Chapter Two
Maura leaned against Jane's midsection, her partner's muscular frame reassuring against her back. She had only been paying haphazard attention to the movie flickering across their screen, but nevertheless took comfort in the light, comedic banter, the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, the mundane normality that permeated her surroundings.
Her thoughts had drifted mostly around her job. She had survived her first week back, although it had required nothing more than an occasional microscopical analysis or a pile of uncompleted paperwork. Still, simply the routine of showing up each morning, dawning her white coat, had been enough to draw her out of the caverns of her mind.
Tracing Jane's fingers with her own, her attention was suddenly rapt over the delicate contours of her skin. She followed the line of them, rubbing circles around the knobs of Jane's knuckles before coasting to her palms, where she caught the telltale circular smoothness of her scars. She had studied them before, at times launching into a full-fledged explanation of the composition of scar tissue, but now they recalled some other memory to mind, and the normality of her evening and Jane's measured breath against her neck, slipped away.
"The question of the hour," he said, raising his thick eyebrows at her. "Did I hit any major tendons?" The girl's whimpers were steady as she lay on the hard metal gurney, her forehead pale, and her panicked eyes darted nervously between Maura, Hoyt, and the knife held rigidly against her neck.
Maura had first noticed the girl's wavy brown hair, her eyes blurring with panic, and she wondered if Hoyt had finally delivered on the promise that he whispered into her ear every time he visited her. But it wasn't Jane, just like it wasn't Jane the time before, and she felt a pulsing, guilty relief sift through her. It wasn't Jane.
She felt the light brush of the taser against her back, just a simple warning, which embellished the familiar burn at her shoulder. It seemed to be his favored way of moving her from one place to another.
Her eyes cleared, and she noticed the wounds on the girl's hands: bloody circles at the very center of her palms, and she unintentionally backed into him, the air sluicing from her chest. His hands caught her shoulders. "Ah, Doctor. It seems as if you're familiar with this type of injury."
She felt him press behind her, looking over the top of her head at the young girl. The second man wielding the knife, who she had never heard speak, stared down at her, his lips pursed into a calm, even line.
"The rules are the same." His familiar whisper brushed against her ear. She had rehearsed again and again the ways she could overpower him, or incapacitate the man with the knife, but her arms stayed uselessly at her sides as Hoyt uncuffed her hands, the air biting into her raw and chafed wrists. She would never get to the knife in time.
He pressed her forward, to the small table of tools available to her. No anesthetic, only the most crude needle and thread, a small bottle of saline, and the same natural concoction of antibiotic as last time. And the time before that. She didn't look back at him, and couldn't look at the girl, but kept her attention solely on the small tray of utensils. He would get impatient if she didn't begin soon.
The girl looked at her no differently than she looked at Hoyt: with fear, hatred. "I'm sorry," Maura uttered, again and again, as she stitched the wound, which hadn't penetrated any major tendons, a deliberate move by him. Time didn't exist as she worked, her skull tightening against her brain as she tried to steady her hands. Reciting variables in her head in a vain attempt to block out the girl's wrenched cries.
He was constantly behind her, his attentive eye directed on her work, the taser an ever-present reminder at her back. He only spoke when she was done: "Very good, Doctor." Then she felt the heat against her neck, the uncontrollable spasm, and then the hard, coldness of the concrete floor. Another blast, and she didn't fight the blackness.
She was startled awake by the sound of her name and she subconsciously pressed a hand to her neck. "Hey, sweetheart, you fall asleep?" Jane asked, glancing down at her and running a soothing hand over her bare arm. "I admit, it was a Netflix queue fail. Next time you can choose."
Maura forced her attention to the screen, where a scroll of credits was now rolling across a gag reel. She imagined the images of her dreams swirling down a drain. "Tell me the girl ended up with her best friend," she said, the banter already removing her from the grotto of her memory.
Above her, Jane shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. Once again, we had to make do with subtext."
Maura smiled, leaning up and turning to face Jane. "Heteros one million and one, lesbians, zero," she said, enjoying Jane's grin. She hadn't been responsible for eliciting much mirth from her partner lately, and she relished what levity she could bring to the conversation. She turned fully, straddling Jane's long, outstretched legs. "Do you want to go for a run tomorrow?" she asked.
Jane put a hand behind her head and looked up at her curiously. "How come you don't do yoga anymore?"
Maura averted her gaze, but only for a moment, an excuse coming quickly to mind. "I just haven't been in the mood," she said vaguely. "It's too quiet."
Jane nodded. "Well, not that I'm complaining," she said. "I just wondered, that's all." Still, Maura caught the doubt that flickered through her eyes. "You ready for bed?"
Maura leaned in to kiss her. It was a small gesture, nothing remotely resembling the passion that had motivated their intimacy before, but it was a start. She had to ease into physicality now with slower, more tentative touches that she almost always initiated. At times she found herself craving Jane's natural aggression, but each time she shied away from requesting it, unsure if she could handle it. She deepened the kiss, her thoughts conscious of the hands on her hips, the softness of a thumb brushing across her skin. Opening her eyes, but not moving away, she leaned in further, cupping Jane's face with both hands, then letting them move through the dark, unruly curls.
An image knifed through her mind, of dark, splayed hair against metal, and it siphoned off her throat for a fleeting second before she willed it away. It was enough, though, and she felt Jane tense slightly underneath her as she sensed the shift. Maura leaned back, accompanying her words with an apologetic smile. "Bed sounds good."
Jane's hands stayed around Maura's waist, even as she swung her long legs off the couch. "You'll need some rest," she said with a smile. "Tomorrow I'm taking you on the sweatiest, hardest run you've ever been on. I found a new route over by the harbor." She rose, lifting Maura higher on her hips, and headed toward the bedroom. Maura buried her head in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of the curls, the scent that she only associated with Jane, the scent that kept her memories safetly at bay.
Jane huffed loudly up Maura's narrow driveway, glad their run had finally come to an end. Her partner was running faster than she ever had, and despite the natural advantage of her long legs, Jane had to work to keep up with her. "Jeez, Maur," she heaved, wiping sweat from her forehead. "You trying to qualify for the Olympics?"
Maura smiled back at her, already bent over in a low stretch. "It's important to have goals."
Jane attempted to mimic her girlfriend's warm-down, but instead toppled playfully into the grass at her feet, staring up at her. Maura raised one foot behind her, stretching a well-defined hamstring. Over the past few months, Maura's compact body had become more even thinner, her smooth curves morphing into firm, wiry muscle. Jane had mentioned the transformation once before, and Maura had shrugged, stating tersely, "I'm more powerful." The hardness in her eyes had kept Jane from mentioning it again. She heard the sound of her mother's door opening off to the side of the terrace, and she angled her head towards her.
"Wow, the two of you look like you just ran the Boston Marathon," she said with a wave as she walked over to them.
"Hey, Ma," Jane said from her perch on the ground. Her mother's constant presence in her life had long been a fine balance between bothersome and comforting, but lately she had come to rely on the small interruptions, as if they smoothed over the small wrinkles of pain that sometimes surfaced in unforseen moments. Angela had offered to move to a new place, but she quickly put a stop to the idea, claiming that Maura wanted her to stay; in truth, it was Jane that needed her mother nearby. "You want to have breakfast with us?"
"Is that your way of asking me to make breakfast?"
Jane grinned. "Maybe." Maura hovered over her, taking one of her legs and bending it inward, forcing her to stretch, even as she lay flat on her back. "Awwww man," she moaned. "That feels good. Do the other one."
Maura obliged, looking up at Angela. "You are more than welcome to join us for breakfast, but you do not, under any circumstances, have to help make it." She gave Jane a corrective glance before easing off her leg and helping her off the ground.
"I don't mind helping," Angela offered, taking a step toward the small inlet of a garden that Maura had painstakingly pined over for the first part of spring. "Looks like your roses should be coming in soon," she observed with a smile.
Jane watched as Maura joined her mother, both of their heads bent towards the still unseen blooms. Maura had always taken an interest in maintaining the beauty of her landscaping, but it mainly came in contracting the duty out to gardeners and paid experts. This new project, however, had all but consumed her, and Jane had spied her on many afternoons pulling weeds and sifting through dark soil, shaping it into small, colorful burst of nurtured life. Maura reached up to one, thorns sticking defensively out of its thin green stalk.
"Oh, that one got you," Angela said, reaching for Maura's wrist, but thinking better of it, simply pointed. "You're thumb's bleeding."
Maura stared down at it, seemingly lost. Jane moved toward her, focused not on the small dot of red that bubbled from the injured thumb, but on the emptiness in the hazel eyes that stared down at it. Maura had never been a fidgeter, but over the past three months Jane had caught her fumbling with her rings, or cracking her knuckles, or simply staring down at her hands as if they were an extension of her body with which she wasn't familiar. "Maur? Want to go grab a BandAid?"
Maura's eyes flashed up at her, and she nodded. "Yes," she said authoritatively, as if a small prick from a rose bush needed her full medical acumen. "Yes. I'm just going to wash it with some antiseptic and wrap it." She nodded again, mechanically, before moving around Jane and heading towards the back door, her sneakers padding lightly along the brick patio.
Jane was suddenly conscious of her mother's eyes on her, but she kept her own gaze straight ahead, focusing on the small buds of a yellow flower that had already begun to bloom. Maura had told her the name of it a thousand times, but she couldn't ever keep them straight. "What's this one?" she asked, pointing to it.
"Yellow loosestrife," Angela replied.
"That's a horrible name," Jane said. "I don't feel bad about not remembering that one."
"You want me to start on breakfast?" Angela asked, placing a casual hand on Jane's arm. Her mother had learned not to pry as hard, checking in with both of them with small, simple touches of warmth.
"Yeah," Jane nodded, grinning before reaching out and wrapping a sweaty arm around her mother's fresh shoulder.
"Oh, Jane," Angela humphed, shrugging off the wet hug. "Go take a shower, why don't you." Jane chuckled, following her inside the house, shower water echoing from the bedroom.
"Maura, leave the water on!" she called, leaving her mother at home in the kitchen as she made her way down the hallway, pulling off her sweaty t-shirt. Her phone rang out against her running shorts, startling her as the vibrations coursed up her thigh; she had forgotten she had it on her. "Rizzoli," she said, already expecting the voice on the other end, signaling the end of a relaxing morning.
Walking in the bedroom, she glanced curiously at Maura, who was quickly drying off. "Hey," she said, looking up at her as she retrieved ducked into the closet, wrapping the towel around her still damp torso. "You'll drive?"
They had discussed this part of the job, but Jane had insisted on Maura letting the interim assistant take field calls, at least until she had been back for a couple of weeks. Judging by the speed with which her partner was getting dressed, however, it was clear that she was intent on taking this particular call.
"Maur, I thought you were leaving the field visits up to Pike for now."
"No need," she said. "I told him I could handle them." She pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped a loose top over her head, looking back at her. "I can handle it," she repeated.
Jane knew better than to argue. After all, she had fought to go back to work after her own ordeal with Hoyt, and had silenced anyone who thought they knew better with a few well-placed expletives and stubborn tirades. Still, that didn't mean she wasn't worried. They knew nothing about the scene. Anything could cause a flashback, which is the last thing Maura needed, especially on the job, surrounded by a gaggle of police and crime scene techs.
"Maura, is this really a good idea?" she asked, pushing her limit. "It's one thing to be in the office behind a microscope, and it's another to be at the scene. I'm saying this as a colleague," she qualified, although she knew that wasn't remotely true; as far as she was concerned, there were no lines anymore between personal and professional.
Maura closed the gap between them, the pursed line of her lips softening, but her eyes hard and clear. "Jane. I hear your concern, but I'm going to make this decision, okay? And I want to take the call. It's my job and I want to do it."
Jane sighed, unable to argue, and attempted to channel some sort of therapeutic response, one of many that she had in her arsenal now.
"Maura wants to go back to work." Her counselor stared back at her, his eyes neutral. She didn't like to refer to him as a therapist. He was simply a psychologist on the force that she'd talked to several times after her encounter with Hoyt. Sure, the first time, her Chief had mandated that she do it as a condition of returning to work, but she stuck with it, enjoying the space it gave her to sort and separate some of the messy, intransigent emotions she still felt. After Maura's abduction, it had been less than a month before she called and requested to see him again.
"That's a healthy response," he said. "You wanted to return to work as well."
She sighed. He was being rational. "How would you feel if your wife wanted to return to work after something like this?" she asked. "Return to being a medical examiner?"
"We're not talking about me, Jane," he said. "But I'm curious as to how you feel about it."
She balled her hands into fists in her lap. "I'm nervous as hell about it. If I had my way, I'd want her to become a kindergarten teacher or a veterinarian or something. I'd want her the hell away from all of this."
"If the job is so dangerous, then why do you do it?"
She laughed. "Right. Point taken."
He looked down at the floor for a moment, then leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Look, Jane, we want our partners to be safe. That's understandable. But we also want them to be fulfilled. And that requires trust in the other person to be the best arbiter of what is right for them. Do you trust Maura?"
"Of course I do."
"Then trust that this is what's going to help her. And if it doesn't, then you'll be there to help her figure out what will. Not supporting her in this will only drive her further away."
"So you'll drive?" she heard Maura ask, her wet hair pooling on her shoulders and leaving dark spats along her shirt.
"Yeah," she said, hoping she was doing the right thing by simply doing nothing. "I'll drive."
Susie glanced up as her boss swung the doors open to the lab, her scrubs draped loosely over her front, goggles already in place. She picked up her clipboard, readying her pen. "Hey, Doc," she said. "Decedent's ready." Her boss, nodded, her attention directed toward the body lying on the slab in front of them.
He was male, a bullet wound to the shoulder and lower sternum. It seemed a simple enough case, but when she had offered to help with the autopsy, Dr. Isles had studied her a quick moment before silently nodding. It wasn't their normal routine, but they hadn't necessarily had time to reestablish such a thing in the short week that she had been back.
She had kept as much of a grip on the office as she could, stepping up to help Dr. Pike, the interim ME, as much as she could. Things had generally run themselves, as they tend to do, and the rest of the techs gave her no trouble. Detective Rizzoli, of course, had appeared in the lab less, and Susie had even missed seeing her around. When the detective did pop in, usually to ask about a case, she always felt awkward asking her anything about Doc. The two of them usually just stuck to the facts.
But it was Detective Rizzoli's face that night, at the precinct, that she couldn't seem to get out of her mind.
She paced in front of her, several police officers buzzing about her desk. "Susie, what time did you leave?" she asked, her voice thin and ragged.
"I think it was about 6:30, 6:45," she said. "We had to classify some fibers, and it took longer than expected. Doc – Dr. Isles – was stuck around in her office until we finished."
"Did she leave with you?" Rizzoli asked.
She shook her head. "No, I stuck my head in her office to say goodbye, but she didn't leave with me."
"Did you notice anything suspicious when you left?" She squinted toward her. "Did you park in the deck?"
She shook her head, feeling as if she were disappointing the tall detective. "No, I take the train," she said. "But I didn't notice anything suspicious." Of course she hadn't been looking. She had been fiddling with her iPod. She felt foolish, racking her memory, trying to remember anything. "She said she needed to pick up her dry cleaning," she said. "The one that's open until 8:00, over on Halsted."
Jane looked up at her, oddly. "She was picking it up today?" she asked.
She sifted through the memory, searching for more words, more corroboration to make sure she wasn't making things up, just to offer something remotely helpful. "Yes," she said, firmly. "She got a call from them. So she was going to pick it up."
Detective Rizzoli latched onto her words, so much so that she leaned over to her, pressing down against the metal table. "Did she tell you she got a call from them?"
"Yes," she said. "She mentioned it while we were in the lab."
"Frost!" she called, her voice ratcheting up a notch. "I need phone records for Geraldi's Dry Cleaning, now. What about the other records?"
Detective Frost looked up at her, a phone receiver pressed to his ear. "They'll be here within the hour," he replied, his voice strained. The words seemed to do nothing to comfort Detective Rizzoli, however. Her eyes stayed frantic, her fingers fidgeting across the expanse of her palms. She appeared like a frightened, dangerous animal.
The doors swung open behind her, startling her, but Maura appeared unfazed, and greeted Detective Rizzoli with a nod. "I figured you'd be down here within the hour," she said.
"Just call me over-eager," Rizzoli replied, giving Susie a friendly nod. "I just wanted to see the work-up on the bullets," she said, standing next to her, crossing her arms over her chest. "How you doing, Susie?" she asked, and she was surprised by her cordiality.
"I'm – I'm okay," she said, glancing over at Doc. "We're just beginning," she said. "Might be awhile before we come up with the bullet."
"She knows that," Doc said from where she perused the rest of the body. She was concentrating, but her tone was light. "Jane, are you sure you aren't needed upstairs, or are you intent on supervising?" Doc looked up, sharing a look with Rizzoli, their usual tacit, verbal cues that were generally all but lost on her.
Jane glanced over at her, only slightly sheepishly. "Susie, do you need my supervision?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
"No, Detective Rizzoli," she replied, eliciting a slight laugh from his boss. For a moment she thought she overstepped her bounds, but the detective grinned, her hands on her hips.
"I didn't think so," she said, walking back towards the doors. "Maur, give me a call the minute you got something," she called over her shoulder.
"Always," Doc replied, turning her attention back to the cadaver, focused, scientific, and finally back in her element.