RIZZOLI & ISLES

Unspoken

thefutilitarian

Title: Unspoken

Author: thefutilitarian

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Still don’t own anything except for my imagination. Which I am pretty certain no–one else should ever want to possess.

A/N 1: *REPOST* *REPOST* *REPOST* As people correctly pointed out, Jo Friday is a female.

A/N 2: Unbeta’d, so apologies for any grammar / punctuation issues. I wrote this drabble in the hopes of enticing Bass out of the shell he appears to have crawled into since voicing his thoughts. Spoilers only for episode 1x01.

Posted at: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6258127/1/Unspoken

Unspoken

thefutilitarian

Sometimes the drone of the alarm clock is akin to a blare which signals the changeover in a factory. It heralds another shift, another morning, another crime scene, but you already know that you’ll be greeted with the same old story. The pain tugs a little more sharply than it tends to; it takes a couple of minutes of clenching and unclenching to relieve the stiffness. Massaging each spot unconsciously, I think about the inevitable coming onslaught, both literal and figurative. Barometric change in pressure – rain’s coming, and with it another type of deluge – one brought on by these physical reminders that I am weak. That just like others, I am mortal.

It’s surprisingly easy to bury the truth the other days: the days my hands are fine; the days I wake to find Maura by my side; the days Jo Friday shares my bed and kicks the nightmares away. But they’re all absent today and so there’s no–one to remind me that I’m capable, that I’m needed, that I’m wanted… that I am the Jane Rizzoli I was before he took it all away.

Jo Friday’s eyes watchfully follow me across the room from her resting spot on the couch, her head listlessly flopping down on her paws, reflecting a weariness which seems to match my own. It’s both a blessing and a curse that days like this her uncanny sixth sense reigns in her typical exuberance because even as I long to lose myself to introspection and self–pity, I yearn for something – – anything to break the spell.

The stilted tones of the Funeral March cut across the morose atmosphere as cleanly as its owner’s scalpel. No time to consider the irony as I flip the phone to my ear, “You bored to death already, Dr Isles?”

I don’t need to picture the indulgent smirk, I can hear it her voice. “Not yet, Det. Rizzoli but things are certainly looking… grave.” It’s cheesy as all hell but I can’t resist a little chuckle… because Maura is my friend and because, just for a moment, Hoyt is the last thing on my mind. Her smile melts from indulgent into pleased as punch, “That was one of the better jokes from yesterday’s events.”

I groan, “That bad?”

“No, it’s really fascinating actually. I think Dr Mattawa’s theory on –”

“Stop,” I hold my hand up for emphasis. “Remember our deal? Whatever happens in Chicago stays in Chicago.”

“But Jane…”

“But nothing, Maura. Do you know why I am not at the Forensic Sciences Conference right now?”

“Well, the police department’s budget wouldn’t stretch to covering the costs, then there’s the time off on short notice, Jo Friday, Bass and –”

“No. It’s because I’d rather be dead.”

“That’s… terrible, Jane.” Even trying to admonish me, her lips remain in a grin. “Though it would certainly make you fit in.”

“Ooooh, is that trash talk, Dr Isles? You think I can’t hobnob with you science types?”

“With your looks, Jane, I’d say there’s a 93% statistic probability that you’d hobnob entirely too well.”

I am glad she isn’t here to see the heat rise to my cheeks. Accustomed as I am to Maura’s straight shooter approach, there’s always the occasional line which still completely throws me off.

“Jane?” A hint of concern overlays the smile.

“Yeah, I’m still here, just…” Fumbling for an excuse, I spy the coffee machine, “the coffee machine is broken and you know how I am without that stuff.”

“Yes, worshipping at the altar of a false god. Even though the excess neuron activity triggers your pituitary gland to secrete a hormone that tells your adrenal glands to produce adrenalin which puts your body…”

I whimper quietly.

“I’m just making you want it that much more, aren’t I?”

The unseen nod still comes across.

“Well, it’s probably just as well I know you, isn’t it, Detective?” The words are followed by a sharp rap on the door.

“Maura, hang on, let me just see who –”

The rest of the sentence dies as the vision of a paper cup floats to obstruct the view from my peephole, its logo promising me all sorts of paradise. My uncomprehending stare drinking in the sight of Maura as the door swings open, I frown, “How did – – weren’t you just – – okay, have you figured out time travel or magic?”

She shoves the heavenly smelling cup towards me as I cross my fingers and hope it’s the former, her smirk at my look of incomprehension never wider, “I wish. But in this case it’s neither. I took the red eye home last night.”

“You did? I thought the conference wrapped up tomorrow.”

“It does. But I figured that science would still advance without me. Plus I’ve already downloaded all the notes for the next two days.”

“Admit it, you were bored. You missed the action, you missed your bodies, and most of all,” the sip of coffee sends a spark shooting through my veins which allows me to be far more bold, “Maura… you missed me.” My tone is flippant – light and teasing – even as deep down inside Rolly Polly Rizzoli’s breath hitches as she waits to hear a response.

“No, actually, I was just concerned about Bass.”

The rim of the coffee cup at my lips masks my knowing grin. The little girl inside relaxes, breathes steadily again. She, as I, as anyone, can tell when Maura’s lying. No wonder she gave up trying it so long ago.

“Gimme 5.” I gesture at my tank top and my shorts, “help yourself to bread… and don’t burn mine if you’re making toast.”

“It tastes better that way.”

“Does not.”

Stopping in the doorway to the bedroom, my hesitation makes my fingers beat out a sharp staccato tap on the paper cup. The lie is not important, neither is the fact that Maura cares but she won’t say it, what is important is how, just as today, she always seems to know.

“Why’d you really come back?”

Her gaze skitters across the room before it settles on the blasted coffee machine, its purring rumble catching me red–handed in my lie as surely as Maura’s words revealed her own. Her pointed gaze catches mine and I shrug a little sheepishly.

“The Weather Channel said 3 – 5 inches of rain.”

~ ~ ~