Knock, knock, knock.
"Jane, open the door! We're going to be late!"
Jane jerked in surprise and dropped a spoonful of her dinner on her t-shirt, adding to the collection of stains on the fabric. Cursing, she dabbed at it with a hand towel but gave up when her unexpected visitor continued to abuse her door.
"Just a minute, Maura!" Jane yelled as she took the pot of coq au vin off the stove and hid it in the oven.
Dashing to the living room, she grabbed the fantasy novels stacked haphazardly on the coffee table and tossed them in the spare room, locking the door behind her. She glanced around her apartment nervously and murmured.
"Did I miss anything, Hart?"
A feminine voice with a hint of a southern accent drawled in Jane's mind.
Does it really matter if Maura finds out you cooked or have books that aren't about murder or baseball? You've been on sick leave for three months, Jane. Starting new hobbies to pass the time shouldn't be too weird.
Jane stalked through her house like she would at a crime scene to look for anything out of place.
"You cooked the coco van, Hart, not me, and I have books that aren't about murder or baseball." Jane replied defensively, speaking quietly so Maura wouldn't overhear.
Coq au vin. Hart corrected before continuing mirthfully.
My bad, I forgot about your paperback on the Salem witch trials and your worn out copy of "Dating for Dummies".
Jane blushed as laughter resounded in her skull.
"I told you that Ma left that here! I don't need a book to know how to date! If I hadn't been recovering from a bullet or, I don't know, worried about the ghost sharing my body, I could've gone on several dates in the last three months." She whispered heatedly.
Whatever you say, Casanova.
"Jane, you've got three seconds! One!" Maura yelled through the door, too worried about being late to care about disturbing Jane's neighbors.
"Two!" Maura practically growled.
Better open the door before she gets to three and puts you in timeout, Jane. Hart teased.
"Quiet in the peanut gallery." Jane huffed as she did one last scan of the apartment.
Satisfied that everything appeared normal, she disengaged the various locks, chains, and deadbolts on her door, swinging it open with an apologetic smile for the impatient woman waiting in the hall.
As usual, Dr. Maura Isles, the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, looked ready to strut down a runway. The doctor's makeup was flawless, her dress must have cost more than Jane made in a month, and the purse on her arm more than she made in three. Her black peep-toes put them eye to eye, quite the feat since Jane had about five inches on the other woman.
Maura thoroughly scanned Jane from her messy black curls to her stained shirt and further down to the holey socks on her feet.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you." Jane replied sarcastically, suddenly wishing that she'd worn something that wasn't "homeless-esque", as Hart had described it earlier that day.
She left Maura to close the door and slumped on the couch.
"Even you would look bad if a bullet had gone through you." Jane added.
Maura walked into the living room and observed her speculatively, the instinct to heal overriding the doctor's fear of tardiness.
"Laceration to your peritoneum and small bowel could explain your jaundiced color."
"Okay. You may not casually discuss my privates." Jane complained, waving her palms over her abs.
Maura chuckled, humming in surprise as she noted the tidy living space; she'd expected to find dirty dishes and clothes scattered everywhere.
"I can actually see your floor for once. I thought you banned Angela from your apartment?"
At least someone appreciates my efforts. Hart commented pointedly, still waiting to hear a thank you from the stubborn detective for turning the former pigsty into a habitable home.
Jane rolled her eyes, all the women in her life somehow irritating her simultaneously.
"Is that what Ma told you, Maura? Did she mention that all of her OCD banging and clanking around isn't restful?"
"You know, the stress hormone cortisol suppresses your immune cells' ability to activate telomerase." Maura stated, straightening random odds and ends around the room.
"So you say. Mine are fine." Jane said blithely.
Maura stopped fiddling with knickknacks and faced Jane as she elaborated.
"Quite simply, keeping your brain busy aids recovery. Mind, body. . ."
"Mind business." Jane retorted.
"You are my business."
Maura gestured with her hands as she spoke passionately, a habit she'd picked up from Jane and the rest of the Rizzoli clan.
"Three months. You could've read all of Shakespeare. Learned Finnish."
Jane scrunched her face.
"Like Finland, Finnish? Why would I. . .? Nevermind. And for your information, Maura, I've done things."
"Really? Like what?" Maura asked, clearly doubtful.
"Lots of things! I caught up on all of Richard Castle's latest mystery novels, and I finally moved all the junk in my spare room to storage and renovated it."
Maura clapped excitedly. She'd been trying to motivate Jane to more efficiently utilize her spare room ever since their first sleepover in the apartment. It had nothing to do with having to share Jane's bed when she stayed overnight, which she didn't mind in the slightest; she just thought it was such a waste of living space.
In contrast to Maura, Jane panicked as peep-toes clicked toward the spare room, there were a few things in there she wouldn't know how to explain.
"Wait! Didn't you say something about being late?" Jane asked, jumping into the frying pan to escape the fire.
Now, Maura was the one panicking, she hated being late. She grabbed Jane's wrists, aware that the detective didn't like her hands touched without warning, and pulled her to her feet.
"I can't believe I forgot about the award ceremony! You need to get dressed."
Jane hunched over as a painful cramp stole her breath.
Mercy. Hart groaned, feeling the same pain Jane did.
"Ow. Stop, Maura. We- I'm not going."
Maura's brows furrowed in concern.
"You still have pain?"
"No. I just like saying "ow"". Jane snarked, straightening cautiously as the cramp subsided.
Maura nodded, squinting as her mind raced.
"Could be from intermittent obstruction due to adhesions. When was your last bowel movement?" She asked seriously.
Bet you never thought someone'd ask you that while dragging you to a bedroom. Shoot, I'd be surprised if someone had dragged you to the bedroom before period. Hart ribbed, chuckling.
Jane purposefully stretched to cause another cramp. Hart stopped mid-laugh and groaned in complaint.
Now that's just cutting off your nose to spite your face.
"Y-you just can't help yourself, can you?" Jane accused Maura, a little breathless from the pain.
"I think you're avoiding." Maura replied, frowning at Jane's state.
The doctor's determined march stopped when she noticed the training dummy in the corner. She released Jane to gesture at it in disbelief.
"What is that?"
Jane smirked and used her freedom to return to the couch.
"It's a get-well present from Korsak and Frost."
"That's restful? Where's your uniform?"
Jane didn't reply, feigning interest in the old Red Sox game playing on her flatscreen. She listened to Maura move down the hall, relaxing when she passed the spare room and went straight to the bedroom to rummage around in the closet. It wasn't long before she heard the click of high heels on hardwood as Maura returned to the living room.
Jane glanced at the police-issued uniform in Maura's freshly manicured hands and pouted.
"Makes me look like a man."
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way." Maura warned, the stubborn set of her jaw said she wasn't taking prisoners.
Jane knew that Maura would get her way in the end, she usually did, but Rizzoli's didn't surrender without a fight.
"I'm not a hero, Maura. Shooting yourself is not heroic."
"The people of Boston think it is." Maura countered.
"Eight people died. I don't want a medal for that."
"Five of them were bad guys, Jane."
"Whatever." Jane mumbled. Bad guys or not, their death's still bothered her.
Maura changed tactics, knowing just how hard-headed her best friend could be. She sat next to Jane and laid her hand on her leg. Her hazel eyes were wide and earnest as she spoke.
"This ceremony isn't for you. This is for your fellow officers and your parents and your community. You're a symbol. You are a flesh-and-blood reminder of the thin blue line."
A part of Jane was touched, there wasn't even a hint of hives on her best friend's pale skin, proof that Maura was being honest. However, Jane had no desire to accept an award she didn't think she'd earned or to spend an evening rubbing elbows with snobs and self-centered pricks that couldn't understand the concepts of "duty" and "serving the people" if you gave them a dictionary and drew a picture.
Jane smiled, for about two seconds. Then, she dropped it and replied apathetically.
"That's good. You almost had me."
Detective Jane Rizzoli had faced gangbangers and crazed methheads without flinching, but there was something about Maura's expression that made the hardened detective nervous.
"The hard way." Maura stated coldly.