RIZZOLI & ISLES

Late Innings

Tempest

Title: Late Innings

Rating: PG–13

Fandom: Rizzoli and Isles

Pairing: Jane/Maura

Word Count: 3,700

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a Honda Civic. The characters below belong to Tess Gerritsen and TNT and blah, blah, blah. Don’t sue me.

Synopsis: An extension of last scene in Episode two: Boston Strangler Redux.

Note: If you are not a baseball fan, then you may not be aware of the Andy Pettitte Stare. Here is a link for your edification - http://bombersbeat.mlblogs.com/pettitte%20stare.jpg.

Note: This fic follows the events in my previous story, Shelter from the Storm - http://tempest819.livejournal.com/12426.html

Late Innings

Tempest

“Oh, shut up.” Jane groaned before she downed the remnants of her beer.

“I didn’t say a word.” Maura replied.

“You smirked.”

“I did not. Smirking implies that my smile was self–serving, which, I can assure you, it was not.”

Maura wasn’t lying. Her smile was simply that, a smile. Lieutenant Joseph Grant had just dropped a subtle, yet, definitive hint to Jane that he was interested in more than her catechism answers, and so she smiled because she was Jane’s friend and that’s what friends were supposed to do when someone of adequate stature showed interest in your friend. She had to be supportive in such an instance, even if, for some nagging reason, her heart wasn’t really in it.

Jane rolled her eyes and resisted the temptation to argue with Maura; mostly because the subject matter wasn’t one she wanted to continue. It had been a crazy few days and her mind was in no shape to dissect the complexity of her relationship with Joey Grant, especially not with Maura handling the scalpel.

“Fine, new subject, please.” Jane requested.

Maura nodded her head in agreement, grateful that Jane decided not to pursue the topic of any further. “So, when will I get another turn at the plate?”

“You, want to play again?”

“Of course.”

“How about you consider a more supportive, less active role on the team?”

“Perhaps I should ask the Narcotics team if they’re interested in my athletic prowess.” Maura countered.

“Ugh, I’m sure I know the answer to that one.” Jane groaned as she remembered how all the guys on that team were salivating at the sight of Maura in her outfit during their game.

“Well, if you’re so certain that I’m not needed…”

“Right, since nothing can defeat the Isles optimal batting stance.”

“Need I remind you that I’m the one who got a hit before the game was interrupted?”

“Oh no, I remember. Who could forget such a stance, such prowess?” Jane’s voice was dripping in sarcasm, and Maura showed her appreciation by tossing a pretzel at her. Jane threw her hands up in mock surrender and then continued. “How did you come up with that stance anyway? Did some fancy–schmancy instructor at your boarding school teach you?”

Maura paused briefly before responding as the unexpected question unnerved her for a moment. “No. The mechanics of baseball were not part of my physical education. Did your father teach you?”

Jane, sporting a canary eating grin, replied. “Kind of. I mean, I sort of bullied my way on to my neighborhood boy’s team, but, once I did that, my father made sure I was up to snuff. No Rizzoli was going to choke on the field while on his watch. We’d spend hours at the field on the weekends. It was a bit overkill actually, none of the boys on my team or that we played were even that good.”

Maura pictured a little Jane Rizzoli standing up to an all boys team and then playing catch with her father. With that image in mind she came to the conclusion that if there was a single word to describe Jane Rizzoli it was ‘determined.’ She had a feeling that, even at such a young age, Jane played the part of the defiant underdog to a ‘T.’ Recognizing that made her smile because even though Maura didn’t know Jane then, it comforted her to realize that some things about the other woman hadn’t changed, and knowing that, in a way, made her feel closer to her. “That must have been nice…to have that moment with your dad.” Maura postulated.

Jane, busy tearing the label off her beer bottle, paused to ponder the question. “I didn’t really think about it at the time, but, looking back on it, I guess, yeah, it was nice.”

Maura responded with a pleasant smile, but, Jane could tell that some deep thoughts were brewing behind those hazel eyes. She questioned, “So, no father/daughter day at the ball park for Maura Isles.”

“No. That would have been…” Maura broke eye contact with Jane and swirled the remnants of her wind in glass before finally settling on the appropriate word. “…unprecedented.” She finished what was left of the wine in her glass and then returned attention Jane.

The minute their eyes reconnected Jane felt her heart constrict. But the emotional tug in her chest was not because she sensed pain in the doctor’s eyes, but, because of the resignation she found in them instead. She wondered how many times Maura, who was such a keen observer of the human species, encountered an activity considered to be just another part of growing up for many Americans? How many times had she watched it play out from afar; a father playing catch with his son, a mother braiding her daughter’s hair, siblings laughing as they chased each other through a sprinkler on a hot summer day, a child running into their parent’s arms after their first day of school? How long had she wrestled with her feelings of regret before she resigned herself to the truth that there were joys of childhood that she never got to experience?

Jane shook her head out of her reverie and stood up from the booth. “Well, I guess we’re just going to have to make up for that oversight. Aren’t we?”

“What do you mean?” Maura replied, staring up at Jane, her confusion apparent in her features.

“You ask too many questions. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Quite frequently, actually.”

* * * * *

“Now baseball, like any other sport, is as much about instincts as it is about mechanics and technique,” Jane declared while standing inside a batting cage with an open beer bottle in one hand and a bat in the other. After their chat at the bar, Jane drove them to a local batting cage she frequented. It was about closing time, but she knew the owner, and he offered to let the two women get in a few rounds in while he put the rest of the equipment back in storage and emptied the registers. Placing her beer on the ground, she grabbed the bat with both her hands and pointed it toward Maura before continuing. “Your scientific stance, while impressive, is missing a key competent.”

Maura, amused by Jane’s attempt at coaching, replied “And that is?”

“Your gut.” Jane smacked her stomach for emphasis.

Maura focused her attention on Jane’s stomach. By the sound generated from Jane’s slap she surmised that Jane maintained a minimal layer of subcutaneous fat at her midsection. If she thought about it a little more she would expect that the detective’s abdominal muscles were quite defined. And with that last thought, her imagination, of its own accord, thrust into her mind an image of Jane’s nude torso. Immediately she shook her head to rid herself of the unexpected and confusing image and then looked down at her own stomach. With clearer mind she pondered Jane’s statement and questioned, “Are you suggesting I have an inadequate amount of fat at my midsection in order to play baseball?”

Jane drew her head back in confusion. “In what universe would anyone ever suggest that, Maura?”

“Galaxy would actually be the more appropriate word in that sentence. There can be multiple galaxies in a single universe, but, there’s only one universe, Jane.”

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Are you done?”

“For the purposes of our conversation I think that will suffice.”

Jane balled her free hand into a fist, trying to contain her frustration, and then forced herself to take a deep breath before continuing her lesson. Stepping closer to Maura, she reached out and placed the palm of her hand just below Maura’s diaphragm. “When I say your gut, I mean that place inside you where all your emotions stew, ya’know?”

Maura felt her stomach muscles immediately tighten and squirm at Jane’s touch. In an effort to steady her voice, she swallowed a lump in her throat before replying. “Yes, your non–literal reference is much clearer now, thank you.”

“Good…good.” Jane slowly removed her hand from Maura’s midsection. For some reason the feeling of the other woman’s body lingered on her hand; the warmth of her body, the tautness of the muscles against the softness of the flesh…

Not wanting to follow that train of thought, she discretely shook her hand and cleared her throat before continuing. “So, imagine you’re up against Andy Pettitte and he’s staring you down. You with me?” She questioned before handing the smaller woman the bat.

Maura nodded enthusiastically, grateful for the technical question, and accepted the bat.

“Yes. Andy Pettitte, pitcher for the Yankees, E.R.A of 3.87, total strikeouts of 2,240, five–time World Series champion. Also, he’s known for his intense stare down of batters. He has really deep dark eyes…” Kind of like yours, Maura continued to herself.

“Yes, but, again, you’re forgetting something in mix of all those stats. He’s just a man on the mound, facing an opponent at the plate, and more than anything he wants to take you down.”

“Such animosity seems unwarranted. I don’t even know him.”

“That’s right. And maybe after the game the two of you will have a beer and you’ll regale him with 101 facts no one ever needed to know, but, right now, he’s your opponent and that’s all that matters. In order for him to succeed, you must fail, and vice versa.”

“It’s just a game, Jane. You make sports sound so ruthless…” Maura shook her head in frustration. “…maybe that’s why I never cared for them.”

Jane studied Maura for a moment. She noticed the way the other woman was looking at the bat, glaring almost, as if there was a history between them. Then she thought about her high school days, specifically about those days in gym class when they had to pick teams for whatever game they were playing. She remembered the girls who were always picked last, those ones who were first to answer a question in Trigonometry class, but, never quite so quick to get a lay–up. Remembering that made her understand Maura’s comment a little more. She reached for the bat and gently lifted it from the smaller woman’s grasp.

“It’s not about being ruthless, Maura, not really. Sports aren’t just about aggression. They’re about putting it all on the line; all the training, the late night practices, the early morning scrimmages, the bruises, the sprains, the breaks. In the end it all comes down to one thing. Did you leave it on the field? Did you give it everything you had to give? If you did, then win or lose, you walk away clean, no regrets. The scoreboard doesn’t matter, because you know that maybe you didn’t win, maybe you weren’t first pick, but you didn’t give in. You stood up and put yourself out there to be tested. That’s honorable and no one one can take that from you.”

“Now you’re making it sound kind of beautiful.” Maura smiled and shook her head, finding it endearing that Jane could surprise her when she was least expecting it.

Jane shrugged off the compliment. “Yeah, well, a few more beers and I could make anything sound beautiful.” Although some things would be easier than others , she thought looking into Maura’s eyes. They change color…her eyes change color, like a mood ring. Why didn’t I notice that before? Breaking eye contact, she turned toward the plate and took a practice swing. “You know, despite my mother’s disbelief, I can be just as mushy as the next girl when I want to be.”

“And what about your mother? What did she think of your affinity for sports?”

Jane reached down to pick up her beer, taking a swig and allowing herself a moment to contemplate the question before answering.

“I know my mom was disappointed that I wasn’t more girly when growing up. I mean, I’m her only daughter and I didn’t exactly jump at the opportunity to go dress shopping, but, despite all that, she never made me feel less for it. I mean, she certainly dropped a line or two here and there, ‘Oh, you should wear pink more often, it really suits your complexion.’ She still does today. And my father, I think he would have liked it too if I was a little more of a traditional daughter, but, I think I kind of remind him of his mother which makes him happy so he never really harped on me about it. I know I moan about them all the time, but, I am aware of how lucky I am to have them as my folks. They let me be.”

Maura hesitated, and then asked her next question. “Have you always known who you are?

Jane, brow raised in surprise, replied. “That’s a big question for some light conversation.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Maura put her head down in penitence and explained. “I’m just trying to understand what makes us different.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends and I don’t really understand why.”

“Ouch.” Jane turned from Maura and shook her head in disbelief.

Maura stalled Jane’s retreat by grabbing her arm. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“You’re having a real big ‘foot–in–mouth’ problem lately, you know that?”

Maura nodded her in acquiescence. “That’s a fair statement. Look, who I am now, is who I’ve always been, Jane. I love books and learning and trying understand how this amazing world works, but that’s never made me very popular, especially with other women. I mean, I’ve come to find that most men are willing to endure my company as long as they find me physically appealing.”

“That depends on what diagnosis you give them on the first date.” Jane interjected.

“Again, a fair statement. I just…I feel like….I feel like you know me, at least more than most other people or at least in a way that feels more real, more honest…and you’re still here and I don’t know why.”

“Well we do work together so it would be hard to get away from you.” Jane winced the moment the words came out of her mouth. It was evident in Maura’s face that her attempt at levity was not appreciated. She offered penance and continued. “Shoot, sorry. I think that ‘foot–in–mouth’ thing must be contagious. Okay, truth? I do find some aspects of you a bit…strange, but, I realize now that ‘strange’ isn’t a bad thing.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“What I mean is that I know who I am, you’re right about that, and because of that I tend to surround myself with people who are like me. It simplifies things. Basically if you hate the Yankees and love the Red Sox, then chances are we’re going to be peas in a pod. I’m not terribly complicated. But you’re the first person I’ve become friends with who doesn’t fit into that formula and that makes it…I dunno, kinda special. Who would’ve though it? Me and you? But it works and I’m really grateful for that, Maura.” Jane paused when she saw two dimples appear on Maura’s face. “Besides, what do you care if you’re strange to me…I’m sure I must seem really simple to you.”

“Why are you saying ‘simple’ like it’s an insult?”

Jane turned away from Maura, finding it easier to continue her confession without her friend’s eyes staring back at her.

“Because you come from this world that I know nothing about, that I could only see from a distance and you know things I never even knew existed, let alone their history and point of origin. So I call you strange, because it’s easier to think you’re strange, than to admit to myself that there are parts of me that I think are inadequate.”

Maura reached out and gently placed her hand on the brunette’s back. “Jane, there’s nothing about my life that would ever make me see you as inadequate, in any way. We have different strengths, different capabilities, and I’m so grateful for that.”

Jane turned around and reached out to grab Maura’s hand that was retreating to her side. “And you may be different, but you’re not weird, not in the way you think. And we’re friends because despite all the fluff, we’re the same in what matters to us, what we value and what we believe. You know that, Maura.”

“I guess I did. Sometimes it’s just nice to hear it.”

“Well you should know me well enough by now to know that sentimental declarations aren’t exactly my style…” Jane gave Maura’s hand a final squeeze before letting go and then offered the other woman the bat. “…so will you take this and can we get back to the reason we came here?”

“Okay.”

“Now, where were we before you got us on that emotional detour?”

“We were discussing my lack of gut and how it hindered my performance.”

“Alright, so show me your stance, show me some gut, and let’s hit some balls.”

Maura smiled and made her way over to the plate while Jane walked over to turn on the pitching machine. The doctor readied her stance; her hips and shoulders were level, her feet were spread a few inches wider than the width of her shoulders, her front foot dung into the dirt at a 45 degree angle to the pitcher. Tucking her chin in at the shoulder, she took a deep breath and confirmed, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Jane looked at Maura and shook her head with disappointment. Her stance was practically a mirror image of what it was before. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you feeling?” Jane questioned, moving closer to more keenly observe the other woman’s form. She wanted Maura to understand, to get a sense of what it felt like to be in that moment, to allow herself the feeling of freedom that comes with letting go and relying on instinct alone. But she could see that the doctor would not come to that realization without a little assistance.

Maura, reluctant to break her stance, kept her body still and turned only her head to address the other woman. “I don’t understand the relevance of the question. I’m waiting for the ball to be released.”

“What are you feeling, in your gut?”

Maura, now frustrated with the ambiguity of Jane’s question, broke her stance. “Jane…” Just as she was about to turn toward the other woman, she felt Jane at her back and other woman’s arm cradle her at her waist.

“Here.” Jane emphasized her point by pushing her hand against Maura’s midsection, which, inadvertently, brought their bodies together in a way that became very difficult for Jane to ignore. The assault on her senses from the contact made her light headed for a moment; the sight of Maura’s fists clenching the bat in her hands, the sound of Maura’s labored breathing, the smell of her perfume, the touch of her hair against her cheek. This was a mistake; she knew that, but still she didn’t move.

Maura immediately felt her skin flush at the contact. Her baseball research hadn’t prepared for this kind of ‘hand on’ training, especially since the ‘hands’ belonged to Jane Rizzoli. Something was happening. It was a ‘something’ that was continuing to pop up lately around the brunette and now that ‘something’ just went into overdrive.

“What are you feeling here?” Jane questioned again, softening her voice as their entangled position left her lips just inches always from the other woman’s ear.

The minute Jane spoke, the second her words tickled Maura’s ear and reverberated against the tender skin at her neck, goose bumps erupted across her body like wildfire across a parched forest.

Jane continued, determined to finish her instruction despite what unintended truths might be reveled in the tutorial.

“It’s the bottom of the ninth, the Yankees are leading by one run and you’re at the plate with two outs and a full count. You’ve got a runner on second base in scoring position, but, that doesn’t even matter because what you want is to end it all with the next pitch. All you want is to take one good swing and send that ball sailing over that green monster. The pitcher, he’s staring you down, he’s feeling the stitches of the ball against his fingertips, and you can see it in his eyes; he’s gonna bring you the heat because he doesn’t think you can handle it. But you know you can, inside you know you can that smother that fast ball and send it out of the park and onto some poor sap’s windshield on Lansdowne Street…all you gotta do is connect. Can you feel it?”

“What?” Maura answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re body preparing for something incredible. Can you feel it?”

“I feel something…I feel something…”

~Finis~

There you have it. I say ‘Finis’ but there will be another story. However I wouldn’t consider it a series necessarily since I have no idea how many I’ll write and each story can essentially stand on its own.

Hope you enjoyed it.