Notes: Sorry for the unusual delay, this past week was totally hellacious at work so I wasn't able to do any writing. Anyhoo, I should reiterate that Evolution heavily references what I have built in my Disclosure and Shadows series so if you haven't read those there may be some references that won't make much sense. I also edited this under the influence of a bottle of wine...so, I can't be held accountable for major typos...that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

CH 2: Perspective

There was a special and new tenderness in the way in which the wet wipe in Maura's hand glided over the young woman's cheek on her table. It was her third pass cleaning the victim's body though all specks of dirt and biologicals had been fastidiously washed away after her first rinsing. Nevertheless she'd made a second pass with the spray head and a sponge and now a third with a wet wipe.

It was as if she was trying to wash the bruises away on what had once been a beautifully striking face. Fair, porcelain toned skin with rose-kissed cheeks and deep chocolate locks with the faintest mahogany highlights. Her skin was marred now, bruised and abraded. If she were still breathing the deep purple contusions would stand in stark contrast to her pale and satiny skin. The discoloration was evident now, but less stark against the dusky sallow skin that death brought. There would have been scabs in her scalp if she had lived, what had probably been styled locks were frayed and broken from the struggle. There was a noticeable bald spot where a chunk had been ripped at the roots. It could be covered up though. Once crystal blue eyes were overpowered in a sea of red.

Subconjunctival hemorrhage, fractured hyoid, cyanosisconsistent with physical trauma visible on victim's neck. Maura noted the indicators in her report. Final conclusion on cause of death: Ligature Asphyxiation.

The woman's parents had insisted their daughter's picture accompany her body to the morgue. Maura looked at the photo again, she was beautiful. It wasn't her job to make Candace Kouros look like the picture; that would be for the mortician. Maybe the woman's parents had thought that if her picture went with her body it would mean something. To them she was a victim, but she was also a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a best friend…so many things…a human being. A living breathing human being that sometime the previous night had enjoyed a latte at her favorite coffee shop during an open mic night, walked home and been assaulted and ultimately murdered. The parents had insisted the picture go with her body, Maura had looked at it before the autopsy, glanced at it during and upon completion she had certainly put an extra effort to closing her Y incision with a plastic surgeon's precision and of course the three cleaning passes until she was satisfied any mark she could remove had been so.

When you are around death everyday it's easy to view a corpse as a shell, she thought, but it's not. A shell is hard and rigid. It's the wrong metaphor for something that held life. The body is a vessel. Trite. But…appropriate. This body held a fluid…abstraction, a flexible essence that interacted with the world and the people in the world around it. It held a life…it held…a soul.

This was her first sexual assault victim since her own attack at the hands of Officer Lloyd Kearns almost five months ago.


The bullpen was abuzz as it seemed all of the officers from the Sexual Assault Unit had filed into Homicide. There was a turf war brewing. Maura weaved through the unfamiliar bodies that were congregating around the door to spot Jane and Deena Walters sitting casually at Jane's desk. They seemed largely to be ignoring the posturing between the other SAU and homicide detectives.

Lt. Cavanaugh's voice could be heard starting to rise over the din as he argued with Lt. Miller who headed SAU, "Look, we've got several open cases and our space is bigger you should move the team you have working this serial up here…"

"What's going on?" Maura asked as she approached Jane and Deena.

"Hey Maura, good to see ya," Deena smiled, "Oh…Lt. Cavanaugh and Lt. Miller are just having a fun little pissing contest over there…"

Maura wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow in a show of horror.

"It's a figure of speech Maur," Jane laughed, shaking her head, "our vic looks like the latest in the serial rape case Deena's unit has been working. The suspect has been gradually escalating and this is the first homicide so now the Lts are having a brass off over whether SAU is going to move their case detectives up here or whether we're going to be sent down to them."

"Ligature Asphyxiation," Maura stated dryly as she handed Jane her report, "the ligature marks are a uniform two inches, you'll notice the slight void here and some other patterned irregularities indicative of some kind of stitching…I would say the assailant used a belt to strangle her. I sent rape kit samples and fingernail scrapings to the lab…" Pissing contest…territorial posturing. A woman is dead.

"They'll be negative," Deena sighed, "the victims say he's pretty well covered from head to toe, he uses condoms and then wipes them down with a bleach solution when he's done. We ain't got shit but a psych profile and approximate height and build and physical preferences in terms of what he's looking for in a vic."

Lt. Miller's voice shouted above the crowd telling his unit to clear out and the officers working the case to haul their files up to homicide.

Deena smiled and shook her head at the inevitable announcement, "Looks like your turf, got your A game Rizzoli?"

"Always," Jane replied with her telltale confident smirk.


The lights in her apartment were all dimmed by the time Jane got home late that night. She was tired, yes, but these were the kind of days she lived for. A new case, a new puzzle to piece together and this was certainly a challenging one. Six victims so far, counting Candace Kouros the most recent. The day had been nonstop action, detectives from both units a flurry of activity; Homicide had to be briefed on the case to that point and then the collaboration began. The detectives from the two units had stayed late working and then all headed to the Robber for a drink. The earlier dissension seemed to disappear once they got down to business. That Jane and Deena already new each other seemed to help. They each took the lead for their respective units and their genuine camaraderie and cooperation encouraged everyone else to fall in line.

It seemed strange to say but in a manner of speaking Jane found the case somewhat refreshing. No, not refreshing…she corrected in her mind as she placed her gun and badge in the buffet drawer in her living room…intriguing, a change of pace. Serial killers are rare. Hoyt was the only serial she'd ever worked. Deena had explained that the incidences of serial rapists were much higher, but lack of victims coming forward, typically less structured M.O.s and long gaps between victims made serials hard to identify. Not so in this case, the perp was running on about a two-week cycle, had a definite "type" and was highly patterned in how his attacks were carried out. There was an extra edge, an added intensity with a serial.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd still be awake. Everyone missed you at the Robber." Jane started stripping, her back turned to Maura who was sitting up in bed with only the bedside lamp on. "When we close this case, Deena wants us to go out to dinner with her and her girlfriend. I thought that could be fun…double date or whatever."

Maura's eyes didn't rise from the closed book resting in her lap. Her finger ruffled the pages at the book's corner. It was a different feeling, empathy…with a victim. There had been a strange sadness when she looked at her half-brother and mother after their murders. But, she didn't…she couldn't really know what they had felt. Candace Kouros was entirely different.

"Hey…" she jumped as Jane's hand touched her cheek, she hadn't even felt her slide into the bed. "…where are you?" Jane asked, her voice heavy with concern.

"I…I'm sorry…it's the case. It's my first sexual assault case since…"

Jane cursed herself mentally for not thinking about that. Her arms enveloped Maura before she could even finish her sentence. No words. None were needed. Touch said everything. Light breaths floated across Maura's ear before Jane pressed her lips to her cheek. She felt Maura's skin lift beneath the kiss as she smiled, a reaction to the comfort, the love, a sensation she had wanted to feel all day.

"Why didn't you say something before…I wouldn't have gone out after work…I…"

Maura pulled back to look in Jane's eyes as she raked her fingers through the long brunette tresses that fell scattered over Jane's shoulders, "Don't be sorry, I needed some time alone to process what I was feeling. It's not what you think. I've seen so many bodies, so many horrible ways that a person can end the life of another. But I've never considered what that person must have been feeling in those last moments. Today, for the first time, I did. I know exactly how she felt. The panic, the terror, the frustration and the anger. The desperation…of trying to fight but not succeeding, of screaming for help and waiting to see if anyone answers. And it was so much worse for her, because you came for me but no one came for her. It was an unnerving autopsy."

Jane leaned back into the wall of pillows Maura had stacked against the headboard, "Come here," she beckoned.

Maura kissed Jane's collarbone as she nestled into her side, resting her head in the crook of Jane's neck, "Do you remember that time…the first night you stayed over at my place when Hoyt was loose…and you asked if I would tell you if I was a cyborg?"

Jane snorted, "Yeah…you know I was joking right?"

A simple nod as Maura let her fingertips slide under Jane's top and skate across her abdomen, "I know you were joking. But, in a way there was truth to it. You said yourself the other night, when I was crying after reading that short story; 'cyborg Maura,' that was the Maura I used to be. You've helped teach me that it's ok to give into emotions. Sometimes, it still catches me off guard though, like it did today."

Minutes passed. Time was inconsequential, Maura's form relaxed into Jane's side, her hand stilling and coming to rest on the toned abs she had been caressing. It was exactly where she wanted to be; she could feel herself slipping into sleep. Her legs shifted and the book that had been lying ignored in her lap tumbled onto Jane's thigh. Jane glanced down at it.

"What were you reading?"

Reluctantly, Maura opened her eyes and reached for the book, "I pulled it off the shelf and never actually opened it. I got lost in my thoughts."

Jane reached for the book, an atrocious mossy green cover with burnt orange scroll work on the front. Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot. She placed the book on her opposite side as she leaned forward, still clutching Maura to her side she pulled the pillows from their upright prop and scooted them both down so that if they dozed off they would at least be in a normal sleeping position.

"Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot," Jane's husky voice announced.

Smiling, Maura reached for the edge of the comforter and pulled it up over them.

Jane began to read aloud:

Because I do not hope to turn again

Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn

Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things

(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)

Why should I mourn

The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know

The infirm glory of the positive hour

Because I do not think

Because I know I shall not know

The one veritable transitory power

Because I cannot drink

There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is

nothing again

Because I know that time is always time

And place is always and only place

And what is actual is actual only for one time

And only for one place

I rejoice that things are as they are and

I renounce the blessèd face

And renounce the voice

Because I cannot hope to turn again

Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something

Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us

And pray that I may forget

These matters that with myself I too much discuss

Too much explain

Because I do not hope to turn again

Let these words answer

For what is done, not to be done again

May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

"Jane," her voice was soft almost hesitant, loathe to interrupt the dusky voice that so perfectly read words weighted with such meaning. She read the lines with an air of deep understanding and the words meant more to Maura because of the voice that spoke them. Jane paused.

Maura lifted her head to meet Jane's questioning gaze, "Back at New Year's you said you would like to find a church we could be comfortable going to together. We haven't talked about it since but if you really want to I want you to know that I meant it when I said I would go with you. I…I feel like it could be good for me…for us."

Her eyes fluttered shut as Jane's hand reached out and stroked from her forehead down her cheek, "I'd like that."

Maura settled back onto Jane's chest, she smiled as she soaked in the slight vibration as Jane continued to read:

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly

But merely vans to beat the air

The air which is now thoroughly small and dry

Smaller and dryer than the will

Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

Slow and rhythmic breathing signaled that Maura had succumbed and drifted off to sleep. Jane eyed the second stanza of the poem and decided to save it for another night. She closed the book and set it aside. Her eyes followed the spinning of the ceiling fan for a few moments before her body took over and ushered her into sleep.