Series title: Whumptober 2023

Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Jane Rizzoli / Maura Isles

Trigger warnings: Burns, Implied Homophobia, Nakedness, Swearing

A/N: The characters and universe don't belong to me. All rights go to TNT, and everyone involved in the production of Rizzoli and Isles, as well as Tess Gerritsen. Everything else belongs to my twisted imagination.

A/N2: This one-shot (as well as the first of the Whumptober series) belongs to a much bigger multi-chapters story that will be posted next year.

Jane cracked a match and watched the flame consume the tiny wooden stick until it burnt her fingers. She dropped it in the sink. It had been Thatcher's idea to send her upstairs for her to take a bath. If she hadn't gone by herself, Thatcher would have carried her all the way up to the master's bathroom, which would have been much faster and easier than dragging her disabled ass in the stairs. It wasn't the first time she had to walk with crutches (she was used to ankle sprains) but it had never lasted that long. She had been told that her recovery would take time and her own mother had blamed her for not making any effort to get better. She hadn't said anything. She had just withdrawn into herself and refused to talk to anyone for days. After all, they didn't understand. They had no idea what she had gone through in the hands of that psychopath.

The doctors had said that it was a miracle that she was even alive after the wounds she had sustained. She had undergone a lot of surgeries while she was in a coma. They had had to fix her hip, her ribs, her spleen, her lungs, but it was all physical. The scars would forever remind her of what she had survived to. A constant reminder like the white lines in the centre of her palms. Hoyt had only damaged her hands and made a dent in her sanity. It was nothing in comparison to what she had to deal with since she had woken up from weeks of a deep coma. She hadn't remembered at first, and she wished the memories hadn't come back. She wished she couldn't remember. The memories were tormenting her as much as the physical pain the painkillers could only lessen. Maura told her that her pain could be partly psychological. Bullshit.

She cracked another match. She found it fascinating. If Maura had been there, she would have explained the whole functioning of a match and how it could generate fire. But it wasn't the reason why she was cracking all those matches. The flame was bringing her back to her time in captivity. He wasn't using matches. He preferred lighters and cigarettes. The flame died. She let the burnt stick join the others in the sink and cracked another one. The flame danced before her eyes, throwing her back to a moment, months ago, when she was tied to a bed, naked, her sprawled body being a forced offering to a serial rapist and murderer.

"You know, Jane, he taught me everything about his modus operandi. He trained me, you could say. We worked together for a while. He was clever, but he wasn't strong enough to finish the job with Benson. I, on the contrary…"

He switched the lighter on and off, thriving in the fear he could see in her body language. He had used that lighter on her already. He was having fun watching the flame tickle the sole of her feet while she squirmed and screamed in pain. He slipped a cigarette between his lips and lighted it up. He took a few puffs.

"Benson killed him. That's why I'm doing all of this."

"Why me?"

"You fitted the profile of my victims," he shrugged. "And we had a score to settle."

"I should be the one seeking revenge for what you did to me years ago."

"Maybe. But you wouldn't let anything happen to your soon-to be wife, right? That Doctor bitch."

Before she could answer, the cigarette was crushed on her skin, burning it. She gritted her teeth together not to scream. That's what he wanted. She would resist as much as possible.

"You see, Jane, I've felt terribly hurt when you ditched me. I could almost forgive you for dating those men, but a woman? That, I can't."

"They were all a distraction because I wouldn't admit to myself that I was gay. You were a distraction."

"Shut up!"

Her cheek stung. He switched the lighter on and applied the flame on the skin of her arm. Just enough to cause her pain and see a blister pop up. She said nothing, clenched her jaw tight.

"That's too gentle of a punishment for a slut like you. You deserve worse."

He smiled. An idea was forming in his mind. He climbed on the bed, settled between her spread legs, voluntarily pressed on her painful ankle to cause her pain. She whimpered. He was taking a great deal of pleasure to hurt her.

"She's a medical examiner, right? She won't perform the autopsy on you. She's too close to you. But she will read the report for sure. She will want to know. What if we left her a little something?"

She watched in horror as he brought the flame to her inner thighs. It prickled and turned the skin to a bright red, but he didn't stop there. He wanted to leave a permanent mark. She fought against the restraints cutting deeper in her already bruised and bloody wrists and ankles and when he pressed on her ankle, her scream covered the sound of his laugh.

"Jane!"

She blinked. The flame was gone, the decrepit hotel room was too. He was nowhere to be seen. Only the pounding pain between her legs remained. Her hands were gripping the edge of the sink so hard it hurt. Hot tears streamed down her face. Her breathing and heart rate were erratic. She had survived. She was home.

Thatcher had sent her to the bathroom to take a bath because she stank. Ever since she was home, she had spent her time on the couch with Maura pampering her. She hadn't taken a proper shower since leaving the hospital. Maura was sponge bathing her, but it wasn't enough to get rid of the smell of hospital, disinfectant and other medical products used to keep her wounds clean.

The bath was also to help her to relax. She was plagued by nightmares and panic attacks that prevented her to get the rest she needed for her recovery. She had wanted to light some candles and play that Yo-Yo Ma's music Maura was always listening in her bath, but the flame of the matches had brought back a vivid memory of her captivity.

"Jane?"

Maura. She was standing behind her, waiting for her to acknowledge her presence. Maura wouldn't touch her until she gave her the green light. It was like that since she had woken up from her coma. She feared every movement made toward her, every raised voice. She even feared men. Everyone said that it was normal, that it would take time for her to overcome her fear.

Jane gestured to Maura that she touched her. The medical examiner closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Jane's waist. She lay her head on her back and shut her eyes. She didn't say anything. She waited for Jane to speak first, when she would be ready.

"They hurt," she whispered. "The scars, they hurt."

"Which ones?"

She swallowed a sob and placed a trembling hand on Maura's. Which ones? Her body was so scarred that she had to be more precise about the location of her pain. Her hand led Maura's down her abdomen, past her hip, to her thighs until her fingers brushed over the irregular skin through the fabric on her sweatpants.

"Let me see?"

She gave her a shaking nod and pulled down her pants, revealing the scars he had left on her legs. She held her breath when Maura's fingers brushed over them softly. Maura would take care of her, would make sure that she relaxed and forgot about her pain for a moment. And it started with helping her taking that bath...