Wrote this one on my own. Trying to get back into the swing of writing, so this was more of a writing exercise piece. One shot.
Characters aren't mine. They belong to Jane, Tess, TNT, Warner Brothers, and other assorted important people.
The voice echoed through her small apartment as the detective pulled the covers over her head and scrunched down into a small ball in the middle, hoping to be left alone.
"Jane, why aren't you up?" The voice nagged.
"Go away," she grumbled, voice still hoarse with sleep.
"Go away? This is how you talk to your mother?" Angela plopped down on the side of the bed, not bothering to move anything around. "You promised to go apartment looking with me. We're going to be late if you don't get up and get dressed." She poked the bundle in the middle of the bed that she was sure was her daughter.
"It's my only day off this week, Ma. I think you could let me sleep in a little," sitting up, the younger Rizzoli pulled the covers down, ruffling her hair in the process. "Besides, I thought you had a place in mind that you were pretty set on staying. What happened?"
"First of all, you have the next week off, so don't pull that on me. I work at the station now; I know what goes on. Second of all," Angela reached over to move some hair from her daughter's face, "I don't know if I can get into that complex. You know most of the bills and things were in your father's name. I don't have any credit."
Giving a sigh of defeat, Jane rolled out of the bed. "Just give me a few to take a shower." She stopped at the door. "Can we grab something to eat at Sherlock's?"
"I assumed we would," smiling brightly, Angela stood to make the bed. "When was the last time you changed these sheets?"
"Can't hear you," Jane called out, "in the bathroom taking a shower."
With a shake of her head, her mother started to strip the bed. "One of these days," she mumbled to herself, "I hope she finds someone that makes her want to be cleaner."
"How's Maura?" Jane idly asked as they drove to the first apartment complex on the list.
"She's fine. Didn't you see her yesterday?" Angela sipped on the coffee in the large to go cup she'd taken from Sherlock's.
"Not really. She was busy with a bunch of paperwork, and I was trying to finish mine up so I could get out of there. I figured I'd probably see her sometime this weekend," the detective shrugged. A little moment of silence passed before she asked, "Did she go out on a date last night?"
"Ma, I'm just asking a question." The defensiveness in the deep voice gave no question that her daughter didn't want to have the talk she'd accidentally started.
"You know, you should just ask her." Angela stared out of the passenger's window, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.
"If she had a date last night? Yeah, I guess I could. She normally fills me in on the details when we do movie night on Sunday. But, I guess I could call her. Why? Was he super cute or something?"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Her mother gave her own sigh of defeat. As a look of determination fell across her features, she turned to look at the lanky woman next to her. "Why do you do this to yourself?"
"I don't know why I agree to drive you around town. I guess I never learned my lesson from Driving Miss Daisy," Jane deadpanned.
"Okay, I get it. You don't want to talk about it, but you know this is just going to fester. I don't care what you want everyone to believe, I know you're a sensitive girl, and don't look at me like that," she pointed at her daughter, threat on her face. "I'm your mother. I raised you, and I know how you are. Just because you say something doesn't bother doesn't mean that it doesn't, and just because you say you don't want something doesn't mean that you don't."
"Ma, I really don't want to get into this. Look, the apartment complex is a block away. Could we not be fighting when we get there?" Her voice was tired, wary.
Angela set her cup down in the holder, and blew out a frustrated puff of air. "All I'm saying is that I know, and I still love you, Janie. I always will. You're my daughter, my child. I'd love you regardless, no matter what you did," she looked over to the now tense woman behind the steering wheel, "or who you love. You'll always be my child, and I'll love you and support you."
"Okay, enough. We're here." With a grunt, the younger Rizzoli threw the car in park and jumped out, slamming the door behind her.