return to consciousness. One hand pressed tight against her pounding heart, as though to keep it from breaking through the skin of her chest, she took several gulping breaths, eyes open wide as her head swiveled back and forth, looking for what her eyes had not yet adjusted enough in the darkness to see. Even before full coherency had come to her, she instinctively thought of Maura, needing to know that she was still there beside her, that she was still present and unharmed.
She didn't grasp out for her, to determine this with touch. Jane had learned the hard way how frightening it was for Maura to be awakened without warning, and touches she didn't expect were the number one way to cause her to panic. Instead she blinked until she could make out the shape of the other woman beneath the blanket, the spill of honey-blonde waves across the pale pillow beside her own.
Taking another breath in, this one of relief, Jane let her shoulders relax, deliberately refusing to acknowledge to herself the images of her nightmare still flicking through her thoughts. At least Maura was still sleeping, though it didn't seem to be very soundly. She was frowning, her breathing slightly labored, and her brow was furrowed in a way that bothered Jane to see. If she wasn't having a nightmare then, she probably would be soon. Maura never screamed or thrashed around in the bed during her dreaming, but sometimes she whimpered or shifted restlessly, and sometimes, on especially bad nights, Jane had seen her cry, even with her eyes still closed.
On those nights, Jane stroked her hair, doing her best to soothe her without scaring her awake. She did that now, letting her fingertips lightly graze Maura's cheek as she bit down on her lip, trying to force back the grief for Maura's suffering and the easily stirred up rage towards the man who had caused it. Jane kept herself still, not wanting to accidentally stir Maura awake, and continued to run her fingers through the other woman's hair, waiting for her to either fall back into easier dreams or to wake up on her own.
It was another couple of minutes, but Maura did eventually sit upright with jerky spasms of her limbs, sharp, gulping breaths escaping her lungs. Her skin felt cool to Jane's touch, but her brow and neck were sweaty, strands of her hair sticking to her forehead. She didn't speak at first, her fingers opening and closing rapidly, as though grasping out for something she couldn't reach or see as tears continued to streak down her cheeks and disappear into her neck and collar bone. Jane covered her hand with both of hers, squeezing lightly, waiting for Maura to speak first.
Eventually Maura turned her head to look at her, attempting a wry smile that was closer to a wince.
"I'm…I'm okay. I'm okay now, Jane. Thank you."
Giving Jane's hand a brief squeeze, then releasing it, Maura slid her legs over the opposite side of the bed, standing up with slightly shaky balance and stretching her arms. Jane could see her hands still shaking as she ran her fingers through her hair, then walked over to her closet, beginning to remove a dress and a scarf. Watching her with bemusement, Jane squinted, trying to figure out why exactly she needed either object at four in the morning.
"Uh, do you feel like you need to be really fancy to go back to sleep, for some reason?" she asked, some sarcasm coloring her voice. "Because you know by now I'm a pretty casual girl, no need to go all out for little old me."
Maura didn't look at her as she answered, pulling out a pair of high heels that coordinated with the color of the dress. "Well, my schedule begins at six am, and I don't suppose I will be able to have a restful sleep for only thirty more minutes before I would begin getting ready at my normal wake up time. I just thought that it would make sense to begin getting ready for the day right now, since I'm already awake."
Jane's eyebrows shot up, and she pushed back the blanket, quickly getting out of the bed herself and coming to stand behind Maura in long strides. "Hold on, wait just a minute there. Don't tell me you're actually planning on going back to work today!"
"Well, of course," Maura answered, her voice now completed calm and in control. She shut the closet door, her clothing of choice draped over one arm as she walked with small, quick steps to her dresser, beginning to select earrings and a necklace and placing them out for easier access. "I have to back eventually, and it only makes sense to begin on a Monday. The better to get back in the swing of things, you know?"
"Maura!" Jane sputtered, her tightly crossed arms flinging out to her sides as she heard her voice start to climb in pitch and volume. "It hasn't even been two weeks, you just got out of the hospital three days ago!"
"I was released from the hospital because they considered me physically healed and able of body and mind enough to be able to function in the outside world," Maura responded.
She walked into the bathroom with Jane following close behind as she began to fuss around with cosmetics and hair supplies, taking out a toothbrush but not actually beginning to brush her teeth. Jane noticed as well that Maura's eyes did not meet her reflection in the mirror; instead, she kept her face averted as she began to ready her supplies needed for a shower as well.
"Screw what the hospital release papers say, what matters is how you feel," Jane asserted. She did look at Maura's face in the mirror, and she didn't like the guarded look she saw in them. "You just had another nightmare, Maura, you're still recovering. You're not ready to just jump head first into our usual crazy schedule again, not yet."
"I am ready," Maura insisted.
She lightly pushed Jane aside with one hand, turning towards the shower. She probably would have insisted she give her privacy to undress, or else simply stripped down and jumped in, if Jane had not reached out a hand to take hold of her arm again.
"Okay, so you think you're ready. I disagree, but whatever. What if I'm not ready, then?"
Maura turned back towards her, concern coming into her voice and furrowing her brow as she eyed her in what Jane had come to see as her "diagnostic" face.
"Oh? Are you feeling unwell in some way?"
"Maura," Jane groaned, rolling her eyes, but she did release the other woman's arm. "I'm not talking about me being ready to go back to work. I'm talking about me not being ready for YOU to go back to work. Putting yourself at that kind of risk, straining yourself like that, so soon after. I'm not ready to see you go through that when you don't have to. I'm thinking about YOU, not me."
"Well, Jane, I'm thinking of you too," Maura said evenly, but Jane saw the tension in her jaw, the way her eyes averted slightly from her own. "I've had time enough, and there really is no good reason to put off any longer. There's work waiting for me, goodness knows what state the lab must be in by now. If you feel that you need time off, you've certainly had a vacation coming to you for some time now, but as for me, I'm needed elsewhere. I'm not doing anyone any good by sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, and certainly not you."
"I don't have anything to do with this," Jane started to protest. When Maura made gestures as though she were intending to walk out of the room, she took her arm again, pulling her back. "Maura, will you stop it for just a second? You know damn well that no one expects you back today-"
"I've always held myself above the standard of just meeting expectations," Maura interrupted, breathing out through her nose as she gently pulled her arm out of Jane's hand. "A person can't be extraordinary if they don't go above what's expected, Jane."
"This isn't like writing a perfect term paper, Maura, this is about your health!" Jane sputtered. As Maura's lips pressed tightly together and her face turned away, Jane pressed on. "And don't tell me that your health is "of excellent status for a woman of your age" or some doctor talk like that. You know what I'm talking about here, you know what I'm trying to say. Come on, Maura, we all know you're the smartest person in the state, if not the country, so don't play dumb with me."
Maura's head swiveled back towards her, her muscle drawing together almost as though in preparation for a fight. It crossed Jane's mind that the woman was reflecting her own stance back at her as Maura bit off her words.
"Jane, I think it's time you consider your own health. You have been with me constantly from the moment this…ever since," she faltered slightly, not wanting to directly speak of what she had been through, but recovering quickly. "You won't let me stay alone in my own house, not for a minute. You won't even let me sleep alone in my own bedroom, in my own bed. You want to tell me that I'm safe now, but everything you do just tells me that you think the opposite, even if you won't admit it to yourself. I appreciate everything you've done for me, I can't say or do anything that could repay you for any of it. But this is too much, this is…it's too much to keep asking of you, or anyone."
She paused, then repeated herself, more force to her words. "This is too much for you, Jane. You have to think of your own health as much as you do mine, because I think…I think yours is starting to suffer."
Stricken, all Jane could do at first was shake her head. It didn't matter to her, the sleepless nights, the drained energy she carried with her each day. It didn't matter that she had lost weight that didn't need to leave, that she had put off her return to work and avoided as much as possible seeing or even talking to family or friends. It didn't matter that every unidentified noise or movement made her jump, ready to fight to protect Maura from possible harm. None of it mattered, because she knew that Maura needed her, and as long as she was there, she could make sure that Maura would be safe. It was where she had failed her before, and she refused to let it happen again.
"It isn't too much for me," she said finally, her voice more hoarse than usual with the feeling in her words. "None of it, Maura. There is nothing else that I'd rather be doing. There is nowhere else I'd rather be than here, with you."
"You have your own life, Jane," Maura said gently. She didn't step towards Jane, but the way that she was looking at her was so tender Jane almost felt it like a physical caress. "You have your family and your friends-"
"The same people who are your family and friends too," Jane interrupted, but Maura went on as though she hadn't spoken.
"You have your duties, and you need to get back into doing the things you've always done, or you're only going to be dragged down by all of this in a way you don't have to be. All of this," Maura gestured towards herself vaguely, from her chest up towards her head, "It's just silliness, and I can handle it. I simply have to tell myself that my experiences and the resulting emotions and responses are due to a chemical and involuntary response that is unnecessary and illogical. Logical analysis and understanding of cause and effect will prevail. There is no need to begin provoking the same chemical changes in you by exposing you to something that is at times influential on others."
Jane blinked, trying her best to cut through the technicalities of Maura's little lecture to the meaning behind it. "Are you trying to tell me that your being obviously upset and traumatized over someone kidnapping and torturing you is…silly and illogical?!"
"No, what I'm trying to tell you is that allowing myself to continue to manifest the developing symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder in response to what happened is silly and illogical," Maura answered, and Jane noticed her blinking quickly and again skipping over actually saying aloud the terrible words of her experience. "I have studied the disorder extensively and I understand the biological and neurological causes behind it. I should therefore be able to prevent it from manifesting in myself by the use of logical reasoning. I refuse to let it happen, that would just be silly. And I certainly won't let it happen in you because I continue to expose you to such stressful and illogical behavior."
Jane could hardly believe what she was hearing. Some of what Maura was telling her was too technically voiced for her to be sure she completely understood, but she got the gist of it, enough to know that Maura was putting herself down in a major way. She was disgusted with herself for her very normal and appropriate emotions and responses to her trauma, and it seemed that she believed that a smart, strong person would be "logical" enough not to allow herself to be upset at all.
"Okay, first off, Maura, whatever the hell you feel, whatever you do right now, you are completely entitled to, because what happened to you was a terrible, evil, SICK thing that no human being should ever have to go through," Jane said heatedly, hearing her voice choke as emotion welled strongly in her chest, making the words hard to form. She pushed through it, needing Maura to hear what she had to say.
"It's not SILLINESS, or stupid, or illogical, or anything else you're telling yourself. You have damn good reason to be upset or scared or angry or anything you want to be, and don't you dare insult yourself by telling yourself otherwise. Second off, you shouldn't worry about me, but if you're gonna, and I know you will, because that's who you are, you should know that being around you doesn't make a damn bit of difference about how much I'm affected by what was done to you. I was affected the second I knew you were gone. It was the worst fucking thing that's ever happened to me, Maura, do you understand that?"
There were tears in her eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to keep them from falling as she continued to push herself on. "I'm in this with you, Maura. Every second, every step, as long as you need someone there. And that means as long as you're jumping at the ice cube maker, as long as you're waking up in tears, as long as you flinch every time anyone with a penis tries to hug you or moves too close. As long as that's still happening, Maura Isles, then I'm still here. Whether you want it or think you need it or not. You got that? 'Cause that's how it's gonna be."
Jane watched as Maura's chest rose and fell slowly with her efforts at steadying breaths. She could almost hear the inner battle of thought that the other woman was going through, the arguing voices warring in her mind, each with a different argumentative response to her. Maura blinked again, keeping her eyes closed for a moment. Jane suspected she too was forcing back tears.
"I don't do those things, Jane," Maura said finally, surely the weakest of all the arguments she was considering. Perhaps she couldn't summon the energy to provide a more logical disagreement than straight up denial. "You're exaggerating things, it really isn't all that bad."
"You do," Jane said firmly. She didn't make an attempt to touch Maura, but she did take a step closer, softening her voice. "You do, Maura. And as long as you do, I'm staying with you. I'm staying, and I'm telling you all the things you don't want to hear about what I think you need to do to take care of yourself and keep safe. It's not a burden, or a waste of my time and resources, or whatever else you're going to try to throw up as an excuse to keep me away."
Her voice lowered further, almost a plea. "Don't you get it, Maura? I'm not just doing this for you, I'm doing this for me, too. I can't ever let anything happen to you again. Not on my watch. Not ever. Do you know what it would do to me, to lose you again?"
She wasn't the sort of person who usually laid her fears and vulnerabilities bare before someone, not in actions and certainly not in words. But these were not usual circumstances, and she needed desperately to be sure that Maura could understand where she stood.
Jane expected Maura to finally break into a smile, out of relief or gratitude or maybe even amusement. But instead Maura let out a low, frustrated growl, and both hands raked harshly through her hair, fingers buried in her tresses until they appeared to be scrabbling at her scalp. She stomped her foot with each exclamation.
"Shit! Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
Jane stared, more than a little thrown by the usually calm and lady-like Maura swearing and stomping like…well, like Jane herself might have done. Heaving out a loud sigh that sounded more like a hiss, Maura rounded on her, hands abruptly dropping to her sides as she almost demanded her questions to her.
"Are you having nightmares, Jane? Trouble sleeping?'
Of course Jane was. How could she not be, when she was watching Maura sleep each night, reliving the horror of her videos each time her eyes closed?
"Sometimes," she said guardedly, not sure what Maura was driving at. "It's not a big deal."
"Getting upset when you think, talk, or are reminded of what happened? Having things suddenly make you feel like you're back in time watching it happen again?" Maura persisted, as Jane stiffened up, the question itself upsetting her.
"Why are you asking me about this, Maura?"
"Avoiding talking about it? Avoiding people who might talk about it? Avoiding work, where things might remind you about it?"
Now Jane was starting to get angry. "If this is your way of telling me to leave you alone and go to work, I already told you-"
"Feeling like it's your fault? Feeling like the entire world is dangerous and out to get us? Constantly tired or angry or irritable? Losing interest in doing the things you used to enjoy? Feeling detached from others? Not being able to be happy, having angry outbursts, exaggerated startle reflex, hypervigilance?" Maura pushed on, each word bitten off as hard as a bullet.
"Are you finished throwing tongue twisters at me?" Jane asked in a tone that even she recognized as "irritable", one hand moving to her hip.
Maura shook her head, but it didn't seem to be in answer to Jane's question so much as in disgust. Her hands running again through her hair, she continued to shake her head, as though in response to chiding only she could hear.
"Damn it, I knew it! You too, this is all my fault!"
"Maura, put me on the same page," Jane groaned, moving to stand behind her as Maura began to pace. "What are you talking about?'
"Posttraumatic stress disorder. You have all the same symptoms, I see it even if you refuse to say it. I've infected you too, Jane. I've affected your entire life, your whole damn brain, right down to the neurological level!"
There were definitely tears choking Maura's voice now, though she kept her head down, not letting Jane see her face. As she strode past her, Jane reached for her arm again, but Maura pulled back before she could grasp hold.
"Maura," Jane said softly, but Maura whirled to face her, almost screaming, even as tears made shiny trails down her cheeks.
"Do you think I didn't see the way you look at me, every time you see my cutaneous injuries? Do you think I don't hear you in the shower, sobbing and hitting your fists against the walls when you think I'm asleep? Did you think I wouldn't notice the contusions on your metacarpophalangeal joints and see your periorbital dark circles? I know that you're suffering, Jane, and I know that it's because of me!"
It had always been terrible to see Maura cry. It was worse when Jane knew that the reason for her tears had something to do with herself.
Jane bit the inside of her cheeks, trying and failing to find words that would be enough, that would be something in the direct of right. "Maura," she said softly, stepping towards her, but she stopped when Maura lifted a hand in her direction.
"You don't understand," Maura whispered, her voice choked with the tears she didn't try any longer to hold back. "I brought this on you, Jane. It's my fault."
"It is NOT your fault!" Jane countered fiercely.
Ignoring Maura's effort to avoid her touch, she reached out and seized hold of her small shoulders, letting her fingers grip the delicate bones beneath, not to frighten, but to emphasize, to make an effort of grounding her in reality.
"It is NOT your fault, Maura Isles. Don't you ever say that. Nothing, not one part of any of this fucking shit storm is your fault."
"It is!" Maura spat back with new insistence. Her head jerked up, her eyes as bright with the fire of her words and conviction as her tears. "You don't understand, Jane."
She took another breath, seeming to be quieting herself, or maybe finding the words to explain. Although she didn't shake off Jane's hands, her shoulders seemed to sag beneath them.
"It's the way I used to perceive them," she said finally, her words so quiet and shamed that Jane had to strain to understand. "The victims. The people we see in our careers, every day."
When Jane just frowned at her, not comprehending her logic, Maura breathed in and out once more, her voice growing steadier as she went on.
"Every day, Jane, we saw the results of people who became victims. People who made mistakes in where they went or what they did, who they trusted and who they screwed over. People who paid the price for their mistakes in the most brutal and final ways."
She took another breath, moistening her lips, her eyes not quite on Jane's.
"These people would come to us, and it would be our jobs to figure out how they were killed, by whom, and for what reason. This was what we did, and it wasn't our place to judge, only to determine. But Jane…I did judge, Jane. These people came into my lab, and I would look at them and I…I felt that I was superior. I was smarter, and kinder, and I wouldn't make the choices or mistakes that brought them into my lab. I really believed that, Jane. I looked at them as victims, not just of the people who harmed them, but of their own poor choices."
For several moments neither woman spoke. There was only the noise of their slightly heightened breaths, rasping in and out, before Maura's sob broke the quiet.
"I thought that I was better than that, Jane. But I'm not. Now I'm a victim….just like all of them."
As more tears broke free, Maura's body bowed forward in a silent spasm of grief, as though she lacked the strength to hold herself up any longer. Jane's arms came tight around her, giving once more a sharing of her strength, even as she felt Maura's arms lock around her tightly, giving back to her the strength that she was giving away. Jane felt her own tears dampening the top of Maura's head as she pressed her cheek against its crown.
"Not a victim, Maura," she whispered. "Not a victim. A survivor."
And that was what made all the difference in the world.
They held each other, each cradling the other as much as she herself was cradled, and as the moments passed by, so did the subtle shift in their life, every bit as important as the needed shift in Maura's perception. The shift from surviving, to beginning once more to live.
The end