Wicked Games Chapter 5 - Razor Sharp, Razor Clean
Chapter 5 - Razor Sharp, Razor Clean
A/N: See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings. Sex later, cursing and such now.
“She’s not going to put out on the first date.” I don’t know why I feel the need to tell Dean this, but I do. I’m perched on the edge of his desk, a foot balanced on the arm of his chair.
Dean leans back, looking smug as always. “Why Agent Rizzoli, I do believe you have a little crush on our pretty young friend. How sweet.”
He’s taking her to a play tomorrow night, something suitably obscure and vaguely erotic. It was all she could talk about this morning. Fuck me.
“Please, she’s a fucking child. I’m just warning you that this bet isn’t going to be as easy as you think.” I push him away a bit with my foot, and he smirks. “Maura and I, we’ve gotten-” I pause, let it hang in the air. “Close.”
Being Maura’s fake best friend definitely comes with perks. Saturday night I actually slept in her guest bedroom instead of on the couch. I’d never waste the fuck-loads of money that crazy ass mattress must have cost, but it did feel fucking awesome. Having her fetch me croissants in the morning wasn’t awful either.
“Your point being?” He sits up abruptly and shoves my foot away.
“The point being that she’s not going to jump into bed with you without running it by her best friend.”
He twirls a pen through his fingers, considering. “But her best friend isn’t allowed to say anything about me.”
I adjust myself on the desk, leaning forward to get in his face. “I’m not allowed to tell her you’re a creepy mother-fucking asshole. Doesn’t mean I can’t tell her not to sleep with you.”
“Fair point. But if I find out that you’ve said anything, let’s see, how should I put this...” he fiddles some more with that fucking pen. “Derogatory. Say anything derogatory about me and you lose by default.” He leans in even closer, so I can see the individual pores and faint lines under his eyes. “Don’t worry, Jane, you’re going to like losing. You get to watch me fuck your little friend, and then the things I’m going to do to you, well,” he pauses, smirks, “I’m going to make your body feel things you didn’t even know were possible.”
Gag me. “You mean like the sensation of projectile vomiting during intercourse?”
He laughs, that fucking smug little laugh. “You don’t know what you’re missing. All those muffs you’ve been diving into, when’s the last time anyone actually got you off?”
Way, way too fucking long, but he doesn’t have to fucking know that. “You’re just jealous I get more snatch than you. I hope you’re keeping that bike of yours in mint condition for me. It’s gonna look great under my ass.”
“And what a fine ass it is,” he says smoothly. “So tell me, what have you and Maura gotten up to during these sleepovers of yours? Pillow fights in bras and panties?”
“A lady never tells,” I say, batting my eyelashes.
“Good thing you’re not a lady, then. I bet you’re just dying to fuck her, aren’t you?” He’s speaking softly, but not softly enough for this kind of shit in the office.
“Knock it the fuck off, Dean.”
He leans back again, and he’s moved close enough towards me that when he raises a leg onto the desk it rests between my spread thighs. “I don’t care what you do with her. Have at it. There’s plenty to go around.”
I shove his shoe away with a hard push, sending his chair backwards. “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?”
“Tell me, has she spilled her guts to you yet? Told you that you’re the best friend she’s ever had?”
She doesn’t need to. It’s written all over her fucking face.
I look over to Maura’s corner and there she is, pressed up close to her monitor as always. She’s absently twirling a tight curl of hair at the back of her neck.
“Don’t tell me you’re going soft. We are who we are, Rizzoli. Embrace it.” Dean follows my gaze, and if it was anyone but Maura I’d worry that she’d feel the two sets of eyes fixed onto her back. “She is a pretty little thing, and you would definitely be striking together. Be sure to take some video for me if you decide to partake.”
Of course now all I can fucking think about is me on top of Maura, my hands wrapped tightly through her hair, pulling her head back to expose that long pale neck, sucking under her ear until she moans and arches up against me and - fuck.
“You’re a little flushed there Agent,” he says, getting up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised Maura we’d have lunch together today.”
“That sounds just dandy,” I say, sliding off the desk. “I think I’ll join you. I’m sure Maura would love for her best friend to be there as well.”
********************************************************
Dean suggests we ‘enjoy the city’ during our lunch break, so we walk a couple of blocks over to a froufy café that serves fucking whole grains and free range chicken, raised lovingly by hand and blah blah fucking blah killed with an ax and served. Maura seems to like it though. She’s explaining something about the benefits of fucking flax seeds and Dean is giving his best take on looking fucking enraptured.
Maura wants to sit outside since it’s ‘such a nice day.’ I swear she’s trying to kill me, it’s gotta be eighty fucking degrees in the shade. There’s a light breeze and the air isn’t quite as chokingly thick as usual, so it’s almost tolerable. Dean and I almost crash into each other trying to sit next to her but it’s moot, Maura’s filled the seat beside her with her fucking giant handbag. God forbid it touch the fucking ground.
“So Maura, how’s your project coming along?” Dean asks.
She is, of course, fucking delighted to talk about her beloved algorithms. “Very well! I’ve finished the calibration process and started running training data through the support vector machine. It will take several more days to finish building the classifier, but-“
Dean’s getting into it with her, and I’m pretty sure he’s been fucking practicing his Maura-speak because he’s talking about kernel functions like he’s knows what the fuck they are.
I tune out the science shit and watch her talk. Her hands are animated, circling in fast excited movements that mirror the expression on her face. I’ve been outside five fucking minutes and I can already feel sweat beading on my face and my shirt sticking to my back but she looks untouched by the heat, skin as fucking smooth and perfect as ever. Maura’s body is a mystery to me - how is it possible that her hair is always just so, her skin looks permanently airbrushed and she always smells nice? It’s fucking weird.
“I hear you and Jane have been spending a lot of time together,” Dean says. “Has she told you about her carpet collection yet?”
I whip around so fast the piece of cruelty-free meat on my fork flies off and lands halfway across the table. What the fuck did he just say?
“No!” Maura says. “What an interesting hobby Jane, how did you get into it?”
I don’t have a fucking clue what to say, but Dean doesn’t give me a chance. “She started collecting when she moved down here. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about it, she’s a very avid collector. Spends nearly all her weekends working on it, devouring any bit of rug she can find.” He is completely straight-faced, which I have to give him props for. Even if he is a fucking asshole.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Maura says. “Do you seek out specific textiles? Antiques?”
Antique rug munching; now there’s an unnecessary mental image. “Um, no, I like all kinds. You know, different colors, styles.” I consider my recent conquests. Yep, plenty of variety. “But I prefer short trim. Not a fan of the shag rug.”
Dean chokes on his sandwich. Point Rizzoli.
“Oh...” Maura’s brow is furrowed. “That must limit your collection, so many rugs have longer lengths.”
She’s not wrong.
“What sort of carpet do you prefer, Maura?” Dean asks. He rests a hand on my thigh, giving it a light squeeze.
“Well,” she says, “I admit I haven’t given it much thought, beyond color and plushness. In general, I prefer hardwood. Are you okay Jane?”
I’m fine, just about to fucking lose it. “Sure, sure. I like a good hardwood too, now and again. Nice to have something firm for a change.” I clap a hand over Dean’s and squeeze hard. “Don’t you agree, Dean?”
“No. Strict carpet man myself.”
“How interesting,” Maura says. “I wouldn’t have imagined either of you would take such an interest in flooring. Will you show me your collection sometime Jane?”
“Oh I don’t think she will,” Dean answers for me. “Jane keeps her hobby very close to the chest. I’ve been trying to get her to share it with me for years now, but she’s very protective of her carpets.”
Fucking hell, I need to change the subject before he starts talking about what a cunning linguist I am.
“Right. So this system you’re working on Maura.” Dean pulls his hand out from under mine. “When it works, you’ll be able to trace any sample back to a particular supply, right?” She nods. “So theoretically, you could take someone’s drug sample and figure out where their drugs came from?” I turn my head at Dean and he’s smirking, amused.
“Yes, I suppose you could, depending on the contents of the drug sample.” Maura’s got her head tilted up a bit and I can see her silently working through the problem. “A blood test would be the easiest to extract a usable sample from, but those are rarely performed. That’s not an application of the research I’ve considered, how would you use those results?” She sounds genuinely interested, cause, yeah, Maura’s fucking interested in everything.
I drag the tip of my shoe up Dean’s calf. “I can think of a lot of uses for it. Say, for example, you’ve got seized drugs that are disappearing. You could find the crooked cop that’s dipping into the evidence.”
Maura looks stricken. “Oh no, does that really happen?”
“All the time. Right Dean?”
His expression is impassive, completely deadpan, but he’s shoving his leg hard against mine in a bizarre sort of tug-of-war. “Sadly yes, it has been known to happen. Most cops, and agents for that matter, are entirely above board. But there are always some bad apples in the bunch, unscrupulous people who don’t deserve the power they’ve been given.” He cocks his head and looks at me. “Damaged people.”
I kick out sharply, smacking his leg off of mine, and he jumps a bit in his chair. Damaged my ass, at least I’m not a fucking drug addict and part-time psychopath.
Maura frowns. “But why would someone like that go into law enforcement? I don’t understand why a person would go into the field of upholding the law if they intend to break it themselves.” She pauses, considering her own words. “Oh, I see. From that position of authority a criminal could significantly lower their risk of detection and prosecution. What a disheartening idea.”
Someone give the girl a fucking medal. Jesus fucking Christ.
Dean leans in, catching and holding Maura in his gaze. “Maura, have you ever been around someone who you just knew, without any hard evidence, was guilty? A bad seed, if you will, through and through?”
She freezes for a moment in thought, the breeze swirling her curls gently around her face. “I...I’m not sure I understand the question. I’ve never been in a position to assess an individual’s guilt or innocence.”
Where the fuck is he going with this?
“I mean morally guilty, Maura. People that would hurt you and never think twice about it. Evil, to put it bluntly. People like that, you can sense them. They make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.” He’s staring at her, gauging her response, and it’s making the hair on the back of my fucking neck stand up.
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that.” She’s biting her lip, probably worried that this is the wrong answer on whatever fucked up test Dean is administering.
It’s the perfect answer. “Then you need to be more aware, Maura. Pay attention to the people around you. You’re a kind, caring person and people will try and take advantage of that. Keep your guard up.”
Maura laughs nervously and Dean moves to put a comforting hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just worry. You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Says the man who wants to fuck her up the ass so he can fuck me. This is so fucking wrong
“Well, I have you and Jane to protect me, right?” She’s looking at me with those big shining eyes and I feel my lunch coming back up in my throat. She trusts you, Janie.
“Yeah, Maura,” I answer and my voice is a notch rougher than usual. “You’ve got us.”
Dean’s grinning and he knows, he fucking knows what this is doing to me. “Jane and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The wind kicks up, interrupting this fucking creepy conversation and sending Maura’s napkin sailing off the table onto the sidewalk. We both jump up to get it but Dean is faster, chasing after and grabbing it on the ground near her feet. She smiles and thanks him demurely and he goes inside to get her another. Gag me.
“Jane, you’re not, um, involved with Agent Dean, are you?” She’s looking at me hopefully, and fuck, why does she have to be so fucking dense?
“Nope. Just friends.”
Maura looks relieved. “Oh good, I certainly don’t want to put myself in the middle of something. I’m not very good at reading these situations, but I think Gabriel might consider the play tomorrow night to be a date.”
“That’s entirely possible.” Maybe when he tries to fucking grope her at intermission she’ll be sure. That oughta be enough hard fucking evidence for her.
Dean comes back with a fresh napkin and everyone’s all smiles. Mine is so wide and fake that it hurts my face.
********************************************************
It’s either very late or very early, depending on how you look at it. Either way it’s very fucking something, and I’m not sleeping. Fuck sleep anyway, it’s not like it ever makes me feel rested.
The sun’s just coming up and it’s still cool outside. Goosebumps prickle my arms as I head off, running down the empty sidewalk. Actual running, not that fucking long distance shit that Maura likes. We ran for an hour yesterday and she spent half of it trying to fucking change my stride, and of course she was right, it did feel better. Landing on the front of my foot and kicking my legs back high behind me, it felt easy. But I don’t want it to feel fucking easy this morning, I want to feel empty.
I’m pounding down hard, beating the concrete with my feet and slamming my arms back and forth, punching the air.
I don’t want to fucking care about anything. I don’t want to fucking feel anything.
I don’t want to fucking care about Maura.
The blocks of monotone office buildings and high-rise apartments whip past me, and there’s nothing here besides white buildings and gray skies. My breath is coming faster, my feet and legs going numb beneath me.
My body is begging me to stop. I can hear my blood pulsing, my heart hammering, harsh breaths against the back of my throat whipping it raw. Run fucking faster.
The Maura who smiles up at me with happy, innocent eyes blurs with the Maura in my dreams that I beat bloody night after night. Run fucking faster.
My foot catches on an uneven patch of sidewalk and for a moment I’m airborne, the sky tilting and the ground rushing up to meet me and then I’m down. For a moment I lay stunned and then the pain snaps me out of it, stinging wetness on my knees and a sharp ache through my elbows and forearms. I roll myself over and there’s blood on my palms, fresh scratches ringing old scars. I lay there, staring up at the colorless sky, and laugh.
A/N: Thanks to the brilliant Conoro28 for the beta. And thanks to all of you who have reviewed/commented so far, it means a lot.
A/N: See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings. Sex later, cursing and such now.
“She’s not going to put out on the first date.” I don’t know why I feel the need to tell Dean this, but I do. I’m perched on the edge of his desk, a foot balanced on the arm of his chair.
Dean leans back, looking smug as always. “Why Agent Rizzoli, I do believe you have a little crush on our pretty young friend. How sweet.”
He’s taking her to a play tomorrow night, something suitably obscure and vaguely erotic. It was all she could talk about this morning. Fuck me.
“Please, she’s a fucking child. I’m just warning you that this bet isn’t going to be as easy as you think.” I push him away a bit with my foot, and he smirks. “Maura and I, we’ve gotten-” I pause, let it hang in the air. “Close.”
Being Maura’s fake best friend definitely comes with perks. Saturday night I actually slept in her guest bedroom instead of on the couch. I’d never waste the fuck-loads of money that crazy ass mattress must have cost, but it did feel fucking awesome. Having her fetch me croissants in the morning wasn’t awful either.
“Your point being?” He sits up abruptly and shoves my foot away.
“The point being that she’s not going to jump into bed with you without running it by her best friend.”
He twirls a pen through his fingers, considering. “But her best friend isn’t allowed to say anything about me.”
I adjust myself on the desk, leaning forward to get in his face. “I’m not allowed to tell her you’re a creepy mother-fucking asshole. Doesn’t mean I can’t tell her not to sleep with you.”
“Fair point. But if I find out that you’ve said anything, let’s see, how should I put this...” he fiddles some more with that fucking pen. “Derogatory. Say anything derogatory about me and you lose by default.” He leans in even closer, so I can see the individual pores and faint lines under his eyes. “Don’t worry, Jane, you’re going to like losing. You get to watch me fuck your little friend, and then the things I’m going to do to you, well,” he pauses, smirks, “I’m going to make your body feel things you didn’t even know were possible.”
Gag me. “You mean like the sensation of projectile vomiting during intercourse?”
He laughs, that fucking smug little laugh. “You don’t know what you’re missing. All those muffs you’ve been diving into, when’s the last time anyone actually got you off?”
Way, way too fucking long, but he doesn’t have to fucking know that. “You’re just jealous I get more snatch than you. I hope you’re keeping that bike of yours in mint condition for me. It’s gonna look great under my ass.”
“And what a fine ass it is,” he says smoothly. “So tell me, what have you and Maura gotten up to during these sleepovers of yours? Pillow fights in bras and panties?”
“A lady never tells,” I say, batting my eyelashes.
“Good thing you’re not a lady, then. I bet you’re just dying to fuck her, aren’t you?” He’s speaking softly, but not softly enough for this kind of shit in the office.
“Knock it the fuck off, Dean.”
He leans back again, and he’s moved close enough towards me that when he raises a leg onto the desk it rests between my spread thighs. “I don’t care what you do with her. Have at it. There’s plenty to go around.”
I shove his shoe away with a hard push, sending his chair backwards. “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?”
“Tell me, has she spilled her guts to you yet? Told you that you’re the best friend she’s ever had?”
She doesn’t need to. It’s written all over her fucking face.
I look over to Maura’s corner and there she is, pressed up close to her monitor as always. She’s absently twirling a tight curl of hair at the back of her neck.
“Don’t tell me you’re going soft. We are who we are, Rizzoli. Embrace it.” Dean follows my gaze, and if it was anyone but Maura I’d worry that she’d feel the two sets of eyes fixed onto her back. “She is a pretty little thing, and you would definitely be striking together. Be sure to take some video for me if you decide to partake.”
Of course now all I can fucking think about is me on top of Maura, my hands wrapped tightly through her hair, pulling her head back to expose that long pale neck, sucking under her ear until she moans and arches up against me and - fuck.
“You’re a little flushed there Agent,” he says, getting up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised Maura we’d have lunch together today.”
“That sounds just dandy,” I say, sliding off the desk. “I think I’ll join you. I’m sure Maura would love for her best friend to be there as well.”
********************************************************
Dean suggests we ‘enjoy the city’ during our lunch break, so we walk a couple of blocks over to a froufy café that serves fucking whole grains and free range chicken, raised lovingly by hand and blah blah fucking blah killed with an ax and served. Maura seems to like it though. She’s explaining something about the benefits of fucking flax seeds and Dean is giving his best take on looking fucking enraptured.
Maura wants to sit outside since it’s ‘such a nice day.’ I swear she’s trying to kill me, it’s gotta be eighty fucking degrees in the shade. There’s a light breeze and the air isn’t quite as chokingly thick as usual, so it’s almost tolerable. Dean and I almost crash into each other trying to sit next to her but it’s moot, Maura’s filled the seat beside her with her fucking giant handbag. God forbid it touch the fucking ground.
“So Maura, how’s your project coming along?” Dean asks.
She is, of course, fucking delighted to talk about her beloved algorithms. “Very well! I’ve finished the calibration process and started running training data through the support vector machine. It will take several more days to finish building the classifier, but-“
Dean’s getting into it with her, and I’m pretty sure he’s been fucking practicing his Maura-speak because he’s talking about kernel functions like he’s knows what the fuck they are.
I tune out the science shit and watch her talk. Her hands are animated, circling in fast excited movements that mirror the expression on her face. I’ve been outside five fucking minutes and I can already feel sweat beading on my face and my shirt sticking to my back but she looks untouched by the heat, skin as fucking smooth and perfect as ever. Maura’s body is a mystery to me - how is it possible that her hair is always just so, her skin looks permanently airbrushed and she always smells nice? It’s fucking weird.
“I hear you and Jane have been spending a lot of time together,” Dean says. “Has she told you about her carpet collection yet?”
I whip around so fast the piece of cruelty-free meat on my fork flies off and lands halfway across the table. What the fuck did he just say?
“No!” Maura says. “What an interesting hobby Jane, how did you get into it?”
I don’t have a fucking clue what to say, but Dean doesn’t give me a chance. “She started collecting when she moved down here. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about it, she’s a very avid collector. Spends nearly all her weekends working on it, devouring any bit of rug she can find.” He is completely straight-faced, which I have to give him props for. Even if he is a fucking asshole.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Maura says. “Do you seek out specific textiles? Antiques?”
Antique rug munching; now there’s an unnecessary mental image. “Um, no, I like all kinds. You know, different colors, styles.” I consider my recent conquests. Yep, plenty of variety. “But I prefer short trim. Not a fan of the shag rug.”
Dean chokes on his sandwich. Point Rizzoli.
“Oh...” Maura’s brow is furrowed. “That must limit your collection, so many rugs have longer lengths.”
She’s not wrong.
“What sort of carpet do you prefer, Maura?” Dean asks. He rests a hand on my thigh, giving it a light squeeze.
“Well,” she says, “I admit I haven’t given it much thought, beyond color and plushness. In general, I prefer hardwood. Are you okay Jane?”
I’m fine, just about to fucking lose it. “Sure, sure. I like a good hardwood too, now and again. Nice to have something firm for a change.” I clap a hand over Dean’s and squeeze hard. “Don’t you agree, Dean?”
“No. Strict carpet man myself.”
“How interesting,” Maura says. “I wouldn’t have imagined either of you would take such an interest in flooring. Will you show me your collection sometime Jane?”
“Oh I don’t think she will,” Dean answers for me. “Jane keeps her hobby very close to the chest. I’ve been trying to get her to share it with me for years now, but she’s very protective of her carpets.”
Fucking hell, I need to change the subject before he starts talking about what a cunning linguist I am.
“Right. So this system you’re working on Maura.” Dean pulls his hand out from under mine. “When it works, you’ll be able to trace any sample back to a particular supply, right?” She nods. “So theoretically, you could take someone’s drug sample and figure out where their drugs came from?” I turn my head at Dean and he’s smirking, amused.
“Yes, I suppose you could, depending on the contents of the drug sample.” Maura’s got her head tilted up a bit and I can see her silently working through the problem. “A blood test would be the easiest to extract a usable sample from, but those are rarely performed. That’s not an application of the research I’ve considered, how would you use those results?” She sounds genuinely interested, cause, yeah, Maura’s fucking interested in everything.
I drag the tip of my shoe up Dean’s calf. “I can think of a lot of uses for it. Say, for example, you’ve got seized drugs that are disappearing. You could find the crooked cop that’s dipping into the evidence.”
Maura looks stricken. “Oh no, does that really happen?”
“All the time. Right Dean?”
His expression is impassive, completely deadpan, but he’s shoving his leg hard against mine in a bizarre sort of tug-of-war. “Sadly yes, it has been known to happen. Most cops, and agents for that matter, are entirely above board. But there are always some bad apples in the bunch, unscrupulous people who don’t deserve the power they’ve been given.” He cocks his head and looks at me. “Damaged people.”
I kick out sharply, smacking his leg off of mine, and he jumps a bit in his chair. Damaged my ass, at least I’m not a fucking drug addict and part-time psychopath.
Maura frowns. “But why would someone like that go into law enforcement? I don’t understand why a person would go into the field of upholding the law if they intend to break it themselves.” She pauses, considering her own words. “Oh, I see. From that position of authority a criminal could significantly lower their risk of detection and prosecution. What a disheartening idea.”
Someone give the girl a fucking medal. Jesus fucking Christ.
Dean leans in, catching and holding Maura in his gaze. “Maura, have you ever been around someone who you just knew, without any hard evidence, was guilty? A bad seed, if you will, through and through?”
She freezes for a moment in thought, the breeze swirling her curls gently around her face. “I...I’m not sure I understand the question. I’ve never been in a position to assess an individual’s guilt or innocence.”
Where the fuck is he going with this?
“I mean morally guilty, Maura. People that would hurt you and never think twice about it. Evil, to put it bluntly. People like that, you can sense them. They make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.” He’s staring at her, gauging her response, and it’s making the hair on the back of my fucking neck stand up.
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that.” She’s biting her lip, probably worried that this is the wrong answer on whatever fucked up test Dean is administering.
It’s the perfect answer. “Then you need to be more aware, Maura. Pay attention to the people around you. You’re a kind, caring person and people will try and take advantage of that. Keep your guard up.”
Maura laughs nervously and Dean moves to put a comforting hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just worry. You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Says the man who wants to fuck her up the ass so he can fuck me. This is so fucking wrong
“Well, I have you and Jane to protect me, right?” She’s looking at me with those big shining eyes and I feel my lunch coming back up in my throat. She trusts you, Janie.
“Yeah, Maura,” I answer and my voice is a notch rougher than usual. “You’ve got us.”
Dean’s grinning and he knows, he fucking knows what this is doing to me. “Jane and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The wind kicks up, interrupting this fucking creepy conversation and sending Maura’s napkin sailing off the table onto the sidewalk. We both jump up to get it but Dean is faster, chasing after and grabbing it on the ground near her feet. She smiles and thanks him demurely and he goes inside to get her another. Gag me.
“Jane, you’re not, um, involved with Agent Dean, are you?” She’s looking at me hopefully, and fuck, why does she have to be so fucking dense?
“Nope. Just friends.”
Maura looks relieved. “Oh good, I certainly don’t want to put myself in the middle of something. I’m not very good at reading these situations, but I think Gabriel might consider the play tomorrow night to be a date.”
“That’s entirely possible.” Maybe when he tries to fucking grope her at intermission she’ll be sure. That oughta be enough hard fucking evidence for her.
Dean comes back with a fresh napkin and everyone’s all smiles. Mine is so wide and fake that it hurts my face.
********************************************************
It’s either very late or very early, depending on how you look at it. Either way it’s very fucking something, and I’m not sleeping. Fuck sleep anyway, it’s not like it ever makes me feel rested.
The sun’s just coming up and it’s still cool outside. Goosebumps prickle my arms as I head off, running down the empty sidewalk. Actual running, not that fucking long distance shit that Maura likes. We ran for an hour yesterday and she spent half of it trying to fucking change my stride, and of course she was right, it did feel better. Landing on the front of my foot and kicking my legs back high behind me, it felt easy. But I don’t want it to feel fucking easy this morning, I want to feel empty.
I’m pounding down hard, beating the concrete with my feet and slamming my arms back and forth, punching the air.
I don’t want to fucking care about anything. I don’t want to fucking feel anything.
I don’t want to fucking care about Maura.
The blocks of monotone office buildings and high-rise apartments whip past me, and there’s nothing here besides white buildings and gray skies. My breath is coming faster, my feet and legs going numb beneath me.
My body is begging me to stop. I can hear my blood pulsing, my heart hammering, harsh breaths against the back of my throat whipping it raw. Run fucking faster.
The Maura who smiles up at me with happy, innocent eyes blurs with the Maura in my dreams that I beat bloody night after night. Run fucking faster.
My foot catches on an uneven patch of sidewalk and for a moment I’m airborne, the sky tilting and the ground rushing up to meet me and then I’m down. For a moment I lay stunned and then the pain snaps me out of it, stinging wetness on my knees and a sharp ache through my elbows and forearms. I roll myself over and there’s blood on my palms, fresh scratches ringing old scars. I lay there, staring up at the colorless sky, and laugh.
A/N: Thanks to the brilliant Conoro28 for the beta. And thanks to all of you who have reviewed/commented so far, it means a lot.