CHAPTER 27
She wakes up in her car.
Awakes with a crick in her neck and a trickle of emptiness in her chest that hasn't completely drained away from last night.
It's still dark, but she stretches long legs as far as the footwell of her car will allow, turns on the engine with a yawn and decides she'll head straight to work.
She might as well, those cold cases won't solve themselves, and she should know, she's solved three in the last two months. It is the only upside to having been stuffed, quite literally, into the basement area of BPD that serves as Evidence Management. She'd go so far as to say 'manhandled' given the way Korsak had gripped her by the shoulders with his bear paw-sized hands when she'd tried to re-enter Cavanaugh's office and share a few more choice words.
But then that's how one month's punishment had turned into two, and now she's sort of sorry not sorry because she wants to see her latest case through to its conclusion anyway. She wants to believe she's brought the heat, wants to imagine she's warmed all the old evidence sufficiently to show it in a new light, to bring a new perspective on things. But she knows the statistics, that sometimes, despite all the will in the world, despite endless hours poring over evidence and an unending will for justice, well, sometimes they just stay cold. Forever.
Whether or not this case will pan out she's not sure, but she'd had a good feeling about it yesterday when she'd passed information upstairs to her partner.
Her partner, who is alive and well.
Barry Frost. The man who checks on her at least once a day and asks her how she is. The man who, when she'd first come back from the other side for good, had dogged her for days to make sure she was okay, digging for answers on why she wasn't herself, what was distracting her, where had the bruises come from, and what the hell was really going on?!
He was relentless, and she had almost cracked. Almost told him everything.
.
.
The look on his face breaks her heart all over again, and she loves him for it, for how much he clearly cares. Loves him so much and is so thankful for him being real and alive and right here in front of her, breathing, and not a cold, gray tombstone that she can't stop the tears that roll down her cheeks.
"I've been gone -" she says, waving a finger at her temple and eyes wandering to avoid his "- but it's… not anymore. It's over, and I'm back. So I need you to stop… stop worrying and questioning everything." She can't give him answers anyway. "You have to believe me, okay? Take my word for it. I'm here and I'm focused and if you have trouble trusting me, I understand. I deserve that. But I promise you -"
"I trust you, Jane," he says, so matter-of-fact, his tone so utterly convincing that her gaze meets his in a heartbeat, and she knows it to be true.
She tilts her head as her tears continue to fall and he hugs her, strong and hard, and it's just what she needs to chase the emptiness away.
.
.
It feels strange to know you've grieved for someone who was never really gone. Almost as strange as grieving for a relationship that was never really hers.
But thinking about Maura makes her smile.
It is a brighter smile than the one she gives when listening to Maura talk about Jack. She tries to wish her friend well and appear genuinely interested, tries to sound sympathetic every time the blonde is frustrated or upset about changed plans or being stood up. But truth be told she's not always fully listening while Maura rants.
Sometimes her mind wanders.
It meanders through and around mental images of Maura partially dressed, her face flushed and a sheen on her chest. It hears echoes of the sounds she once made, deep, erratic breaths that swim faintly by her ears, pricking the hair on the back of her neck. Feels the ghost of Maura's fingers on her skin…
She's not proud of indulging her daydreams, despite being all she has left of that other life, but somehow they help to fill a bit of the hole that remains deep within. They help her get by, and trying to act as normal as possible is preferable to not being around Maura at all. It's certainly preferable to ignoring or avoiding the tenacious doctor, a tactic she'd tried the first couple of weeks back, but one that had made Maura very suspicious. The day Maura tearfully asked about why their friendship had 'veered away from its normal parameters' was the first time she'd stayed over since this all began.
It was also the first time in weeks that she'd gotten a good night's sleep.
Having developed a nasty habit of waking up at 3am, she knows she'd let the doorway hopping go on far too long. She'd even gone so far as to buy some of those fancy bath bombs everyone had been raving about, hoping they might help to bring the sleep that continued to elude her. She hadn't told anyone of the purchase, of course, not even Maura. So what if the M.E. had commented on the 'lovely new scent' she was wearing. She'd brushed it off, just like everything else, and swore they were a waste of money.
But then, she hasn't done herself any favors by coming back here and keeping herself awake half the night.
The doorway.
She doesn't intend to ever go back through it, and it doesn't light up anymore anyway, but she can't stop herself. She has to see it, has to make sure… to set her mind at rest. Thankfully, it remains as dark and featureless as every other time she's been back to pay it a visit.
It's partly why she'd committed herself so completely to her work. It helped to take her mind off the things she couldn't completely escape. It also helps reinforce her desire to work hard and get results the old fashioned way. There will be no cutting corners ever again, no magic door that provides the answers, only hard graft and maximum effort from here on out. It's why, after the first couple of weeks, she'd made an extra special effort to make everything right, and if not right, at least a little better.
.
.
"Thanks for meeting me," she says, falling onto a stool opposite Korsak in the Division One café. She slides a yellow post-it note across the table as he pushes a coffee cup in return. "This woman has mad skills and we need her. Don't ask me how I know, just see if you can get her here. I have a feeling she and Frost will get on like a house on fire."
"I can't just -"
"Homicide just lost it's best detective -" she states flatly, permitting no argument and not caring what reaction he has to her claim, "- for an extra month because she's a dick who doesn't know when to shut up." That makes him snicker as expected and she jabs a finger at the table determined to atone for her poor choices. "We need some help and you know it. Trust me, two months from now they won't want to let her go and we'll have the best goddamn team anywhere south of the Charles."
With a small crease in her brow, she stares him down and counts the seconds. She'll beg if she has to.
On the count of four, he says, "I'll call her today," and she exhales in a rush, her upper body deflating as relief washes in.
"Okaaaaay," Frost drawls as he swaggers arrogantly into the storage room she's managed to turn into a little office deep within the bowels of BPD. "Pay up!"
"You've got to be kidding me?!" she exclaims, one hand slapping the rickety cupboard that doubles as her desk. The movement bumps the precariously stacked pile of cardboard boxes next to it and she quickly reaches to make sure it doesn't fall, cursing under her breath.
"Nope," he grins, open palm outstretched. "Come on. You said twenty bucks."
Leaning back in her chair, she squints hard and folds her arms. "How do I even know you won? I need photos or it didn't happen."
"He's being booked into lockup as we speak," Frost beams, rolling up on the balls of his feet as happy as a kid at Christmas. "Stetson, denim shirt -" his eyes go wide "- boots with spurs! The whole deal, just like I pictured."
"Really?!" She exhales roughly, genuinely stunned. Clearing her throat, she tilts her head and tries to wipe the smugness off his face as she points a finger at the paperwork spread out over every available surface. "And you caught him with my tip, yes?"
Frost barks a laugh, but she still thinks it was worth a try. "Yep, you chalked up another one… but that wasn't part of the bet, Jane, and you know it." Reaching out a hand once again, he flashes another blinding smile. "Pay. Up."
Feeling stubborn, she plants her elbows on the desk and locks him with the fiercest stare she can muster, but for long moments he doesn't even blink, just stands there smiling until she wilts and gives in.
"Okay, fine -" she huffs audibly, standing and grudgingly taking out her wallet.
Frost chuckles as she snatches a single bill from inside and tosses it in his direction. "Your suspect's name is Clyde Outlaw, Jane! You can't honestly say you expected to win?!"
Shaking her head, Jane throws up her hands and lets them fall with a thud. "I can't honestly say I expected a bona fide wild west cliché to be wandering around Boston having escaped justice for two decades!"
Still laughing, Frost gives her a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. "Well, don't sweat it, partner. You've got three days left to win it back."
"Yeah," she brightens, her mood lifting at the mention of her punishment coming to an end. It prompts her to skim through a pile of papers until she uncovers a manilla folder. "I found one with some potential," she says, holding it up like a prize, eyebrows high and hopeful. "Wanna take a look with me?"
"Not right now, I, er-" Frost's face drops as he shucks a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.
"What?"
"Jack's outside."
"What?!" she blurts, banging a fist. "NO!"
"He wouldn't take -"
"Come on. Not again!" she laments, throwing her head back with a prolonged groan. "Ugggghhh, that's three times this week!"
"I know, Jane," Frost says through a grimace, palms out as if she might spontaneously combust. "But I couldn't put him off this time. He said he'd already spoken with Angela in the café so he knew you were here and then he saw me and I couldn't come up with anything on the spot like last time and…" He throws his hands up in defeat, almost panting from his own ramblings. "You should probably just tell him, Jane."
It's a thought that makes her cringe so hard she scrunches her eyes closed.
"Just tell him you're not helping any more," Frost instructs, his tone all humorous bravado. "Just say no! Tell him he sucks! Tell him you love her. Tell him -"
"STOP-" she snips, one hand held up as the other pinches the bridge of her nose. She's not dealing with that right now. She cannot.
"But it's been two months, Jane."
"I know," she sighs, painfully aware of the additional punishment that being relegated to a set location on a (somewhat) set day shift has inadvertently caused.
Jack.
He has been chasing her all over town for more help in dating Maura. At work, the café, the gym, her mother's guest house… nowhere has been safe, and each time it is more torturous than the last, and yet she can't make it stop. Her conscience tells her she's making Maura happy in a twisted sort of way.
"Send him in," she mutters, tossing the folder back into the pile.
"Wait - what?"
"Arggghhh," she growls, already feeling shitty about it, about what it does to her and what it means in terms of betraying Maura's trust. But she's already in too deep and so she waves her partner away before she can change her mind. "Just show him in here so I can get it over with. If I'm lucky he'll leave me alone for a week."
"You got it!" Frost sings, clearly relieved that he's off the hook for the failed interception and already on his way out the door.
Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes at herself and with another groan buries her face in her hands. She should say no, she knows she should. But she can't, because doing so means following up on why and she's not ready, not yet. Not to mention, she thinks as she opens a drawer and grabs a pen and a pad of yellow post-it notes, she only has three days left. After that, she'll be back on Homicide and he'll be on his own.