I don't own anything.
Hello Again - Lostprophets
"It's the foghorn I hate. It won't let you alone. It keeps reminding you, and warning you, and calling you back... But it can't tonight. It's just an ugly sound. It doesn't remind me of anything." - Mary Tyrone in O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night.
The bottle of Sam Adams stared Jane Rizzoli in the eyes. If you looked hard enough, the little beads of perspiration did kind of look like eyes. And they were staring. Hard. So Jane Rizzoli took the bottle and let the bitter liquid pour down her throat.
Frost and Korsak had already left with all the other officers when they had exhausted the list of prospective women. None of them fit the bill. The blonde was too clueless. The tall brunette was afraid of her own shadow. And none of them sparked any sort of gut feeling. But Maura would go back to the lab any way and make sure all of those damn cups were processed. No guesses. She had to be sure.
Nevertheless, Jane stayed behind at the club. With old Sam. None of the other officers even shrugged when she mentioned staying.
"You guys go home," she said. "There's a couple more things I need to check out."
She watched them all leave, one by one, dragging with them all the gear they had brought. Korsak left first. Then Frost, never straying more than a foot from all the computers and their goddamn wires.
And then she watched Maura leave. Glasses in tow.
"Please don't tell me you're going to hover over those poor nerds until they have all those glasses logged," Jane said, her arms crossed.
"Okay. I won't."
Maura was so matter-of-fact. Jane smiled at the memory.
So an hour later, Jane was sitting hunched over the bar in front of a rather pleased bartender, left with nothing but a beer in hand and memories of Maura strutting away in that short, short dress. Jane twisted her tongue over in her mouth, trying desperately to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.
She found another bottle of beer in her hands. A colder bottle… A bottle so cold it bit the skin wrapped around her fingers. Her head throbbed in time to the club's music, her chest suddenly feeling much too small for her lungs and her vision starting to tunnel. No. She couldn't forget that image of Maura walking out the door. And there it was. She could almost see the image tug at her imagination, spitefully eliciting a single thought.
The yoga teacher. Tonight he'd probably rip that small little dress right off. He'd rest his hands on her body and become her world.
Jane Rizzoli gripped the edge of the bar tighter, her jaw tense. The people around her, their words, their movements… Everything seemed so far away. Small. Slow. Surreal. Everything except for the loud, pumping music that suddenly seemed to dictate her breathing.
"I'm glad you stayed," smirked the bartender. "You feeling adventurous, yet?"
"Maybe after another beer."
"I can arrange that. Easily."
Jane flashed a smile. True, it was a forced smile, but not many would really notice. Maura would notice, she thought.
"I'll take a rain check. You look… busy anyway."
The memories of the day settled in Jane's head, even as she began to push herself off the stool. She remembered Maura's outfit. The tights. Those tights. She remembered Maura leaning over the table and suddenly finding her cleavage hard to look away from. And then there was that speech she gave. About that sweater and those shoes. Jane couldn't help but feel the corners of her mouth twitch.
She approached the blonde she had had her eyes on since everyone had left. The buzz from all the beer was starting to get to her. Everything was fuzzy. Really fuzzy. But it felt good. Better than good. Because, suddenly, as her body absorbed more and more of the alcohol, that knotting pain in her chest began to subside. For one night, the pain would be pushed down.
"Hi," she said.
"Oh… Hello."
"I'm Jane."
Jane lifted up her beer in a shrug and flashed over a smile.
"Sarah." The girl laughed, moving in closer to the detective.
"You know, I'm not really good at this."
"Well I saw you with all those girls earlier. You sure you're not good at this?"
"I'm alone now, aren't I?"
"True. Let me guess. You're new at all of this. Fresh out."
"I don't think I would put it that way."
The girl laughed again; "Here, let me help you. When you approach a girl, think about what a guy would do when he approaches you. I'm sure you've got plenty of material to work with."
"Um… Alright. Uh…"
"Okay, let's make this easier. Buy me a drink…" the girl leaned in closer to Jane's ear, using a nearby table as leverage as she balanced on her toes. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And take me to your place. We'll dive right in."
"W-what?"
"Well would you rather wade into cold water, or would you rather cannonball right in?" She paused. "You look like the type who'd rather jump the hell in. So let's even skip that drink."
Jane chugged the last of her beer as she let the girl lead her out of the club, feeling more and more buzzed with each step. And all she could do was frown when she remembered the previous night. I'm not her type? Of course I'm not her type. Get over yourself, Rizzoli. Do not screw it all up. Not again. Not now.
