Author's Note: This is a bit of a random collection of ideas that I've moved around into a story. I've been a little stuck on my other story (Cocaine) and thought this would help! Anyway, this is another work in progress with a lot of pieces and moments floating around that I'm moving into one working plot. Hope you enjoy! Oh and the title and story is very inspired by Lifehouse's song "Broken"...
Still Holding On To You
Jane Rizzoli knew it was a mistake as soon as she told the Chief.
Now as she sat in the unmarked, black sedan, she wondered why she'd been so dense. Snow was falling, her coffee was cold, and each minute that passed filled her with more regret.
It was Christmas.
She was supposed to be home.
Home with her wife and family.
Instead she was out on patrol, stubbornly following a lead. Stubbornly putting her career before her them.
She wasn't sure what had gotten into her. Five beautiful years of marriage, one kid and another on the way, and suddenly something snapped. Maybe it was to prove her independence to herself. Something of a mid-life crisis – could she even have one of those?
But it was more than that. It was the desire to finish something that haunted every dream and good moment.
"Why would you do this?" Maura had asked her. She was just four months along in her pregnancy and radiated with a new maternal glow. But the glow wasn't enough to hide her anger. Her jaw was strapped so tight that Jane was certain it could cut her in half. "Jane?"
"Someone has to do it," Jane answered. It was weak. So damn weak. And a lie.
"Someone else can do it. Someone who doesn't have a three year old daughter and a wife and a family that they should be with on Christmas Eve," Maura snapped.
Jane kept quiet as Maura slammed around a few files on her desk. Loose pieces of strawberry hair fell out of her bun and into her eyes. She was wearing black scrubs after finishing up an autopsy and now pretended to be busy just to make Jane squirm.
"Are you going to say anything?" Maura asked.
She went completely still, standing behind her desk with authority as Jane stared back.
"You knew this came with the job," Jane finally said.
Maura shook her head. "I'm not buying that, Jane," she whispered. She folded her arms across her chest and Jane had to divert her eyes in order to ignore her wife's engorged, pregnant breasts. She chewed on her lower lip as Maura continued. "Where are you? You aren't here with me anymore. You haven't been the same since..."
As Maura drifted, Jane suddenly straightened up. "Since what Maura?"
The office went deathly quiet. Maura stared down at her desk and refused to answer. With her wife apparently done with the conversation, Jane decided to clarify.
"Since you were nearly killed?" Jane repeated. "Since someone targeted my wife, my family to get to me?"
"I'm fine Jane. I'm right here," Maura said. "And until you get that through your head, you're never going to be able to enjoy our family again. You don't look at me the same. You hardly touch me. You hardly hold Vivian anymore…"
"Don't bring our daughter into this," Jane replied.
"Why?" Maura snapped. "Because it's the truth?"
"Because you don't understand!" Jane barked. Her dark eyes bore into Maura's with such intensity, such harsh emotion, that the doctor looked away.
"Because you don't let me in. You don't let me understand," Maura whispered.
Jane swallowed hard, pushing past the threat of tears in her throat. Desperate to hide what she'd been so successful at hiding for the last eight months. She adjusted her badge on her belt and cleared her throat.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Jane said.
"Don't do this, Jane," Maura pleaded. She wasn't hard anymore. She was begging. Tears shone in her hazel eyes as she came around her desk, reaching out to take her wife's hands. "Please. You know what this means to me. Think of our children…"
Jane pulled back and turned on a heel before she could think of taking a second glance. "I'm sorry," she said over her shoulder.
In the driver seat of her patrol car, Jane grimaced at the memory. She knew exactly what missing Christmas Eve meant to Maura. It was what once tortured her wife's childhood. Absentee parents who sent gifts on Christmas while they attended to business or social gatherings. And now here was Jane, abandoning her again, abandoning their daughter, to pursue vengeance, redemption - she wasn't even sure what.
Right now she imagined the family at her house. Angela manning the kitchen, insisting that Maura get off her feet. Vivian being passed around by her many uncles. Tommy straight edge and on the up and up with Lydia. TJ would be running around, hitting his hyper second grade years. Frankie was bringing a girl this year – a nurse named Penny who was about as sweet as a preschool teacher. Even Vince would be there. Korsak was getting a little too close to her mother lately, but Jane allowed for it. Angela and Korsak deserved more than anyone to be happy.
But there would be no Barry Frost that year.
Frost who stood by her at her wedding.
Frost who stood by her at every shootout and every case.
Frost who should have still been alive but died that day so that Jane's family may live.
She pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, ignoring the flashes on her phone. Most of the calls were from her mother, who'd spent the better part of the day scolding Jane for missing Christmas Eve.
Jane who was going to break her wife's heart like Frank Sr. had broken Angela's. That point still jabbed like a knife to the gut.
Her ears perked at the sound of a garage door. Roaring to life was the engine of a rusty red truck, hardly suitable to be out on the icy roads but chugged along with its muffler bellowing black smoke. Jane waited until he was nearly a block down before starting her own vehicle.
The radio hummed with Christmas carols. Jane turned it down, doing her best to ignore an angelic "Carol of the Bells" filling the car. She grabbed her radio and patched through.
"I'm in pursuit of the suspect. Heading west on 5th Avenue," she said dryly.
She kept her distance from the truck as they went down the white lanes of the city. Hardly anyone was out. It was a risk to run her operation on Christmas Eve. She wouldn't have the same resources as she would on a normal workday. The BPD was equipped with just the minimal amount of officers. Most of the homicide unit was with their families. It was a terrible night to follow a lead.
But whether she would admit it or not, that's exactly why Jane chose it.
This was something she needed to take care of on her own.
She would see it through while the rest of the city was sleepy with dreams of Christmas. Because even if she weren't here, out in the cold and looking for trouble, her dreams would be occupied with anything but Christmas. She'd be stuck with the same nightmares that failed to leave her.
They were eating burgers.
Greasy, cheeseburgers with French fries and beers at The Dirty Robber. Since the baby had been born Frost and Jane while still partners, hardly had any of the bonding time they'd had before. Jane was completely devoted to Maura and their daughter, which was why that evening after work when Frost invited her for burgers and a brew, Maura happily encouraged her.
"She said a sentence the other day," Jane was explaining in between bites. "She asked me where her shoes were."
Though used to hearing stories about the young Vivian Marie Rizzoli on a regular basis, Barry Frost still beamed at Jane. Anyone who saw or heard the detective talk about her daughter couldn't help but be warmed. Jane absolutely adored the girl since the moment she was born.
"She sounds like she's going to be as smart as her mother," Frost chuckled.
"I hope you mean Maura. Because she is all Maura," Jane smirked. "She's going to be a genius and a heart breaker."
"I haven't heard you like this since you and Maura started dating," he said.
"I'm sorry, you're probably sick about hearing about her," Jane apologized.
"No," Frost assured. "Just makes me long for that myself. A wife. A family. I'm afraid I'm running out of time."
"You're not running out of time," she laughed. "You're young!"
"I'm not that young," Frost said. "This damn job doesn't make things much easier. You're lucky Rizzoli. Lucky you found your girl when you did and that she understands this crazy job."
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Jane muttered unconsciously. She dazed off for a moment, smirking to herself at the beauty of it all before remembering Frost. "You're going to find her though. And it's going to make it all worth it. And we're going to take our kids to kindergarten together and coach little league."
Frost's grin expanded ten-fold at the image and so did Jane's. "Your damn right," he laughed. "We're going to be Boston City Champions."
"Forget that; I'm counting on the Little League World Series," Jane replied.
Their laughter was broken up by the abrupt ring of Jane's cellphone. She ignored the first few rings before finally pulling the device from her belt and chuckling an answer.
"Rizzoli," she said.
"Detective Rizzoli," an unfamiliar voice crackled.
Jane's shoulders instantly hunched and she furrowed her brow in confusion. "Who's this?"
"You've taken so many lives, Detective Rizzoli," the caller said. "Have you ever counted how many?"
At this point Frost could tell something was wrong and Jane rose to her feet from the booth. "You obviously don't know me very well; I don't play these games," Jane said but her breathing was still hitched. She chewed on her lower lip. "Who is this?"
"Who polices the police, Rizzoli?" the voice was muffled by static and movement. Jane could make out the sounds of a struggle. "What's that magic number detective?"
"This phone is being traced as we speak," Jane hissed, snapping her fingers at Frost. Her partner quickly pulled out his phone and grabbed both their jackets. He dropped a twenty on the table to take care of their meal while Jane started strides toward the exit.
"You couldn't do that," the caller chuckled. "Not from The Dirty Robber."
Jane came to an abrupt halt before she could reach the door. Frost bumped in behind her. She frantically looked over her shoulder and around the bar while Frost furrowed his brow and started to do the same.
"I wouldn't be worried about who can see you there, Detective. I'd be more worried about where I am."
Just as a shiver started up her spine, a blood curdling scream was heard on the other end of the phone in the background. Jane nearly collapsed into the door frame as she lost her breath and sense of gravity all in the same stifled heartbeat.
Maura.
The sound of her wife's screams sent Jane into full attack mode but the cries of their daughter took her adrenaline to new heights.
"Don't you dare touch them!" Jane screamed.
It caught the attention of the bar and upon realizing the circumstances, Frost pushed her out the door and the two hustled to her car.
"What's that magic number?" the caller asked with venom. "Because that's how many seconds you have to get here."
The call was ended at those final words and for months afterwards, the next two minutes went by without recollection. Sometimes she wondered if she blacked out.
Frost took her keys, insisting on driving, flashing the lights and sirens, and speeding over to the Rizzoli household on Beacon Hill as quickly as he could. While Frost called for back-up, Jane tried to call her wife.
No answer.
"Fuck!" Jane screamed.
She slammed the phone down to the dash first, breaking it into pieces. She banged on any surface that dared to find her fist, so anxious, so desperate that being in the patrol car was cruel and unusual punishment. Frost drove as fast as he could, weaving and honking through traffic faster than Jane ever'd seen him.
Later Jane realized she hadn't even told Frost what was wrong. What was at stake. He simply understood and the way he looked at her with those intense brown eyes told her a fact she repeated every day. Frost was as committed to saving Maura and Vivian as she was. He was going to go in with gun blazing, with his adrenaline on high alert, sweating, screaming until it was over.
"God!" Jane barked.
"Breathe," Frost advised. "Breathe."
He grabbed her shoulder as he drove with one hand – a reckless decision when he was already speeding and maneuvering dangerously. But Jane needed that hand in that moment. She'd remember it, the one calming force in the stifling, claustrophobic mess that kept her from reaching her family.
Breathe.
When Jane thought of Barry Frost's last words, last moments, she liked to imagine this one in the car as opposed to his true demise merely ten minutes later.
Frost's hand on her shoulder allowed Jane enough peace of mind to lower her voice and head.
"Please God," she whispered. "Please God, I can't lose them. Take me, but I can't lose them."
Sometimes Jane wondered if that prayer saved them. If that prayer, made possible by Frost's grace under pressure, was the difference between life and death. And now she thought she should have prayed for him too.
Before they entered that damn house.
The race across town took a total of three minutes and twelve seconds according to the police log. But for Jane it was an eternity. She was out of the car as soon as her house came into view. Their house.
The last moments of the ride had been flashbacks. A beautiful first kiss with Maura after that nervous first date. Looking into her eyes in bed on a Christmas Eve. Their first Christmas as a couple. The Christmas where she put a ring on Maura's finger even though they'd only been dating for four months – because after all, it seemed as though they'd been dating for four years.
She thought of the wedding; a small ceremony in February with the snow freezing the streets so badly that Jane couldn't drive across town for the wedding, so walked the three miles there with Frost carrying her gown in a garment bag above his head. Frankie was charged with beverages, and kept them hydrated with the two bottles of champagne packed precariously in his coat pockets.
No she'd never forget that.
She'd never forget walking into the snow that night, unable to get a flight out of the city, so settling for a stroll and a passionate night at home. And for some reason that was fine. They never needed the perfect wedding. They never needed the perfect honeymoon. They were married.
And she'd never forget when they tried for the first baby.
She'd never forget the agony on Maura's face.
But Vivian made it worth it.
Jane thought of how cautious they both were to not get hopes up. Through the nine months how scarred they were from the miscarriage. How they didn't even choose a name or find out the gender or set up the nursery until they were sure.
Maura chose the name.
She wanted something Italian. Something that came from Rome to honor Jane's heritage. Something smart and classic like Maura.
Vivian Marie Rizzoli.
The moment she cried Jane fell in a deep love. She thought of Maura cradling the baby, their first child to her naked breast. She lost so much sleep those first nights. Not because Vivian was a fussy baby – in fact she was such a silent, stoic baby Jane was convinced she'd make an excellent detective someday. No it was because she'd watch over her two girls every night, sleeping peacefully, stirring occasionally, and didn't want to close her eyes. She didn't want to miss a second.
By the end of the memory, the tires squealed into the driveway. Jane unholstered her gun and sprinted up the walk.
She kicked down the door and screamed immediately.
"Maura!"
Frost was behind her, his gun drawn as well, inching forward into the foyer and the house he knew so well.
"Foyer clear," he murmured.
While Jane ran on emotion, Frost kept his head. He remembered their training for the both of them, cautiously scanning the living room, easing around corners with his gun prepared to strike. He had Jane's cover as she charged through the house without a care.
"Maura!"
A weak cry broke through the house.
Jane stiffened, hair prickling up her neck. Her heart was thudding so quickly she could hardly find breaths to keep up.
The cry came a second time and this time she was certain she could place it.
She sprinted toward the noise and Frost cursed after her. "Jane," he growled.
The whimpering came from the kitchen. The distinct cries of her daughter that made Jane both enraged and hopeful. From the entrance Jane only saw linoleum, shiny white counters and modern appliances. Maura always had to have the latest kitchen tools.
For the first time Jane hesitated.
She could hear Vivian cry on the other side of the island in the middle of the room. Pots and pans hung above the shiny island. It's where Jane drank coffee every morning. Where Maura fed their daughter and prepared dinner. She shivered as she inched around the corner.
She saw Maura's foot first.
It was limp.
Her whole body was limp, draped across the linoleum like a rag doll. A puddle of blood. She was still in her clothes from work, her once perfect hair tousled and tangled in a mush of crimson blood.
But the worst part – worse than seeing her wife bled out on the floor – was seeing their two year old daughter sitting just an inch away.
Tears and red cheeks glistened on Vivian's face as Jane dropped to her knees. The little girl's clothes were stained red and the detective instantly panicked. In the meantime, she hardly noticed Frost behind her on the radio. "We need an ambulance! At least one wounded, thirty-seven year old female, multiple stab wounds…"
Frost hovered over Maura as Jane examined Vivian who was in full blown hysterics and sobs. Jane could hardly breath, hardly speak as she touched the little girl's arms and legs, lifted her shirt and checked her stomach and back.
"Nothing," Jane whispered. "Nothing. You're okay! You're okay Viv. You're okay baby, mom's here. I'm right here, I'm right here, you're okay…"
Jane kept the chant going as she handed the girl off to her partner. "Get her out of here, Barry," she choked.
Frost took Vivian into his arms as Jane tended to her wife. Her hands were shaking. "Maura!" she yelled down at her. She gave her a few nudges. "Maura! Baby, come on, stay with me. Maura!"
"Jane, the house isn't clear, we need to get out of here."
"I'm not leaving her," Jane hissed. She wanted to grab Frost by the neck for even suggesting a thing.
Stirring in her grasp, Maura gave a low groan. "Jane," she whimpered.
"I'm right here, talk to me," Jane nearly sobbed. "Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do."
"Vivian…"
"She's right here," Frost assured, showing the woman her child.
"Put pressure," Maura whispered. Her face twisted in pain and her teeth chattered with shock. "Pressure."
Jane frantically pulled off her jacket, balling it up and placing it to where the blood seemed to be coming from. She couldn't think of the end. She could hardly look at Maura. Not like this. Not with her pale, lifeless face battling the last stages of consciousness.
That's when it started.
The footsteps in the living room.
The crash.
Jane and Frost both stiffened with anxiety. To chase the noise or to stay with the girls. Jane waited, listening intently to the signs of movement. She kept her weight on Maura's wound but her eyes frantically searched her home – a place she once felt so safe. Now it was the stage for a nightmare.
Frost slowly placed Vivian on the kitchen counter. It wasn't his best move but he was shaky and unprepared. As if sensing the danger, Vivian stopped her crying and squirming. It was the one thing Jane was thankful for in that moment.
With his gun raised, Frost carefully stepped toward the living room. "Come out with your hands up!" he barked. "This is the Boston PD."
He swallowed hard. The room was ice cold. Jane should have been up with him, covering his six. But how could she choose one family member over another? Her partner or her wife?
"Hey freeze!" Frost screamed.
Jane knew he'd spotted someone. She could hear him take a few steps forward.
She saw the body later. The man was wearing a white mask. He was covered in blood. Maura had sliced him across the chest with a kitchen knife, keeping him from escape. A few months after processing the terror of the event, Jane couldn't help but be proud.
"Freeze, motherfucker!" Frost barked a second time. "That's right. On your knees…"
Jane listened, hoping to God that Vivian was okay on the kitchen counter and that Frost could handle himself. The backup was on its way.
"Jane…" Maura whispered below her.
Her voice was weak and raspy, filled by the desperate breaths of someone about to meet the end. Jane fought tears as she looked down at her wife.
"Just rest, Maura. Just rest," she told her. "You're going to be fine."
Maura managed to shake her head. "Two," she hissed with determination.
Jane's brow furrowed. "What?"
"There's two," she repeated.
Jane remembered it happening in a rush.
The sirens blared in the driveway. Frost continued to shout in the kitchen, gun aimed at the hallway where their suspect was.
"Keep your hands where I can see them!" Frost screamed. He had an edge in his voice. Jane could anticipate the backfire of a gun before it even happened. "Hands where I can…"
A gun fired.
It was Frost's.
He pulled on the trigger as soon as the bleeding suspect reached into his waistband. The body slammed to the floor and vibrated the hardwood. Vivian began crying again. The sirens screamed more loudly. Frost let out a breath.
And suddenly Jane understood Maura's warning.
"Wait, Frost…"
Another gunshot. This one from the other side of the kitchen. This one from a gun other than her partner's.
The kitchen was silent. All the air, all the noise left the room.
Jane thought of Vivian on the kitchen counter.
She waited with trepidation. Horror in her chest.
Frost stayed on his feet for a few beats, fighting the projectile that lodged itself through his head. The detective fought until the end.
Finally a body hit the floor. He landed with his head near Maura's feet. His glassy eyes were frozen on Jane's face. She knew he was gone. A clean hole in the center of his forehead ended it all.
She hardly noticed that the BPD charged through the doors, led by Korsak. She hardly remembered him picking up Vivian, while the rest of the officers secured the house and tended to Frost. They tackled the second man, instantly cuffing him, cursing the bastard out for hurting one of their own.
She blacked out by the time the paramedics moved in for Maura. She fought to stay by her wife's side but three officers pulled her back so that the medics could do their job. Maura was unconscious when they put her on the stretcher. And just as they closed the doors behind her in the white van with red and white lights flashing, Jane saw the hearse pull up in front of her house.
Barry Frost was dead.
She followed the truck to the pier. Fresh snow was falling on Boston. Christmas lights twinkled among the town squares and monuments, outside shops and around lamp posts. Wreaths hung in doorways and the low hymns of carols continued to sound from the radio. It was hard to imagine anything sinister on such a night.
But Jane could only imagine the sinister. She could only see those images.
The months that followed the incident were the hardest she'd ever endured. Worse than being shot and more gruesome than any other case – including Hoyt. Cavanaugh gave her plenty of time off but it didn't heal the emotional damage. Maura was healthy and bounced back rather quickly. Vivian was traumatized but appeared to be continuing normal development.
It was Jane who couldn't get back to normal. It was Jane who stayed awake at night but not in the same way as she used to. Not for comfort or out of happiness. For the sake of terror. For the sake of nightmares.
And tonight she would end them.
The second man who they caught was behind bars for good. They allowed Jane to see him once but it ended with her beating his face in. She'd laid on a few good licks before Korsak pulled her off. She'd broken a few bones in her hand.
But Jane knew it wasn't just them. The two were hardly henchmen. They couldn't even find a way out of their home that day. Couldn't make a clean getaway. They were hired scum. Silent hired scum, but scum nonetheless. Jane spent the better part of the year, visiting their prisoner at least twice a month. Always with the same question. "Who the fuck do you work for?"
The answer came eight months after the stabbing. Eight months after a speedy trial and plea bargain. Eight months of Jane going to work mandated therapy. Eight months of Maura slowly healing, her wounds turning into deep scars. While her wife wasn't as passionate about it as she was, Maura agreed to sell the house at Beacon Hill. Jane was convinced it was too filled with memories to live in any longer. They couldn't raise their daughter there. Not in a place of terror. They would move to Back Bay, into a little brick row house with black shutters and flower boxes hanging from the windows. They would try to be happy there. Try to forget there. But as the moving trucks pulled away and Jane and Frankie finished grunting the last of the furniture into the house, she realized a move couldn't fix it. It still lingered.
It would have been Frost's thirty-second birthday. Jane was trying to forget but she remembered that. She drank to it at the Dirty Robber with Frankie, still in moving clothes and ignoring Maura's dismay. Frankie left first. Unable to keep up with his sister and set to go on his first date with a young Penny O'Malley.
That's when Jane went for her visit. It was late, she was buzzed, and the guards stared at her in suspicion but she barked for them to bring out Ethan Drake, the man who helped take down her wife. And after a few broken fingers, after a few mincing words, Jane finally had her answer: "Doyle."