A/N: Thanks for still reading along. Sit down, have a scone, make yourself at home… Song for this one: "All I've ever needed" by Paul McDonald & Nikki Reed. Just because.
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Chapter 6 – Night 2
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After a long day at the makeshift morgue that had concluded with a total of nine reliably identified victims and many more waiting their turn, the sun was beginning to set when Korsak finally arrived at Jane's apartment. He had been uncertain at first — butting in like that wasn't normally his style. And butting in like that wasn't normally something that Jane would endorse either. Besides, he had hoped, maybe they have already sorted things out by now. But as he stood outside his former partner's apartment building and noticed the blue light from the TV flickering in her windows, Korsak knew for sure that his insistent intervention would be needed this time. He sighed to himself and strolled towards the building's front door. When one of Jane's neighbors stepped outside, he fastened his pace and snuck into the building right before the door fell shut again.
Seconds later, he had climbed the few stairs to Jane's apartment and banged on her door.
"Jane? It's me, Korsak… Open up!"
When the only response he received was silence, he knocked again. And again.
"Come on, Jane, I know you're home!"
"Go away!" the brunette's husky voice grunted from inside.
Out of habit and pure curiosity, Korsak turned the door knob and — much to his surprise — found it unlocked. He smiled to himself. At least this part had been much easier than he had anticipated. Now, it was time for the second part, the harder one.
"I'm coming in whether you like it or not," he announced and opened the door without waiting for Jane's permission.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the apartment's dim light, the sergeant found Jane lying on the couch, her head turned towards the door and her eyes shooting him an angry glare that probably would have been visible even in the dark.
"Which part of 'go away' did you not understand?" she hissed in irritation.
When he simply ignored her question and came inside, the brunette grumbled, turned back to the TV, and rested her head on a small pile of saggy cushions, giving Korsak a chance to look around and to notice two things right away. First, the apartment seemed much cleaner than he had remembered. Maybe Angela had channeled her worries after last night's events into one of her cleaning sprees…, he mused. Or maybe Doctor Isles' tidiness was beginning to rub off on Jane? The latter would certainly be a good thing. The former? Not so much.
The second feature that had immediately caught Korsak's attention was the assortment of empty beer bottles scattered throughout the living area and the kitchen. He arched his eyebrows with concern, then walked over to the couch and plopped into an armchair next to Jane.
"Why don't you have a seat?" the brunette snarled into her cushions.
Most people would probably have taken off by now, but Korsak knew his former partner well enough, and thus, he chose to condone her sarcasm and to keep her company no matter how hard she would protest. For a little while, he simply joined her in staring at the images of the latest news report flashing over the muted TV. After minutes of silence, he finally leaned forward.
"I won't leave until you talk to me…," he said in a quiet but insistent voice.
"About what?" Jane muttered wearily.
"How about Frost?" the sergeant proposed.
"What's there to talk about?" the brunette asked and turned to her old partner, her eyes blazing with anger and pain. "He's dead, Korsak. And no cozy get-together over coffee will ever bring him back."
Korsak glanced at the empty bottles on the couch table. "Looks like you've switched to beer anyway…"
"So what?" she objected stubbornly and let her head sink back onto the cushions.
"I won't let you do that, Jane," he declared. "Not again."
"Why? What am I doing?" Jane asked without looking up.
"You're pushing everybody away. Just like you did after Hoyt," Korsak explained. "It didn't do you any good back then, and it won't do you any good now." Ignoring the fact that Jane was ignoring him, the sergeant was determined not to give up. "If you wanna be mean, fine, be mean to me. But Doctor Isles doesn't deserve this."
Even though Jane made every effort to appear indifferent, the subtle changes in her expression gave away that Korsak's words had hit home. And the sergeant knew it, too. "She thinks you're blaming her…," he added.
"Blaming her for what?" Jane asked, her voice much less dismissive than before.
"For everything…," Korsak said. "For being late at the restaurant, and—"
"Why would I blame her for that?" the brunette shot him an incredulous look. "It fricking saved our lives…"
"Then maybe you should tell her that instead of sulking on your couch and sending her away," the sergeant suggested and hopefully studied her face. "She's really worried, Jane…"
"And how would you know?" Jane asked in a last feeble attempt to fend him off.
"She told me after she had a little breakdown in the morgue this morning," Korsak sighed.
He clearly had Jane's attention now. "Why? What happened?" The detective heaved herself up and suppressed a quiet groan when her ribs protested against the movement.
"She saw…," the sergeant hesitated. "She saw Frost's body bag… And then Pike made some nasty remarks about Buccitelli and her being related to the mob…"
The thought of that wiped all sadness from Jane's face and replaced it with pure anger. "I swear Pike's gonna wake up one day with one of his OCD-cleaned scalpels stuck in his throat!" she threatened.
"I don't think Maura needs you to kick Pike's ass right now," Korsak quickly appeased her. "She just needs you, Jane." When the brunette's features softened and she leaned back with a sigh, the sergeant knew he had accomplished his mission. "Want me to drive your drunken ass over there?"
Jane sheepishly peeked at her former partner. "Would you?"
A satisfied smile playing around the corners of his mouth, Korsak stood up and stretched out his hand to help Jane up from the couch. "Come on."
Maura's exquisite Beacon Hill home lay unusually quiet and dark that night, the only sources of light being a dim lamp in the hallway and the flickering of the large flatscreen TV on the wall in the great room of the house. The medical examiner herself had sought comfort under a woolen blanket and was buried deep between the cushions on her couch, her eyes staring into the distance and her mind oblivious to the news about Frederico Buccitelli developing on her TV. Even without the numerous used Kleenex gathering on the floor, there would have been little doubt that Maura was having one of the worst nights of her life.
Just as she absentmindedly reached for a fresh tissue, a knock on the door — first shy, then firm — woke her from her apathy. When another knock followed, she heaved herself up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and wearily staggered towards the front door with the blanket still wrapped around her fragile frame.
Too tired to remember any of the lectures Jane had given her about how to behave when she was home alone at night, Maura simply opened the door — and found the very same detective leaning against the frame, wearing casual clothes and a casual smile.
"Want some company?" Jane asked apologetically and held up a cup of Maura's favorite mint-flavored ice cream.
"What are you doing here?" the medical examiner asked, a hint of hurt still resonating in her voice.
"I was…," the detective started but then noticed what Maura was wearing when her blanket slid down. "I was missing my sweater," Jane smirked approvingly and pointed at the Red Sox apparel the blonde was sporting again. "I see you've found it…"
"At least your sweater wasn't busy getting intoxicated all day," Maura sighed reproachfully but secretly rejoiced at the fact that the detective finally appeared somewhat relaxed for the very first time since the attack.
"I'm sorry, Maura…," Jane rested her head against the doorframe, her eyes asking for forgiveness in a way that words could not. When the blonde kept looking at her as if waiting for another apology, honest concern flashed over Jane's face. "I heard you kinda… tossed your cookies in the morgue today…?"
Maura nodded faintly.
"Frost would have liked that…," the brunette remembered fondly, trying to ignore the lump forming in her throat.
The medical examiner couldn't help but smile at the memory of the young homicide detective's inability to look at the dead. But at the same time, the thought of their deceased partner and friend brought the tears back to her eyes.
Determined to make up for having given Maura the cold shoulder before, Jane closed the distance to the blonde and pulled her into a warm hug.
Wrapping her arms and the blanket around the brunette such that not even another bomb could tear them apart, Maura gave in to her emotions and sobbed in the comfort of the detective's embrace.
"Hey, don't get my sweater all snotty," Jane joked and gently rubbed the blonde's back. "It's my favorite…"
Maura chuckled in between her tears, her sadness gradually giving way to relief. "Can I keep it… at least for a while?" she murmured into the detective's shoulder.
"You can keep it as long as you want," Jane promised and smiled.
The golden glow from two lamps and a few candles filled the great room in Maura's house with a cozy, warm light and kept the grim November weather at bay when Jane returned from the kitchen area with two spoons in her hand and headed towards the couch. She put the silverware next to the mint-flavored ice cream waiting on the small table and sheepishly looked at Maura between the cushions, who was wrapped up in her blanket again with her eyes absentmindedly fixed on the TV.
"Wanna watch one of your documentaries?" the brunette proposed. "About the mating rituals of the South Brazilian jungle fly… or something?"
Maura raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Are you still drunk?"
"Nah," Jane plopped down on the couch and pointed at the breaking news segment on TV. "I just wanna forget about all of this… at least for one night. Can we do that?"
Maura nodded understandingly and fumbled for the remote that was hiding somewhere between the cushions. Once her hand had gotten hold of it, she flipped through several channels until she found one that seemed to satisfy both her ever-present thirst for knowledge and the detective's wish for distraction.
"So, what are we watching?" Jane asked as she handed Maura the ice cream and a spoon and then claimed half of her blanket in return.
"It's called Patience (After Sebald)," the blonde explained. "It's an exploration of the writings of Winfried Georg Sebald, who was considered one of the greatest authors of our time. He had a rather dry sense of humor — you'd probably like his work…"
Jane skeptically peeked at her from the side. "It's called Patience…?"
"… (After Sebald), yes," Maura confirmed, utterly unaware of the irony of the documentary's title.
"Okay, you need to work on your subtlety," the detective advised and comfortably snuggled up against the cushions and Maura's shoulder.
"Why? Ohh…," suddenly the medical examiner understood. "You mean because patience isn't your strong suit at all?"
"Subtlety, Maura…," Jane muttered jokingly.
The blonde leaned back in amusement and indulged in her ice cream, while Jane focused on the documentary to prove that she was capable of showing some patience after all. Well, at least she tried. But after a few minutes of the black-and-white footage combined with a rather otherworldly narrative style, the brunette had enough, reached for her spoon on the table, and began to engage in a little spoon fight for the remaining ice cream in Maura's cup.
The medical examiner rolled her eyes and eventually handed over the cup. "So patient…," she sighed teasingly.
Jane chuckled as another spoonful of ice cream found its way into her mouth. With the minty flavor still tickling her taste buds, she then paused contemplatively and turned to the woman at her side. "I'm not blaming you for anything, you know?"
Caught slightly off-guard by the sudden change in mood, Maura just looked at her with curious hazel eyes.
"I mean, if it hadn't been for your goofy insistence on taking that supposedly economical route, we wouldn't be sitting here right now," the detective pointed out.
"But maybe… if we had been there sooner…," the medical examiner mused in a somber voice. "Maybe Detective Frost would have been outside or—"
"No, Maura, he wouldn't have been outside," Jane objected. "But we… we would've been inside when that damn bomb went off. So, whatever you think I'm blaming you for, or whatever it is that you're blaming yourself for — just don't, alright? None of this is your fault."
When the blonde's hesitant nod didn't convince the detective, Jane emphatically squeezed Maura's hand. "There is nothing to blame you for. And… and I'm sorry if I made you feel there was… Truth is I'm glad you're a little goofy sometimes. It's the only reason we're still alive… And even after all of this, I very much prefer to be alive… And I'm thankful that you're still alive. I'm… I don't know what I would do if something happened to you…"
"I suppose you would run out of beer…," Maura pointed out quietly, a thankful smile playing on her lips.
"Definitely," Jane agreed and ruefully looked at the blonde. "Still mad at me?"
She shook her head. "I never really was…"
Reassured by the honest relief in the medical examiner's eyes, Jane tried to suppress a prankish smirk. "Good, because I'd also like to point out that, technically, it was my coffee addiction that saved our asses."
The blonde squinted at her from the side, a more confident smile now brightening up her face. "So, you admit to having an addiction problem?"
"I didn't say that," Jane objected quickly.
"Yes, you did," Maura insisted and tried to keep a straight face.
"Well, either way," the detective announced, "I think I deserve at least two weeks without you nagging me about my caffeine consumption!"
"Hmm, no, I don't think so," the medical examiner decided and quickly turned back to the TV so she wouldn't burst into laughter.
"I don't like you…," Jane pouted playfully.
"Yes, you do," Maura grinned and snagged the ice cream cup back from the detective's hand.
Jane softly punched the blonde's arm in protest before snuggling into the cushions and Maura's shoulder again.
After a few minutes of much needed rest, the buzzing sound of the detective's phone on the table interrupted the two women's moment. Drowsily, Jane reached for the device and answered the call. "Rizzoli…"
When she listened to the person at the other end of the line, her muscles stiffened and she sat up. "What, tonight?" she asked into her phone and frowned at Maura. "Well… yeah, fine, I'm on my way," she sighed a few seconds later and hung up.
"What's going on?" Maura wondered with concern.
"That was Korsak…," Jane explained. "He said Buccitelli's sister was with him and wanted to talk to me…"
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