Hi all!
Well, it's been a long time between fanfics and Rizzles is a new genre for me. Some of you that are subscribed to my alerts will remember me from my Lost Girl stories. I would like to apologise profusely to my long-suffering readers, your unwavering support has been absolutely wonderful but unfortunately for personal reasons I won't be continuing my existing LG fanfics. Still, I hope you can join me on my new adventures.
I've been going back to reading a lot of the amazing Rizzles stories out there again, there really are some marvellous writers on here and I know there are already a few extremely good historical/Wild West set pieces to choose from but I have been watching a lot of Westerns lately and I do like it as a Jane/Maura setting, it just seems to suit them.
So, without further ado, ready…? *Diana Prince-style spectacles in place…fingers primed and ready…*
DISCLAIMER; No Rizzoli and Isles characters will be harmed in the writing of this fic…they also sadly don't belong to me. If they did, they'd be living the high life in Paris for the rest of their days together. In a beautiful apartment. On the Seine. With one King-sized bed. Living on Champagne, Caviar & hot dogs for Jane.
"I Have Never Been a High-Class Hooker Before…"
Chapter One
Cavanaugh blinked at the brazen choice of words that had just sprung forth from the lips of the normally refined and genteel Doctor Maura Isles. Even by the year 1885 in which we lay our tale, the term 'hooker' by way of describing a certain class of woman was hardly common parlance among the sophisticate class of which ladies like Maura were a part.
Mind you, he reminded himself a little ruefully, ladies like Maura Isle are hardly commonplace themselves and she, perhaps still yet an oddity in of herself, even amongst this new regiment of modern women streaming forth from the new schools popping up all across America such as the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania from which I had personally plucked her myself a little over a year ago.
It wasn't that he didn't approve of educated women as such. He just hadn't had any use for one before.
Fifteen months prior, the Winter of 1883 had been a harsh one and the number of impoverished souls who had perished within the burgeoning City of Washington in the sub-freezing temperatures had been mounting swiftly. The years following the Civil War had had brought a sense of enlightenment, a culture where learning and invention both excellent and eccentric could thrive. With it came a small crack in the previously shutter window of education for ladies who could afford it and a greater sensitivity to the value of human life.
As the bodies began to pile up in the city morgue with this sudden inconvenient requirement for each one to be processed with care rather than simply slinging them all onto a wagon and dumping them into a convenient pit outside the city boundaries it was decided by the local government to find one of these new female medical students to do the job.
At first, it was seen as a rather grubby task for a woman's delicate sensibilities but if nothing else, it was relatively harmless work that would free up the male town doctors for other more important affairs but certainly if any of these so-called ladies were put off from a life in the tough world of 19th century medicine then all power to the good.
But when Sean Cavanaugh took the day-long railroad trip to Pennsylvania to meet some girl on the insistence of his acquaintance, the venerable Doctor Rachel Bodley, it was safe to say that he was not expecting the blonde whirlwind that was about to whisk her way into not only his hard-won professional regard but in his own quiet fatherly affections.
He had met Bodley years prior when he attended a lecture given by her on the subject of Chemistry & Toxicology of which, it was widely agreed, she was a leading authority. For a while, Cavanaugh had taken a personal interest in the idea that Toxicology could benefit his investigations of behalf of the Department of Justice. He just couldn't quite figure out the link but the parallels between scientific hypothesis and investigative theory were just too coincidental. The more he dug, the more he became fascinated by the idea that advances in science could be used to great effect when assessing guilt and bringing criminals conclusively to justice. All too many times during his long career in the military and subsequently law enforcement he had not been entirely convinced of his own case against men he had sent to the noose. He wanted to be better. It was that force which drove him. Which led him, ultimately, to Maura Isles.
Maura was a gifted student who had already been working directly under the auspices of Dean Bodley for quite some while by the time Sean Cavanaugh stepped into the grand old dame's office. Not only was she the highest rated student in her class but she was brilliant and Rachel Bodley knew brilliance. So much so that she had hoped to make Maura her protégé, to continue the research that she was fast becoming too old to complete but when Sean had presented her with an opportunity for one of her brightest students, she could not in all conscience hold her back.
On the surface, the appointment to the brand-new post of City Medical Examiner had been exactly what the town officials had intended. A grizzly job that would once and for all prove that no delicate slip of a girl belonged in medicine.
Unbeknownst to Maura, this was a silent audition as it were. The wily detective watched carefully how the surprisingly diligent young woman went about applying the knowledge she had gained under Doctor Bodley with care to her charges, using the largely misunderstood methods of toxicology and chemistry to discover facts about the individuals; not only specific causes of death but about their living conditions and to some limited extent their backgrounds.
In time he had informed Maura of his true intentions; finding a partner who could bring his ideas to fruition. At first, as flattered as Maura was, she had protested. She had found a fulfilment in being able to speak for the dead that her peers found downright macabre. Queen of the Dead they called her and this grim fascination had certainly won her no friends but then that was nothing new.
Ever since she had been a child whispers about her peculiar ways had echoed long down school corridors as she had passed by. At least at the medical college she had lived for a time among kindred souls who, while they may not have exactly been warm had at least been kind and shown her a professional courtesy that somehow meant more than overtures of friendship.
The townspeople of Washington City could definitely be as cutting as her childhood bullies but at least working with Mr. Cavanaugh felt safe. She had a place and no one dared speak out against her when she was by his side. It was clear that the detective placed great store by what this uppity female said and that was enough.
Fortunately for her sake, she did not have to give up her work in the morgue entirely for no one in the office could know Doctor Isles' true role within the department, nor how involved she became in the DOJ's investigations. Evidence based on the testimony of a woman could make any case shaky; to know that there was one behind the scenes, pulling the strings using a science that some folk would see little better than witchcraft and hokum was unthinkable. So, her days were spent in her beloved ice box mixing test-tubes in secret research.
Needless to say then, her surprise and closeted joy when Cavanaugh had asked her to take part in a secret sting operation that would see her posing as a showgirl in the unruly Wild West.
Glancing at him she could see the reticence in his eyes, set in a face that appeared to have aged significantly in the ten minutes or so since he had invited her into his office.
"I really don't like this myself Doctor Isles. If you don't want to go just say the world and the whole thing's off."
She eyed him calculatingly for a moment, her bright hazel gaze assessing him keenly, studying the frown lines permanently etched into the older man's brow.
"If you do not want me to go then why did you ask me then Sir?"
She really was not the impertinent sort but Cavanaugh seemed to seemed to sense that the young woman was deriving some level of amusement from his unease. He sighed, abruptly turning around to face the window that looked out on the green fields that eventually led to the ever-expanding White House, rubbing a palm roughly over his thinning head of close-clipped hair;
"Because I really don't have a choice. Our target will spot one of my men right off that bat or if she doesn't she'll soon smell a rat and our guy'll wind up on the bad end of a bullet. I need a woman to go undercover and you're the only one in the department. Off the books of course" he turned back to face her, offering her a wry smile.
"Of course," she readily agreed, matching his with a grin of her own.
"Hell," he should his head, "she could rat out a girl just as easily and we all know you're not exactly a poker face but you can stretch the truth, right?"
Maura gulped. In her excitement at this unprecedented assignment she had quite forgotten that to go under cover was essentially to live a lie and who knew how long she'd be out there?
"Well I suppose that if I was living the lie…" she began, desperately trying to string together a theory, "then would it really be a lie? Paradoxically speaking I wouldn't actually be telling a lie if I am actually doing as I claim…"
He held up his hand to stop her going any further with that train of thought. More than once in the early days of their partnership he had found himself caught up in one of her scientific tangents;
"Alright Doctor, you got the job but this is a track and report mission only, understand? You'll have one of my guys tailing you the whole time. Whatever you hear, you pass it to him. He'll get that information back to me through secret channels. Under no circumstance are you to come in direct contact with the target. Got it? Oh and I know you will need to make your cover as real as possible but I am not expecting you to prostitute yourself to the hooligans of the West." He smiled, knowing this last piece of instruction was not warranted but it served to lighten the atmosphere which had grown slightly heavy as the gravity of the situation began to make itself felt in Maura's consciousness.
"But sir, I have never been a high-class hooker before!" she grinned gamely and the sheer sauciness with which the line was delivered made the old man blush. Maybe she can just about pull this off he thought quietly to himself.
"Alright, you got the job kid" he said, playing off the sudden unexpected heat his assistant had brought to the room. After all, Doctor Isles, for all her unconventional ways did still possess a number of certain attractive attributes that even her greatest critics couldn't help but privately admire in the passing.
Statuesque with long waves that shimmered gold under a hot Summer sun on the rare days she let it down from its customary working bun, voluptuous curves that any woman would envy and a seemingly effortless grace which belied her often poor treatment by her peers leaving them in shame Maura would have made a fine match for any man who could bring himself to give her intellect free reign. Unfortunately, even in these so-called 'civilised' times that man seemed yet to be created. But the man who could nurture rather than deride her unique abilities didn't have to make his appearance for a while, if ever. Maura had a career and that was more precious than any old common marriage.
"Sir? May I ask who exactly is the target?"
Cavanaugh grimaced for a split second before shifting his face into a well-practiced mask of professional composure;
"Ever heard of an outlaw named Jane Rizzoli?"
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUN!
C'mon, you knew that's where I was going to leave you!
So…should I continue?