Friday

Jane sat at her desk in the empty squad room, rubbing her hands. A storm had broken that morning, and the pain in her hands had screamed at the barometric change. It had started in the morning, and she'd been downing Tylenol all day, staying at her desk, hoping it wasn't obvious that her hands kept curling up into claws. Korsak and Frost had gone home, but Jane wasn't feeling confident about running home. She'd yet to get a car from the pool, and she was grateful for small mercies; her hands were throbbing. It was a mixture of everyday activities and overwork; her mouse hand was constantly cramping, and the doors in the station hurt her bare hands. She looked at her pills. The childproof bottle taunted her. OxyContin. She tried not to take them, but today had been rough, and she hadn't eaten enough to take anti-inflammatories without shredding her stomach lining again.

A folder slid over her shoulder and onto her desk.

"We've processed everything on the clothes," Doctor Isles said from behind Jane. Jane reached out to open the folder and flinched. "Detective Rizzoli?" Doctor Isles asked, concerned.

"Could you open that bottle, please," Jane asked. Doctor Isles picked it up.

"OxyContin. You filled this four months ago and it's nearly full," Doctor Isles remarked, opening the bottle easily. "Which means you aren't abusing them, but you're also not receiving adequate pain relief."

"They make me loopy," Jane said, taking the pill, looking at her water glass longingly. She threw the pill back dry, not trusting herself to be able to pick up and grasp the cup long enough to drink from it.

"Do you need a ride home? You can't drive once you've taken those."

"I can't drive either way," Jane said morosely. "What's in the file?"

"We did get some DNA. We're letting it run over the weekend. I'll get a text if it gets a result."

"Can you text me if that happens?" Jane slid her phone across the desk. "I want to know." Doctor Isles nodded, entering her contact details.

"Do you need a ride?" Doctor Isles asked again. "You're not far out of my way." Jane looked up.

"You're nice," Jane said, sounding surprised. "You're actually worried about me."

"Your infrequent use of opioids means you will likely be impaired. I feel responsible, having assisted you to consume them." Doctor Isles looked away, fussing with her jacket, the creamy fabric making her look like a crème brûlée.

"Ok, ok, take me home," Jane sighed, standing and grabbing her jacket. Doctor Isles hadn't moved, and Jane found herself very close as she shrugged on her jacket. Jane looked at Doctor Isles' face; she was tired, it showed on her face, but her eyes were surprisingly soft, as though something about Jane's pitiful inability to open her own medication had softened her somehow. Jane moved away first, averting her eyes.

"Home sweet hovel," Jane slurred, slumped against the wall next to her front door. "Keys are in my pocket," she added, not even flinching as Doctor Isles' hand eventually slid into her front pocket when it became obvious that Jane wasn't going to be able to do so herself. Jane watched as Doctor Isles unlocked the door, one of her curled hands rising to push back Doctor Isles' hair behind her ear so she could see her better.

"Mmm, soft," Jane said, and Doctor Isles sighed.

"You are very opiated," Doctor Isles said, looking around. There were assistive appliances strewn on most surfaces, and dishes on the counter. "I don't feel like I should leave you alone like this," she added. "As a doctor, it would be remiss of me to leave you inebriated without supervision." A second glance revealed some trophies and ribbons and medals on the bookshelves, some of them related to the police force, some of them related to sports. It explained the random sporting equipment strewn through the apartment.

"Aw, I'll be fine," Jane said, collapsing on the couch. "But since you're here, can you grab me some water?"

Doctor Isles rinsed out a glass at the sink, stacking dishes into the dishwasher and starting it before she sat next to Jane on the couch. She went to hand over the glass but Jane just leaned forwards, and Doctor Isles found herself holding the glass to Jane's mouth, Jane obviously used to having someone else hold her drink for her. Doctor Isles wiped a line of water away from Jane's lips as she pulled the glass away, ignoring a statistically improbable response from somewhere deep within her at the feel of Jane's soft lips opening as Doctor Isles touched them.

"Better?" Doctor Isles asked, swallowing and Jane nodded, letting her balled hand land in Doctor Isles' lap.

"You can stay if you like," Jane said.

"Have you eaten today?" Doctor Isles asked, and Jane shook her head. "I can fix something."

"Freezer," Jane said. "Or pizza. Yeah, get us pizza, Doc. Number's on the fridge."

"Will I have to feed you?" Doctor Isles asked.

"Probably. Sorry."

"It's not a problem, I just wanted to know if that was going to be required." She looked over to where Jane was lolled on the couch. "Do you have a spare bedroom?"

"I do not."

Doctor Isles assessed the situation calmly. Once Jane had eaten, she could take something to reduce the inflammation in her hands, but she'd still be goofy on the opiates. For now she deliberately ignored Jane's offer for her to stay, despite only having one bedroom. She called in for the pizza and sat next to Jane again, taking her pulse, the soft skin of Jane's throat surprising her, the thrumming pulse beneath reassuring her, Jane not objecting to Doctor Isles touching such a vital artery. Doctor Isles grabbed her purse and pulled out a torch to check Jane's pupils. Jane pushed her away with a balled fist, her open hand resting on Doctor Isles' forearm for a moment.

"Geez! What're you doing?"

"Checking to see if you're likely to go into respiratory depression. I will stay, to make sure you're all right. You really should have an aide, while you're transitioning back into the workplace. I should recommend that you take more leave, but if you were taking your pain relief as scripted I believe you would have a much easier time. Skipping meals certainly isn't helping." Jane's hand had slid back down into Doctor Isles' lap but Jane hadn't seemed to notice so Doctor Isles pretended not to either. Doctor Isles put down the torch, checking Jane's eyes as best she could without the extra light, noticing against her will once again how attractive Jane was; those high cheekbones and tapered chin, the sweet smile and soft eyes. "I think you'll live," Doctor Isles said, taking Jane's hand and gently unravelling it, careful, gently rubbing the wrist and knuckles.

"You're a good detective," Doctor Isles said. "Committed, passionate. Anyone less driven would have quit the force, would have taken more leave. But you really do care about your cases, about these people I dissect. I admire that." Doctor Isles held her cool palm against the burning heat from the scars of Jane's hand. Jane flopped against Doctor Isles' shoulder. Doctor Isles wondered if Jane would have asked one of her male colleagues to open her pills, if she would have accepted a ride home from one of them, if she'd have been comfortable with them like this, wondering if this physical aspect would have arisen with them, if she was rife for workplace harassment. Doctor Isles didn't feel harassed, but she knew Jane wasn't in her right mind, wondered if Jane might regret this contact, contact which felt incredibly intimate. Not that there was anything to regret, just Jane's curly hair in Doctor Isles face.

She wondered if Frost would have taken Jane home, if he'd have helped her drink, if he'd have left once Jane started curling up against him, or if he'd have taken advantage of the moment and slung an arm around her, if Jane would have enjoyed that, if Jane would have leaned in to kiss him. Jane's face wasn't visible from here, so Doctor Isles had no cues to read, but the fact that Jane hadn't pulled away or removed her hand from Maura's probably meant that on some level Jane didn't mind. Jane was the one instigating, anyway. And Maura was a little uncomfortable, but she hadn't pulled away either. She'd made the choice to take Jane home, to see her safely upstairs, to open her door and follow her in. She'd had a choice; she still had a choice. The likelihood of Jane's affectionate behaviour just being from medication was high, and the likelihood of Jane remembering any of this was low. Still, Jane seemed comfortable, as though she felt safe with her vulnerable, aching hands in Doctor Isles', felt safe enough to seek physical comfort from a woman she didn't know very well.

Doctor Isles wondered if she would have taken any of her other colleagues home like this, how she would have reacted if, say, Susie, was being physically close with her like this. If she'd mind it, if she'd have even offered for anyone else. If Susie would have brushed Doctor Isles' hair out of her face with a soft hand, if Susie would feel right tucked against her side. Wondered if Frost, who she'd noted was very attractive when he wasn't vomiting on one of her crime scenes, if Frost would have trusted her enough to be so vulnerable with her.

And lastly she wondered if she'd been in a similar predicament, who would have come to find her at her desk, unable to open her own pill bottle, unable to drive herself home, unable to hold even a glass of water or to work the doors or elevator buttons. Who would have taken her home? Who would have brought her water and held it to her mouth so she could drink from it? Who would Doctor Isles trust enough to allow herself to be medicated while interacting with them? Her fingers brushed the tight knot of the scar and Jane moaned. Doctor Isles withdrew back to Jane's wrist, surprised when Jane moved her hand so Doctor Isles' fingers were directly over the scar again. Gently she dug in to the scar tissue, feeling Jane hum with relief against her throat.

"Yeah, well you're always so precise and exacting, you always find any evidence that can be found. I can't stand all those procedures and spreadsheets, but I know they're important, and you always tick the right boxes. I know if we rely on your evidence that we get the right guy."

There had been such a delay that it took Doctor Isles a long time to remember the conversation she'd started. She nodded, and Jane's head moved with her own. There was a knock at the door, and Doctor Isles extracted herself to get the pizza.

"Could you turn on the tv?" Jane asked as Doctor Isles came back into the room with the pizzas, Jane's hands balled again, and Doctor Isles found the remote, a large one with big buttons that was still too hard for Jane to manage. Jane was clearly used to being fed, biting into the slices Doctor Isles held for her. It was surprisingly intimate, the proximity of their bodies, the occasional graze of Jane's lips and teeth on Doctor Isles' fingers. Jane clearly trusted her, despite their rocky start. Doctor Isles wondered how Jane coped on her own, without help, on nights like these. Jane seemed resigned to not being able to use her hands, and Maura remembered that Jane had asked her to open the medication that didn't seem to be helping much with the function of her hands. Doctor Isles remembered Jane's brother, who seemed nice enough. Probably on nights like these he'd come over and open her meds and make sure she fed herself. Or she'd mentioned a mother, although they hadn't seemed to get along. But would she be this quiet and complacent with them? Maybe she was just too high on meds to care that she barely knew Doctor Isles, yet was licking her fingers to chase down a slice of pepperoni. It should have disgusted Doctor Isles, but it was somehow endearing.

Doctor Isles took her own slices once Jane seemed happy with the amount she'd eaten, wiping her fingers on a napkin before pulling out the anti-inflammatory pills she'd found on the counter. Jane swallowed them easily, willingly, swallowing again from a glass Doctor Isles held. Pliable, complacent Jane was someone Doctor Isles hadn't met, and she looked down at Jane's hands again. It must have taken months for her to hold her first glass of water. It would have been months of straws in hospital, of being unable to take care of even her most basic of needs. Yet in the office she was so strong, the only crack in her façade when Doctor Isles had asked her to hold the camera, the weight too heavy for those hands. Doctor Isles looked away and wiped Jane's face with another napkin, picking up grease and crust crumbs from around her soft mouth, wondering why Jane had invited her in, why Jane, the tough, strong Detective Jane Rizzoli was letting Doctor Isles - a person who hadn't exactly been nice to her - see her so vulnerable and helpless. Wondering why seeing Jane so vulnerable and helpless had triggered such a fierce protective response, like a mammal charged with the care of an abandoned baby mammal. Perhaps it was her own feelings of abandonment, perhaps this was all projection, but from her interactions with Jane, where she'd helped her even when Doctor Isles was being rude to her, she knew somehow that Jane would do the same for her without judgement.

Doctor Isles didn't often change her first impressions, but the woman that had started work a few weeks ago was sharp but warm and friendly. Jane had clearly tried to be friendly, and Doctor Isles felt a little ashamed of how hard she'd made it for her; she'd misread her intentions. She'd assumed Jane had been mocking her, laughing at her, but Jane didn't have those sorts of layers. She was all surface. When she was upset, Doctor Isles could see it on her face. When she was mad, she was a force to be reckoned with. And when she brought coffee to Maura, her face looked like... wide eyes, raised brows, uncertain mouth. Jane had clearly been worried, had clearly been trying to create a non-hostile working relationship. And Doctor Isles had seen that, ignored it in favour of keeping any form of relationship professional and impersonal.

Jane slumped against Doctor Isles again, and Doctor Isles froze. That balled hand wound its way between Doctor Isles' arm and her waist, and Jane's head tucked itself into Doctor Isles' neck, her breathing heavy. Doctor Isles squirmed uncomfortably for a moment before she helped Jane to her feet, half-dragging her to the bed. She had to undo Jane's belt, locking away the gun in the safe, putting the phone in the charger. She took off Jane's boots and slung her across the bed.

"I'm glad we're friends," Jane said, wrapping her arms around Doctor Isles' waist, pulling her down onto the bed with her. Doctor Isles attempted to extract herself but Jane was strong, her forearms wrapped tightly around Doctors Isles ribs, curling into her from behind. Doctor Isles sighed and kicked off her heels, took out her earrings. She'd decided to stay, but she would have chosen to stay on the couch. The choice had been taken away from her, she told herself as Jane curled tighter against her from behind, the arm over Doctor Isles' ribcage firm and reassuring. She knew if she really wanted to she could get out of the bed, but the couch had been unimpressive, and the warmth of Jane seeping against her back was too enticing to try. She turned off the bedside lamp, let her hand rest tentatively atop Jane's, hearing an approving hum from Jane. She reached down for the blanket she'd folded back for Jane, bringing it over both of them, another approving hum from Jane when she slipped her hand back under the covers, sliding her hand onto Jane's again. She could feel Jane's nose against her shoulder, feel her breath on her bare back exposed by the dress she'd worn to work, could feel Jane's hip bones pressing against her lower back. She'd never had a sleepover with a female friend, although she'd heard of the practice, and now she wondered how much she'd missed by not being open to friendships with women, because right now she felt warm and comfortable and safe - the opposite of how she'd felt the last time she was in a man's bed in this position. Perhaps part of it was the clothing, perhaps part of it was the fact that Jane was clearly out cold and not attempting anything further, but perhaps part of it was simply being held for the sake of being held, something Doctor Isles had little experience with. If she'd known at the start of the week - at the start of the day - that she'd been going to end up in Detective Jane Rizzoli's bed, she wouldn't have believed it. She would have assumed she'd simply leave, that she wouldn't allow herself to be in such a compromising position. Yet here she was, still soaking in the sleepy affection of a drug-affected Jane.

She worried about the morning - if Jane would regret asking her to stay, if Jane would be confused about having the Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in her bed, if she'd think Doctor Isles had instigated this for an ulterior motive. If either of them would approach HR with a complaint even though this had happened outside work hours. She sighed again, and Jane moved against her.

"I c'n hear that big brain from here," Jane complained, yawning, her mouth brushing against Doctor Isles' shoulder, her arm tightening around Doctor Isles again. "Go to sleep."

"Goodnight," Doctor Isles said finally, relaxing a little. Jane knew she was here, Jane had invited her to stay. She didn't feel as though anything inappropriate had happened, even though she wasn't used to sharing a bed with a cuddly colleague. The arm around her was warm and comforting, and Jane's breathing was even and healthy, the heartbeat against one of her shoulder blades reassuring. Doctor Isles started counting the beats, the rhythm luring her into sleep like a lullaby.

Notes:

So if you've read 'Be My Guest' you'll probably remember that I dislocated both my wrist and my fingers at my wrist while writing it. I wish those had been outliers but they're common experiences to me, and while I haven't had a scalpel through the palm, the difficulty of living with a hand that doesn't work is all from lived experience.

This is my favourite chapter so far.