Their giggles woke her in the middle of the night. She opened her eyes in alarm, always frightened by being in a new place. For all her travelling, all the hotels, various boarding schools, and summer programs, Maura Isles would never grow used to waking up unaccustomed to her surroundings. She shuddered as her eyes adjusted, the giggling increasing just a short distance away.
She could make out the silhouettes of seven other girls, all gathered in a small circle, whispering with their backs turned. Maura rolled over on her side to see them more clearly, the nylon of her sleeping back rubbing against her silk night gown. Her blonde hair was tangled around her and her hazel eyes were bleary.
"She's a freak…" Maura heard.
The whisper made her cringe. She did her best to stay still, not wanting to draw any attention to herself.
"I didn't want to invite her. My mom made me," the other girl said in spite. "Her father works with my father."
"She's always talking to herself. She thinks she's so much better than everyone because she has to take lessons at the high school."
Maura's face grew hot as she realized they were speaking of her. The sleepover was already going over unsuccessfully. None of the girls spoke to her. While they gossiped about boys, Maura waited with nothing to contribute. In the swimming pool she was out of place in her goggles and hairnet and full piece suit. They laughed when she tried to dance along with the music after the birthday cake. And only an hour ago, they assured her they were all going to bed, giggling and whispering as she sleepily succumbed to rest.
"Here give me one," one of the girls hissed.
There was more chuckling. Maura hesitantly peaked an eye over her bag, watching as the shadow of scissors roamed from one hand to the next in the tight circle of seventh graders. She realized as a bright orange sweater was passed to the other side of the circle, that they were huddled over her bag. Cutting up her things.
Tears of humiliation built in Maura's eyes. She was too timid, too embarrassed to stop them. They knew she'd be too self-conscious to accuse them or report them either. She simply shrunk back into the cocoon of blankets, pressing her eyes together against angry tears, and doing her best to ignore the shrieks of laughter in the background.
Maura Isles jerked awake just before eight. She immediately felt stiffness in her neck and back, quickly reminding her that she'd fallen asleep sitting on the couch. Her hands were rested on top of a warm, restless mass, one she quickly recognized as Jane Rizzoli. The detective's head was in her lap, her eyelids fluttering and twitching against a tumultuous sleep. Maura watched her for several minutes, somehow comforted by the slow rise and fall of the woman's body with unconscious breaths.
The memories of just hours before brought the doctor pain. Jane's detox was only getting worse. She sweat through the night, mumbling through dreams and speaking to hallucinations. Maura kept a log of the woman's temperature and blood pressure, still at a loss for a proper plan to help care for her.
Before Maura could become too preoccupied with plans and possibilities, the doorbell interrupted her. Her heart seized, though she knew she was still under the watchful eye of two BPD squad cars. Surely no one would reach her front door that wasn't cleared.
Of course, once she came to terms with that reality, she was struck with a new anxiety. She wondered what she would tell them. What she would do with Jane. The detective stirred against the noise but desperately stayed rooted in sleep.
"Jane?" Maura tried.
She shook her gently but Jane gave a rough grumble. "No," she moaned. A whimper wrinkled her face. "Please no."
Maura frowned and as the doorbell sounded again, she carefully lifted Jane's surprisingly heavy head off her lap and onto the couch. She didn't leave until she lifted the woman's head on top of a pillow and pulled a blanket around her long body. Jane whimpered again in her sleep, sweat beading her forehead, skin completely pale. Maura brushed a gently hand down her face, attempting to calm her against the noise before skirting off toward the foyer.
The usually, immaculate doctor hastily combed fingers through her tangled hair and wiped under her eyes at the smeared eyeliner and mascara. A momentary glance in a passing mirror was more discouraging than helpful, so Maura simply huffed and carried on. She still wore the silk blouse and high-waisted black skirt from the night before. She bitterly thought how she must look like a sloppy one-night-stand. A one-night-stand with Jane Rizzoli. Of course, it was in the least charming of ways.
"Good morning Dr. Isles," the patrolman greeted.
The young man was dressed in traditional police navy blues, a shiny gold badge on his chest and his leather hat brim pulled low to shield him from the morning light. He seemed nervous, bouncing a few times on the tips of his toes.
"Can I help you officer?" Maura asked.
She cleared the sleep from her throat, suddenly embarrassed by the possible stench of her breath. She pressed a few fingers into her tired cheeks, attempting to work color back into them.
"I uh…" the officer paused, looking back over his shoulder and then down to the floor.
"Is something wrong?"
"Did Detective Rizzoli come here last night?" he asked. He was already red and suddenly rambled simply to fill the noise. "The tall, loud one with the dark hair. Curses a whole bunch, drinks too much…"
For the first time Maura noticed the familiar name on the man's nameplate. Another Rizzoli. He looked like Jane too, with dark features, black hair and childlike brown eyes. But he was softer than Jane, nervously twitching his way through a conversation with Maura.
"Yes. She came here last night," Maura answered.
She suddenly felt nervous herself. It wasn't her place to cover for Jane. Certainly she knew better than to involve herself with lies or family matters. But Jane's desperate words echoed in her head; to not tell her brother a word.
"She's still here?" he asked.
Maura gave a slow nod. She blinked a few times against the intense sunlight. It was going to be another warm day. "You're her brother?"
"Frankie," he answered. He offered a sweaty hand.
"Nice to meet you," Maura said. When they finished shaking hands, the doctor nervously rocked back on her heels. "Jane just had some questions about the case."
She could see Frankie Rizzoli squirm with more suspicion. He nearly peaked over her shoulder in confusion. He cleared his throat. "Can you get her for me?" he asked.
Maura felt the hives coming on. A lie was on the tip of her tongue. Just thinking of it made her red and bothered. She could already feel the itch. She did her best to find some sort of truth. Something to make her feel less like a fraud.
"We're still working," Maura stammered. "Can you bring Detective Frost?"
Frankie's face fell in slight confusion. He put his hands on his belt, looping his fingers into his pockets. "I'm sorry?"
"Detective Frost. Please bring him here. I need him," Maura requested. "I think he could help…"
"Detective Frost," Frankie repeated. His dark eyes narrowed. "Is Jane okay?"
"It's at her request," Maura said.
The first hive raised against her skin. Maura felt the agitation along her neck.
"Can you just tell her I'm here and need to speak with her?"
"Thank you Officer," Maura responded frantically. She all but slammed the door on Officer Rizzoli, causing her to pant with nervousness. She leaned back against the wall and sighed. She brought a hand up to scratch the red patch on her neck and spotted two more on her arm. Maura wasn't one to expect anything in turn for her services but she was certain after these efforts, Jane Rizzoli would owe her.
Barry Frost arrived at Maura Isles' home faster than expected. He was on his way into the station when he got the call from Frankie. The two colleagues were already close friends, even though Frost passed his detective's exams and was promoted before Frankie. It was the only reason Frankie didn't try to badger his way back into the doctor's house when Frost approached. He knew he could trust the man, giving him a small tip of his cap as he leaned against his patrol car, watching the manor in intrigue.
"Dr. Isles?" Frost called after a few knocks. The doorbell had yet to be answered and now he worried something was wrong inside. "Dr. Isles? It's Detective Frost. You asked for me?"
The door hastily swung open and with a fast hand, Maura pulled him inside. As she slammed the barrier shut behind him, Frost tensed with confusion.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"It's Jane," Maura told him. She was already moving quickly through the foyer, a determined speed to her steps. "She came here last night. I wasn't sure who else to tell. She seemed to trust you."
"Is she okay?" Frost asked, doing his best to hide his concern.
Before Maura could answer, Frost already took sight of Jane on the couch. She was curled into a pained ball, seemingly unaware as she stared off. Her hair was tangled, sweat covered her, a trash bin was nearby for vomit and she shook uncontrollably.
"She's sick?" Frost murmured. He glanced up to find Maura giving him a pointed look. He swallowed hard. "How long is she going to be like this?"
"At least forty-eight hours," Maura said. "She didn't want me to tell her family."
Frost rubbed the back of his neck. "I can cover for her."
"There's no one else who can help her?" Maura asked.
"We could call her mother or tell Frankie…"
"No," Maura mumbled.
She couldn't believe she was saying it herself. There were plenty of times in the hospital where she was forced to go against patients' wishes, calling in relatives or spouses. But for whatever reason she couldn't betray Jane. She couldn't send her to the ridicule of her family or dump her off at a facility. For now she would have to keep her.
"She's Doyle's daughter," Jane said hoarsely.
The detective appeared to recognize Frost but her words were shaky and unaware. Frost frowned as he watched her.
"You sure she'll be okay?" Frost asked.
"I can handle her," Maura said.
She was rifling through her purse on the kitchen counter, stopping when she found the notepad she was looking for. Frost sat next to Jane on the sofa as the doctor furiously scribbled.
"You're going to be alright, Jane. This is good for you," Frost frowned.
He knew the extent of Jane's addiction but wasn't aware it ran so deep. Surely the drinking on the job and drugs tipped him off the night before. He certainly didn't expect her to turn over a new page so quickly.
"I feel like hell," Jane rasped.
"I know, I'm sorry," Frost sighed.
"Don't feel sorry for me," Jane nearly groaned. "I did this to myself."
"Here," Maura cut in. She handed Frost an official looking piece of paper. "I need you to pick up this prescription. Bring it back here as soon as you can."
"I have a case…"
"The bodies won't be any less dead. And you have me on such a lockdown, I don't think a trip to the pharmacy will put me in anymore danger," Maura snipped.
She nervously rubbed at one of the red patches on her arm as Frost stood. He gave a brief nod. "What do I tell Frankie?"
"Tell him to not worry. I'll explain in a few days," Jane said, looking up from the couch with glassy, sick eyes. "And that if he tells Ma, I will kick his ass."
Frost gave a dutiful nod. "Take care of her," he told Maura.
"Frost," Jane stopped him in his tracks. The words took as much effort as she could muster but she lifted her head and with a sad rasp, forced out the noise. "Thank you."
The young detective just gave a brief nod, quickly pulling his brown eyes away and whisking off.
And for the next two days, it would be the last conscious thing Jane Rizzoli remembered.
Summer at the family lake house. She must have been ten. Not quite a teenager, not quite a child. She hated her floral bathing suit, the one piece her mother chose for her. Each summer they would come to the small cabin in the woods. No running water. No electricity. Just a single bedroom for her parents and the living room for her and her brothers.
She could hear them screaming now. Angela on the front porch, gesturing with a frying pan. Frank Sr. was barking back, staggering on the lawn, a cold beer in his hand. Other cans littered the grass. He was drunk again. Once she started to understand her parent's arguments, she quickly came to understand what drunk meant. And as far as she could tell, Frank Sr. was drunk often.
Angela would shriek and scold him when he'd come stumbling through the door, late after another day of plumbing. He was typically a happy, bumbling drinker, until Angela began getting fed up. Then the screaming would start.
Jane stared out at the lake from the dock. It never failed to give her splinters but the small, defiant Rizzoli was rarely bothered. Only when she could hardly walk from an infected scrape did she understand the consequences. Jane was too tough for her own good. So tough she hurt herself. It was a quality that still haunted her in adulthood.
While Frankie and Tommy wrestled outside the house, Jane took a running start from the dock. She plunged into the grimy lake, her heart almost stopping from the freezing temperature. Her small legs kicked and splashed among the water, but suddenly something was pulling her down.
She panicked. The water was dragging her away from the surface. Some invisible force was hooking itself onto her feet. She was pulled lower and lower. Her lungs were on fire. She screamed under the water but only bubbles came from her mouth.
And suddenly another person came into view.
Another face.
It was inches from her own.
Rafael Martinez.
His eyes were white orbs with no pupils or color. He was pale and his mouth was open in a deathly freeze. Jane was inches away, staring at the corpse.
She felt lightheaded. The darkness was coming closer.
And suddenly a new force pulled her.
This one from above.
She was out in the open air again, gasping and flailing ungracefully. Jane breathed desperately. The air was new and fresh and peaceful.
She wasn't a little girl anymore.
She was an adult again.
Except there was no cast on her hand. No bruise on her face. No sickness in her stomach.
It was Dr. Isles. Maura pulling her out from the water. Maura with her on the dock. Jane stared up at her as she stood with a halo of sunlight around her head like a crown.
"Angel…" Jane whispered.
Maura bent down. Jane shuddered. Not from fear. Not from coldness. From something new. She was warm despite being soaking wet. Without meaning to, she reached out, cupping the side of the woman's soft face. Jane's heart was going erratic now, filled with excitement and heat. Maura didn't say a word. Instead, without warning, and without certainty of who made the first move, their lips locked into a deep kiss.
And it was the sweetest, warmest, surest feeling Jane had felt in years. Perhaps in a lifetime.
Despite the tenderness of the dream, Jane Rizzoli woke up screaming. She sat upright in bed, immediately yelling out in darkness. She was in an unfamiliar place. The detective could hardly make out that she was in a bed. She frantically fumbled in the room, reaching over to the bedside table where a clock glowed with the time. Jane flipped on the lamp next to it as she caught her breath.
She was cold from sweat. She must have soaked the sheets.
Her head was throbbing again.
Jane examined the room in anxiety. She had no idea where she was. It was clean and spacious and nicer than any room she'd ever been in. Was she in a hotel? A hospital? Had they finally locked her up in some sort of asylum? As she tried to force her brain to remember anything that would have led her to such a place, a timid set of footsteps brushed their way to the door. Jane jumped as she saw the woman out of the corner of her eye. The same woman from her dreams.
"You're awake," Maura said.
Her voice cracked with sleep. Jane could see her work past a few lethargic blinks. She was wearing a silk nightgown. While Jane should have been more concerned with what was going on and what she was doing in the strange place, all she could think of was how the shiny gold fabric cut off just below Maura's inner thigh. Her heart began pounding faster than it was from the earlier surprise of waking up in a new place. The doctor leaned into the doorframe with her arms across her chest. Her breasts were free in the small nightie. Her shoulder peaked out from the matching silk robe as her messy hair tangled down her back.
"I'm awake," Jane repeated.
Was the dream a reality? She was slow to find the words, let alone air.
"Where am I?" Jane asked.
Maura cleared the tiredness from her throat. "You don't remember?"
The detective leaned back against the headboard. She realized she was in a new shirt. This one white and a little snug with Harvard University Medical School printed across the front. Jane stared ahead for a few moments, doing her best to piece the bleary memories together.
"Your house," she suddenly recalled. She looked back at Maura in near terror. "I stayed here?"
"You were too sick to leave," Maura answered. She crossed the room, dainty and sexy all at the same time in her strides. She stopped at the bedside table, promptly handing Jane a glass of water before rifling through the drawer.
Jane immediately sank in the bed. It all came back. The night alone in her apartment. Coming to Maura's out of impulse. Sick on the bathroom floor…after that the memories stopped. She swallowed past the sour taste of sleep in her mouth.
"Take these," Maura instructed.
The detective obediently opened her palm to receive the two pills Maura placed there. She thought of hesitating or talking back but so far she seemed in no place to do so. It was clear Maura was in charge.
As Jane swallowed down the medicine, the doctor put a cool hand to her forehead. Jane lost her breath again, nearly choking on the pills as they slid down her throat. "Your fever's gone," Maura announced.
"I'm sorry I put you out like this," Jane said. "I should have just gone home. You could have taken me to my apartment…"
Maura shook her head. "You needed help. And I'm happy I was here to offer it," she told her.
"I guess I ruined your night then, huh?" Jane asked.
"More like nights. This is your third here," Maura revealed.
Jane's mouth dropped as though the world suddenly split apart. Her eyes widened to their farthest extent and she stammered before forming any real words. "Three days?" she finally choked.
Maura gave a slow but timid nod.
"How? How was I asleep that long?" Jane asked. Her voice raised in outrage. "Was I in a coma?"
"You were in and out of consciousness. Fighting a fever, having hallucinations," Maura explained. "You weren't asleep the whole time. You still had to eat, shower, stay hydrated…"
"Shower?" Jane hissed. Her chocolate brown eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. Maura did her best to suppress a smile in amusement. "How did I shower?"
"Well I helped you," Maura explained.
"You…."
"I'm a doctor, Jane. I've seen it all before," Maura replied. She turned away just as a blush started to heat her cheeks.
The doctor was exhausted from the last few days. Jane proved a difficult patient. When she wasn't waking Maura, the doctor was sure to check on her every few hours to make sure she hadn't choked on her own vomit or fallen out of bed. It was something she was accustom to at the hospital. But something about Jane in particular, instilled a new emotional exhaustion Maura wasn't quite used to. Perhaps because she truly cared about the detective's well-being.
"I'm sorry, I didn't have much of a choice," Maura said from the bathroom. She busied herself by grabbing a towel and filling another glass with water. "You must have sweat through six sets of sheets."
It took everything in Jane to avoid a growl. If it was her mother or anyone other doctor, they would have received an earful. But Maura had done her a favor. And it seemed anything Maura did rendered Jane Rizzoli speechless.
Instead she turned her scolding inward, angry for allowing herself to be so weak. To make herself so pathetic and sick. If only she'd had self-control. Perhaps she deserved such humiliation.
"So you really took care of me all this time?" Jane asked.
Maura returned and gave a brief nod. She passed off the fresh glass of water, a little more awake than before.
"Thank you," Jane muttered. She drank slowly, her dry throat relieved by the cool water. She could feel the doctor watching her and became hot with nerves. When she pulled the glass from her lips she found Maura's compassionate hazel eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. Except thank you. You didn't have to do this."
"I'm stuck in this house anyway," Maura said gently. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"Well, I'm getting there," Jane nodded.
She started to maneuver her gangly body off the bed, though her limbs seemed to function as a part separate from herself. They were stiff and sleepy from days in bed.
"What are you doing?" Maura asked.
"Getting out of here," Jane answered.
"But…"
"I've already put you through enough," Jane sighed. She grimaced as she pushed off the bed with her hand and glared down at the bright pink cast.
"You're not well," the doctor advised.
A disapproving frown pulled Maura's plump lips down. Jane ignored her quiet protest and took a few slow steps, regaining her balance. "Does anyone know I'm here?" she asked.
Maura swallowed hard. "Detective Frost. And I assume your brother," she answered.
"Shit," Jane mumbled to herself. She looked around the room in haste. "Where are my clothes?"
"In the bathroom – Listen, Jane, I don't think you're well enough to…"
"I can't stay here," Jane spoke up. She turned around to face Maura in defiance. Her sharp cheeks and jawline were pulled tight in seriousness. Though her eyes were still sunken in and sick, it was a stronger, Jane that Maura had never met. She could see the glint behind her brown gaze that suggested there was no other option. While she wobbled on her tired legs, there was a new firmness to her words that made the doctor do a double take.
"I'll start with a shower," Jane decided. "If I can make it through that, I'll leave."
Maura opened her mouth and then closed it. There was no reasoning with the detective. While she'd grown accustom to essentially making all decisions for Jane Rizzoli in the last few days, a new woman emerged with her consciousness. Not yet strong, but certain.
The doctor watched as the detective disappeared into the small guest bathroom, leaving her to contemplate the empty room. Part of her was filled with anxiety. For the last few days, Maura was at Jane's side through everything. While the detective wasn't yet aware of it, she could hardly manage to roll over in bed without Maura's help. Now suddenly she was back to brash, stubborn independence.
Maura sighed as the shower turned on and allowed herself to take a seat on the small armchair in the corner.
Nursing Jane through detox was not only distracting, but a new sensation Maura had yet to make sense of. While she was used to patients depending on her, caring for Jane brought a new warmness. At night she'd find herself simply watching the detective sleep. Lately, the ordeal didn't leave her to be one for conversation, but her face said enough. Doe brown eyes full of tenderness and hurt and admiration were enough for the usually unaffected Dr. Isles. She nearly lit up from just the smallest twitch of a smile or brightening of Jane's face. The detective wasn't a burden but someone she looked forward to seeing. Even in a sick, care-taking capacity.
Naturally the doctor attributed it to countertransference. Freud would say Jane was simply projecting feelings from childhood onto Maura – perhaps intimacy, perhaps longing – and in turn Maura was projecting those back. It was her natural maternal instinct – her biological clock was ticking – and caring for Jane must have somehow confused her emotionally. Of course it wasn't just feelings of intense attachment and protectiveness that confused the doctor – it was a sense of attraction that scared her more than anything she'd ever felt.
She fell asleep thinking of these things.
Jane, hot from the steam of the shower, ambled out into the room. Her clothes were neatly pressed and folded. Maura not only ironed her shirt but Jane could have sworn her socks were ironed as well. Her wet, dark hair hung like curtains along her gaunt face. She did her best to approach Maura quietly. She was slouched over in the corner chair, small body curled up onto the cushion.
The detective suddenly felt even guiltier than before. She must have exhausted the doctor.
"Maura?" Jane whispered. She hesitantly reached out, nudging her small shoulder. "Maura? You should go to your room…"
Jane stopped when she realized her hushed tones were getting nowhere. And while she usually would have pushed harder, raised her voice louder, the angelic, peaceful slumber of Maura Isles was not something Jane could disturb. She ignored the flutter of her stomach as she stood above the doctor. Her heart was light and excited.
The detective quickly looked away.
It was just after five in the morning. A slow light was turning the sky from black to blue. It captured the room in a sleepy hue, simultaneously beautiful and eerie. Jane's wet hair dripped onto the immaculate carpet. Her feet were bare, shirt untucked, and jacket ill-fitting on her tired shoulders. A little bit of color was back in her face but her brown eyes were more haunted than before.
She covered the doctor in a blanket before she left.
Her hands trembled as she dared to gently caress Maura's small chin. It wasn't from drugs. It wasn't from sickness or fear. It was finally from the thought of something good.
Jane Rizzoli was reborn.
She tucked in her shirt, pulled on her boots, tied up her hair and scribbled out a note with her left hand. The cast was still a nuisance and her cheek was now black with a bruise but like a tired, boxer, she was ready for another round.
The patrolmen outside watched in intrigue as she left the mansion.
Jane could already feel the humidity in the air. It wasn't the clean, fresh day of redemption. It was a ruthless, early, forbodeing day. But it was a new day nonetheless.
She ignored the stares of the officers and her car roared to life. She kept the window down on her drive, allowing the wind to whip loose pieces of hair that fell from her bun. By the time she sped into downtown, her hair was nearly dry from the breeze. Jane let her left hand hang out the window, whipped by the sharp air and the sensation of freedom.
Still barely awake, barely well or conscious, Jane was determined and fully aware of what was next.
Maura Isles had saved her.
And now Jane Rizzoli would do the same.
Her brown eyes were tired behind her aviator sunglasses, weakened and beaten down after the detox. After the nightmares and shootout. And now there would be no more drugs. No more drinks to help her.
Just Jane.
Just the reborn detective.
She pulled her car to the curb before the change from the graveyard to the morning shift.
The Boston Police Department felt strangely foreign. Perhaps she simply hadn't been there in a week. Or perhaps everything seemed to be seen through her new, clear eyes.
She rode the elevator in silence to the investigations floor. The office was relatively quiet and for that she was thankful. Only a few detectives roamed the space, gripping onto their coffees with desperation, huddled over their desks.
"Frost," Jane spoke immediately upon seeing him.
The young detective looked up in surprise. His dark eyes widened. She wasn't sure if he was simply surprised or she still looked like hell. "Jane," he stammered. "What are you - are you okay?"
"I'm here to work on the case," Jane said simply.
Frost nodded, turning away from the paperwork on his desk. "Dr. Isles knows about this?" he asked.
Jane's eyes widened back at him in near fury. "Excuse me?"
"She just seemed to be taking care of you. I meant that…you know- she thinks you're better?" Frost rambled. "You just looked really bad when I saw you…"
"Enough Frost. I'm here. I don't need her permission," Jane told him. "Now can we get to work?"
"Rizzoli!" Cavanaugh barked across the room.
She knew it was inevitable that she would have a conversation with the chief but without any substances or caffeine, Jane was hardly prepared. The detective simply stomped toward the voice of authority, face drawn tightly in frustration. She followed Sean Cavanaugh into his office where he briskly threw the door shut.
"You all dried out Rizzoli?" Cavanaugh asked.
She watched as he slowly grunted back behind his desk, only briefly making eye contact with his beady stare.
"Yes sir," Jane managed.
"Detective Frost told me you were detoxing with Dr. Isles," Cavanaugh said. He glared suspiciously, small arms pulled across his chest.
"Didn't have much of a choice," she replied.
Cavanaugh pursed his lips. "Well good. You look like hell. But your eyes are clear," he told her. Jane watched as he started to rifle through his drawer. "I have a surprise for you…"
"That's unnecessary sir," Jane grunted.
"No, I think it is," he grumbled. In an instant he put a breathalyzer in front of her face. "Blow, Rizzoli."
"You can't…"
"I can talk with Internal Affairs…"
"That's blackmail," Jane hissed, glaring at the device.
"We're both breaking the rules," Cavanaugh sighed. "And you love it. Now blow."
With one last glare, Jane complied, angrily sighing into the breathalyzer. And against her pride, she waited for the results in automatic fear.
"Congratulations," Cavanaugh smiled. "You're sober."
"I know," Jane grunted despite her reservations. "Can I go?"
"No," Cavanaugh frowned. "I need your badge. And your gun."
"Excuse me?"
"Internal Affairs is still deliberating on the investigation into the hostage crisis. Until you're clear you can't have a badge or a gun," Cavanaugh said. "I already had to beg them to allow you to consult."
She hitched her jaw. "If I don't have a gun and a badge, how am I going to catch a killer?"
"You're consulting on this case, Rizzoli. Not running it," Cavanaugh reminded her. "Besides, when you hit rock bottom, that's where you start; the bottom."
"This is bullshit," Jane glared.
"You want on the case or not?"
Pride made her want to walk away. But Maura Isles and the thought of repaying her debt, was enough to make her stay.
"Fine," she grunted.
She ripped off her badge and her gun, angrily dropping them onto his desk in a loud clatter.
"Great," Cavanaugh sighed.
"How the hell am I supposed to get in and out of the building?" Jane snapped.
Cavanaugh cleared his throat and hunched over his desk, quickly scribbling something down. He quickly faced her again with apprehension, peeling an adhesive off a piece of paper and handing her a name tag. "Here," he said.
"Are you kidding me?" Jane nearly screamed. She ripped the sticker out of his hand and angrily smacked it onto her chest. "Any other ways you'd like to humiliate me?"
The Chief sighed. "I don't want it to be this way either Rizzoli…"
"Oh you're loving this," Jane rolled her eyes.
"If it makes it any better; you're in time for a new body," Cavanaugh told her. "Go tell Frost, take a car out. If you're still up for the job."
"Oh, I'm up for it," Jane scoffed.
Sean Cavanaugh watched as the gangly detective stomped her way back out of his office, slamming the door behind her. Perhaps reducing her to nothing, perhaps the humiliation he didn't want to instill, perhaps the coming back tired and broken, would be enough to bring her back to the detective he once was. And just maybe, the case could save her.
Thank you for the reviews! Still working a little at a time. Let me know what you like. ~ Sam