For the Rizzles Fanfic Challenge: Week 35 – Music.
Rizzoli and Isles was created by Tess Gerritsen, drastically adapted for TV by Janet Tamaro, and logically developed into Rizzles by the fandom.
To help understand this story, Maura doesn't know Jane played the piano (apart from Hoyt, it looks like no one else knew either, see rant at end). And ignore the fact that the ever-inquisitive doctor would have certainly asked about the piano a lot sooner than years into their friendship.
I hope you enjoy the story. RM
"Jane, why do you have a piano?" Maura asked standing next to the item in question.
"Huh?" Jane's non-verbal muffled response came from the sofa in the living room, where she now pretended to be engrossed in the baseball game on TV.
"You've had this piano in your apartment for as long as I've known you, and I've never known you to play it. Do you play?"
After a moment of silence Maura realised how her words may be construed as insensitive. Worried by the continued lack of response from her friend, Maura moved to the sofa and looked at the stony-faced detective.
"Jane, I'm sorry. I…" Maura faltered, uncertain how to undo the obvious pain her words had caused Jane.
Still without a saying word, Jane stood and walked over to the piano – facing the wall, as it had for years – beside the door to her apartment. She stood looking at it sullenly for a full minute before, with a decisive nod; she turned the piano away from the wall with an almost violent movement.
The sound of the heavy instrument's wooden feet scraping across hardwood floorboards echoed loudly in the silent room. Several small miscellaneous items – accumulated along with the dust from years of non-use – fall off in the process, unnoticed.
"Ma signed me up for lessons shortly after I started school. She had this crazy notion in her head that I'd be some kinda child protégé." She snorted inelegantly. Reaching out she ran her fingers over the lid slowly, almost reverently.
"My teacher, Mrs. Snape was less than impressed with my dedication at first. Even then I was more interested in hanging out with the boys and playing basketball than piano lessons."
Maura reached out to place a reassuring, encouraging hand on the brunette's arm. Her insecurities halted her motion just short of making contact; Jane seemed to be lost in what must now be painful memories because she had unthinkingly brought the topic up. She nervously wrung her hands together then twisted her ring, waiting for Jane to continue her story or not as she saw fit.
"My first recital was when I was eight. I can't remember what I had to play now, but I was so scared I got sick in a trashcan backstage. And when I sat down at the piano onstage, I didn't think I'd be able to play at all. But I did, I did it despite how scared I was."
Maura, listening intently to the story, absorbed the insight of how the young girl Jane was helped shape the woman she became.
Flipping the lid open it landed against the upright face of the piano with a discordant thump. Jane huffed and frowned.
"I thought I totally screwed it up until Mrs. Snape practically gushed all over me after I left the stage." A barely audible sigh escaped as she paused in her story.
"Ma and Pop were in the audience, they both stood up and started clapping so enthusiastically and loud, I was so embarrassed, but then everyone else started getting up and joined in and I had a standing ovation. I didn't mind the lessons so much after that." Jane chuckled, but there was no humour in the sound.
Seemingly lost in her memories, Jane's hand hovered over the ivory keys, but hesitated before closing the final gap to make contact.
"When I first made detective; I went undercover, a stakeout in a bar with an amateur talent hour – there was a piano, so I thought what the hell. When I got on the stage, I froze for a moment; I mean getting a standing ovation when you're eight doesn't mean you've got the talent for a bar when you're an adult. But then I just started playing – my hands just seemed to take over… when I was done, the bar was so quiet then all of a sudden they erupted into deafening clapping and whistles and shouts. I was so embarrassed but proud all at the same time. After the assignment I returned whenever I could and played. Then I made Homicide–" Jane cut her reminiscing short suddenly.
As if only just realising what she was doing, Jane jerked her hand away as if she'd been burned, closed it into a tight fist and spun around, her intent was to return to the sofa and the game on TV, but Maura was standing directly behind her. Coming to an abrupt halt, she stared at the pattern on Maura's blouse, deliberately avoiding the warm hazel eyes full of empathy she knew were looking at her.
"Have you tried playing since…?" Maura asked softly.
The unfinished question settled like a lead weight in Jane's chest.
She finally let herself acknowledge her fear, of possibly not being able to play the piano (the one thing that held some of her fondest memories from childhood) again. So in all the years since Hoyt (she discarded the excuse 'because of Hoyt' she had been using up until now), she hadn't even attempted it. She knew it was one of her worst flaws.
Unless she was sure she could do something, and succeed at it; she wouldn't do it.
Still avoiding Maura's knowing gaze, Jane knew she could step around her – side-step the issue; pretend she didn't care, shrug it off – but she remained where she was, eyes unfocused on a point somewhere over the blonde's left shoulder. Fists and jaw clenched, unable to form a reply through the lump in her throat, Jane shook her head.
Sensing now was not the time to push further, Maura stepped to the side, letting Jane return to the living room. She gave a final glance at the piano – jutting out from the wall at an odd angle, the lid still raised – before she followed Jane joining her on the sofa. The subject postponed but not forgotten.
Several hours later, Jane snapped instantly awake. It took her a moment to realise she and Maura had fallen asleep on the sofa while watching a movie after the game. A scenario that seemed to happen more often than not when they spent time at her apartment. She looked fondly at the medical examiner curled up against to her. While sleeping the smaller woman's movements had pushed Jane into an awkward 'Leaning Tower of Pisa' type angle toward the sofa's armrest. Jane grinned as she carefully extricated herself from under her friend – who somehow never failed to use some part of Jane as a pillow – and covered the blonde with the throw from the back of the sofa.
Standing upright she was stretching out the kink in her back, when something in her peripheral vision caught her attention, something white. Stepping around the sofa she walked over to the piano and stared down at the keys glinting in the low light from the living room.
Remembering Maura's inquisitiveness from earlier in the evening, Jane looked at the piano accusingly.
What she'd left out of her story earlier, was that the piano had belonged to her Nonna and the idea of getting rid of it – even though it was a constant reminder of Hoyt and what he had taken from her – was unthinkable.
Now, standing before what used to be one of her favourite things, she contemplated Maura's question.
"Have you tried playing since…?"
She looked at her hands, opening and closing her slender fingers, flexing the tendons.
The twin scars – although faded, still clearly visible after five years – served as a constant reminder of a younger version of herself who, while trying to prove to everyone (herself included) that she had earned her place and belonged in Homicide, made a rash decision that almost cost her her life.
For a while it had.
Until an unassuming, introverted, socially awkward (breathtakingly beautiful) medical examiner breached all her defensive and offensive walls with one wide-eyed owlish blink of confusion the first time Jane had used sarcasm in her presence.
In the ensuing years the unlikely friendship between them had developed into the most frustrating, rewarding and yet confusing relationship Jane had had with anyone before.
Ever.
She found herself doing the most unusual (for her anyway, I mean, yoga, come on) and sometimes embarrassing (PUKE, need I say more?) things for Maura. She sure as hell wouldn't do those things for anyone else. And she still wasn't sure why. Ok that's not quite true. Just seeing Maura's face light up with childlike delight was enough for Jane to agree to most things. Other times she made Maura work for it, but the result was usually the same.
Case in point.
It was the middle of the night and she was currently standing in front of a piano she hadn't even thought of playing for several years, contemplating doing just that, all because Maura had asked. The only times she had touched it, was to turn it to face the wall and occasionally dust its surface.
Tentatively she rested her right index finger on middle C, slowly she pressed down on the key. No sound. She repeated the movement, faster. The sound that greeted her was about what she expected after the length of time it had been sitting idle. She stepped on the middle pedal to silence it.
Next she formed a C chord. Woefully out of tune. Unbidden she let out a short laugh. Joyously.
Instantly forgotten was the reason she stopped playing, the fear of disappointment and failure, and her friend (now wide-awake and raptly watching from the sofa). Forgotten was everything but the piano (her old friend) and the happy memories of family gatherings from her childhood, of sitting on her Nonna's knee while she played raucous show tunes from the 50s and the Rizzoli clan sang along (what they had lacked in actual singing talent was made up for with enthusiasm an volume).
Now, standing awkwardly bent forward, rusty from years of not playing (constantly forgetting the right chords), and the piano horribly out of tune (so it didn't really matter if she played the wrong chord anyway), the sound brought tears to her eyes. Happy tears.
After a few minutes she stopped, flexed her fingers (which were not cramping or stiff), and gently lowered the lid. As much as she enjoyed her trip down memory lane; the sounds it involved, not so much.
Turning away from the instrument, Jane was suddenly confronted with the fact that she wasn't alone. Maura sat with tear-filled eyes staring at her from the sofa.
With a sheepish grin and a brief shrug of one shoulder, Jane surreptitiously wiped the tears off her own cheeks and in a wavering voice said: "I guess I should get it tuned if I'm gonna play it."
And there, there was the look that persuaded Jane to do almost anything for the beautiful pathologist.
Sparkling eyes (the colour of muddy waters, turbulent and deep enough to drown in, oh but what a way to go) and one of the widest smiles Jane had ever seen.
Maura quickly eliminated the space between them and wrapped the detective up in a bone-crushing embrace. Jane huffed but returned squeeze for squeeze; she buried her face in Maura's hair and took a steadying breath revelling in the familiar feelings of family and home that enveloped her.
"Will you play it again, Jane?" Maura whispered.
Maura leaned back in Jane's arms as she felt the taller woman begin to shake in her arms. When she realised Jane was laughing, not crying, a look of total bewilderment crossed her face.
It was all Jane could do to contain her laughter.
Before Maura could ask Jane said: "Next movie night we're watching Casablanca."
Note: The quote from Casablanca is actually "Play it once, Sam." but was popularised as "Play it again, Sam."
Rant begins.
The piano in Jane's apartment. Clearly visible in episode 1.01 by the front door (hello, she even left her gun on it!); then it disappeared never to be seen of, or heard of again. The only mention of Jane playing is during her interview with Hoyt in prison.
As per Tamaro via the TNT website, "I ditched that piano because it didn't really fit comfortably back into Jane's apartment…" (huh, really? Perhaps the props dept. acquired it for another set 'cause it wasn't going to be used…). Maybe, JT should've stuck closer to the book; Jane actually played the trumpet (for two years in middle school as mentioned in chapter 11 of The Apprentice). Just imagine the comedic relief that would have afforded the show, and space wouldn't have been a problem, win-win.
Surely an "I had no intention of playing it again, so I sold it" would have been easy enough for closure.
And what the hell happened to their ringtones?
Oh well, I don't write the show, so we get what we're given.
Rant ends.