As the music begins, the church fills with an array of sound. Shoes stumble clumsily against the wooden pews making quiet thumping noises. The soles scuff at the old, marble floors and purses jingle as they're set to the side. Everyone looks expectantly at the wide double doors, and as they creak open, the music is overshadowed by an outburst of awed gasps.
Maura joins them. She is beautiful. The off-the-shoulder dress paints Jane's body in a smooth, creamy white, hugging every curve, kissing every inch of skin. Her eyes fall onto Jane's manicured nails, the bracelet on her wrist, up her arms and to her smooth neck where a necklace, adorned with a simple, sapphire crystal, hangs loosely. A veil falls against Jane's face, but it cannot hide what Maura has memorized.
Every curve, every dimple.
Every line.
High cheekbones, the nose that scrunches up when Jane is thinking too hard.
Chocolate brown eyes and butterfly soft lashes.
Red rose petal lips.
Soft lips.
Maura remembers how soft they are.
Frank Sr. has his arm looped through Jane's. He limps beside her, a sign of his growing age, despite the freshly dyed hair on his head and the crisp black tuxedo. They are inches from Maura. Centimeters. She can smell the sweet rose perfume Jane had put on earlier. The eldest Rizzoli kisses his daughters hand.
"Treat her well," he says kindly, and then he adds a wink.
Casey takes Jane's hand in his, and the congregation sits.
Maura smiles. She smiles as broadly as she can, so much so that her cheeks begin to ache as badly as her heart. The smile seals all of the broken pieces inside of her; it acts as a kind of glue, a glue so strong and foolproof. Nobody knows how defeated she is, how used up she feels. Maura straightens her posture and holds tighter onto her bridesmaid bouquet. She holds it so tight, her hands go numb.
The mug is hot. It scalds her throat, but she drinks greedily, the smell of honey and vanilla soothing her in a way she hasn't felt for days. Angela is busying herself in the kitchen, occasionally throwing out an order to Jane, but ultimately the silence of the past five days reigns on. Maura hadn't felt the sting of loneliness in such a long time that it feels far more unforgiving than she remembered.
"I'm going to the store, Maura. Do you need anything, honey?" asks Angela. Her motherly affection feels inappropriate given her daughter's reluctance to even speak to Maura. After receiving a short list of things, (mostly food for Bass, who had, undoubtedly, been living on cheese curls and the occasional strawberry under Jane's care), Angela left, leaving Jane and Maura alone, the silence overbearing.
"If you're going to remain silent, I'd prefer you to leave." says Maura stiffly, her hand reaching for the remote.
Instead Jane grabs her hand.
Angela's already crying. It had been expected. A betting pool had been flickering around the office between Frost, Frankie, Korsak and Cavanaugh, all making guesses as to how long it would take Angela to shed a tear. She hands Angela a tissue and in response, Angela grabs Maura's hand. She squeezes as the priest begins talking.
Her hand says, can you believe this is happening?
Her hand says, this is such a happy day!
Her hand says, I'm so glad that Jane is finally happy.
Maura squeezes back, willing herself to continue the desultory smile.
"I needed some time." mutters Jane. "To think."
"You kissed me, remember? Not the other way around."
Jane passes her weight from side to side, foot to foot. She lets Maura's hand drop and runs her fingers through her thick, messy curls. "It's not that simple."
"You didn't seem to be having a hard time with it."
"Jesus, Maura," growls Jane, sinking down into the armchair diagonal from the couch. "I'm just trying to figure this all out. This... I know, okay? I know that you, that we, I mean... but I'm not..." She buries her face in her hands. "I'm just not sure, okay?"
"Not sure of what?" asks Maura, exasperated. She pulls herself more upright, her eyes scanning Jane intensely. She watches as Jane's stomach convulses and her shoulders shake. A tremulous breath escapes Jane's lips and the detective makes a small squeak, as though her words were lost in exhale and that was all that was left.
Frustrated, Jane stands. She only takes two steps before kneeling in front of Maura, boney, scarred hands running up the butterscotch-blonde's sides. Her fingers leave goosebumps as they dance down Maura's forearms, scraping her palms and then tangling themselves with the doctor's. Maura's lips part in awe, in fear, in speechless, rhapsodic shock. When Jane leans in, Maura barely moves in inch. She barely breathes. She waits, and waits, and waits.
Hope destroys you.
When do you hope for something? Not when you are satisfied with your life - no, you wish, you hope when you need something, when you want something, when you are clinging to the idea of something separate from your reality. We hope for friends, money, wisdom, love, family. We hope for those we've lost. We hope for those who are sick.
But hope is sedentary.
It only causes us to strip bare, our hearts filled with the delusion of a world ripe with scenarios to which we do not belong.
And how truly crushing that is when, as we waver on the precipice of hope and reality, we are flung to the gnashing teeth of truth? When hope, so freely given and so freely taken, is torn away. Where do we go when we are left cold, barren and aching? When that falsified set of armor built with our hope is destroyed?
Hope is not a gift. Hope is a weapon.
Anxiety burns as a fire in Maura's stomach. Tears slosh down her cheeks and stain her baby blue dress. The priest's voice is muffled by the buzzing in her ears and Maura looks on, helplessly, at the full pews spread wide in the girth of the church. Frost sits a few rows back from a cluster of Jane's family. He sees her. His eyes are sad. He knows. He has always known, and Maura feels herself flush. It is easier to bare the burden of heartbreak by herself, rather than for someone else to know, to sympathize, to pity her for what she has lost.
Jane gave Maura hope and then took it, and Maura's heart, away.
She can feel Jane's breath on her lips, smell the cinnamon from her the morning cup of hot chocolate. Maura unclasps her and Jane's hands and wraps tendrils of dark brown hair between her fingers. The feeling of Jane's hand scars brushing against the flat of her stomach startle her and her hands tug lightly on Jane's hair, pulling the brunette close enough that their lips brush against each other.
The brief contact causes Jane to lurch away, leaving Maura feeling cold.
"I knew before Casey told me you were at his apartment," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "That you loved me. I knew, and I should have told you that I knew. And I should have told you that I..."
"That you what?"
"I'm sorry that I ignored you after I kissed you."
"I-It's fine. What were you going to say?"
"And I'm sorry that you had to go to Casey's. I'm sorry that I didn't stick up for myself, and that you had to. And... and I'm sorry that..." Jane pulls away from Maura completely, standing and crossing the room. She folds her arms against her stomach and stares mindlessly out the window. "You know I love you, Maura. I want you to know that. I love you."
Those words had been said before. She had heard them time and time again, but never with such vivacity. The words were alive: breathing, living, evoking raw and unimaginable emotions from inside of her. But when Jane turns and faces Maura, Maura fills with dread.
"This won't work, Maura. We won't work."
"But you love me."
"I love you but I can't do this."
Maura's eyebrows furrow. "But you kissed me."
"I needed to know."
"Needed to know what, Jane? Needed to know what? That I'd kiss you back? Was this a game?"
"I'm not gay, Maura. I can't be gay. My mom, my family!"
"Why would you do this? Why would you..."
"I've been confused, okay? I've been trying to figure this all out! I didn't... I didn't think we would ever be here. I didn't think you would ever admit to going to Casey. I didn't think you would ever admit to having feelings for me so I never expected to be at this point. I never wanted to talk about this. But you did, Maura, and I kissed you, okay? I kissed you. And I can't do it again." Jane breaks down before Maura. Her body slinks against the wall, sliding down until she is a crumpled ball on the floor. As best she can, Maura makes her way to Jane, slipping down onto the floor beside her and letting Jane's head lie in her lap as she cries. "I can't do this, Maura, I can't be this person. I can't disappoint my family."
Maura swipes at her tears. "You could try." she says. "For us."
"I need to know that we're still friends no matter what."
"I... yes. Of course."
"Casey proposed, Maura," whispers Jane, barely audibly. "I said yes."
Maura squeezes her eyes shut and reopens them to find the room blurred. A sea of business suits and cocktail dresses cloud her vision with a hazy spectrum of color. The muted voice of the priest buzzes in her ears and she shakes her head, hoping to bring herself some clarity, but the anxiety rises further and further up until her throat is on fire and her eyes are burning and her stomach is churning as though at any moment she could fall ill.
This won't work, Maura.
We can't work.
I'm not gay.
I love you but I can't do this.
This isn't enough for me.
Casey proposed.
I said yes.
The room stops spinning.
"If there is anyone who objects to this union, please speak now or forever hold your peace."
It drops. She doesn't notice it at first. She doesn't notice until all eyes are on her, and she looks down, and there is her bouquet, and when she looks up, there are Jane's eyes.
And they are pleading with her.
And her soft, rose petal lips are mouthing words to her.
Please don't do this.
She steps away from Angela and Jane. Her heels click against the floor and, when the door swings shut behind her, Maura rips the flower from her hair and throws it to the ground, her chest heaving. She is alone, and she finally lets her smile fade away.
Epilogue will be uploaded sometime within the week. Please review and let me know what you think.
