DISCLAIMER:I do not own Rizzoli & Isles nor any of the characters from the show. I am writing this purely for entertainment, not profit. Rizzoli and Isles are property of Tess Gerritsen and TNT.
Please find the full disclaimers in the beginning of Chapter 1.
Chapter 36
Jane walked up the corridor to her apartment, unlocking the door while trying to keep the pile of correspondences she had picked from the mailbox balanced on top of her backpack.
When she finally reached the kitchen counter, the correspondences spread on top of it. And Jane was moving to her bedroom to change into something comfortable when Maura's known calligraphy caught her eye.
Jane stopped on her heels, picking up the envelope. Yes. It was from Maura.
Jane frowned, opening the drawer for a pair of scissors.
Jane wouldn't admit to anyone, but if she simply ripped open envelopes for everything else, she had the few envelopes and cards and get-well notes from Maura neatly opened and neatly stored. All the ones that she got after the fire consumed everything in her apartment years ago, anyway. The others had unfortunately been consumed by the fire, but they all followed the same pattern. There was something soothing about Maura's flourished calligraphy. It felt beautiful, classical, timeless, intimate, and personal.
Jane was curious, because Maura had been back to work for almost a week now. Her parents had stopped by to visit her on their way back from South America, and found her totally recovered, only her ribs still giving her some trouble.
Jane had been speaking with her daily over video. So Jane was kind of puzzled on what would drive Maura to write a letter to her.
When Jane realized there were multiple pages, she moved to sit in the sofa, even more puzzled than before.
My dear Jane,
it might seem odd that I am writing to you, given we have been speaking over video every day.
But I need the distance created by pen and paper to say what I must say.
And before I begin, I must also ask of you the commitment to one massive condition – to which you must agree, or I should ask you the almost impossible task of not continue reading this letter.
The condition is the following: no matter what I am about to tell you, I ask that you don't let it impact our friendship. It is the most precious thing in the entire world for me, Jane, and if you are not sure about being able to fulfill that condition, as hard as I know what I am about to ask is for you, please stop reading this letter and destroy the rest of it immediately.
Jane paused, shaking her head. This was the end of the first page.
Jane left the pages on the sofa, and moved to her bedroom, to change into more comfortable clothes. She also needed time to think. If it was anyone else writing that, Jane would just keep reading. But this was Maura. And Maura meant everything she said. Including this condition.
Could Jane abide to the condition, commit to it as Maura asked?
What could Maura potentially be saying in the next pages that could be so life altering?
As Jane slipped into her sweatpants and an old t-shirt, she decided to change the angle of the question.
Was there anything, anything that she could read or hear, that would change her friendship with Maura? Jane could almost bet nothing could. Not even when they were apart because of Paddy Doyle's shooting. It didn't change Jane's feelings – just how she chose to demonstrate them – or not demonstrate them in that case.
She sighed, and moved back to the living room, steeling herself for whatever was to come in the upcoming pages.
I take it that, if you are reading this, you were able to commit to the condition I imposed.
I know it sounds one-sided, but I only imposed that condition to you because it is the one condition I can also abide to. I hope you know by now that there is absolutely nothing that you can say to me and that would impact our friendship.
With that solid foundation set – and reinforced – I begin…
One of the things I struggled with after the whole crash survival was trying to understand why I survived.
Not the scientific part – mind you.
But why I was given this second lease in life.
And for that I had to revisit the moment before impact, the moment I realized we were in an emergency situation. Then I thought if I was about to die, I had lived a fulfilling life. And although I had – have – still many things I want to do in life, there was only one regret that came to my mind. And it had to do with you… With never having told you about my feelings.
You are my best friend, Jane.
And I don't have and never had another best friend to compare against.
But I know enough to be sure that you are so much more than 'only' my best friend…
You are the person who sees me, who really sees me for who I am, and around whom I don't pretend to be anything I am not, with whom I can be simply myself.
You are the person I trust unconditionally, the person I count and rely on unconditionally, the person I feel safe with no matter what mayhem and chaos is going on around me.
You are the person who means home to me. Who means peace. And company. And fun. And safety. And protection. And comfort. And strength. And understanding. And love. Unconditional love. All-encompassing love.
I love you, Jane. I love you as a person. As my best friend. And as a woman.
You are impossibly beautiful, and smart, and witty, and strong, and if I am really honest with myself, I have felt attracted to and mesmerized by you since the very first time I saw you.
It never got in the way of our friendship. And it never will.
But I needed you to know, because if and when my time comes, I don't want to have one single regret that involves you.
If you never bring up this letter, I will never bring it up myself.
As I mentioned, I needed the distance of pen and paper to let you know what I feel without placing any pressure on you to feel you need to respond to it in any way. I don't expect you to.
Thank you for being my person, Jane.
M.
Jane sat there, half-stunned.
Maura felt the same about her as Jane felt about Maura? Could it that be that simple?
At first Jane scrambled to get to her phone, but then reality hit her like a freight train.
Jane couldn't do that. She couldn't.
