My Own Music

Ok, I have always wondered about the first time we meet Charles Hoyt. He asks Jane about her hands and if she still played the piano. Has she ever played again? Although the pilot is referenced this story is set in the present/future.

I started writing this with no intension of it being very long certainly no more than 1,000 words but it sort of took off. Here it is, ENJOY!

DISCLAIMER: Characters aren't mine, just story line…

"I wanna see them. Hands are so useful, dexterous and yours played the piano. Do yours still work?" echoed the sinister voice of Charles Hoyt.

"Good as new", she said as she held up bleeding mangled hands for the monster to see.

"No!" Jane Rizzoli awoke with a start in a wash of sweat once again. With her heart threatening to escape her rib cage she stared down at her trembling scarred but otherwise interacted hands. She breathed a sigh of relief. This had been a nightly occurrence for the last three years. However, she did manage a few uninterrupted hours of sleep with the assistance of her best friend for whom she had taken refuge the night before. In the presence of Maura Isles everything seemed less intense. The nightmares that plagued her nightly seemed to have less impact.

She lay there for a few minutes before giving up on going back to sleep. She left the bed conscious of the still sleeping form of the one person she felt safest. If she stayed neither would get any rest. Her restless body would make sure of that. Once awakened from the nightmare no matter the intensity it was impossible to release it completely from her mind making sleep elusive.

She stood up stretched then started wandering the house of Boston's most highly regarded Chief Medical Examiner. As she shook off the dream and the last reminisce of sleep she came to the realization that as many nights as she had spent in Maura's home she had not actually explored its interior."Geez, how many rooms does one person need anyway", she whispered to herself as she wandered.

She opened doors at random. Books. Desks. Beds. Sofas. She stopped short at the sight of a piano. She had not known Maura even owned a piano which was hidden away in one the back corners of the house. Staring at it brought on a panic she didn't expect. Since her first dealings with Hoyt three years earlier she had not laid eyes on a piano let alone played one. She was reluctant to find out that her hands would fail her. She had not been prepared for that realization. She stood in the doorway eyes on the instrument flexing her hands. She unconsciously clenched and unclenched stiff fingers. It was something she found herself doing, reflexively testing damaged nerve endings. It was a need to know she could still feel. To know the sensation of touch still existed.

Slowly she lowered herself onto the bench feeling surprisingly at home. Running her fingertips lightly over the smooth surface of the Baby Grand she closed her eyes to remember days before Hoyt and his apprentice. She tapped delicately on the cool ivory keys one by one savoring the feel of something she had tried so hard to forget and had not realized she desperately missed. The music of her childhood danced through her memory from the hidden recesses of her mind. Those memories translated easily to her damaged hands which moved gracefully over the ivory keys.

… … …

Maura was awakening little by little with a feeling of contentment. She and Jane had spent the night watching movies, drinking beer, and eating pizza. Admittedly she would have never resorted to any of those activities had it not been for her best friend. When together on an off duty weekend they acted like school girls at a slumber party. At least this is the assumption Maura Isles had made. Assumptions. Another item on the growing list of the many things she would have never done prior to her relationship with one Detective Jane Rizzoli. Coming slowly to full wakefulness she reached over for Jane who was not there. Opening her eyes she called out, "Jane?" Clearly alone in the spare bedroom Maura made her way to the living room. She was surprised to find it empty. "Jane? Are you here?" she called out again. 'Where was she? Did she leave without saying good bye?'

Maura glanced around the empty room making her way to the kitchen to start the coffee pot. She tilted her heard in concentration as if a bloodhound on a scent. Then drifting into her exceptional ears she heard it. It was definitely music. She looked down at the tortoise at her feet, "Bass, do you hear that…Beethoven's piano Concerto Number 5 in E Flat, I believe? Huh, I wonder where that's coming from." Maura walked slowly through the house towards the music. The rendition was breathtaking. She gently pushed the door ajar to reveal one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. The soft radiance of the morning sun spilled through the windows causing an angelic glow to be cast encasing the piano and the beautiful and lovely, Jane. Maura's breathe caught in her throat.

Maura admitted once to Jane of being in awe of what human's can do. Of being in awe of the hand knit stitching of her favorite channel sweater. Of being in awe the artisan who shaped her shoe. She was now in awe of the pianist creating such beautiful music. But this was Jane Rizzoli, her Jane, at home behind the sleek black baby grand piano eyes closed in concentration with a slight smile gracing her lips. For the first time in Maura's memory Jane looked content. Happy. Relaxed. This is the Jane she longed to know. Undamaged. Unhaunted.

Maura closed her eyes allowing the music to flow through her. She thought vaguely of her own playing. Although she was well trained by the finest music teaches offered in her Paris boarding school she was rigid. There was no variation from the notes she read from the pages. She did not have a natural aptitude for music or the ability to diverge. Music to her was associated to dealing with the living. Dealing with human emotions was always so something foreign to her and absolutely terrified her daily. Music requires so much of those intangible human emotions. As she listened intently to Jane's music she could hear a natural ability to deviate from form. She had always know Jane was a creature born from emotion but she never dreamed those emotions would bring such beautiful song. A lone tear slid silently done her cheek.

Then there was a loud yelp bringing the music to an abrupt halt. Maura brought out of her reverie moved quickly in concern to find Jane crying softly and cradling her damaged hands.

"Jane?"

"I can't play anymore, Maura", Jane gasp gritting her teeth against the pain.

"You don't have, too, Sweetie."

"YES, I do but I can't", Jane held her hands close to her body protectively. Maura could see the physical pain etched across Jane's face but there was evidence of another underlying pain. It was something deeply emotional. Something hidden. Something guarded. Maura gently brought Jane's hands out into the open with no resistance. Gently Maura straightened stiff fingers. Jane made a pain filled gasps as Maura moved each finger lightly pressing her thumb into a wounded palm in an attempt to penetrate the thenar eminence of Jane's right hand. Quiet whimpers spilled from Jane's lips as tears forced their way down her cheeks. As Maura massaged Jane's scarred hands she spoke softly, "Jane, I didn't know you were so talented. You play beautifully."

Jane began to relax into Maura's ministrations, "When I was little I had music in my life. I had my grandmother's music but I also had my own."

"Your own?" Maura asked to keep her talking and her mind of the pain.

Jane nodded as the pain of her aching hands was relieved, "yeah. Actually my grandmother used to say I was a child prodigy. I'm not so sure I believed that but she was so proud. Maur, music was a language I could understand. I could see music. Every song has a pattern…" She paused catching Maura's eye with her gaze giving a contented smile before continuing, "You know everything has a note…screeching breaks, barking dogs, jingling keys…everything. Music is everywhere, in everything but as much as I loved…love music I never wanted to be a concert pianist or anything like that but it was something I needed and something I had to do but not as a career. No upward mobility. Anyway, it was something I truly wanted to do. After Hoyt I couldn't bear the thought of having my hands fail me. I pushed music out of my mind."

Maura sat in stunned surprise as she listened and watched Jane finally settling down. She knew Jane had a brilliant mind but she just didn't realize how brilliant. This was something they never spoke about. It was a taboo subject they skirted around and never mentioned. Maura placed a gentle kiss on Jane's forehead, "Come on, Sweetie. I have coffee brewing." Jane nodded then stood allowing Maura to guide her out of the room. She looked back at the piano whispering, "Maura, why do you have a piano tucked away back here, anyway? I didn't even know you had one."

Maura took Jane's arm to tenderly direct her out the room housing the piano down the hall to the kitchen, "When I was young I had formal training."

"I never had formal training. My grandmother gave me lessons but for me it all seemed so natural. She always said I was born to play. When we sat down to play I felt in tune with…with myself. Do you play often?"

"Every now and then but I haven't in a very long time."

"What's wrong?"

"Jane, I watch you just now. I am a technical sound pianist but I feel no emotion when I play. Music needs emotion which eludes me. You on the other hand are driven by emotion. I almost felt what you were feeling. You are really very good. The best I have heard in a very long time."

They sat on the living room sofa with fresh coffee poured. After a few long moments in silence Jane spoke softly, "you know, I have not sat at a piano in nearly three years. Not since…I've done the best I could to not think about it. When I saw yours I nearly had a panic attack but I was drawn. I had to play even if it was sure to hurt me. I didn't realize how much I missed it."

Silently Maura pulled Jane into a well deserved and needed hug allowing hot tears of loss to fall and not voicing the sorrow she felt. She knew Jane would not want her to feel sorry for her but she was sorry. It was a sorrow felt not just for Jane or herself but for the loss of music the world would never have the privilege to hear.