DISCLAIMER: All things Rizzoli and Isles belong to Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro, and other entities. I'm altering their realities for fun, not profit, as I own nothing and have the credit report to prove it.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To mf.vinson[at]gmail.com

Silent Night
By sailor80


Her Christmas shopping was done, but she saw the cardboard guitars on the way to the pharmacy checkout, and on impulse bought two. One went into the Toys for Tots bin, but she took the other home.

The ways in which Jane's courage failed her were known only to her. She was afraid, for example, to find whether she could still play piano. Stretching her hands over a computer keyboard was daily torture, and in the damp Boston winter, she was acutely aware of their limits.

The guitar's basic chords required less stretching. She was pleasantly surprised at how much she remembered, and worked with it for a few minutes each evening. Her parents would be thrilled if she could play a few carols on Christmas Eve.

Silent Night, written on and for the guitar, was the first she re-learned to her satisfaction. The first time she completed it, Jane leaned back with a smile. She looked up and saw Maura standing in the doorway, wearing a smile of her own. Maura was the only person who could sneak up on her. Everyone else triggered what Maura called a PTSD reaction, one that would fade over time, she repeatedly reassured Jane.

"Play it again," Maura asked, and entered. She sat near Jane on the sofa after putting her coat in the closet.

"Hello to you, too," Jane answered.

"Hello, Jane. Please play that again. It was beautiful."

Jane nodded, and set her fingers in the proper positions. The right sounds came from the small speaker attached to the toy, and she smiled. It got bigger moments later when Maura began to sing softly in German.

"Boarding school?" Jane asked when they finished.

"Yes. Was it worth it?"

"Every cent."

The End

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