It's Only A Matter Of Time [1/1]
Title: It's Only A Matter Of Time
Author: msanimanga [carla]
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Jane Rizzoli/Maura Isles
Rating: T
Words: 791
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm a poor college student.
Summary: Jane is struggling with her thoughts. Drabble.
Author's Note: This is a random piece that came to me the other day, and I thought that I might share it. It's a series of random drabbles, sort of, in one cohesive piece. I may or may not continue it, I'm not sure, it's a mess as it is.
You can't escape it, as much as you want to. Her smile is blinding, and it pulls you in. Her quirks are too much for you to handle…
You make excuses to enter that chilly morgue just to see her, cold and uninviting as it may be, she is the opposite.
There are the common words between you, the usual witty remarks drip from your lips, and her laughter bounces from the walls. You would answer her with jokes forever, if it meant hearing that laugh every moment of every day.
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Your heart skips several beats when she enters the room, and you can't help it when your eyes gravitate to her.
Her hair bounces when she waltzes up to your desk, a cup of hot coffee in her hand and that beautiful smile on her face. All you need in the world, in one package; caffeine, her smile- and her.
It's all you can do to keep from pulling her to you, coffee and all. It's not just the drink in her hand that you want to taste. You let the thought linger in your mind before taking the drink, staring into it as though the fancy foam holds your future. They're not tea leaves, but you can almost see her name for a second.
You're letting yourself hope. She says something about your shirt, and you're sure that she's noticed that it's new.
"Did you dress up for me, Detective?"
You're letting yourself hope.
It's only a matter of time.
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"Do they hurt?"
Of course they hurt. They always hurt. They pulse with an agonizing pain some days. Lately, though, you let her touch them, and they don't hurt.
You let her take your hands, anyway, nestled between hers, in her lap. She can hold them. Nobody is watching. It will be okay, you tell yourself.
She caresses the scars, the rugged shapes that she likened to veins, once.
"Your blood ran through them…" She had said.
"Your life runs through the scars, even now. Through them, but not out of them, Jane. You're alive. Don't let them drain the life from you."
You weren't sure if she was still referring to the scars.
They drain the life from you. They take things from you, all of them. You're afraid to live, for fear of what they will say.
She looks at you now, with that look that says that she's caught you drifting again. Your hands are still in her lap, and you pull them away, taking a moment to touch her cheek.
You stop yourself, though. You can't.
The thought flashes behind your eyes before you can stop it.
What would they say?
You clench your teeth, clench your fists, clamp your eyes shut. You wish that you weren't one of them. You hold yourself back, more than anyone else.
It's only a matter of time.
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You grip the sink, knuckles white and scars searing with pain. The woman in the mirror is downtrodden, broken, falling apart. You're stronger than this, you're Jane fucking Rizzoli.
You've handled so much before, but you can't handle this.
You've been kidnapped, you've faced a serial killer twice, and you face evil every day. Hell, you even survived a bullet through your gut- a hunk of metal heat that you put there yourself.
All it takes is one adorable Medical Examiner to tear you apart.
You know that they all say otherwise, but at this moment, you feel weak. So damn weak, because the tears are welling up again, and she doesn't even know what she's doing to you.
And you can't take the route that you usually do. You can't flare with anger- you can't possibly be angry at her. It's not her fault, it's not her fault that she's so damn perfect, and that you're fighting yourself.
You won't let yourself be happy.
But it's not the happiness that you're running from. It's the hurt. You, of all people, are afraid of getting hurt.
You can handle physical pain, sure, but the thought of emotional pain, the thought of rejection, it kills you.
You'd rather live on the sidelines than lose her. You need a plan. You need to do something, before this need for her consumes you. You always have a plan. You can fix this.
It's only a matter of time.
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It's times like this, in your bed on lonely nights, that it really hits you.
You're falling for her.
As much as you insist that you're not, you can read the signs. You can't control your dreams. When you wake in the night, with her name on your lips, you know that it's only a matter of time.
Author: msanimanga [carla]
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Jane Rizzoli/Maura Isles
Rating: T
Words: 791
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm a poor college student.
Summary: Jane is struggling with her thoughts. Drabble.
Author's Note: This is a random piece that came to me the other day, and I thought that I might share it. It's a series of random drabbles, sort of, in one cohesive piece. I may or may not continue it, I'm not sure, it's a mess as it is.
You can't escape it, as much as you want to. Her smile is blinding, and it pulls you in. Her quirks are too much for you to handle…
You make excuses to enter that chilly morgue just to see her, cold and uninviting as it may be, she is the opposite.
There are the common words between you, the usual witty remarks drip from your lips, and her laughter bounces from the walls. You would answer her with jokes forever, if it meant hearing that laugh every moment of every day.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Your heart skips several beats when she enters the room, and you can't help it when your eyes gravitate to her.
Her hair bounces when she waltzes up to your desk, a cup of hot coffee in her hand and that beautiful smile on her face. All you need in the world, in one package; caffeine, her smile- and her.
It's all you can do to keep from pulling her to you, coffee and all. It's not just the drink in her hand that you want to taste. You let the thought linger in your mind before taking the drink, staring into it as though the fancy foam holds your future. They're not tea leaves, but you can almost see her name for a second.
You're letting yourself hope. She says something about your shirt, and you're sure that she's noticed that it's new.
"Did you dress up for me, Detective?"
You're letting yourself hope.
It's only a matter of time.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Do they hurt?"
Of course they hurt. They always hurt. They pulse with an agonizing pain some days. Lately, though, you let her touch them, and they don't hurt.
You let her take your hands, anyway, nestled between hers, in her lap. She can hold them. Nobody is watching. It will be okay, you tell yourself.
She caresses the scars, the rugged shapes that she likened to veins, once.
"Your blood ran through them…" She had said.
"Your life runs through the scars, even now. Through them, but not out of them, Jane. You're alive. Don't let them drain the life from you."
You weren't sure if she was still referring to the scars.
They drain the life from you. They take things from you, all of them. You're afraid to live, for fear of what they will say.
She looks at you now, with that look that says that she's caught you drifting again. Your hands are still in her lap, and you pull them away, taking a moment to touch her cheek.
You stop yourself, though. You can't.
The thought flashes behind your eyes before you can stop it.
What would they say?
You clench your teeth, clench your fists, clamp your eyes shut. You wish that you weren't one of them. You hold yourself back, more than anyone else.
It's only a matter of time.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
You grip the sink, knuckles white and scars searing with pain. The woman in the mirror is downtrodden, broken, falling apart. You're stronger than this, you're Jane fucking Rizzoli.
You've handled so much before, but you can't handle this.
You've been kidnapped, you've faced a serial killer twice, and you face evil every day. Hell, you even survived a bullet through your gut- a hunk of metal heat that you put there yourself.
All it takes is one adorable Medical Examiner to tear you apart.
You know that they all say otherwise, but at this moment, you feel weak. So damn weak, because the tears are welling up again, and she doesn't even know what she's doing to you.
And you can't take the route that you usually do. You can't flare with anger- you can't possibly be angry at her. It's not her fault, it's not her fault that she's so damn perfect, and that you're fighting yourself.
You won't let yourself be happy.
But it's not the happiness that you're running from. It's the hurt. You, of all people, are afraid of getting hurt.
You can handle physical pain, sure, but the thought of emotional pain, the thought of rejection, it kills you.
You'd rather live on the sidelines than lose her. You need a plan. You need to do something, before this need for her consumes you. You always have a plan. You can fix this.
It's only a matter of time.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It's times like this, in your bed on lonely nights, that it really hits you.
You're falling for her.
As much as you insist that you're not, you can read the signs. You can't control your dreams. When you wake in the night, with her name on your lips, you know that it's only a matter of time.