Title: Piece By Piece
Rating: T
Spoilers: Mostly the premiere and finale, but general season one
A/N: Based on the "Hoyt" stories from the books and show. Also contains references to the finale. The format of this is sort of highlighting tiny moments. Also, this is my first Rizzoli/Isles fic, so be gentle.
The first time he takes her, she's new to homicide and falling in love with Thomas Moore. But cops don't admit they feel all that much, especially love. When love enters the equation, guards are let down and shells are breeched.
For all of her life, Jane Rizzoli has tried to be a pillar, strong as heavy stone. Unfortunately, Charles Hoyt knew just how to crumble her with his hands.
He leaves her with aches and scars of her own.
She rubs her hands in the cold weather, wondering if he sliced all the way through to the bone. It's hard to hide the pain come mid-November and she notices Maura watching her massage the puckered skin.
Neither of them say anything as she stuffs her hands into the heavy fabric of her jacket. Maura averts her gaze back to the body tucked in the snow.
She doesn't sleep anymore. Sometimes she visits Maura, when she knows the medical examiner won't mind the warm body instead of the cold one's she deals with most of the day. When its about the force of a life instead of the absence of one.
Other nights, she bolts and locks. Cocks her gun and sets the safety. Crosses her legs and waits.
Waits for a demon that cannot escape.
"You ever talked to anyone about last time?" Korsak questions as the ME workers transport the body out of the house.
She stiffens and glares at him which instantly causes him to raise up two cautionary hands. They haven't been partners for a while now and she had had the hardest time moving her fingers to punch in his number, calling to alert him of the Yeagers. When she sees his face, hears his voice, all she can think about is a monster locked behind bars. She's never spoken about why she asked for another partner, about the real reasons for Frost becoming her right hand man.
"You know how your type likes to talk things out? With feelings and stuff?" Korsak tries.
"My type?" she frowns.
"Yeah, woman."
His tone has become light, no doubt in response to her demeanor.
"I'm fine," she gruffly whispers as both Frost and Dr. Isles reenter the room.
They stand in a circle, appearing like a vigil for the recently dead. Words enter her ears, travel to her brain, and stick lazily. Her gaze remains fixed on the chair across from her, at the carpet underneath. She hears Frost offer to take the evidence bags to headquarters while Korsak does another sweep of the neighborhood to get all the statements about the Yeagers in order.
She feels Maura touch her shoulder, shattering her reverie. The pathologist gives her a thoughtful look and squeezes.
"I'm fine," she assures, the words leaving her mouth for the second time in the day.
She doesn't admit that she feels as fragile as the broken teacup in the evidence bag.
The second time her takes her, it's because she has her heart on her sleeve.
When she wakes up, feeling the sting of the taser burn on her side and the cold metal of the van under her, she feels fear course in her veins and wonders if she can save herself a second time. Her nostrils flare. Determination overrides every other emotion. She catapults forward. Conquers. Wins. The images start to pile up on her eyes after.
Hoyt, somehow both writhing and smiling through the pain.
The Apprentice, dead and ripped from Hoyt's hands.
Gabriel Dean sitting a little too close beside her inside the ambulance doors.
Maura Isles trailing behind her as they make their way out of her apartment, wrecked with material carnage.
Maura always shows up to crime scenes, dressed to the nines. The sun shines down in her honey brown hair as Jane glances up from the man perched on the bench. It used to bother her that when the "Queen of the Dead" walked past a police banner, every eye within hundreds of feet stopped to stare. Work halted, and for long periods of time, life seemed to halt. Everyone was entranced by her, by her graceful gait and air of confidence.
No, there is no room to be self conscious really. Jane Rizzoli is who she is. And that is an entire league away from Maura Isles. Not in a bad way, of course. She had been known to turn one or two heads in the homicide division early on, but by now, she is one of the boys. Boys who work hard and live a life of constant movement. That often means that whenever the phone rang, she is up and out.
Today started little different.
She circles the body, looking at the deep fissure in the man's neck. At the paper folded and propped neatly against his suited form. Even on a day like today, the dead man is almost dressed better than her. At least I'm still alive, she thinks. As she leans in to the body to search for anything out of the ordinary, she feels Maura's gaze turn from the corpse to her.
"The darkening of the nasojugal fold indicates fatigue and vitamin deficiencies," she tells her.
"Really?"
"You. You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you not sleeping again?"
It comes out concerned, but Jane doesn't feel like following Maura down the path she is going. Because it's about concern and someone else seeing her weak, tired, fractured.
"Thank you. You look nice too," she quips as Frost comes up behind her.
Sterns and his wife have both been missing, but she has little time to think about anything because Frankie taps her on the shoulder. She walks away, momentarily distracted from the dead body on the bench. From the road flare lying outside of her apartment that morning.
When she sees Frankie, panicked and sitting on the floor, her heart drops in her chest. And she feels the gun pointed at her back. Spinning, she sees the girl with her aim steady. This makes three, she thinks remorsefully to herself as duct tape is wrapped tightly around her wrists.
Another capture for Hoyt. Even if he isn't physically here, his new apprentice is apt to do his bidding. Jane realizes that she carries him mentally as well and will never get away from him. Not ever.
The idea feels as sticky and binding as the tape cutting into her wrists. She imagines herself an unsuspecting insect, lured into the predators web once more.
And she scolds herself for it. For falling for this all over again. She should have recognized Hoyt's hand in this from the beginning, from the road flare to the body on the bench with the same ligature marks that were as telling as any signature penned on a paper. Her adversary had tried twice to kill her, to take her from the world. And now her family and friends were being drug into it all.
She watches helplessly, her hands still bound, as Frankie wrestles with the gun and the girl. The weapon slides across the floor and she tries to inch toward it, but Frankie manages to reclaim it into his hands. Screaming a command at him, gunfire sounds in the air and Hoyt's protege falls lifelessly back to the ground.
Her brother lies panting under her hands, now free from their restraints. Idly, she wonders how long she can escape death before she stops her musing and calls the incident in.
"I don't sleep a lot," she nods over a beer and avoids Maura's look. The first one is always crucial for it relays the initial reaction to a given statement. While she feels comfortable sharing this information with her friend, she doesn't want to see that first flicker of the eyes. She finds herself bracing herself for the familiar, yet calming scientific garble as she is transformed into a mystery, ready to be clinically and reasonably explained. Maura's words surprise her.
"Because of Hoyt?"
"Because of everything," she laughs, humorlessly.
A hand come to rest on her own and immediately, she feels like pulling away to hide the scars that she knows Maura can see, can feel. But again, it's easier with this woman as opposed to the men surrounding her everyday life. In her presence, it's alright to be a little vulnerable, even if she herself feels a bit like Maura's protector.
If she's the "Queen of the Dead" and I keep her from harm's way, what does that make me?, she thinks to herself.
"Jane, you can't keep doing this to yourself."
"I manage."
"Yes, you always do. But how long until you don't?"
Jane glances at her watch and feels bad for dodging the conversation as she rises from the bar.
"I've got to run. Family matters. Maybe I can catch a few minutes of rest later?" she offers to her friend.
The rest comes to her much differently than she anticipates. She frantically thinks about Frankie and maybe even Tommy somewhere in the back of her mind as she brings the gun into her abdomen. Her fingers curl around the trigger and she feels the metal squeeze as Bobby's muscular hands try to yank the gun from her grip.
"Jane!" she hears Maura scream, the last sound before gunfire fills the air. Pain rips through her and she falls to the ground. Vision blurs and she sucks in air as hands cover the entry wound on her body. She can feel the blood spilling into her friend's hands as darkness overcomes her.
The bullet tears through her kidney, leaving her under sedation for a transplant for six hours. When she wakes up, light enters her eyes and blinds her momentarily. As she adjusts to her surroundings, she sees the plain wallpaper and the tiny space she occupies.
To her left on a nearby table, there are flowers of every color, shape, and size. Her eyes scan the purples, pinks, and whites. Pain shoots through her gut as she makes a movement and she lifts up her shirt groggily, still feeling the effects of sedation. Underneath her gown, she traces the puckered wound that slices across her body, dark purple and pink, with her long fingers.
Suddenly, she hears her door open and tries to yank down her gown but opts for grabbing the blanket before the body rounds the corner. She glances up as Maura stands watching her with a questioning look. Instead of her usual attire, Jane notices that she is wearing a workout outfit from when they go and do yoga. Underneath her eyes, there are dark circles which looks so uncharacteristic of Maura Isles.
"You got, uh, a little darkening of the naso..." she trails off and waves a hand in the air.
Maura cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows, silently questioning her friend. Jane sighs and throws her head back into her pillow.
"You haven't been sleeping," she finishes off.
"If you were going to shoot yourself, you should have let me know. I could have told you where to aim your gun to avoid any organs you might have needed for later use," Maura quips as she sits beside Jane's bed and takes a sip of her coffee.
"Sorry. I must have been absent on the day they went over human anatomy," she grumbles at the ceiling.
She turns her gaze to the medical examiner and shakes her head.
"How long have you been here?"
"A while," Maura answers.
"How long is a while?"
"Longer than a minute. Shorter than forever," her friend smiles.
"Maura, you didn't have to sit here. I'm sure Ma could have..."
"You mother and father are with Frankie."
The mention of Frankie sends panic through her and she tries to raise up but the pain buckles her back down into her bed. Maura jumps up from her spot and comes to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. It becomes physically and emotionally infuriating that she can't hop up, can't leave the bed and rush to be with her brother.
"He's fine, Jane. By the time he arrived, his lung had been severely compromised due to the broken rib. I did the best I could, but he still had to have surgery."
A sigh of relief escapes her as she closes her eyes and just breathes, just feels the hand on her shoulder and the pain in her abdomen. She feels a hand running through her hair and opens her eyes again to see Maura looking down at her with a look that shoots straight to her heart. Reaching up, she grabs her friends hand and steadies it on her face.
"I remember what you did for Frankie. If not for you, he'd be dead," she nods, looks down at her own body. "And probably me too."
"I have your back," Maura smiles.
"Yeah," Jane acknowledges and releases the medical examiner's hand. "I know."
The morgue always sends her stomach churning, and not in a good way. She prides herself on being able to deal with the smell and not placing the dab of Vicks under her nose like so many others she knows as they walk through these doors. As she enters the room, cold blasts her and she squints in the darkness to see. Perched a few feet away, Maura stands bent over a corpse. The pen in her hand moves steadily as she records, notates, and categorizes all of the wounds on the body. When she sees Jane, her head lifts and a look of surprise spread s over her face.
Talking about the incident outside of the precinct doesn't feel right. Eventually, she knows it will catch up with her. The cases will cause too many sleepless nights. The terror will cause her to slip up and someone might suffer because of it. Today though, she feels renewed and fresh. And not just because of the new addition to her body, the foreign tissue now working under her skin.
For a second, she can see the flicker across Maura's face. The desire to reach out and embrace, to question and chastise. To tell her that she isn't ready to be back at work. Just as quickly as it surfaces, it washes away.
"White male, mid thirties. Found in Charlestown with a single gunshot wound to the temple," she says, looking down at the body.
"Self inflicted?"
"No. No weapon was found at the scene and he tested negative for gunshot residue."
She nods, thinks. Feels a dull ache just under the fabric of her maroon v-neck shirt. It's hard not to wince and admit that maybe she shouldn't be back at work so soon. But the pillar cannot crumble.
"Let's get the bastard who did this then," she says, determined.
The medical examiner nods, returns them back to the normal flow of how they work together. Back to catching the bad guys on the streets.