You know who I would not expect to make very many scalpel jokes?
Yeah… this bothered me for a bit until I really thought about it.
Jane (even book Jane) has a really twisted sense of humor. She uses it to mask when she’s uncomfortable, and she tries to be in-your-face uncomfortable. She does and says things that you’d think she’d be too sensitive about just to prove she’s got bigger, brassier balls than anyone else around.
So, in a way, it is actually in character for her to crack these jokes.
“I see you’ve forgotten.” The doctor sounded miffed, but it was clear she was also disappointed. “It’s Saturday, Jane.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of what day it is, Maura.” The brunette scowled at the ceiling. “It’s also my day off, which, in case you’ve forgotten, is the first one I’ve gotten in three weeks. Damn Korsak and his ‘Janie, I need a vacation’ bullshit.”
“Your concern and empathy for your fellow detectives’ mental well being is touching,” the other woman replied in a deadpan serious voice.
“Jokes will get you nowhere,” Jane shot back. “Maura, why are you calling me?”
This is notJane Rizzoli. This is Lindsay Boxer.
Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston P.D.
Anonymous asked: Alessandra asks Jane to teach her how to play piano.
“But Mother says you used to play.” Alessandra gave a little pout, and it reminded Jane so much of Maura she almost groaned.
“Right. I used to, but I haven’t played since before your mother and I started dating.” Flexing her hands where they rested in her lap she gave her young daughter a thoughtful look. “Little one, you know my hands don’t always work like they’re supposed to.”
“I know,” the younger Rizzoli replied, frowning deeply. The plumpness in her 9 year old face failed to keep her brow from creasing in thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad, Ma.”
“You didn’t.” Jane leaned forward, pulling her daughter into her lap and giving her a hug. “I’m not mad, and I’m glad you want to learn. I just can’t teach you.” She held her hand out so they both could inspect it. “There’s a lot I can do with my hands, Ally.”
“Like play catch?” A smaller hand ran little fingers over her mother’s outstretched hand, tracing the scars as she had since she was old enough to notice them.
Jane chuckled. “Yes, like play catch, or make dinner, or catch a bad guy, or,” she gave an evil smirk as she poked her little girl in the ribs gently, “tickle my favorite little Rizzoli.”
Alessandra giggled for a second. “No fair! You’re not ticklish!”
They chuckled for a moment as they played their favorite game of tickle. Finally calming, the young girl crawled back into her mother’s lap and snuggled in with a sigh. “I love you, Ma.”
“I love you, too, little one.” Jane kissed Ally’s forehead. “We’ll talk to your Mother about finding a piano instructor. Okay?”
“Okay,” came the quiet answer. “Can we watch the game now?”
Jane gave another chuckle as she flipped the television on, and they settled in to watch the Red Sox.