A/N at the bottom of the page.
CHAPTER TWO
A homicide call comes in ridiculously early. Wakes her up on the couch as her phone buzzes across the coffee table. It's only as she reaches for it she realizes how awkwardly she has slept. There's a crick in her neck and a throbbing pain in her head.
There are more grunts than actual words as she murmurs her understanding and agrees to attend. Once Dispatch gets the message, she hauls herself up onto her feet.
Yesterday's suit, shirt and underwear lie on the bathroom floor, still damp and dirty where she dropped them last night in her haste to take a hot shower. She'll pick them up later.
She tries hard to be tidy, doesn't quite manage it all the time, but she's damn sure she is neater than Frankie. Why is his stuff all over her apartment anyway? Last time she checked he had his own place.
There's just one clean suit in the closet, an old one she hasn't worn in a while. Though she's always liked the color - dark gray with flecks of navy - she remembers swearing off it after Maura made a comment about the unflattering cut. It was immediately relegated to the far back corner and hasn't seen daylight since.
Today it's her only option, and so she puts it on over a plain tee.
She doesn't remember skipping laundry day. Yet the absence of any clean clothes would suggest she's been lacking a little in that department lately.
As she collects her keys, gun, and badge from the entryway table, swings the door closed behind her, she swears she'll do it soon. There's no time now, but she'll get her act together, pick up her shit, and try to make sense of things. Last night included.
"Hi, Maura," she offers wearily as she meets the medical examiner outside the address on her phone.
"Good morning, Jane," comes the doctor's voice, soft and low and right next to her.
Any residual fuzziness has cleared up during the drive here, but she still feels a little off balance as she stands on the sidewalk preparing to get to work. With her head hung low, she huffs and squints as she fights to snap on a pair of latex gloves.
When the doctor places a gentle hand on her forearm and asks "Are you okay?" it is with regret that she spits a terse "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" in reply.
She is out of sorts and now Maura knows it too. The doctor doesn't comment, doesn't react at all except for a subtle twitch of her eyebrow as hazel eyes look her up and down.
It's not surprising. This is the part where the doctor leaves her to stew, to realize she's an ass all on her own. It usually doesn't take long and this morning it's pretty instant. She wishes she could start the day over already, wipe the slate clean.
It is surprising, however, when instead of calmly walking away Maura removes the scant inches between them, wraps her hand around the back of Jane's head and kisses her sweetly on the mouth.
It's far from the worst thing to happen to her, but it's startlingly unexpected and makes her brain stutter. "Uh, Maura? What - what are you doing?" she squeaks, winces at the fingers that glance over her sore scalp as she pulls quickly away.
Maura sighs hard and presses those delicate fingers to her brow. She looks pained and Jane instantly wishes she hadn't jumped back like she'd been stung. What the hell is wrong with her?
"I can't believe you're doing this again."
This. What's this? Maura has never kissed her at a crime scene before – never kissed her period - so she doesn't see anything wrong with her reaction. But there's a hurt lacing the blonde's every word that certainly begs to differ.
"I waited patiently for months, Jane. I held back because you asked me to, until you said you were comfortable with it, and..." Suspicious hazel eyes sweep the scene, accuse every uniformed officer and CSRU tech in sight of something that Jane can't decipher. "If something's happened or you're having second thoughts -"
Totally lost, she shakes her head, "What? Maura, I-" But her friend takes a step forward, leans in and lowers her voice. It makes the whole thing feel a little bit dangerous and a heat rises beneath her collar.
"You need to talk to me. We can't do any of this if you don't trust me..."
She still doesn't know what this is - has a crazy and impossible idea of what it looks like - but she can't get a word in without rudely cutting Maura off and that seems like a bad idea. Instead she flicks the bottom of her jacket over her cocked hips, plants her hands there, and silently absorbs a dressing down that she's increasingly unsure she doesn't deserve.
"And believe me; I promise you, no matter the doubts you may still have, it's not inappropriate. I'm a professional, too. You know I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't do that to us."
She doesn't immediately follow when Maura turns and disappears beyond the crime scene tape because there's a weight around her ankles that feels like concrete. What just happened? Added to last night, she's not one hundred percent certain she isn't slowly losing her mind.
Her brow is deeply furrowed as her eyes tail the blonde's retreating form. It's in these moments she usually feels free to appreciate her friend's figure, unhindered and without witnesses, allows her mind to freefall through jumbled thoughts of what if and just tell her and maybe tomorrow. But this time she just stares, blinks repeatedly in confusion.
She wants to check with her partner, ask him to smack some sense into her. But she catches the words Barry and case and precinct on the wind, whispers that float past her ears from Maura's conversation with Korsak a hundred yards away as they duck inside the house. If she had to guess, it looks like Frost isn't here.
Maura's kiss was much too tame for this to be a dream. She's had enough of them to know better.
And she never did put much stock in wishful thinking or prayer. She could sit upon her knees forever; it doesn't stop Maura from dating a long line of unsuitable and undeserving men. The fact that she's never just come out and said why it bothers her is entirely beside the point. Suffering in silence is kind of her thing.
This isn't a practical joke either, that much she can tell. So unless her well-guarded secret is finally out, she can see no other reason why Maura would act like they were together.
Regardless, she isn't about to argue. Content to welcome any further attention if it involves Maura's mouth. It would just be a damn shame, and just her luck, to find out she is hallucinating as a result of the head injury.
She's pretty sure it's not serious. Remains convinced even as Maura's voice lectures her about the dangers of concussions, dulcet tones that swim at the base of her skull right where it still throbs underneath a pronounced lump.
Staying very close to the doctor for the rest of the day, just in case, seems like the most sensible option.
She hurries to join her colleagues indoors, stalks up the front path as she fires off a text message to her friend. Fingers crossed he'll have some answers.
A woman lies dead in her living room.
"Rebecca Mills, 31," Korsak reads.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and meets his murky green eyes as they lift from his notepad. "Who found her?"
"Mail lady had a parcel that wouldn't fit in the mailbox so she brought it to the door. Saw the car still in the driveway but got no answer when she knocked. Spotted the body through the window and dialed 911."
"Forced entry?" she queries, surveys the destruction that surrounds them.
"Doesn't look like it, but CSRU are checking latches and frames for tool marks and fingerprints."
They won't find any, she thinks. Textbook case of a victim knowing their killer. But whoever it was, she put up quite a fight. There might be something useful among the debris that they were careful to navigate on their way in. Whatever it may be, she hopes the techs find it once Maura's crew remove the body and they clear out.
They say 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', but Jane knows the statistics when it comes to homicides. Has seen it too many times before. A violent man scorned is a truly monstrous thing, but these increasingly frequent cases don't make headlines quite like the occasional female perpetrator.
"Liver temp suggests time of death somewhere around 10pm," Maura offers, removes the thermometer as Jane reads through some open mail. Maura hoists a bare shoulder, as if turning the victim over before lowering her back down. "Blood pooling suggests she died right here. The body wasn't moved."
"Going through a divorce," Jane murmurs, drops a handful of court papers back onto the victim's coffee table. "Whadda ya think? Fifty bucks says the ex-husband did it."
Korsak's eyes lift from Maura's crouched form. "Wouldn't be the first time," he scoffs.
Maura sits back on her feet, balances effortlessly on towering heels. Looks up to find two sets of expectant eyes peering down. "You know fine well I won't comment," she sighs. "Not -"
"Until the results are in. We know, Maura." Jane rolls her eyes. She should be annoyed by this exchange by now; they go through it at every crime scene. But it's just part of the doctor's charm. She's consistent and reliable, sticks vehemently to her incorruptible methods. Jane supposes that's why it's still entertaining to try. It never gets old.
And boy, even leaning over a blood soaked victim the blonde is achingly beautiful -
She quickly clears her throat when she realizes she is staring. But it's not like anybody else notices.
"She was badly beaten before she was killed," the doctor offers, a slight tilt of the head her only concession. "That would suggest it was personal."
Nobody disagrees.
"That's only a preliminary finding," Maura warns and Jane nods emphatically, repeatedly to express her understanding. Nothing is concrete until the autopsy is complete and the crime lab results come back.
It's par for the course, but enough for her and Korsak to run with. This is how it goes. This is normal. The most normal thing to happen to her since she left the Dirty Robber last night.
"So we've just gotta track him down," Korsak shrugs, because their next move is obvious.
"And the child," Maura says.
"What child?" Dark eyes sweep the room to double-check all the details she'd noted when they first arrived. Nothing right here indicates the woman has a child, of any age.
"I could be wrong, but -" and Jane snorts lightly as Maura lifts the victim's shirt and pushes down her waistband to reveal a substantial scar. "I'd say that's from a C-section."
Jane gawps, "Are you guessing?!"
Maura hums for a second, appears to consider her conclusion again as her eyes run over the victim from head to toe. "Hmm, no. A process of elimination. At this time, it's the only logical explanation that fits, given the lack of any other evidence..."
Jane's phone buzzes and she zones out with the distraction of snatching it from her belt.
Korsak mumbles, "… bit young for a hysterectomy…"
– Message Not Delivered.
What the hell?
"… everything else is much less likely given the lack of any other surgical scars or corresponding medication in the house; organ donation, gastric bypass…"
She stows the phone and brings her colleagues' discussion to an end with a dismissive wave, "Alright, Bones and Dr. Spock. Logical C-section it is."
When Korsak clears his throat and supplies with a smirk, "Like I said earlier, uniforms cleared the scene before we got here. No one else in the house," the atmosphere starts to thicken.
Maura tuts and laughs lightly with a wink, "You know I don't guess, Jane," and, wow, they've been messing with her. How did she not catch that?
She breathes out a humorless chuckle, tries to match the mood but it's awkward and does nothing but create more tension as both of her colleagues' smiles fall away, concerned frowns taking their place.
She missed something and they caught it, caught her and she has no answers. Can't find her voice for a comeback or an excuse under the weight of discomfiting hazel-eyed scrutiny as Maura's face begs are you really okay?
Instead she backs away, flees toward the stairs as embarrassment burns her cheeks. "I'm gonna go double check…" she points, waves an index finger towards the ceiling as her feet shuffle. Fingers splayed, palms down, both hands make circular motions towards the carpet as she starts to climb, "While you finish up… down here… with… this. Her. Better safe than sorry!"
The bright and false smile she plasters on makes her face hurt, but it drops off the second she is high enough to be hidden from view. Her breath leaves in a rush and her shoulders sink into a hunch.
She's not mad at them for seizing the opportunity to tease, even if, like most of Maura's jokes, it did fall a little flat. Usually she'd be the first to chance a laugh at someone else's expense, but she's seriously off her game today.
And she could be angry with herself for that humiliating lapse, would be on any other day, if only she wasn't so goddamned confused.
Of all the days of her life, not one has made her want to crawl right out of her own skin quite like today.
A/N: I owe a massive thank you, once again, to my wonderful beta, Orison. This story is all the better for her input.
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If you are NOT bothered by secondary character death then please continue on. You don't need to read any further. I don't want to spoil anything for you.
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If you ARE bothered by secondary character death, all I'm going to say is if you're familiar with the show, you already know who it involves. However, this story does not focus solely on that death, and because of the dual reality aspect to this story, that character is only dead some of the time. I hope that makes sense and you'll continue to read it. But if it's in any way triggering for you, I understand.