between your ribs
I'm so so nervous about this chapter. Please let me know what you think!
Chapter Ten:
October 24th, 2015.
It's not that she hates the new ME. It's just that she isn't Maura.
Not that she can describe Doctor Howell as new. She's been filling Maura's position since a month into Maura's abduction – and she's good (Jane almost shudders at the idea of what would've happened if Pyke had gotten the job instead). There's no denying her skill and commitment. It's just that she's… bland. There's no passion to what she does; no tidbits of information Maura normally throws out into the open with a nerdy glint in her eyes.
"Good morning, Detective," Howell greets her over a dead body that day, already taking notes. "You have a thirty year old white male – your colleagues have already recovered his wallet and ID, I believe – who I suspect died approximately between two and three this morning."
"Cause of death?"
Howell shrugs, her black hair falling over her shoulders. "Right now I see none of the usual evidence of blunt force trauma, or asphyxiation, nor bullet wounds – "
"So you're telling me he just dropped dead?"
"Now, I didn't say that, Detective," Howell says, laughing.
Korsak approaches her soon after with the victim's wallet. Michael Groves, a single father of a fifteen year old boy, too many blocks away from home for his death to be anything but suspicious. Frankie greets them with bagged evidence of a needle that looks a little too bloody to be normal.
"I figured he must've been drugged, right?"
Jane raises her eyebrows. "They called you in on this case too?"
Frankie smiles, rolling his shoulders. "Actually, I was officially assigned to homicide this morning. Cavanaugh called me in about an hour ago to tell me."
"No way!" Jane wraps her one arm around his shoulder, squeezing. "My baby brother finally made it to homicide."
"Two Rizzoli's in the same department? God help us," Korsak deadpans.
"Yeah, well. He," Jane points at Frankie, "is officially the other Rizzoli. Okay?"
While she's eating lunch in the precinct café later – and, God, a cheeseburger has never tasted so good – her mother corners her about moving one of the last boxes of things she has into Maura's guesthouse.
"Sure, Ma," Jane wipes her greasy fingers on the napkin. "I can bring it round straight after work. That alright?"
"Sure," Angela says, taking the seat opposite Jane. "Now tell me, why didn't that brother of yours tell me he's working with you now? Vince was here just now telling me – "
"He only got the job this morning, Ma. Seriously," she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, you almost had a heart attack when I told you I was working for homicide. What's got you so riled up about him working there?"
"A mother deserves to know these things about her children."
Jane takes the last bite of her burger and hums, sipping on her coffee. She doesn't really need it now – the case so far has been pretty straightforward. The victim's son had pointed towards his estranged mother, who had recently been attempting to get back in contact with him despite a restraining order, and they'd found that she was nearby in the area and had no alibi. Howell had completed her autopsy, too, and Frankie had been right – the guy had been drugged. Coffee has simply become part of her routine.
"Speaking of, how's Maura?"
"Oh, she's very happy to be home, Jane. I knew she would be. I made her gnocchi for her first night home and she loved it – these past couple days she's had help, though."
"Help?"
"You know. A nurse. Her mother must have hired her," Angela huffs. "I know her ribs are still healing, but it's a waste of money, if you ask me."
"Nobody asked," Jane replies. "But does that mean Constance isn't around to help?"
"I don't know. Maura hasn't mentioned her. When I asked, she just said something about Europe."
"Europe? Seriously? Her daughter has barely recovered and – "
"Jane," Angela sighs, grabbing her daughter's hand. "People can only put their lives on hold for so long."
Jane curses under her breath as she struggles with the box of her Ma's things. Of course, she'd neglected to tell her that the one forgotten box at her old apartment is full of bricks – not literally, but as Jane almost stumbles holding it with one hand while she locks her car she thinks it might as well be. Jeez, how can stuff that's pointless enough to be forgotten even weigh this much?
It's funny, how she still has so many old habits. It's been months – almost five, she thinks – since she's been here. The last time she'd come here she'd ducked beneath the police tape and slipped into Maura's house, her room – searched through her things. Not for the case. Just for some sort of connection to Maura. There'd been journals she'd seen her reading before, and blouses she'd remembered her wearing, and photos lining the mantelpiece that she had seen time and time again. The familiarity had almost swamped her, and she'd wound up sitting cross-legged on Maura's bed, fingers drifting over the silk covers.
Still, now, she remembers exactly how far it is she has to stoop to open the guesthouse door with her elbow. Remembers the soft squeak it makes before it opens fully, and how much force to nudge it with so that it doesn't slam open, simply drifts.
"Ma?"
She calls out for Angela a couple more times, but the woman doesn't appear. Strange, since the guesthouse is unlocked.
"Oh."
Jane startles, the box spilling on the floor, when Maura's voice splinters the silence.
Groaning, Jane crouches, beginning to gather the items that had fallen out of the box – a framed photo of her, Frankie, and Tommy as kids; an Italian cookbook; a novel she remembers her mother talking about three months ago but hadn't spoken of since. After, she dumps the box on the couch, surprised when she turns and finds Maura still standing in the doorway.
"Maura?"
Maura smiles timidly. "Jane."
Without thinking, Jane lets her eyes rake over Maura's frame. Her mother had been right after all. Maura is doing better. Silhouetted by the light spilling in through the doorway, the familiar curves of Maura's body – unfurling slowly but surely – are a little more prominent now, even as her hands twist awkwardly in front of her own body. Her chin is tucked down while she's looking up at Jane in a way that is more than shy – more than timid – perhaps… still afraid?
"I'm sorry. Ma asked me to drop off this box of her stuff, I didn't mean to… intrude."
Maura shakes her head softly. "Angela is celebrating your brother's new job at The Dirty Robber with Korsak and Nina. She said she wouldn't be home until the evening."
"She said that?"
"Yes."
Jane growls. "She conveniently left that out this morning."
"I thought I heard someone in here. So I – "
"So you just decided to investigate?" Jane asks hotly.
Maura flinches. "I'm sorry. "
She says it like a reflex.
Jane holds her hands up, palms forward, a peace offering.
"No – I just meant maybe you should take a little more precaution. I mean – your ribs are still healing, aren't they? You're not fit enough to… No, I shouldn't. I shouldn't have said anything."
Maura's hands are trembling now, and she stuffs them into her pockets. The sound of her skin against cotton makes her blush, as if she's afraid of taking up space. Jane wants to step forward, to demand that Maura fill up more of the room – the space between them is too empty, too filled with the corpse of what was.
"Jane."
The way she says Jane's name. It is like she's reaching out, slipping her arms around her waist, tugging her closer, demanding that push. Jane sways forward, just a little, still leaving a foot of space between them. The closeness is dizzying.
"My psychologist told me that you aren't going to hurt me. I asked my mother and she said that you're my friend. That you would never hurt me," Maura pauses, and when she next speaks, it's like a question. "You'd protect me."
She'd spend a million lifetimes answering. "Yes. I would."
Maura frowns a little.
"I'm sorry. For needing to be… so far from you. It's just that being close to you affects me in ways that are bad for me, and I think that you understand that needs to come first for now. At least, I hope that you do. I don't think your mother does."
Jane laughs. "No, I don't think she does, either."
A small smile grows on Maura's lips again. Curling upwards like it's trying but it's just a little stuck, and it makes hope bloom in Jane's throat. When she smiles, the flower of hope overspills, the petals brushing against her skin and making it sing.
"Any time you need me, Maur. I'll be here."
Maura tilts her head.
"I think… I know that."
November 5th, 2015.
Jo Friday is eating her leftover takeout from the box while she lounges on the couch, feet propped up, watching some old cop movie she hasn't bothered to check the name of. She's found at least five inaccuracies in the first seven minutes, and she lets her eyes slip closed, fingers curling around the blanket she'd pulled over her. Maura would've found more inaccuracies. Smarter ones. She wishes that her own brain could fulfill that space, but she'd never learned the facts that Maura would spill into the air between them; she'd simply trusted that Maura would always be there to provide them.
Jane jerks awake, startling Jo Friday, when her phone rings. She groans, praying that it's not a body, as she plucks it up from the floor beside her.
It's definitely not a body.
The caller ID reads Maura.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Jane."
She sits immediately. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I should – "
"No," Jane protests. "Don't ever apologise, Maura. I told you… if you need me. I'm here."
They fall silent, and slowly, Jo Friday creeps back over to the takeout box. The last of the noodles are gone in an instant and she trots away, to her bed, curling up perfectly overfed and content. She probably should've googled whether Chinese food is safe for dogs before giving Jo Friday some.
"Do you still have your key to my house?"
"Yeah," Jane says, eyes flicking over to her keys on the table. It's the only other set she owns beside her own.
"Good," Maura replies. "Would you… Come over?"
"You want me to?"
"I'd like you to, yes," Maura confirms. "If you can."
"I'll be there in ten."
"See you."
The words by the way, I love you clog in Jane's throat and then the sound of the tone rings in her ears. Maura's already hung up. Shaking her head, Jane grabs her keys, stuffs them in her pocket with her phone, and is still pulling her boots on when she's halfway out the door.
Maura's house is silent when she lets herself in.
It feels wrong. It feels like it did before. With Maura gone.
"Maura?"
Hesitant, afraid.
"I'm here, Jane."
Balm.
When she moves into the house, she finds Maura sitting at the table, both of her palms pressed against the table. There is a glass of water in front of her, and she's staring at the rim of the glass, eyes blurry. Jane pauses, assessing her. Maura's hair is pulled back haphazardly, wide locks falling free and brushing against her collarbones. The only thing right about the picture is the fact that she's wearing silk pyjamas.
"Do you want me to sit?"
Maura nods, pointing to the chair opposite her. Jane accepts it slowly, afraid of startling her.
"Maura…"
Her voice reaches out when she can't.
"I'm okay. Really. My pain relief medication has simply worn off, that's all," Maura tells her.
"Do you need more? If you tell me where it is – "
"I just took it," Maura pauses when she realises she's interrupted, watching warily. Jane doesn't complain, keeps her face carefully relaxed. Maura allows herself to breathe again. "It'll be twenty minutes before it takes effect."
"What about your nurse? Or – whatever it is. Ma said you had hired help?"
Maura shakes her head. "While I appreciate the sentiment from my mother, it wasn't a necessity. I am perfectly capable of managing my own medication and stopping when I feel that I am pushing my limits. After all, my nurse didn't even know the correct breathing exercises to relieve broken rib pain."
"The scandal," Jane gasps mockingly.
Maura tilts her head slightly.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"A little," Jane admits, setting her hands on the table, until they're barely inches from Maura's. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No. I quite like it."
Maura retracts her right hand from the table, runs her finger around the rim of her glass.
"You know, in Britain, it's Guy Fawkes Night."
Jane's heart flutters. This feels like Maura.
"Yeah?"
Maura nods. "They build bonfires and create dummies of Guy Fawkes, who attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament as part of the Gunpowder Plot. He belonged to a group of Catholics who opposed the Protestant King – King James I. As well as these bonfires, the British often host firework parties, or attend firework displays. Celebrating the failed plot."
"After their high tea, of course."
Maura laughs – a real laugh, loose and free. The space between them feels rich with something happy and Jane wishes she could contain it, to watch over them forever. She'll never tire of hearing that laugh.
"Oh yes, that stereotype is true," Maura says. "In the same way that the stereotype that all Italians are hot-blooded mob bosses is true."
Jane leans forwards, a little daring, and Maura doesn't pull away.
"Maura," she gasps. "Did you just tease me?"
"Maybe," Maura hums.
When the content glow slips from Maura's skin – it's not so pallid now, her skin, though her mother has told her she's seen Maura taking vitamin supplements – and she falls silent, Jane doesn't push. Patience has never been her strong point, but Maura Isles is. So she studies the way Maura's hair catches the light, the way her eyes are a little sharper now, much more aware than the woman who had been pulled from the basement over a month ago.
How many dinners has she had at this very table? Laughing and drinking beer and eating good food with her mother and Maura, or her entire family and Maura, or sometimes just the two of them.
Still, every time, she had watched Maura through the laughter and thought, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever known. The woman had been everything to her. She still is.
She's not quite sure why it took losing her to see that.
"Jane… Your mother was here earlier."
"You guys have dinner together again?"
"We did. Angela likes to monitor my eating habits," Maura confirms, nodding. "She was surprised to find out that I'd sent my nurse away. She said that you and I are similar."
"Really?"
Maura nods, and Jane resists the urge to shake her head and fight the point. They are not similar. Jane is rough, Maura is soft – she is patient and kind and light. Infinitely smart and beautiful. Jane doesn't undermine herself very often, but she will always pale in comparison to Maura Isles. And that's okay. She likes it that way. It makes her strive harder to be better for her.
"She said that, after Hoyt… after he scarred your hands. You didn't want any help. And I remember that that was what you were like after you shot yourself. I had to push my way in. Is that how you feel it is with me, Jane?"
"It doesn't feel like I'm pushing. It feels like I'm intruding."
Maura frowns. "I see."
Maura settles both of her palms back down on the wood of the table. Flat.
"Jane, can I ask you about Hoyt?"
"Anything."
"How much did it hurt? When he – when he stabbed your hands?"
Jane lays her palms flat against the wood like Maura, their fingertips touching. Maura's eyes rest on the white, raised scars there. A little faded over time, but still noticeable. Sometimes still have her itching. Normally, she doesn't like putting them on show. It's like walking into the middle of a battlefield and saying here, this is my weakness, this is where you can hurt me.
She wants Maura to see.
"It hurt like Hell," she rasps. "Jumping off of that bridge, shooting myself in my stomach – those were all things that hurt, but they were things I chose to do. Hoyt took my control away. He took it away and the pain doubled. I've never known a pain like it."
Jane presses her elbows against the wood and lifts her hands, her palms turned towards Maura.
"When he had you trapped…"
Maura doesn't finish.
"That was the worst part," Jane murmurs. "No escape. Just blind faith that maybe someone would find me and save me from him."
Maura lifts her own palms, slowly, and meets Jane's eyes.
Soon, she presses her hands against Jane's. The base of the palm connects first, firm, before the rest of her palm melts against Jane's, fingers mirroring her own shyly. Her hands are a little smaller, and Jane flexes her fingers against them, making her smile.
It is the first physical contact Maura has initiated with her since she'd been found forty-five days ago.
"You're the strongest person I know, Jane. That's how I want to remember you now. Not as Melissa. Not as the dead woman she led me to believe you were. Not as… worse."
Maura is silent, and Jane is worried that she'll slip away, so she curls her fingers around Maura's hands, until they're clasped tight.
"Worse?"
Maura looks down at the table.
"The woman who wouldn't come to save me."
Jane just grips her tighter.
TBC