Chapter Text
“Maura!”
Maura turns her head from where she’d been speaking to her new costar, Barry Frost, a fresh-faced kid who seems to be startled he’s even here. The director is waving her over. She politely disengages from Barry and steps over. “Yes?”
“Here, Jane,” the director says, tapping the elbow of a tall, dark-haired woman turned away from them. She pivots back, and Maura recognizes her immediately. Then Maura wonders what she she’s doing here. Jane Rizzoli is an action star, known for doing most of her own stunts and spearheading the recent movement to bring more women into action roles. What the hell is she doing in a cable procedural? “Jane, this is the detective to your doctor, Maura Isles.”
Jane gives Maura an easy grin and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you.” She looks down at Maura, her grin turning into a smirking one. “Kinda short for a cop, aren’t you?”
Maura unconsciously straightens her shoulders and considers ignoring the hand, but if this is the person playing the medical examiner, they are going to be working very closely together. She shakes, but keeps it brief. “There’s some height requirement no one told me about?” she asks pointedly.
But Jane keeps grinning, despite her retort. “I just figured someone playing the toughest cop in homicide must really look the part.”
Maura bristles. If Jane Rizzoli wants to talk about role suitability, this tanned, Amazonian figure is about the least plausible Maura could imagine for someone who spends most of their time in a laboratory. “And you’re supposed to look mousy and pale, yet here we are,” Maura says back, testily.
“Ladies,” the director chuckles nervously. “Let’s just trust the casting department, shall we? Jane, let’s go around the room, meet the rest of your costars.”
Maura watches them go, lips pursed. Jane Rizzoli is a big enough deal that she gets her own welcome guide, and the director, no less. None of the rest of them had been offered such a thing. She’s already regretting taking this role. Maybe the show will flop, and she’ll be able to tell her agent that his plan hadn’t worked, and move onto something a little more her usual style.
- - - - - - - -
Jane walks away from Maura Isles and wonders what the hell she’s doing here. Maura is an art house film type, independently wealthy after her childhood role blew up and choosy with her roles as a result; what had brought her to a police procedural? She has chops, Jane can admit— she's seen a couple of those films. But still. Is her money running out? Because Jane can’t think of any other reason she’d be here.
She’d seemed snobby, too. Jane had only been joking, but Maura had practically stood up on her toes and glared. Does she take everything so personal? Jane subtly flexes her hands as she speaks to an older guy named Vince; they hurt today, and all the handshaking isn’t helping. She’s glad, for once, that her role isn’t going to involve many action scenes. Her agent is right; she needs time to recover functionality. Even if this show gets cancelled, she’ll still be paid, and have that time to rest.
A few times, her eyes slip back to Maura Isles, across the room. Maura is gorgeous in a way that Jane isn’t sure will work with her new role. People don’t usually see short, pretty women as tough. But makeup and costumes can do wonders, she reminds herself. Maybe Maura will surprise her.
- - - - - -
“Okay, folks— we’ve got language coaches coming in sometime this week for some of you, but for now, let’s just get through this as best we can. Welcome to our first table read!” the director says, smiling around. The main cast are peppered around the conference table, along with guest stars, and everyone has their script out in front of them.
The table read begins, and Jane wonders if she’s imagining Maura glaring at her every time she reads out one of the detective’s snappy lines. To be fair to Maura, a lot of their lines are to each other, so it makes sense that they’d be looking at each other a lot… but still. Jane tries not to worry about it too much, because her lines? Her lines are a nightmare.
“The victim was suffering from… uh… Hee-moh-LY-sis,” she tries, knowing it isn’t right. She sees Maura’s mouth twitch. “Multiple tests indicate that it is likely some kind of Hemoglob— oh, fuck’s sake,” she cuts off, muttering, picking up a pen and noting the spot.
“Hemoglobinopathy,” Maura says from across the room. “And it’s hee-MAH-luh-sis.”
Jane raises her eyes from the page, and her eyebrows. “Is it now?”
The director clears her throat, and Jane continues, grumbling. “Hemoglobinopathy, which can be triggered by any number of underlying conditions.”
“So, what, the victim was sick?” Maura replies, her script rustling in her hands. Jane is incredibly jealous that she got the simple lines.
They go on, Jane continuing to stumble over scientific terminology until they finally make it through. That language coach can’t come soon enough. Before Maura can leave, Jane finds her and pulls her aside. “Hey.”
“Hello,” Maura says, and there’s some kind of underlying tone to it that makes Jane want to get defensive.
She pushes past it. “Thanks, for your help today. Turns out EMT training doesn’t cover—” she holds up her script, now heavily marked— “all this.”
“You’re trained as an EMT?” Maura asks, and she sounds surprised— more surprised than Jane would have liked, if she were to be honest.
“I do a lot of stunts, usually. I figured it was practical, if me and my colleagues were gonna be putting ourselves at risk all the time.”
Maura seems to examine her for a moment. “I see. I suppose that is practical.”
Jane tries a smile. “Anyway, I meant it. Thanks. See you tomorrow?”
Maura nods, then leaves the room without even saying ‘you’re welcome’. Jane sighs. It’s gonna be a minute before they get along, apparently. She really hopes it isn’t gonna be one of those things where she’d have to really act, to convince everyone they didn't hate each other. Others have managed it, many times, but damnit, she isn’t that good.
- - - - - - -
Jane’s language coach is old. Furthermore, he’s British, which means even though Jane is doing better on her lines, Maura still quirks her lip from time to time in a way that tells Jane she's using the wrong pronunciation. How Maura even knows is still a mystery to Jane, but she clearly does.
But Jane gets a chance to show Maura up, for once. She's meandering around the building, bored since her language coach had excused himself. They’re not actually filming today, just prepping, so without her coach, Jane has little to do besides practice her lines, which she’s really beginning to hate. She hears a familiar sequence of smacking sounds, and grins as she steps into a room.
It’s a dance studio, with mirrored walls and ballet bars scattered through, and in the center is Maura, dressed in workout clothes, hair in a ponytail. A fight choreographer is demonstrating steps and arm positions, and Maura looks as though they’ve been at this for a minute, because her forehead is beaded with sweat.
The choreographer moves to stand opposite her, then nods, and they begin. Jane can see immediately why they’ve been doing this for a long time: Maura is too slow. She's starting her movements to the beat, not ending them there. Jane studies them for a few more moments, then calls out, “Hey. Can I show you something?”
Maura turns her head, and Jane definitely doesn't imagine the irritation there. “Why not?” she says, pushing back a lock of hair that her temple that’s come loose. “Dazzle me.”
Jane grins and steps forward to stand opposite the choreo coach. She can do that. “Okay, so when you clap, you move your arms before the beat, right?” She nods to the coach, who shrugs, and begins to move. Left hand swing, duck the counterswing, grab the arm, turn, let the coach roll to the ground, drop on top. The choreo is simple, but Jane’s body thrills in it. The coach looks at her from the ground, grinning back. “Each time your bodies meet, that’s the beat. You gotta time it like a clap.” She glances to the coach, who’s lifting himself off the ground. “Maybe you should do staves a few times.”
He nods, thoughtful. Jane looks to Maura, who looks almost intimidated. “Hey, take it from me. It takes a minute to get used to fight choreo, if you haven’t done it before.”
“You’re an expert,” Maura says dismissively.
“Yeah, okay, now I am,” Jane admits. “But even I had to start somewhere. My first action movie, it took weeks of practice before I was even passable at it, and I definitely don’t recommend you go watch the scene. Even with all that work, it… wasn’t good.” She flexes her hand, sore from smacking the wood floor to catch herself.
“You think I won’t be good?” Maura asks. There’s defiance in it, but something softer, too. Doubt, Jane thinks.
“I didn’t say that,” Jane says, lifting her hands defensively. “But I definitely don’t expect you to be good right now.” She crooks her fingers at Maura, inviting her over. “Let’s try it again, slow.”
In half-time, Jane guides Maura through the movements, voicing them out loud. Maura swings, Jane leans back. Jane swings, Maura ducks and grabs her arm. The turn, with Jane’s arm gripped, is clumsy, and Jane can tell Maura is worried about rolling her. Instead, they work through the three simple movements until Jane feels like Maura’s got it. “Okay. Full speed now.”
They go through another repetition, but Maura stops before pulling her fully down. “Hey, I don’t break easy,” Jane says as they reset. “Remember, I'm fully prepared to land. You just gotta be ready to get me there. Maybe use some of that anger, huh?”
Maura glares at her, and before Jane’s fully prepared, they go again. Swing, lean, swing, duck, grab, turn. This time, Maura pulls, hard, and Jane lets herself roll down and onto her back. Maura doesn’t follow her down like she’s supposed to, but Jane grins up at her all the same. That had been smooth. “Nice,” she says out loud, pushing herself up off the floor. “See? You’re not unteachable.”
Maura rolls her eyes, but Jane just spots the curve of her lip. “Well, thank you, but you should probably let Sergio get back to his job.”
Jane looks over at the coach, who’s sitting on a bench sipping at a coffee, book in hand. He looks up and shrugs, grinning at Jane. She grins back. “Thanks, Sergio,” she says. “It was nice to relive old times for a minute.” She leaves with a smile aimed at Maura. Maura isn’t glaring at her, at least, but it’s still not an entirely friendly look Jane receives in return. Jane still takes it as a victory, even though her back hurts a little.