Rizzoli & Isles-Fic: There's no guarantees (Jane/Maura)
Title: There's no guarantees
Author: TXLtoSFO
Recipient: zvi at Dreamwidth
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Jane Rizzoli/Maura Isles
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1909
Disclaimer: Rizzoli & Isles, its characters, places, and situations are the property of Ostar Productions, Warner Horizon Television and TNT. Credit for the original book series goes to Tess Gerritsen. This story was written for entertainment not monetary purposes. Original characters, and this story, are intellectual property of the author. Any similarities to existing characters, fictional or real, living or dead, are coincidental and no harm is intended.
Warnings: no warnings apply
Summary: Jane muses about her feelings towards Maura and whether a step forward would be too much of a risk.
Notes: I'm sorry I have no idea how to transform the author's and recipient's nicks into active links. I'm not around that long yet. The title is from the lyrics of Ryan Adams' 'Political Scientist'.
Cross-posted on my journal and ff.net.
There's no guarantees
Imagine this.
You walk through a crowd, but no one sees you. I'm not talking about people simply not paying you any attention, no, it's like you're invisible. Like in a dream. In a fantasy movie.
You can do what you want, be who you wanna be, you could lay down on the pavement and still, not even one single shoe would step on you, it is as if you simply weren't there.
That's how I feel sometimes.
Now imagine this.
You're in love. In love with the most amazing, beautiful, unique, weird, extraordinary, smart, hilarious, quirky, special woman. But she doesn't see you. Not the way you'd like to be recognised by her. As the person you really are.
You can do what you want, be who you wanna be, when you're with her, but you never talk about the one thing you really, really want to tell her. You could lay down on the pavement and she'd be by your side in a flash, squatter down in her high heeled, straight out of Vogue designer shoes, reach out her hand and help you up. She's always there. You practically share the best part of each and every single day with her. And still - she just doesn't see you.
She calls you her best friend, the best and probably only real, trustworthy, honest friend she's ever had. Not impressed by her money, her social standing. Not appalled by her ineptness when it comes to certain kinds of interactions. Not intimidated by her predilection for the dead over the living. Not bored by her frequent rants explaining things you don't even half understand like she'd swallowed an entire library and can rattle off almost any fact about almost anything like you can recite the Miranda rights. She tries to set you up, always unsuccessfully. She questions you about it, but also lets it go, without bickering too much. She got to know your family, she even comes over for Sunday dinners. You go to the opera for her while she learnt baseball rules for you and scrunches up her face in mock disgust while eating hot dogs at the stadium. You started dressing better for her and she began to learn colloquial terms and look up pop culture references for you. She thinks your dog is too cute. You think her tortoise is a very - unique pet.
You're more than children of the same city, more than colleagues, more than allies in a battle for justice, more than friends. She understands you with just a change of expression on your face and she can put more meaning into the mere intonation of your first name than other people can put in whole sentences.
She gets you, you get her.
But it only goes this far. She thinks, she trusts, she knows you, but she doesn't.
She thinks, she sees you for who you really are, but she doesn't.
When it comes down to this one thing, she might as well be deaf, dumb and blind.
Of course, there's been moments when you disappointed her. Your withdrawal during your recovery. She simply didn't, and she couldn't understand. All she had wanted to do is take care of you, prove being the friend she thought she'd been to you, nurse you back to health, offer you the comfort and support she thought you'd need. After all, she tried saving your brother's live and in the end, you saved both theirs with that bullet that almost killed you, but also took out Marino. In the end, you'll both be eternally thankful to the other. But you pushed her away. You simply felt too weak, emotionally, not physically, to be able to face her every day, have her fuss over you. One day you would've faltered, would've confided in her, would've destroyed this bond, this closeness, this trust. This friendship, without which you can't even imagine to exist anymore.
Because if you're sure of one thing, than it's the fact that Dr. Maura Isles, Boston's chief medical examiner, is as straight as they come. Her perpetual crushes, dates, one night stands for all you know - more than prove that fact for you. She sure wouldn't hate you, she's way too open-minded and non-judgmental for such flaws as prejudices, but you are sure you're relationship would be irreparably, irreversibly damaged. God, she sleeps in your bed, by your side when she stays at your place after a long night out or an equally long one in. There's almost more of her clothes in your wardrobe than your own. And she's pretty touchy-feely with you. That wasn't you before. You always kept your distance to people that were not family and she even has some privileges you don't even concede your own mother. And you're sure she's not usually the type, too. It's your thing. It's just what you do, it shows just how much you've opened up to the other. She's seen you cry. She's seen you bawl with laughter. She's seen you in your undies. She's seen you frightened as hell. You trusted her to protect you and you actually could sleep. You slept like a baby because you knew she was there. She throws you one glance and knows how you're feeling. You've talked her out of her own fear, chased away a lot of her demons. You were just about ready to tear the city apart when she went missing. Your ex-partner calls you whipped, without even knowing what he's talking about. Your new partner just smiles, almost knowingly and you sometimes ask yourself if he may be the only one who does see you. Your mother adores her. Your brother has had a crush on her, too.
But you don't have a crush. You're in love.
The kind of love that changes a person, makes them better, makes them reminisce about themselves, makes them wonder about anything and everything that's in the past and if it ever had any significance at all. It's made you admit, after years of denial, that you really might as well... yes, be gay. Yes, you like men, yes, you sleep with them. But no, you don't fall in love with them. When you think back, the ones that threw you, the ones you hid from, though had terribly crushed on had been women. She has been a revelation. She made you grow up. She made you reevaluate. You elicits so many different feelings from you that you sometimes didn't know up from down.
And she just doesn't see it.
But how could she?
You're not making it obvious. But you're also not wearing a mask. You just didn't slip yet. You didn't get too drunk in her presence, you avoid certain topics without raising suspicion, you just try to be her friend, the friend she, by now, is so sure you are. And you think it's for the best. You just want her to be happy. You don't want to burden her with your feelings. You'll get over her, in time. There will be another love, some other day. And you'll still have her. You'd still have her.
*******
"You've been awfully quiet today, Jane. Are you okay?"
Her voice, this special tone in her voice kicks me out of my reverie and into the present. The condensation from my untouched beer has the coaster it's perched on completely soggy. Stalling to answer I take a swig and gulp it down in disgust. It's already lukewarm. I wanna wave the waiter over, but she solemnly takes the bottle out of my hand and replaces it with an ice cold one.
I smile thankfully, yet awkwardly and cover the hand that's resting on my thigh in a calming but questioning gesture with my own. It would be so easy. I could just lean over, brush those errand bangs behind her ear, run my knuckles across her cheek and look at her the way I really, really want to. Let her figure it out by herself, because she would.
She'd know. If I'd allow what I am feeling right this very moment to show in my eyes, I'd make her gasp with realisation. The warmth in her eyes reels me in, the worry accompanying it lets me know she cares. I know she cares. I'm torn, I'm fighting with my courage, there's a battle going on in my mind. Is it just plain crazy or is it just about time?
"Jane?"
I notice that I have yet to answer her question. I stall again, draining the fresh bottle in one go, smacking my mouth and almost slamming it down on the soaked coaster.
Usually I'd go with "I'm fine, Maura, I'm just awfully tired." in these kinds of moments.
Today, I just stare at her, squeezing her hand which grip has tightened noticeably.
"What would I do without you?"
The words slip out of my mouth before my mental filter, which seems seriously preoccupied at the moment, can prevent me from saying them.
Maura's eyebrows shoot upwards, she tilts her head and frowns at me while scooting closer.
"Are you sure you're okay? What makes you say that, Jane? I'm right here and I don't intend to go anywhere. I don't think I'd know what I'd do without you."
There are so many words left unsaid and they're thrashing around in my head, bucking, tearing, trying to wrestle their way out.
Usually I'd become defensive now, hide behind my stoic, unflappable demeanour. But there's too many emotions and my strength is almost completely depleted, I've let too many internal guards down already in all that thinking today. -I've reflected too much, evaluated, analysed myself. I shouldn't have done that. I don't do that. I bottle my emotions up. It's safer. So much safer. Now I have her looking at me like she does, like she knows something's wrong and she'll be damned if she doesn't try and coax it out of me.
I wanna be invisible again. I just wanna sit by her side, share a joke, get admonished when I accidentally swear in her presence, have a beer, watch her sip her wine and just be. Us.
There's fear in my eyes and I know it.
And she sees it, loud and clear, I might as well have shouted it.
"Jane!" Astonishment. Irritation. Worry.
"Maura." I draw her name out. Defeat. Dissociation. Exhaustion.
Her fingers almost claw into my muscle now.
"There's so much I still wanna tell you."
Her grip loosens and she turns her palm up to grasp my hand fully. She holds on to it, unmoving, her eyes searching mine for further clues.
"Then tell me, Jane."
I reach for my wallet and throw a couple of bills on the table, then tug at her hand.
"Not here. I don't even know how much I'll bring out today. But let's get the fuck out of here. This is not the place."
She silently scolds me but can't hide the small smile that ghosts over her lips. Her hand slips hesitantly out of mine and she reaches for her coat.
"Yours or mine then?" She wants to know as we stand in front of our cars, as the decision will determine at whose place we'll end up.
I step over to the passenger side of hers.
"Yours." I state unnecessarily, gazing her squarely in the eyes.
"Yours, Maura."
Author: TXLtoSFO
Recipient: zvi at Dreamwidth
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Jane Rizzoli/Maura Isles
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1909
Disclaimer: Rizzoli & Isles, its characters, places, and situations are the property of Ostar Productions, Warner Horizon Television and TNT. Credit for the original book series goes to Tess Gerritsen. This story was written for entertainment not monetary purposes. Original characters, and this story, are intellectual property of the author. Any similarities to existing characters, fictional or real, living or dead, are coincidental and no harm is intended.
Warnings: no warnings apply
Summary: Jane muses about her feelings towards Maura and whether a step forward would be too much of a risk.
Notes: I'm sorry I have no idea how to transform the author's and recipient's nicks into active links. I'm not around that long yet. The title is from the lyrics of Ryan Adams' 'Political Scientist'.
Cross-posted on my journal and ff.net.
There's no guarantees
Imagine this.
You walk through a crowd, but no one sees you. I'm not talking about people simply not paying you any attention, no, it's like you're invisible. Like in a dream. In a fantasy movie.
You can do what you want, be who you wanna be, you could lay down on the pavement and still, not even one single shoe would step on you, it is as if you simply weren't there.
That's how I feel sometimes.
Now imagine this.
You're in love. In love with the most amazing, beautiful, unique, weird, extraordinary, smart, hilarious, quirky, special woman. But she doesn't see you. Not the way you'd like to be recognised by her. As the person you really are.
You can do what you want, be who you wanna be, when you're with her, but you never talk about the one thing you really, really want to tell her. You could lay down on the pavement and she'd be by your side in a flash, squatter down in her high heeled, straight out of Vogue designer shoes, reach out her hand and help you up. She's always there. You practically share the best part of each and every single day with her. And still - she just doesn't see you.
She calls you her best friend, the best and probably only real, trustworthy, honest friend she's ever had. Not impressed by her money, her social standing. Not appalled by her ineptness when it comes to certain kinds of interactions. Not intimidated by her predilection for the dead over the living. Not bored by her frequent rants explaining things you don't even half understand like she'd swallowed an entire library and can rattle off almost any fact about almost anything like you can recite the Miranda rights. She tries to set you up, always unsuccessfully. She questions you about it, but also lets it go, without bickering too much. She got to know your family, she even comes over for Sunday dinners. You go to the opera for her while she learnt baseball rules for you and scrunches up her face in mock disgust while eating hot dogs at the stadium. You started dressing better for her and she began to learn colloquial terms and look up pop culture references for you. She thinks your dog is too cute. You think her tortoise is a very - unique pet.
You're more than children of the same city, more than colleagues, more than allies in a battle for justice, more than friends. She understands you with just a change of expression on your face and she can put more meaning into the mere intonation of your first name than other people can put in whole sentences.
She gets you, you get her.
But it only goes this far. She thinks, she trusts, she knows you, but she doesn't.
She thinks, she sees you for who you really are, but she doesn't.
When it comes down to this one thing, she might as well be deaf, dumb and blind.
Of course, there's been moments when you disappointed her. Your withdrawal during your recovery. She simply didn't, and she couldn't understand. All she had wanted to do is take care of you, prove being the friend she thought she'd been to you, nurse you back to health, offer you the comfort and support she thought you'd need. After all, she tried saving your brother's live and in the end, you saved both theirs with that bullet that almost killed you, but also took out Marino. In the end, you'll both be eternally thankful to the other. But you pushed her away. You simply felt too weak, emotionally, not physically, to be able to face her every day, have her fuss over you. One day you would've faltered, would've confided in her, would've destroyed this bond, this closeness, this trust. This friendship, without which you can't even imagine to exist anymore.
Because if you're sure of one thing, than it's the fact that Dr. Maura Isles, Boston's chief medical examiner, is as straight as they come. Her perpetual crushes, dates, one night stands for all you know - more than prove that fact for you. She sure wouldn't hate you, she's way too open-minded and non-judgmental for such flaws as prejudices, but you are sure you're relationship would be irreparably, irreversibly damaged. God, she sleeps in your bed, by your side when she stays at your place after a long night out or an equally long one in. There's almost more of her clothes in your wardrobe than your own. And she's pretty touchy-feely with you. That wasn't you before. You always kept your distance to people that were not family and she even has some privileges you don't even concede your own mother. And you're sure she's not usually the type, too. It's your thing. It's just what you do, it shows just how much you've opened up to the other. She's seen you cry. She's seen you bawl with laughter. She's seen you in your undies. She's seen you frightened as hell. You trusted her to protect you and you actually could sleep. You slept like a baby because you knew she was there. She throws you one glance and knows how you're feeling. You've talked her out of her own fear, chased away a lot of her demons. You were just about ready to tear the city apart when she went missing. Your ex-partner calls you whipped, without even knowing what he's talking about. Your new partner just smiles, almost knowingly and you sometimes ask yourself if he may be the only one who does see you. Your mother adores her. Your brother has had a crush on her, too.
But you don't have a crush. You're in love.
The kind of love that changes a person, makes them better, makes them reminisce about themselves, makes them wonder about anything and everything that's in the past and if it ever had any significance at all. It's made you admit, after years of denial, that you really might as well... yes, be gay. Yes, you like men, yes, you sleep with them. But no, you don't fall in love with them. When you think back, the ones that threw you, the ones you hid from, though had terribly crushed on had been women. She has been a revelation. She made you grow up. She made you reevaluate. You elicits so many different feelings from you that you sometimes didn't know up from down.
And she just doesn't see it.
But how could she?
You're not making it obvious. But you're also not wearing a mask. You just didn't slip yet. You didn't get too drunk in her presence, you avoid certain topics without raising suspicion, you just try to be her friend, the friend she, by now, is so sure you are. And you think it's for the best. You just want her to be happy. You don't want to burden her with your feelings. You'll get over her, in time. There will be another love, some other day. And you'll still have her. You'd still have her.
*******
"You've been awfully quiet today, Jane. Are you okay?"
Her voice, this special tone in her voice kicks me out of my reverie and into the present. The condensation from my untouched beer has the coaster it's perched on completely soggy. Stalling to answer I take a swig and gulp it down in disgust. It's already lukewarm. I wanna wave the waiter over, but she solemnly takes the bottle out of my hand and replaces it with an ice cold one.
I smile thankfully, yet awkwardly and cover the hand that's resting on my thigh in a calming but questioning gesture with my own. It would be so easy. I could just lean over, brush those errand bangs behind her ear, run my knuckles across her cheek and look at her the way I really, really want to. Let her figure it out by herself, because she would.
She'd know. If I'd allow what I am feeling right this very moment to show in my eyes, I'd make her gasp with realisation. The warmth in her eyes reels me in, the worry accompanying it lets me know she cares. I know she cares. I'm torn, I'm fighting with my courage, there's a battle going on in my mind. Is it just plain crazy or is it just about time?
"Jane?"
I notice that I have yet to answer her question. I stall again, draining the fresh bottle in one go, smacking my mouth and almost slamming it down on the soaked coaster.
Usually I'd go with "I'm fine, Maura, I'm just awfully tired." in these kinds of moments.
Today, I just stare at her, squeezing her hand which grip has tightened noticeably.
"What would I do without you?"
The words slip out of my mouth before my mental filter, which seems seriously preoccupied at the moment, can prevent me from saying them.
Maura's eyebrows shoot upwards, she tilts her head and frowns at me while scooting closer.
"Are you sure you're okay? What makes you say that, Jane? I'm right here and I don't intend to go anywhere. I don't think I'd know what I'd do without you."
There are so many words left unsaid and they're thrashing around in my head, bucking, tearing, trying to wrestle their way out.
Usually I'd become defensive now, hide behind my stoic, unflappable demeanour. But there's too many emotions and my strength is almost completely depleted, I've let too many internal guards down already in all that thinking today. -I've reflected too much, evaluated, analysed myself. I shouldn't have done that. I don't do that. I bottle my emotions up. It's safer. So much safer. Now I have her looking at me like she does, like she knows something's wrong and she'll be damned if she doesn't try and coax it out of me.
I wanna be invisible again. I just wanna sit by her side, share a joke, get admonished when I accidentally swear in her presence, have a beer, watch her sip her wine and just be. Us.
There's fear in my eyes and I know it.
And she sees it, loud and clear, I might as well have shouted it.
"Jane!" Astonishment. Irritation. Worry.
"Maura." I draw her name out. Defeat. Dissociation. Exhaustion.
Her fingers almost claw into my muscle now.
"There's so much I still wanna tell you."
Her grip loosens and she turns her palm up to grasp my hand fully. She holds on to it, unmoving, her eyes searching mine for further clues.
"Then tell me, Jane."
I reach for my wallet and throw a couple of bills on the table, then tug at her hand.
"Not here. I don't even know how much I'll bring out today. But let's get the fuck out of here. This is not the place."
She silently scolds me but can't hide the small smile that ghosts over her lips. Her hand slips hesitantly out of mine and she reaches for her coat.
"Yours or mine then?" She wants to know as we stand in front of our cars, as the decision will determine at whose place we'll end up.
I step over to the passenger side of hers.
"Yours." I state unnecessarily, gazing her squarely in the eyes.
"Yours, Maura."