Four days had passed since Maura brought her best friend back into the home she now regarded as belonging to them both. There simply was no easy way to differentiate between their lives. Jane had a toothbrush here. Maura stored bottles of medicine in her cabinet that only Jane would use. Jane added things to her cupboards and fridge perhaps as often as she did herself. What began with the Detective crashing on her couch with a blanket thrown over her after a long day at work soon morphed into the same woman falling asleep in her bed, with a designated side no less. That soon escalated into an unspoken agreement that if Jane was staying, then Jane would stay in her bed, and if one of them woke up wrapped in the other's arms, well that was just fine. That was normal for close friends.
For so long, this house was nothing more than bricks and mortar. A place to bathe, eat and sleep. There was no joy, no laughter and no real sense of belonging. It took far more than a vast array of expensive and tasteful ornaments and furniture to make a human being feel like they lived inside a house consisting of bricks and mortar. It took a lot more than filling the seemingly endless silences with classical music turned up as loud as she could stand it, it took more than switching on the television and pretending, just for a moment, that the voices radiating from it belonged to her friends, her family.
Maura Isles tolerated the nights spent alone. She was content enough. She knew she was lucky to be so privileged whilst others struggled to survive. Maura knew all of this, and therefore she was willing to settle for meaningless affairs with less than interesting men, all of which were entirely fine at the time, but soon, she knew the end would come. There was no harm in having someone to shamelessly call 'mine,' even if she didn't class herself as being 'theirs.' Nobody stayed forever, not even Ian, who she was so sure she would love forever. It's clear now, the supposed 'love' she held for Ian could never match up to what she felt for Jane. No-one could ever compare to Jane Rizzoli.
In the four days since Jane was released from hospital, she hadn't done much aside from sit quietly on the couch or in bed. Maura didn't want to push her. She wasn't even sure if she could cope with hearing about what happened.
Maura was used to dealing with the evidence lying prone and silent on her examination table, but she wasn't used to a silent Jane Rizzoli. She was a Doctor. She was comfortable with facts, figures, evidence, reports that she could read and decipher and form fair, unbiased conclusions. When it came to Jane, nothing was ever as simple as that. Maura knew Jane and Jane knew Maura. The problem was that now, she needed to form a new hypothesis; she had to analyze, correlate and produce conclusions with a completely different set of data.
The Jane Rizzoli she was faced with now was not the same Jane Rizzoli as before.
But if there was one other thing her occupation had ever taught her, it was that even when standing in the face of a seemingly impossible puzzle, a problem of such immense proportions that there was no end in sight, or 'light at the end of the tunnel,' (an expression she found woefully vague and unclear, but nevertheless appreciated its intent) giving up wasn't a viable option.
'Actually', thought Maura as she lay awake in her bed, ears straining to pick up any sounds from the guest bedroom, 'Perhaps it would be more accurate to ascertain that it was Jane who taught me not to give up.' Without realizing, Jane taught Maura that she shouldn't give up on believing in herself and who she was as a person. That the influence of her biological Father paled in significance compared to who she was inside. She can still remember Jane exact words, "You're still the same smart, amazing, goofy person that you were before," and what she loved about that statement was that when she looked in Jane's eyes, she could see the sincerity and conviction etched deep inside them. Jane wasn't just telling her what she thought she would want to hear, she wasn't merely saying what she ought to say to a friend when that friend is emotional and overwrought… No, she was saying exactly what she believed. She was reassuring Maura that even if she was the spawn of the devil himself, she would never pay any attention to all of her claims of 'empirical evidence' and 'genetic predisposition for crime.' To Jane, Maura would always be Maura.
And now, she had to remember that Jane would always be Jane, regardless of her current emotional, physical and psychological state.
Perhaps that was why, when she detected the first stirrings of movement from down the hallway, when she heard the very first hoarse, strained shout drift through her open doorway, that Maura reacted wholly on instinct and without trepidation. Jane was awake, Jane was distressed, and therefore Jane needed her. For once in her life something that should be complicated appeared so transparently simple, so much so that as she jogged lightly down the hall, she felt no sense of fear. Maura didn't stop to ask herself if this was the right course of action.
When Maura neared the guest room she could hear the muffled noises coming from inside growing louder and louder as she approached. It gave her pause. Only for a fleeting second, for there was something strangely animalistic about the sounds meeting her ears. She stood, bare foot on the plush carpet, and strained, listening intently. Tiny, keening whines slithered their way under the door frame and worked their way up the good Doctor's gently shivering form and into waiting ears. Maura's heart seemed to slam forwards against her ribcage, almost urging her forwards although she knew that to be anatomically impossible. Nevertheless, she set her jaw and determinedly completed the rest of the journey.
Maura rapped her knuckles against the wooden door once, quite firmly, and waited quietly for a response. When none came, she smacked her fist against the unforgiving surface and ignored the bright burst of pain erupting from the sensitive skin located there. All noise from inside ceased as soon as her knuckles broke contact for the second time. Somehow, the silence was far worse.
"Jane, is everything okay?" Maura outwardly and inwardly cringed at her choice of words. The Detective was clearly not 'okay,' and asking such a ridiculous question after what she had been through was nothing short of insensitive.
"Jane..." She said, concern drawing a clear edge beneath her words, underlining the fear she had been focussing intently on keeping a safe distance from the forefront of her conscious mind. Now was no time to allow fear to play games. There was nobody else in this house but she and Jane, her alarm system had been recently updated and she was sure it hadn't been breached.
But still, Maura couldn't quite muster the courage to open the door. She couldn't be afraid of Jane…? Could she?
But suddenly she felt herself become overwhelmed with the sudden overwhelming need to see Jane. She had to make sure she was still inside this room, still breathing, still undeniably here with her. She just needed to. And so Maura opened the door.
There was something almost otherworldly about the room. It was steeped and saturated with so much darkness it appeared unnatural. This darkness was everything but palpable. Maura felt that if she were to reach out, thumb and index finger a barely imperceptible distance apart, and attempt to pluck at the darkness she might be able to pull it clean away. Like a sheet. A sheet that had been carefully draped over the room in its entirety, shielding the woman encased within its protective, yet suffocating embrace.
The darkness wasn't about to deter Maura Isles. When she was a woman with a mission, an objective in mind, she was damn near unstoppable. Her hand slid purposefully up the wall to her left, fingers probing, anticipating eventual contact with the switch. When she found it, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief, and flicked.
Jane's reaction was instant and visceral. Maura's eyes widened almost to the point where every ounce of whiteness was on show, and she watched in shock as her best friend, who was pressed tightly into a ball in the corner of the room, started to rock backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.
Her face was buried deep in her knees, which were pulled up tight under her chin. Maura cast her gaze around the room, searching for the source of the shrill, whining noise that was relentlessly penetrating her eardrums and writhing around inside her mind, causing her to unconsciously press one trembling hand against her temple in an effort to release some of the pressure building inside. It took her a total of eight seconds to realise that Jane was the source of that awful noise. Maura, who was shaking inside her thin nightgown, who had goose bumps erupting over her chilled skin despite the fact the room was balmy enough to neglect bed clothes, took a hesitant step forward.
"Jane?" She said, just loud enough for her to mentally scold herself and realise that if she wanted to reach her friend, she had to get a grip of her raging emotions. And she had to do it fast. "Jane," She repeated, this time with a little more force, a little more confidence. The Detective's only indication that she had heard her friend was to slide her scarred hands over her hidden face and into her tangled hair, which she tugged, and tugged, and pulled to the sides, emitting an even higher pitched whine as she did so. Swallowing thickly past the dread that had formed a clotted lump in her throat, Maura took another step into the room.
She recognized the woman before her. It was Jane. But perhaps Jane didn't recognize where she was, or who she was with. Maura had read studies; it paid to be aware of the potential psychological damage one can suffer after an ordeal such as those Jane had experienced. Maura liked knowledge. She felt safe shrouded in the comforting blanket of knowledge. But never in her life had she ever been confronted with anything like this, and for a moment she considered bolting from the room and running to fetch Angela. Maybe Angela could handle this. Maybe Angela could reach her daughter with greater ease than Maura ever could. Before she could give this cowardly option more than a fleeting consideration, Jane started to speak.
If there was ever a time Maura was prepared to resort to inaccurate, widely used colloquialisms to describe her reaction to a situation, it was now. Maura was 'frozen to the spot', her brain refused to comprehend what was happening, what Jane was saying.
"Our father who art in heaven…"
A prayer. But not one uttered with the quiet, respectful reverence Maura had often heard it being recited with during those rare times she would attend Church. Not with any sense of calm, not with any inclination that it might make Jane feel safe. No, this prayer sounded like it was being physically torn from Jane's unwilling throat in a voice so wracked with agony that Maura felt her knees buckle slightly under her weight as she listened.
"Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth AS IT IS IN HEAVEN,"
Jane's gruff voice steadily rose in pitch until she was almost shouting, screaming into her pajama clad knees. Maura emitted a quiet sob, her composure fracturing as she stood, useless, immobile, and ineffectual, in her complete lack of understanding.
"GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD…"
Comprehension dawned on Maura just as the desire to run from the sight before her, from the terrifying sound of Jane's voice becoming so horrendously tainted by the words she was uttering in the way she was saying them. 'Jefferson, he must have forced her to pray with him or for him. He would have known of her Catholic upbringing. This was just another method of torture.' The thought gave Maura little comfort, but more confidence. She half walked, half stumbled across the room and slid onto her knees beside the Detective. Maura placed her hands on Jane's shoulders and squeezed, attempting to draw her friend's attention to her and away from whatever she was seeing inside her mind. What she hadn't been expecting was the blow to her chin that Jane landed on her as soon as she touched those shaking shoulders.
"Jane!" Maura called out shrilly as a balled up fist made contact with the underside of her jaw, sending her reeling backwards, almost onto her back. Dazed, confused, Maura ignored the pain in her face and stared at Jane, who had her eyes squeezed closed, and was muttering incoherently to herself, every muscle twisted and contorted. "Jane," she tried again, this time in a gentle whisper. Jane tried to shuffle away from her, but there was nowhere left to go, behind her there was only a wall. More bricks and mortar. "Jane, it's me. Maura. It's me honey," The Doctor forced the words from her uncooperative mouth and tentatively gravitated towards Jane again.
"NO!" Jane screamed, burying her head in her arms, which were crossed tightly over her knees. She took up her violent rocking backwards and forwards once more. "Please, please don't hurt me…" Jane pleaded, her voice small, tiny, childlike.
"Jane I'm not going to hurt you, I could never hurt you," Maura whispered, putting a tentative hand on the taller woman's bent leg. It instantly jerked away from her, leaving her feeling bereft. She could feel the tell-tale pulsing inside her mouth; she could taste the coppery scent of blood where she bit down on her tongue when Jane hit her. She knows the contusion will form a vivid bruise. Maura has always bruised easily, and the Detective is strong, even in this state.
Maura made the decision to move away from Jane. Not too far, perhaps a mere foot away from the still rocking form of her friend. Helplessly, she glanced around the room. Her eyes were drawn to the window. Any potential light source had been extinguished by her heavy curtains. But she could still imagine what the world would look like outside, in the light, during the day when the sun reached an optimal level of energy emittance. She chose to begin with the trees. The trees are in the midst of their cycle. Her voice, when she starts to talk at first, is shaky and prone to breaking on every third or fourth word, but soon, it strengthens,
"Jane, did you know that a leaf is an organ of a vascular plant, as defined in botanical terms? But actually, many types of leaves are adapted in ways almost unrecognizable in those specific terms and indeed, several structures found in vascular plants look like leaves but are not actually leaves; they differ from leaves in their structures and origins. Furthermore, deciduous plants in frigid or cold temperate regions typically shed their leaves in autumn…" Maura paused, inhaled a deep, steadying breath, and noted that some of the tension was starting to dissipate from Jane's body. Her arms had slackened their grip around her knees, but she was yet to look up. She was yet to uncurl her fists. "This mechanism to shed leaves is called abscission. They often change color, and turn yellow, a bright-orange, or red, as various accessory pigments (carotenoids and xanthophylls) are revealed when the tree responds to cold and reduced sunlight." Maura watched, utterly fascinated, as her words appeared to guide Jane into a more relaxed position. The Detective straightened her legs, ever so slightly, and allowed her fists to unclench. Still, she didn't raise her head.
Maura pressed on.
"The word autumn comes from the Old French word autompne and was later normalized to the original Latin word autumnus. There are rare examples of its use as early as the 12th century, but it is generally regarded as becoming increasingly common by the 16th century. Before the 16th century, harvest was the term usually used to refer to the season." Jane lifted her head, and Maura stopped for a moment, unable to form any words as Jane's swollen, bloodshot eyes latched onto hers and refused to break contact. Her friend's face was blotchy, stained with tears, and looked so achingly sorrowful that Maura found it difficult to continue to breathe, never mind speak. But she realised she had to. This was working. Somehow, her stream of useless information was pulling Jane back to her. And she'd be damned if she stopped now. "Autumn in poetry and other works of literature, has often been associated with melancholy. The warmth of summer has dissipated, and around the corner waits the chill of winter. I, on the other hand, tend to disagree. Wouldn't you say autumn is a beautiful season in its own right? Yes, the temperature decreases and nights grow longer, but when faced with the breathtaking beauty of so many trees erupting in a plethora of different hues of greens and reds and oranges…"
Maura's voice drifted away as Jane slowly, but deliberately crawled over to her and allowed herself to be held, in her lap, like a child. The Doctor quickly snatched control of herself and wrapped her arms around Jane, pulling her impossibly closer to her body, feeling comforted by the warmth radiating from her. "And Jane, the heart is a hollow muscle that pumps blood throughout the blood vessels by repeated, rhythmic contractions. It is found in all animals with a circulatory system. The average human heart, beating at 72 beats per minute, will beat approximately 2.5 billion times during an average 66 year lifespan. It weighs approximately 250 to 300 grams in females and 300 to 350 grams in males and is generally calculated to be about the size of a fist." Maura took hold of Jane's hand with her own and pushed them both over her breasts and directly over Jane's own frantically beating heart. "Breathe with me Jane, just concentrate on listening to my heart beat, while we feel yours. Just focus on that. Don't think about today, don't think about tomorrow, don't think about the past, just concentrate on us. Right here and now, just concentrate on us."
Jane quietly asks Maura to leave once she has control of her faculties again. Maura argues, but it is fruitless. She knows that Jane cannot stand to look at Maura after she has seen her lose control; lash out at the person she loves most. Jane cannot take being confronted with the rapidly forming bruise on Maura's chin. Not tonight.
And so Maura sleeps outside the guest room, on the floor, with her pillows and covers, next to Bass. In case Jane needs her again, in case her wounds need tending to, or in case she has a nightmare. It's cold and uncomfortable, but she stays there all night.
A/N: Well, that was a very difficult, but interesting chapter to write. Let me know what you thought if you can spare a moment, it's much appreciated. I also wikapedia'd the crap out of this, goodness knows where Maura gets all her info from.