When Jane walked through the doors of the head and neck cancer center, she realized how little time she spent outside the hospital proper. Here, the smell of dying tissue and blood did not permeate the air, but she checked herself mentally, remembering that a much more sinister sign of death lurked these halls. She did not know whether or not to count it as a blessing that they were mostly empty at 5:45PM.
As she passed several doors that lead into offices for different types of specialists, she thought of Victor Lasorda: the gentle, taciturn kid from around the corner. His Ma raised him on her own; his dad was absent for much of his childhood, was a drunk, and drove his car into a ditch when Victor was fourteen. For those reasons, she saw him at the dinner table often, as her mother would watch him while his finished up at work. She found it incredibly sad that he and his family had to now endure what they did. The little Victor that she knew had seen more than enough suffering for one lifetime.
She opened the door that housed two otolaryngologists and two head and neck cancer specialists, and threw half of a wave at the receptionist before forcing a smile. "Hey, Dr. Isles around?" she asked the woman who was packing her bag up to leave.
"Let me check, Dr. Rizzoli. She was just in her office finishing up some paperwork; I'll tell her you're here," was the woman's reply before she disappeared around the corner.
"Everything alright?"
The voice, one Jane began to appreciate as warm and comforting, coaxed her out of her reverie. She noted the same outfit from that morning, and decided that she liked white on Maura. "What? Yeah, why?"
"Your trapezii. They're tense. I can see them under your t-shirt," Maura replied. Jane wore a dark navy v-neck tee tucked into light grey suit pants. She topped off the outfit with utilitarian, but still heeled, black boots. It was exceedingly plain; on someone else, maybe even drab. However, the sheer masculinity of its simplicity, combined with the sheer femininity of the way it showcased the Italian's tanned clavicular area, toned stomach, and long legs, ignited the ENT. Objectively speaking, Jane looked… potent. Maura was unsure if she envied it or desired it.
"What if I'm just really in shape, do a lot of shoulder days in the gym?" Jane asked with a shit eating grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. She pulled her blazer on, perhaps to disguise the current topic of their conversation.
"Nice try. While I don't doubt that you do that," Maura said as she looked around them, "head and neck center, remember? You can't exactly hide something like that from someone like me."
"Meh," was Jane's only reply as they left the offices and walked toward the elevator. "Just family stuff. I'm not gonna burden you."
"Alright," Maura said, just a little thankful. She had a burning desire to know Jane, but the idea that she might say the wrong thing in return petrified her.
They walked to Jane's apartment building, only across the street from BMC, and got in her car. On the phone Maura had said that she still was getting to know Boston again, and thus felt it more appropriate that Jane drive. They approached an Audi A4, maybe eight or so years old, and Maura stopped when Jane cut in front of her on the passenger side. Thinking the other woman merely forgot something or was clearing the seat, she stepped aside. Her cheeks warmed when Jane opened the door and waited for her to sit. "Thank you," she said with a grin that laid bare the effects that Jane's chivalry had on her. Jane merely nodded.
"Anywhere special you wanna go?" she asked Maura, and they both fastened their seatbelts.
"Like I said, I haven't had the chance to refamiliarize myself with Boston yet, so I think whatever you pick will be just fine," Maura responded. She folded her hands on her lap, resisting the urge to worry at her ring instead. Was she stressed? Not particularly. Anxious was a better word. And despite her earlier display in the office, Jane's posture suggested none of that, so she resisted the urge to show her own vulnerabilities.
"We'll go to this hotel in Beacon Hill. Fancy schmancy; you'll like it," Dr. Rizzoli stated as she pulled away and onto the busy street, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console.
"Why do you think I like fancy schmancy things?" Maura asked, feigning offense.
"Well, look at you. You dress in fancy clothes, your parents are cultured professors," Jane said, in no way embarrassed by her assumptions.
"You know, I pictured you as the Italian sports car type," Dr. Isles said, gesturing to the car they were in to make a point. She also refused to tell Jane aloud that she might be a little right.
"I am," the other woman replied, with a closed lipped smile on her features. Something about it struck Maura as sad.
"Why don't you drive one, then? You could more than afford it."
Jane thought about the question as she pulled out onto Union Park Street. Not that she didn't have an answer, but whether she should share it with her new friend before they'd had even one libation. What the hell. "When I got this job, I bought my parents a house. My Pop, he hadn't paid his taxes in awhile – because business was so bad and he was barely makin' the house payment every month. Not gonna lie, Maura – I thought about that Gallardo. I thought about it long and hard, days and nights. But I just couldn't do that to them – I couldn't watch them struggle like that while I make the money I do."
"You're a good person, Jane," Maura said, patting the other woman's free hand with her own.
"Well, thanks."
They drove in silence for most of the 30 minute ride to the hotel. "My mother, her family is… independently wealthy. So is my father's, but I have a trust fund. It comes from my mother," Maura stated as they pulled up to the valet, and apparently confession, booth of The 825.
Jane chuckled softly in response. "Oh you fancy, huh?" she said, but she watched the reference fly over Maura 's head. She handed the valet the keys, shrugged in her black trench coat a few times to get comfortable, and waited for her companion to step out of the car.
"Thank you," Maura said to the man who opened her own door. He couldn't have been more than nineteen, but he gracefully accepted nonetheless.
"Ok, so when you walk in, the bar is on your right," Jane instructed.
Maura shivered at the simultaneous sensation of the other woman's breath so near her ear, and the hand placed protectively on the small of her back. For a minute she thought she missed Ian.
They sat at a booth not too far from the counter, though it was eclipsed in shadows. Thus was the aesthetic of The 825 hotel: dimly-lit, lavishly furnished, and quiet. Maura could see why Jane picked this place to get away; it stood as the total antithesis to the hospital where they both worked. With drinks ordered - Maura with a Cabernet, Jane with a vodka cranberry – they dove into the conversation.
"So, Dr. Jane Rizzoli, what made you pick trauma surgery?" feeling especially bold, Maura asked the first question.
Jane sipped her drink before responding. "Truthfully? I like the time crunch. I like the validation that I can perform under pressure. It's like what I do in general, but on crack, you know? Sometimes literally."
The other woman chuckled. Jane watched her honey hair trickle down her shoulders, the perfect light to the milky dark in her glass. "What about you? I know you said that you like the larynx, but is there a story behind that?"
"Sort of. When I was about seven, before I went to boarding school, my father took us to see his father out at the Cape. We had never gone before; they quarreled a lot. But, my grandfather was dying," she paused at the sympathy in Jane's eyes. She wondered if the trauma surgeon even knew it was there. "When we arrived, he was at the home, on a ventilator. I will always remember him lying on that bed, intubated. I didn't feel sadness; I didn't know him. Mostly, I wanted to know all about that tube that filled his lungs with air."
Jane's eyes opened slightly at the indifference in Maura's tone until she hit the part about the obsession with the ventilator. Part of her winced at the callousness of it all, but most of her could relate. She had quite the affinity for gunshot wounds in her own childhood. "Is that why you don't get a trust fund from the Isles family?"
"Yes," Maura said, impressed that Jane remembered. "My grandfather saw to it that my father didn't receive much money after he died. It didn't matter, however. My father did quite well for himself."
"My Pop's business was goin' pretty good at one time, too. Til I was just out of high school, I think. But he drank, and refinanced the house to make renovations. By the time I finished my residency, he owed too much," Jane elaborated on her story from before.
"Do your parents live here in Boston?" Maura asked, swirling the glass in her hand. She liked when her new friend pulled back her lips after a drink, and she liked it when she ran a hand through her wild black hair.
"Just a few minutes outside. I grew up around the harbor, us being Siclian and all, and seeing as that's where my grandparents lived – we kids spent a lot of time with them. But I think it was better for my parents to not live in the city. More quiet, less stress."
"I see. You seem to be very close to your family. Especially with your brother, Frankie."
"I am. Ugh, I think Nina may be in love with him," Jane said in mock-disgust.
Maura laughed. "I think she might be, too."
"What did she say to you?"
"That you two are very handsome. Which is true. But she also told me I was lucky for getting to go see him this morning."
"Ok, ew. Let's stop talking about this. Yes, I am close to my family. My parents and my brothers," Jane said, shaking her head and diverting the conversation.
"Do you see them often? I know we work odd hours," Maura asked. She ran her finger over the rim of her glass as she waited for another.
Jane had bowed out after one. She wished she hadn't, and she wished she hadn't drove, because the day's events crashed around her again. She visibly darkened. "I saw Tommy today," she offered quietly, picking at the top of her stirrer with her fingernail.
"I take it that didn't go well, by your body language."
Jane shrugged.
"Can I ask you a question?" Maura asked before she could stop it from leaving her mouth.
The other woman nodded. "Go for it."
"Why did you change our coffee arrangement to this? Is it because of your meeting with your brother? You sounded perturbed on the phone."
Jane did contemplate not answering, or possibly deflecting. "Yeah. See, my brother Tommy, he's always… struggled. Be it in school, with friends, or with addictions. He used to gamble and drink, and I think he's stopped, but he's in some different kind of trouble now. I want to help him, but I can't, you know? He's got to learn how to solve his own problems."
"That must be hard," said Maura, reaching out and rubbing Jane's wrist.
"Thanks. And he told me about some really shitty things that happened to this guy we knew from our neighborhood, a guy who'd seen enough shit to last a lifetime. He didn't need anymore. It made me sad that when I got out, I couldn't bring the whole block with me. That probably sounds dumb," Jane said as she threw her glass back to catch an ice cube in her mouth.
"I don't think it sounds dumb. I think it sounds noble," Maura offered. She pushed her half-consumed wine glass out of the way.
"Nah, noble's a stretch," Dr. Rizzoli looked to their glasses and then to Maura.
They then spoke of lighter topics for another hour or so, with the two of them exchanging tales of their operating room experience. "I think it's amazing that you did Doctors Without Borders. I don't think I could." Jane commented after a harrowing story about an anesthetic-less tracheotomy Maura performed on a conscious patient.
"I don't think you could either, but not because you're not capable. You're a more than brilliant surgeon, but you would miss Boston too much."
Jane had to admit that would be true. "Why'd you do it?"
"Because I was young and I wanted to help people. I also wanted to get out of the states and make a name for myself not dependent on my parents' laurels. I wanted to be important and I wanted to take a romantic journey far away."
"Was it not? Is that why you came back?"
"It was, and it wasn't. War zones are eerie, soul-emptying places, Jane. I loved the culture, the vibrancy of the people, and I loved helping in whatever way I could. I came back because something simply told me I was done – that I was no longer a good fit for the program there."
"I can respect that. Did you make any friends?"
"A few," Maura answered in a clipped tone.
The suddenness of it threw Jane for a loop. "Any you still keep in contact with?"
"Not really. I met a man there, Ian, and we've talked once since I've returned. I wanted… he and I want different things, I think. And I am learning to accept that."
"Maybe that's why I'm single," Jane laughed softly, but without humor.
"The hours?" Maura asked.
"The drama," Jane answered. "You done?" when she nodded, Jane got up, and offered Maura her hand. "I'll get the drinks, since it's your first time here." When her friend went to protest, she waved her hand in dismissal and paid the tab at the bar.
The night's chill slithered down the both of their backs when they exited the building. It was the type of air that made Jane feel icy and aware. That awareness allowed her to take notice of the man not far from the valet booth smoking a cigarette, not dressed for work, and yet had been there when they entered as well. She committed his face to memory: long and thin, beard growing uniformly except for a patch under his chin. After the valet handed her the keys, she watched him get into a car and pull up right behind them. She pulled out onto the street, glancing every few moments into the rear view mirror, giving him the benefit of the doubt. But when she began to take the long route to Maura's building, her fears were confirmed.
"Hey Maura," she said, still splitting her time between watching the road and her mirror, committing the license plate to memory.
"Yes, Jane?" was the answer.
"Don't freak out, ok, and don't turn around to look, but I'm pretty sure this guy's followin' us," she stated.
Maura's blood ran cold, but she remained skeptical. "How do you know he's following us?"
"Because I've been watching him since we left the hotel."
"Why is he? Does he want money?" Maura wondered aloud.
"No clue. I'm gonna try and lose him," Jane explained. After a series of late right turns, one shoot of the gap, and three circles of the neighborhood, she did just that.
She ushered the both of them out of the car and into the garage elevator with a quick scan of the area.
Maura had flushed in fear and from the feeling of Jane's full front against her back as they walked briskly and together. She breathed a sigh of relief when they ambled into her hallway and stepped to her door. "What was that?" she asked, looking into brown eyes for answers.
"I don't know," Jane said.
"Jane, are you in trouble?" Maura cut her off, placing a hand on her shoulder.
The other woman accepted the touch as a calming gesture. "No, but I don't know what that was all about. Do me a favor?"
Maura looked at her in confusion, her lips pursing. "What is it?"
"Let me pick you up for work tomorrow. That spooked me; I wanna make sure you're ok."
"Ok… I go in at 9 am tomorrow," Maura said, thankful for the suggestion. After such an ordeal, she felt vulnerable, and Jane's offer made her feel safe.
"Perfect. My first surgery isn't til eleven. Routine gallbladder removal. Pick you up around 8:30?"
Despite it being a few minutes later than she preferred, Maura acquiesced. It would still get them to work in plenty of time. "Of course."
"Ok, Maura. Good night, and I'm sorry that that happened to you," Jane said.
"Don't be silly. It wasn't your fault – try to put it out of your mind for tonight. We have bigger fish to fry tomorrow in the operating room anyway," Maura assured her, and Jane smiled until she closed the door behind her. Then her face fell into a menacing glower – Maura's words reminded her of Tommy's earlier that day, and then it hit her: it was his fault that she and Maura had been followed. He had dragged Maura into his mess.
Jane Rizzoli had a few phone calls to make.