A/N - Before everyone gets out their angry typing fingers over last chapter, I'm going to agree with you that falling asleep in the middle of having sex with Maura Isles is a little inconsiderate on Jane's part but I intended it to be. You can't see improvement without reaching rock-bottom and I think Jane has officially gotten to that point. From now, it'll be better. Also, our killer is finally revealed...unless you've figured out who it is already. Have fun reading.
Wednesday, 8:35 A.M.
Jane stood in front of the mirror, checking out her appearance before throwing herself to the wolves in this hastily thrown together press conference. Maura had gratefully dropped off her dress blues, a chocolate chip muffin, and a cup of coffee on her desk sometime after Jane had awoken alone in the blonde's office. She was unsure of how she got there but there was hardly any time to think about that with the upcoming press conference. While the harried brunette raced from the bathroom to change, Jane couldn't help noticing that Maura had been conspicuously absent. Even with the early hour, her girlfriend was always punctual and enjoyed being one of the first to arrive every-day; it was unusual for her not to be present, especially so because of the upcoming press conference. I can't blame her for not being more supportive when I've been such a big fat jerk to her lately. The last thing I deserve is her compassion. Jane knew how much her inability to return the love that Maura continued to give was affecting their relationship but knowledge didn't help her own inner turmoil. It wasn't her lack of love that was the problem; it was the communication barrier between them that seemed to get bigger and bigger with each passing day. Jane. Her miserable looking reflection stared back at her as Jane suddenly understood that despite the love she felt for Maura, it was unfair to keep hurting her like this. Something has to change. I know that I can be a bit of a brute at times when it comes to her feelings but I have to make an effort to try to be more open. The only alternative is spending the rest of my nights alone, again.
Jane sighed as resignation filled her heart. Making Maura happy made her happy as a result. It was going to be hard to give her girlfriend intimate access to feelings that she kept tightly locked up but if it made Maubie happy, she would do it. Relationships are all about compromise and lately, all I've been doing is asking her to carry all of the weight while I sit around brooding like Agent Dean. With a laugh of amusement at the idea of her taking brooding lessons from Dean, her hands went inside of her pocket to find a small folded note of good-luck written on expensive stationary paper. Her eyes looked over it briefly, bringing a smile of amusement to her face, before grabbing the remnants of muffin and coffee along with her wrinkled mass of clothes. It always marveled Jane how Maura could manage to care so much, even after the way she had been treating her recently. If I had just an inkling of that compassion…things would be a lot different.
Another detective from Vice walked in to the restroom, heading toward the standing urinals near where Jane was standing, disgust soon taking the place of the love she felt toward her girlfriend's actions. "Umm, excuse me."
The young detective turned around from his task of unzipping his fly with tired confusion. "Hey, come on, Rizzoli. The men's bathroom downstairs is closed, making this one the only one available."
"Can't you hold it?" Jane asked with a slight growl, glaring at the detective as his hands continued to unzip further. "Or, here's a great idea, go into a stall?"
"Aren't we all brothers in arms, Rizzoli? Together we stand united and all of that mumbo-jumbo they spit out during the academy? Brothers should have no problems with seeing their family relieve themselves. Give me a break; just turn that pretty head of yours around if it offends you so much." He drawled with an obvious Southern accent, winking slightly before taking in Jane's dress uniform. "You must have press duty today because I know they aren't giving Ms. Big-Fat-"Can't Keep Her Opinions to Herself"-Rizzoli a recommendation ceremony. Good-luck."
The sound of urine hitting the porcelain receptacle caused Jane to roll her eyes in annoyance, turning away from her fellow detective. "You know what? I'll just leave because it's obviously so hard for a grown man to zip himself back up, walk three feet, and use the bathroom in a stall. You Vice guys are just full of good manners, aren't you? Thanks for the luck, by the way."
With a casual wave, Jane left the bathroom to be immediately accosted with small nods of good-luck from the homicide detectives who had come in early to watch the press conference together and give Jane some much needed support. Everyone was hoping for the best, including Jane. If the press conference went well, the killer would be recognized for his actions, thus hopefully inclining him to hopefully spend a little bit more time planning the next chapter in his sick, twisted story. With more time came an increased chance for the team to catch him before he could strike again. And that's all we need, time. However, in the worst case scenario, Jane's gamble would end up making the killer too confident in his abilities, resulting in less time to solve the case before the final murder. As much as she wanted nothing more to spend the day processing the obscure messages written with the victims, the brunette understood the importance to play the game with serials. All they wanted was attention and Jane had every attention to give it to this sick bastard.
Setting down her slightly folded wrinkled clothes, the brunette headed toward the elevator in order to reach the conference room used for official press events on the fifth floor of BPD. As the elevator began the slow ascent, Jane took out her phone to call Korsak. Before the second ring could sound on her end, he picked up with brightness to his voice that surprised the detective.
"You sound awful cheery for only getting seven hours sleep," she mocked playfully, knowing he was just as exhausted as she was. They had been running on all cylinders for three days now. The homicide department might be good but they weren't invincible.
"Actually it was closer to six," his voice clear and vibrant through the slight static of the reception, "since me and Frost stayed up a little longer after we all left operations. You must have been real tired though."
Jane's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I could have used a little bit more sleep… What's your point?"
"Maura came in last night, asking if we could help move you downstairs. She said you passed out in exhaustion which didn't surprise me since you've been taking lead on this case and went undercover at that club last night. I'd rather have you pass out in the squad room than during Q-and-A with the press." Korsak said with a slight laugh before becoming serious. "You alright? Working with the press can be even more exhausting than going undercover. Last thing I want is you falling out in the middle of answering questions."
Shock ran through her veins as Korsak's words processed in her mind. Oh my god, I fell asleep? The last thing I remember was pushing Maura against the wall…shit, I fell asleep on my girlfriend, in the middle of having sex, in the operations room of BPD. Well, it's official. I'm a jack-ass of the highest order. That's probably why I haven't seen Maura because she's too embarrassed to even look at me without laughing or quoting some statistic concerning performance anxiety and stress levels.
"Yeah, I'm fine, just looking to get this over and done with. Did," Jane's voice caught in her throat before she could continue, "Maura say anything last night, about my…tiredness?"
The sergeant made a small quizzical sound as he thought back to last night. "Nope, but when we got her in her office, she seemed really worried about you, Jane. You didn't hear it from me, but I think it hurts her to see you like this. I don't want to get in you guys' business, it's just…I haven't seen Maura look like that since…ever."
I'm such a jerk and now everyone else is starting to see it. "Yeah, well, uh…thanks for telling me, Korsak. I got to go. We'll talk later. Keep following up with the case while I'm appealing to the press."
"Good-luck, Jane. You'll knock 'em dead."
"Thanks," she smiled, hanging up on her end just as the elevator dinged twice to announce her arrival on the fifth floor, the location of the press conference. With confident steps, Jane pushed back the anxiety of what happened last night with Maura to the back of her mind for later examination and readied for a busy half-hour with the press. Lieutenant Cavanaugh stood near the side of the small stage, waiting for his subordinate to approach in order to address the room filled with anxious reporters and news outlet representatives. Also dressed to impress, Cavanaugh's medals and regalia gleamed in the artificial lights of the conference room.
"You get some sleep?" he asked dismissively, hardly expecting an answer as his eyes swept the large crowd.
Jane finished the remnants of her muffin and coffee, throwing the trash into a waste-bin near the stage. "Enough."
"Good," he replied, turning his head to appraise the detective's appearance, "you're going to need it. I suggested to the mayor to mostly invite local media outlets to this circus but he's clearly decided to ignore my suggestion. Apparently he thought the idea of a female lead homicide detective addressing public concerns toward the possibility of a serial killer on Boston streets to the national media gave a better PR slant. You ready?"
Jane turned away from the Loo, taking out the small note that Maura had written her. Her positive words giving the brunette another surge of confidence: Bonne chance, mon amour. You'll be great today. No one can stop my Jeddy-Bear when she's on a roll. P.S. – I know you said not to use your nick-name, but it's just so cute, I can't help myself. Leave it to Maura to know exactly what to say, no matter how idiotic it came out. She always knows what to say, what I need. It's time that I show her some of the same.
Putting the note back in her pocket, Jane turned back to the Loo with a nervous smile. "Ready as I'll ever be. Now, let's get this charade out of the way so I can get back to catching this guy."
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His shocking red hair bobbed in time with the music coming from his expensive computer audio software, typing quickly with self-assured elegant fingers. The classical rhythms of Claude Debussy's third movement of Suite Bergamasque, "Clair de Lune", traveling on the air of the office brought a smile across his sculpted features. As the music swept into his soul, his eyes closed, memories of a better time in the snow-covered streets of Soviet Russia taking the red-haired man's focus away from sending countless emails to the members of the company.
During the endless days of learning, practicing, and memorizing of being a student at the Vaganova Academy in St. Petersburg, he had to give everything up to follow his only opportunity to be something other than a poor accountant like his father. Nothing could ever possibly describe the excitement of learning he was chosen to be a potential object of pride for the Russian people, made even better by his sister's acceptance, as well. Throughout their childhood, the two siblings were twins in their looks, personalities, and desires which hardly changed upon their admittance to the Vaganova Academy.
They were inseparable, in spirit and in skill. Because of their unique rapport, Matryona was frequently partnered with him to perform pas de deux which became their trademark in the academy and in the future. Before they had even graduated from the academy, several companies had competed for their talents, but Mariinski, the star achievement to a Russian dancer, won in the end. Rising through the ranks with a level of speed that was unheard of at their age, Matryona and her brother were principals within two years of joining the ballet company. People from all over the world came to see the two of them perform in their primary repertoire; "Ondine", "Cinderella", "The Sleeping Beauty", "Romeo and Juliet", "Scheherazade", and even "Swan Lake", to name just a few of their legendary performances together. Very rarely did they dance separately, until Matryona began wanting to explore more opportunities abroad in order to further her skill as an artist. He had refused to leave Mariinski, seeing no reason to explore other opportunities with inferior companies, and his sister refused to stay, claiming boredom.
That was the last time he saw his sister as he wanted to remember her, stubborn and determined to do what she wanted. In her absence, his dancing was pure precision but it lacked the brilliance that had developed with him and Matryona's performances together. She was the fire to his icy focus on technique; without her, he was just good but not great. As his requests for solo performances dwindled, he was demoted to the corps, the lowest rank for a dancer in the company, while his sister increased her renown across the world. It killed him to see his sister, whose skill had always been inferior, surpass him. Frustration at his own inability to succeed evolved into overwhelming hate at the woman he had once loved like his own reflection. It hardly helped his miserable mood to receive endless letters from Matryona about a female contemporary soloist she was smitten with. Every letter began with "Ekaterina" and ended with "Isn't Ekaterina just marvelous?" as if the woman was Aphrodite incarnate. When his sister was awarded the honorary title of prima ballerina absoluta, Matryona's only response was that Ekaterina thought the title an anachronism. Even now with the passage of time, his bushy red eyebrows lowered in annoyance at this complete lack of respect toward tradition. She wasn't only better than him, but she also had to fall in love with a woman with little respect for the ways of old? It wasn't fair. But this all was irrelevant after hearing that she was sick and unable to dance. The next time he saw his sister, three years after she left, was being shipped back to Russia in quarantine like a sick animal all because of that damn temptress Ekaterina. When Matryona died, Ekaterina was conspicuously not present. He had to deal with his parents' inane questions and the doctors who seemed more in awe of being in the presence of a prima absoluta over healing her, alone.
Debussy's calming tones changed into the mood appropriate sounds of "Adagio for Strings", the closed blue eyes welling with tears that always managed to come, despite the passing years since Matryona's death. The days following both her private and state funeral were nothing but a blur of depression-induced haze. The old idiom that concerning missing things once they were gone, applied to him during those days perfectly. Nothing mattered anymore; he quit dancing with Mariinski, cut off ties with his family, and left Russia to work as an assistant choreographer for a small American classical ballet company that his sister had once attended. The only reason he accepted the job was because it represented a way to keep some kind of connection to his sister alive. As his involvement in American ballet companies increased, leading to his current position with the Boston Ballet, the depression that had weighed over his existence eased into manageable territory. For the first time since the death of his sister, he had the focus to see where the blame lay concerning Matryona. Ekaterina and everything she represented caused his sister's untimely death.
The song ended, leaving nothing but silence to accompany the beautifully severe man as his furious typing continued, uninterrupted. His mesmerizing eyes reopened reluctantly, slowly taking in his unchanged office and the television near his desk. The television was rarely used except to watch performances of dancers but it was still of extremely high quality compared to his television at home. But today was a special occasion. Grabbing the remote, he turned it on and changed the station to a press conference featuring the same detective that came by earlier. What was her name…June Ravoli? No, that wasn't it but it hardly mattered. She wouldn't catch him and even if she did, it hardly mattered. Those last two girls were nothing more than his final transition into the coda, his final act toward getting his final revenge for Matryona. After he was complete, he neither needed nor wanted any sort of recognition for his actions. He would have Matryona's eternal love and gratitude. Nothing else is needed but the knowledge that he, Matryona, and her devious lover could reunite.
Swiping elegant fingers through perpetually messy red locks, he grabbed his phone and dialed a number that he knew far too well. She would be expecting his call. He had spent months building a rapport with the woman and, surprisingly, she remained oblivious to his connections to her past but no matter. She'd soon know.
"Ekaterina," he said invitingly, his eyes darkening as his unoccupied hand played with his hair. "It's Yuri Grigorvich. I was wondering if you would like to get lunch before your practice for 'Don Quixote' tonight."
A small voice answered on the other end of the line. "The restaurant? It's not far. In fact, let me take you to my place, instead. It's closer to us both and I have to be the only man in Boston that knows what proper vodka tastes like, not this watered swill they call vodka in America…yes, I know where that is. I am on my way out of the office, right now."
Detective Jane Rizzoli's face stared attractively out at Yuri's relaxed body as if taunting him to continue with his actions. He ignored her meaningless taunt, turning off the television for one last time. Even if he wanted to stop, there was no time. Matryona was waiting for them both.
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