A/N: I think chapters 9 and 10 are my favorite part of this story. I hope you like them too!
CHAPTER NINE
Jane drove home, pleasantly surprised at the idea of starting her weekend a little early. It didn't hurt that Casey spent all day at the physiotherapy center on Fridays and she'd have the apartment to herself for a good few hours.
Her first order of business was to change out of her suit into comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt; if she was going to slob out she was going to do it in style.
She ordered in pizza for lunch, an extra large meat feast that she knew would be far too much for her to eat in one sitting but that she vowed to finish off at dinner. She'd work off the additional calories with an extra long run in the morning, of course that meant maybe inviting Maura to join her workout.
Maura.
The beautiful blonde had dominated the detective's thoughts the entire previous night after she'd said farewell and she had been the first thing to cross the brunette's mind when she awoke that morning.
The doctor's bombshell had shaken and cracked the firmly heterosexual ground beneath Jane's feet; leaving her shaky and questioning… everything.
Feeling like she ought to snap out of her preoccupied stupor, Jane strolled into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She filled the wash basin and cupped a handful, pressing it to her cheeks, causing goose pimples to erupt over her skin. Dark circles hung underneath her eyes, evidence of her sleepless night, months of sleepless nights it felt like; most of them for personal reasons, some because of work, but none of them over Maura. Until now.
Shuffling back into the living room on bare feet, she slumped down onto the couch and flicked on the television.
For ten minutes she became lost inside her own head. She stared at the screen unseeing. The television might as well have been on mute, too; her ears were too full of the sounds of her own pulsing blood. She bent forward, rested her elbows on her knees and cupped the back of her neck with both hands. She rubbed at the stiff and tense muscles there, a knot of tension that represented perfectly how she felt with the doctor's name still playing on a loop inside her mind.
The brunette was consumed, confused, curious. So many questions roiled within her that she knew she'd never be brave enough to voice. Last night had been different, unusual; she hadn't been herself. She'd been thrown off balance, put out of her depth and look how that'd turned out; asking private questions, asking for trouble.
Deciding there was only one way to quiet her jumbled mind, Jane focused on seeking her own answers, courtesy of Netflix. She hadn't used the service much at all in the past; she'd never had the time to get hooked on a new series, never followed the popular shows that seemed to be regular topics of conversation in the bullpen or the café.
Browsing the Lesbian Movies category was a revelation in itself.
She expected to find porn if she was being honest, really bad porn, the kind of bad porn that Casey might suggest in an ill-advised attempt to get both their motors running. It was all so poorly executed and badly acted that she had never shown even a passing interest. Nothing about hyper-feminized women who were unconvincing and unnatural turned her on. It was meant for straight men to fantasize about and she silently dreaded the search results.
Instead, she found high-quality, well-acted, genuinely moving love stories.
Choosing a movie title arbitrarily according to the little thumbnail photo - two women holding hands - Jane started her viewing marathon of discovery and settled back into the couch.
By the time the credits rolled on the first movie, a slightly saccharine tale of love at first sight, the detective admitted to herself she was looking for something a little more… explicit.
She cleared her cold, half-eaten pizza and used napkins from the coffee table, relocating them to the kitchen counter, before returning to the couch with a beer and starting her second movie. This one looked more promising; the photo showed two women embracing, an intimate and subtly sexual pose that looked intriguing.
As the story developed, and the two women succumbed to an attraction that neither could fight despite one of them being married to a man, Jane found herself inching toward the edge of the couch. Absorbed by the emotive performances, the brunette couldn't help but gasp as the tasteful sex scene played out and a tingling heat began to suffuse her own limbs in response.
Jane's third viewing wasn't her choice, it was a helpful suggestion from Netflix, the service seemingly learning and adapting itself to her selections. She cursed once and vowed to research that particular feature more later, worried that it might cause problems. It wouldn't do for the damn television to go betraying her secret to anyone who wanted to watch something on demand. Not anyone, she corrected; Casey.
There was a distinct age difference between the two main female characters in this romance, but it was somewhat incidental to the central plot, one of sexual awakening. The love scenes, once again, were pleasingly tasteful but increasingly arousing. With a hand covering her mouth, Jane couldn't help but imagine herself in a similar position, experiencing her first time all over again. How wonderful it would be to experience the sheer bliss on display for herself.
Sexual gratification wasn't a problem in itself; she had sorted herself out, often, in fact, since Casey's injury and even long before that. It had gotten easier and less complicated each time he left. But there could be nothing to compare, surely, to the rightness and happiness she was witnessing now. What would it truly feel like to have someone who fitted you perfectly and effortlessly, a partner and a lover where the relationship wasn't forced or tired?
Jane perused several more titles, skipping the more mundane aspects of the plot and going straight for the physical parts, the action scenes. Again and again she watched, absorbed as hands roamed and mouths kissed, as fingers stroked and hips moved. She caught her own mouth lolling open at one point and looked around the room, almost embarrassed at her uncontrollable, carnal reactions. Maura wasn't wrong in her explanation; this was so much more than just having sex.
Jane found herself full of wonder even though her curiosity was sated, for now.
As evening arrived, the sound of heavy footsteps falling in the outer hallway had the detective scrambling for the remote, the television blacked out instantly. Flitting silently into the bedroom as a key turned in the lock, Jane dived under the bed covers and feigned sleep.
When Casey came to check on her she said she had been ill and taken the day off to recuperate. He kissed her once on the temple as she forced a smile, telling her to go back to sleep and that he'd join her later. She relished the chance to spend a couple more hours alone with her own thoughts and hoped she'd sleep more soundly tonight.
oOo
New homicide cases came and went as weeks passed. Case closure rates shot up throughout the entire precinct; all thanks to the new Chief Medical Examiner and her team.
Someone had even started a Homicide betting pool and every detective, including Jane, Barry and Vince, had fun trying to win the cash pot by closing their case the fastest.
The week Detective Crowe was arrogant enough to triple his own wager and brag in front of everyone that he knew a way to exploit the beautiful M.E. to expedite his case results was the same week Cavanaugh discovered the pool's existence. Not two full days later the Lieutenant had cracked a rare smile in front of the entire department as he presented the money to Detective Rizzoli.
Jane and Maura quickly became inseparable. Their professional relationship was a formidable, almost unbeatable force that earned them respect and commendations.
If she wasn't at her desk, Jane could be found with Maura at a crime scene or with Maura in the autopsy suite. Sometimes she'd be with Maura in her office or with Maura grabbing a coffee, the pair taking a well-earned break.
When a particularly bad case came along, Maura would work late with Jane, debunking the detective's sometimes-sketchy theories with her science and offering fresh eyes or a different perspective. If she had a case update to provide, she'd call Jane, or text Jane, or leave Jane a voicemail.
When the brunette was particularly stressed and unable to switch off, pursuing her case like a rabid dog with a bone, Maura would invite her home and they would continue working in the comfort of Maura's house. They'd spread case files all over the kitchen island and eat pizza out of the box, or they'd talk it out on the couch, sipping glasses of wine until inspiration struck.
The week Jane had closed her case in record time was the same week Maura had gotten up early to find the brunette snoring adorably on the couch, her blanket discarded on the floor, and her hand-written case notes sticky-taped to the glass door of Maura's fancy refrigerator. It was also the same week Maura realized she really wouldn't hate it if this unconventional, career-focused, life-saving, crook-catching routine of theirs became permanent.
When they weren't working Maura regularly joined Jane for a run and, less occasionally, Jane joined Maura at yoga. When the mood struck and they'd closed another case at a decent hour, they would join Barry and Vince at the Dirty Robber for drinks. It became a habit that the boys would ask as to their whereabouts, should one woman be absent from their social gathering, because, after all, wherever you found Rizzoli, Isles wasn't far behind.
They became inexplicably joined, these two women with barely anything in common at first glance, individuals intertwined, and no one batted an eyelid as they fell into being best friends, far closer than they ever were before husbands and life intervened.
oOo
It was a pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon as Angela peered out of the kitchen window. Smiling fondly, she washed dishes from an impromptu lunch with her daughter and eldest son as she watched the two playing one-on-one in the driveway.
Jane had always had the advantage growing up, using her height to keep the ball out of reach as her brother's scrambled around her and jumped up to no avail. She looked out for them, as the eldest, didn't body-check them or cause bruises, but still Angela would plead at her to be careful.
As the boys grew taller and their puppy fat turned to muscle, as the body-checking started and the bruises began, Angela changed her tune. She'd whine, 'Why you gotta join in, huh? I don't want you rough-housing with them, Janie. Look at the state of your knees!' It only spurred Jane on more, made her more physical, encouraged her to match their strength and speed. In her mind it didn't make her any less of a girl, but her mother never saw it that way.
Angela was no less concerned that her girl might get hurt twenty years later, telling the pair to take it easy as they'd stepped out of the house for some fresh air and a rematch that had been promised the day Frankie joined the academy. The grown man was no less boisterous now and soon the kitchen was filled with the familiar sounds of Angela fussing around for a first aid kit and telling Jane how silly she was for wanting to go out there in the first place.
"I knew this would happen!"
The door slammed and Frankie grabbed the nearest cloth he could put his hands on, throwing it at Jane's chest as she took a seat by the small kitchen table.
"Didn't I say this would happen? Do you know how many times I've had to clean up one of you kids because you don't listen to me, huh?"
The detective wasn't the only person irritated by Angela's overreaction as Frankie pleaded, gesturing towards Jane, "Ma, come on. It's not that bad."
"Not that bad?!" she squawked. "She has blood all over her face! How is that not bad?!"
Jane sighed, mumbling through cloth, "I just bust my nose, Ma. I didn't get a face transplant."
Frankie hissed at the sting as Angela swatted his forearm with an open palm. "You bust her nose. You better hope she's not disfigured, young man!"
Jane took the bundled material away from her face, inspecting it before rolling her eyes dramatically, "Would you stop?! Look, I'm fine." She held the cloth out at arm's length so her mother could see the evidence, "It's already stopped bleeding. See? No big deal."
"Happy now?" Frankie jumped in. Throwing a smarmy smile at his sister, he sang sarcastically, "She's just as pretty as she always was."
Angela bent over to get a close up look at Jane's nose. There was a little dry blood still clinging to her face, on her chin, around the nostrils and above her top lip, but the cloth had done a good job of cleaning most of it away and, though swollen, her beautiful nose appeared to be in one piece. She ran a palm over each of Jane's cheeks, muttering, "My poor baby," and Jane recoiled at the mushy sentiment.
With a glare, the elder Rizzoli stood and turned to Frankie, her eyes burning furiously, "I am happy we don't need to go to the emergency room. But…" She swiped a magazine from the table, rolled it up and held it aloft menacingly, before chasing Frankie out of the room with it, "…Come back here, Francesco! That was my best tea towel you just ruined!"
Snickering quietly, Jane was happy to lose her mother's attention for a minute so she could breathe. Truth be told, she'd felt the cartilage snap when it happened; Frankie's elbow connected solidly with her nose, coming up too quickly for her to get out of the way. Now her entire face throbbed painfully and her head was starting to pound, but she'd be damned if she was going to admit it. Jane Rizzoli didn't do hospitals unless it was a life-and-death situation, and there had been so many of those in her short career that even the thought of going to hospital made her feel instantly better.