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The bodies are found seventy two hours apart. First the man, always in the same position, bound with his throat slashed latterly across the carotid. The blade never descends deeper to connect with thick tendons and muscle that would prove more difficult to slice through, and the arterial splatter suggests that the killer stands behind the man when he makes the final slash.
They always find a fucking teacup, damp liquid on the floor. Earl Grey, then Orange Picot, and finally Darjeeling.
Jane Rizzoli fucking hates tea, but Korsak seems to enjoy it enough to recognize it by the smell. Jane lets him think that he's pulled a fast one, but she's been in the kitchens of these expensive homes: she's seen the way that the tea service complete with packages of loose-leaf tea purchased at an expensive uptown tea shop is laid out, as if taunting them with its recognizable logo.
The killer sets the teacup – always fine china - on the man's knees, pulling the chair he's bound to up close and personal, forcing him to watch as he rapes the woman. They've found semen at every crime scene. Jane thinks that the killer should probably be more careful, but he never is. Every damn move he makes is taunting them, right down to the final act that they've parsed together; forcing the woman to watch as he kills the man, battered and bruised after he's brutalized her.
Seventy two hours later they'll find the second body and the clock will begin to tick again. There's a decent lull in between this guy's kills. He's not in crisis yet, and if he escalates, Brass is thinking of calling in the FBI. Jane doesn't want that. She emphatically does not want that.
She wants to be the one to catch this guy. She's seen how he's raped, how he's removed ovaries, breasts, uteruses from these women. Maura's said that they were probably still alive, sedated somehow, when he did this. Jane had wanted to throw up.
The violence, the hatred and the utter disregard towards women makes Jane long to be someone else, anyone else. Every minute she's alive she's at risk from this guy. He's killing women so thank god she's not one of those, but holy fuck she wants absolutely nothing to do with this.
When she goes home after they've found the third woman's body, she goes straight to her closet and finds the lock box. The contents fall into her hands after she spins the dial on the lock to line up to the carefully chosen combination. Tommy's birthday. No one would ever guess.
Good.
Her cock is in her hands and Jane feels as though she can take on the world again. She's so fucking afraid of what this madman will do that she can't even bring herself to be female any more. It's safer to be like this, this fucked up and still not entirely accurate version of herself.
Maura says she needs to stop using it as a shield whenever she doesn't want to deal with something. Jane doesn't say much in those moments, but she hears Maura. Hears the truth in her argument.
She needs to go to a shrink, she thinks.
Jane plunges her hands into her pockets and leans against the counter in her kitchen, thinking about how Crowe had put a tampon in her water bottle at work again. About how they all talk about Maura like she's a fucking piece of meat, about how she hates men so much and yet she desperately needs to be one sometimes.
There's a knock on the door and Jane saunters over, checking the peep-hole to see Maura standing there with a brown paper bag full of what looks to be Chinese food. Jane slides the chain out of place and pulls Maura into her apartment.
Jane likes moments like this, when it comes easily to her. When she can take the bag from Maura and set it on the counter. How she can turn back to her lover and pull her in close, fingers smoothing over the swell of her ass, so pretty in that tight skirt. How she can lift her up and press her up against the wall, cock straining against her jeans and kiss her hard.
Maura is breathless. Her shirt buttons are undone quickly. The Chinese food is fast forgotten.
They're not going to make it to the bedroom. Jane steers them towards the couch, pulling Maura down into her lap, lips never parting. Her tongue is harsh; this is a release for her in more ways than one.
Maura's skin is warm against her own, fingers splayed across Jane's shoulders. Her shirt is on the floor – she's glad she didn't wear a button up today.
"Zipper," Jane grunts, and Maura shifts a little to the left. Her warm fingers leave Jane's shoulder, drifting downwards, pulling on the zipper of her skirt, undoing it so that Jane can push it up and over her ass. Jane touches the skin she's brought out into the air and can barely contain the groan that rises, unbidden, from her lips.
Maura Isles, the siren that she is, is not wearing any underwear.
"They'd show," Maura pouts, kissing Jane's jaw.
God, Jane's been wanting to do this all day and now she knows why. The scent of Maura's arousal, the sound of Maura's voice draws her in, never letting her leave. She's no better than those old heroes, drowning in the presence of a beautiful, unobtainable woman.
The only thing is; Jane's got the woman. And she's smug as hell about it.
Maura's wet, and Jane gets her pants undone faster than she's ever done it before. She's hard, ready, it has to be like this. Jane can do it other ways; she actually prefers it other ways, but sometimes Jane has to be Jay and today is one of those days. Maura understands, and that's what Jane loves about her.
There are lips on her own and Maura's whispering into the kiss that she likes this, likes being able to ride him and dictate her own pleasure. Jane grins cockily at Maura and rolls her hips forward, pushing just the head of her cock into Maura. She's so fucking wet, it goes right in, but that's not the point. The point is to drag it out. To make Maura beg for it.
Maybe there's darkness in her as well, darkness that does not allow her to truly feel pleasure unless it's like this, depraved and distant.
Jane shakes her head violently, hands closing around Maura's hips. Jane is grateful that Maura's shirt has fallen off her shoulders and her breasts, just barely contained within a lacy bra, are right in front of Jane's face. She pulls Maura down, onto her, watching as Maura's face changes, watching as she is filled with nothing but Jane.
The case is gone from her mind; the stupid fucking nickname the press has made up for this guy is gone too. He's obviously a serial and that means that they'll catch him in the end. Jane's gunna start going through fucking parking tickets. Maybe lightning strikes twice.
Maura rocks against her, face covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Jane is fascinated at how her face moves, how her teeth worry at her lip. How her eyes grow darker and darker with every passing moment. Fuck, Maura's tight and Jane has to work to push in and out of her. She likes working for it. It makes it better in the end.
Her fingers graze over Maura's breasts, eyes never leaving Maura's face. She can't look away, she has to see how breathless this makes her, how powerful Jane has become in this position. She can see how Maura's eyes grow wide, how her lips are parted in the pleasure of it all; she can see how close she is.
Jane's hands fall back down, fingertips digging into Maura's hips as she pushes up with renewed vigor. Her lips attach to Maura's neck and she's biting down hard. She's learned how to drive Maura higher and higher, to push against her comfort level and pull forward the sexual being she knows that deep down, Maura Isles encapsulates fully.
Jane doesn't care if this is brazen, unwarranted, and really inappropriate given the circumstances that they're in right now. She doesn't give a shit that maybe this isn't the best time to become completely and utterly undone. Maura makes it so easy to forget things, to lose herself in the sensation of it all. Maura is soft and smells good and Jane wants to worship every inch of her.
The words bubble, unbidden, from her lips. They are whispered encouragements, trying to coax Maura to lose herself too. This is how Jane loses control, she isn't stoic and silent and taking without thought. She's involved, talking Maura higher and higher, telling her she's beautiful. That she's riding Jane's cock like a pro and god, she's so tight.
All she wants is Maura, to feel this beautiful woman pressed against her.
Hips rolling forward, Jane dares release Maura into a one-handed grip, She knows that even in this position, one she knows Maura likes more than is perhaps healthy, she cannot come from just Jane inside her. Jane wish she could, it would be fucking hot as hell, but Maura isn't wired that way and she wants to see the glorious look on Maura's face when she comes.
Jane is pretty sure that that is the only way to chase away the terrible thoughts of this case.
Fingers curl, making tight little circles on Maura's stomach, dipping down, finding the small and sensitive nub almost hidden beneath their gyrating hips. "Ja.." Jane cuts Maura off with her lips, she doesn't want to hear that fake name if she can avoid it. She understands that it helps Maura to make sense of her, and she lets it slide. Jane is just Jane.
Even if tonight she'd rather be Jay.
Jane twists her fingers sharply and Maura moans into her mouth, hips giving one or two half-hearted movements as she comes. Jane pulls her hand away from Maura's oversensitive core and lets it rest on Maura's hip. She pushes her cock up and into Maura a few more times, relishing in the tightness and the way that Maura babbles incoherently as Jane continues to fuck her.
Jane likes the after as well.
Jane is being Jay tonight. Maura Isles is quite content with that normally, but Jay's working his way through this terrible, awful case that they've both been working on since the month began. The victims are so horribly abused; Jay isn't able to handle it. He's pacing up and down the small space between the wall and his couch, running through the case to Maura, trying to figure out what they're missing.
The women are usually missing for seventy two hours once they find the men. Couples; rich, upscale. The man tied and forced to watch as the woman is beaten and raped. They've found semen, fibers, spent condoms. He's flaunting everything that they know about him and the fact that they can't catch him.
This case is horrible.
They're calling him 'The Surgeon' in the papers and Jay is going to go insane if they don't catch a break soon.
Maura's pulled her skirt back down over herself, but her shirt still hangs open. Her chest, covered in small marks from Jay's urgent lovemaking, is bare to the world. She's got Jay's jacket draped over her shoulders so as to possess at least some minutia of modesty. She doesn't care really, but she knows that Jay isn't as comfortable in his body as she is, she doesn't want him uncomfortable.
"Did that help?" Maura can't help but ask. They've been doing so well, Maura's finally fairly convinced that she's got Jay figured out. This complicates things.
Jay is a very complicated individual.
"Not really," Jay admits, hands plunged deep in his pockets. He hasn't taken off his pants, the marks of their encounter are evident on the front of them in the right light. The bulge of the phallus is still there. Maura swallows, thinking about how good it feels inside of her. "I just wanted to forget."
Maura understands this. She is a rational being, but she understands that most humans do not embrace logic as a tenant of their being. This case is horrible. They all want to forget.
"If someone were to have this sort of training, what would they need to do?" The question has been bothering Maura as well. They've sent Detective Moore down to Georgia to see if they can find anything on the guy – the modus operandi is similar to a series of attacks and rapes that took place in Savannah several years ago. No one is sure that they're going to find anything there, the perpetrator was killed by his final victim.
Still, Maura likes Moore almost as much as she likes Korsak. She despises some of the other men that Jane works with, but she holds her tongue and smiles politely at them. They're all on the same team, as the expression goes. She'll have to remember to misquote that at some point to annoy Jay.
"Medical school," Maura rattles off, "or work in a morgue or mortuary. A funeral home perhaps." She's pretty sure that the level of skill suggests that this person at least attended medical school, far enough into the curriculum to have encountered cadavers. There's something about the way that the sutures are placed that suggests no residency or formal training out of school. After a while, a surgeon will develop his own unique technique, and this killer's is strictly by the book, as it is written.
Perhaps it is a psychosis.
Maura will have to examine the wound tracts again to make a determination, so she doesn't say anything else to Jay.
Jay rolls his eyes at Maura, "Well, which do you think it is?"
He always does that, always asks the questions that Maura isn't prepared to answer. She wants to say that she hates it, but it really does help with her immersion therapy. It forces her to evaluate her theories and test hypotheses quickly in her head – to see if they truly hold validity before she rattles off her response.
"Medical school," Maura sighs, "I would need to do further tests, but the stitches that are used on the sutures are very academic."
"I don't even want to know how you know that." Jay laughs.
Maura opens her mouth to protest, to say that it's very recognizable if you know what to look for, but thinks better of it. Jay did not go to medical school, there's no way he could possibly know.
They all have to wait for Thomas Moore to call them back with his findings in the morning. Hopefully he will have found something.
Jane cannot fucking believe Moore. Sleeping with the fucking victim who is probably at least somewhat guilty of withholding evidence from them. Jane knows that Catherine Cordell is withholding information from them the moment she first meets her. When Moore decides that they're going to hypnotize her, Jane thinks it's bullshit, and when the profilers suggest that the killer could have easily once upon a time worked with someone, she wants to fucking scream.
Poor. Life. Choices.
She saw them together; his hand on the small of her back, and is suddenly very, very glad that she is principled. She'd never fucking sleep with a victim. That's just in poor taste.
He tells her privately that she's just wounded, that she needs his protection.
She's a goddamn rape and trauma survivor, to mention nothing of the fact that she's fucking smart as hell and far too good for him.
Funny, the parallels in her life.
Still, he's found a name. Hoyt. Warren Charles Hoyt. Prefers Charles. He got kicked out of medical school in Atlanta for fucking with a corpse. Actually, if Moore's investigation is true, he was practicing his butchery on cadavers up to six months before he was slated to finish medical school and start his residency.
They're lucky he got the boot or else they'd be looking at a fucking doctor and probably a respected member of the community rather than the deviant they're after now. That, at least, makes it a little bit easier.
They start to look for him and Jane isn't that hopeful that they'll find him. They'll have better luck keeping close tabs on Catherine Cordell and hoping that he'll come back to finish the job that his apparent partner in Savannah never succeeded in completing.
Jane tells Moore privately that it was a nice piece of detective work, figuring out the connection between the dead killer and Hoyt. She respects him on a personal level, she hates his public choices.
This whole situation's fucked.
Everything's shot to hell when Cordell is taken. The clock starts and they don't know what to do, where to go. Jane tries to remain calm and resolute, but it scares her shitless, watching as Maura and the rest of them down in the lab scurry around, trying to make sense of absolutely no evidence.
Jane's hoping for a miracle, a walk off homer at the bottom of the ninth to win the game without extras. They've found some dirt that's dissimilar to the local fare on the concrete of Cordell's garage bay and they're hoping that getting a profile will at least limit their search radius. She doesn't think that Hoyt has taken Cordell outside the city. This is his comfort zone now.
Jane Rizzoli is fucking good at her job, but this guy scares her shitless.
They've caught a lead. The dirt samples have come back to an area near where Jane lives. She heads over into the residential neighborhood as soon as Maura tells her to be careful and kisses her cheek. She doesn't say she will be. Jane can't make promises like that.
Maura is everything Jane has ever wanted and then some, but there are promises, unspoken words between them, that cannot be said. The only promise is 'I love you.' Jane likes to think that Maura's made a second, more personal promise of, 'I won't label you,' but she'll never ask about it. Maura doesn't mention how fucked up Jane is unless Jane brings it up first. It's her way of being respectful, Jane thinks.
She really wishes that Maura would bring it up.
There's so much she still wants to tell Maura about herself. They've shared so much, but Jane can't ever find the words to thank Maura for being the only one who understands.
She's called Korsak for back-up but the seventy-two hour window is drawing to a close and this is more about revenge and finishing what he started for Hoyt anyway. The shrinks and profilers that have come in to consult on this case are pretty sure that he's already killed Catherine Cordell, but Jane isn't willing to give up.
Not yet, not ever.
Jane doesn't know what she's looking for. The houses all look the same. They're relics: built in the seventies in a push to expand Boston outwards and into the surrounding area. Jane grew up in a neighborhood similar to this; she knows that these houses are old enough to have deep cellars that hide more secrets than their worth and attics with little ventilation and better insulation than anyone could possibly need.
Basically, it's a fucking needle in a haystack.
Jane scans the street, looking up and down, swallowing and desperately searching for anything that might clue her in as to where she's going. They've all seen pictures of this Hoyt guy now. He's fucking creepy looking, but the picture's dated. Jane doesn't dare bring it out and start canvasing. She doesn't want to spook him.
She parks the cruiser a street over and undoes the clip on her gun. She's left the safety off the past few days; she's too paranoid and afraid of this guy already. She's not taking any chances. She radios to dispatch that she's going to do a walking patrol of the street and tries to school herself into being completely neutral.
The street is deserted, it's the middle of the day. Jane takes note of gardening projects and of how many people haven't collected their mail yet. No one needs a citation for not cutting their grass, that's good. She usually ends up writing at least one of them on these trips.
In the distance, she sees an older-model Chevy (though it could be Ford) blue pick-up pull into a driveway. It doesn't have Massachusetts tags and Jane squints, wishing her vision was better. It looks like a Georgia plate.
Her pace quickens.
A tall man with a head of grey hair climbs out of the cap and grabs a bag brandishing the CVS logo from the truck bed and heads into the back yard. From a distance, Jane can't be sure if it's Hoyt. She wants to say that it is, but years of academy training have taught her that it's a bad idea to assume anything.
There's a groan of metal grinding against metal and Jane pauses on the edge of the property, texting Korsak (hopefully he can figure it out) the license plate number to see if it does belong to Hoyt. She can see the bulkhead of a cellar entrance standing open and she can't help herself. It's in plain sight; she doesn't need a warrant to go speak to the guy.
There's a story already forming in her mind about how and why she's in the area, and Jane is already I prepared to spring into action if necessary.
She knocks on the bulkhead and doesn't see anyone. "Hello?" she calls into the gloom. The smell of the basement rises up and burns her nostrils and Jane wants to back away. She's not allergic to mold and mildew, but this basement smells of it something horrid.
No response. Jane pulls out her gun and steps into the blackness.
As her eyes adjust to the dim, Jane squints, everything is so dark. She sees a woman, bound on the floor and a two-by-four swinging upwards into her face.
She sees no more.
Korsak comes to find her. Maura isn't that surprised. He comes down to the morgue often enough when it's slow upstairs. She appreciates his company, he's a quiet presence that she's finally coming to appreciate. She knows that once upon a time, back when things were done differently in the Boston Police Department, Korsak processed his own evidence. He still does, sometimes, on difficult cases when the lab is overworked.
Maura wonders if Korsak feels a continued connection to this place and the careful methodology of processing evidence.
Unlike Jane, Korsak doesn't fill Maura's head with confused thoughts. He's a father figure without being overtly fatherly and he's got a pleasant smile that Maura finds truly endearing. She understands why Jane likes him as a partner as much as she does.
She's up to her elbows in intestines, however, when he comes in; in the middle of a very delicate procedure to fully extract stomach contents.
He's standing there in the doorway, looking lost and terrified and Maura drops the man's stomach back into his open belly and stares at Korsak. Maura's been brought up properly, she knows that it is rude to stare, and yet she does so openly. She's never seen him look like that. It is out of her scope of how to react to things.
The pieces tumble into place and Maura has to still her hands from shaking. Deep breaths. In. Out.
Jane…
"What's happened?" Her tone is all business because that is what she's going to hide behind, hoping and desperately praying that she's going to be able to be strong. She's not religious and has not been since early childhood, but praying is what she's doing.
Jane is usually here. Jane acts as a protector and as transference. Jane understands how to handle a crisis.
Maura is not used to dealing with things like this.
"Jane's gone off and done something stupid," Korsak begins. Maura can see him holding back, fear still badly hidden all over his body. His fists clench and unclench and he keeps eyeing the door and checking his watch.
Her teeth connect with her lip and Maura bites down harder than she'd initially intended. There's blood in her mouth, to keep her from crying out, from allowing her mind to put two and two together and getting the inevitable conclusion.
"Is she alright?" She asks the question even though she knows the answer. She has to have verbal confirmation.
In. Out. Breathe.
There's the copper flavor of her own blood in her mouth and Maura relishes it, it makes her feel alive, less terrified. Blood is real, tangible.
It means that this isn't a bad dream.
The harrowing lack of Jane's presence hits her then and Maura gulps mouthfuls of air. This is real and she has no contingency plan. No way of knowing if Jane is alive or dead. No knowledge of how she is supposed to act.
The blood in her mouth does nothing now, and she is fidgety and still having trouble breathing.
In. Out.
For Jane.
Korsak shifts from foot to foot, checking his watch and not meeting Maura's eyes. "Look, I know that you two are close." He swallows; Maura can see his laryngeal prominence bob up and down underneath his day old beard.
He doesn't know how close they are; otherwise he'd be more direct, less fearful of actually making the announcement of the truth that Maura knows is already a foregone conclusion.
"We found where Hoyt lives. She went in without backup, without leaving any indication in that goddamn maze of a neighborhood of where she is."
Korsak's fists are clenched, his hands are shaking. Maura's shaking too, she realizes, her hands twisting her surgical apron in knots, blood from the autopsy smearing across its pale blue surface. "She's been missing close to an hour now, every cop in Boston is in that fucking neighborhood but we can't find her."
She's already taking off her apron. She can't even think straight. All she wants is for Jane to be alright, to see her smile and to feel her touch again.
This case is horrible.
"Take me to the scene," Maura says. She's not even changing out of her scrubs. There's no point, she's going to get dirty anyway. She grabs her field kit from the corner of her desk and debates at least putting on her jacket before deciding that she'll be warm enough in the mid-April morning with just the thermal shirt she has on under her scrub top.
She really is the Queen of the Dead. The force that has shoved her bodily into the world of the living is gone from this world.
Maura will do everything in her power to bring Jane back.
"I was expecting that it would be you who found me." Jane's head hurts. She tries to move and pain shoots through her hands and up her arms. Agonizing, shooting pain. Not like the dull throb in her head. No, this pain is acute and pulsating up and out from her palms.
Her nostrils flare and she rolls her head to the side, trying to ignore how it's pounding, how there's blood in her eye and she can't fucking see at all it's so dark.
Fuck, it hurts.
There's a scalpel through her palm and into the ground, buried deep and Jesus fuck Charles Hoyt is right fucking there. He's crouched next to her, another scalpel in his hand, tapping against his carhartt clad knee. Of course he'd be wearing carpenter's pants and steel toed boots to protect himself. He must blend in perfectly with the scene in this neighborhood, just another working guy. Jane hates him for looking so normal.
"Wha-?" Words are failing Jane, but her brain is working enough to know to keep him talking, to keep him distracted. They know where she is, she sent them the fucking license plate number in the goddamn driveway.
Where the fuck is Korsak and the cavalry?
Jane doesn't ever want to be rescued, but at this point, she doesn't really care about the indignity and insult to her personhood. She's gunna die here if she doesn't get rescued.
Hoyt kills the men quickly. He takes his time with the women.
She wants to fucking die; he's going to fucking rape her before he kills her.
Hoyt's lips push together into a thin line, like he's thinking hard about something. Jane tries to look around, to see if Catherine Cordell is even still alive. She doesn't see anything, just darkness all around her. Darkness and the smell of mildew.
If Jane gets out of this one alive she's never going to be able to go into a basement again.
"You were different from the others," Hoyt says. He taps the scalpel against his knee. Tap, tap, tap. Jane wants to scream. "All swagger and confidence. Bet you don't even know you're like that."
Oh, Jane does. She's not sharing the reasons why with a psychopath, however. She turns her head away from him, body screaming in pain as she tries to keep herself still. Any movement will compound the injury to her hands more. Jane doesn't want to think about how damaged they already are.
"So?" She asks.
Her voice sounds harsh and alien to her. It's full of false bravado that she certainly doesn't feel. She swallows, wondering how long she's been out. Feels like days, and she can't even move to shake the cobwebs out of her head.
"You're more of a man than half the fools on your police force." Hoyt's smile is almost kind at that moment and Jane feels compelled to vomit. "And yet they treat you as you are," He leans forward, hand trailing along Jane's jacket and pushing under it to touch her through the thin cotton of her collared work shirt.
Jane bites her tongue to keep from crying out. She's breathing heavily, trying to not hyperventilate as his fingers close around her breast and squeeze it tentatively, appraisingly.
Jane fucking hates him.
"A woman."
Jane spits in his face and he pulls his hand away from her.
Thank Christ.
He wipes it away and smiles cruelly at Jane, eyes looking almost haunted in the half-light. "You're not backing down, not like Catherine." He shifts his weight, scalpel still in hand, and settles down on top of Jane. "You're stronger than her."
He's laughing now.
"I'm going to enjoy this."
Jane shuts her eyes and begins to pray.
Divine intervention is probably going to be the only thing that's going to get her out of this.
Jesus… Mary… fuck, anyone, please protect me, please let this all be nothing but a bad dream.
She can feel him against her stomach, hard already. He's getting off on her pain, the fucking creep. Jane swallows, watching with wide eyes as he leans down close. Hoyt's breath is horrible, full of the scent of death and decay, teeth stained and yellowed, eyes darkly intense.
"Why me?" Jane asks, even though she knows the answer already. She was there, that's all the reason a man like Hoyt would need to attack.
Why the fuck was she stupid enough to go in without backup?
Hoyt considers this for a moment, their noses are barely touching, Jane's fucking terrified that he's going to try and kiss her.
"You are a worthy opponent. You came looking for me, Jane Rizzoli." His fingers touch her forehead. They're hot on her skin and Jane tries not to gag. "And you are beautiful."
It's all a fucking game to him and Jane wants to scream. She can feel the blade in his deft fingers dragging down along her front and all Jane can think of is Maura and how she doesn't want to end up on Maura's fucking autopsy table. She could never do that, not to the woman who has loved her no matter how fucked up she is.
Hoyt leans back, dark eyes flashing as Jane struggles to catch her breath. She's so fucking scared. He's taking his sweet ass time, dragging out every minute of what is sure to be her death. "I watched you, you know. I watched all the detectives on this case. You are all fools, chasing shadows and the ghost of a man that Catherine killed five years ago."
Jane struggles to keep her voice even. "Moore figured out you were there, you're not as clever as you think, Hoyt."
"Andrew was a fool. He let Catherine live," Hoyt says pensively. Jane has to bite her tongue, trying not to point out that the only reason that Catherine Cordell is still alive is because she killed Hoyt's former partner. "I prefer to tie up loose ends."
This is hard to bear. Jane can't fucking stand this, can't stand being objectified, being treated like a woman, a vessel for all the rage that this goddamn serial killer has built over years and years of resentment. She's not a woman, not fully and not truly.
If he rapes me, he'll break me forever. Jane can't help the thought as it rises unbidden from her. She can't even have fully penetrative sex with Maura yet. She's tried, tried so goddamn hard but it's so difficult and just fucking wrong. It feels alright, but in her head it makes no goddamn sense.
Hoyt's lowering the blade to her neck now and Jane can see, even though she doesn't want to, the bulge of him against the thick material of his pants. He's panting, she's breathing hard, trying to not freak out.
He cuts away her shirt, through to her bra. Jane's chest rises and falls as he nicks her skin. The pain drives home the sensation that she has no control over this at all. His fingers close over her breast and Jane wants to die.
Jane closes her eyes, mind focusing on the only thing that makes any goddamn sense in her life. She thinks of Maura. She can't even feel it when Hoyt slices into her breast – dark eyes glittering. She will survive this, somehow. For Maura.
His thumb is rough on her nipple and Jane knows she's crying like a little fucking girl. She can't fucking help it, this is so fucking wrong and horrible and oh god she wants to fucking die.
A gunshot rings out, rattling around the basement and Hoyt is suddenly off of her and Jane is unable to stop herself. Dry, wracking sobs pour out of her and fill the silent basement as Korsak hurries down the stairs and is crouching by her side.
He's got his jacket balled up and pressed against her chest, pressure on the wound. He's telling her that Maura's here.
Maura can't see her like this. No one can see her like this.
Hoyt should have killed her.
The bleeding won't stop.
Maura Isles has not actually closed a wound like this since her residency, and that was years ago. She had been too young then and she feels that same level of immaturity and terrified lack of confidence now, Jane's life hanging precariously in the balance.
Her crime scene kit has fallen open on the basement floor, she's pulling out everything she can possibly think of that might be required to patch Jane up. Gauze, needles, a small package of painkillers – the list goes on, but Maura's too afraid to actually do anything with the tools she's assembled.
It's been so long since she's worked on a living, breathing person that she's not entirely sure she remembers how.
"Where are the EMTs?" She asks, rifling through her kit, hoping she has some sort of antibiotic ointment that's slipped towards the bottom.
Korsak, fingers slick with Jane's blood, glances at her and then at his watch. "Two minutes."
They'd called as soon as Korsak had fired the shots at Hoyt, they did not want the sound of approaching ambulances to alert him to their presence as they surrounded the house.
"Move." Maura can't wait that long. Jane can't either. She'll bleed out.
He backs out of her way, and Maura's hands are quiet. Still. Doctor's hands. Her mother had always said that she'd had them. She threads the needle deftly, knowing that the small one that she's using is going to be harder to handle than the larger, more crude one that she's used to.
The dead don't mind.
"Are you going to close that?" Korsak asks, pointing at the gaping hole in Jane's chest.
Maura doesn't answer. her fingers are feeling inside the wound, forever grateful that Jane has passed out. It's easier this way, to concentrate on the injury and not on her lover. The vein is nicked, but not fully severed. How had he managed to carve down that deep and not puncture a lung? The suture kit is in her hands and she's selecting another needle – one for internal stiches, not the external one she's already threaded. She doesn't even know what she's doing – it's been years.
This is easy. A practiced motion. Pour alcohol on the needle, get it clean.
She's not used to her patients breathing.
Jane's chest rises and falls and Maura is grateful that Korsak's jacket is covering Jane, sparing her yet another indignity.
Three stitches on the inside and she's got the vein mostly closed. It'll at least hold together until they can get Jane to see a practicing doctor. She has a license, but she works on the dead, it isn't the same. Maura bandages the wound there and tries not to look at the injuries to Jane's hands. She's not touching them, leaving it to the care of the professionals.
The wail of the ambulance alerts her to the paramedic's approach and Maura presses her hands against Jane's wounds, eyes nervously glancing downwards to her soiled pants. It did not appear that Hoyt had had the time, but Maura was going to recommend a rape kit regardless.
Hoyt is bleeding on the floor. They've ignored him for the most part. Catherine Cordell is lying prone on an old mattress in the corner. Maura hasn't even been over to check on her and she frankly doesn't care that much. Jane is here. Jane is hurt. Jane needs looking after .
"Doctor Isles," Korsak begins as the EMTs swarm around them. "Does Jane have a preference on hospitals?"
Maura thinks, closing her eyes and envisioning a map of Boston. Beth Israel is the closest, and probably the best, but Maura would rather Mass General because she knows more people on the staff there. It shouldn't be her decision to make and yet Korsak is thrusting that responsibility upon her as though it is the most natural thing in the world.
She can't handle the responsibility.
"Mass General if she can make the trip without complications," Maura tells the lead who is wrapping gauze around Jane's right hand and carefully immobilizing the scalpel still imbedded within it. His partner is doing the same on the other side.
She bites her tongue to keep from telling them to be cautious, to do their jobs and not mess this up. That this person is too important to her to lose.
Korsak's hand is strong on her arm, helping her to her feet as the EMTs get Jane onto the gurney they've brought with them. With Jane is someone else's hands – more professional hands who actually know how to handle these things in an emotionally detached way, Maura can finally let the rush of emotions that she's held in check go. The dam breaks and Maura's sobbing into his shoulder, she can't maintain her composure any more.
He pats her on the back, fingers tracing patterns in her scrub top. They're still covered in Jane's blood and Maura is glad that her shirt is black. Black doesn't show stains.
Maura's freezing and she can't feel anything.
"Did you want to go along?" The question falls on deaf ears as Maura tries to calm down. She's so afraid. What if they can't save Jane's hands? What if she dies on the way there?
Frantic questions tumble half-concocted through her mind and Maura can barely think.
Will Jane be alright? Did I close the wound correctly? Did I cause the vein to rupture more when I was in there. I couldn't see anything. What if I made it worse?
In, out, breathe.
She doesn't look at Korsak, or at the EMTs as they take Jane away. She has a job to do here. To make sure that the evidence is processed, that everything is as it should be.
"I should stay here." Maura's stepped away, composed and professional. There's a redness about her eyes, the only sign of her previous weakness.
She'll go see Jane later.
There isn't anything she can do now.
Jane wakes up in a dimly lit room, her hands aching. She draws them up, staring at the thick bandages there, and wondering why she can't really move them that well.
She must be in a hospital.
Fuck.
At least I'm alive.
Her father is snoring quietly in a chair next to her, Sports Illustrated lying open across his lap. He was reading an article about Kentucky basketball, Jane wrinkles her nose at it. She doesn't like Kentucky.
"Da-" her voice isn't working right. Jane swallows, throat suddenly even drier than before. She doesn't know how she got here, all she can remember is feeling Hoyt pressed against her and pain, so much pain.
Her father doesn't hear. He's dead to the world, won't be up for a few more hours. Jane settles back down on the pillows.
Her whole body hurts.
Jane closes her eyes and tries to not think about things. Hoyt had been able to see through her as though she was nothing – as though years of hiding her sense of self and personhood from the world at large meant nothing. He had seen Jane – Jay – every aspect of her being.
He had seen it and he knew how to hurt her with it.
Heaving a long, shuddering breath, Jane tries to not cry. The tears stream down her cheeks regardless and Jane realizes that she can't control this.
She has never felt so out of control.
She wants to see Maura.
"Janie, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah ma. Jus' had a psychopath nearly rape me, 'm jus' peachy." Her mother is hovering. Jane hates it when she does that, hates it when her mother treats her like a little girl. She's curled up on her side, face buried in her pillow, desperately wishing that her mother would go away.
Since she woke up her room has been a never-ending parade of nameless faces and people that Jane only barely knows. The brass have to come in and personally check up on her, and she has to be commended by the media for surviving such a brutal attack. Jane does not want to have this on display, but it's all over the fucking place and she can't stand it.
At least Korsak's keeping his distance. He'd come to visit her once, just for a few minutes to say that he was sorry to have seen her that way. It meant more to Jane than anything that anyone else in her long stream of visitors had said to her. Korsak knew. He understood that being seen that way was not how Jane wants to be perceived by the public.
Jane is so grateful that he's avoiding her.
"Really." Her mother is starting up again and Jane wants to scream. She hates the fact that she can't get her to fucking leave so she can grieve and cope with the loss of her dignity. Jane wants it back, but she doesn't know how to recover it. "You look terrible."
"Thanks, ma." Jane grumbles.
Her mother's lips are pursed and Jane tries to not think about what might be going on inside her mother's head. It's never good to think about it too much – her mother's mind is a devious place. "So your friend Doctor Isles called me earlier to check up on you."
Jane's heart quickens and she inhales quietly.
Maura.
Maura, who has been conspicuously absent since she's been stuck in this goddamn hospital bed, is worried about her. Maura, who Jane asked to not come and see her, is worried about her.
Jane knows she's a fucking idiot.
"What did you tell her?" Jane asks.
"Nothing! I told her to come and see you herself," Her mother winks at her and Jane winces. "She's quite attractive you know, does she have a boyfriend? Lucile Salverton's son is in town and since you're laid up maybe I could introduce them…"
"Ma!" Jane's throat hurts, her entire body hurts, but she will not let her mother start to fuck with her relationships. No. Fucking. Way.
"She is seeing someone then?"
Jane nods mutely and thinks about how easy it was with Maura. How she could be herself. Her normal, fucked up, completely confused and awkward about it, self. The self that Hoyt had seen, hidden behind a layer of badly acted femininity that Jane does not possess.
Fuck, how had he seen it?
"Ma, is there any way that you could tell her that I'm fine?" Jane doesn't look at her mother when she asks. She's avoiding the subject – not telling her mother about who exactly is fucking Maura.
"Clearly you're not."
Crossed arms and a stern expression become the Rizzoli matriarch, Jane thinks, staring as her mother shakes her head in disbelief at Jane's request. She should know better. Ma doesn't take shit from anyone and can see through one of Jane's pain-killer addled lies in a heartbeat.
She doesn't know what to do.
Jane wants to see Maura but she can't. She doesn't want to see her – doesn't want Maura to think she's weak. Jane knows that she should know better, that Maura has never judged before, that Maura will not judge now.
Can't risk it.
Hoyt saw something in Jane that she cannot place. He picked up on the most carefully guarded secret Jane possesses and was able to exploit it in such a way that Jane can't even begin to unravel how to cope with it.
Although she will never admit it publicly, Jane knows that seeing the department-assigned shrink will do her a world of good.
The stiff, low-thread-count blanket that is half-covering the injuries to her stomach is balled up in Jane's fist and she can't even begin to look at her mother. "I know – but…" Her hair falls into her eyes and she wants to cut it all off so she can look at the world with some clarity again. She hates everything about herself, but Maura made her understand. Maura is the light at the end of this dark tunnel. Jane cannot see her, cannot risk rejection.
She knows she's crying when she turns to face her mother, eyes stinging as she shows a vulnerability she thought that she'd never openly admit. "I don't want her to worry."
Evana Kingston is not the shrink that she wanted to be assigned to her. Jane had wanted Cruz or even Stevenson, at any rate; a guy. She doesn't think that she can tell a woman about this. Maura is an outlier in her comprehension of the situation – Jane doesn't think that she can make another woman understand.
Jane sits in her hospital bed and does her exercises. Her fingers move sluggishly and it hurts like a bitch, but Jane knows that she has to keep doing the exercises or else she'll never get her hands back. Her left hand has been trapped in a cast, but her right is mostly free to move around. She can feel the stitches pull and oh god, they fucking itch as she moves. She stretches and wiggles her fingers and tries not to think about how this is just another fucking thing that Hoyt has taken from her.
Kingston sits in the one comfortable chair in the entire room and watches Jane.
Jane watches her back with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
"I take it you don't want to talk?" Kingston eventually begins. Jane isn't used to being forced to see shrinks when she's already in the hospital for other reasons.
She shrugs. "I don't mind – I just kind of wanted to talk to a guy about this, Doc." Jane pauses for a beat, letting the conversation fully lull before adding, "No offense, but it's hard enough to talk about this as it is."
The doctor's curly hair shakes as she nods her head in the affirmative. "I would think that that is why you need to talk to a woman about this – rather than a man – a man cannot possibly understand what it is like for a woman to go through what you went through."
Jane winces. Bites her tongue.
Hoyt has taken that from her as well. She'll probably never be part of the boy's club again – not after nearly getting fucking raped by a crazy man.
She has been crying so much in the past few days that she cannot any more. Jane doesn't even want to cry, she's angry, she wants to hit things. She squeezes her hand strengthening ball as hard as she can and nearly cries out at the pain of forcing her hand into that shape with the wound that's still healing at its center.
"Besides, you know the drill, no favorites, who you get assigned to is who you get. The department doesn't have the resources to be at your beck and call." Kingston frowns and Jane knows that she's insulted her. She doesn't really care. "So it's this or out of pocket, but we both know you can't afford that."
Fucking great, this chick's a bitch too.
"I know," Jane says quietly. She's staring at her broken hands, at the shambles of her dignity.
Maybe she should just be honest.
"Everything I say to you in here is in confidence, right? This will not find its way into my personnel file?"
Kingston shrugs, "Unless you confess to killing someone or talk about suicide – there isn't any reason for it to."
Jane's eyes narrow and she squeezes the ball tightly again. "I need your assurances."
"You have them."
The ball is in her hand and she's squeezing it. It hurts like a bitch but she won't stop – can't stop – has to get better. Jane tries to think of where to begin.
The beginning, Maura would tell her. The beginning is the very best place to start.
Jane fucking adores her.
Maybe when this session is over she'll call Maura, tell her she's sorry for shutting her out and pushing her away. It isn't that she doesn't want Maura here with her – but rather that she is too afraid of what Maura might say.
The last thing Jane had said to her was 'I love you.'
Maura understands. Perhaps better than anyone.
No, Jane can't do that. Can't force Maura to be her crutch until she's well-enough on her own to take care of herself. Not yet. She's not better, she's still weak.
"I'm not really comfortable with my gender identity."
The department issued shrink looks up from her notepad. "Oh?"
Jane swallows. She shouldn't have said anything. Not many people even understand what she's going through – let alone how her personal situation might make the pain of this even more unbearable. "I don't want to talk about that though."
Kingston stares at her for a moment, curly hair going every which way. Jane is fascinated by how it goes off in every direction. There's no humidity in the room – Jane wonders if her hair is just naturally like this, fucking insane and fucking fascinating. "I think you need to."
"No." Jane inclines her head, but her tone is firm. She's squeezing the ball again. Her hand hurts so much, but she can't stop. The pain is real; it shields her from the emotions she's feeling. "I can't."
"Is it because of Hoyt?" Kingston's question is a legitimate one. Jane supposes she should answer.
"He saw through it. Right fucking through it." Jane doesn't look at Kingston, she can't. "I try so hard to hide it, and he saw it."
"He saw what, exactly?"
She doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't know how to best articulate it. She's always had trouble with this – never been able to put it into words. Maura never makes her put it into words. Maura never forces her to self-identify when she doesn't know who the fuck she is.
"Me," Jane says eventually, tears in her eyes. "He saw me. He saw how best to hurt me. He saw it fucking all." She looks away. "Fucking bastard."
"Anger is a normal response Jane. It means that you're processing," Kingston says sagely and Jane gives her a withering stare. "Besides, if you are indeed gender variant at all, to be forcibly assaulted and nearly raped is probably the most effective way to hurt you."
"What do you mean if?" Jane demands. She can't fucking believe this. She can't handle this shit. Why is Kingston saying this? This is not what she needs to hear. Not right now, probably not ever.
"Well, I cannot be sure if you are truly gender variant after seeing you for only one session."
"It really isn't your place to say. I'm here to talk about Hoyt, about what happened to me recently, not something that I've been struggling with my entire life." Jane crosses her arms, winces as she presses up against the barely-closed wound in her chest.
Kingston sucks on the tip of her pen, "That could, potentially, be for the best."
Maura doesn't come.
Jane told her not to come. She isn't surprised that Maura isn't there.
Still the ache of her not being there is almost more than Jane can handle. She finds herself looking for Maura as the nurses come in to check on her stiches and to make sure she's doing her exercises.
Jane sees her in the wives of the high-ranking police officials who stop by to check on her when their husbands are too busy to be bothered. She smells their expensive perfume and marvels at how Maura always manages to smell like summer and of rain despite her family's wealth.
God, she misses Maura.
She has been debating calling Maura – knowing that she is the one who must break the silence. Maura respects her wishes. More than anything, Maura understands why Jane can't see her.
Fuck it.
Her one moment of weakness, her resolve fails, she picks up the phone and dials out of memory – she never programmed Maura's number into her phone. "I need you," she whispers. It's noon, Maura can come over her lunch break.
Kingston is a fucking cunt and Jane hopes she goes off and dies somewhere. She's been awful about everything, but has signed off on Jane being mentally sound – pending further sessions, to return to work. Jane is at least grateful for that.
Hoyt has taken everything from her, and yet this is who she's pushed away the most. She has to fix this.
Has to tell Maura she loves her above all others.
"Maur, come see me?" The question sounds pathetic from her lips, but she asks it anyway. She knows that Maura will not say no.
"Of course."
It is in that moment, and for the first time since all this started, that Jane feels completely okay with herself.
"You and me
Have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes
Are all worn down, the time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about 'cause we'll hold each other soon
In the blackest of rooms"