Rizzoli & Isles Fanfic: "Falling", Maura/Jane, 3/14, M
Title: Falling, part 3/14
Author Name: Becominglight_2
Rating: M for adult themes, eventually NC-17
Category: Romance, Angst
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Jane/ Maura
Summary: It’s scary, it’s new, but Jane is compelled to action. Could it be she’s falling in love? (that would be a yes.)
Spoilers: All of Season 1
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Shame - because I love them! I make no profit from this, so please don’t sue…
Author’s Notes: Rizzoli and Isles rock and I’m dabbling in Fanfiction writing. This is my version of how our lovely ladies get together…
PART 3
"There's something going on!" Mum has been saying all afternoon.
My fault really. I usually grumble and moan my way through such mind numbing chores like back yard clean outs but today I've been especially quiet and she may have caught me grinning to myself as I replay little moments from this morning like Maura smiling, Maura laughing, Maura wiggling in her seat because the pancakes were so delicious.
"Nothing's wrong Ma, drop it will ya!"
"Not until you tell me what it is."
"Ma!"
"You've met someone, haven't you!? You're holding out on your poor mother, who wants nothing more than to see you happy?" Ma hoists a bag of hedge clippings onto her back. Dad steps in to take it from her.
"Let her be, Angela, she'll let us know if there is any young man she wants us to know about."
Bless Dad. A good silent type who feels that prying was prying.
"There is no man, Ma, I promise you." Phew, nicely side stepped and all done without lying.
She moves off, grumbling about how no one ever tells her anything (believe me we tell her pretty much everything because she'll get it out of us somehow be it by snooping through personal diaries or emotional blackmail.) and I gratefully take on the job of hauling wheelbarrows full of old bricks, planks and debris into the bin we've hired out the front of the house. So far I'd managed to get nowhere with my thoughts because I kept slipping into daydreams that involve a pliant, willing Maura Isles. It is hard to tell if it’s this or the physical exertion that leaves me so hot and bothered.
It’s near 4pm when I check my phone and let out a little chuckle feeling tickled by the text I find: “I think Bass misses you.”
"Who is that from?" My mother asks suspiciously as I sit on the back door step.
"It's Maura, Ma." I say quickly exiting the screen.
"Oh." she says disappointed. "Well invite her over for dinner."
I know I said I wanted space to think but I want to see her more, so I dial her number.
"Hey, Jane." She says as she picked up.
"Hey." I say, "Ma asked if you'd like to come to dinner."
"I'd love to."
--
We’re seated side by side. The Rizzoli family is not one for quiet, sedate dinners. It’s loud and rowdy, full of laughter. Frankie and Pa are in the midst of a heated debate over who is the best Redsox player and Ma is getting up and sitting down every few seconds, telling them to shut up because that's what she does when a guest comes to dinner.
"Don't let my family scare you." I whisper patting her leg (I know, I'm totally taking advantage, but can you blame me?)
“Enough already!” Ma is saying “We have a guest and I hardly think she cares about the Redsox.”
“Oh please, Mrs Rizzoli, I don’t mind.”
“Well I do. I tell you, growing up in a household full of baseball fanatics is not easy. And besides I’d rather hear about you. Jane talks about you all the time, you know.”
I groan on the inside. God I feel so transparent. Ma has only met Maura few times but thankfully it’s never lasted long enough for her start asking probing questions about her love life. I’ve warned Maura about Ma’s disconcerting habit of profiling anyone who walks through the door and from the subtle shift in her seat I can tell she’d probably prefer the focus to stay off her.
“So tell me, Maura, do you know who Jane’s new man is?” Ma says ever so casually as she twists the spaghetti onto her spoon.
“Ma!”
“You have a new man!?” Maura turns in her seat to scrutinise me which makes me blush furiously.
“No, I don’t!”
“She’s been moony all day, a great big silly grin on her face. I know the signs. I’m not blind. I just though that you might know who it was.”
“Sorry, Mrs Rizzoli, I don’t”
Ma looks put out. She probably thought she’d been mighty cleaver trying to get the information out of Maura like that. “Well I guess she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
“Ma! I’m right here!”
“And how about you, Maura?” Ma continued as if I didn’t exist. “Seeing anyone?”
“No. No one right now.”
“I know some handsome single men. I’ve been trying to get Jane to agree to have a drink with them but she stubbornly refuses.” She flashes me her despairing ‘I don’t know what to do with you’ look, but brightens suddenly “I should set you up!” The thought seems to make Ma quite gleeful.
“Ma!” I glance to Pa and Frankie only to find them laughing into their napkins, their shoulders shaking with mirth. Poor Maura looks somewhere between panicked and touched. “Ma! Maura doesn’t need you setting her up with your ‘nice’ Italian men!”
“Why not!? Maybe she wants to. Had you though that maybe unlike you, she would like a man in her life, a family?”
I go quiet. I guess the though has occurred to me in that vague, non distinct way thoughts can be like. And until yesterday the answer to that question had not been as significant as it now was. I mean what if she does want a husband, children, a white picket fence. Isn’t that what most women want? I don’t like the thought of that . At all.
“Thank-you, Mrs Rizzoli, I’ll be sure to let you know if I want to be set up.”
Ma beams at her, this promise being more than she’d ever gotten out of me. “Here, have some more spaghetti and meatballs.” She says piling her plate high and slapping Frankie on the hand when he moves in for the fourth helping. “Not if you want a wife, you don’t.”
“Oh really, I couldn’t, Mrs Rizzolie. It was very delicious though, thank-you.”
“Nonsense, you’re like Jane here, a stick, men don’t want a stick, they want something to hold onto, don’t they?” Ma says turning to my Dad.
“Ma!” Frankie and I shout in unison. It’s bad enough that she is mortifying me in front of Maura without planting the idea of my parents in a lovers clinch in our minds.
“I’m sorry about Ma” I say later as Maura and I sit, coffee in hand, on the back porch as the sun sets through the leafy trees of the back yard. It feels like one of those endless summer evenings where the world is good and anything is possible. We’ve drifted out together by some unspoken, symbiotic accord.
“Well sexual relations are very important to maintaining a healthy relationship. That doesn’t change with age.” She says in her matter of fact way.
“Maura!”
“What?”
“I wasn’t just talking about … it was about Ma quizzing you on your love life…” I trail off and look at her looking at me, “You talk about sex a lot, you know that?” I’m remembering that comment about the runner’s high being comparable to orgasm.
“It’s probably because I’m not getting any. I’m becoming fixated.”
“Oh” I’m suddenly robbed of my higher brain functions.
“And I don’t really mind about your mother’s questions. It’s been a very pleasant evening.”
I think she’s thinking of the contrast between our homes. She’s told me of the distance between her and her parents which only sees her home for Christmas and the occasional birthday. I can’t conceive it ever being that way with my family. “Well, I think we can safely assume that she’s adopted you.”
“Really?”
“She force fed you while denying Frank Junior more in the same breath.”
Maura give me one of those breathtaking smiles that light up her entire face.
“I love you family.” she says warmly into her cup.
“You might not say that once you’ve had every eligible Italian man in Boston shoved down your throat.” I chuckle, bumping her shoulder. I feel ridiculously pleased.
“Speaking of men.” Maura says, her eyes lighting up, “Is there something you should be telling me?”
My heart flops because I’m having the terrifying thought of telling her how I feel. I don’t know, to be honest, if I even want to, my mind is still a jumble of thoughts and feelings and mostly this compelling desire to be closer to her. But she’s looking at me in this way she has, with such genuine affection that it makes me feel like I’m the only person present (okay so at this particular point I am the only person present…) and before I realise I find the word’s spilling from my lips.
“There is no man. But there is someone.” I look down into the murky depths of my coffee cup.
“Okay…”
I swear my whole body is breaking out in a sweat, I can feel the fight or flight adrenaline burst into my veins. I can almost hear the clicking of the gears of her mind as she deduces what it is I am saying. She knows it can only be a woman, she knows I have no other female friends but her. She caught me staring most unsubtly at her cleavage last night.
I draw breath.
“It’s you.”
My voice has dropped to a whisper, the words hang between us and I glance up at her both afraid and compelled to know what she’s thinking. We are, in fact, sitting very close, our legs touching and I am taken by the wild desire to kiss her in the same instant that I am aware of how much I’ve just put on the line. Her friendship. Oh God. I could loose her. What if she is disgusted by me, by my declaration? What if she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? Images of a cold, distant Maura assail me, cold like the morgue in the basement of the police station. One where she calls me Detective Rizzoli and would stand a world away from me because the Maura I now know would be shut away, buried by a feeling she not only does not return, but by a feeling she abhors. Stupid, stupid! Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut! She’s staring at me, I can feel her trying to find something to say but failing and the silence is deafening and long in my ears.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Ma opens the door. Beneath her arm is The Book in which lie all the photos of those eligible men. It usually have me jumping up and grabbing my keys. Today, The Book is not for me.
“Maura, come. I have some things to show you.”
Ma goes to sit on the love seat and Maura looks at me. Some sort of unspoken conversation ensues that I only half grasp and then, after hesitating a moment and with a look of apology, Maura sits by my expectant mother who proceeds to extol the many virtues of the men in the photos. I stay where I am, the excited cadence of Ma’s voice drifting into the dusk filled sky. My heart is beating against my rib cage and I feel so exposed. I dare a glance at Maura, who is politely listening, and I’m thinking that no one Ma can present to her can possibly be good enough for the amazing, complex, layered, goofy Dr Maura Isles - probably not even me. I know my thoughts are written so plainly on my face, so when Maura looks up, I escape into the house.
Author Name: Becominglight_2
Rating: M for adult themes, eventually NC-17
Category: Romance, Angst
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Jane/ Maura
Summary: It’s scary, it’s new, but Jane is compelled to action. Could it be she’s falling in love? (that would be a yes.)
Spoilers: All of Season 1
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Shame - because I love them! I make no profit from this, so please don’t sue…
Author’s Notes: Rizzoli and Isles rock and I’m dabbling in Fanfiction writing. This is my version of how our lovely ladies get together…
PART 3
"There's something going on!" Mum has been saying all afternoon.
My fault really. I usually grumble and moan my way through such mind numbing chores like back yard clean outs but today I've been especially quiet and she may have caught me grinning to myself as I replay little moments from this morning like Maura smiling, Maura laughing, Maura wiggling in her seat because the pancakes were so delicious.
"Nothing's wrong Ma, drop it will ya!"
"Not until you tell me what it is."
"Ma!"
"You've met someone, haven't you!? You're holding out on your poor mother, who wants nothing more than to see you happy?" Ma hoists a bag of hedge clippings onto her back. Dad steps in to take it from her.
"Let her be, Angela, she'll let us know if there is any young man she wants us to know about."
Bless Dad. A good silent type who feels that prying was prying.
"There is no man, Ma, I promise you." Phew, nicely side stepped and all done without lying.
She moves off, grumbling about how no one ever tells her anything (believe me we tell her pretty much everything because she'll get it out of us somehow be it by snooping through personal diaries or emotional blackmail.) and I gratefully take on the job of hauling wheelbarrows full of old bricks, planks and debris into the bin we've hired out the front of the house. So far I'd managed to get nowhere with my thoughts because I kept slipping into daydreams that involve a pliant, willing Maura Isles. It is hard to tell if it’s this or the physical exertion that leaves me so hot and bothered.
It’s near 4pm when I check my phone and let out a little chuckle feeling tickled by the text I find: “I think Bass misses you.”
"Who is that from?" My mother asks suspiciously as I sit on the back door step.
"It's Maura, Ma." I say quickly exiting the screen.
"Oh." she says disappointed. "Well invite her over for dinner."
I know I said I wanted space to think but I want to see her more, so I dial her number.
"Hey, Jane." She says as she picked up.
"Hey." I say, "Ma asked if you'd like to come to dinner."
"I'd love to."
--
We’re seated side by side. The Rizzoli family is not one for quiet, sedate dinners. It’s loud and rowdy, full of laughter. Frankie and Pa are in the midst of a heated debate over who is the best Redsox player and Ma is getting up and sitting down every few seconds, telling them to shut up because that's what she does when a guest comes to dinner.
"Don't let my family scare you." I whisper patting her leg (I know, I'm totally taking advantage, but can you blame me?)
“Enough already!” Ma is saying “We have a guest and I hardly think she cares about the Redsox.”
“Oh please, Mrs Rizzoli, I don’t mind.”
“Well I do. I tell you, growing up in a household full of baseball fanatics is not easy. And besides I’d rather hear about you. Jane talks about you all the time, you know.”
I groan on the inside. God I feel so transparent. Ma has only met Maura few times but thankfully it’s never lasted long enough for her start asking probing questions about her love life. I’ve warned Maura about Ma’s disconcerting habit of profiling anyone who walks through the door and from the subtle shift in her seat I can tell she’d probably prefer the focus to stay off her.
“So tell me, Maura, do you know who Jane’s new man is?” Ma says ever so casually as she twists the spaghetti onto her spoon.
“Ma!”
“You have a new man!?” Maura turns in her seat to scrutinise me which makes me blush furiously.
“No, I don’t!”
“She’s been moony all day, a great big silly grin on her face. I know the signs. I’m not blind. I just though that you might know who it was.”
“Sorry, Mrs Rizzoli, I don’t”
Ma looks put out. She probably thought she’d been mighty cleaver trying to get the information out of Maura like that. “Well I guess she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
“Ma! I’m right here!”
“And how about you, Maura?” Ma continued as if I didn’t exist. “Seeing anyone?”
“No. No one right now.”
“I know some handsome single men. I’ve been trying to get Jane to agree to have a drink with them but she stubbornly refuses.” She flashes me her despairing ‘I don’t know what to do with you’ look, but brightens suddenly “I should set you up!” The thought seems to make Ma quite gleeful.
“Ma!” I glance to Pa and Frankie only to find them laughing into their napkins, their shoulders shaking with mirth. Poor Maura looks somewhere between panicked and touched. “Ma! Maura doesn’t need you setting her up with your ‘nice’ Italian men!”
“Why not!? Maybe she wants to. Had you though that maybe unlike you, she would like a man in her life, a family?”
I go quiet. I guess the though has occurred to me in that vague, non distinct way thoughts can be like. And until yesterday the answer to that question had not been as significant as it now was. I mean what if she does want a husband, children, a white picket fence. Isn’t that what most women want? I don’t like the thought of that . At all.
“Thank-you, Mrs Rizzoli, I’ll be sure to let you know if I want to be set up.”
Ma beams at her, this promise being more than she’d ever gotten out of me. “Here, have some more spaghetti and meatballs.” She says piling her plate high and slapping Frankie on the hand when he moves in for the fourth helping. “Not if you want a wife, you don’t.”
“Oh really, I couldn’t, Mrs Rizzolie. It was very delicious though, thank-you.”
“Nonsense, you’re like Jane here, a stick, men don’t want a stick, they want something to hold onto, don’t they?” Ma says turning to my Dad.
“Ma!” Frankie and I shout in unison. It’s bad enough that she is mortifying me in front of Maura without planting the idea of my parents in a lovers clinch in our minds.
“I’m sorry about Ma” I say later as Maura and I sit, coffee in hand, on the back porch as the sun sets through the leafy trees of the back yard. It feels like one of those endless summer evenings where the world is good and anything is possible. We’ve drifted out together by some unspoken, symbiotic accord.
“Well sexual relations are very important to maintaining a healthy relationship. That doesn’t change with age.” She says in her matter of fact way.
“Maura!”
“What?”
“I wasn’t just talking about … it was about Ma quizzing you on your love life…” I trail off and look at her looking at me, “You talk about sex a lot, you know that?” I’m remembering that comment about the runner’s high being comparable to orgasm.
“It’s probably because I’m not getting any. I’m becoming fixated.”
“Oh” I’m suddenly robbed of my higher brain functions.
“And I don’t really mind about your mother’s questions. It’s been a very pleasant evening.”
I think she’s thinking of the contrast between our homes. She’s told me of the distance between her and her parents which only sees her home for Christmas and the occasional birthday. I can’t conceive it ever being that way with my family. “Well, I think we can safely assume that she’s adopted you.”
“Really?”
“She force fed you while denying Frank Junior more in the same breath.”
Maura give me one of those breathtaking smiles that light up her entire face.
“I love you family.” she says warmly into her cup.
“You might not say that once you’ve had every eligible Italian man in Boston shoved down your throat.” I chuckle, bumping her shoulder. I feel ridiculously pleased.
“Speaking of men.” Maura says, her eyes lighting up, “Is there something you should be telling me?”
My heart flops because I’m having the terrifying thought of telling her how I feel. I don’t know, to be honest, if I even want to, my mind is still a jumble of thoughts and feelings and mostly this compelling desire to be closer to her. But she’s looking at me in this way she has, with such genuine affection that it makes me feel like I’m the only person present (okay so at this particular point I am the only person present…) and before I realise I find the word’s spilling from my lips.
“There is no man. But there is someone.” I look down into the murky depths of my coffee cup.
“Okay…”
I swear my whole body is breaking out in a sweat, I can feel the fight or flight adrenaline burst into my veins. I can almost hear the clicking of the gears of her mind as she deduces what it is I am saying. She knows it can only be a woman, she knows I have no other female friends but her. She caught me staring most unsubtly at her cleavage last night.
I draw breath.
“It’s you.”
My voice has dropped to a whisper, the words hang between us and I glance up at her both afraid and compelled to know what she’s thinking. We are, in fact, sitting very close, our legs touching and I am taken by the wild desire to kiss her in the same instant that I am aware of how much I’ve just put on the line. Her friendship. Oh God. I could loose her. What if she is disgusted by me, by my declaration? What if she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? Images of a cold, distant Maura assail me, cold like the morgue in the basement of the police station. One where she calls me Detective Rizzoli and would stand a world away from me because the Maura I now know would be shut away, buried by a feeling she not only does not return, but by a feeling she abhors. Stupid, stupid! Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut! She’s staring at me, I can feel her trying to find something to say but failing and the silence is deafening and long in my ears.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Ma opens the door. Beneath her arm is The Book in which lie all the photos of those eligible men. It usually have me jumping up and grabbing my keys. Today, The Book is not for me.
“Maura, come. I have some things to show you.”
Ma goes to sit on the love seat and Maura looks at me. Some sort of unspoken conversation ensues that I only half grasp and then, after hesitating a moment and with a look of apology, Maura sits by my expectant mother who proceeds to extol the many virtues of the men in the photos. I stay where I am, the excited cadence of Ma’s voice drifting into the dusk filled sky. My heart is beating against my rib cage and I feel so exposed. I dare a glance at Maura, who is politely listening, and I’m thinking that no one Ma can present to her can possibly be good enough for the amazing, complex, layered, goofy Dr Maura Isles - probably not even me. I know my thoughts are written so plainly on my face, so when Maura looks up, I escape into the house.