A/N: This chapter was harder to write, for some reason. Probably because it precedes the two(or three) most important chapters of this story. In the next chapter, we'll see Jane finally talking with someone about her dream and her feelings. I'll let you guess who that is. The ones who guess correctly get a shout-out in the next A/N(and a high five). Anyway, advice is very much welcome, so if you feel there's something that would make the story better, tell me!
Chapter 3: To bury one's head in the sand
The drive to the crime scene is silent. Even Jane, who normally fumbles with the radio, whining about the bad music on "every station", is ignoring the obnoxiously loud pop song blaring from the speakers in favor of focusing on something that is clearly not the road.
"Shit! Watch where you're going, asshole!"
A long sigh escapes Maura.
"Language, Jane! And while I do admit he could have signaled that he wanted to switch the lane more quickly, it wasn't his fault. You were hardly paying attention."
A grunt is heard from the driver's side, and the medical examiner knows that she will have to talk to Jane sooner rather than later about her night terrors. Might as well ask her now.
"Why is that, Jane?"
"Huh? Why what, Maura?"
"Why are you not paying attention to the road? Is something bothering you?"
Jane blushes immediately at the question, again remembering the reason for her peculiar behavior. Yeah, something's bothering me, alright. I had a fucking wet dream about you, Maura! While sleeping next to you!
"No, Maur, I'm fine. I just didn't sleep that good last night." You mean you were way too cozy in her…
"Well. Sleeping well. And why is that?"
"Um… I… I-I just had some stuff on my mind, and it kept me up for a bit."
Great going, Jane. That definitely wasn't a lie.
Maura, for her part, knew not to push Jane further, so she accepted her friend's lie, as much as it hurt her to do so.
"Well, if there's anything I can help with, Jane, you know you can talk to me."
"Yeah, Maur, I know. Thanks."
Jane has to do a double take when they arrive at the scene.
"What the…? The beach? Really?" She looks incredulously at her friend, eyebrow raised and sarcasm at the ready, but finds no willing audience, for Maura is gone, temporarily replaced by Dr. Isles.
"Yes, Jane, the beach. Actually, about 44% of the dead bodies that are the results of homicide in Boston are found in or near bodies of water."
The detective chuckles, shaking her head. Of course Maura would say that. Her next thought makes her amusement disappear. At least Maura didn't subtly flirt with me, like I was going to.
When they reach the body, they find a smirking detective Frost waiting for them.
"Hey, Doc! Looks like I beat you to the scene, Jane."
Jane's mood only sours, the glare she sends him being as fierce as the one she normally reserves for perps.
"Good morning to you too, Frost. What are you smirking about, anyway? I thought you didn't like being next to dead bodies."
The male detective senses something is wrong, knowing that Jane only good-naturedly makes fun of his queasiness. This time, however, Jane didn't crack a smile in anyone's direction, the comment stinging like a punch to the gut.
"What's the matter? Didn't drink your coffee?"
"Actually, no, I didn't. But that doesn't have anything to do with the fact that right now you're wasting our time. So I would prefer if you just let me and Dr. Isles do our damn job. That is, if you insist on not doing yours. Here's your ten bucks, by the way."
The mean remark catches both the detective and the medical examiner by surprise, the latter stopping the action of putting on her gloves. She stares at Jane, trying to understand the reason for the brunette's sudden defensive behavior, but gives up after a few seconds, knowing that it would take supernatural powers to find out. And Maura Isles does not believe in the supernatural.
A few hours later, the previously half-buried body of a middle-aged man sits primly on the autopsy table, waiting for Dr. Maura Isles to do what she does best: tell his story and find his killer.
The medical examiner puts her black scrubs and white gloves on, starting her autopsy.
Middle-aged man, approximately 41 to 43 years old. Black hair, green eyes, pronounced chin. Ring line, but no ring. Were you married? Defensive wounds on his hands and elbows. You fought your attacker. Let's see if we can find any of his or her DNA. Blunt force trauma to the head. Bruising pattern indicates he was hit repeatedly with a large object of rectangular form.
"Like a plank?"
Maura is abruptly taken out of her analysis by no other than the earlier source of her distress: Jane Rizzoli.
"I cannot say, Jane. Without further testing and-"
"I know, I know. You can't guess. But, we did find this plank in a dumpster not far from where we found the body. Coincidence? I think not."
Jane smirks and waits for Maura to get the reference, but the honey blonde simply blinks and takes the evidence bag from her hand to test it. For some reason, though, she makes sure to gently glide her fingers against Jane's hands while doing so, goose bumps quickly forming on the detective's arms.
"Well, Jane, I'll have to test it, but this appears to be consistent with the bruising pattern on the victim. If you'll excuse me, I have to do my… damn job, as you so eloquently put it earlier. And I suggest you do the same."
Jane is left gaping in the middle of the morgue, with little else to do than stare at Maura's enticing retreating form…What?! What the hell? I'm staring at my friend. Best friend. Wow, Jane, you're such a great friend, staring at Maura's ass to make sure it doesn't disappear.
That takes Jane out of her reverie, the detective quickly making a decision: she had to talk to someone about this. She couldn't keep pretending she didn't have that dream, or that she didn't have feelings for her best friend. As emphasized by the day's events, burying your head in the sand doesn't make you disappear, it only delays the inevitable. The inevitable - in this case - being coming to terms with your feelings.