Sorry about the long wait. I've been fairly busy recently. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. Enjoy!
Chapter 25: Mother's Nightmare
Maura cringes in immediate response to her mother's appalled tone. Every muscle in her body contracts in fright, her limbs turning rigid as she pauses all movements. The idea of rolling over to fully wake Jane is a lost, foolish thought as she hears the girl already stirring behind her. A chilly sensation starts at the back of her neck and spreads to her cheeks, initially a searing, guilty cold that then quickly changes to an embarrassed, burning hot.
The bedroom door swings fully open and bangs against the wall, bouncing off with a rattling, shaking sound that echoes through the silence that follows her mother's horrified shout.
"Oh my… dear lord," she whispers, still too shocked to act.
She merely stands, dumbfounded and confused, in the doorway of Maura's bedroom, her wide eyes scanning the room.
However, there are no reassurances as she scopes the room. There is nothing to defy the horrid thoughts floating freely in her head.
The light blue dress, of which she immediately identifies to be her daughter's clothing, is strewn carelessly across the bedroom floor, carelessly thrown beside an outfit that she assumes to be Jane's.
Two pairs of shoes have been kicked off and left to litter the floor as well, lying so far apart that it's obvious they were removed in a rush.
Her stomach churns unhappily, her mouth turning desert dry as she fails to swallow. Her hand subconsciously grips the doorframe for support as her eyes shift from the covered floor to her daughter's bed.
Now she swallows, the common movement equal to rubbing silk against sandpaper.
Her breathing starts up again, a deep gasp rattling through her mouth. She hadn't realized she wasn't breathing.
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes from lack of moisture; she'd forgotten to blink.
She takes a moment to blink, keeping her eyes closed for much longer than necessary, praying with all her might that when she opens her eyes the sight on the other side will miraculously change. It's a childish wish, she knows, but just this single time she wishes it would work. Oh how much she wishes she could open her eyes and find her precious, young little Maura playing on her bed as a little girl, giggling and smiling.
For the first time she's wishing time would halt and rewind, preferably erasing itself along the way.
She wishes she could have a second chance, that she could open her eyes and step out into an event that took place several years before. Perhaps when Maura was ten, so young and innocent.
Yes, ten, that was a good age.
That was a carefree age, she remembers. There were no worries about making Maura grow up like a proper young woman; she was young and juvenile, enjoying her youth, as she should.
There was no talk of love when Maura was ten, nothing besides family love, that is.
The thought of Maura being a mature bachelorette looking for a handsome husband was quite humorous at the time; it seemed light-years away.
But it all came too fast, her mother thinks as she leans against the doorframe, allowing her entire body to fall limp against the wall. I pushed her too hard, too quickly, she concludes, mentally kicking herself for this incident.
Inhaling sharply, she straightens up and really looks at the bed against the opposite wall. Her stomach roils and her initial reaction is to look away, but instead she forces herself to continue watching.
Maura's eyes are closed, tight.
Her features are scrunched into a grimace, as if preparing herself for a blow that's yet to come.
The bed sheets are pulled up over her shoulders, covering majority of her body besides her bare leg that's poking out farther down, her foot dangling off the side of the bed.
The quilt that is usually spread neatly across the top of the mattress is now in a ball at the foot of the bed.
Her eyes scamper back across her daughter's rigid form, soaking in every outline up until the point where she catches partial sight of Jane's nude body behind her. She closes her eyes once again, her grip tightening around the doorframe to keep her steady. A wave of dizziness washes through her and causes the room to sway.
She waits before reopening her eyes, knowing that her quick assessment won't be proven wrong with a mere blink of the eye.
She can't trick her mind.
Her daughter and another girl, embracing, naked, in the same bed – it's quite obvious what took place.
Sight is not even a necessary sense for her to tell what took place in this bedroom. The scent lingering in the humid air is enough of a giveaway. That bitter, pungent aroma that she remembers only all too well. It's a tad different than she remembers, bogged down with an odd, rich fragrance, but it still has the ability to awaken her senses as it hits her dead in the face, bringing back memories from long ago. But instead of bringing along a batch of excitement, the salty scent brings the stinging sensation of tears rushing to her closed eyes.
Her muffled gasp echoes throughout the silent room as her eyelids pop open, her vision unwillingly falling upon Maura's bed and the two women lying in it.
Her daughter.
Her baby.
And that horrid girl she hadn't fancied from the start.
The unbelievable is right in front of her eyes. The two of them are… together, clutching one another in the same manner as lovers, trying to hide their innocence behind the sheets of Maura's bed – the same bed that she remembers tucking her daughter in every night when she was younger. It's the same bed, the same sheets, and the same old quilt. Her heart tightens as she recalls pulling those very sheets up to her daughter's dimpled chin to shelter her from the darkness.
Bile rises in her throat.
Standing there in the doorway, her body freezes beneath her, her legs becoming paralyzed, her muscles turning numb. She doesn't know what to do or where to turn. Her eyes are watering. And stinging... they're stinging so bad, it hurts. Her throat clenches, the muscles working on their own and contracting into the familiar form to release a wretched scream, but no sound ever comes forth to leave her parted lips. It dies in the rear of her throat as a mere rattling breath, alongside the disgust building in her body.
She wants to cry.
She wants to scream.
She wants to kick herself for pushing Maura too hard.
Most of all she wants to flee and pretend none of this ever happened.
"Constance! Constance? Honey, I heard you shout, what is it—"
Her body unfreezes as her husband brushes past, initially storming into the room to make sure his wife is alright.
Any worries of his wife, however, are quickly replaced as Mr. Isles enters the bedroom and becomes the third witness of the forbidden ritual that had taken place between his daughter and that girl.
That girl...
Mr. Isles can feel his upper lip curling into a snarl, the bitter turmoil boiling in his blood.
The disgust, the disappointment, the shame...
Without a second thought he stalks to the bed, his footsteps so heavy the floor shakes and the dresser at the far side of the room rattles, shivering in its place much similar to the way Maura is shaking in terror beneath the sheets. Her face contorts even further, though she dares to peek open her eyes a slit to catch a glimpse of her red-faced father.
That vein, that one that always pulses visibly on his forehead when he's angry, is as visible as a fly on a white wall.
"Maura Dorthea Isles!" her father growls, the words barely recognizable as they reverberate against every surface in the room and come back vibrating in a sinister tone.
As Mr. Isles approaches the messy bed, his feet just missing the piles of clothes littering the floor, his hands spread, tensed and wide, trembling with anger, Maura and Jane are already on the move. Their eyes frantically scope the room, looking for a plausible escape route, but finding none when Maura's father is at the edge of the bed, stalling and unsure of how to react. It's apparent he wants most to smack the living daylights out of both of them, though he seems to be struggling to do so, as if silently debating whether or not he wishes to lay any hand on his daughter. His teeth are gritted together, his jaw tight and unforgiving as he squints down at the two shaking girls on the bed.
They look horrified. Petrified. Scared shitless.
In a matter of seconds their positions have altered entirely. They're now fully awake from any haze that had previously been lingering upon them.
With the thin, sticky bed sheets covering from their necks downward, pulled tight against their bodies as a protection as if it would protect them from whatever shall happen; the two are trying their best to blend in with the wall on the one side of the bed, curling into one another in a failed attempt to become one. Jane has her arms wrapped protectively around a cringing, shaking Maura, hugging her to her chest to shield her from any possible outbursts of violence on the near horizon.
"Maura Dorthea, so help me God, if you-"
"Father, please," Maura interrupts in a trembling, vulnerable voice.
Jane can already feel the tears racing down Maura's cheeks and falling onto the bed.
"Please, what?" her father spits back in a bitter, grumbling growl.
Maura clutches Jane tighter, closing her eyes to hide from her father's disgusted glare.
She can't take that look.
She hates that look.
She's been victim of that look countless times in the past, but never before has it been so intense, so vivid with anger and utter disappointment.
The subconscious guilt taps at her heart.
Sniffling and burying her face into Jane's warm chest she replies in a soft, shaking, voice that sounds as if it belongs to a crying child, "Please, don't hurt us."
Mr. Isles' face hardens in response to the childish request.
This isn't child's play. This isn't a little white lie.
"Daddy, please, don't," Maura continues mumbling, her voice a cracking whisper.
Her father hesitates again and listens to her daughter's pitiful pleas, silently watching as Jane pulls Maura closer and places a kiss to Maura's frizzy honey blonde hair in attempt to calm her. His insides squiggle and churn at the action, his narrow, judgmental mind causing him to stare with disgust and disappointment at the forbidden relationship the two seem to share. His hands shake and clench to fists, but he forces them open, palm flat and keeps his arms straight at his sides.
As Maura continues whimpering and calling him daddy, his face gradually softens.
He glances at his daughter's blotchy face, memories of similar pleas rushing forth in his mind as he remembers punishing Maura as a young girl when she misbehaved. Sometimes she managed to cry her way out of a spanking, other times she wasn't so lucky.
But this isn't a mere spanking she's begging to not happen.
And this is far from falling under the same category as "misbehavior."
However, Mr. Isles' features continue to soften with every second he allows to pass before taking action. And at last he balls his hands into tight fists and turns from the bed, turning his back on both of the women in order to address them in a calmer voice. "Both of you, make yourselves decent and then bring your sorry little as—" he stops, unable to bring himself to complete the word; it sticks in the back of his throat, caught. He clears his throat in a formal business manner and continues, "Come down to my office. We need to... talk."
Jane watches as the older man leaves, his form rigid as he leads his wife from the room.
Her heart skips a beat as she sees James' young eyes peering around the frame before the door is slammed closed.
He saw, she thinks to herself, her mind rushing back to the journal.
The journal.
Shit.
She read that thing four times through, cover to cover, word for word. Never did James mention anything as harsh as this incident. Not in great detail at least.
"Jane, I'm so sorry, so sorry," Maura eases into Jane's thoughts, her trembling, apologetic voice breaking through. "I… we shouldn't… I should've known better."
Known better? Known better than to do what? Be with me? Jane questions silently, her jaw clenching at the thoughts. She stiffens and slightly pushes Maura's shoulders away to pull them apart, looking her in the eyes. "W-what do you mean?" she asks unwillingly.
"Than to let us do this here! And then to fall asleep afterward? And now they know! My god, Ms. Rizzoli, we're dead!"
The brown locked girl closes her eyes in relief and bows her head, a gentle chuckle escaping her parted lips. She rests her forehead against Maura's for a moment before scooting forward and embracing the angelic woman in her arms. "Maura," she begins in a comforted whisper, "we're far from dead."
Maura shakes her head in disagreement, though she stays buried in the safe nook below Jane's chin. "I wish you were right this time, Ms. Rizzoli, I truly wish you were."
Jane smiles softly and pulls Maura closer, dragging her onto her lap and kicking the sheets out of their way. "Ms. Isles," she pauses to place a kiss in the depth of Maura's mused hair. "You better believe me this time around because I know we're going to be fine."
Maura begins shaking like a leaf in Jane's warm embrace, her shoulders trembling as a sob tears itself from her lips. Her fingers involuntarily dig into the soft skin of Jane's shoulders as several more sobs follow, their sound mangled by tears and sniffles. The words that left Jane's mouth sound so sincere that Maura has trouble believing them to be a lie; of course, they must be false. How could they possibly be "fine" after this?
She was caught in bed with another girl.
It's a relationship unheard-of in her town.
Sexual relations with someone of the same gender…
She squeezes her eyes shut and holds Jane a little tighter, her least favorite subject coming to mind.
It's that inner battle she's been fighting ever since she realized that boys don't seem to trigger the same emotions in her as they do in other girls, since it dawned on her that she's not exactly normal in terms of society, since she realized that maybe she's a little different.
That subconscious battle that she's been fighting, trying to determine exactly where she stands in the world of love.
Boys certainly never made that little spark of excitement ignite inside of her, least not the way Jane has.
And now she's fallen in love with a girl.
She tried to tell warn herself back in the beginning, when they first met and she couldn't control her heart from racing every time Jane was near. She knew such a relationship was considered wrong in the eyes of most. She knew it was frowned upon, known as a sin by some and forbidden by others. She knew yet she helplessly fell, idiotically imagining that they could keep their love a secret from the outside world. It could be their little secret forever.
It's not much of a secret anymore, though.
What's to come of them now? She's never witnessed the serious punishment of sinners in the present day. That whole hanging at the gallows is finished by now, isn't it?
She cringes inwardly at the revolting thought.
Jane notices the movement and responsively tightens her embrace, drawing Maura even closer as she plants a batch of soothing kisses along her hairline mumbling how everything will be alright; she promises.
"How can you sound so certain?" Maura asks in a cracking whisper, rubbing a dry forearm across her puffy eyes.
Deciding now is definitely not the time to mention James' notebook from the future, Jane shrugs and tilts Maura's chin upward so their eyes meet. She smiles gently and catches a tear before it has a chance to tumble down Maura's glistening cheek. "I… you just have to trust me with this one, ok? Just like sometimes you have to take a chance with love and take a… take a running leap into the abyss with nothing more than your faith that it'll all be okay in the end, you got that?" she finishes in a gentle voice, her eyes lost in Maura's. The face opposite her, however, only shows a taste of confusion at her words. She smiles and locks her lips to Maura's in a chaste kiss. "Just keep that in mind, for later, alright?" she asks after pulling slightly away.
Maura's forehead is still creased, her brow contracted in slight confusion, but she nods stiffly in response, Jane's words still echoing in her mind.
A sharp rap on the bedroom door interrupts them.
"Crap," Jane mutters and pushes Maura forward, inching toward the edge of the bed.
"Maura Dorthea?" It's her father. The anger hasn't subsided at all, as obvious in his cold tone.
Maura grunts as she sniffles and swipes her arm across her puffy eyes once again. "We'll be down in a moment, Father!" she yells back through the door, already shimmying into her dress as Jane fidgets with her discarded clothes.
"Why?" Maura's mother asks, her back toward her daughter as she stands near the window in Mr. Isles' office, her eyes absently scanning the backyard. The sun is shining on the luscious plants, giving the world a false sense of joy. She only wishes the sun with its bright rays were able to cover the dark, sinful relationship that's been growing beneath the roof of her own house. But, of course, such a thing is not of great possibility. Mrs. Isles knows this as she lets her eyes stare at the pale blue sky with a longing desire. It seems wrong that the outside world can be so bright and alive while her household is cracking and falling apart around her. It's like a storm brewing, as she relates it. She sensed it brewing before she even knew for sure, and now it's a heavy down pour that doesn't seem very willing to let up any time soon.
She breathes in deeply and lowers her eyes from the sky to turn her focus indoors for a split moment, glancing over her shoulder at her troubled daughter.
She's leaning against the arm of one of the chairs, her head bowed, her eyes searching the floor with an absent, dull appearance. Her right arm is holding her left, her hand rubbing her upper arm in a sort of uncomfortable stance. Her face is still blotchy, the skin raw and puffy around her eyes.
It's only the two of them in Mr. Isles' office at the moment.
Mrs. Isles had dismissed her husband after the first three attempts of talking failed. The room was too tense. Jane had already been sent out of the room long before.
But now, however, with only the mother and daughter present, there's not as much tension in the air around them.
They're able to breathe.
The mother suppresses a sigh as her daughter merely shrugs in response, the action clearly not a satisfying answer.
"Maura, honey," she speaks up and turns her body completely from the window to face the room. Her tone has lost its edge and uneasiness as she attempts to extract a real answer from her silent daughter, even conforming to use the shortened name she's been begging her to use for years now.
Maura's eyes snap from the lavish rug to meet her mother's gaze halfway. One of her blonde eyebrows is slightly raised in curious confusion; it's a rare happening to hear that shortened name escape from her mother.
Their eyes connected, the two of them share a wordless conversation. Sorrow and confusion fill the older, worn eyes; slight shame, disgrace, humiliation, apprehension engulfing the others.
The wordless conversation ends as Mrs. Isles breaks the eye contact, her vision obstructed by fallen lids for several long seconds, her head shaking from side to side, her mind still unable to comprehend as she remains in denial. "Why?" is the only word she manages to shove forth across her dry lips, her eyes remaining closed.
"Why?" Maura repeats incredulously, a cynical snort rising in her throat. She restrains it. "Why, what, Mother?"
Her mother's eyes shoot open and she yells across the short distance between them in a strained whisper, "Why would you ever commit such an act, Maura Dorthea?"
The friendly, light nickname she had unwillingly used minutes before is gone, her tone turning critical and cold once more.
Maura's jaw noticeably stiffens, her eyes falling to the floor.
She remains silent, despite how much she wishes to argue in response.
"Why, Maura Dorthea? All this time and you… What about Byron?" she emphasizes the young man's name, attracting her daughter's gaze for a few pitiful moments.
The young woman's eyes flare with a mix of anger and annoyance, the corner of her mouth lifting into a grimace as she spits back her spiteful response: "Byron never meant a blasted thing to me, Mother, and you would know that if you ever bothered to pay a speck of attention!"
"Then why, my heavens, would you drag that poor, innocent gentleman along for so long if you never had the intention—"
"Because he was at least tolerable, Mother!" Maura replies before allowing her mother the chance to finish. She stops the awkward rubbing of her left arm and raises her right hand to her forehead, gently massaging the skin with her thumb and middle finger in the same manner as one would vainly attempt to treat a pounding migraine. She releases a heartfelt sigh, her eyes absently tracing the complex, intricate pattern on the rug beneath her bare feet; she hadn't bothered fidgeting with a pair of shoes in her rush to dress. "He knew my lack of intention from the beginning," she explains in a quiet tone, refusing to let her vision wander in her mother's direction. She already knows the look her eyes would hold; she doesn't need to see any more disappointment. "He desired being thrown into this relationship as much as I did."
"But I thought… you two… you looked so happy as of late," her mother replies, pausing as she rethinks her words and changes her course of mind a few times.
Maura is unable to smother the cynical laugh before it leaves the depth of her throat and enters the room. "Because Byron did what most men seem to have a hard time doing, Mother," she follows the laugh in an equally cynical whisper, "he fell in love."
The daughter removes her hand from her head at the sound of her mother's gasp, much resembling the pleased gasp of a mother upon hearing the news of a child's engagement.
She sends her a cold, chiseled glare, her arms crossed.
She initially looked pleased, having momentarily forgotten what brought the two of them into this discussion in the first place. As easily as she had lost hold of the chaos occurring in reality around her, she's pulled back down into the grim, living nightmare just as easily. Her usually beautiful face turns hollow and pale, her mouth once again becoming a dry desert land as she stares blankly at her daughter. "But it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" she asks, a small strand of hope lingering in her tone.
The honey blonde woman closes her eyes for a moment before replying monotonously, "Mother, he has never mattered – not to me, at least."
A tiny frown finds its way to rest upon Mrs. Isles' lips. She breathes in deeply, a stiff nod following at her daughter's words. But she can't help being a tad curious, "He never mattered even a little—"
"No, Mother, not in that way," Maura replies, shaking her head continuously until a humored, sardonic smile crawls onto her face. "None of them have ever mattered. None of them ever meant a thing to me, not once, Mother, because you have never understood. No matter how many lovely, respectable young men I shoved away, you always found one to fill the space, claiming this one would be the one and never understanding that such a life is not for me! I've never had the slightest desire to marry some man and start a family, but you still don't understand that, do you?"
Her mother's face is tightened, her lips pursed.
The nightmare has returned full on, but she can't scream like a child and wake up from the terror.
"What is so goddamn awful about it?" she asks, her voice catching in her throat.
Her face tenses, every muscle seeming to contract in a painful manner.
Maura won't let her slide with a response of silence, though. "Please, Mother, tell me what is so awful about such a relationship? You've called it folly, the sin of all sins, as if I've gone on some sort of murdering rampage when all I've done is fancied a girl over boys—"
"It's wrong." The mother's voice is so quiet the first time that she's forced to repeat it a second. As she does, her eyes closed, she looks to be in pain as the stern words leave her lips with the authoritative aura of a final decision.
Her daughter, however, will not let such a straight answer lay as the final ground. "Wrong, how? Who says it's wrong?"
Mrs. Isles parts her lips to speak, but she quickly seals them as she realizes she has no answer. The most she would be able to say is that it is wrong, and that is that. She never learned why such a relationship is wrong, why it's so frowned upon and forbidden, she merely learned that it is wrong.
"It's not wrong," Maura says after ample time has passed for her mother to respond. Her wide, slightly appalled eyes meet hers. "Mother, it isn't. How can you say it is? It's love."
Mrs. Isles closes her eyes, a pained expression washing across her features yet again. She shakes her head, swallowing thickly and holding her eyes shut to avoid letting them fall upon her daughter; she's unsure of whether she could manage to look at her right this moment. "It's a love," she forces out the cold words, "that I know never should've happened."
"No, you don't know that," Maura rebuttals without letting a second pass. "It's a love that is no different than the love shared between you and Father—"
Mrs. Isles' eyes finally open, though they make their appearance as a cold, hateful glare directed solely at her daughter. "Don't you ever compare that… that…" she stumbles over the word, unable to bring herself to say it.
"Love," Maura provides.
Her left eye twitches and she continues, "Don't you ever compare that to what your father and I have. Never."
Maura feels her jaw tighten, her teeth clench. A pang of absolute hatred burns inside of her, a bitter anger boiling in her blood as her brow flattens and then angles into a grim glare. Her nostrils flare as she exhales a shaky breath, an icy chill scampering down her spine. So badly she wants to shorten the distance between her and her mother and slap her against the face. Hard. She wants it to sting. She wants to see her in pain, suffering. She wants to see the tears in her eyes.
That pang of hatred flares, though she knows she won't lay a hand on her precious mother.
She couldn't do that, as much as she longs to.
She contains herself to verbal assault, knowing what words will make her crack the most.
"But I love her, Mother," she whispers, a genuine smile adorning her lips as a couple tears fall from her eyes. Whether they're from the anger or happiness to finally admit the degree of their relationship directly to her mother, she doesn't know. However, she makes no attempt to wipe away the tears.
Mrs. Isles takes a few seconds to make a quick assessment of her daughter, her critical eyes scanning her from head to toe, from the tears tumbling down her cheeks to the sincere grin prevailing across her features.
Her insides chatter.
She blinks quickly and makes her way to the door of her husband's office. Swinging the large, mahogany door back she escapes to the hallway of the first floor and quickly finds Mr. Isles who had been impatiently pacing only feet outside the closed door of his office. A wave of relief washes over her as she falls against her husband's chest, her arms curled inward and the tears she had been holding back for the past hour finally releasing and pouring down her cheeks like the heavy downpour of a summer thunderstorm.
Mr. Isles, his arms instinctively enfolding her in a security blanket, raises his gaze from his shattered wife as he hears the shuffling of cautious footsteps trailing behind, only now exiting from his office.
He meets his daughter's eyes.
His arms tense around his wife.
He clears his throat, preparing to speak, but his wife beats him to it.
"Please," she whispers between her tears, shaking in her husband's embrace, "leave it be for now. I can't take it anymore."
"Jane, what… what are you doing?" Maura asks, gulping for air as Jane abruptly pulls her from the porch and toward the backyard, taking her by surprise.
Jane doesn't respond, only continues guiding Maura into the depths of the backyard, their hands clasped in a tight grip. Maura had only finished explaining, in great detail, the conversation she shared with her mother. The two girls were sitting on the swing hanging from the ceiling of the front porch. Their voices were hushed as they talked, their eyes continuously drifting in the direction of the front door in case Mr. or Mrs. Isles decided it was time for another talk. However, the two were never greeted by either of the parents.
The brown locked girl knows what she's doing, though.
She's got it all planned out in her head.
This is how it's supposed to happen, isn't it?
She and Maura have some discussion with Mother and Father and then miraculously disappear. That's how she remembers reading it in the journal, perhaps not word for word, but somewhere along those lines, she thinks.
The journal, her hand instinctively lowers to feel the bulge in the side, cargo pant pocket, but her fingers rub against no bulge.
Her running slows to a lazy walk, her head bowing to glance down at her leg. She jams her free hand into the pocket she distinctly remembers placing the journal, but her fingers return to her side holding nothing more than fuzz and lint.
She shakes her head and decides she must've left it with her bags back home, in the future.
Not giving it a second thought besides imagining how useful such a cheat sheet would be right now, to make sure she's doing things correctly, she turns toward Maura.
Her brow is contracted, confused, as she looks past Jane's shoulder at the black water pump standing in the grass only a couple meters away with its infamous presence. However now, as she gazes at the pipe for a few noteworthy moments it begins to hold a different sort of significance. Her heart begins beating in an immediate reaction, her mind understanding Jane's abrupt actions.
She wants me to go with her, she senses, her breathing hitching briefly in her throat and then turning shallow.
"No, Jane—" she begins in a cracking voice, tears already springing into her eyes as Jane shakes her head and places an index finger against her parted lips, silencing her from any disagreement.
"Maur, we have to."
The head of messy honey blonde hair shakes from side to side.
"We have no other choice," Jane continues and draws her finger from Maura's lips, "there's no other way—"
"I can't just disappear, Jane!"
"We can't just stick around here." Jane shakes her head at a loss for words, her eyes falling to the ground as her hands find their way to rest alongside Maura's hips. Rising to lock their gazes, "Don't you remember how Margaret threatened to act if you ever hurt Byron? I can't let you stay here and risk be—"
"She was bluffing."
"What if she wasn't?" Jane asks, her question inflicting a silence between the two, her words hanging in the air.
A chill runs down Maura's spine at the thought. But she doesn't want to think about it, not right now. Margaret wouldn't actually hurt her, would she? No, no, of course not. "She was and I'll be fine," Maura concludes after a minute, her voice cold.
"What about when word gets around about us? With Byron knowing, I don't think it will stay a secret much longer."
"People gossip all the time, Jane, it's nothing new for me to be the basis of their talk," Maura rebuttals and steps back out of Jane's tightening grip.
Jane's arms fall limply to her sides. She can feel the tension rising in the air around them.
"But they won't understand, Maura."
Maura grits her teeth, knowing it's a true statement. "That's not enough reason for me to run off and escape to the future like a coward," she nearly yells back, her voice rising yet lowering when she mentions the future.
"Maura, you can't stay here."
"And why not? Everything I've ever known is here," Maura says, her voice continuing to rise in anger.
Jane's shoulders sink just a smidge.
"I'm not here," she replies quietly, uselessly.
"But would you ever stay?" Maura asks. Jane's brow furrows at the question. "You're asking me to run off to the future with you, but would you ever even imagine leaving behind everything you know to stay here, in the past?"
Jane's eyes lower to the ground.
"I didn't think so," Maura replies in a soft, disappointed voice as she turns away from Jane and begins walking back in the direction of the house.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, but I know I'm not leaving my family behind to disappear into the future."
Jane chews on her lower lip as she watches Maura's back get farther and farther away. She can feel the defeat overtaking her; her shoulders sinking lower and lower with an invisible weight. Her heart sinks in her chest. She feels her grip around Maura becoming weaker with the second. "But I love you," she calls as a final attempt.
Maura pauses for a second, but doesn't turn around. "I love you too, but you don't understand what you're asking me to do. I can't do that right now. Not yet."
Silence.
Maura continues walking away, her arms crossed against her chest.
"Don't you remember what I told you earlier? What I told you to keep in mind for later?" Jane tries one last time, her voice strained and on the brink of utter defeat. She doesn't know what else to do.
Again, Maura stops mid-step, but refuses to turn around.
Of course she remembers what Jane told her earlier, that sentence has been replaying continuously in her confusion.
Sometimes you have to take a chance with love and take a… take a running leap into the abyss with nothing more than your faith that it'll all be okay in the end…
It didn't make a bit of sense until now.
Just keep that in mind, for later, alright?
Maura releases a silent sigh. She closes her eyes in irritation as she realizes Jane had been planning on taking her along to the future since earlier.
But Maura isn't ready to take that running leap quite yet.
Swallowing thickly and ignoring her contradicting heart, she replies in an icy voice, "If you must leave, then I suggest you leave without me, Ms. Rizzoli."
There's the sound of leaves rustling, a faint breeze picking up in the short distance behind her.
Jane turns from the black pipe and begins kicking the trunk of an old, aging tree not too far away. Her jaw is clenched in fury, her teeth gritting together so tightly it hurts. Her muscles are contracted for no reason and she has the urge to punch something so hard it'll break into a thousand little miniscule pieces.
The smell of defeat is strong.
The weight of defeat is unbearable.
She hates losing.
She hates fighting with Maura.
And she hates losing fights with Maura.
She and Maura never fight; if they do it's a rare occasion.
And this fight, she doesn't know what to make of it yet. She doesn't know if it's monumental or not. Whether Maura is truly mad at her or only mad about the idea of disappearing so soon and so cowardly, she doesn't know. She doesn't know if she should be running back there right now and apologizing on her hands and knees. All she knows is that she wants Maura safe and sound, in her arms, and away from any risk of harm, which she can only assume to be anywhere but the past.
Giving the tree one good final kick that makes it shudder and its leaves tremble, she turns around and slides down against the bark, her face constricted in pain. She slides to the ground, her knees drawn to her chest, and lowers her head.
She never expected any resistance from Maura. The journal didn't even mention the possibility of Maura being difficult and too stubborn to run off to the future. The journal only mentioned a little segment about a discussion with Mother and Father and then it jumped to Maura's disappearance.
But apparently the journal was wrong.
Is that possible?
It's been absolutely correct with everything else thus far, which leaves Jane with only one explanation.
"I did something wrong," she mumbles to herself, her head lowered on her arms as a few tears of defeat fall from her cheeks to her lap. "I must've done something wrong."
Maura is sitting on the floor of her bedroom, her back against the side of her bed, her arms hugging her knees to her chest, and tears smeared across her cheeks. The floor is hard and agonizingly uncomfortable, but she can't manage to lie on the bed and keep a grip around any hint of sanity. She already tried that, which is why she's down here in a curled position. Up there, she could only smell Jane's intoxicating scent on everything, reminding of what happened earlier and sending her mind out on a million different tangents and what-ifs. Every second she stayed on top of that mattress, her fear grew worse.
The fear of what's going to become of her and Jane, of the future, of Mother and Father, of Byron, of Margaret, of any living soul that discovers.
She wants answers, clear, distinct answers.
There's a light knock on the door, interrupting her thoughts.
She glances at the closed door and groans. "Please, Mother, I don't wish to talk anymore right now," she yells back, a new set of tears tumbling down her dry, raw cheeks.
The door opens.
"Maura?"
"Oh, James, it's you," Maura says with a sigh of relief, her muscles relaxing as she watches her younger brother smile and scurry into the room. He has something that looks like a book gripped in both of his hands, carrying it like it's a sacred document. Maura lifts a curious eyebrow, rubbing her forearm quickly across her face as she sniffles, "What do you have there?"
James glances down at the item in his hands and looks back up with a secretive smile, plopping on the ground next to Maura. "I'm not exactly sure," he admits in a frank tone, crossing his legs beneath him, Indian-style. "But I think it's actually mine."
"You think?" Maura questions, laughing at her brother's enthused face. She shifts her eyes to the item. "Where'd you find it?"
"On your floor."
Maura sends James a flat glare, but doesn't yell at him quite yet. After all, it doesn't look like any of his possessions. "Let me see," she says, her arms already outstretched. Her brother complies and hands over what appears to be a book. Maura takes it in her hands and inspects it for a few moments, turning it over as she runs her fingers across the leather cover. "It's not mine," she whispers, shaking her head as a curious hand already pulls back the front cover.
"No," James agrees and scoots across the floor to sit next to his brother, his eyes locked on the item. "I think it belongs to Jane."
Maura shakes her head again, her eyes scanning over the pages, but not comprehending any of the words she's reading. "But this isn't Jane's handwriting," she replies, recalling seeing a few things that Jane has written from time to time.
"I know. It's mine."
Laughter escapes from Maura as she looks a bit more closely at one of the pages, "James, you can't write this neatly."
"Not yet I can't."
Maura knits her brow in confusion, glancing up from the pages of what seems to be a journal in order to meet her younger brother's gaze. She doesn't need to say anything for her brother to explain.
"It's from the future," James explains in a simple, matter-of-fact voice. "I tried reading some of it, but it doesn't really make sense. It's all this rubbish about you and her in the future and me visiting you two and telling you what it's like in the past, as if you would ever have the guts to live in the future, and none of it seems to—"
Maura zones out the rest of her brother's explanation and laughter as she turns her direction back to the open journal in her hands. At last, she finally recognizes her name and Jane's popping out all over the page. She scans the pages a little more closely, flipping through them as her eyes pick up talk of the future, an apartment, cars, jobs, and Jane's family… Her heartbeat quickens and she turns back to the beginning of the journal, to the very first entry.
It's dated several months from now.
21st February 1909
I visited Maura and Jane today. I haven't seen either one of them since that day back in August when Mother and Father caught them… together. I still don't know what happened for sure except that they were caught. They still won't tell me what they were doing with each other, at least not yet. It must have been pretty bad though, considering how loudly Father was shouting, and I even saw Mother crying. It's only been a few months, but Maura has changed. She's beginning to resemble Jane more and more, looking like she's from the future as well. She doesn't wear the same type of clothes any more. Instead they're more like those ones I saw her wearing in that strip of photos I found in Maura's desk. I think she called them "jeans," but I'm not sure. She rambled off a bunch of foreign sounding names today; I can't remember half of them. They seem happy, though. They were telling me all about what they've been doing since Maura disappeared and how they've been doing a little bit of travel and a bunch of, I don't know, settling down or something. And when I asked Maura why she disappeared that day, she said I was a big cause, in a good way. She said I gave her the reassurance that she'd actually survive in the future. The reassurance that she needed before she could go…
Maura stops reading there and looks up from the journal, staring straight ahead at the plain wall on the opposite side of the room. Her eyes are damp, but not because she's sad. No, instead they're tears of relief filling her eyes. Her heart beats a little faster in her chest, adrenaline pulsing through her body, her mind turning haywire, her thoughts skipping from one image to the next, imagining the future with Jane and her, together.
The future…
A smile turns her lips upright from their frown.
For the first time, the word doesn't hold the same negative connotation that it held originally. Now it holds a sense of adventure and newborn excitement, making her feel like an antsy little kid the night before a big journey.
"Maura?" James asks, his tone slightly concerned as he watches a few tears race down his sister's cheeks. "Are you alright?"
His older sister turns toward him and smiles, nodding her head. "I'm… I'm great, James, really," she tries reassuring him, wiping away her tears while keeping the journal in her grip. "And thank you for this," she continues and leans forward to wrap her arms around her younger brother in a tight, thankful hug, "thank you so much, James."
James looks confused beyond belief as he watches Maura get up from the floor and walk toward the door. "Where are you going?"
Maura sniffles and rubs away a few more tears as she turns around and faces James one last time. "To see Jane," she says with a tight smile on her face, the tears still falling from her eyes. Knowing this isn't truly the last time she'll see James, the haunting feeling of saying goodbye to her family forever is erased. "I… I don't know when I'll be home," she begins, sniffing lightly, "but, James, just remember I love you, okay?"
James' eyebrows are pulled together in confusion, his lower lip tucked in beneath his upper teeth, but he nods in understanding. "Okay," he replies, quirking a brow at his sister's peculiar behavior.
"Okay, good, I… I have to go, I'll see you around," Maura says, unable to find any words that seem to fit properly in such a significant moment, and hurries out of her bedroom, down the stairs, out the front door, and around to the backyard, leaving behind her bewildered young brother, her oblivious parents, and everything she has ever known in the past.
Maura smiles as the air picks up around her in a light breeze, her eyes closed until she feels the ground replaced beneath her feet. Her fingers tingle in anticipation around the water pump, the others tightening around the journal. Her heart thumps slowly and heavily in her chest, reverberating in her ears with its hollow beats.
"Maura?" the voice she loves questions before she even has the chance to open her eyes.
She opens them and turns toward the voice, her eyes falling on Jane resting against the trunk of a tree. Her eyes are puffy. "You came?" she asks, running a hasty forearm across her eyes as she uses the tree as an aid in standing.
"I came," Maura replies with an eager head nod, an excited smile adorning her lips.
"What… what changed your mind?" Jane asks as she takes a few cautious steps toward Maura.
Maura looks down at the journal in her hands and returns her gaze to Jane with the same curious, mischievous grin overpowering her features. "James," she explains simply, slightly waving the journal in her right hand as she moves forward to close the distance between them. She glances down at the ground, a blush scattering across her cheeks in a childish manner.
Of course it was James, Jane thinks and smiles, watching the blush flare on Maura's cheeks, as she places her hands around Maura's elbows. "Look, Maura," she begins gently, not knowing where to begin while rubbing her hands up and down Maura's arms, "I'm sorry, I was asking way too much of you and I didn't mean to—"
Maura cuts her off, tilting her head just so to join their lips in a chaste, silencing kiss.
Jane seals her lips as Maura pulls away, still smiling an odd, curious grin; her cheeks still a rosy shade of pink.
And with the excitement of the future hiding behind that grin, Maura finally admits in a soft, confident whisper:
"Jane, I… I'm ready to take that running leap now."
I hope you all liked this chapter. Please leave a review or comment telling me what you thought. Thanks! Oh, and does anybody know when the rizzles fan awards are?