Title: Sundials

Category: TV Shows » Rizzoli Isles

Author: Light My Words

Language: English, Rating: Fiction Rated: T

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Summary: All hours wound, the last one kills. That had been Maura's sundial motto, until Jane had come into her life and she had to think of a new one.

Authors Note: Trigger warning for domestic violence.

Before we had clocks, we had sundials. Did you know that archaeological records indicate that ancient Egyptian astronomers were building sundials? She'd found a book that told her so, when she was ten years old and lonely. It was tucked away in the expanse of her father's library, gathering dust as if the years had rendered it unnecessary, much like they had for the objects the pages were dedicated to. Something about the concept of watching the sun cast a shadow, over what could essentially be just a stick in the ground seemed romantic to her, standing and witnessing the complexity of the Earth's rotation and seeing the grains of time slip through the cracks in between her small fingers. It's so much less abstracted than a clock, she'd thought, pure and clean and a step closer to the basis of time itself.

They bear mottoes that reflect on the transience of the world and the inevitability of death, that reflect the sentiments of the sundial makers themselves.

'Take the gifts of this hour, it's later than you think' and 'Make haste, but slowly' and 'Thus passes a lifetime'. Her ten year old self had spent a long time pondering over the general memento mori attitude of a lot of these mottoes, wondered if the makers of these time tellers were all burdened with a gift so heavy that their outlook on life was tedious and bleak. Sundials are not like clocks, they're not composed of hundreds of tiny little pieces that are required to interact with each other precisely, they're composed of a flat plate and a gnomon and a complex understanding of the Earth's axis. She'd finished the book in a day, and then she'd practiced making her own. With an aptitude for anything mathematical, it hadn't taken her long and inability had only reared its fickle head when it was time to dedicate the sundial a reflection of her own sentiments.

Omnes vulnerant, ultima necat. She'd seen it on a vertical sundial on an old Apothecary building, in a small East Bohemia town in Czech Republic, and if she were to revisit the sundial she had made as a child; that would be her engraved contribution. All hours wound; the last one kills.

It all began on a summer's night, like so many things seem to. The air was heavy and warm, the rustling breeze providing little respite from the recently set sun and she had been just about to clock off when the call came in over the radio. A rookie Jane Rizzoli grumbled, forcefully brushing unruly dark curls over her shoulder to dry the beads of sweat forming on the back of her neck. The visual of a beer bottle wet with condensation was disappearing quickly from the forefront of her mind as the radio crackled with a dispatcher's voice. "Echo-five, we have a family disturbance in Dover, Norfolk County, two-D to respond."

She didn't want to respond; family disturbances left her stomach crawling. But she held the receiver in her hand and held down the little button as she replied in the affirmative. They were ten minutes out.

The estate sat on at least three acres she'd thought as she pulled the police cruiser up around the curved driveway. They'd passed through iron gates that appeared to be there more for aesthetic than security purposes and had watched as a multi-level front garden, complete with manicured hedges and lantern lit red-brick pathways, rolled past their windows. Officer Learey let out a low whistle bedside her and Jane reserved the urge to give the mother of all eye rolls as she pulled to a stop and killed the engine. He was a lifetime patrol cop, rounding stomach that threatened to bust more buttons than criminals and a receding hairline.

Most of the visible windows were bathed in a warm yellow glow, all twenty-four of them she'd counted and the only thing obscuring her view any further were the near transparent white drapes. "Lets get this out of the way so we can clock off," her partner grumbled. "They probably had a fight because one of them opened the wrong bottle of fifty year old wine."

Jane scoffed despite herself and took the wide steps two at a time until she was in a position to ring the doorbell.

Behind the heavy wooden barricade there was silence, and if the whole house hadn't been lit like a damn Christmas tree, Jane would have been inclined to turn back toward the cruiser and call it a day. It was hot out and the beads of sweat were forming again under her shirt between her shoulder blades. Finger poised over the button, she was ready to press again when the front door – antique knocker and all – swung in on its hinges. The man before her was white, in his late twenties and undeniably handsome. Short brown hair was swept back from his face and despite the heat; he wore a striped cornflower blue button up and taupe slacks. Charming smile pulled at hazel eyes, jawline chiselled from stone and speckled with stubble.

"Can I help you, officers?" He asked, voice calm and words enunciated clearly. Not drunk, Jane thought, or doing a tremendous job of disguising it. Jane's voice was a little rougher than his when she spoke, making obvious their being from different sides of the proverbial track. "I'm officer Rizzoli, and this is my partner, officer Learey. We had a disturbance called in for this address, Mister––?" It didn't throw him, just stretched his smile to show a row of immaculate pearl white teeth. "Oh, please excuse me, I've apparently forgotten my manners. I'm Garrett Fairfield and I'm awfully sorry to say, I think it must have been a prank call. There have been no disturbances here that I'm aware of." His words were followed with a harmless shrug and a smile that apologised for the waste of their time.

She'd almost believed him, until over his shoulder she spotted a woman as impeccably dressed as he, clutching a compress to her cheek. The two women made eye contact and it seemed to startle the honey blonde, curls bubbling across her shoulders as she shook her head in panic. Please don't, it screamed silently. Clearing deep brown orbs of any suspicion, Jane smiled in return and made a point of sighing. "It's happening a lot around here lately, damn kids have nothing better to do with their time. If you don't mind Mr. Fairfield, I'll leave my partner here to ask you a few questions, just for the report, if I may borrow your restroom? We were ready to clock off when we got the call." Jane managed a sheepish smile and didn't spare a second in stepping through the narrow space between his body and the doorframe, unwilling to allow him to decline her request. He didn't miss a beat however, turning to gesture straight ahead. "Of course, Officer Rizzoli. It's the third door on the right, straight ahead."

Her head bowed in thanks, tangles of brunette curls falling over her shoulder as she watched Garrett Fairfield return his focus to her partner. The foyer that she'd stepped into was large, tiled with a creamy Italian marble and decorated tastefully with a stand-alone vase filled with white roses that tickled her nose, and a great curving staircase to the right of the room. The space was well lit by a crystal chandelier that hung low and emitted a softened yellow glow and further down the hall, doors left slightly ajar revealed an office of sorts and a bedroom that looked like it had never been utilised. Jane found the bathroom and opened the door quietly, but loud enough to make the sound to suggest she was in fact there to use their facilities. Closing the door in much the same manner, the brunette took her steps silently in the opposite direction, down a long hall to the left of the foyer. The house was a maze of semi-exposed rooms, a sitting area with two long sofas framing an open fireplace, a formal dining area that sat at least twelve, and another unused bedroom. The corridor at last opened up into a living area, lower than the rest of the house by two steps and lit by the crackle of dancing fire and dimmed lights that ran across the exposed beams in the roof. She almost missed the other woman as carob orbs searched the room before landing on the back of a leather chesterfield. The drapes on the bay windows were open, granting Jane a view of the expansive back garden and smooth dark water of the pool. Her view was obstructed when the other woman stood and, already mid sentence, she'd frozen when her eyes met Jane's.

"Garrett, I didn't call them, I––" The smaller woman silenced and Jane finally got a closer look at her. She was thin, limbs long and lithe but in a way that still left her a head closer to the ground than Jane. Her eyes were shaped like almonds but twinkled with tears that almost obscured the moss green, speckled with golden earth. Her hair was long, curled down her back in waves of honey and cinnamon, and her face a moment before contorted with fear, now neutral and cautious. "I-I'm sorry, I thought you were my husband," a beat and then: "I'm Maura… Fairfield–although I suppose that's now obvious… can I help you find something?" Her lips were pursed and she'd since abandoned the cold compress that now dangled from her fingers. Jane cleared her throat and stepped further into the living room, watching as Maura mimicked her movements by taking a subtle step backward. She had on a dress that fell to her knees and hugged the curves of her frame, a deep teal in colour. Jane thought it complimented the soft caramel glow of her skin.

"I'm Officer Rizzoli–Jane, I'm Jane. We were called about a disturbance and I couldn't help but notice that it looks like you've taken a nasty hit to the cheek?" She phrases it a question, sure to keep any accusatory tones from her voice but the bruises developing on Maura's cheek were unavoidable. The red, quickly transforming blue in the dull light of the den framed the side of her eye and ran down to contour her cheekbone. A frown pinched manicured brows together but released them moments later with a flash of pain.

"Yes–I appear to have sustained some damage to the right side of my face, particularly my zygotmatic and temporal regions. I believe it was a wall… but there are no fractures, just a possible concussion. I'm–I'm fine." Maura's voice was sweet and soft as she systematically listed her wounds as if she were talking about someone else entirely. Jane blinked back, presuming from the clinical detachment in her tone that this certainly wasn't the first time she'd come into contact with 'a wall'.

Jane glanced over her shoulder before informing the other woman that she'd be happy to escort her to the hospital, away from her husband, to be checked over by a doctor. Maura shook her head but was polite in her decline. "That won't be necessary, I am a doctor… well an intern technically, but I'll be alright. Honestly, you can go, I'm sure there's more important things for you to attend and I don't want to waste your time. Everything here is fine." Her words were accompanied by a brief smile that Jane wasn't buying into.

"From where I'm standing," she'd almost referred to her by her surname, but thought better of it given the circumstances. "From where I'm standing Maura, it looks like maybe your husband has hit you? I can take you somewhere safe, this isn't a situation you are locked in to." The brunette tried for her softest tone, although the sympathy she didn't have to muster–it was already there in abundance.

"That won't be necessary, Officer Rizzoli, I'm where I want to be." There was a subtle break in her voice that suggested otherwise. "I've got things to get back to, but thank you greatly for your service and concern." She turned and walked toward one of the ceiling tall bookcases, caramel curls swaying with her movement and Jane supposed that it was meant to signal the end of their interaction. She also heard a shift in conversation in the two men she'd left in the foyer.

Long fingers reached out and touched Maura's shoulder as she uttered a 'wait' to the other woman. The blonde flinched beneath her feather light touch. In her messy scrawl, Jane scribbled her name and contact number on a page in her palm-sized notepad and ripped the page from its binding. She folded it before tucking it into the palm of a woman with surprise decorating her beautiful but marked face. "If it happens again, or if you just need to get out, you call this number, any time, day or night. Okay?"

All Maura did was nod, tucking the sliver of paper into the pocket of her dress before returning to the pages of the book she'd dislodged from the bookcase. If Jane had stayed a moment longer, she would have seen a few rare tears spill from the eyes of Maura Fairfield.