Title: Trapped Sky
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Pairing: Jane Rizzoli/Maura Isles
Summary: I rhyme to see myself, to set the darkness echoing.
Notes: No spoilers.
The day started with a double homicide in a school parking lot and never improved. By seven that evening, Jane felt like slumping onto her desk and just staying there for the next twelve hours. "I'm retiring and moving to Cancun," she announced.
Vince clapped her on the shoulder. "That's my line, Rizzoli."
"Don't ever let me drink so many cups of coffee again." She looked at the dregs of the day's coffee in her mug and winced. "I didn't think anybody could make coffee worse than me, but--"
"Frost does it," Vince agreed. "It's a special talent." He settled against her desk, and Jane leaned back in her chair. "You need a beer or something?"
"A lot of somethings," Jane said, "but I think I'm going to head home. Watch something stupid."
Vince smiled. "Take it easy, all right?"
"Yeah, you too," Jane said. She waved him away. "Go home. I'll be fine."
"Watch one of those, you know," Vince gestured awkwardly, "chick flick things."
Jane rolled her eyes, and Vince continued, "Or something with that Affleck guy."
Jane did a walk-through at the grocery store and treated herself to oatmeal stout and a triple-chocolate pumpkin pie. She stared at the bargain bin movies for a while, then decided she'd rather watch whatever was on Nick at Nite. She trudged into her apartment at nine, grabbing a bottle opener and a fork before dropping onto her sofa. She turned on the TV and flipped open the pie box, jabbing the fork into the middle, demolishing the artful chocolate drizzle with satisfaction.
She was a third of the way through the pie, halfway through her second bottle, and almost finished with an episode of Family Matters when a knock sounded on the door.
Jane swung the door open, and Maura extended a bottle of wine. "Hello."
"Hey," Jane said, taking the bottle and stepping back to allow Maura in. "What are you doing here?"
"I did the autopsies, you know," she said. "Fifteen is too young."
"Yeah," Jane said. "So what are you doing here with," she glanced at the bottle, "a really expensive bottle of wine?"
"In addition to the relaxation traditionally associated with alcohol," Maura explained, folding her coat and setting it over a chair, "red wine contains antioxidants and resveratrol, which might actually help reduce heart disease." She paused. "Some studies also indicate that red wine might also reduce chances of developing cancer later in life, but I think that claim would benefit from longitudinal studies before being accepted as reliable."
"Right," Jane replied. "I've got a corkscrew in the kitchen."
"Excellent," Maura said. She looked at the TV. "You're watching sitcoms?"
"I guess so," Jane replied. "You want a glass for your wine, right?"
Maura blinked. "Are you being facetious?"
"Sure," Jane said, shrugging as she sauntered to the kitchen.
"Oh, good," Maura responded.
Jane returned to the living room with a Citizens Bank mug filled with some really expensive red wine.
By the time the two-hour block of The Nanny rolled around, Maura had kicked off her Laboutins. Jane, in the meantime, had wriggled out of her jeans, grabbing a blanket to drape over her legs as she tossed popcorn at Maxwell's face and ate bites of pie crust.
Maura listed forward on the sofa, elbowing Jane in the arm. She tilted the wine bottle upside-down. "Did we finish this?"
Jane laughed. "You finished it." She picked up the empty cardboard six-pack. "I finished this. I'm cutting us off."
"Oh." Maura fell back again, and the bottle rolled to the floor with a thump. "That's prudent."
"Prudent." Jane twisted around, and Maura shifted accordingly, draping her legs over Jane's knees and pressing her cheek against the back of the sofa. "Don't you ever get tired of talking like that?"
"Precisely, you mean?" Maura curled an arm underneath her head. "No, I don't. It's the most effective way to avoid miscommunication."
"Even if nobody understands what the hell you're saying?"
"That only rarely happens," Maura replied.
"You realize you're slurring a little," Jane pointed out.
"An expected side effect of the alcohol," Maura responded. She poked Jane's sternum with her free hand. "Do you realize you've been squeezing my thigh for the past ten minutes?"
"I'm not going to blame the alcohol," Jane replied. She knocked Maura's legs off her lap and kneeled, bracing her hands on either side of Maura, awkwardly. Maura rolled her eyes and shifted onto her back, and Jane said, "Thanks," before pressing forward to kiss her.
When Jane pulled back for breath, Maura nudged her back further. "This dress is silk," she stated.
"I think you lost that battle two hours ago," Jane pointed out. She sat back on her heels and watched Maura contort herself to reach her zipper.
Maura arched, then wriggled until the dress was pushed down past her hips. "You could help me with this, you know."
"Eh," Jane said, tugging slowly on the hem of the dress. "Do you wear La Perla to work every day?"
"When else would I wear them?" Maura asked.
"I don't know," Jane said, "but you know what I'm wearing?"
"Something from a department store?" Maura guessed. She sat up, her thighs bracketing Jane's knees, and started unbuttoning Jane's blouse from the bottom.
"Not even," Jane said. She draped Maura's dress over the back of the sofa, with more care than she thought it needed. "It's tough to run down thugs when I have a thong riding up my butt."
"Maybe if you practiced more often," Maura suggested. She pushed Jane's shirt off her shoulders and tugged at her sports bra. "This is nice."
"Shut up," Jane said, pulling the bra over her head. Maura leaned forward, flicking her tongue against Jane's stomach. "God." She reached for the clasp of Maura's bra, but Maura batted her hands away, surging forward and pushing Jane backwards. "Hey!"
"My turn," Maura replied, sliding down Jane's body. She caught the elastic of Jane's panties and yanked them down, over her thighs. "You have horrible taste in television, by the way."
"Whatever," Jane responded, and then Maura's head dipped down, and Jane forgot what else she was going to say.
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Seamus Heaney's Personal Helicon.