A/N: Wow, thank you for the follows and faves. I've been writing for years-privately-but never published anything until now.
I'm not quite sure where this story is going, but I don't think it's going to be very long. I want to keep most of the focus on our two ladies-with, of course, some interactions with the family. There isn't going to be a "case" to solve, per se.
It is a work in progress, but I've had most of the first 3 chapters drafted for a while... so they will probably get published quickly and then it will slow down as I write fresh.
Chapter 2
Four days later, Ron Carson finally made a mistake. Apparently thinking that the police wouldn't check for new accounts, he opened a store credit card at a high-end jewelers, and placed an order for an inscribed Rolex. Jane and Frost were waiting for him when he returned to pick it up the next day. He didn't even try to run; he was so surprised. Of course, the detectives didn't think it was easy: over a week of following every possible sighting of both Carson and his vehicle, repeated interviews of all his friends, Frost monitoring the electronic traffic that eventually caught Carson, and Jane driving erratic routes though the city in the dead of night, always finishing in front the home of a certain Medical Examiner before returning to her apartment to attempt sleep.
~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~
Now that the Carson case was over, Maura faced a dilemma. She was positive that, on two occasions last week, she had seen Jane's car on her street very late. Although it was not entirely unusual for the detective to come over in the middle of the night, awakened by a nightmare or kept awake with a case, seeking Maura's advice or comfort, either of which the doctor freely gave without hesitation. So the first time Maura had happened to look out on the quiet street and saw the unmarked approaching, she went into her en suite, put on pajamas and a robe and went back to the window to watch Jane pull in. She was completely surprised when the Crown Victoria continued past her home and turned away. She wasn't sure it was the detective, in the dim light of the streetlamps, but she thought she could make out a cascade of hair and thin, strong hands gripping the steering wheel. Perhaps she didn't want to wake me, the ME thought. But in the past, Jane had awakened her. Two nights ago, Maura was actually in the kitchen getting a drink of water at 2 o'clock in the morning, once again spotting what she was sure was the detective's car approaching. Moving to the front of the house, she watched Jane (this time, she could see her clearly through the windshield) gazing toward the home, then sighing and shifting her attention forward, before speeding up and away. Why didn't Jane stop? What was she doing? Was this normal? Was she okay?
These thoughts were swirling through her mind as Maura sat on her sofa, open medical journal on her lap forgotten, delicately swirling her wine glass in her hand. Soft music was playing from her stereo, unheard. She had left the Dirty Robber's celebration early, coming home under the pretext of an busy schedule for the next day. Rather than getting ready for bed, she was deep in thought about Jane's nocturnal activities. In fact, she had only slipped her shoes off as she sat on the sofa, after preparing the wine and selecting the most recent journal. She brought the glass to her lips, sipping the wine, but barely tasting the bold flavors.
She didn't know what to make of this behavior. Had the detective recently started driving by her home at night? Or was this an ongoing routine that she just hadn't noticed? True, many nights, the pair's day ended together in some form, and the ME was fairly certain the detective didn't do her "drive-by" on those evenings. Maura doubted that this had been a frequent happening over the years of their friendship; she would have happened to notice it, wouldn't she? Had she just not caught Jane in this behavior before? Logically, she realized that if Jane drove by her home in the middle of the night, presumably while Maura was sleeping, there was no way to know how frequent these visits were. But instinctively, what Jane would call her "gut" and she abhorred the idea of not depending on logic, she felt that she hadn't noticed the activity because it was fairly rare.
No, something must have changed recently, and though reluctant to guess, she could hypothesize that the Carson case was the stimulus. The past eleven days had been unusually stressful in several ways for the detective. Carson had been known, but not apprehended. Jane and Barry had been worked later than usual most nights following up on leads and also reviewing patrol reports on Carson's known haunts. There were several evenings the partners had left to interview a clerk or a housewife who called the hotline. Jane was edgier, darker, and moodier while working this case; as if the failure to bring Carson in was her fault. And Maura knew that Jane took the failure to apprehend Ronald Carson personally. The detective often blamed herself, not only for the few cases that went unsolved, but for any delays in closing cases. Maura ruefully considered that Jane would willingly take the blame for murder herself, if it would speed up the cases. Jane was all in, all the time. In fact, during this case, Jane missed two consecutive "Friday Night Movies" at Maura's home and the detective canceled three different meal dates. The doctor also had heard from an irritated Angela Rizzoli about her daughter "ignoring her only mother for weeks!" And while that final item wasn't entirely unusual, as Jane was more likely to forego contact with her mother during a case, the several cancellations with Maura were not the norm, even during heavy workloads. Maura realized that Jane had been more distant from her during this case, than Jane had been since… the detective had shot Paddy Doyle, defending Dean. The doctor internally winced in memory of the pain on Jane's face when Maura had shouted at her to get away.
Yes, the doctor thought, something was atypical. The detective had pulled away from her. But what was different? And why? Maura didn't think it was the case specifically. It was Jane who had changed during this case, during the hunt for Carson. During the chases, and false leads, and the sleepless nights. Mentally, Maura reviewed every conversation she had with the raven-haired detective during the past two weeks. She recalled postures, and tones, and minute muscular facial changes. She thought of the deep sigh from her friend two nights ago, Jane's pale face reflecting both her exhaustion and the weak moonlight, before Jane turned the wheel away from Maura's home. The exhale suggesting a yearning Maura couldn't grasp. In fact, she continued musing, there were several looks that the detective gave her which, in anyone else, Maura would equate with … desire. The more she puzzled on it, past memories of glances directed at her, flipping through her mind in rapid fire precision …. The doctor suddenly sat up, knocking the journal to floor in the process. Jane looks at me as a lover would. The thought was startling in both the idea that Jane may be attracted to her, and that, with equal comprehension, she could, also, be attracted to Jane.
While the revelation was staggering, as with any problem, the doctor faced it head on. Putting aside Jane's potential interest, as she couldn't go further in her theory until speaking to the detective, she assessed her own feelings with clinical precision. "Am I attracted to Jane physically?" she asked herself, aloud. She considered her answer carefully. Jane was tall, slim, muscular; more than once, Maura had informed Jane herself of her beauty. She remembered, with a small smile, Jane's uncomfortable, worried look, waiting for Maura's assessment of the dress the detective had donned so long ago, "Don't you know? You are gorgeous, my friend." And the way Jane's face had lit up, both pleased and embarrassed. While Jane's femininity was purposely suppressed because of their field of work, she had an aura of sensuality and gracefulness that Maura deeply admired. Rizzoli moved with a fluidity that seemed to defy gravity, and Maura could not help but appreciate her body. Jane commanded any room she was in, not just because she was beautiful, but because of the force of nature that was Jane Rizzoli. Maura could not help but be swept into the storm. However, now, with these comprehensions, the blonde wondered if she weren't just carried along, but a willing participant in the emotions that Jane awakened in her. Once again reflecting on the past, with a new perspective, memories now seemingly obvious in their disclosures, she stifled a yawn. Her wine glass empty, she absently went to the kitchen to wash it. Still musing, she made her way to the stairs.
Yes, she was attracted to Jane. Now she needed to figure what to do about it.
~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~
The revelry of the Rizzoli family dinner the following Sunday was partially due to the game on the television featuring the Red Sox against the Yankees and the fact that everyone was in attendance for the first time in several dinners. Korsak, Frost, and even Cavanaugh, had made it to Maura's that afternoon, so with the entire Rizzoli clan accounted for, including Lydia and TJ, the living room was full. Maura worked with Angela in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal which would be devoured in minutes by the brood.
"Janie!" Angela yelled above the loud roar of protest that came from her daughter, "screaming at the television doesn't do any good!"
"MA!" the annoyed brunette replied from her spot in front of the TV, pointing indignantly at the screen, "the ump totally missed that tag! He-he's prejudiced against the Sox! He must be from New York!" A round of agreement sounded from her brothers with a "Damn Yank!" being heard from Korsak.
"Vincent!" the matriarch hissed at Korsak, who at least had the decency to blush, even as he protested.
"But, Angela," he exclaimed, "he IS!" A cheer from the screen caught his attention again, and the group went back to their relatively peaceful viewing.
Maura observed the exchange and the rest of her family (because that is how she felt about them all) from the sanctuary of the kitchen. Jane, sitting back again, in her "spot" on the sofa, Barry in the middle, Frankie on the opposite end. Tommy leaned on the arm nearest Jane, with a dozing TJ in his arms. The doctor briefly wondered how the baby could sleep through the uproar, but then considered that the infant was probably used to it. Lydia was in the chair nearest Tommy – not saying or doing much of anything. Vince was in the opposite chair, with Cavanaugh pulled up next to him in a kitchen chair. All were fixated on the screen, occasionally reaching for their drinks or snacks on the coffee table. She was happy to see that Jane's eyes were bright and clear, with the dark circles fading. Her team had not caught another case in three days, and while the complaints of boredom were sure to be on the horizon, the break was required for much needed rest.
"Dinner!" Angela called, as she placed the last dish on a hot pad. The stampede from the living room was immediate. Everyone jostled for seats, refilling drinks, and generally settling around the large, but still cramped table. "Pipe down!" Angela fussed, smacking Frankie's hand off the basket of rolls, "We need to say grace first!"
"Grace!" Jane, Tommy, and Frankie yelled in unison, giggling, and Frankie reached again for the bowl.
"Francisco Rizzoli, if you even think about touching that bread before we say a proper grace, you will regret it for the rest of your life," his mother threatened, brandishing a large spoon for effect. The rest of the table snickered and chuckled. Barry elbowed Frankie, earning a glare from the older Rizzoli son. Angela made her way around the table to sit next to Cavanaugh, "Sean, would you do the honors?" She took his hand, and reached for Lydia's hand on the other side of her. Everyone gradually took the hand of the persons beside them, and Cavanaugh began a short benediction.
Sitting next to Maura, holding her hand, Jane bowed her head as Sean started to speak. Glancing surreptitiously at her best friend, the detective was startled to see green eyes looking intently at her. "What?" Jane mouthed silently. Maura merely shook her head slightly and smiled. Squeezing Maura's hand gently, Jane grinned and bowed her head forward once again. Maura listened to Cavanaugh's simple blessing, but her mind was on the woman sitting next to her, and the warmth of the hand in hers. And the grin she had given the doctor. Attracted was not the correct word. How could I not have seen? the doctor thought, stunned by her insight. How long has Jane… how long has she been in love with me?