A/N: Kind of angsty. Also I'm not much of a crime writer (and that's not really why I'm writing this story anyways) so I'm only going to be talking about the case for as much as I need to talk about it. I'm sure, if you wanted, you could find a fic that has detail and lots of effort put into the whole crime/procedural thing but this is not that fic.
Disclaimer: Don't own characters. Not making money. etc.
Red stained the whiteness surrounding her. It was flowing like a crimson river. Where was it coming from? Jane's analytical mind started turning out endless possibilities. She bent down sticking a steady finger in the substance. It stained her hand. She sniffed. Blood. The word sent a signal to her brain kicking her into protective gear. Like Lassie, she was trained to help, to save, to take action. Her legs started moving. The ground she was running on, her entire surroundings seemed to be heavenly white, pure almost. The blood trail was getting thicker and darker. Whoever's blood this was they were dying. They were dying and needed salvation, needed saving; they needed her. It never occurred to her that some people would run the other way. That when faced with this choice to save or not to save, to fight or not to fight, that not saving, not fighting was even an option.
The blood was getting thicker still as she moved faster and faster. Finally, yards ahead, she saw the person. It was a person still right? Not yet a body? She stepped up her speed. Death was nipping at her heels closing in, overpowering her sprint, ignoring her completely and going to the source of the crimson river. She knew when it happened. She felt it deep in her bones, in the very center of her being. She was too late. The person was now a body, a victim of a horrific act. But the blood flowed ever stronger. Was there more than one? It was a futile question, she knew. She was the only thing alive in this heaven like hell. She was too late. She was always too late.
When she reached the body her pounding heart should have stopped. Death should have come back taking her with him. For the body bleeding a crimson river wasn't just a body. "No." Did that sound come from her mouth? Was that her own voice? Was that what it sounded like to be on the other side of such a shameful act? To be the one who witnessed? The one who saw?
Her knees collided to the cold, hard, white ground splashing in the blood. Her bones jolted together like all the cartilage in them was gone. The pain was nothing, just a blip on her radar, a millisecond jolt of something before a whole different kind of pain overtook her completely. Laid before her in designer heels and dress was her best friend. She felt like Hulk himself was standing on her chest. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. All she saw was the unmoving, unflinching, dead eyes of Maura Isles. How could she have let this happen? How could Maura be dead? Who did this? She would find out. She would find out and hunt them down. And then, then instinct took over. Because Maura couldn't be dead.
Jane started inspecting the doctor. Where was all the blood coming from? There wasn't any open wounds or knifes protruding from smooth skin or bullet holes. But then she asked herself why would Maura get shot? And a cold calculated voice replied: because she's friends with you. She shook her head vehemently. She had no part in this. But she would fix it. Yes, she would fix it! Because that's what she does, right? No, the voice said again, you just make things worse. You take lives and freedom from others. She shook her head again. "Shut up!" She screamed. The words didn't sound like her words, it didn't sound like her voice. But the demon – that stupid voice – was gone.
She started performing CPR on her best friend. She held the doctor's nose and breathed hot air into her mouth hoping that this was just…that it was a mistake. She did it again and again and again. Her hands hurt. She was lightheaded. "This isn't funny." In the back of her mind she could hear Maura say 'no one's laughing' like she so often did when Jane said something wasn't funny. The words echoed in her mind. No one's laughing. No one's laughing. Jane, desperate and pleading, started tossing around splashing in the blood to find where it was coming from. And then she heard it.
The barely echo of a haunting laugh and heavy footsteps. "Come on Maura, wake up! This isn't funny!" She slapped the doctor's face staring into those cold, blank, hazel eyes once more. No one's laughing. But someone was laughing. Someone grabbed her around the shoulders with a grip of steel and iron, a formidable force on her clavicle. She kicked and she screamed and she fought but the force was too great and she was too weak. She grabbed Maura's foot as a last effort to save her. But the heel came off in her hands. No one's laughing. Blood stained her hands. There was always blood on her hands.
Jane jerked awake. The blankets tangled around her waist. Cold sweat slicked her skin. Her hair stuck to her neck and forehead like life-sucking vines. Her tank top was plastered to her body. Her heart thudded painfully loud against her ribcage. She couldn't breathe. It was like someone had a vice like grip on her throat, like she was having an allergic reaction to her dream. Even awake all she could see was Maura's dead eyes. She swallowed back the bile building in her stomach. The clock read two AM. Shaky hands grabbed her cellphone. The light nearly blinded her but there were no missed calls. She was tempted to call. Tempted to run out of her house and to Maura's just to see that the other woman was alive, that she was breathing, and not in some white prison where she couldn't save her. She wanted to. But it was early. Too early. And she had just gotten Maura back into her life she didn't want to bombard the good doctor with her special brand of crazy just yet. But, God, did she want to call her.
She heard a noise from the kitchen. The fine hairs on her neck stood on end. Adrenaline filled her bloodstream. Instinct took over. She stuck her phone in the waistband of her underwear and snatched the gun off her nightstand, flicking the safety off. The cool metal felt good between her hands. Like the cop she was she made her way throughout her apartment searching behind each and every door for some hidden boogieman. When she got to the kitchen she heard scratching on hardwood floor. Sanity crept back into her veins. Dog, you have a dog. Don't kill your dog. As if on cue Jo Friday came prancing around the counter. Her face was wet from the water she had been drinking. She tilted her head at her human giving just a small whine. Jane flicked the safety back on her weapon. Still shaking she flopped down on her butt leaning against her solid wood of her front door. Jo bounded to her owner. She licked Jane's hand twice before Jane started scratching her ear. She would never tell Korsak, but she was grateful for the little dog. Jo gave her something to come home to and she greeted her with such excitement she always caught herself smiling even when she had a particularly tough case. But now, not even the little fur ball could lighten her mood.
Jane had these nightmares before. She couldn't remember when they started. Sometimes the body was faceless, sometimes it was one of her brothers, or Frost or Korsak, or even her mother. The ones about Maura and her mother were always the hardest to swallow. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought they were the most vulnerable out of all of them. Or she needed to protect them better. Because unlike Frankie, Frost and Korsak they weren't cops and unlike Tommy they weren't ex-cons either, they were just people. They were the type of people that she had taken an oath to protect. It was never supposed to be them. If anyone was supposed to die it was her. She was the one that signed up for the job. She was the one that got shot at more times than a person should be shot at. It was always supposed to be her. And always in her dreams she was too late. There was no saving, there was no hunting. It was just her and a dead friend or stranger. She was always too late.
She hit the back of her head against the door with a thud exhaling loudly through her nostrils. When she extended her bare legs Jo Friday took the opportunity to hop onto her lap curling into a small ball of warmth nuzzling into her owner's stomach. Maura was okay. She repeated that sentence over and over in her head. Maura was okay.
Maybe if things were simpler, if things weren't still awkward with the doctor she would call or go over to her house. But Jane was terrified. Because Maura left her. No matter how many times she told herself that that's just what Maura does or that's how Maura copes with things or that Maura had a damn good reason to leave because she shot her father it still upset her. Because Maura left without saying goodbye and in Jane's personal book of ethics and codes that was a giant red X. It was a no-no. When people don't say goodbye it means they are gone for good. And for Jane no matter how many times she told herself that Maura didn't leave for good, that Maura was just a phone call away, she couldn't take that lifeline. She was scared if she made that phone call that she would push Maura over the edge. She was scared that she didn't have the right to make that two AM phone call anymore. If she made that phone call Maura would get so completely fed up with her neediness and would leave permanently, that all of the so called progress in their relationship the last week was for show and meant nothing. Jane couldn't handle that.
Jane knew what was wrong with her. She had a high stress job and her family was stressful and multiple people had told her she didn't know how to relax and she didn't like talking about things. That last one, that last one was a bit of a doozy. Because it wasn't that she couldn't talk about her problems she just didn't see the point. She would talk and then she'd get that look. The one that said 'you're fucking insane' (because her thoughts leaned towards the darker side) or worse yet she'd get the look of pity. And Jane Rizzoli did not need anyone to pity her. So instead she had sarcasm.
Jane sat at her door with wide eyes staring intently at her open living room. Her gun was gripped tightly in her left hand. She feared if she closed her eyes, if she tried to go back to sleep, that her mind would slip back into that unsafe place again and she'd see blank hazel eyes and she didn't have the strength to face that again. For the next three hours the only sound in her whole apartment was that of her own uneven breathing and the soft sounds of her dog's quick breaths. By five AM Jane lifted the little dog from her lap before standing on shaky feet. Her knees were weak and wobbly. Her butt was numb and her eyes felt swollen and twitchy. Her neck was stiff and there was a pounding in her head that wouldn't stop. She had to pry the gun out of her left hand because her fingers were stiff from the firm grip and didn't want to move. A few labored steps later she found herself in her shower getting ready for the day.
It was six thirty and Jane was on her third cup of coffee. It was still early. Like 'why was she in the office before the sun was up when she didn't have to be' early. She wasn't sure if it was the caffeine running in her system or the residual anxiousness from her dream, but she could not sit still. She created a whole murder board in the time she was in the office. Her desk was covered in color coded post it notes with little notes and phone numbers. Her files were perfectly ordered by date and time and alphabetized by victim's names. She finished three previously unfinished reports. By six forty five she couldn't keep it up any longer. She needed to see Maura. Immediately. Or she was going to go crazier.
Maura usually came into the office a little before seven to get everything ready for the day. But as Jane got off the elevator at the basement an eerie silence followed her every move and the motion sensing lights snapped on with a hum. Fear gripped her insides. Basements always gave her weird feelings. Psych would say it was PTSD or the after effects of her experience with Hoyt. She just said basements were creepy. But this basement was especially creepy when she was the only living person in it. Visions of a horrifying zombie scene flashed through her mind. Unconsciously she unstrapped the gun on her hip from its holster. A heightened sense of awareness swept through her body. Her feet were glued to the tile floor. Images of that morning's dream floated back to the forefront of her mind. She should have called Maura. What if the other woman needed her help? What if she couldn't get to her phone to call her? What if she didn't think she could call her? What if Jane ruined that part of their relationship forever? What if Maura was resting silently locked away in one of the drawers in this very room? Or in some other morgue in Boston? Suddenly, Jane couldn't breathe. Panic was building in her chest. Her heart was going to explode.
The sound of clicking heels went unnoticed by the ever more panicking detective. "Jane?"
The woman in question spun on her heel. On instinct her left hand braced for her gun before her brain finally caught up to everything. Wide Brown met wide hazel. Maura was okay. Jane gave a nervous laugh. The panic slowly ebbed away from her bone, her heart rate finally going back to normal. This was far too much adrenaline to be had before seven AM. "Sorry. You know what they say about sneaking up on a cop." She held her hands at either side of her head in surrender.
Maura raised an eyebrow at the woman standing before her. The only time she had seen Jane look as terrified as she did a few seconds ago they were both bound by zip ties. And then Jane's normal snark didn't even have half the heart it normally did. Looking at Jane once more her words caught in her throat. Jane looked sick with bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and shaky hands. "Jane, are you –" okay, drunk, having nightmares again. The question had a million different ends to it but before she could finish asking it their phones rang.
Jane physically jumped at the sound interrupting their awkward silence. It felt like Maura was staring into her soul. It was creepy. And she welcomed the distraction. "Rizzoli." She heard Maura answer hers just afterwards. "On it." She shoved her phone back in its holder before walking around the medical examiner not daring to look her in the face.
…
The second she arrived on scene she knew they had the beginnings of a serial on their hands. It was the exact same type of situation as the scene the day before. One victim, female, young, with her face bashed in and multiple other injuries. Two bodies in two days. She ignored Maura's questioning gaze instead choosing to walk to her partner to set up a game plan and talk to witnesses.
…
Jane was completely and utterly exhausted. She lost count of the amount of coffee she had drunk. It was one of those long days that never seemed to end. She, Frost, and Korsak had spoken with the second victim's family. They had gone through endless hours of security tapes and witness statements. Nothing connected these two women together. There was no link, no known associates, no matching acquaintances or friends. The first victim was a college senior at BCU and the second was a lawyer at a tax firm. She put her head down on her desk with a sigh. They were nowhere with this case.
…
Maura walked out of the elevator. She hadn't seen Jane since their encounter that morning. Frankie even came down in her place for the autopsy. Jane was out of the office most of the day. Frankie told her during the procedure that Jane was interviewing people and taking statements. She saw Jane's partner walking ahead of her as she made her way out of the metal box. "Detective Frost!" He turned to face her, a questioning look on his face. He too looked tired. "Has Jane gone home yet?"
Frost yawned shaking his head. "Last I saw she was asleep on her desk. She looked a little ragged all day so I thought I'd let her sleep. Plus," He laughed. "Every time I told her she should go home she kind of bit my head off. You know how she gets." Maura nodded her head. He turned to leave walking backwards. "See you later, doc." He walked out the doors.
Maura pressed the button to the elevator. She knew somewhere deep inside her being that she didn't have to do this. She didn't have to make Jane go home. She didn't have to walk up to the bullpen and coax her friend back into her blazer. She didn't. But Jane was the one who made those little impulsive thoughts go away. As she stepped into the elevator a new thought raced into her mind. Jane was her magnet. Jane was the very reason people said opposites attract. It was like Jane was her negative and she was the positive. When Doyle happened they both were negative and couldn't connect. Ever since she saw Jane with the sling around her neck at her apartment she was drawn back to the detective. She needed Jane in a way she couldn't vocalize. She needed to be around her at all times. Those two months that she was back yet still on non-speaking terms with the detective ruined her. And now that they were friendly again she needed the constant pull, the constant reassurance that only Jane was able to give her.
Stepping out of the elevator she noticed that Frost was right. Jane was sleeping with her head resting on crossed arms. Maura gently poked the sleeping detective in the ribs. It was in these small moments that Maura felt most like her old self, like their friendship hadn't been irrevocably changed so many times for them to have lost sight of 'normal.' It was in these small moments when Jane was just Jane and not Detective Rizzoli and when she was just Maura not Dr. Isles that things fell into place.
It was so clear to her after Jane shot herself all those months ago. She remembered clearly sitting in the uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs covered in Jane's blood. She spent hours in that same position trying to formulate a worst case scenario in her head so that when it happened she would somehow be able to move on. Because people leave. She shouldn't have ever thought any different. But every time she thought about the raven haired detective not being in her life everything felt different.
Jane changed her in small insignificant ways that all added up to several life altering courses of action. Jane made her brave. Jane gave her strength. She never met anyone like Jane before. The woman had the kindness of a missionary, the loyalty of a Labrador and the courage of a lion. Jane made her see there was more to life than facts and science. That there was more to her than 'Queen of the Dead: Dr. Isles.' Jane gave her a home. And when she was in threat of losing all of those things it made her weak in the knees, made her heart quicken with unrelenting dread. When she walked into Jane's hospital room for the first time the full effect hit her like a freight train. She had to grab hold of the door frame to keep from falling over. She loved Jane Rizzoli. Somehow between their sleepovers, movie nights, and teasing she had fallen. And she couldn't get out. She knew Jane could never feel the same way because, well, Jane was a completely heterosexual woman by all accounts. Maura tried not to let her feelings get in the way of their friendship. But when Jane shot her father the wall holding all of her emotions in check crumbled. The betrayal she felt ran deeper than it should have. After all Doyle was the reason why she existed but he did not choose to keep her, he gave her up. The betrayal she felt at the time was a lethal combination of Jane's current flame, her mother's accident, and Doyle. All three created this trifecta of emotional trauma, like three F2 tornadoes colliding together for maximum damage. And she had to leave before she did or said something she regretted but leaving, she found, was probably the worst thing she could've done. "Jane." She said nudging the detective again. Finally Jane stirred.
Jane blinked her eyes sleepily raising her head from her hands. She felt like she had gotten hit by a bus. She wiped the slight drool from her mouth as she slowly came up to a sitting position. She leaned back in her chair stretching a bit before she finally noticed Maura. "Hi."
There were so many things that Maura wanted to say. She noticed the rapid yawns coming from Jane's mouth and her shaky hands while she read the file in her hands. I wish you would talk to me, she thought. It was a thought she often had when it came to Jane. Angela had been right when she said the Rizzoli family didn't let their anger fester. Jane was very vocal about her anger or frustration. It was the other feelings that she let simmer for a while that concerned her. The hurt, the sadness, the exhaustion from keeping it all in, that was what she was worried about most. Maura gently took the file from Jane's hands.
"Maura." The detective sighed reaching for the file.
Maura pulled it further away. "Let me take you home."
"I can't. I'm working." Jane reached for the file again.
"You can barely keep your eyes open." Maura reasoned. "You're exhausted. Let me take you home."
Jane exhaled heavily. She was too exhausted for this fight. Less than three hours of sleep and over twelve hours of work were taking a toll on her. She wasn't getting anywhere with the case anyway. She pushed back from her desk letting her chair roll backwards a few inches. "Okay." She stood to her feet feeling Maura's hand press into her lower back. Frost's words came back into her mind glad you're back together. She knew if it was anyone else telling her to go home they would've had a hell of a harder fight. Maura was always different. Why did Frost have to go and put thoughts into her head? She didn't stop herself from leaning into her best friend's shoulder as they walked to the elevator.
Maura was taken aback by Jane's easy give. She was expecting a bigger fight. She was even more shocked when Jane leant into her, like she didn't have the strength to carry her own weight anymore. As they waited for the elevator she couldn't help herself hoping that she would eventually get the old Jane back. That Jane's sarcasm would come back or that Jane would laugh at her jokes again or give her that look that said 'you're a complete weirdo but you're my best friend so I find it endearing.' Maura wrapped her arm around her detective's waist as they walked towards her blue Prius.
A handful of minutes later Maura was helping the sleep deprived detective walk up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. They stood in Jane's living room semi-awkwardly. Maura turned to leave. She didn't really want to but the other woman hadn't said anything about staying. "Maura," She closed her eyes at the sound of Jane's voice. The hurt was so clearly evident in the two syllable word. She wanted to fix it. "I – I know it's a work night and we're just getting back to – to us but I really…I need…could you..." Jane trailed off.
Maura looked at her friend. She wished she could just make it all go away. The hurt, the pain, the emptiness. She had half a mind to shove the detective against the wall and have her way with her just to make Jane feel something. This moment was one of those life changing moments, much like at the elevator before. She had two options. She could admit her own hurt and walk away. It was a work night after all. Or, she could stay. Her choice was made before she even realized. She walked away from Jane once, for four whole months, and it hadn't done a damn thing for either of them. If Jane allowed her she would spend the rest of her life making it up to the detective. She closed the distance placing a comforting hand on Jane's shoulder. "I'll stay."
A/N: I feel like I'm finally getting into a groove here, I like it! It makes writing more fun anyways.
Thanks for the reviews/alerts and as always, thanks for reading!