Welcome to the penultimate chapter of RAM. Enjoy.

Chapter 10

Part 1

It rained the morning of the drug bust. A chill, pelting barrage from threatening, dark cloud cover arrived on northwest winds, replacing predawn shadow with a dim, foggy morning, and continued throughout the day.

Jane could hear the wind whipping against a loose window, the rattling noise grating on her nerves as she set her coffee on the desk and took her seat. The bullpen was unusually quiet, except for raised voices coming from behind the closed door to the lieutenant's office.

Looking over her computer monitor, she nodded a greeting to Frost, who silently returned it, looking tired and restless at the same time, mirroring every face she had encountered since passing through the metal detectors downstairs. The taskforce had obviously been busy last night in the final fine-tuning of their preparations.

She wouldn't feel guilty, she decided as she considered the haggard appearances and nervous energy radiating from her colleagues. However unwillingly, she at least got a full night's sleep out of the slight against her. Cavanaugh stormed out of his office without glancing her way.

Angry maybe, but not guilty.

Jane stole a blank sheet of paper from the printer and fished a ballpoint pen out a drawer. Stubbornly ignoring the motion around her, she sat cross-legged in the chair and began her letter. A shadow moved over the page as someone passed behind her.

"Why is it that you only write to Tommy when you're pissed off?" Korsak was trying to unsuccessfully secure his blue tie, having returned from changing into the spare shirt she knew he kept in his bottom desk drawer for working long hours. Jane rolled her eyes at him.

"Who's Tommy?" Frost piped up.

"My youngest brother," she muttered, continuing in her neatest handwriting, briefly relating the events of her first few days back at work, including getting into a fistfight with a former detective, and being summarily thrown off the case. It would make him laugh.

The silence between them grew, but Jane wouldn't acknowledge it as uncomfortable. She hesitated when her thoughts drifted and she debated whether to write about Maura or not. She had already mentioned Frost…

Leaning back, Jane bit down on the cap of her pen, her mind wandering. It was interesting and odd that her relationships with each of the two newest members to BPD, Frost and Dr. Isles, had progressed so quickly, albeit to completely different ends. Maybe it was because they were new, hadn't suffered through the weeks of chasing down Hoyt, and therefore couldn't compare the Jane Rizzoli of before to the shell of a woman still recovering from that ordeal now.

Frost was young, a rookie, but he was quick and intelligent, possessing a quiet charm that offset her impatience. They complimented each other and worked well together. Maura and Jane were... Jane didn't know what to call it, not strictly professional, but they barely knew each other. Yet, when she considered the way Maura had approached her in the hallway outside her office at the city morgue, how her eyes caught the light and bore into her own, Jane was sure that there was a connection to be explored, a burgeoning friendship hinting at some deeper familiarity.

As if Jane's musings had summoned her, Maura entered through the glass doors, gliding across the room like a model struts down a Parisian runway. A long, fitted khaki trench coat with detailed stitching protected her from the downpour, and her wealth of blonde hair was pulled back. Jane didn't notice Korsak and Frost rise to join Detective Clarke in the hallway until she was addressed directly.

"Listen, I'm sorry you have to sit this one out, Jane." Korsak looked more relieved than sorry, she realized, and couldn't really blame him for it. She held his gaze until he turned to leave.

Frost approached in his wake, uncertain. Jane could see his throat move as he swallowed compulsively to gather his nerves. "For what it's worth, I'd feel a lot better if you were there. Any advice?"

She smiled grimly, "You're going to be fine. Just let SWAT do their job, and hopefully all you'll have to worry about are the details.

"But," her voice dropped an octave, "do you know that feeling you get sometimes like the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, warning you of danger? Listen to it. I don't care what you call it, whether you believe in God or not, listen to that feeling. It's saved my life many times and it will save yours." He nodded, and joined Korsak. Danny waved from the other side of the glass doors, and from over his shoulder, Bobby Moreno gave her a mock salute.

"Allow me," Maura said softly, stopping to straighten Korsak's tie as she passed.

Jane turned back to her letter as they left, reading over the page without really comprehending anything. Heaving a sigh, she crumpled the paper in her fist and tossed it into the trash bin. Maura approached from her left.

"Jane?" The uncertainty in her voice worked to dispel Jane's anger, and she swiveled around to face the doctor. "Are you okay?"

"Not really." Her voice low in the near silence of the room, "I'm off the case," she said, watching Maura's fingers work loose the tied belt of her coat that wrapped around her waist. She shrugged out of it and took a chair near Jane.

"I'm sure that there's a valid reason for Cavanaugh's decision."

"Yeah, because he couldn't trust me in a potentially dangerous situation," she sighed, reaching for her coffee, letting the warmth seep through the thin barrier of styrofoam and into her hands.

The relief in Korsak's expression shouldn't have surprised her. It was, after all, the reason why she had asked for a different partner. Knowing that didn't make it hurt any less. "I just… feel like I'm back to square one, even though these people have known me for years." She took a sip, listened for the rain against the roof of the building.

"You know, I half contemplated leaving. I have a request for reassignment saved, attached to an email to Cavanaugh, just sitting there waiting for me to hit send. I thought that if I were sent to a different station, with a new team, maybe it would be better."

Maura struggled between her curiosity and alarm. Would Jane leave the city? Over the course of her short time with the department, Maura had only just begun to understand the context of how people interacted here, because of Jane.

She had first noticed the effect on Frost's first day, when it was announced that Det. Rizzoli would be returning to Boston Homicide. Korsak and the other detectives, especially the ones directly involved with the Surgeon case, exhibited signs of psychological trauma, and Jane had become the focal point of their recovery. Maura learned to recognize the subtle tension and relief that surrounded the whole issue. A particularly gruesome case to begin with, an attack on a fellow officer made it all the more personal, not just to her partner, but seemingly the entire Boston police force. Whether she knew it or not, Jane had become a kind of temporary keystone for the group. If she left, what then?

"You didn't," she meant it as a question, tentatively meeting Jane's eyes. Her emotional reaction was much simpler. She didn't want Jane to leave.

"I decided that was a bad idea the night before I came back to work. The headlines follow me around, and without experiencing it themselves, without knowing the context of…that day, I would be fighting the same uphill battle for respect, but they would never be able to trust me. I wouldn't blame them."

Maura crossed her ankles and leaned towards Jane. Her eyes were bright, flashing with a fierce intelligence that Jane found increasingly less intimidating as she spent more time with her, but no less fascinating.

"I don't think your peers see you as anything less since the Surgeon. When I arrived here some weeks ago, my perception of you was only what I had gathered by following the news. Spending time with the detectives here completely changed that image. They hold you in high esteem, even though dealing with the reality of the Surgeon's attack terrifies them."

Jane was still for a moment, lost in thought. Maura wondered what about, but by the darkness in the other woman's expression, it was probably for the best that she didn't know. Jane reached out her hand for Maura, who slipped her own into it.

She touched her lower lip with the tip of her tongue to wet it. Usually Maura would have a problem with physical contact. She had established strict personal space early in life and avoided touch she didn't anticipate, such as when on a date, usually tensing and pulling away. But with Jane, she discovered a latent affect hunger in herself playing out in their interactions that surprised her, and Jane seemed generous with casual contact. Except when concerning her hands, she had noticed when Frost introduced himself to Jane at the crime scene, and her own first meeting with Jane. Maura had never considered her aversion a problem before moving back to Boston, but now, isolated from the social structures she was familiar with, thought that perhaps she needed some kind of comfort as much as Jane did.

"I wish we could have met before Hoyt, that you could have known me then," Jane smoothed her thumb over Maura's wrist.

"I'm honored to know you now. Let yourself and the rest of your team recover…" she cradled Jane's hand in both of hers and turned it over, bowing her head to press her lips against the palm in a soft kiss, just shy of the raised scar in the center.

"…and heal."

A case file came across Maura's desk later that morning that she was to pass on without giving her authorization, without necessarily knowing what it was, or having ever opened it. There was a court date posted on the label. She should have just sent it, shouldn't have opened it out of curiosity or read any further than the first line of Dr. Tierney's opening statements.

The photographs disturbed her the most. The news media two months ago had not done Charles Hoyt justice, had not demonized him enough for the sadistic, vicious hatred for women evidenced in the autopsy reports. She was heartbroken, horrified, and caught in a burning fury that brought tears to her eyes. No one deserved this, even given the nature of her profession. It was no longer possible for her to pass this particular case on to one of her employees.

It was with a new perspective and a heavy heart that Maura returned to the bullpen around noon. She had thought she could understand the complexities of the homicide unit's inner conflict over this one man. She had been so wrong.

Jane wasn't at her desk when Maura entered. They were meeting for lunch. She imagined Jane was anxious about the operation and anything to occupy her time would be welcomed.

A door was partially open across from the lieutenant's office. Maura recognized one of the voices from within and moved toward it. A shiver coursed through her in response to the sound, such that she was beginning to seriously question her skepticism regarding the under researched trend, autonomous sensory meridian response.

The room was filled with video and radio surveillance technology, currently occupied by one coordinating officer with which Jane was speaking, or arguing rather. Apparently, she wasn't allowed to be here. The monitors were focused on a series of loading docks where several transfer trucks had pulled into. The supply dump had begun.

Jane's was an intense presence in the small room. She stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips, suddenly looking every bit the reckless, headstrong cop her reputation projected. High emotion and stress rolled off her in waves as she watched the men unloading the cargo, great bulky crates, unaware that at any moment police would descend upon the building. The crackle and static of radios filled the space, accompanying the rain.

A phone rang in the main room behind Maura where she stood in the doorway, adding to the cacophony of sound. Jane turned and slipped by her to answer it, gesturing for Maura to follow. She rounded her desk and jabbed the speakerphone button.

"Rizzoli."

"This is officer Jencson, Property Clerk's office, requesting to speak with Lieutenant Cavanaugh."

"He's not in. Is there a problem?"

"One minute and twelve seconds ago, we received a call on a cell phone confiscated from a Richard Taylor currently being held in lock-up. The caller made several threats against police presence in the area. He also claimed to have a hostage."

"Do you have a number from the phone?"

"Yes," he dictated a string of numbers to Jane, who scrambled for a pen to write them down.

Maura felt ill as she watched the digits form a familiar sequence she had looked up herself only hours ago. "That's Melanie Taylor's phone number."

I'll be honest with you, it can be scary.

Is it worth it?

Absolutely. If you ever need advice…

If what the property clerk said was true, it was probably not long after their conversation outside the station that she had been taken by some manner of thugs from the drug ring.

Jane cursed and picked up the phone, issuing a barrage of questions to the other officer. They knew about Taylor. The whole operation had hinged on shock value and surprise. Damn. Unless someone secured the situation before the entire mission was blown…

"Can you trace it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Send me the address as soon as you have it." She was halfway down the stairwell before Maura caught on. "Jane!" The click of her heels echoed off the cement as she followed.

Jane's phone chirped from her pocket. It was a message from Jencson with the address where Mrs. Taylor was being held. Shit, that's halfway across the city from the taskforce.

"They're going to kill her, Maura. They're going to use her as leverage to stop the raid, and then either way, kill her, unless someone does something about it." Exploding into the parking garage, she broke into a jog, fishing out her car keys and quickly shedding her jacket. The rain sluiced off the upper decks, roaring around them.

Maura caught up as Jane opened the trunk, watched helplessly as she attached a holster to her belt. She felt as if she were on the verge of an anxiety attack. Jane pulled out a Kevlar vest.

She was torn between confusion and anger. All she could think of were the photos of Hoyt's victims, currently locked in her office in the morgue. Jane had faced that monster knowing what he was capable of, and Maura had had no idea until now what that really meant.

Police officers live each day fully prepared to lay down their lives for any given stranger at any given moment.

"Why would you go alone?" Maura's voice broke and was almost drowned out by the torrent of rainwater and wind. "Why did you go alone that night?"

Jane was caught off guard in the middle of slamming the trunk lid. She turned to find Maura, beautifully tearful, close behind her, hugging herself against the wind that pried at loose strands of her hair.

"Because every second they waste deliberating, could be the moment an innocent person dies. That didn't happen to Catherine Cordell, and I'm sure as hell not going to let it happen to Melanie Taylor."

It's not a job. It's a lifestyle.

Jane grasped her shoulders. In the shadowed garage, her dark eyes appeared almost black.

"Listen," her voice rasped an octave lower. When Maura didn't look at her, she leaned forward to rest their foreheads together, "I need you to trust me."

Thoughts? Suggestions for Part 2? Things may have been slow since Ch 7, but I felt that the conversations were important. The action kicks up next chapter.

Cheers, -Picc