Chapter 9: You Can't Fuck With Time
"Okay, Jane, you went AWOL again yesterday, you won't pick up your fucking cell phone, now you better tell me who the hell this Maura Isles whack is," Frost says loudly, slamming open the door to Jane's bedroom and storming in without even knocking.
"Ugh… five more minutes," Jane mutters from her bed, digging her way deeper under the mound of comforters to hide from the harsh voice.
Frost pauses in his tracks and puts his hands on his hips, sighing loudly and glaring at the mound of comforters, sheets, and pillows.
"No," Frost states simply.
He walks over to Jane's bed and pulls at the covers, whipping them off to the side and exposing Jane's face to the burning afternoon sunlight.
"You're… evil," Jane mutters, covering her face and bringing her legs up to her chest as she curls into a ball on her side, turned away from the window.
"Jane, you wuss, it's only sunlight. And it's also," Frost raises his wrist to look at his watch, "2:53 in the afternoon."
Jane grunts.
"2:53?"
"2:54 now, but yes," Frost replies.
"Fuck, I went to bed like… 12 hours ago," Jane says, sighing tiredly.
"Yeah, well," Frost begins, walking over and pulling out Jane's desk chair to sit on.
"I'd assume time traveling takes a lot of energy out of you."
Jane stiffens at her friend's words.
She rolls over in her bed so she can look at her friend, despite the blinding sunlight.
"Excuse me?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.
Frost rolls his eyes.
"Jane, come on, you know what I mean. You're not that stupid."
Jane smirks. "So you believe me now?"
Frost shrugs. "Perhaps."
"Only perhaps?" Jane questions.
Frost nods.
"Yeah, I just need you to answer some things for me first."
Jane sighs and pushes herself up, along with a couple pillows as she situates her body against the headboard.
"Okay, shoot, what do you need to know?"
"Well," Frost says, clasping his hands together.
"First of all, who the hell is this Maura Isles whack that you were with at the mall yesterday?"
"Just a friend," Jane says in response.
Frost snorts. "Yeah, we'll get to that point later, but exactly where is she from?"
Jane shifts uncomfortably.
"She's from around here," she says, which actually isn't a lie at all.
"From around here as in a couple centuries ago, right?" Frost asks, smirking at his friend's wide eyes. "Oh, come on, Jane; don't act like it wasn't that obvious. She asked me if I'm one of your 21st century friends for fuck's sake! As if you have friends from other centuries," Frost finishes, staring at Jane with an eyebrow raised in question.
"Well, Frost, I've met your grandmother and technically, she could be labeled as someone from a different cent—"
"Jane! Not the point!" Frost yells, cutting Jane off.
The brown locked girl on the bed winces back slightly as her friend glares at her with the evil eye.
"But you know my point, Jane, now spill."
"Fine, fine," Jane says softly, bowing her head slightly in defeat.
"Maura's from… the, uh, past."
Frost nods, already expecting that answer.
"How long ago?"
"100 years." Jane says, looking up at her friend. "1908."
Frost bites his bottom lip as he continues to nod his head, seeing as he already kind of knew the answers, so he's not too surprised.
"What was she doing here?" Frost asks after a minute.
Jane chuckles before replying, "She followed me."
"Followed you? How so?"
Jane shrugs, but tells her friend what she knows.
"She saw me leaving the other night and she followed me by using that same post that I use. It's the one thing that connects the two centuries, I guess. I mean, there are more things, but for some reason that post in particular is like a… god, I don't know…"
"Time portal?" Frost supplies.
Jane smirks softly.
"Yeah, I guess. God, Frost, I almost forgot how much of a time travel nut you are," Jane says with a laugh.
Frost glares at Jane lightly, but smiles too.
After all, that's a true statement.
"So, anyways, yeah, she just kind of followed me home the other night and then she was wandering around town until I saw her during school," Jane continues recalling the events of the other day.
"So that's what came up during school?" Frost asks.
"Uh, yeah, and my mom already gave me shit when she found out I cut the entire block of afternoon classes," Jane says grimly.
"I bet," Frost responds.
The two are silent for a moment, both of them lost in their own seas of thoughts until Frost asks in a curious tone, "Who is she exactly?"
"Maura?" Jane asks, furrowing her brow and biting her lip in concentration.
"Yeah."
Jane sighs and looks down at her kneecaps, as if studying them with her utmost interest.
"I already told you, she's a friend."
Frost snorts and causes Jane to look up at him.
"Oh, god, Jane, please, you two were holding hands. I'm positive you haven't held hands with a girl since pre-school," he says with a snicker, making Jane blush.
Jane doesn't respond, but she bows her head once again.
"Jane, dude, you're blushing," Frost says, trying to hide another laugh.
Jane squirms and reaches for the sheets that are currently hanging off the side of the bed.
She catches hold of the corner in between her fingertips and she snatches the sheet, bringing it upward to hide under.
She crawls under the sheets and pulls them up over her head, hiding under them like a tent.
Watching Jane, Frost's chest begins to tighten and weigh down, making him feel a pang of guilt.
He sighs as Jane disappears in embarrassment beneath the bed sheets.
"Jane," Frost says softly. "Jane, come on, come out from underneath there."
The big round bump from underneath the sheets shakes from side to side in the negative.
Frost shakes his head at his own insensitivity and he stands up and walks over to Jane's bed.
He stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do to make his friend feel better.
"Jane," Frost says.
Her response is the sound of feet running against sheets as Jane tries to hide herself farther beneath her mound of blankets.
Frost sighs and carefully sits down on the edge of Jane's bed, making sure not to sit on any of Jane's limbs.
"Jane," Frost says again, his tone very soft. "Come on, I'm sorry I laughed, okay?"
No response.
Frost sighs again and starts tracing a crease in Jane's bed sheets with his index finger before speaking again.
"Is Maura…" he begins and then trails off. "Is she like your… your, uh, your… um, girlfriend?"
Silence.
Frost feels his heartbeat racing as he braces himself for the answer.
"Is she?" he asks again, softly and showing no hint of mock.
A sigh is heard from beneath the sheets, and slowly, very, very slowly, the bump, which is Jane's head hidden under the blankets, nods up and down in response.
Frost's breathing hitches in his throat.
"She is?" he asks for confirmation.
Jane slowly pulls the sheets off her head and peeks out from under them, resting against the headboard once more.
She sits up and brings the sheets down to her lap as she raises her head to look at her friend, a heavy blush scattered across her cheeks.
Jane nods her head again.
"Yeah, she is," she says softly.
Something in the pit of Frost's stomach churns and he turns his vision away from his friend to stare at the wall.
"I didn't know that you were… gay," Frost says quietly, taken slightly by surprise.
"Neither did I," Jane says with a shrug, chuckling softly as she notices Frost's sudden nervousness.
Frost turns his head back to Jane. "You didn't?"
Jane smirks and shakes her head. "Nope, I had no idea, but then… then I met Maura."
Frost nods in understanding, though honestly he doesn't understand at all.
"So she's your girlfriend?" Frost asks once more, just to double-triple-check.
Jane nods again, a smile forming on her lips.
"Yeah, yeah, she is," she replies, the word finally bringing a smile to her face.
"Um, but you guys kind of live, like, 100 years apart," Frost says after a minute.
"I know, I'm not stupid, Frost," Jane says with a hint of annoyance, glaring ever so lightly at her friend.
"Jane," Frost says warningly, closing his eyes in irritation. "You're telling me you have a relationship with some girl who is from 100 years in the past. Please tell me you're not in love," Frost says, demanding an answer as he looks over at his friend.
Jane turns her head away.
"What the fuck, Jane!" Frost yells, standing up from the bed and turning away from his friend.
"Now you're telling me you fell in love with some girl from a century ago? Jane how fucking stupid can you get?"
Jane winces away and grabs hold of the sheets once more, trying to use them as a shield to protect her against Frost's rational wrath.
"I'm sorry?" Jane tries softly, squinting up at her friend to see if a simply apology can make up for her stupidity this time.
Apparently it's not.
"Jane, basically you've just screwed yourself over. You do realize the chances of her living nowadays are slim, and even if she is she's probably like 120 or something like that. God, dammit Jane, 100 years ago! And you're in love? Don't tell me you expect to continue this hazardous relationship, please don't," Frost pleas, turning around and looking down at Jane on the bed.
Jane sucks in her bottom lip to keep herself from responding; she'd only disappoint Frost more anyways.
"Fuck, you're love struck with a woman from 100 years in the past. If that doesn't spell out depression and suicide then I don't know what the hell does," Frost says, slamming his body back down into Jane's desk chair.
Jane chuckles lightly.
"Frost, I'm not going to head into depression, and I'm not going to commit suicide. I'm happy, you dimwit."
"Yeah, happy with someone you can't ever truly be with. Ever."
Jane bites her bottom lip in concentration.
"Why not?" she asks.
Frost sighs, utterly pissed off right now.
Not in a jealous way or anything like that, because if Jane's happy, he's happy.
But come on, having your best friend fall in love with someone from 100 years ago in relationship you know that'll never ever be able to work out…
Yeah, he has a right to be pissed off at Jane's stupidity right now.
"Why, what, Jane?" Frost asks with a heavy sigh.
"Why can't we ever truly be together, huh? Who's to say that we can't?" Jane asks, her tone turning rather snappy.
"Why? Why?" Frost mocks with a cynical laugh.
"God, Jane, you have got to be kidding me! Who's to say you can't? Um, how about all the forces of time for that matter?"
"Screw time," Jane mutters under her breath, crossing her arms in defiance across her chest.
Frost laughs once more, shaking her head in pure disbelief.
"Honestly, Jane? Screw time? Dude, I'm sorry to break it to you, but you can't fuck with time, all right?"
Jane sends her friend one hell of a nasty glare.
"Then what the hell do you call what I'm already doing against time, huh? What do you call this whole thing of me traveling to the past, and Maura traveling to the future, huh? What kind of explanation do you have for that, mister professor?"
Frost opens his mouth to retort, but he merely seals his lips.
Jane sighs as silence overcomes them, and she gets up from her bed to put on some clothes.
She walks over to her pile of clothes that she's too lazy to hang up in her closet and leans over to rummage out a t-shirt and jeans.
"Jane, it's never going to work out," Frost says softly.
Jane stills for a moment, but she doesn't respond.
If Frost thinks that her relationship with Maura won't work… then screw him.
Jane returns to digging out a fairly unwrinkled t-shirt.
"She's going to die," Frost states simply.
Jane freezes at the words.
And Frost takes the opportunity to continue.
"Jane, I don't want to be harsh or anything, but it's inevitable, Jane. Maura will die, probably long before you do. They didn't have as much medical knowledge back then as they do today, and people died younger… And Jane, chances are Maura will die y—"
Jane turns around on her heels, dropping the shirt she had in her hands and flexing her hands into fists out of anger.
"You think I didn't already know that?" Jane asks in a yell, glaring directly at her friend.
Frost opens and closes his mouth as he searches for a response, but he ends up speechless.
"Well, guess what Frost, I know that! I'm well aware of the fact that she's going to die. And yes, she's going to die young. She'll die in a year, Frost, one fucking year! I went to her fucking gravestone for fuck's sake!" Jane yells at Frost, throwing her arms about in aggravation. "And do you know how insignificant and powerless that makes me feel?" she asks in a softer voice, bringing her hand up to her chest. "Do you, Frost? She's going to die in less than one year and there's nothing I can fucking do about it…"
They stare at each other for a minute or so, Jane's final whispers lingering in the air around them.
After a few moments, Jane bows her head and a sob escapes her body, making her entire frame shake as it leaves with a wretched cry from her lips.
"J-Jane?" Frost asks, looking at his friend.
Is she crying?
No, she can't be.
In all of the 13 years that they've been friends, Frost has only seen Jane cry twice.
Once was out of pain when Jane was 5 and broke her arm by falling off the top of the jungle gym at the school's playground.
The second time was when Jane was 13 and the baggage claim at the airport lost her one and only Boston Red Sox cap signed by her favorite player on the way home from their family's vacation.
Twice, only twice, and neither time was over someone's death.
Jane's been to funerals before, but never before has Frost seen the girl shed a tear over the loss of a loved one.
"Jane?" Frost asks again, walking closer to his friend as he hears little squeaks escaping Jane's body that sound like when his little sister is crying. Jane's shoulders are shaking and her head is bowed, and she keeps making sniffling noises. It's all so un-Jane-like that Frost feels like he's approaching some sort of alien.
Jane shakes her head at Frost; her unruly brown locks swinging from side to side as they lie loose and fall around her bowed head.
She raises her right hand as if to pause Frost and she walks over to her bed, her head still hanging low.
Without making any sounds besides sniffles and tiny squeaks that attempt to hide her cries, Jane sits down on the edge of her bed, hunched over with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as a few more sobs wrack through her body.
Frost stares dumbfounded for a minute, doing nothing more than watching his best friend break down right in front of him.
But then his rationality kicks in and he finds himself kneeling next to Jane, his hand reaching out to Jane's shaking shoulder.
He clasps it firmly and pats in attempt at a soothing manner, trying to calm Jane down.
"Jane, dude, don't… don't cry over it, it's just death, it's natural," Frost tries.
He crashes and burns.
Natural? Fuck, I suck at this comforting thing, Frost thinks to himself as he shakes his head at his own lack of skills.
He goes in for a second try.
"Come on, Jane, it'll be all right, I swear," he says softly.
Jane wipes at her face and raises her head only a smidge, staring at her friend from the corner of her eyes.
"How is it going to be alright, Frost, you just said yourself that it'll never work out. Ever," Jane says, another cry cutting through her body.
"But it'll be okay," Frost reassures.
Jane shakes her head and says in soft tone, sniffling as she tries to stop her tears, "You just don't get it, Frost. She's going to die and there's nothing I can do it about it, nothing, Frost, nothing!"
Frost is silent, for he doesn't have any words of consolation to give.
Jane manages to stop her tears and wipe away the trails as she brings her breathing back to normal.
After a minute or so, Frost smiles softly and pats Jane on the back.
"Hey, you know what, Jane?"
"What?" Jane asks with a shaky voice.
Frost says in a reassuring tone, "You'll think of something. You always do."
"Maura Dorthea!" the voice of Maura's mother rings throughout the Isles household on the same day as Jane and Frost's conversation, though, of course, 100 years in the past.
Footsteps are heard as Maura descends the stairs at the sound of her mother's voice, coming from somewhere in the first floor of the house. She reaches the bottom of the steps and calls out, "Where are you, Mother?"
"Maura Dorthea, good, we're in the study," she replies in a loud voice, yelling as if Maura is deaf instead of just in the hallway, a few yards away.
Maura sighs at the use of her proper name and makes her way toward the study, bracing herself outside of the entrance before entering, standing up tall and straight with good posture; just the way her mother likes to see.
She enters the study to find her father sitting at the desk, a glass of some sort of light-colored alcohol resting on the space in front of him. Her mother is standing by the window, though with her back turned toward the window so she is facing the rest of the room.
"Yes, Mother?" Maura asks, clasping her hands together and hanging them just below her hips.
She smiles lightly.
"Oh, good, Maura Dorthea," she says, sounding very pleased to see her daughter.
Maura tries to smile, though she's slightly frightened by her mother's eager tone.
"What can I do for you, Mother?" she asks, assuming that when she's called there must be some master plan behind it all.
Her mother smiles again.
"Please, take a seat, Maura Dorthea," she says softly, motioning toward the empty chair near her father's desk.
Maura complies and sits down, moving it slightly so she can see both of her parents at the same time without having to crane her neck to look at her mother.
"Well?" she asks, folding her hands and resting them in her lap.
She takes a moment to glance over at her father, who is also smiling lightly.
"Maura Dorthea, your father and I have been talking," her mother speaks up softly.
Maura holds back her sigh.
They've been talking? Well, this can never end well.
"What about?" she asks politely, trying to sound remotely interested, though even that proves to be difficult.
"We have noticed you and that Rizzoli girl have been spending quite a lot of time together lately," she says.
Maura swallows and tries to hold back her blush.
"Yes, and?" she asks, begging for her to move on and get to her point.
"Well, Maura Dorthea, comparing that amount of time you spend with that horrid girl compared to the time you socialize with other ladys your own age…" she trails off, her tone slightly distraught. "You should socialize more with the other young women around here, Maura Dorthea, and not with one girl who comes into town every weekend."
Maura clenches her jaw.
If only they knew what Jane meant to Maura, then maybe she wouldn't insist on saying stuff like this.
"Mother, please, will you get to your point?" Maura asks.
Her mother glares at her and she bows her head shamefully.
"Maura Dorthea, when is the last time you have even had dinner with a young man?"
Maura glances up at her mother, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I do not know, Mother. Why?"
"That's your Mother's point, Maura Dorthea," her father breaks into the conversation, annoyed with how long his wife can drag any conversation to take.
Maura shakes her head.
"I… I'm not following," she responds, honestly confused, though she's more so blinded by her stubbornness to understand.
"Maura Dorthea, your father and I have been discussing for the past few weeks," her mother says once again, making Maura focus her attention on her as she continues. "And we have found a bright, sweet, handsome young man who is quite suitable for you to wed."
