Tommy had made leaps and bounds of progress in his two weeks at Boston Medical Center. Fourteen days from his introduction to the trauma bay, he was conscious, and breathing independently. This lack of use for a ventilator meant that Maura would remove his tracheostomy tube as part of her rounds.
He was the Rizzoli with which she had spent the most time in that span; Maura had really only spoken to Jane twice since the incident at the restaurant, both times to consult on a patient. It became hard to count the missed calls and unread text messages, one of each coming in as recently as the night before, and easy to ignore them. Ignoring them meant ignoring the quandary in her heart that dealt squarely with Jane.
So, she visited Tommy, checked his status, monitored his facial progress, and though his face showed signs of bruising and swelling, he all but resembled himself again. Or, rather, whom she assumed him to once have been - Jane's copycat and blue-eyed, brown-haired mirror. In a way, it comforted her to be around him, even though he couldn't speak. His long bones, his dark stare, his charm that oozed from a cellular level and that needed no voice to bewitch others, those were all Jane's traits. He missed one vital, dangerous Jane component, however, and though she couldn't name it, she knew that its absence was what made her feel safe around him. She knew that he took after his sister, but was thankfully not her.
This morning, with the sky overcast and drizzle threatening to return to rain, she walked into his room in flats and black pants with a blue sweater under her white coat. He sat up, eyes still bruised, and waved to her. His ventilator had been removed the night before by the attending physician, and he took frequent sips of thickened water to pacify the roughness in his throat.
"Hi, Tommy," Maura said, looking over his tracheostomy. "Does it still hurt too much to try and talk?"
He shook his head and covered the hole in the tube. "No," the word was strangled and rough, "but I can't for long."
"I can imagine," she replied. "I'm just glad that you don't have any paralysis in those vocal folds. They will be stiff for awhile." After she thrust her hands into a pair of latex gloves, a nurse walked in to monitor for emergencies. She stood close by, but far enough to give Dr. Isles her space.
Tommy nodded and smiled. "Thanks to you," he croaked, and she shook her head. She readied herself to tell him not to thank her, but before she could, she saw his eyes light up at the doorway behind her.
When she turned, Frankie stood there. "Hey Tom. Doc, you mind if I talk to my brother while you do this?" That was another thing – the few times she had seen Frankie, he reverted to calling her by her title, rather than by her first name. Clearly, work brought him in this morning, by the looks of his suit and badge on display.
"Of course, Detective," she answered.
Tommy looked between the two of them with a curled eyebrow. "You two have a thing?" He asked without shame, noting the awkwardness in the air.
Both Maura and Frankie sputtered to deny it. "Of course not," Maura said with vehemence, and Frankie shook his head profusely.
Tommy shrugged.
"Ok, little brother," the detective started, "I've talked to your lawyer, and the DA. Like I said last time, we may, may be able to work somethin' out. You just gotta give up some names."
The man in the bed scowled at some far away notion. "Who?"
"The Irishmen who did this to you, and the guy who ordered the hit on Flannery," Frankie said.
Maura flushed and felt cold sweat gathering under the sleeves of her sweater. Jane had told Frankie, after all.
Tommy made one of the few guttural noises he had learned in his time without a functioning voicebox. "You know not one of those bastards came to see me in here? Said…" he closed his eyes to banish the pain in his throat, "said I was like family. Bullshit."
Frankie sighed. "You only got one family, and we were sittin' here while ya had blood bags stapled to ya face."
Tommy nodded, but avoided his brother's gaze.
"Ok, Tommy, I'm going to remove the tube from your trachea. You may feel a pinch followed by a shortness of breath, but that's normal, ok?" Maura interjected, needing to retreat, to gather herself. She only waited for his affirmation. When he gave it, she handed him a piece of gauze. "When I remove the tube, press that on the tracheostomy, and I will tape it. Your feeding tube will be removed when we get the SLP in here to help you with some swallowing techniques, but when you speak and eventually eat, occlude the stoma with your finger as you've been doing with the tube."
"Do it, Doc," Tommy said. "I'm ready."
On the count of three, she did, and taped the gauze over the hole in his throat. "That should heal on its own, but I will continue to monitor it."
"Kay," he responded. Turning to Frankie, he said, "I'll name names. But first you gotta give me the details of the deal. And second, I have to finish up my therapy."
"I think we can do that, brother," Frankie said. "I'll tell the detective assigned to your case."
Maura excused herself from the room and sought refuge in the hall full of anonymous people. She placed the back of her wrist against her damp forehead, and decided she had somewhere she needed to be.
That place was the observation room above the operating theater. Normally, residents came up here for two reasons: to observe the best surgeons at BMC, or for a quick nap. She was not a resident, but she had indeed entered the room with the intent to observe.
Unequivocally, Jane was one of the best. And today, she performed a rather precarious procedure: the partial colectomy. The patient, in his mid sixties, had cancer, and now Jane needed to remove a sizable portion of his colon. The surgery had started as a laparoscopic one, but the surgeon found too much cancerous tissue to be removed this way; thus, she made the decision to convert to open surgery.
Maura marveled at the handiwork involved: there was mercy in everything that Jane did. She moved with ease, her concentration an extension of her, not a burden to carry; however, no incision was without singular purpose. Her brown eyes searched the body of the man supine on her table, reading it for clues, hunting for any of mass she may have missed. Hers was a deadly hand for that which afflicted her patients. Just as much as her expertise, her compassion and her thirst for excellence saved their lives.
And this is what made her so devastatingly desirable. The revelation hit Maura like a bullet, and she had to sit down. Jane operated with brilliant manipulation of the anatomy, yes, but also with honor, and service. The otolaryngologist could not say that about herself – she had integrity, and even honor, yes, but did she serve her patients? That she would not feel comfortable asserting. Jane did it without hesitation. Maura operated for the thrill of science and discovery, Jane for servitude, and nothing was sexier.
Her view changed in that moment, and her want became concrete. Jane had only needed time to be true to her brother; she kept her promise. It thrilled Maura deep and low that this Jane, the one cutting away in the operating theater, was exactly the one in the outside world – just, kind, and ever her opposite.
For the second time that morning, she needed to escape for some air.
When she burst out of the observation room and into the second lobby of the hospital, she bumped into Frankie on his way out. "Hey, Dr. Isles," he said, bracing her, "you alright?"
Did they all have to be so noble? "Yes, I'm fine, thank you." She assured him.
He let her go, and was about to leave, when he turned back to face her. "You know, it might not be my place to say this, but you should talk to my sister."
"You're right," Maura replied. "I don't think it's your place," he winced at her words, but she quickly qualified her answer, "but I also agree with you. I do need to speak with her." She really needed to get a grip. Just talking about Jane elevated her pulse and flushed her skin.
"She told me everything, you know," Frankie said. "That night that you left the restaurant. I felt bad, because I had to tell her that I pretty much already knew."
Maura's eyes widened at the revelation.
"C'mon, Doc. You think I'd have made detective this young if I didn't know what I was doin'? The part about your apartment bein' broken into? That I didn't know. But my partner became lead on the case when we started to suspect Tommy. I'm just glad we might be able to get him a deal."
"And… and what is that deal?" Maura asked, still shell-shocked.
"Well, you didn't hear this from me, but he'll get immunity in exchange for the name of the guy who ordered the hit on Flannery. He'll have to go somewhere where he isn't known for awhile, but it's a lot better than 25 years in prison. Plus, I think it'll be good for him."
"Does Jane know?"
"Yeah, she knows. What she doesn't know is why you keep icin' her out. She really likes you, Maura. She hasn't liked anyone like this since this boyfriend she had in medical school," Frankie chuckled. "So talk to her, will ya?"
Maura turned red again. "I will," she managed before he put on his coat and waved goodbye. She watched the rain hit him on his walk to his car before she turned on her heels with intent.
A/N: Thank you all for your kind words and follows. Please continue to read and review; it keeps me going! And for all who might be wondering, a 15 blade scalpel is a small instrument to make fine cuts like those required in operations on/around the voice box. Also, for those of you asking, Paddy Doyle is Maura's dad in this story, but just because I want him to be. it's not important to the story - he is related tangentially to the plot at best and is only mentioned once or twice.