Wicked Games Chapter 2 - You're So Tragedy
Chapter 2 - You’re So Tragedy
A/N: See chapter 1 for disclaimers and notes. Sex comes later, but for now there’s lots of swearing and taking the lord’s name in vain.
I’m only at my desk a few minutes before Dean leans over my shoulder. Fuck my life.
“Burning the mid-day oil Rizzoli?” Fucking sarcastic asshole.
I don’t bother glancing up from my screen. “Are you questioning my work schedule, Agent Dean? Would you like to launch an IG investigation?”
He snorts. “The Inspector General can go fuck himself. By all means, Rizzoli, waste as much taxpayer money as you can. But I’ve been waiting for you to get here. There’s something you’re going to want to see.”
I stare straight ahead, pretending to be absorbed in my report. “Another picture of your dick? Oh wait, that’s right, it’s too small to show up on film.” I tilt my head just so, working that coquettish angle that drives Dean crazy.
He shoves a raised middle finger at my face but his smirk doesn’t waver. “No, it’s the new chick. She’s like a little kewpie doll, you’ve gotta see it.”
Oh great, another bimbo for Dean to fuck. “They got a new admin to replace the last one you broke?” I ask. Dean’s string of conquests has kept our squad secretary-free for the past month. At least I won’t have to do a shit ton of extra paper work while the new one lasts.
“Nah, she’s some kind of doctor. She does freaky genetic coding shit. They’ve got her in DC for a few months to track where the junk from our major cases comes from.”
Well that sounds like a colossal waste of time. “Gee, I hope her samples don’t cut into your supply. So where’s the doctor-doll at?”
“Boss Man’s supposed to bring her around to meet the force at 10.” I glance at my clock; it’s 9:59. “So get ready to meet FBI Barbie in 3, 2, 1...”
Dean trails off and I see her come out of Boss Man’s office. She’s...is she actually giggling? She’s either flirting, sucking up or just an idiot, because Boss Man is not funny. Not even a little bit. She turns her head to respond to something he’s said and golden blonde curls out of a shampoo commercial bounce around her shoulders. They’re walking closer now and I get a good, long look at her. Fuck me, she really is a doll. She’s all wide eyes and white skin and soft curves. Her dress is pale pink and honest to god, she has fucking frilly sleeves. They’re ruffled like those ankle socks Ma used to make me wear as a kid. You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I glance back at Dean and he’s staring her down, a wolf enjoying the view of its prey. The girl is hair-bouncing her way down the aisle of cubicles with Boss Man, shaking hands and small talking. Her giggles and perfume in the air are hypnotic. She has no idea what she’s walking into.
Dean’s whisper is low, menacing. “Wait till she turns around. She’s got an ass like a Playboy bunny.”
She walks closer to us, and I catch her gaze and hold it as she enters my space. Her smile falters a bit and I can see her swallow, hard. The bunny has realized the wolves are near. Good.
Boss Man takes the lead and steers her in. “Rizzoli, Dean. Meet Dr. Maura Isles, head of the genomics research lab at Harvard.” Shit, Dr. Bunny is from Boston? “Dr. Isles is here for the next four months advising the drug team on new forensic methods. She’ll also be helping out the lab at Quantico.” Boss Man claps a hand over Dean’s shoulder. “Now play nice, kids.”
The doc leans forward, angling herself into my cube to shake my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Rizzoli. I look forward to working with you.” Her lean puts an ample amount of boob in my face. It is not a horrible view.
Her palm is sweaty in mine. I flash my biggest, toothiest smile and her face visibly relaxes. “Back atcha. It’s going to be a super fun summer!” My voice is dripping with sarcasm, because, yeah, I’m an asshole.
Except she doesn’t look wounded, or scared, or even confused. “Yes, I think it will be! I’ve been hoping to put my research to practical effect for several years now, this is very exciting!” She’s beaming, and still clasping my hand. What the fuck, aren’t people from Harvard supposed to be smart?
Dean is coughing to cover his laughter. Boss Man pulls the girl away from me with a warning glare and Dean gives her his best, Upstanding FBI Agent smile and handshake. Fucking suck up.
The pair moves away from us, and when they’re safely out of earshot I ask the obvious question. “What the fuck was that? Was she playing with me, or is she actually that fucking dense?”
Dean laughs. “You should’ve seen your face. Classic.” He pauses, considering. “I don’t think she was playing with you. She’s just very...” He trails off, his smile widening like the creepy bastard he is. “Very, very trusting. I think you were right, this is going to be a super fun summer.” He mimics my cheerleader tone and twirls a finger through the air.
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I’m eating my lunch at one of the picnic tables on the tiny deck off the cafeteria. In yet another baffling design move, the cafeteria is on the eighth floor. Oh, and only half the elevators go past the seventh floor. I didn’t find the damn thing for my first three months here. It’s hotter than hell, of course, but since nobody else is suicidal enough to roast themselves out here I have it to myself.
Until Dean drops his ass on the bench, inches from me. Even though there’s nothing but space around us. Right, there is another crazy fucker in this building.
“So. Bets on how fast I get the Doctor into bed.” He pulls his sandwich out of his lunch bag and it’s turkey on wheat, just like it fucking always is.
I consider her trusting, open face. “Too easy, she’ll probably believe every bullshit word out of your mouth.” She’ll eat up Dean’s Prince Charming bullshit with a spoon.
He shrugs, finishing a bite. “Let’s make it interesting, then. I’ll fuck her up the ass before she goes back to Boston.”
Now that is more interesting. “Okay, but that’s still too easy. You get two months.” She’s bizarrely gullible, sure, but she looks way too precious to ever take it up the ass. Even though that image is strangely appealing.
“Deal. Terms?”
We may as well be discussing a used care sale. I put my yogurt down and turn my head to meet his eyes. “If you can’t close the deal, with video to prove it, I get your bike.”
His eyes flare, momentarily taken aback. He fucking loves that motorcycle. “Fine. But if I win, I get to fuck you. However I want.” His tone is flat, his gaze hard and unwavering. I make a mental calculation of my odds on this, and how gross it would be to be Dean’s bitch for a night. There are worse things I can imagine. Even from beneath him I could make him squirm like a girl. I’ve got mad skills.
I nod my head and extend my hand. “Deal. But I want your parking space too.”
He grins and we shake on it. “No cheating, Rizzoli. You’re not allowed to tell her I’m an asshole.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll figure that out on her own soon enough.” I’m all talk and we both know it. Wiser women than this one have been fooled by him. It’s the fear of butt sex that gives me the edge on this bet.
The balcony door opens and a chirpy voice startles me. I spin around and no, it can’t be, how did she even fucking find this place?
“Hello! Agent Rizzoli, Agent Dean. I’m so glad you’re here! I was worried I’d be too late, my video conference with Quantico ran long.” I give Dean my best what the fuck glare, and he smirks knowingly.
She glides over to the bench across the table and sets down her lunch. Which, of course, is a salad. She’s probably a fucking vegetarian who lives off of lettuce leaves and Perrier. I take a passive aggressive bite of my roast beef sandwich.
“Please, Dr. Isles, call me Gabriel. I’m so glad you could join us.” She blushes and ducks her chin. Fuck, he’s already started.
“Then you must call me Maura. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you both being so welcoming. I’m afraid I’m not very good company, I don’t tend to have many friends.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. The fuck, she thinks a lunch invite means we’re friends? And unless she recently lost a hundred pounds and had one of those extreme makeover things, how is it possible horny men don’t surround her all the fucking time?
I clear my throat and ask my other, less rude question. “So, Maura, did you have any trouble finding us up here?” I offer her my best aww shucks grin and singsong tone. “This building can be pretty confusing.”
She smiles back at me, and damn, this woman really has no bullshit meter. “Gabriel gave me excellent directions. This building is a fascinating example of Brutalist architecture, don’t you think? It was designed to represent a central core of files, an apt visual pun for such a paper driven agency. The concrete material was both an economic concession and an echo of current design aesthetics, but of course it has failed to age as well as traditional marble and granite government buildings. And then there are the difficulties in maintaining large concrete structures such as this, necessitating the debris nets around the top floors.”
Oh. Now I get why she doesn’t have friends.
“That’s fascinating, Maura. You know I’ve worked here for years and never considered the architecture?” Dean is laying it on thick and she’s loving it. Probably amazed that someone finds her textbook talk bearable. “What did you say the style was, Brutalist?”
“Yes! It’s a style that began in the 1950’s with the Swiss architect Le Corbusier. The term comes from the French beton brut, meaning raw concrete. Brutalism is a philosophy as well as an architecture. Its proponents saw it as representative of a Socialist utopia, protective and integrating.” She’s beaming, and as much as I want to smack her it’s also kind of cute. Huh.
“Protective and integrating, really? And here I’ve been thinking it’s just butt ugly.”
Dean waves me off and leans over the table, putting as little space between him and Maura as possible. “Don’t mind Jane here. She’s just likes to stir up trouble. Now tell me, where did you learn so much about architecture?”
She babbles on about her favorite book on post-war architecture or some shit and Dean’s doing a very convincing imitation of someone who understands whatever the fuck it is she’s saying. Maura’s clearly buying it, her face is lit up like a Christmas tree. Jesus Christ. Dean’s going to be in her pants - excuse me, up her frilly little dress - by the end of the week at this rate. I’m not allowed to trash talk him but there are other ways to cock block.
“Maura, tell us about yourself.” Like hijacking their conversation for one. “What’s your life story?” Dean’s not the only one who knows how to be charming. I lean forward on my elbows, mirroring his stance.
“Oh! Well, it’s not much of a story.” She’s giggling a little again. Probably wondering what alternate universe she’s landed in where people are talking to her for more than five minutes. “Let’s see. I’m originally from Boston, but I spent most of my childhood abroad. Mainly in France, though I spent several years in England for graduate studies. It’s been a bit of a culture shock being back in the states these past few years!”
It’s dawning on me that this woman can’t be more than a day over 30, and she’s a Ph.D. running a Harvard lab. Shit, this is serious child prodigy stuff. No wonder she’s a little...off.
Dean breaks back in. “I miss Europe as well. My family has a cottage in the Cotswold’s, but it’s been years since I’ve had time to visit.” What the fuck? I look at him to see if he’s lying out his ass but he gives nothing away. I guess he could be from money. I’d always figured shit like his hundred thousand dollar chopper came from being a crooked cop, but maybe he’s just a poor little rich boy after all.
“My family has a cottage there too! I wonder if our parents know each other?”
Dean grins amiably as if this is the most wonderful coincidence ever. Which, what do I know, maybe it is. “Who knows, we may have played together as children. I’m told I used to chase the neighborhood girls around the fields, trying to steal a kiss.” Fucking gag me.
“I’m afraid I was a very shy child,” Maura answers him apologetically. “I spent most of my time inside with a book.”
I nod sagely. “I was a bookworm as a kid too. My parents used to catch me reading under the covers with a flashlight.” Now it’s Dean turn to give me a what the fuck look, but I’m actually not lying. I did spend most of my childhood nights reading whatever I could get my hands on. It was just the days I spent outside, playing every sport you can play in a Boston street. I have a card to play here with our shared Boston heritage, but I decide to hold it in check. I’m betting her side of Boston looked pretty different from mine anyway.
Maura looks pleasantly surprised. Well, I’m full of surprises. “What sort of reading do your prefer, Jane? I’m drawn mostly to non-fiction, although lately I’ve endeavored to fill the classical fiction gaps in my repertoire. I’m ashamed to say I’d never read Moby Dick until last night.”
Fuck, does she mean she read fucking Moby Dick in one night? She has a repertoire? Shit, now I have to tell her something about what I’m reading without coming across as a complete idiot. “Well, let’s see, I read a lot of, uh, memoirs.” No need to tell her I haven’t read anything besides a porn mag in a month. “I enjoy, uh, learning about people’s experiences that are different from mine.” Smooth Rizzoli, real smooth.
But she seems to buy it. “I agree. There’s such a vast array of human experiences. We share so many biological similarities, but inhabit completely different realities.” She takes a delicate bite of her salad, which sits almost untouched.
My mind races for an educated-sounding response but Dean beats me to it. “Well I know my reality is better now that you’re here, Maura. Can I take you out for a cup of coffee after work today?” God damn that boy is cheesy.
Maura shakes her head, looking genuinely disappointed. “Thank you for the invitation, but I desperately need to organize my apartment tonight. My things arrived yesterday and it’s a horrible mess.”
“Of course, I understand. Another time,” Dean replies casually.
Well at least he won’t have any time alone with her tonight, that’s a point in my column. “Where are you staying?” I ask her, genuinely curious.
“I’ve taken an apartment in Georgetown. It’s lovely but the traffic this morning was awful, perhaps I should have chosen something closer to the office.”
I see an opening, and I take it. “Tell you what, let me drive you home. When I’m in my duty car with my badge, I get to break any traffic law I want. Guarantee I’ll have you home in no time.” Okay, so it’s not technically ‘my’ undercover car, but I can take one from the fleet whenever I want.
She hesitates a moment, and maybe she’s not as trusting as we first thought because she looks nervous. Her parents probably warned her about getting in cars with strangers. But it clears quickly and she’s smiling that big goofy smile at me again. “Thank you, you’re both so kind! Will it be all right to leave my car here overnight? Oh, and how will I get back in the morning?”
I can almost hear Dean’s teeth grinding beside me. “Don’t worry.” My voice is calm, a fucking paradigm of safety and security. “I’ll take care of everything.”
A/N: So, yes, darkness abounds. We’re bump bump bumping down the road now, so hang on tight. I know this story won’t be everyone’s cuppa tea, but any and all comments are appreciated. Big ups to Conoro28 for the beta, woot woot!
I'm on twitter, if you're into that sort of thing. @luprkal
A/N: See chapter 1 for disclaimers and notes. Sex comes later, but for now there’s lots of swearing and taking the lord’s name in vain.
I’m only at my desk a few minutes before Dean leans over my shoulder. Fuck my life.
“Burning the mid-day oil Rizzoli?” Fucking sarcastic asshole.
I don’t bother glancing up from my screen. “Are you questioning my work schedule, Agent Dean? Would you like to launch an IG investigation?”
He snorts. “The Inspector General can go fuck himself. By all means, Rizzoli, waste as much taxpayer money as you can. But I’ve been waiting for you to get here. There’s something you’re going to want to see.”
I stare straight ahead, pretending to be absorbed in my report. “Another picture of your dick? Oh wait, that’s right, it’s too small to show up on film.” I tilt my head just so, working that coquettish angle that drives Dean crazy.
He shoves a raised middle finger at my face but his smirk doesn’t waver. “No, it’s the new chick. She’s like a little kewpie doll, you’ve gotta see it.”
Oh great, another bimbo for Dean to fuck. “They got a new admin to replace the last one you broke?” I ask. Dean’s string of conquests has kept our squad secretary-free for the past month. At least I won’t have to do a shit ton of extra paper work while the new one lasts.
“Nah, she’s some kind of doctor. She does freaky genetic coding shit. They’ve got her in DC for a few months to track where the junk from our major cases comes from.”
Well that sounds like a colossal waste of time. “Gee, I hope her samples don’t cut into your supply. So where’s the doctor-doll at?”
“Boss Man’s supposed to bring her around to meet the force at 10.” I glance at my clock; it’s 9:59. “So get ready to meet FBI Barbie in 3, 2, 1...”
Dean trails off and I see her come out of Boss Man’s office. She’s...is she actually giggling? She’s either flirting, sucking up or just an idiot, because Boss Man is not funny. Not even a little bit. She turns her head to respond to something he’s said and golden blonde curls out of a shampoo commercial bounce around her shoulders. They’re walking closer now and I get a good, long look at her. Fuck me, she really is a doll. She’s all wide eyes and white skin and soft curves. Her dress is pale pink and honest to god, she has fucking frilly sleeves. They’re ruffled like those ankle socks Ma used to make me wear as a kid. You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I glance back at Dean and he’s staring her down, a wolf enjoying the view of its prey. The girl is hair-bouncing her way down the aisle of cubicles with Boss Man, shaking hands and small talking. Her giggles and perfume in the air are hypnotic. She has no idea what she’s walking into.
Dean’s whisper is low, menacing. “Wait till she turns around. She’s got an ass like a Playboy bunny.”
She walks closer to us, and I catch her gaze and hold it as she enters my space. Her smile falters a bit and I can see her swallow, hard. The bunny has realized the wolves are near. Good.
Boss Man takes the lead and steers her in. “Rizzoli, Dean. Meet Dr. Maura Isles, head of the genomics research lab at Harvard.” Shit, Dr. Bunny is from Boston? “Dr. Isles is here for the next four months advising the drug team on new forensic methods. She’ll also be helping out the lab at Quantico.” Boss Man claps a hand over Dean’s shoulder. “Now play nice, kids.”
The doc leans forward, angling herself into my cube to shake my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Rizzoli. I look forward to working with you.” Her lean puts an ample amount of boob in my face. It is not a horrible view.
Her palm is sweaty in mine. I flash my biggest, toothiest smile and her face visibly relaxes. “Back atcha. It’s going to be a super fun summer!” My voice is dripping with sarcasm, because, yeah, I’m an asshole.
Except she doesn’t look wounded, or scared, or even confused. “Yes, I think it will be! I’ve been hoping to put my research to practical effect for several years now, this is very exciting!” She’s beaming, and still clasping my hand. What the fuck, aren’t people from Harvard supposed to be smart?
Dean is coughing to cover his laughter. Boss Man pulls the girl away from me with a warning glare and Dean gives her his best, Upstanding FBI Agent smile and handshake. Fucking suck up.
The pair moves away from us, and when they’re safely out of earshot I ask the obvious question. “What the fuck was that? Was she playing with me, or is she actually that fucking dense?”
Dean laughs. “You should’ve seen your face. Classic.” He pauses, considering. “I don’t think she was playing with you. She’s just very...” He trails off, his smile widening like the creepy bastard he is. “Very, very trusting. I think you were right, this is going to be a super fun summer.” He mimics my cheerleader tone and twirls a finger through the air.
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I’m eating my lunch at one of the picnic tables on the tiny deck off the cafeteria. In yet another baffling design move, the cafeteria is on the eighth floor. Oh, and only half the elevators go past the seventh floor. I didn’t find the damn thing for my first three months here. It’s hotter than hell, of course, but since nobody else is suicidal enough to roast themselves out here I have it to myself.
Until Dean drops his ass on the bench, inches from me. Even though there’s nothing but space around us. Right, there is another crazy fucker in this building.
“So. Bets on how fast I get the Doctor into bed.” He pulls his sandwich out of his lunch bag and it’s turkey on wheat, just like it fucking always is.
I consider her trusting, open face. “Too easy, she’ll probably believe every bullshit word out of your mouth.” She’ll eat up Dean’s Prince Charming bullshit with a spoon.
He shrugs, finishing a bite. “Let’s make it interesting, then. I’ll fuck her up the ass before she goes back to Boston.”
Now that is more interesting. “Okay, but that’s still too easy. You get two months.” She’s bizarrely gullible, sure, but she looks way too precious to ever take it up the ass. Even though that image is strangely appealing.
“Deal. Terms?”
We may as well be discussing a used care sale. I put my yogurt down and turn my head to meet his eyes. “If you can’t close the deal, with video to prove it, I get your bike.”
His eyes flare, momentarily taken aback. He fucking loves that motorcycle. “Fine. But if I win, I get to fuck you. However I want.” His tone is flat, his gaze hard and unwavering. I make a mental calculation of my odds on this, and how gross it would be to be Dean’s bitch for a night. There are worse things I can imagine. Even from beneath him I could make him squirm like a girl. I’ve got mad skills.
I nod my head and extend my hand. “Deal. But I want your parking space too.”
He grins and we shake on it. “No cheating, Rizzoli. You’re not allowed to tell her I’m an asshole.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll figure that out on her own soon enough.” I’m all talk and we both know it. Wiser women than this one have been fooled by him. It’s the fear of butt sex that gives me the edge on this bet.
The balcony door opens and a chirpy voice startles me. I spin around and no, it can’t be, how did she even fucking find this place?
“Hello! Agent Rizzoli, Agent Dean. I’m so glad you’re here! I was worried I’d be too late, my video conference with Quantico ran long.” I give Dean my best what the fuck glare, and he smirks knowingly.
She glides over to the bench across the table and sets down her lunch. Which, of course, is a salad. She’s probably a fucking vegetarian who lives off of lettuce leaves and Perrier. I take a passive aggressive bite of my roast beef sandwich.
“Please, Dr. Isles, call me Gabriel. I’m so glad you could join us.” She blushes and ducks her chin. Fuck, he’s already started.
“Then you must call me Maura. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you both being so welcoming. I’m afraid I’m not very good company, I don’t tend to have many friends.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. The fuck, she thinks a lunch invite means we’re friends? And unless she recently lost a hundred pounds and had one of those extreme makeover things, how is it possible horny men don’t surround her all the fucking time?
I clear my throat and ask my other, less rude question. “So, Maura, did you have any trouble finding us up here?” I offer her my best aww shucks grin and singsong tone. “This building can be pretty confusing.”
She smiles back at me, and damn, this woman really has no bullshit meter. “Gabriel gave me excellent directions. This building is a fascinating example of Brutalist architecture, don’t you think? It was designed to represent a central core of files, an apt visual pun for such a paper driven agency. The concrete material was both an economic concession and an echo of current design aesthetics, but of course it has failed to age as well as traditional marble and granite government buildings. And then there are the difficulties in maintaining large concrete structures such as this, necessitating the debris nets around the top floors.”
Oh. Now I get why she doesn’t have friends.
“That’s fascinating, Maura. You know I’ve worked here for years and never considered the architecture?” Dean is laying it on thick and she’s loving it. Probably amazed that someone finds her textbook talk bearable. “What did you say the style was, Brutalist?”
“Yes! It’s a style that began in the 1950’s with the Swiss architect Le Corbusier. The term comes from the French beton brut, meaning raw concrete. Brutalism is a philosophy as well as an architecture. Its proponents saw it as representative of a Socialist utopia, protective and integrating.” She’s beaming, and as much as I want to smack her it’s also kind of cute. Huh.
“Protective and integrating, really? And here I’ve been thinking it’s just butt ugly.”
Dean waves me off and leans over the table, putting as little space between him and Maura as possible. “Don’t mind Jane here. She’s just likes to stir up trouble. Now tell me, where did you learn so much about architecture?”
She babbles on about her favorite book on post-war architecture or some shit and Dean’s doing a very convincing imitation of someone who understands whatever the fuck it is she’s saying. Maura’s clearly buying it, her face is lit up like a Christmas tree. Jesus Christ. Dean’s going to be in her pants - excuse me, up her frilly little dress - by the end of the week at this rate. I’m not allowed to trash talk him but there are other ways to cock block.
“Maura, tell us about yourself.” Like hijacking their conversation for one. “What’s your life story?” Dean’s not the only one who knows how to be charming. I lean forward on my elbows, mirroring his stance.
“Oh! Well, it’s not much of a story.” She’s giggling a little again. Probably wondering what alternate universe she’s landed in where people are talking to her for more than five minutes. “Let’s see. I’m originally from Boston, but I spent most of my childhood abroad. Mainly in France, though I spent several years in England for graduate studies. It’s been a bit of a culture shock being back in the states these past few years!”
It’s dawning on me that this woman can’t be more than a day over 30, and she’s a Ph.D. running a Harvard lab. Shit, this is serious child prodigy stuff. No wonder she’s a little...off.
Dean breaks back in. “I miss Europe as well. My family has a cottage in the Cotswold’s, but it’s been years since I’ve had time to visit.” What the fuck? I look at him to see if he’s lying out his ass but he gives nothing away. I guess he could be from money. I’d always figured shit like his hundred thousand dollar chopper came from being a crooked cop, but maybe he’s just a poor little rich boy after all.
“My family has a cottage there too! I wonder if our parents know each other?”
Dean grins amiably as if this is the most wonderful coincidence ever. Which, what do I know, maybe it is. “Who knows, we may have played together as children. I’m told I used to chase the neighborhood girls around the fields, trying to steal a kiss.” Fucking gag me.
“I’m afraid I was a very shy child,” Maura answers him apologetically. “I spent most of my time inside with a book.”
I nod sagely. “I was a bookworm as a kid too. My parents used to catch me reading under the covers with a flashlight.” Now it’s Dean turn to give me a what the fuck look, but I’m actually not lying. I did spend most of my childhood nights reading whatever I could get my hands on. It was just the days I spent outside, playing every sport you can play in a Boston street. I have a card to play here with our shared Boston heritage, but I decide to hold it in check. I’m betting her side of Boston looked pretty different from mine anyway.
Maura looks pleasantly surprised. Well, I’m full of surprises. “What sort of reading do your prefer, Jane? I’m drawn mostly to non-fiction, although lately I’ve endeavored to fill the classical fiction gaps in my repertoire. I’m ashamed to say I’d never read Moby Dick until last night.”
Fuck, does she mean she read fucking Moby Dick in one night? She has a repertoire? Shit, now I have to tell her something about what I’m reading without coming across as a complete idiot. “Well, let’s see, I read a lot of, uh, memoirs.” No need to tell her I haven’t read anything besides a porn mag in a month. “I enjoy, uh, learning about people’s experiences that are different from mine.” Smooth Rizzoli, real smooth.
But she seems to buy it. “I agree. There’s such a vast array of human experiences. We share so many biological similarities, but inhabit completely different realities.” She takes a delicate bite of her salad, which sits almost untouched.
My mind races for an educated-sounding response but Dean beats me to it. “Well I know my reality is better now that you’re here, Maura. Can I take you out for a cup of coffee after work today?” God damn that boy is cheesy.
Maura shakes her head, looking genuinely disappointed. “Thank you for the invitation, but I desperately need to organize my apartment tonight. My things arrived yesterday and it’s a horrible mess.”
“Of course, I understand. Another time,” Dean replies casually.
Well at least he won’t have any time alone with her tonight, that’s a point in my column. “Where are you staying?” I ask her, genuinely curious.
“I’ve taken an apartment in Georgetown. It’s lovely but the traffic this morning was awful, perhaps I should have chosen something closer to the office.”
I see an opening, and I take it. “Tell you what, let me drive you home. When I’m in my duty car with my badge, I get to break any traffic law I want. Guarantee I’ll have you home in no time.” Okay, so it’s not technically ‘my’ undercover car, but I can take one from the fleet whenever I want.
She hesitates a moment, and maybe she’s not as trusting as we first thought because she looks nervous. Her parents probably warned her about getting in cars with strangers. But it clears quickly and she’s smiling that big goofy smile at me again. “Thank you, you’re both so kind! Will it be all right to leave my car here overnight? Oh, and how will I get back in the morning?”
I can almost hear Dean’s teeth grinding beside me. “Don’t worry.” My voice is calm, a fucking paradigm of safety and security. “I’ll take care of everything.”
A/N: So, yes, darkness abounds. We’re bump bump bumping down the road now, so hang on tight. I know this story won’t be everyone’s cuppa tea, but any and all comments are appreciated. Big ups to Conoro28 for the beta, woot woot!
I'm on twitter, if you're into that sort of thing. @luprkal