After the last body hit the floor, the next moments in the ICU that morning were a blur. The BPD charged in, screaming and pointing guns, dressed in unnecessary black padding and SWAT helmets. Their appearance seemed to startle the hostages as much as the gunman had. Frost told them about the man chained to the heater. Jane stayed stationary, still breathing heavily, heart still going erratic, too dazed to form a word.
Like an overpowering wave, the hostages, the thirteen who somehow made it out alive, were whisked away. Taken for statements and for a medical examination. Before Jane could think of going to Maura, the one person who still mattered, the doctor was gone.
They crowded around Jane next. She tried to look around them, tried to search for Maura. A new doctor examined her frantically, panicked by the crimson on her shirt and face. He searched for the origin of a wound, asking Jane questions as he checked her arms and legs and went to lift her shirt.
"It's not my blood," Jane said. She didn't move, brown eyes still searching in the distance. The words sounded dirty. She shivered and said it again. "It's not my blood."
She was taken downstairs for more examination. The patients were moved out with carts of their important documents. The entire ICU was being taped off behind her, about to be swept clean for evidence. The horror and blood and gun shells put neatly into plastic bags and filed away.
Jane was silent and distant for the rest. She offered nods or shakes of her head when she was asked questions by the doctors and nurses. They X-rayed her hand and face. A fractured cheekbone and four broken bones in her right hand. Her trigger finger would be out of commission for 4-6 weeks. Perhaps that was a good thing. They took her bloodied t-shirt and gave her a powder blue scrub top in replacement. She wiped the flesh and blood from her face with a moist towel. They gave her ice for the face and a painkiller, which Jane didn't say a word to, but was grateful for nonetheless. She sat up as a young doctor and nurse slowly set her arm and prepared to roll on a cast.
"That was the dumbest, most reckless, unnecessary, idiotic, dangerous, and did I say fucking stupid, thing I've ever seen," Sean Cavanaugh scolded, standing behind the nurse as they bandaged his detective. He kept his hands on his hips, staring down in a suit with authority, going on like an angry parent. "You know better than that Rizzoli! You could have killed yourself and everyone in that room. What the hell were you thinking? Were you high?"
Yes.
"No sir," Jane lied.
"This will be going up the chain of command and you will be facing an investigation," Cavanaugh spat. He shook his head, still completely baffled. "I just…I…I don't know what to do with you."
"Sorry sir," Jane muttered.
The young doctor, likely an intern or a first year resident, tried to pretend she wasn't paying attention. She dipped the plaster rolls in a pot of warm water on the tray beside them.
"You're a piece of work, Rizzoli. A piece of work," Cavanaugh grumbled. The chief softened slightly, begrudgingly stepping forward and awkwardly patting her on the back. "But I'm glad you're okay. And…and you should never ever fucking do that again, but it was a good job. You saved a lot of lives today."
Jane swallowed hard.
"Thanks you sir," she nodded.
"You must have someone up there," Cavanaugh muttered. "Someone in heaven looking out for you."
Rafael.
She gave a short nod, waiting until he decided to go away and instruct the rest of the officers in the building. Her brother Frankie was there, dressed in his blues, scrambling and worried. He'd already been over, peppering her with questions and making sure she was okay. Jane only requested that he hold off on telling their mother as long as possible.
Jane was left in such a trance that she hadn't noticed Dr. Maura Isles standing there. She'd been lingering behind Cavanaugh, waiting for the chief to leave so she could have a word with the detective. Jane hardly noticed until she approached the doctor about to set her cast.
"I got this, Susan," Maura told the young woman.
She looked up at Maura in confusion. "But Dr. Isles…"
"Go," was all Maura said. The nurse waited anxiously. "You too."
Jane's eyes widened as the nurse whisked off with the other doctor. "You've got a lot of pull around here, huh?" she asked. Her voice was rough. She hadn't formed a full sentence for nearly an hour.
"I'm the chief surgical resident," Maura clipped. She studied Jane's updated chart with the information on her broken bones. She pursed her lips. "I see they gave you something for the pain."
The detective stayed quiet. Usually she would have snapped back, would've asked Maura to just leave her. But now she was tired. Or perhaps now she was softened. She fluttered as the surgeon's hands felt her fingers, straightening them out for the application of plaster. Even those medical, cold touches were enough to make Jane swell.
"Are you okay?" Jane asked her.
Maura looked up. There was pain in her hazel eyes. Not just the pain of the horror they both just witnessed but something else. Jane just kept staring, lost in the doctor's gaze. Desperate to know more. Desperate to make it better. Finally Maura gave a brief sigh.
"You're out of control," Maura told her. "I'm putting in your chart that you are a substance abuser. And I'm putting in a strong recommendation for a rehabilitation program…"
"Did you just come here to make me feel like shit?" Jane asked.
"You put everyone in danger up there. I'm not impressed," Maura growled.
The doctor roughly straightened out one of Jane's finger and the detective cried out. "Owww!" she yelled. "Are you punishing me?"
Maura quietly pulled out the first roll of plaster without a word, expertly rolling it at the base of the case, in the middle of Jane's forearm. The detective was bitter but mesmerized as Maura worked. She winced slightly as the plaster brushed against the tender parts.
As much as she despised the doctor, painting her as a drug addict and scolding her left and right, Jane hated disappointing her. She hated the woman's disapproval. It stung like nothing else. Worse than the nuns in Catholic school, worse than her mother. For whatever reason, Jane hung on Maura Isles' approval. She blinked her tired brown eyes a few times before clearing her throat.
"I'm sorry," Jane mumbled.
Maura paused, surprised by the admission. She did her best to maintain a straight face. "What?"
Jane groaned. "I said I'm sorry. That was beyond stupid of me up there. I apologize," she said.
"I don't believe you," Maura replied.
"What!" Jane shouted. She leaned in close to the doctor. "What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?"
Maura shrugged, shook her head, and went back to putting Jane's hand in a cast.
"You think you know everything," Jane grumbled. She lowered her voice. "I'm not an addict. I can stop if I want to."
"Really?"
"Yes. In fact, I'll stop today. I don't need it. Upstairs was an extreme circumstance. That's all," Jane insisted. "I mean, I have a broken hand for-OW!"
"Oh I'm sorry," Maura said. The petite doctor gave an innocent shrug.
"You did that on purpose," Jane hissed.
"I would never," Maura replied. "A doctor purposely hurting a patient is as ludicrous as a detective snorting coke during a hostage situation."
Jane pulled in her anger and grinded her teeth together. "You done?"
"You need another layer of plaster…"
"No, are you done harassing me?" Jane asked.
Maura just shrugged. Jane retreated to silence in her defeat, falling back into the calming practice of watching the doctor work. Those hands were perfect. Jane wanted them all over her. Comforting, safe, warm, and sexy…Jane stopped as the thought jumped there. She blushed in embarrassment. She wasn't just curious, maybe even fond of the doctor. She was attracted to her.
"What color do you want?"
Jane was startled out of her daydreaming by Maura's calm, almost robotic voice. "What?"
"The color for your cast," Maura answered.
"What am I five?" Jane nearly snorted. The doctor wasn't amused and Jane settled back down. "Black."
Maura Isles rifled around in the drawer next to her, flipping through the colors, a small smirk lifting her mouth. "I'm afraid we don't have black," she said. She grabbed out a roll of florescent pink, causing Jane to scowl. "I guess this will have to do."
"No," Jane growled.
"What? It's just a color. I mean, what are you five?" Maura teased. "It will match the blush in your cheeks."
"The what?" Jane stammered. She reached up with her free hand to touch her face, growing more embarrassed at the attention. Perhaps Maura could see it. Could see and feel how Jane lit up like a love struck puppy around her.
"I'm just teasing detective," Maura replied. Now it was her turn to be embarrassed, shoulders hunching over and voice lowering. "I'm sorry, I suppose I've never been very good at jokes. Social cues and interaction have always been a surprising challenge."
Jane felt her heart twitch with adoration. The doctor's adorable shyness, a trait Jane hadn't picked up on before, suddenly filled the detective with tenderness. "I hadn't noticed," Jane teased back. "I assumed it was just poor bedside manner."
"Most people do," Maura told her.
The detective frowned with sympathy. She watched as the cast was finished off with the color of unicorns and cotton candy.
"If it was any other doctor I think I'd deck them for giving me a pink cast," Jane said.
"Big tough detective's afraid of a little pink?" Maura asked as she cleaned up the supplies. "I suppose I'm glad I'm the exception."
The pair was quiet in the triage center where chaos was still ensuing. Officers and doctors and nurses flitted all over the place despite there being few injuries during the hostage crisis.
"This will have to set and dry for an hour," Maura told her.
"Great," Jane muttered. "What am I supposed to do?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something," she muttered.
Before Maura could get up to leave, Jane cleared her throat. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"You already asked me that," the doctor replied.
Jane frowned. "I saw you after everything," she said. "And you were crying and I…I was worried about you. I tried to find you but everything happened so fast and…"
"I'm fine, detective," Maura told her.
"I know it can be scary. Hell, I was terrified. I'm always terrified," Jane admitted without meaning to. "But you'll be okay. Everything will be fine."
"Coming from the cop abusing substances because her job got to be too much," Maura said.
Jane ignored the jab. "You're better than me though. You'll be fine."
"No I won't," Maura whispered.
"What makes you so sure?" Jane asked.
Maura looked around, her face falling with the same angst as it did upstairs. "Because I'm Paddy Doyle's daughter."
"What?" Jane nearly shouted. She popped up to her feet. "We have to tell Cavanaugh and…"
"I already did," Maura assured. Jane realized a detail of cops was keeping a close eyes on the doctor, probably had been for the last thirty minutes. "They're taking me to the station after this."
"After what?" Jane asked.
"After I saw you," Maura told her. She swallowed hard. "I should go."
"Wait…"
Maura was gone in a flash, a group of officers instantly following her out, including the chief who gave Jane one last suspicious look before leaving the hospital. Jane dropped to the bed in defeat, her mind occupied trying to fit itself around the shocking idea. Not just the idea that Maura was a Doyle. But the fact that the doctor had waited, risked her safety, to see Jane. To wrap her cast. To criticize her nonetheless but to be with her.
Jane didn't know what was ahead. All she knew was that she had to see Maura Isles again. She would do anything to keep the doctor closer. Anything for another word, another glance. The infatuation was more pressing than her addiction. She needed Maura more badly than the drugs. At least that's what she was convinced of.
The cast dry after forty minutes. Maura's notes in the file made her discharge a nightmare. The pamphlets about AA and rehab and drug abuse and alcohol addiction were handed to her in a thick pile. Jane simply listened as the doctor informed her about options. They were hesitant to give her any painkillers. So condescendingly so that Jane brashly insisted that she didn't need them anyway. She knew she would regret it later but at least Maura wouldn't accuse her of trying to get high.
Besides, Jane Rizzoli wasn't an addict. Jane didn't need it.
She left the hospital for the precinct. They didn't even have to tell her. After her time on vice she knew the drill. Frankie drove her, pelting her with questions about the hostage crisis, the guns, the moves she used, what was going through her head…sometimes she could kill her little brother.
Internal Affairs was waiting at her desk. Jane changed into the extra t-shirt she kept in the office before following them to an interrogation room. The interview lasted over an hour. They asked Jane all the questions she expected. How it started, why she made the moves she made, was she over aggressive, did she give them a chance to surrender, were lives in danger, was she threatened, how many shots did she fire, what did Frost do, what did the other hostages do, what did she remember…Jane was exhausted by the end.
And like so many other things that happened that day, it was her first interview with internal affairs since Rafael Martinez. Of course in that interview Jane was distraught. Crying as she went over the facts and memories. Sniffling through the play-by-play. She made them promise not to tell anyone. As far as she knew they hadn't.
She was free to leave by one that afternoon.
Jane should have gone home. She'd been up all night, sustained a minor injury, and wouldn't be much help with the pending investigation. Frost was already in the interrogation room with the gunman they managed to keep alive. Usually Jane would have pushed her way in, demanded to be a part of the questioning, but in this case her concerns were singular.
"Is the doctor still here?" Jane asked Frankie.
"What doctor?" Frankie bumbled.
Jane rolled her eyes. "Maura Isles. Paddy Doyle's daughter," she clarified.
"Oh yeah," Frankie smiled. "Yeah, she's kind of a babe, huh?"
"Frankie," Jane hissed.
"She left already," Frankie said.
"Oh," Jane mumbled in disappointment. She tried to keep her emotions covert, not wanting the teasing of her brother.
"You need something from her?" Frankie asked.
"No, no," Jane replied quickly.
Frankie studied her for a curious few moments before decided it was nothing. "You should go home and shower. You still have guts in your hair," he told her.
"Thanks Frankie," Jane grumbled.
He started down the hall but stopped before turning out of sight. "The doctor is under police protection. They'll be rotating patrols outside her house until this thing blows over," he shared. "I'll be on duty tonight."
Jane nodded, pretending the information meant nothing. She gave him a smile. "See you later."
"Rizzoli!" Cavanaugh bellowed.
She cringed as he heard her name, watching as Frankie quickly made his way out of sight. Jane slowly turned around. "Yes sir?"
"In my office," Cavanaugh demanded.
Jane sat across from his desk as he slammed a pile of paper down in front of her. "What's that?" she asked.
"That's your discharge papers from the hospital this morning," Cavanaugh barked. His eyes were wild with anger and Jane already sensed what was coming. Still she stayed quiet. She wouldn't incriminate herself further. "You had an arrhythmia last night because of suspected cocaine abuse. Dr. Isles put in your file that she has concerns about substance problem…"
"Sir, I…"
"No, you be quiet!" Cavanaugh shouted. "You were high during the hostage situation weren't you?"
Jane bowed her head.
"Weren't you?"
"Yes sir," Jane sighed.
"You didn't think I would find out? I'm head of the homicide investigations department," Cavanaugh nearly laughed in rage. "I should kick you off this force right now."
Jane looked up, ignoring the fact that tears of shame were starting to sting her eyes. She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "But you're not going to?"
"You will be sober from today forward. I want you in an AA program. I will be conducting drug tests starting as soon as the last dose is out of your system," Cavanaugh hissed. "I don't want you taking so much as an aspirin or so help me God…"
"I understand sir," Jane nodded.
"For now, internal affairs doesn't need to know about this," he grumbled. He flopped down in the chair behind his desk. "I want you to continue consulting on this case."
"Thank you sir."
"You owe Detective Frost a big thank you. He vouched for you. He's dumb enough to trust you," Cavanaugh growled. "But the second you're a toe out of line, I swear to God, I'll kick you out so fast your head will spin."
"Yes sir," Jane nodded. She didn't realize a few tears had fallen. She hastily wiped them with the back of her hand.
"Now go!" he nearly shouted.
Jane scrambled out of her chair and into the hall. When the door closed behind her she leaned back, burying her head in her hands.
She'd gotten out of it clean. Somehow.
But the case was just beginning. Her fight was just beginning. Jane squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.
"God help me," she mumbled. "And Rafael, if you're up there, help me out with this one partner. Just one more time."
Thanks for the reviews! Love your opinions and always glad to take an interesting angle on our favorite characters. I hope you keep the feedback coming, it certainly keeps me going.