Jane Clementine Rizzoli, what are you doing? Jane's inner monologue begins its tirade. Frost's already warned you of the woman's status and position. Her birth right, her heritage. Her potential danger. Mom and Pops will not be pleased. She swallows a sigh and looks intently at the road ahead. The woman's a great, if not overly careful driver. Waiting always for an extra millisecond or two at the line even after it's turned green, and you're sweating through your jeans. She resists the urge to pluck at her eyebrow. You've worn the tattered pair you slob Rizzoli. Jane sneaks a peak. She's so effortlessly beautiful, the woman who left her forehead tingling. Your palms are sweaty, your heart rate is accelerating, your grin an overly wide almost spasm of a thing. Jane recognizes what could be sin and watches the road ahead. Tries to not throw up her inner butterflies as she fights inner voices, ones from her past, her childhood; concerns she had thought she'd extinguished. She lifts her cap to run her fingers through her unruly curls. She can smell the woman's perfume and she's trying so hard to not look over again as the woman drives and risk exposing her own silly grin.
Straighten up Rizzoli, Jane thought to herself as her eyebrows together furrow. You have a business to keep afloat and brothers you cannot abandon. A business to keep together and mingling with the mob is a clear clear clear absolute no allowance. She clenches her fists. Anger, at her own rashness. Anger at her lack of discipline and obedience. She might have been made captain, made inspector, made detective if she hadn't chosen. Anger, at why she had felt of Frost envious, jealous, and of her own plight a little bitter.
She listens to the tools in her toolbox give off the occasional clunk and clink as Maura cruises towards Beacon Hill with operatic music playing. She had abandoned her own vehicle, she had just followed the woman whose name she had just known. She's fuelled by instinct. She smiles at the woman's choice in music. It's so not a beer swigging accompanying piece and yet, Jane knows enough of wine to swirl, sniff, and sip.
Maura's hands are tighter than they normally would be on the steering wheel. She's done something ridiculously reckless, and uncharacteristically spontaneous. Her therapist will tell her later that she's overcompensating in light of the newness of the current situation – being tied down to an almost impossible situation. What will her father do if she finds out about the woman beside her. About her own interest in a woman, in a plumber. About her history of affluent connections now endangered. What would Chang say if she came over and discovered, another sticky situation.
She spaces out a little sometimes at the cross junctions and the car idles a millisecond or two longer.
Like an orchestra, every instrument has its position, its place in the ultimate piece of the symphony. Like in every fleet, there is a captain that has need at the helm as leader capable of guiding it afloat among the seven seas. Leadership. Comes possible mutiny. Maura, I need you home to care for the business lest it loses control, her father had pleaded. I can't lose it like I've lost your mother and I need her to know. A rare glimpse of emotion. Maura had acceded. She had not known her father to grief.
You are always so good at being the daughter that's needed Maura, Constance had spoken. You are always so good at being what others want of you, Constance had come over in the snow and was then simmering the soup the help had made. She had never known Constance to cook but gestures kind are still, kindly gestures. Maura had continued detailing the floral print of her kitchen cabinets and had felt like a stranger in her own home. Her father had sent Chang calling with plane tickets, contracts, and plans to look over. You can decide to be your own person Maura, Constance had set before her a bowl. Maura had –
"Did you expect me to say 'No'?" Jane's voice broke Maura's thought stream.
"Pardon me?"
Jane clears her throat. "I said," Jane wrestles with her own fear and need for assertion, she fights to water her own nature. "Did you expect me to say 'No'?"
Maura remembers she's still driving and glances only quickly at the woman seated beside her. The woman with the face of surely, Aphrodite's careful design and instruction. That nose. The available distraction.
Maura's appalled at her own behaviour. "I'm sorry if I have, taken you against your will." Maura is aghast now at her own insistence and quick nabbing of this person beside her. Perhaps there really is more of her father in her than what she had wanted to be acknowledged, to be accepted as real. Perhaps she really is, a cold and unfeeling creature. Queen of the Dead. Hadn't she done near perfect slits and incisions during her time with a scalpel. Never a falter, not even a whimper of hesitation when blade slides across skin and exposes flesh pinked still from blood functions. Her classmates could never have stomached lunch immediately after.
Jane laughs in response. "That's not what I meant ma'am," Jane wipes at her brow. Hurt at how the woman sounded hurt. "I meant," she looked over to make eye contact with the woman putting the car now into park. Those elegant hands, that strong grip manipulating gears, Jane's very bothered by how she's feeling hot and bothered. She grips onto her toolbox for courage, for comfort. "I meant, Rizzoli and Sons, will never to you say 'No Ma'am'." Jane grins. A proud plumber. A cowardly lover.
The silenced engine envelopes both women in a quiet that confuses obligation and blurs lines adopted.
A/N: In response to all the reviews posted so far, thank you and yes! Indeed. What a surprise too for me – it's been 5 years since the last update – and I'm glad and humbled if these little chapters could be of some light to us all during our experience of cabin fever. And I am aware, that the last (newest) chapter was a rather rushed work. I just wanted something out to keep aflame this ignited passion and I'm rubbish at slow burn in this decade of quick gratification; especially so, difficult with material from the past thus, my apologies truly, for a work not so well done maybe but I assure you, there'll still be material and potential. I've since lost my notes of where I had wanted the story to go – how I had wanted it to go – but I assure you, that in line with how I've grown, these characters won't be treated with little care and or used for a quick bang or buck. I am all for the depth of conversations and, consensus. / There'll always be layers to explore and, albeit what was maybe a quick turn, let's just chalk it up to being human? We've all taken some split second unexpected did not think we'll do that decisions I reckon so, hey, love is love and, as long as it's safe and legal, consenting and respectful, I say go forth and fondle haha. Nah, we keep it T maybe near M, but with beautiful words. /
Noting as well that my style of writing has changed much so I can't guarantee a return to the style of what's passed and I can only hope that it'll still be to you, kind readers, agreeable as this progresses. / As always, I do so appreciate being a part of this community, even when much has changed since and oh shoutout to Gentleman Jack – that show was indeed, a mirror to my heart. Especially that scene [spoiler] when she had spoken why she knows she won't be chosen.
Most importantly: do stay safe y'all! And keep well 😊 thank you all for the reviews thus far and, I can't say that I'm writing to just bring delight, for I am also adding words to a story that has much…room still, to explore in terms of (my own too? Personal) growth. What matters most to me at the moment is, shining light on a possibility between two individuals who connect so instantly (because I'm a romantic rizzling) even when circumstances will make things (maybe) implausible and challenging. Will they, won't they? ;)