argyle_s: (Default)
Title: The Diary of Jane
Author: Argyle_S
Pairing: Jane/Maura
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: NC-17
Length: About 27,000 Words
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance.
Warnings: Explicit sex. Pregnant Sex. BDSM. Branding. Mentions of sexual assault.
Summary: Three weeks after the incident with Dennis, Maura has to fly to D.C. for the weekend to consult on a case, but she leaves something behind for Jane. Her journal, which contains a series of letters she's written to Jane over the months since the two settled their argument over Doyle's shooting. Letters she's been too afraid to show Jane.

A/N: No explicit content. May be triggery. The timeline in this chapter is based on Lydia saying she was seven months pregnant in Crazy for You (3x07). (For the record, the show is absolutely shit about time lines, because based on the length of Angela's marriage, the timing of the high school reunion, and Tommy's age (given in 2x12) Jane and Frankie would have to be twins if they were both older than Tommy, unless Jane's high school holds a reunion every year)


My Beloved Jane,

I almost lost you tonight.

God, how those words frighten me. I almost lost you tonight. My love. My Jane. Almost gone.

I'm so scared, Jane. Scared because I seem to be a reflection of the monsters in your life.

Charles Hoyt said I'm like him, and while you might want to deny it, he's right. We shared so many characteristics. Intelligence, neglect and social isolation as a child, a fascination with the mechanics of life, a rabid, burning desire to understand other human beings, and a fundamental inability to do so. Difficulty forming healthy social attachments as an adult.

The difference between Charles Hoyt and I was that whatever trigger, nature or nurture, causes psychopathy happened in him, and not in me. Conscience. The capacity for guilt and empathy. I had these things, and he did not.

Now, I find myself a mirror of a second monster. Dominic Bianchi is no Charles Hoyt. He's a defective, pathetic creature, of no great intellect or particular skill. He is simply a broken thing that latched on to you, and convinced himself that he was in love with you, and you were in love with him.

But I sit here, writing in this diary, knowing the contents of it, and wonder how I'm different from Bianchi. I've filled page after page, letter after letter with descriptions of my love for you, with details of how I'd imagine we'd make love. I started this to try to exorcise those feelings, to give them vent, so I could get over them and move on with our friendship. Instead, I ended up giving them a nest where they could grow and thrive.

Is it really enough that I understand that you don't return my feelings?

I watched that video feed, and all I could think was how furious I was and how scared I was that he would hurt my love, my Jane.

Mine. The word rings like an accusation in my ears. I can't even think about you anymore without feeling possessive. Proprietary.

I have no right. None. And it doesn't seem to matter. You lay just down the hall in my guest room, and I burn with the desire to wake you up and tell you how I feel. After everything you went through tonight, all I can think of is pouring more unwanted affection over you.

It makes me feel sick and dirty. It makes me feel like I'm the one who violated you.

I'm sorry, Jane. I wish I could be stronger. I wish I could be what you want me to be.

With all my love,

I marked my page in the journal and left it on the coffee table as I rinsed out my beer bottle and dropped it in the recycling been. My scars were aching, and the pain didn't seem to want to let out, no matter how hard I rubbed them. It thought about a hot shower, the way the water usually eased the ache. It was worth a try, at least.

I grabbed the journal off the coffee table and headed back to Maura's bedroom, laying the journal on the nightstand before I headed into the bathroom, stripping as I went. I turned the hot water all the way up. Didn't bother with the cold at all. Just stepped into the scalding spray, and grabbed the body wash and the sponge and started scrubbing.

I didn't even realize what I was doing until the fourth time I washed my hair. I looked down at myself, at the patches of skin that had been scrubbed nearly raw, and it was all I could do to stop myself from putting a fist through the plate glass door of Maura's shower.

I turned off the water and got out, scrubbing myself dry with one of Maura's big, fluffy towels before I looked at myself in the mirror.

I knew I shouldn't be embarrassed. It was a common enough reaction to sexual assault, or in my case attempted sexual assault. Compulsive washing. Once I was able to use my hands again, I'd taken five or six showers a day for a while after Hoyt, and that hadn't lasted long. I'd been staked to that floor for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes after I woke up, and then Korsak had been there.

But fucking Bianchi... It wasn't some cellar in the middle of nowhere. The bastard had taken me right on the steps of headquarters. And it wasn't ever in twenty minutes, either. I spent hours tied to that bed, with that sick bastard all over me. He'd changed my fucking clothes, for God sake.

Three months. It had been three god damned months, and just the mention of him still made my skin crawl.

I couldn't even sleep in my own apartment for weeks, because my bedroom looked too much like the prison he'd held me in. I'd wanted to break my lease, but I couldn't afford to, so I replaced all the furniture, starting with my bed, which took longer than it should have, because of Riley fucking Cooper.

I actually growled as I thought about that day, the way Maura had fawned all over Riley's dumb ass tattoo. Stupid fucking Koi fish. I mean, really? I suppose if you were Japanese or something, but...

I snorted, and a moment later, I was doubled over laughing.

Fuck me. I was jealous. Not even like a little bit jealous, like 'smash her face in with a bunt pan' jealous. Like, eavesdrop on her, then run her name so I can report her DCU as a big old drug dealer jealous, because Maura had felt the need to feel up Riley fucking Cooper's tattoos.

God. How the fuck long had that been going on?

I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, going over every guy Maura had ever dated. I thought about the satisfaction I'd felt when I got the news that Ian was wanted by InterPol. At the time, I'd told myself it was because one of my hunches had proven right, and not because I hated Ian's guts. I thought about how smug I'd been when Maura figured out how much of a loser Giovanni was, or how I hadn't really minded him so much once he backed off Maura. And there was always the absolutely vicious glee I felt watching the uniforms cuff that son of a bitch Garrett Fairfield.

I shook my head. I'd had it bad for years, and never even realized it.

I headed back into the bedroom, still laughing at myself for being so clueless. It wasn't until I looked at the clock and realized that I'd been up for nearly twenty hours that I realized what was going on. I was exhausted, and probably emotionally punch drunk. It had been a long day, and then I'd come home to an emotional roller coaster ride. No wonder Bianchi's name had hit me so hard. I was like a fighter, staggering from one too many blows to the head.

I wanted to finish the journal, but I couldn't do it. Not tonight. I needed sleep.

I set the alarm for 8:00 AM and climbed into bed. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The Diary of Jane Chapter List
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15

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