Title: Confessions of a Perfectionist

Fandom, pairing: Rizzoli & Isles, Rizzoli/Isles

Rating: PG13 for early chapters, but probably heading for NC17.

Disclaimer: I don't own the lovely ladies, merely borrow and promise to return them unharmed. And I'm poor, so please don't sue me.

Spoilers: Season 1, mostly the final episode.

Summary: The story takes places immediately after the season one cliff-hanger. The Rizzoli siblings are in the hospital, their parents are devastated, and their colleagues a mess. The one holding everything and everybody together is Dr. Maura Isles, who is simultaneously struggling with her own unvoiced feelings for Jane. But even Maura has her limits, and when she finally falls, she falls hard…

Author's note: This is a serious attempt at describing what a stress-induced depression might feel like and could as such be labelled "therapy fic". However, the love between Jane and Maura remains centre – it's Rizzles through and through.

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Given the serious subject matter and the fact that is my first attempt at writing for this pairing, reviews will be much appreciated! It will work as an incentive for me to finish new chapters quickly... Don't worry, it's all planned - so you won't be left hanging:)

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CHAPTER I: PILLOW MONOLOGUES

7 weeks before breakdown

"So, in other news Frost thinks he has a secret admirer. Someone left him flowers in the reception. He asked me to pass them on to you."

The woman seated next to the hospital bed smiled and gave a small wiggle with her shoulders.

"Whether he thereby qualifies as a true gentleman or merely someone too lazy to buy fresh flowers, I am not entirely sure… However, I'm fairly certain the 'admirer' is someone from narcotics pulling his foot. I mean, honestly – pink lilies? You would have welcomed a gift like that with one of your Rizzoli eye rolls."

The woman chuckled a little. The soft and rich sound seemed oddly misplaced among the glaring digital displays and sharp angles of the ICU. She was leaning against the bed, her left arm draped across the metal rack, its fingers gently brushing against the unresponsive hand beneath it.

The contrast between the owners of the respective hands would seem striking to any nurse passing through:

The woman in the chair was light, freckled, and impeccably dressed in an outfit that presupposed money without flaunting it. The woman in the bed was dark-haired with an olive tan and presently clad in a hospital gown.

The woman in the chair was petite with soft, sensual features and form, and her skin was unmarked by life. The woman in the bed had visible scars on her hands, and more scars could be found on the tall, lanky body currently obscured by a white blanket.

The woman in the chair was full of life; her lips were curved in a smile, her fingers fidgeting, and her voice raising and falling in a complicated pattern. The woman in the bed was dead still; even her breath had been stolen by a machine, and her immobile body was penetrated by tubes of all colours.

The contrast would seem striking to anyone passing through indeed – unless they took the time to stop and watch the pair for a moment, perhaps while adjusting the IV or the cooling fluids or the blood bag or the catheter or any of the many monitors. In that case they might pay closer attention and realise that the lively lightness of the seated woman was contradicted by the look in her eyes.

Dr. Maura Isles was, in spite of her title, not visiting in any professional capacity. She was here as the colleague and best friend of Detective Jane Rizzoli, who had been badly injured in the line of duty and was currently kept in a coma to prevent brain damage. For once her flair for science was useless; her job was merely to keep her friend company, to believe in a positive outcome and the chance that her presence somehow made a difference.

She owed that to her friend; her friend, who had been nothing but selfless taking a bullet to save her own brother. Now Jane needed Maura to be selfless, as her inner monologue kept reminding her. Jane had been shot, not Maura. Jane had lost part of her intestine and more blood than should be humanly possible, not Maura. Jane's heart had momentarily stopped, not Maura's.

And so, logically, Maura had no reason nor right to be exhausted, to be hurting, to be desperately clinging on to life's edge. And yet anyone bothering to really look into the doctor's hazel eyes could tell she was, even as she casually relayed the events of the day.

She did such a good job of keeping her tone cheerful and her words optimistic that few would have guessed she found the task much harder than any emergency surgery she'd ever taken part in, including the one she'd performed on Jane's brother a few days earlier.

He'd pulled through thanks to her and to his sister's bravery. Jane, on the other hand, had been touch and go for a while. Prospects were looking better now, her blood pressure was going up and her vitals getting more stabile, and the initial fear of her never waking up again was slowly subsiding.

Maura had explained that to the Rizzoli family just a few hours earlier, and now she was repeating the good news to her silent friend.

Since the shooting, she had taken it upon herself to act as the link between Jane's parents and the hospital staff, translating medical lingo into regular English and offering as much emotional support as she possibly could. Of course Angela and Frank were devastated to find two of their children in the ICU, and the hospital staff was often too busy to deal with their anxiety in a proper way.

Also, Maura felt she kind of owed it to them… They had practically accepted her as part of the family and not once questioned her right to be at Jane's bedside, even though she was merely their daughter's friend.

Maura shook her head at the thought and its accompanying burst of melancholy – it was taking her down a track she had repeatedly found herself on during these late night monologues in Jane's company. A wrong track, a dangerous one, and she quickly re-focused on more constructive matters.

"So all things considered you should be out of your coma by the end of the week, at the very latest. In fact you could be out of here in less than three weeks, barring all complications. And I see no reasons why any complications should occur. You're young, you're healthy, and you're the most stubborn fighter I've ever come across."

She laughed lightly again.

"I know you think I'm the bossy one, but I beg to differ. Although I suppose labelling you when you are, for once, unable to verbally object would count as being somewhat bossy…"

The ability to simply shut down one thought and pick another was something Maura had disciplined her mind to at an early age. A necessary survival strategy for someone who repeatedly found herself frowned upon by peers in middle through medical school, at work, and in many social settings. With so many eyes and lips deeming her a nerd, an outsider, or even a freak, the most sensible thing had been to shut them out and spend all her energy on science. Her filter came in handy in situations like these, drowning out noisy surroundings and thoughts.

However, lately the filter was failing.

Even now, as she smiled at her friend and finally fully grasped her hand, fingertips in palm and thumb gently stroking its back. She was smiling and chatting pleasantly, but it took a constant conscious effort to keep darker words at bay.

It was probably the lack of sleep – she'd spent most of the past nights by Jane's side, after Angela and Frank senior had gone home – and the crazy hours she'd been running as the Chief Medical Examiner at the Boston Police Department. The station was a mess after the shooting. Normally, Maura enjoyed going to work, felt revitalized by it even, which was probably one of the reasons she'd earned the title Queen of the Dead. But these days the air was heavy and draining, and everyone tip-toed around the cops who had lost or nearly lost a colleague close to them.

"Everyone really misses you at the station. Frost and Korsak in particular, as you can probably imagine. I think Korsak thinks of you as a second daughter. And Frost, well… He admires you as much as Frankie does. They ask about you all the time."

It was true. Even her morgue was no longer a sanctum. Frost and Korsak, Jane's current and former partner, kept coming up with excuses to stop by in spite of Frost's weak stomach for dead bodies. They'd ask about cases or bring paperwork, but she knew they were really looking for updates on Jane's well-being, assurances backed up by medical science, and she did her best to offer it and not let any of her own gnawing worries show. After all, they were good men who had her best friend's back and even accepted Maura as 'one of the guys'. This was a privilege the doctor had rarely had in life, and she would of course offer any support she could in return.

"Actually, they're a mess without you. We all are, Jane."

There it was again. The filter slipping just a little, allowing a hint of undisguised despair to slip out before Maura could manage to bite her own tongue. Jane didn't need this guilt-tripping; she had enough on her plate already.

Maura squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and pressed her free hand against her forehead, trying to will the filter back in place, but failing. She tried to focus on Jane-on-the-way-to-recovery, Jane-being-just-fine, Jane-needing-someone-to-believe-she-would-be-just-fine, but the sound of the heart monitor, the much too regular breathing, and the rushed footsteps in the hallway sneaked past Maura's mental barriers. And when she opened her eyes she saw the tubes, the white sheets, the paleness of her friend's cheeks.

This was not the Jane she knew, and even though she'd probably wake up again, no one could say for sure if she'd still be quite the same. The MRI showed no visible brain damages, but her heart had stopped for more than a minute, and she looked so small and frail in the hospital bed.

As she had done so often, Maura gave her friend's hand a squeeze, and although the lack of response should come as no surprise, the doctor felt it like a fist pounding the air out of her lungs and pushing tears to her eyes. She tried staring hard at the ceiling, willing them to dry up there and then, before she let her now burning eyes graze her friend's features, her curly hair and elegant angular cheekbones.

She's so beautiful. Even now, even like this. A Sleeping Beauty right out of Grimm's, just waiting to be awakened, Maura thought to herself as her gaze lingered on full lips. Only that tube would obstruct any magical kiss.

This alarmed the doctor for half a second, before she came back to her regular sensible self, who was fully aware that fairytales are exactly that. In the real world, kisses don't heal.

Yet, they don't hurt either, and suddenly, without thinking, Maura found herself pressing her lips against the back of Jane's hand in an almost chivalrous fashion, if only she hadn't lingered a moment too long.

The hand was warm and still smelled like Jane, and Maura found a strange consolation in the intimate connection. Jane was still here. She was still with her. And the taste of her skin remained on Maura's lips after she put it down, keeping it between both of hers.

And just like that, the glimpse of relief was replaced with an almost overwhelming sadness, as Maura realised what she'd just done.

She had kissed Jane for the very first time, and Jane didn't even know. Might not ever know. All Maura was feeling for her friend, everything she'd never told her, never showed her, might never reach her now. And these past days had forced Maura to realise just how much had been left unsaid.

The doctor was tearing up again, but this time didn't realise until it was too late to do anything about it. Her filter was giving in completely now, and she could either leave Jane or let it happen.

She probably doesn't even hear me, Maura reasoned. And if she does, it's unlikely she'll remember any of my words. Maybe I should let go, just this once. When she wakes up I promise to be there for her and never burden her with any of my ridiculous concerns. But just this once, just for a moment…

And so, for practically the first time in her adult life, Dr. Maura Isles let her mask fall. However, she still did it as gracefully and composed as she possibly could.

"What you did, Janie…"

Maura paused as she heard the term of endearment simply fall out of her mouth, then shook her head lightly at her own hesitation. For once it didn't matter.

"It was deeply courageous and incredibly reckless. I've often been concerned about your safety… I've never told you, because I'd never want you to feel guilty about a job you love and excel at."

Even now it felt like such a selfish admission that, although they were closed, Maura couldn't look her friend in the eyes. So instead she focused solely on the hand between hers.

"But I have worried about you. About Hoyt targeting you again, about his apprentices, even the ordinary thugs you deal with every day. And I've done my best to assist you, to protect you against all of them. But I couldn't protect you against yourself."

Her voice cracked at the last sentence, and the otherwise eloquent doctor clenched her teeth in frustration of her own lack of verbal control.

"Dammit!" she nearly spat out, then leaned her forehead against the cool metal bed railing.

"You shot yourself, Janie," she whispered, eyes closed. "Right in front of me. I watched you fall and bleed and die right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to prevent any of it. You just left me, and if you don't come back…"

She squeezed her friend's hand, clung to it fiercely as if she were clinging on to Jane's very existence.

"You just have to. You hear me? There are so many things I never told you…"

She sighed, trying to put her thoughts in something resembling order.

"My feelings for you – I've had them for a while, I think, possibly all along. But I swear, I didn't know their full extent until I watched you fall. I didn't purposely deceive you, Janie, I never would. And I would never hurt you. That's why I won't ever burden you with this, because I know it's not an option for you..."

Maura beat her head against the railing, annoyed with her own vagueness. Even now, even with her friend in a coma, she couldn't just come out and say it.

Why couldn't she just say it? She took a few deep breaths and sat up straight and properly posed, trying to instil a bit of yoga calmness in herself. Her voice, however, was thick and shaky when she finally spoke.

"I love you, Janie. As my best friend and as so much more. But it doesn't matter, I know you could never feel the same, and I promise I'll handle that. I'll never even tell you this to your conscious face. But I can't handle not having you in my life at all. I just… can't."

Tears were falling freely now, and Maura no longer tried to stop them.

"Please come back, Janie. I'll do anything."

A small melancholic smile formed on her lips. "Anything you want, I'll get it," she stated gently, quoting Jane's own words back to her.

No more words seemed to come, and after a while her tears began to dry up as well. Maura had said what needed to be said, and there was nothing left for her to do other than wait. As she had done for days that already felt like months. She blinked slowly a few times, while caressing her friend's long, slender fingers.

Somewhere in the distance a call button was pressed. Doors opened and closed. The heart monitor beeped continuously, the ventilator pump raised and fell. A car or several cars hummed outside the window.

But Jane remained quiet, immobile; an Italian Snow White in a sea of grey. Slowly, but determinedly, Maura got up from her chair, lowered the bed railing, and – without ever letting go of her friend's hand – carefully lay down beside her.