She slipped in and out of sleep. It was common when she found herself in an unfamiliar place. Common when she came down. Jane could feel the need in her rest. The need for something to numb her. She twisted in the thin hospital sheets, flopping against the pillow. She was sweating through the thin paper gown, hair tangled against the uncomfortable mattress.
Jane dreamed of dark nights in basements. She was wearing a skirt too short and her bony shoulders poked out of a silk blouse. It was winter in Boston and she was freezing. She was scared.
She met the man in Southie. He told her to meet him around the corner. The wire taped to her chest would alert the guys in the van if things went bad. Still, she shivered. Alone with this scum and he could do anything he wanted to her. She could see him look her up and down. He made sure to make a few grabs at her ass and stroke her long legs.
"How do I know you're not a narc?" he asked. He had a thick Boston accent, no hair, and a round head. Tattoos covered his arms.
"Narc wouldn't come down here with you," Jane said.
She watched as he shook his head and pulled out a small matchbox. He lined up row of powder on the coffee table. "A cop wouldn't do blow," he raised an eyebrow. "But a dirty coke whore would take a free hit wherever she could get one."
Jane swallowed hard. She wondered if the guys in the van could hear. She looked at the basement door, half expecting them to come bursting through.
But the door never opened.
They didn't come.
"You a narc or what?" he growled.
Her hands were trembling. She slowly leaned over the coffee table and held her breath. Jane Rizzoli was a good girl. A tough girl, a sarcastic, strong girl, but a clean, straight edged girl none the less. She smoked pot once in high school and partook in drinks after work with some of the other cops at The Dirty Robber but nothing of such caliber. She'd done busts for the last two months, gone through with the deals, but never been forced to touch it.
It burned through her nostril and down her throat, all the way up to her eyes. Jane could hardly breathe for a few moments. The burn would last all night even after the bust.
Her first hit.
The high was euphoric. Like hitting a homerun or conquering another bust. Her heart raced, her brain gloated, and she felt like she could run a marathon or take down the guy right there on her own.
But she didn't.
He gave her the dime bag, she gave him the money, and the door burst open behind them.
"Boston Police! Hands in the air motherfucker!" they shouted.
Guns drawn, screams, and cuffs and punches and curses.
"No!" Jane shouted. She hadn't yet realized she was awake. She thrashed on the hospital bed, instantly pulling at the EKG wires still stuck on her chest. They were reminiscent of the ones strapped to her during busts. Jane managed to pull a few loose before a calming voice broke through.
"Jane, stop! You're having a dream. You're okay," Dr. Isles was advising. Maura was startled and cautious in her approach. "Jane! Jane you're awake. Stop."
The detective slowly became aware of her surroundings, still breathing uneasily as she looked around, familiarizing herself with the hospital a second time. She looked down at the grown in confusion.
"I think you were dreaming," Maura said.
Jane set eyes on the doctor like a docile child. For years to come, Maura would never forget the look. In retrospect she would remember it as the face that made her fall in love. The very moment, though she was unaware of it, that she fell for Jane Rizzoli.
"I'm sorry," Jane muttered.
The detective quickly recovered her tough exterior, glaring down at the mess she made of the heart monitor below her. Maura didn't speak right away. She scribbled a few things onto Jane's chart, not with the intention of ignoring her but because she wasn't sure what to say. The detective frowned, leaning back onto her pillows, attempting to maintain a façade of strength and calm.
"Do you have a lot of dreams like that?"
Jane kept her gaze downcast. The doctor's question was scientific in its delivery like the many other questions asked from nurses and orderlies. Jane just shrugged. Maura's lips pulled down in a grim frown as she carefully sat down on the stool by Jane's bedside.
"It's a common symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. First responders, soldiers, and law enforcement officers are frequently at risk. Alcohol and drug dependency can be concurrent and…"
"Please," Jane cut her off. She didn't mean to be brash with her words but Maura instantly looked down to the clipboard on her lap, hiding her gaze. "I'm sorry. I just…I'm having a hard enough time facing myself already. I know I have issues."
Maura quickly returned to her stiff, distant Dr. Isles persona and cleared her throat. "Here," she said. "Let me reattach those."
Jane nearly shuddered as the doctor's hands came forward. Her fingers were gentle but cool. The detective was suddenly teetering with nerves like an excited teenager. She tried to keep her face calm and her heart rate static but the more she tried, the harder it seemed to achieve. Maura's fingers slipped beneath her thin hospital gown, grazing her bare skin and putting gentle pressure above her breast as she put the electrodes back into place.
A blush warmed Jane's cheeks. As if sensing the nervousness, Maura looked up. Her eyes hit Jane's with warmth and curiosity. She studied the speckled brown portals with simultaneous fear and admiration. It was as though she could see everything she needed to know about Jane Rizzoli in those eyes. The pain, the loneliness, what motivated her, what broke her, and the humanity that made her tender.
They looked away simultaneously. Jane blinked and stared ahead and Maura went back to adjusting the wires onto the detective's tan chest. "There," she announced when finished.
"Thanks," Jane murmured.
Her voice was hoarse and deep from sleep. It sent a shiver down the doctor's back. Maura busied herself by studying the EKG results from the machine, though her mind lingered back to the feel of the detective's skin. Of the tease of her breasts below as she attached the electrodes. She didn't know what was coming over her.
"What time is it?" Jane asked.
"Three," Maura said shortly.
"In the morning?" Jane asked. "They make you work late."
"Sometimes," Maura agreed. She allowed herself to look back up.
"I thought I slept longer," Jane sighed.
"You were restless," Maura revealed. The doctor instantly regretted the revelation. The first time she'd used the excuse that she was making sure the EKG was still consistent. The next because it was a slow hospital day. By the third time, Maura was out of excuses. She was intrigued by the detective. She was worried. She cared for a reason she couldn't place.
"You checked up on me?" Jane asked. A slight smirk crooked her mouth and her scrappy voice lightened slightly.
"Checked the results of the EKG," Maura clarified.
"Right," Jane nodded.
"Everything looks good," the doctor announced. "I will sign the paperwork for your discharge after you get a little more rest."
"You could release me now," Jane suggested. "I feel fine."
It was a lie. She was already feeling the onset of a hangover and was fatigued from the events of the evening. Dr. Isles seemed to sense the dishonesty and shook her head.
"You need more sleep," Maura said. She slowly stood. Even in her green scrubs and lab coat, Jane found her breathtaking. She wanted to do anything and everything to make her stay. Just for one more word. Just for one more look. Jane attributed it to her current state of mind. The lack of sleep. The trauma. But it was more than that. She would have a heart attack if it meant Maura Isles would stay for just one more second.
"I didn't mean to breakdown on you earlier. I'm sorry," Jane told her.
Maura gave her a sympathetic glance. "Don't be sorry," she said. She wanted to say more. She wanted to give some sort of kindness or reassurance or comfort – the things that Jane Rizzoli so obviously needed. But again, Maura hit a wall. The wall she'd been trying to overcome for thirty years. And as usual, with nothing to say, she defaulted back to the job.
"When you're discharged someone will be by to talk to you about treatment options," Maura announced.
"Treatment options?" Jane repeated.
"There are several different rehabilitation centers in the Boston area that treat addiction, some even geared toward someone in your situation…"
"A rehab center," Jane spat. "I don't need a rehab center. I'm not an addict."
Maura swallowed hard and straightened her jaw. "It's hospital policy to refer you. And in my professional opinion, the emotional numbing and your dependence on substances indicate that you may benefit from a structured rehab program."
"I'm not an addict," Jane growled. She shifted in the bed, growing defensive and angry. Her previously soft chocolate eyes became hard in their gaze. It nearly frightened the doctor. "I can stop if I want to. I can function, I hold down a job. And who are you to suddenly know my life? To know who I am?"
"Your arrhythmia indicates prolonged cocaine abuse. Your BAC came back a 1.2. And according to you detective, that's during a night on the job," Maura said.
All previous attraction and admiration Jane had for the doctor was replaced with hatred. She scowled, dark eyebrows falling with rage. Dr. Maura Isles didn't back down either. Her jaw hitched, her hazel gaze became sharp and soul tearing as she tilted her head to the side.
"You can't do this alone, detective," Maura warned. "I've seen it before. You need to get help before it's too late."
Jane's voice was staid in response. "I didn't ask for your opinion, doctor."
Maura raised her eyebrows and swung the clipboard under her other arm. "Very well," she clipped. "I'll push your paperwork through. Good luck, detective."
Jane stared ahead, listening as the door opened and closed behind Maura. She let out a huff in bitterness before the door was quickly thrown back open and followed by rough footsteps. Jane glanced up to see Barry Frost. He was rather disheveled, tired looking from spending the night at the hospital.
"You're okay," Frost sighed in relief.
"You're still here?" Jane asked.
He nodded. "The Ice Queen wouldn't let me know what was wrong with you. Wouldn't let me in or tell me if you were okay," Frost said.
Jane was slightly appeased to hear Maura had been so guarded about her privacy. She appreciated it. It was a class move that Jane wished the doctor hadn't made if only to continue rationalizing her anger.
"I'm fine," Jane told him. "My heart just got going a little fast."
Frost nodded. He nervously shifted on his feet, hands in his pockets.
"How's our girl?" Jane asked.
"Still comatose," Frost answered.
Jane gave a grim frown. "Did you tell Cavanaugh about this?"
"Told him you were a great help. That I think we'll be able to collaborate on this thing," Frost said.
She gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks," Jane replied. "You can sit."
Frost nervously took a place on the stool next to her bed. He glanced around the room, at the machines and wires. It was an awkward presence and while Jane wished him to leave so she could sleep off her hangover, she had to give the kid credit. He'd had her back. Perhaps she'd been wrong about Barry Frost.
"Why don't you tell me about the case," Jane suggested.
He nodded, suddenly straightening up in his chair and filled with purpose. "We've had four bodies in the last month," Frost said. "First was a middle age male up in Southie. We thought maybe it was a mob killing. Paddy Doyle's crew runs that side of town…"
"What made you rule him out?"
"Nothing yet. The vic had a clean record, drove a taxi," Frost explained. "The next victim was five days later. Also in Southie. School teacher. Married to another teacher at the same high school. And the last victim before the two tonight was a nurse from the University hospital. That was ten days ago. Now these two."
"What makes you believe they're related?" Jane asked.
"Same stabbing pattern, bodies all found on the same side of town. All moved to a dumping site. The Medical Examiner says the wounds are consistent with the same knife," Frost revealed.
"And we're sure these aren't random killings? Whoever did this obviously wasn't in a hurry. Weeks pass between the murders," Jane mused. It was as much for herself as for Frost's benefit. The familiar tumble of her brain started. The detective was slowly coming back. She was suddenly filled with thirst for the chase.
"He seems meticulous," Frost muttered. "It's amazing that Lori lived. You think he would have noticed she wasn't gone. He's seemed so clean before. Experienced even…"
Jane chewed on her lower lip. "Where did Lori go to high school?" she asked.
"In California," Frost answered. He furrowed his brow. "Why?"
"We need to start connecting the victims," Jane told him. "That's where you start. Anything that make sense. If we have a serial killer on our hands, there's a pattern, even if he doesn't realize it. We have to catch up to the next victim."
Frost gave a dutiful nod.
"Southie is a start. Most murderers don't go far for their vics. And don't rule out Doyle," Jane continued. She ran a hand through her messy hair. "If he wants something taken care of, it will be taken care of. Trust me."
"That's part of why I wanted you on the case. You know Southie better than most," Frost said.
Before Jane could reply, a sudden thought hit her. She quickly shifted in bed, glancing around the room for her shirt and jacket. Frost watched in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Help me find my clothes," Jane demanded.
Frost instantly complied, going to the small closet in the corner of the room. He tossed the plastic bag of her clothes to the bed.
"Are you allowed to leave?" Frost asked.
"I'm not leaving," Jane told him. She pulled the electrodes of the EKG off her chest, throwing the wires to the ground in disdain.
"What is going on?" Frost asked. He glanced to the door. "Should I go get a doctor?"
"Shut up Frost," Jane hissed. She wiggled to the edge of the bed and slipped into her jeans. She hastily pulled on her socks. "Who's guarding Lori?"
"We've been rotating a patrol officer," he told her. Frost gave a long sigh. "You haven't been discharged."
"I don't give a fuck," Jane told him. "Turn around."
She quickly snapped back on her bra, t-shirt, and slipped back into her Boston Police windbreaker. Jane shoved her wallet into her pocket and laced up her white sneakers with the black stripes.
"Whoever did this is going to come back to finish the job," Jane said.
"How do you know?" Frost asked.
Detective Jane Rizzoli already hustled through the door of her hospital room, stalking with purpose down the hall. She wasn't even sure they were still on the seventh floor of the ICU but was relieved to see Lori's room just a short ways away. Frost scrambled after her.
"Hey, you're not supposed to be out of bed," one of the nurses at the station called after her.
She caught the attention of a few but only slowed slightly when she heard the familiar voice of her doctor.
"Jane?" Maura said in confusion as the detective passed her and continued enroute to Lori's room.
But Jane didn't stop. It was in her bones. The feeling. The certainty. She pushed past the guard posted in front of Lori's room to find a man in black hovering above the girl's bed with a needle in hand.
"Drop it!" Jane barked at him.
Frost pulled his gun, forcing the man to put his hands in the air. But the fight was just beginning.
Behind the two detectives, in the hospital hallway, gunfire rang out.
Thanks for the kind reviews! The story is coming together one small piece at a time so I appreciate your patience. Thanks!