RIZZOLI & ISLES

The Line

thefutilitarian

Title: The Line

Author: thefutilitarian

Rating: T for tame

Disclaimer: Yet another show that I’d like to own. Depressing. Way to rub it in my face, world.

Length: ~ 600 words

Warnings: Cute and fairly fuzzy, in other words, totally not my normal style

A/N: Very tentatively dipping my toes into this fandom. It’s still brand new and shiny and I haven’t read the books so I’ll be drabbling away for a while yet.

Unbeta’d, sadly all mistakes mine.

A/N: Very tentatively dipping my toes into this fandom. It’s still brand new and shiny and I haven’t read the books so I’ll be drabbling away for a while yet.

Can’t believe there is not a section for this show already…. travesty! It is so very very gay.

The Line

thefutilitarian

Jane Rizzoli is tough, loyal, and savvy - everything a good cop should be. One thing she knows she isn’t is smart. If she was smart, she would have probably given a little more thought to climbing solo into the coroner’s van. Or at least that’s what Maura tells her and that’s the crux of it - until she met Maura Isles ‘smart’ was never a problem for Jane Rizzoli. The last time she checked somnambulism and amyotrophic blah blah blah did not see it fit to solve a crime or put a murderer behind bars.

Maura is different though. Maura is annoying. Instead of saying someone died within the last two hours she talks about pallor mortis. And then she turns to you with this ridiculously earnest, matter–of–fact look, as if to say, “Doesn’t everyone talk like this?”

At first it drove Jane crazy. It still does a little. She still has to routinely ask Maura to clarify a minimum of five things a day but now when she sits with a bottle of beer at the end of the night and tries not to think about the difference she didn’t make today, she finds other emotions creeping in: tenderness, fondness, affection. She can never remember the point when words like cephalgia replace words like headache - all that she knows is that they have. She’d also die before admitting to anyone that when she goes home, she painstakingly recalls each new phrase Maura has mentioned and researches it.

Google and Jane are best buds now.

She tells herself it is because Maura is a friend, because she has her share of responsibility when it comes to maintaining a good relationship with the Medical Examiner’s Office. She tries not to think too hard on the fact that this is contrary to everything the rumour mill says about her: chiefly, that she is unable to get along with anyone else. She also tries to bury the truth about how Maura makes her feel, why it’s important that Maura not think Jane, well, stup… not smart. Friends are important, friends’ opinions even more so. Again she doesn’t examine in detail why she’s never given a hoot about having friends before… never mind what they thought of her.

“Buy you a drink?”

The guy isn’t too bad looking, even… cute. For a second she imagines taking home and fucking his brains out, then never calling him again. Her mind flashes to tomorrow morning and there is an unpleasant taste inside her mouth which a swig of the Corona doesn’t seem to wash away. She flashes her badge, he slinks away immediately - why is it that guys can never deal with her job?

Her actions are mindless, as natural as taking another sip of beer and before she knows it she’s fired off a text, “Ever think you are never going to date again?”

The reply is almost instant, “If it wasn’t for Carbon 14, I wouldn’t date at all.”

Jane rolls her eyes and resigns herself to checking Google, five seconds later chuckling quietly as she gets it, firing off a quick, “Nice, Maura. But seriously?”

It takes a little longer for this reply but eventually her cell pings, “It’s not much but I can offer a Pinot Grigio and Bogart and Bacall. I’ll even throw in popcorn? ”

Jane smiles and feels warmth trickle through her veins at the thought of waking up in Maura’s spare bedroom tomorrow. Just like the last time and the time before she tucks the feeling away, telling herself that when the time is right she’ll look at it a little closer. Grabbing her jacket, she hangs around just long enough to down the beer and type one–handed, “As always, you restore my battered faith, Isles. See you in 20. It’s a date.”

~ ~ ~