Author's Note: Figured some of you might need a little something to distract you from the craziness going on in the world these days. This 2-part story is complete and not connected to any of my other fics nor to anything that happened in the later seasons of the show. Just pretend it's Jane, Maura & Co. from the earlier seasons, and they're dealing with the same pandemic that's currently dominating our lives. The story begins in late March, and any references to real events or persons are purely intentional. ;-)
Stay well. Don't hoard toilet paper. And don't forget to wash your hands!
(Part 1 of 2)
...
...
Everything was different now. Darker and gloomy. Like the world was nearing its end.
Public life in Boston had come to a standstill. Streets without cars. Stores without customers. Fenway Park without Red Sox players and fans. What should have been the earliest leaguewide opening day ever was now Day 17 of a state of emergency in all of Massachusetts, courtesy of a devious little virus sweeping the world with no end in sight.
Frustrated, Jane crumpled up the Globe's MLB section and tossed it into the trash basket next to her desk in the homicide unit's bullpen.
"This sucks!" Frankie plopped into an office chair next to her.
"What the hell, Frankie?! Six feet." Jane gave his chair a forceful push, increasing the space between them to the desired distance.
"Oh, come on. None of us is sick, and I'm being extra careful whenever I'm around people."
"Is that your definition of 'careful'?" Jane pointed at a creased face mask stuck halfway under his uniform's collar.
"I'm talking about strangers." Frankie grunted but pointedly pulled his mask over his mouth. "It's getting hot under this damn thing."
"Nobody's stopping you from going back on patrol. Fresh air will do you good."
"I'm on break."
"I'm not." Jane grabbed the topmost manila folder from a pile almost as high as her desk.
"Whatcha working on?"
Jane kept her eyes on the document in front of her. "John Doe, early 30s. Asked too many questions and was found strangled with his face mask."
"Alright, alright, I get it." Frankie heaved himself up. "I'm leaving."
But before the younger Rizzoli had a chance to give his sister some space, Lieutenant Cavanaugh marched into the bullpen and rapped his knuckles on a desk to get the squad's attention.
"Listen up, everyone! I just got off the phone with the hospital. Romero tested positive, and they're keeping him there for a few days. You all know the protocol. How many of you have interacted with him this week?"
Almost all hands in the already decimated homicide unit shot up.
"Damn," Cavanaugh cursed quietly and let his eyes wander over his team twice, as if hoping he could change the result. But of course, he could not. "Okay, that's it. Work from home until further notice, as discussed. Catch up on your paperwork, go through old cases, do your interviews via phone. If you do need to come in, keep your interactions to a minimum. We still have our emergency response squad downstairs, and we'll rotate teams every few days. And if you start to feel sick… well, you know the drill."
He waved off his detectives, then approached Jane's desk.
"Rizzoli!"
"Yes." — "Yes." Jane and Frankie both spun around.
Irritated, Cavanaugh sized up Frankie. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on break."
"This isn't the break room."
Faced with the lieutenant's impatient stare and Jane's familiar told-you-so grin, Frankie suddenly seemed to recognize the benefits of patrolling in fresh air and bugged out.
Cavanaugh turned to the remaining Rizzoli. "And you make sure your mother goes home and stays there."
"She's home already."
"You sure about that?"
"Uh… not anymore." Jane's detective senses tingled with worry. "Is she—?"
"Downstairs. In the café."
"For God's sake, I told her to stay put this morning."
"So did I."
"You—? Never mind. I don't wanna know." Pushing mental images of the lieutenant's mating rituals with the Rizzoli matriarch to the back of her mind, Jane grabbed her coat and a stack of case files.
"Keep me updated on your cases." Cavanaugh picked two more manila folders from the filing tray and put them on top of Jane's stack, much to her displeasure. "And give my best to Angela."
"Yeah, yeah," Jane mumbled on her way out, with zero intention to keep that promise.
...
...
The hallways to the morgue were as deserted as most office buildings these days. Non-urgent tasks had been postponed, lower-level personnel had been sent home as a precaution, and many of those with medical degrees were assisting the living across the city — a rather ironic consequence of the current plaque.
A single lab technician was bent over his microscope, diligently analyzing samples, when Jane reached the lab space adjacent to the main autopsy room. She put her stack of case files onto an empty shelf, then peeked through the door's small glass pane to see whether the chief medical examiner would be in that room as usual.
And indeed, she was. Wrapped into additional layers of protective gear, Maura stood at one of the autopsy tables, her attentive eyes behind a face shield focused on the corpse in front of her. With skilled precision, her gloved hands guided a sharp scalpel across the male decedent's ashen skin, then traded it for a pair of shears to open up the chest cavity.
Jane watched from outside as Maura began to systematically remove the organs from the dead man's body. It would be the last autopsy she could observe for the foreseeable future, so she let her eyes linger a little longer, memorizing every detail of the examination and, even more so, of the examiner.
When the lab technician behind her finally straightened up with an exhausted moan and rose from his seat to stretch his stiff bones, Jane shook off her reverie and slipped into the autopsy room.
"You're not supposed to be in here," Maura greeted her, even though they both knew such admonishment would be in vain.
"Why? You look like you're ready to embark on a mission to Mars. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't worry about contracting the virus anymore." Jane pointed at the corpse on Maura's table and stepped closer. "Whose case is it?"
"Detective Romero's."
"Oh. Well, you won't have to rush this one."
"What do you mean?"
"He got a nasty cough on Tuesday. Went home. Apparently, he's in the hospital now."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Maura tried to hide her concern from the detective. With little success. "Have you had any contact with him?"
"Nah." Jane shrugged it off, but her attempt at downplaying the matter was met with inquisitive eyes. "Just very briefly. Don't worry, I'm fine."
"Even so, it would be wise for you to self-quarantine if possible. Lieutenant Cavanaugh didn't send you home?"
"He did, actually. That's why I'm here. Thought I should let you benefit from my sharp mind and infinite wisdom one last time before you'll have to do your autopsies all by yourself."
Maura paused her examination process. "Your infinite wisdom?"
"Uh huh. Take our tight-lipped friend here, for example." Jane pointed at the corpse between them, with his abdominal cavity relieved of its organs. "Based on this particular grayish coloration of his skin, his general apathy, and rather glaring lack of intestines, I must conclude that he is most definitely dead."
"Well, thank you, Detective. I concur."
"Speaking of dead…" Jane grimaced. "What would be the fastest yet inconspicuous way to kill my mother?"
"Oh oh. What did she do this time?"
"What she didn't do is stay home. According to Cavanaugh, she's back in the café."
"Would you like me to talk to her again?" Maura offered casually before resuming her autopsy.
"No, don't bother." Jane nudged a metal dish closer to Maura when she started pulling suspicious particles from a piece of flesh with her tweezers. "But when she's back in your guest house tonight, maybe you can lock her door and throw away the key?"
"You could keep an eye on her yourself if you stayed at my house until things normalize."
"It's called 'work from home', not 'work from Maura's house'."
"This hasn't stopped you before, has it?"
Jane frowned. "Uh, I'm getting mixed vibes here…"
"You know you're always welcome," Maura reassured her without looking up from the corpse. "I just wish you wouldn't ignore my advice so often."
"Whaaat? When have I ever ignored your advice?" Jane gasped with feigned indignation.
"About ten seconds ago when you touched that kidney dish despite not wearing gloves."
"Oh. Crap." Feigned indignation turned into real embarrassment. "Sorry, force of habit. But as long as you don't start cutting people open on your kitchen counter, it won't happen again anytime soon. Promise."
Finally, Maura looked up. "I'll see you tonight then?"
"Yeah. I'm just gonna pick up some stuff and Jo Friday. I hope your turtle doesn't mind getting a roommate."
With a playful smile, Jane hurried to the door to evade the inevitable objection to her incorrect zoological terminology. But she was pretty sure that underneath her mask, Maura was smiling too.
...
...
Back in the hallway, Jane stopped at a hand sanitizer station to eradicate all traces of whatever icky bacteria might have been sitting on the items she had touched in the autopsy room. Once her hands felt squeaky clean, she grabbed her case files and turned to leave — but almost dropped her load when a familiar lab-coated figure bumped into her.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Susie muttered absentmindedly and trudged on.
Jane realigned the files in her stack, and her initial annoyance quickly gave way to genuine concern. "Hey, are you alright?"
"Yes." Susie took a seat behind one of the lab counters and began to arrange the utensils in her workspace, though her actions lacked real focus.
"You sure you're alright?"
"Mmm."
Jane hesitated but then joined her at the counter. Maura's young assistant had never been one of many words, but her rather dispirited posture betrayed some deeper sorrow. While there hadn't been any uptick in crimes against the fairly large part of Boston's population with Asian-American roots, subtle microaggressions against members of that community had been on the rise ever since the disease's first outbreak in China a few months ago. And certainly, more serious incidents in other big cities were hard to ignore.
"You know, some of the holding cells upstairs are empty and unsupervised right now," Jane explained conspiratorially. "If anybody is giving you trouble, I could make them disappear for a while."
A hint of a smile lit up Susie's face as she considered the suggestion, but then her sense of professionalism took over. "I don't think this will be necessary."
"Okay. But if you change your mind… you know where to find me."
"At Dr. Isles' house?"
"Uh… yes," Jane confirmed, taken aback by Susie's surprising but accurate guess. "Well, stay safe, yeah?"
"Thank you. You too."
On her way to the elevators, Susie's words were still floating through Jane's head. Was she really spending that much time at "Dr. Isles' house"? And how did Susie even know? Had Maura been divulging that information? Had they been talking about— no, nope, it didn't matter. Jane shook off her thoughts as she pressed the elevator's buttons. A more serious matter required her immediate attention now.
...
...
When she reached the little café upstairs, tucked away in a corner just off the building's main reception area, Jane quickly spotted the reason for her unplanned visit. From behind a steaming coffee machine and two trays with an assortment of bagels and donuts, Angela Rizzoli was chatting away with half a dozen cops waiting in line. At least everybody was keeping the proper distance, but for God's sake! — Jane cursed at the sight of her mother's face lacking any sort of mask or protection.
She nudged the officer at the end of the line. "Sorry, you're gonna have to get your coffee somewhere else. This place is shutting down."
The cop in front of them turned around. "What?"
"Yeah, orders from upstairs," Jane declared. "Just a precaution."
Both cops longingly looked at the coffee machine just a few feet away from them. So close, and yet so far. But getting locked out of coffee shops and other places had become such a regular part of daily life by now that they dutifully accepted their fate and trotted out of the café.
Jane repeated the process with three more cops until just the one at the front of the line remained. Since he was already accepting his coffee and donut, she let him have his desired pick-me-up and instead put two chairs on a table and proceeded to close the café's doors.
"Jane? What are you doing?" Angela's face filled with confusion when her last customer left and Jane turned the lock.
"Taking you back home where you belong."
"But I've been doing everything right! Nobody got too close, and I'm even wearing gloves. Look!" She held up her hands as proof.
"You know damn well that all non-essential businesses are supposed to stay closed."
"Non-essential?!" Indignantly, Angela watched as her daughter unplugged the coffee machine. "These brave officers are keeping our streets safe. The least I can do is serve them a cup of hot coffee."
"We survived on Stanley's sludge for years before you took over. I'm sure we'll manage without you for a few weeks."
"A few weeks? But the President said we'd have this under control by Easter?"
Jane sighed. "The President's an idiot, Ma."
"Don't say that."
"Let's go." She motioned her mother toward the back exit, leaving no doubt that any further discussion would be nipped in the bud. On her way out, Jane grabbed a glazed donut and took a large bite — a treat she had certainly earned.
...
...
Three hours later, Jane's sedan finally came to a standstill in the driveway to Maura's Beacon Hill home. On the passenger seat, Jo Friday barked cheerfully, whereas Angela on the backseat begrudgingly kept her distance.
"You really think this will last through summer?"
"Yes. And I need you to take this seriously, Ma." Jane turned around in her seat. "You're at higher risk and you have to stop meeting with people the moment I let you out of my sight."
"What about T.J.? Can I at least see my grandson?"
Jane pondered the request. T.J. hadn't been in daycare for almost two weeks, and with proper hygienic measures and less hugging and coddling — maybe it wouldn't pose a real risk? But before she even had a chance to respond—
"He's the only one I got…"
"Really? Even now you're giving me the talk?!"
Jane rolled her eyes and got out of the car. She unlocked the trunk to get the few groceries her mother had wanted to acquire in a nearby store while Jane had been packing some clothes and Jo Friday's food in her apartment — but when the lid popped open, "few" turned out to be an utterly inadequate descriptor for the amount of goods spilling out of the trunk. Shopping bags with pasta, canned vegetables, bread, and fresh tomatoes en masse. And toilet paper. Of course.
"Oh, god, I'm gonna have to arrest my own mother for looting, aren't I?"
Angela let Jo Friday out of the car, then grabbed several bags. "You just said yourself this could take months and I should stay home for a while. And now you're complaining because I'm stocking up on a few things? You really need to make up your mind, Jane."
As Angela marched to the guest house, Jane rested her head on the open trunk lid and took a deep breath. Indifferent to it all, Jo Friday sat down next to her feet.
"Please, bite her. Just a little bit. Just once."
Eventually, Jane ended her silent protest, swung an old duffel bag with her clothes over her shoulder, and gathered her dog's treats and toys hidden beneath the filled grocery bags.
She let herself into Maura's house with the spare key that she had begun to use more often than the key to her own apartment and carried her belongings to the guest room upstairs, with Jo Friday following at her heels.
In the stylishly furnished room, the bed had been prepared with clean sheets, a vase with fresh flowers adorned the window sill, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer sat on the nightstand, as if Maura had somehow guessed that the room would soon be occupied. She never guessed though. Maybe the whole arrangement wasn't as unexpected after all? First Susie, and now this? Nah, probably just a coincidence. Jane pushed her bag under the bed, rubbed a few drops of sanitizer onto her fingers, then headed back downstairs, her four-legged companion still by her side.
As she reached the kitchen, her mother was already there and humming to herself while unpacking one of the grocery bags. A large pot with hot water was boiling on the stove.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jane wasn't sure whether she really wanted to know the answer.
"I'm going to make a nice big pot of pasta al'arrabiata for you and Maura. Now that you've dragged me out of the café, what else am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, read a book? Call your friends? Play Jenga with your two hundred rolls of toilet paper?"
Admonishingly, Angela shooed her daughter out of the way. "I thought you still had work to do."
Work…? Well, yes. Maybe she should just bury herself in her cases and wait for everything else to pass. Jane grabbed her stack of case files, sunk into the fluffy cushions on Maura's couch, and opened the topmost manila folder. And as soon as she began to read and set the gears of her detective brain into motion, the world around her faded away indeed.
For a good two hours, she scribbled down notes, highlighted and crossed out potential leads and dead ends, and kept her mind busy with some of Boston's most gruesome unsolved crimes from the last few months. Until—
—the flat-screen TV above the fireplace came to life and a newscaster's squawking voice filled the room.
"Ma?!"
"I just want to hear what they're saying about the state of emergency now."
"Not this station!"
Albeit reluctantly, Angela switched to another station and turned down the volume. "Better?"
Jane gave her a thumbs-up from the couch before diving back into her case. But the combination of the still audible evening news and the criminally enticing smell of fresh tomato sauce wafting through the air made it hard to regain her focus. And then on top of that, the doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Three times!
With a growl, she tossed her file back onto its stack and got up. When she spotted a patrol car through the hallway window, she knew whom to expect even before opening the door.
"Hey!" Frankie grinned, his face mask once again pulled down to his neck. "I thought I bring you some stuff now that you're grounded."
"Please, tell me you didn't—"
Oh, yes, he did. Like a hunter proudly presenting his prey, Frankie held up a CVS bag and two packs of toilet paper. But suddenly he froze and sniffed the air.
"Is that Ma cooking?"
As if her mother's antics weren't stressful enough already, her younger brother brushed past her into the house. Jane sent a quick prayer to whoever might be listening above and followed him back inside.
"Frankie! Come here, try this," Angela demanded from behind the kitchen counter.
He didn't need to be told twice and carelessly dropped his bag and toilet paper onto a chair. Anticipation filled his face as he reached for a spoon, but—
"Stop! Both of you." Jane glared at Frankie. "Wash your damn hands!"
"But I've already used the hand sanitizer in my car three times."
"Yeah, well, fourth time's the charm from now on." She turned to her mother. "And you, what do I have to do to make you keep your distance? Do you want me to lock you up in solitary? Because I will if that's what it takes."
But Angela seemed unimpressed. "You're not taking this whole situation very well, Jane. Are you getting enough sleep?"
Mentally recalling the Massachusetts criminal code and preparing her defense, Jane decided in favor of one final warning. "For the record, I'm technically still on the clock and allowed to use my gun. Don't make me."
Her features softening, Angela pushed a filled plate to her daughter. "You're worrying too much about everything."
"At least one of us has to." Jane accepted the bribe and sat down at the wooden dining table. But just as she was ready to load her fork with delicious hot pasta, a familiar honk broke through the quiet outside.
"Oh, good, they're here!" Angela cheered.
"If this is who I think it is—" Jane jumped up from her chair to preempt her mother's attempt to greet their visitors herself. When she opened the backdoor, her hunch was confirmed.
"Hiii!" Lydia's ever-bright smile was hard to resist.
But Jane tried anyway. "Nope. We're closed. Sorry."
"What? Angela said we could come over…"
"Yes, let them in, Jane." Her mother pulled the door wide open.
"Ma, no—"
"Look, who's heeere!" Tommy jumped out of the shadows, carrying his 3-year-old on one arm and trying to keep his balance with at least five shopping bags decorating his other arm.
"There's my favorite grandson!" Angela took a giggling T.J. into her overbearing embrace and led Lydia inside.
"You shouldn't have come," Jane scolded her brother, who desperately tried to untangle the plastic bags cutting off the blood flow to his hand.
"Aww, don't worry, we've spent a whole week at home. We're clean."
"One week isn't enough—"
"Besides, we brought everything you need. You'll thank us. Trust me!"
Jane sighed. She already knew what he had in his bags.
Finally, Tommy managed to get his hand free — but with the side-effect of a tear in one of the bags getting longer and wider. Somehow, he succeeded in blocking all unwanted holes with his hands, stumbled into the house, and reached the couch just as the torn bag lost its usefulness and released its content all over Maura's cushions. Bottles of Purell, packs of soft tissue, and more rolls of toilet paper spread all over the fabric.
"Oops." He grinned innocently and picked up a small bottle of hand sanitizer from the floor, then tossed it to the other ones on the couch. As if it would make the chaos around him disappear.
Still at the doorstep, Jane sent a quick curse to whoever was obviously not listening above before joining her family inside. Since nobody else seemed interested in the task, she started to move the goods from the couch to a side-table in a corner. At least Lydia decided to help. Tommy, on the other hand, not so much.
"See, one of my buddies already told us a few weeks ago that it would come to this," he explained. "And that people would buy up all the toilet paper and canned food and stuff and—"
Frankie perked up from behind his plate of pasta. "Was that Aaron, the crazy prepper?"
"Yeah, who's crazy now, huh?" Tommy confirmed. "Anyway, so we drove around, looked for great deals. And then we also found this place up north, some kind of factory outlet, you know, kinda like a dollar store in a big barn. And they had all that stuff. So we bought up as much as we could, and like two weeks ago, we started selling it on eBay — best two weeks we've had in a long time, I'm tellin' ya!"
"We have more in the car, so you just take whatever you need," Lydia chimed in.
Jane pointed at the growing stack of toilet paper and other items in the corner. "Pretty sure we're all set for the rest of the year."
"Oh." But Lydia's face quickly brightened up again and she turned to Tommy. "Well, that leaves more for us to sell."
They high-fived, and the matter was settled.
Not for Jane though. "You can't hoard all these goods, Tommy. Some people really don't have access to them right now."
"Yeah, and we'll sell whatever they need. We're not ripping anybody off." When that didn't seem to convince his sister, his voice became more serious. "It's just a few bucks extra for T.J.'s college fund. Do you have a better idea how we're supposed to manage things?! The government sure as hell won't bail us out."
Frankie pricked up his ears. "The government would bail you out if you smartened up on election day."
"Not now, Frankie, please," Jane begged. She had heard this speech too often before.
"What? I'm just saying." Frankie abandoned his empty plate and joined the group. "If you keep voting for the same old same old, nothing's gonna change."
"But we're not voting for the same old," Lydia protested.
It only seemed to encourage Frankie more. "No, but your wackjob candidate with no track record isn't the solution either. You should—"
"Frankie, don't—" Jane tried to intervene but—
—her other brother also got started. "Hey, at least we're not voting for that potatohead like Ma does!"
"Tommy!" The Rizzoli matriarch had been focused on her grandson up to this point, but now that things got heated—
"And don't act like your candidate has a magical fix!" Tommy yelled at Frankie. "It's just empty promises, and—"
"Empty promises? Are you kidding me?!"
With every new verbal punch, their voices got louder, their arguments intensified — and Jane's trigger finger itched ever more for her gun stashed away in her bag upstairs. And as if the whole evening hadn't been annoying enough already, Lydia then decided, no, had the audacity to sit down at the dining table and seize the plate of pasta Jane had been forced to leave unsupervised just minutes ago. When the first forkful tickled her taste buds, she closed her eyes and moaned in delight.
It probably would have been the last thing she ever tasted had it not been for Jo Friday nudging Jane's leg before she could put her murderous fantasy of Lydia's tragic demise into action.
"You wanna go outside too, huh? Come on, let's get outta here!" Jane scooped up the Yorkshire terrier and snuck out of the house.
And oh, what a wonderful sudden silence! No more yelling and arguing. No cantankerous brothers. No brazen pasta thieves. Sure, every once in a while, an ambulance or police siren blared in the distance. But that didn't bother Jane much.
She walked Jo Friday to a bush, waited till the little furball had finished her business, then led her back to the house. They both sat down on the front step and let the brisk breeze of this strange spring play around their heads… until a familiar clacking of high heels approached.
Seconds later, the house's owner came around the corner. Even at the end of a 10-hour shift she looked more radiant than Jane ever did at the beginning of her day.
"Did you bring everything you need from your place?" Maura asked.
Jane heaved herself up. "I'm afraid I brought much more than that with me."
"What?"
"You don't happen to have another townhouse where you could stay tonight, do you?"
Maura hesitated for a second but then turned the knob and entered her house.
Inside, the Rizzoli fight was still in full swing, and the chaos on and around the couch had still not been cleaned up.
"Oh." Maura took off her coat, careful not to touch anything else and keeping her distance to Jane. "Did your mother invite them over?"
"I'm so, so sorry." Jane closed the door behind her dog. "You should just kick us all out. And then move to a different city. And probably change your name."
"It's alright. But they really shouldn't be sitting this close to each other—"
With a bark, Jo Friday dashed back into the living room. Everybody turned around.
"Oh, hey, Maura!" the whole Rizzoli gang shouted in unison.
"Run, while you still can," Jane whispered.
But Angela had no intention of letting their host get away again. "Are you hungry? I made some pasta…"
"Maybe later, thank you." Maura shrank back to keep the Rizzoli matriarch at bay.
"Maura, you're a doctor." Frankie seemed to have found a new line of arguing. "Can you tell Tommy here that a candidate for president who thinks that vaccinations are—"
"For god's sake, Frankie, give her a break! She just got here." Jane stepped in between and gently shoved Maura out of the room and toward the stairs. "Just ignore them."
"But I would have been happy to answer their questions about—"
"Yeah, yeah, we can sit them down later."
Maura stopped halfway up the stairs. "You seem rather irritated."
"Really? What gave it away?" Jane instantly regretted her tone. "Sorry, it's not your fault."
"You know, stress is one of the most underestimated factors weakening the human immune system," Maura explained as they took the last few steps to the upper floor. "Your body produces more cortisol and fewer lymphocytes — the long-term effects of which are highly detrimental to your health and resistance against anything from minor infections to severe viral diseases."
"If this is about to turn into a pitch for one of your yoga sessions, I will lose it."
"But it would really do you good and help you de-stress, Jane."
"An hour at the shooting range would do the same."
Or, maybe, observing Maura's nightly routine would also suffice…? Jane rested her head against the frame of Maura's bedroom door and watched as she sashayed inside. There was nothing she hadn't seen before, and yet, every time circumstances allowed for another visual exploration, her mind lost track of its sorrows and instead absorbed every little detail anew… the glint of Maura's honey blonde hair in the glow of the bedside lamp as she tilted her head and unclipped her earrings… the way her manicured fingers unbuttoned her blouse… how her chest steadily moved in and out with every calm breath… the play of light and shadow on her thighs and calves as her skirt slid to the floor… and how her silhouette—
"Jane?"
"Huh?"
"I have to take a shower. Do you think you can hold it together for ten more minutes?"
Jane regained her focus and smirked. "You're never gonna make it in ten minutes."
"I'll take that as a yes."
With a smile, Maura disappeared into her bath, and Jane headed back downstairs, her mood much better than before. But when she reached the living room—
"Did you just cough?" Frankie asked, the urgency of his question emphasized by the inquisitive faces of Tommy, Lydia, and Angela.
"Uh, no." Jane shook her head and beelined for the fridge. She had cleared her throat on her way downstairs, but a cough? No.
Angela wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? You'd tell us if you felt sick, right?"
"I'm fine," Jane insisted. She opened the fridge to grab one of the beers Maura always kept in stock for her on the bottom shelf — and a tempting idea crossed her mind. Maybe if she — no, she couldn't do that. Or could she…? Oh, what the heck, why not?
Hidden behind the fridge's wide door, she covered her mouth with her hand and coughed.
"There! You did it again!" Tommy took the bait.
"What? That was nothing." Jane re-emerged and closed the fridge. "I just had something in my throat."
"You keep telling us to be more careful, but what about you?" he admonished his sister.
Frankie shrunk back when she walked by him. "How long were you with Romero the other day? You did that interview together, didn't you?"
"Trust me, I'm fine."
But despite her reassurance, Angela and Lydia took a few steps back, too.
This was going to be fun, wasn't it? Jane placed her beer on the dining table but then headed right back to the kitchen area to get a glass. Not because she needed one but because as soon as she approached, the others instinctively gave her more space.
"You know, they said on TV that you can spread it even if you don't really feel sick yet," Tommy remembered. "If you have it, you could pass it on to Ma."
"Oh, now you're worried about Ma?" Jane took the long way around the kitchen counter to where he was standing.
And right on cue, he took a step back. "Well, yeah. We stayed home all week and you didn't."
"Then maybe you shouldn't hang out with me right now? And Frankie, you shouldn't be here either. Who knows how many infected people you've already interacted with."
"Hey, I'm not the one coughing," Frankie objected. "And I thought I'd do you a favor bringing you some sold-out stuff."
"Honey, you should go see a doctor and get tested," Angela suggested.
"There's a doctor right upstairs, Ma. Besides, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine, Jane. And earlier in the car you said you felt like getting a headache."
Well, true. She had said that. But only as a ruse to get her mother to stop nagging for at least a few minutes. Now that she had started this bluff though, she might as well go all in. "It could be a cold… who knows…"
"Let me feel your temperature—"
"Uh uh. Six feet, Ma!" Now it was Jane who shrunk back.
"Do you feel like you're getting a fever?"
Jane waggled her hand in an "eh, maybe?" gesture.
"Well, what are we supposed to do?" Angela looked to the others for help.
"They said sick people need to isolate," Lydia pointed out. "So maybe we should go to the guest house?"
"Yes, excellent idea!" Jane praised her suggestion. "I knew you were the smart one in the family."
Encouraged, Lydia added another idea. "We could leave both our doors open, so we could still talk to you and see how you're doing?"
"Or you could just use the phone?" Jane bit back a snarkier response.
"I guess so."
But the Rizzoli matriarch wasn't as easy to get rid of. "We can't leave you alone when you're sick."
"It's just a precaution. And I'm not even sick."
"Oh, I know how you are. You never admit that you're sick until it's really bad."
"That's right," Tommy piped up. "Remember that summer when we wanted to drive to the cabin, and you had that stomach bug? And you didn't want to admit that you're sick so we wouldn't cancel the trip? You ended up puking all over me in the car!"
Jane chuckled at the memory. "You're still not over that?"
"Those were my favorite pants!"
Sensing another escalation, Frankie's cop instincts kicked in. "Alright, calm down everyone. Lydia is right. You should all go to the guest house, just in case. And I'll go home. I need to get up early for my shift tomorrow anyway." He turned to Jane. "And you lie down and relax. Tomorrow, we'll check back and take things from there. Everyone okay with that?"
They all agreed — with different levels of enthusiasm. Jane barely managed to keep a straight face, whereas Angela accepted the plan only under protest. But a few minutes later, after Jane had promised to inform them of any changes to her well-being, Angela finally took sleepy T.J. into her arms and led the whole gang out of the house.
With a sigh of relief, Jane closed and locked the door behind them and mentally congratulated herself. She hurried to the kitchen cabinet with all the cleaning utensils, grabbed a sanitizer solution and a small cleaning rag and began to wipe down all surfaces. She knew Maura wouldn't be able to sit still unless her current hygiene protocols had been followed.
Right when Jane finished her task — and after much more than the promised ten minutes had passed —, Maura returned from upstairs, casually dressed but her hair still a little damp and her cheeks rosy from her shower.
"Where did everyone go?"
"I found a way to make them leave."
"Do I want to know more?"
"Nope."
Fortunately, Maura didn't probe further and instead filled a plate with some of the remaining pasta for herself and sat down to eat.
Though Jane would have loved to just sit and chat, the stack of her case files on the couch table hadn't magically gotten any smaller. And so she grabbed her beer, picked the topmost folder, and joined Maura at the table. Reluctantly, she opted for a chair a little farther away — one of many precautions she wasn't sure they needed but gladly followed anyway, if only to make that joyful spark appear in Maura's eyes at the sight of her instructions not falling on deaf ears.
But when she tried to focus on her case, all those familiar worries returned. Would the current measures really suffice? How many days would all of this take? And what if they were wrong? What if six feet weren't enough? What if all that quarantining was in vain? — She closed her case file and turned to Maura. "If someone like Ma got sick, what would be their odds?"
"It's difficult to say. We don't have enough data yet, and there are so many factors…"
"But if you had to guess? And, yes, I know you don't normally do that, but these aren't normal times."
Maura pondered the question, then seemed to have found an acceptable response. "If a person about the age of your mother got sick, and if that person lived in a state like Massachusetts, especially in a city like Boston with its excellent hospitals, and if the case numbers were still as low as they are right now, then, assuming that person has no comorbidities and there are no other complicating factors, I would be cautiously optimistic."
"That's a lot of ifs."
"Just convince her to stay home. Reducing her interactions with outside people to a minimum will significantly improve her odds."
"Hmm." It wasn't the answer Jane had been hoping for. But then her eyes landed on the table in the corner with all the shopping bags and supplies. And she couldn't help but laugh. "Well, at least none of us will have to leave the house to buy toilet paper anytime soon."
"How did all of that end up here?"
"One of Tommy's business plans." She took another sip of her beer. "Do you have to leave for work tomorrow?"
"Yes. We're going to run through contingency plans with representatives from several hospitals. See how we might be able to support them."
"You're not planning on helping out in a hospital, are you?"
"I don't know yet." Maura realized the implications of that question and added, "We're not New York, Jane."
"Just promise you'll be careful. Extra careful."
"Of course." She finished her pasta and got up to take away her plate but then turned back around. "If you want, we can talk some more."
"Nah. If you need to get up early, I don't wanna keep you up too long."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Jane reopened her file. "I'm gonna distract myself with some good old stories about mayhem and murder."
"Well, good night then. Try to get some sleep."
"Night. And thank you."
Maura put away her plate, dimmed the kitchen lights, and went upstairs.
Engulfed by the quiet of the night, Jane remained alone at the table and dove back into her file. And for a while, without any of the previous distractions, actual progress seemed within reach as she crossed off item after item on her list with open tasks. She prepared a call schedule for the coming week, dictated her report for the next case file on the stack, and made sure that all existing leads had been investigated for yet another unsolved case. But then the very same lack of distractions allowed her brain to dedicate some of its resources to all those other thoughts and concerns that always filled the back of her mind. And with every minute that passed, her focus diminished more… and the facts and figures of her current case got swept away by another wave of worries. What if they reopened the country too soon? What if the virus began to mutate and it would be pointless to search for a cure? What if life would never be the same? What if—
Frustrated, Jane pushed away her file and buried her head in her hands. None of this was supposed to happen. Not in a country like this. Not with all the resources they had.
She probably should have accepted Maura's offer and talked things through… Maybe she should go upstairs and check whether Maura was still awake now…? But at half past midnight, that was rather unlikely. And waking her up was not an option. Maura would probably pretend not to mind and then sit and listen no matter how long it would take, putting Jane's needs ahead of her own like she so often did. No, that wouldn't be fair.
Jane sighed and decided to trade her wooden chair for Maura's comfortable couch. Maybe its soft cushions would have the same effect on her as they did on Jo Friday, who was snoring peacefully on the armchair nearby.
She lay down, pulled a blanket over her legs, and waited… and waited… and waited in vain. Nope, that plan wouldn't work. Maybe some TV might help?
She reached for the remote and flicked through the channels — but instantly regretted that decision. A news report with the latest pandemic numbers on one channel, a coronavirus special on the next, and a panel discussion with experts calling in via Zoom on the third. Even that old movie channel had a ticker with the latest news at the bottom.
With no other options left, Jane turned off the TV, rolled onto her back, and simply stared at the ceiling. She knew sleep wasn't going to come any time soon.
…
…