A/N: My apologies for the long wait, guys. This one was hard to write.
In memory of Lee Thompson Young, Barry Frost will now play a larger role in this story.
My deepest thanks for the follows and alerts and reviews. They mean more than you know.
Chapter 4
"He's playing with us. The game got boring for him so he decided to spice it up a little." Jane paced as she spoke, gait sure and strong and furious. Barry stood to the side with Vince at his desk as they strategized.
Maura sat at Jane's desk, fingers folded, eyes glassy. She felt calm, aware of herself from a distance as she traced Jane's movements. Though her rational mind knew differently, an odd notion entered her head: that all of her spark and anxiety, fear and anger—all the things she should be feeling were channeled away and into the endless motion of the detective. The long strides, the swinging arms. Twitching hands and troubled brown eyes. Yet for all the seemingly frantic movement, there was a confidence that curved each motion into controlled chaos.
Maura blinked. Odd, how one noted details in times of stress. Her mind shifted, easily providing a clinical explanation: A defense mechanism, brought on by stimulation of the sympathetic nervous system as the body readies for action against danger. Dubbed the fight-or-flight response by laypeople. Maura shook her head, and felt brown eyes register the movement. Her eyes found Jane's. Always so observant…
Maura glanced away. I'm babbling in my thoughts now. Yet her heartbeat was regular, her breathing steady. She registered the signs of emotional shock, but was unable to disassociate from the sensation.
The brown eyes flicked away, and Maura watched Jane slash her hand through the air, cutting across Barry's response.
Yes. Jane had a purpose fueled by an innate drive, and…compassion.
Her breathing sped and a slice of heat seared her chest. Her mind ran through years of isolation. The companionship of a mother more aligned with a formal acquaintance than any maternal bond. Kisses on the cheek, achievements congratulated by the house staff. Holidays and weekends spent studying, reading, developing her mind while other children developed friendships, transient though they were. Her life was much better than some. She was not complaining. She had learned independence and self-drive at an early age. But for all that, she had been content. After all, how could you miss something you'd never had?
She watched Jane knead her hands, like worry. Like compassion.
Only after you've had it, she answered herself. And lost it. The chill in her heart contracted. She hadn't expected Jane's withdrawal to hurt so much. It wasn't overt, nothing malicious. Just…a drifting apart. A retracted hand wrapped in smiles and diverted gazes. Too gradual and too easy, to break something she thought unbreakable. It made her realize how co-dependent she had become, how much she leaned on that fragile trust Jane offered, once granted so effortlessly. Was it normal, to be this affected? But normal was never a word used to describe Dr. Isles, Medical Examiner. Maura closed her eyes, suddenly weary. Yes, the loss physically hurt. Maybe…maybe it would have been better had she never—
A hand rested on her shoulder, tugging her from her thoughts.
"Hey doc." She hadn't heard Barry approach—a testament to her distraction—and she glanced up into surprisingly knowing eyes that searched her face. His presence was solid without being overbearing, and it occurred to her how good a partner he was for Jane. "We'll get him," he said quietly.
She blinked. A serial killer had targeted her. She took a deep breath and shoved her tumultuous thoughts aside. Yes, the murderer. The Highway Helper. That was why she sat at Jane's desk in the middle of the day. Why her head spun and her hands felt clammy. She had seen the evidence herself, undeniable: her license plate coded into a typed letter. She was the next victim in line. The woman lying downstairs with a recent Y incision flashed through her mind.
Barry squeezed her shoulder and nodded slowly, as though having read her thoughts. "We'll get him," he repeated, but the words held different meaning. It was comfort. Touched, a bit of the chill in her chest melted. He looked up and she followed his gaze to find Jane watching them. Maura realized she had missed the planning. They were at the action phase of the strategy.
"I'll take her home." Jane said, talking to Vince, but her expressive eyes trained on Maura held another conversation. Alright? they asked, behind the simmering anger. "I want a detail at her house 24/7." She glanced at Barry and pushed off from where her hip rested against Vince's desk. Maura's eyes fell to her kit belt, the gun hugging her hips. "Give me a sec and I'll talk to Cavanaugh—"
"No." Sharp and soft.
Everyone turned to look at her. It was the first word she'd spoken, her first acknowledgment.
Jane exchanged a weighted glance with Barry, then stepped forward. Her voice was low, raspy. Concerned but ready to argue. "Maura—"
"No," she repeated. Quiet, firm, unyielding. Conviction straightened her spine. "I'm not letting him control my every action. I'm not stopping work and I refuse to cower at home. The sooner I find something, the sooner this will end." She rose from Jane's chair and met the detective's gaze. It said strong. It said, I can be strong, too. If you let me. If you help me. Maura smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her skirt and felt Barry's assessing gaze. "If you need me, I'll be in the morgue."
Her heels on the linoleum echoed as usual, sharp raps loud in the hallway. Normally the sound meant confidence, filled her with purpose. Now, it was hollow.
Her ears strained backwards, listening. Hoping. And it was stupid, she knew. But she couldn't help it. She listened—for boots.
When no thump joined her clicks, her heart sank, and she felt a wash of the ice in her chest trickle down into her stomach. What's wrong with me? She pressed a hand to her forehead. She should be terrified. But instead she was… empty. Was there something fundamentally flawed in her character that disallowed normal reactions? She twisted the ring on her finger. That disallowed the development of long-lasting trust in relationships?
Lost in thought as she waited for the elevator, the rapid thump-thump-thumps went unnoticed until they grew close. Her heart lurched and sped, and she turned to see Jane slow to a stop. Her weight shifted from foot to foot, and Maura waited, unsure what to say, unsure what to make of the hope fluttering inside.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, aware of the watching eyes from the bullpen. No doubt others had noticed the change in her and the detective's relationship over the past few weeks. She knew Barry and Vince had, though they avoided the subject. Why that should matter now, Maura didn't know, but she was wary of public displays of things that should remain private.
"Maura, don't do this," Jane said, taking a step closer and lowering her voice. "Don't ignore it." Echoes of Hoyt flashed in her eyes, and Maura's heart constricted. "It's real." Jane paused, took a deep breath. "It's real, but we can stop it. If you let—us. If you let us." Maura heard the unsaid me. If you let me.
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
"Please. Don't push me away."
Maura's eyes snapped up, and she briefly wondered if Jane was mocking her, if Jane even realized the hypocrisy of that statement. But she saw the concern in her face, and Maura nodded once.
"I'm not. I meant what I said. I trust myself more than Pike. If there's anything to find, I want to be the one to find it. Besides." She gestured to the building around them. "Where am I safer than here, surrounded by police?"
Jane rolled her shoulders and let out an exasperated breath. "Do your arguments always have to be so convincing?" An eyebrow raised, a hint of her usual humor making an appearance.
Maura let a small smile form. "Logic tends to do that." Her voice softened. "And I learned from the best."
Some emotion Maura didn't recognize flitted across Jane's face. She felt Jane hesitate. Saw her reach out a hand and let it drop.
There it was. That wall that wasn't there before.
Her own echo of that action—what was it now? A month ago? Two?—ran through Maura's mind, and she swallowed.
"Just—" Jane ran a hand through her hair, her eyes dipping before returning to Maura's face, almost pleading. "Just don't leave alone, okay? Promise me that? Come and let me know when you're ready to go?"
Maura's stomach churned. This was what she had hoped for, a nudge into their usual association. So why did she resent the sudden outreach? Why now? Why should it take the threat of death to— That was it. She didn't want it to take a murderer to bring them back together. It made what they had seem…shallow.
The thought made her almost physically ill.
The lonely hours, the awkward calls, the nights spent staring at the ceiling worrying and wondering why. They seemed to build in her throat. She tried to swallow, but they clogged and collected, and came out—
"Fine," she said, more sharply than she intended. She instantly regretted her tone.
Jane took a step back, not seeming aware of the small gesture of retreat. Maura wanted to apologize, but another part of her felt vindicated. Jane was the one who had changed, the one who was pushing her away. Why should she cater to such treatment? But, no. Jane was hurting. This Maura knew. And it was her inability to confide in Maura that had Maura so…flustered. Upset. But she couldn't force her lips to form the apology on the tip of her tongue.
They stared at one another.
This was what they had come to, Maura thought. Awkward pauses and pregnant silences. Sometimes Maura felt they communicated more through expressions than any verbal language. Words pushing them apart, a killer pulling them together.
The elevator dinged.
"Okay," Jane said finally. She stood a moment more, shifted her weight, searched Maura's face. What she found, Maura had no idea. "Okay." She turned and strode away.
Once in the elevator, watching Jane's retreating form and wondering at the growing ache within, movement to the right caught her eye, and she saw Barry contemplating Jane through the glass. His attention turned to her, and their eyes met just as the elevator doors closed.
Maura lost herself in work. She remained numb, caught in the comfort of science and numbers, and frankly, she preferred it that way.
Jane gave her mixed signals. She didn't know what to think. Well, yes, she did. She was starting to think their friendship was undergoing an irrevocable change. Something had shifted, and she had the sense it would never be what it once was.
She shook her head, focusing on the report she was typing.
The autopsy of the latest victim was unremarkable. Aside from the semen sample, no evidence surfaced that could be of any use. The m.o. was the same: signs of restraint, torture, rape, and eventual strangulation. Then the body was dressed and displayed in the bedroom.
Maura stared at the woman's body lying on her table, studied her face. Seventeen. So young. She had been in high school. Maria Devonshire.
Sorrow welled in her heart, and Maura attempted to stifle the display of emotion. Detachment was necessary in her line of work. Compartmentalization. It allowed her to do her job. But that didn't mean she didn't feel. Many failed to recognize the difference, assuming her clinical approach translated into heartlessness. But Jane had always understood.
Footsteps made her look up, and her eyebrows rose in surprise even as she smiled. "Angela." She leaned back in her chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Angela had been a welcome presence in her life and her home, even more so over the past few weeks. Despite her daughter's behavior (or perhaps because of it), Angela had made her presence felt, which was never difficult for the Rizzoli matriarch. But to be honest, Maura genuinely cared for her, enjoyed the almost surrogate mother role that Angela had adopted. It made her feel…needed.
Now, the woman was practically bouncing with excitement, and she only gave the body a brief glance. Angela leaned forward as though revealing a secret. "Janie came down here, didn't she?"
Maura's smile faltered. "Yes."
Angela nodded as though it was her own doing. "About time." She watched Maura expectantly. "Well?"
This was not what Maura wished to discuss. Thoughts of letters and deep brown eyes intruded. She felt her carefully cultivated detachment beginning to crack. "I—" Maura glanced at the body again, and something akin to terror sliced through her middle as she imagined herself lying on that table, cold. Lifeless. Alone.
Stop.
"What's the matter? You're shaking."
Maura ripped her gaze away and met the concerned eyes of Angela—a brown hauntingly familiar. "I am?" She held out her hands and saw they were indeed shaking. She clasped them together as Angela rounded the desk and placed a hand over her own. The contact—normally so comforting—only served to coalesce the maelstrom she felt hovering just out of reach. She kept her breaths even and deep, practicing the yoga and mediation techniques meant to induce calm.
"Sweetie, what's the matter?" Angela's eyes darkened. "Did Jane do something?"
Oh, dear. Angela didn't know. Maura swallowed and decided to…what was that expression? Bite the bullet? She pulled her hands away and took a breath.
"Do you know of Jane's current case?" she asked carefully.
Angela frowned. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. The Highway guy the news keeps playing up. What about it?"
"I—" Maura cleared her throat, wishing she hadn't brought it up. Speaking it aloud only made the threat more real. The notion was ridiculous, of course, but she was finding her mind had trouble with rational thought today. "I am his next target," Maura said, quiet voice audible in the otherwise silent morgue.
A stunned beat. "Doesn't anybody tell me anything in this family anymore?" Angela exclaimed. She gesticulated wildly. A familiar gesture.
Maura felt tears pricking her eyes and Angela's face transformed, softened. "Oh. Oh, sweet dear." She bustled forward and Maura felt herself enveloped in a warm embrace, wrapped in the scent that she had come to associate with home and love and caring. She returned it.
"It'll be fine," Angela soothed, rubbing her hand along Maura's back. "Jane and Frost will find him. No doubt about that. And we'll stay over." Maura opened her mouth to protest, just when Angela's voice took on an edge. "But I don't see why she couldn't have told me before she left."
Maura's throat tightened as she drew away. Left? Her mind stumbled for potential explanations. "I imagine Jane is very busy, and didn't want to worry you unnece—"
Angela waved away the explanation. "I'm a mother. I worry. It's what I do." She placed a hand on Maura's shoulder. "I'll always worry about my children."
Maura was about to respond when a dash of sky blue caught her attention. A small envelope rested on the corner of her desk. Innocuous. But suspicious at the same time.
"Did you put that there?" Maura asked as she reached for the square. She didn't recall getting it with her mail today.
Angela shook her head, also curious.
Maura turned the note over in her hand. Her name written in neat script on the face was the only decoration. A shiver ran down her spine, oddly ominous. She unfolded the flap and slid out an index-sized card.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
"What?" Angela's voice might as well have come from underwater. "What is it, Maura?"
She silently held out the card and Angela gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
I always enjoy a fan of my work. We should get together and compare notes.
P.S. – Your hair looks better up with that dress.
A/N: Not to inundate you with notes, but just FYI, I'm a fan of pseudo-cliff hangers. Not sure why. I hate reading them myself, but for some reason while writing, they just come out. Won't be like that all the time, but just fair warning. And this fic will focus more on the Rizzles relationship, not a crime plot.
So…thoughts?
