A/N: Cristine here. Totally blame me for the lack of update. This torn ligament is really kicking my ass. Anyway; enough whining and on with the story.
Numb-stricken pain impales Jane's heart as she shivers under her comforter. Usually the thick cloth successfully fought Boston nights, but not even this tightly knit cotton could sheath the ice forming in place of her heart. Tonight she may have done the worst, the unspeakable, to her bestfriend and as she tries to sleep it away, those despondent hazels haunt her dreams. Countless time throughout the night she wakes herself up with her own sobs, just to involuntarily drop from the vigorous energy used; creating a draining cycle. Many dreams she forces herself to sleep through because Jane, even in an unconscious state, us aware of the horrific bags she gets from sleep deprivation, and she needs to look better than ever tomorrow.
If she knows Maura like she thinks she does the doctor would dress to kill tomorrow and will speak nothing of it as she remains professional. And if Maura does that, Jane will do the same. She refuses to show weakness, again; she's shown enough involving this case- involving her life.
She won't sweat it; she's lived before Maura and she'll damn sure live without her– possibly better than ever.
Jane walks into the morgue with Korsak, suddenly wishing it was Frost. It's not that she favors one over the other, but Frost seems to be a bit naïve when catching woman's feelings while Korsak is keener. Frost wouldn't detect the thick tension between the two women. He wouldn't understand that Doctor Isles is making little to no eye contact with her for a specific reason, and not of sheer coincidence. He wouldn't get any of it, and Jane could really use some ignorance right about now.
Just not Korsak.
"The DNA results should arrive within the next hour," Maura replies smoothly, dress to kill like Jane inferences.
"Thanks, doc," Korsak smiles while Jane nods, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to fill Maura will the utmost sincere apology.
Korsak makes one last thankful nod and heads for the door, only stopping when he doesn't hear footsteps behind him. "Jane?" he calls unsurely, but Jane waves him off without giving a look. She has business to handle.
When he takes the gesture for dismissal, he makes a shrugs and walks through the automatic doors.
Maura's eyes are determinedly– because it is almost alarming how much she wants to gaze in those dark eyes– set on the dead body on her slab, but she could feel the intensity from the woman before her, as if she was sporting a blatant fragrance. She wants to look up and ask Jane how could she betray her the way she did, but the rekindling thought of embarrassment and humiliation smites her heart and her confidence.
So she stands there, pretending to write something useful on her clipboard, but those eyes unsettle her to dropping the pen. The clicking sound of the writing utensil seems to roar in Maura's ears, echoing into her body. The sound mocks her, reminds her just how weak she is and how strong and resilient Jane appears. It isn't fair. The thought aggravates her.
"Well?" she snaps, refusing to give her eye contact as she bends down to pick up her pen. The crouched position, her expensive heels giving her a few inches, allows Maura to align with the detective's crotch. The cheap leather belt glares at her with a shine, and the juncture of strong thighs causes a rumble of desire within her throat. Jane sure has exquisite legs…
She hears the detective guffaw as she rises on her feet, but her eyes still remain on the floor. She can't look at her. She can't look in the mirror…
Her usually resonant seems an octave lower, her tone sure and even. It brings a ragged breath to the blonde's lips, but for her pride's sake she keeps her eyes and voice steady as she coolly replies, "Jane, there is a killer lurking around and I believe you should be doing your job."
"We need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about." Maura will remain strong– in the presence of Jane, that is. She finally brings herself to look at the detective and she immediately regrets it when those chocolate browns smolder her own. She's stunned, nearly breathless at the intensity swimming in them. Her hand haphazardly reaches for the edge of the table to anchor herself, while her other struggles to keep her clipboard in place. Jane is too beautiful words and she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to reach over and have this woman take her in those strong arms.
"About last night –"
Maura distantly waves her hand, refusing to hear Jane speak any longer. The more she hears that deep voice rasp the room, the harder the willpower to keep control. And Maura refuses to get crushed again. So she goes to something she knows is factual. She knows that'll stay fixed and peculiar: science.
"Your victim appears to have excessive restraint marks around the wrists and ankles. Meaning she was tied up, perhaps a chair –"
"Maura –" her tone is grows strained and indignant, but Maura tries to drown her out. She needs to focus on her work.
"Traces of spermicide are evident inside the victim –"
"Maur–" She was moving closer.
Why couldn't she leave her alone, and let her bury herself in her work? This was sadistic of Jane, to walk around the table with that flash of anger in her eyes. One thing she loved more than Jane kind, caring and compassionate, was her angry, primal, and on edge. When the detective looked at her like this, she always felt like…dinner.
"Jane, stop –"
"Quit it with your science!" she growls out, face to face with the nervous blonde, Maura able to take in the detective's distinctive smell.
"You can't avoid science, Jane. It is the stemming stone of our daily lives," she corrects conclusively, her need to instruct temporally abates her anxiety. Temporally.
Jane is too close, both literally and figuratively. And the smoldering gaze she gives the blonde makes her unconsciously take a step backward, only to be defied with a cold, white wall. She can't hide it now, the blatant want in her sure-to-be dilated hazel eyes. Her lips burn for the brunette's, the tingling sensation of nostalgia and desire flirting throughout her body. She can't stop herself now. She needs her more than ever.
A strong arm extends beside her head, while the other ghosts her hip, closing the blonde in. She sees it too; the want, the constant struggle to keep their emotions intact. But they were lying to themselves. A common kinship they share is the truth.
Jane finds her lips on the blonde's, a slow kiss trailing into something ravenous. The crave grows stronger; the blatant need to take the blonde's submission, something Maura obliviously taken from her last night, kissing harder, pinning the squirming woman to the wall. She graces the pads of her fingertips against smooth, bare shoulders until they palm the blonde's back, finding a zipper.
Maura feels as if she's on cloud nine, again. She loves this, Jane all domineering and taking what's hers. Perhaps last night was a mistake. Maybe Jane will take her long, hard and fast.
She only wished it was not in front of a dead body, but beggars can't be choosers. And she was begging!
"Jane," she breathes on warm lips, closing her eyes when she feels them on the column of her neck.
Jane's mind is in the fog; only functioning to satisfy Maura's needs and her own ego. She can't walk around knowing that the frail Maura Isles took her heart. So she needs to fuck her, make her come so hard she can't see straight, have her begging and panting for her touch, to feel honorable. The way a detective should.
But a flash, nothing big but evident, in her mind scorns her for the act she was doing. She shouldn't disrespect Maura like this. Take advantage and mutilate her body like a used whore. No she was too beautiful and elegant, and a woman of class didn't deserve this. Though her body craves the heat of the doctor, she leans back and, again like last night, she shakes her head, this time sorrowful and regretful in her saddened gaze.
Maura's eyes flutter open to find the detective taking a step back while she nervously pats imaginary dust from the hem of her blazer. Her blonde brows knit, confused at the sudden abandonment. "Jane?" she calls bewilderment evident in her voice.
It's only when she sees regret instead of arousal, teeth biting her lower lip in shame rather than desire, is when she knows it happened again. Her confusion turns to anger, and shock, and humiliation. And she thought she couldn't come to par with the pain and degradation of last night.
"Maur, please let me exp-"
"No." She's upset that she stills hears her desire and lust within her own voice, and if she could detect it, so can Jane. She didn't, doesn't, want Jane to know how she feels. Not anymore, that is. "I won't let you do this to me– not again."
Still breathing harshly, another sign of her desire, Maura straightens herself up, indignantly wipes away wrinkles at the core of her dress, and walks out, again, with her heart and ego crush.
And the sad part is Jane didn't even call her name…
Jane watches the trace of Maura's white fitted dress as she departures and lets out a harsh "Fuck" as she kicked the leg of the slab, only cursing harder when the pain strikes her toe. Son of a bitch! She'd done it again, but it was worse this time. At least before she ran, ran like a petulant baby, and she didn't have to see the hurt in those light eyes. Now pain humiliation and involuntary desire fills unshed tears when the doctor walked away. She made Maura feel that way– I made Maura feel that way. Her mind swarms in a maze but a low, even, and disturbingly uncharacteristic voice in her conscious whispers "At least she isn't you… You could walk with your head and heart held high…"
Usually when Maura is depressed– this is rare since things don't get that close to her– she drinks in her living room to wallow in her suffering, in solitude. But tonight is different. She needs to sprawl to strut her stuff and prove that she's important and desirable. To prove to herself there was a malfunction with Jane, rather than the other way around.
She's hurting– burning is a more appropriate word, but she couldn't stop the twitching of her upper lip when she looks at her reflection. You look fabulous dear; she perks to herself as she admires her new attire. Ditching her white, fitted dress– clouded with conflicted memories– Maura goes for a dark silk top, two buttons respectfully unbuttoned, black straight-legged jeans, ending with hot red pumps. If Jane didn't want her then fine. There are other men, possibly women that could suit her needs tonight.
She gives herself one last check in the mirror, grabs her coat and keys, and leaves her house with a slight lift to her step.
She should've known not to do this. Alcohol only makes it worse, Maura muses. Alcohol just intensifies the core emotion of a person, and since Maura's primary emotion is despair and degradation, the third glass of Bourbon just raises the hatred she holds for herself up to a tee.
How could alcoholics dive their problems into a beverage, when the aftermath is a lot worse than their initial problems?
She shakes her thought away to focus on her current settings. She scopes around the dim-lit bar, counting potential candidates, coming up with a handful– if that.
Most of the men, and the few women she shot a glance at, all appear the same with the same flaws. Not necessarily flaws, just…an inconvenience. Some were too tall, too short, but the core issue that all seem to share the same two traits.
They all had dark and intensive eyes.
Just the thought of brown, the brilliant shade Jane carries makes the blonde shiver and all the more growl down at her empty glass— which the bartender fixes. She is beginning to lose hope, that perhaps Jane's silent opinion is correct. Perhaps she wasn't as desirable as she thought. But her internal jabs stops when she comes across a blonde male with his hair cropped— finally! He seems like great potential; medium-built, eyes like the crisp wave of the sea, with a tailored black blazers, matching slacks, and alligator shoes. He's clearly from wealth and he did spark her interest, but the feelings weren't reversed when he sat at the further end of the bar.
Pinning enough humiliation on her heart, she tosses some bills on the counter, and stands up; ready to leave this horrible night behind her with Vodka at her own domain. It's not until she turns around to find her initial interest heading the same direction, his movements slow and seemingly deliberate.
"Excuse me ma'am, have we…have we met?" he asks, chiseled features flirting into a smile.
Okay cheesy line, but he's cute, she muses. And she catches a British accent.
"Uh…I don't believe so," she finds her own smile coming along as she haphazardly leans back on the neck of the stool.
"You're right," he smiles some more, letting skin sink into two beautiful dimples. "I would've recognized a woman with such a beautiful smile in the drop of a hat."
More cheesy lines, but still all the more beautiful.
She lightly chuckles, blushing a bit as she runs her fingers through my hair.
"Are you…are you leaving?" A small frown appears around his light brow and Maura feels her chest lighten a bit. Jane wouldn't have looked that disappointed…
"I was…but…it's still early, I suppose," she chuckles nervously before her teeth go for her bottom lip.
"Good. Alec Robinson," he smiles, extending her hand.
"Maura Isles," she grins with equated affection, returning the gesture.
Tonight will be fun…
Maura and her new suitor spend the rest of the evening dancing, giggling at crafted humor, grinding heatedly during slower songs. He's charming, smart, and a real mover on the dancefloor.
"So," he smiles down at as he comfortably wraps his hands around her waist. On other pretenses Maura would've flinch and politely moved the daring hands, but considering today's events and how raw and broken Jane made her feel, she settles with the comfort and sighs. "Miss Maura Isles. What do you do?"
She heaves another sigh, a bit disappointed in her tone. This is where men freeze up around her– especially men with lower salary wages. It's not unusual; seventy-five percent of males feel their self-value equates their net worth. It still doesn't stop her feeling of unjustified guilt and isolation.
"Why the long face, dear? Job you're not proud of?" he smirks.
She chuckles sardonically at that. She loves her job more than anything. "It's the total opposite really. I am a pathologist."
A blonde brow rises in approval. "M.E, eh? So why the drenched puppy look when I brought it up?"
Because when I think of my job, I think of her… She didn't bring Jane simply for the fact that her intention was to have a good time and not sulk at the past. In fact, she hasn't thought of Jane until he brought up her job, and it'll stay that way. "Oh nothing," she chuckles softly, lightly shaking her head, swaying to the subtle beat behind them. "Usually guys freeze or become unsettle at my profession since I deal with the dead."
"I don't understand why," he replies smoothly, shocking the blonde. "You are giving a voice to people who unfortunately no longer have the power to. I think that's very humble and honorable of you."
A rosy hue tints the doctor's cheeks, but somehow she holds back her smile. "Well Mister Alec Robinson. What do you do?"
"I am a corporate lawyer for numerous firms, mainly at Starbucks. I cannot count how many people who try to make the biggest buck by spilling their coffee," he chuckles. "Clearly not as an interesting job as yours, but I just made partner," he smiles some more, delightfulness and triumph in his expression. "It's the reason why I'm out here tonight."
She finds his smile infectious and beams "Congratulations! That is very accomplishing and exhilarating."
"I guess," he shrugs, "but I don't like to talk about my job. 'specially when there's a lovely woman in front of me." His accent compliments the deep octave his voice becomes.
"Well then," she smiles, hooking her arms around his neck. "Let's shut the hell up."
Five songs and two drinks later, Maura stifles a yawn as she runs her fingers through her hair. It's been nice, he did in fact make her feel important and desirable, but she has to job to do in the morning and staying and drinking with him won't help the sure hangover she'll have in the morning. "Alec it's been nice," she smiles as she stands up and places some bills on the table. "But it's getting late and I must be getting home."
"Oh," he blurts, accent sounding sharper in the word "right. So do I." He stands up as well and runs his fingers through his short platinum hair.
"Well," she smiles softly, collecting her things, "it's been nice…" Her voice trails at that because she honestly doesn't know what to say. Her task was done, after all.
He apparently feels the same when he makes a sheepish grin as he waves a goodbye and says "Goodnight," and walks off.
She heaves a sigh as she walks out the bar. He didn't even offer his number, or ask for her own. Perhaps he was there for the same purpose; a sign of fulfillment from the opposite sex. He sure got it because if he would've asked. Maura would've probably taken him home.
It's darker than she expected, later in the night than she interpreted. The wind picks up and she immediately feels through her thin peacoat and fog graces the dark sky. She picks up the pace, not liking her setting at this time of night and weather. She doesn't want to end up like the girls on her slab. As her heels clack on the Boston concrete, she hears steps overlap hers, the movements slower than her own.
She slows down, it's faint to the point that it's undetectable to the human eye, to think if she should stop and let the walker pass her, but she thinks the best of it and picks up the speed. As her heels dig into the ground, the footsteps become faster and her heart begins to race. She may have had a few drinks, and her vision was a bit blurry, but she was not hallucinating. There was someone behind her but she was too timid to shoot a glance.
Her massive power-walk quickly shifts to a light jog– the most she could do in the Italian heels. Somehow she could still hear the mysterious footsteps through the blood and fear rushing in her ears. But when she hears that voice, hears her name, she stops and lets out a blissful sigh.
"Maura!" she turns around to find Alec with a sheepish grin on her face. For once for this evening she doesn't return with the same optimism. He really scared the hell out of her.
"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she hisses, upset her heart was hammering out of her chest.
He furrows his brow, surprised, as if he didn't know what he was doing. "Sneak? I just turned the corner," he points to the closest block from behind him, illustrating his point.
Maura furrows her brow, not wanting to get into with him, but he has to be fooling her. She heard those damn footsteps!
"Are you…are you alright?" he asks, concern evident in his tone and expression.
He apparently went with her conscious rather than her words. "Are you sure, because I could walk you home–"
She wants to accept his offer, but then she would repeat the cycle: helplessly fall and depend on someone. Her parents, adoptive but her parents nevertheless, are old money. They taught Maura the epitome of high class and the act of autonomy. She doesn't need Jane, or Alec for that matter.
All she needs are her heels.
"No thanks, I'm fine," she plasters a convincing smile.
"Well…I had a good time tonight," another sheepish smile occurs for the lawyer.
Her heart steadies at the sight of him, at the thought of being with someone. "Me too," she replies truthfully.
"Oh," he mutters as he reaches for something in his breast pocket. "Incase someone tries to sue you," he extends a business card, "I'm here for free lawyer advice," he smirks as she takes the card and caresses the rich paper with her thumb.
"What makes you think I'll call?"
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," he smiles.
She chuckles softly at them one as she slides the paper in her jeans. "I'll think about it."
"That's good enough for me. So…are you sure…?"
"Oh, oh yeah, I'm fine," she nervously chuckles. "Just…goodnight." She begins to walk backwards until she faces the road ahead of her.
She feels something bright. Like a potent blot of light, perhaps a camera- flash. But when Maura turns around all she sees are the vacant streets of Boston and a few lit streetlights. Giving one last look over, she still gets the same muted response and returns her attention to the road.
Her heart is still on edge and she immediately thinks of a strong detective who would save her, who would be there… But her she makes an indignant shake of the head just thinking of her, as she squares her shoulders and heads to the front door of her house.
She's never been anyone's pet, and never will.
Tomorrow may be your lucky night, Alec…
Yeah, this was pretty much Maura centric, and a little longer than expected, but there will be more Jane and her shenanigans next chapter. Laris tells me there are quite a few of alerts, but I don't see many reviews. Those small words make