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starset21 · 5 months

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Disclaimer: I only own my original characters, I've done some research but there will likely be Navy/military inaccuracies, and I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under @.itswildflower

A/N: This story is heavily inspired by the hallmark movie of the same title and is very self-indulgent. I'm also trying a different format than I'm used to using so it may change in the future chapters.

Looking for the other chapters? U.S.S. Christmas Masterlist

Summary: The final day of the tiger cruise is being wrapped up and its time to say goodbye.

Chapter 6: Disembarking

“Kate, how is the article coming along?” Ron asked as they were decorating some Christmas ornaments.

“Um, unfortunately, it's not coming along as easily as I had hoped, but it's been a fun adventure and… Jake's been amazing,” she told him.

“Jake?” Jackson asked in a teasing tone.

“Wonderful. It's been, uh… Enlightening,” he told them.

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. And I hope everybody enjoyed the cruise,” Ron told them.

“This time with my kids… was just the best Christmas gift,” Elizabeth told him.

“That makes me happy. Family is everything,” Ron said, a bright smile on his face.

“Apologies. I need to excuse myself,” Jake told them, standing up.

“Work?”

“Just a few lists I need to double-check. Excuse me,” Jake smiled before walking off.

“A toast. To friends… Family… And Christmas!” Ron added.

“Cheers, Merry Christmas!” they all echoed.

“Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho ho ho ho!”

They all turned to see Santa walk over to one of the chairs.

“Yay, Santa's here!” some kids cheer.

The Santa adjusted his beard just enough for them to see it was Jake. Kate laughed and he sent her a wink.

“Oh ho ho! Merry Christmas! Come on, kids, line up in a single-file line, everyone can see Santa,” Jake bellowed.

“You are a miracle worker,” Ron smiled, turning to Kate.

“Me?”

Ron nodded. “What happened on that trip to New York?” he asked.

“Oh. Um, we just talked a lot about the past and the future, and... I reminded Jake what makes Christmas so special,” Kate told him truthfully.

“Well… He seems very happy,” Ron nodded, turning back to the ornament he was working on.

Later that night Kate stood up in the crows nest, getting some air.

“I told you that first night I met you I can be spontaneous,” Jake said, coming to lean against the railing beside her, his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Yeah, you did. And I was wrong about you. Where'd you get that belly, anyway?” Kate asked, looking out at the water.

“Two life preservers, remember?” Jake laughed.

“Oh… Good use of a flotation device,” Kate shook her head. Jake pulled his hands out of his pockets and with it came a very glittery snowflake.

“Yeah, and sparkles. Tons and... tons of sparkles. Voilà. Not too shabby, huh?” he asked, handing it to her.

“It’s beautiful Jake…” she trailed off as little white things began floating down around them.

“Is... is it...?” she asked.

“Snow. It's the perfect night,” Jake told her.

“Absolutely… Perfect,” Kate echoed.

Jake took a step closer to her. He was never one for the romantic aspects of relationships, he was always so career driven, but with her, it was like he was an entirely new person. He would not lie and say he didn’t enjoy being this new guy, one who could open up and express his thoughts to her, watching him quietly. He leaned in and Kate did too. But before her lips could do more than brush his, she pulled away.

“Jake, this isn't a good idea,” she muttered before taking a step away from him.

“Why not?” he asks.

“I think you're so great, but whatever this is here on the ship, it's… It's not gonna work back home. I… I'm so sorry. I should go,” she tells him, turning and walking away.

“Kate, don't…” Jake trailed off but she was already gone.

“Tigers, thank you for joining us on our 4-day cruise of the eastern seaboard. It's been a pleasure having you onboard, and we wish you the merriest of christmases,” the intercom clicked off after they had docked.

“Sayonara, ladies, Jackson, Have a wonderful Christmas. I'm off to Aspen to meet the rest of my family,” Charlotte told them.

“It's been real, Charlotte,” Kate told her, shaking her hand.

“Real fun,” she smiled and nodded before heading off with her brother.

“Oh! We just had the best time, Ron. Thank you,” Elizabeth gushed.

“You're welcome. And I hope I wake up to your article Christmas day,” Ron directed to Kate.

“I hope so too,” she told him. “I thought Jake would have shown up to say goodbye, but… Well, Merry Christmas, ladies,” Ron told them.

“You too, Ron. Merry Christmas.” Kate grabbed her bag and they were about to head out when they heard heavy footsteps coming from behind them.

“Kate! I'm so glad I caught you before you left!” Nick exclaimed.

“We'll get the bags to the car. Do you have the keys?” Jackson asked their mom.

“My brother found a Jonah William who was a pilot on the polaris in 1965,” Nick hurriedly told her.

“That's amazing! What about the records? I thought we needed a freedom of information request.”

“Turns out he was awarded the Navy cross for extraordinary heroism. He shot down three enemy aircraft in Vietnam, and that makes him a person of exceptional prominence, which is an exception to the rule of releasing records to the public without a formal request,” Nick told her.

“That's so amazing. So where is he now?” Kate bit her lip in anticipation.

“He went back to Vietnam in 1967 and, sadly, went missing in action,” Nick told her and Kate frowned.

“Oh. Did they ever find him?” she asked.

“It's complicated. While Jonah was Mia, there was a fire at the VA storage facility in Missouri which houses the records. The strange part is, after the fire, the trail goes cold. My brother couldn't find any more from military records.” Kate’s head dropped.

“So we don't even know if he's alive?” she sighed.

“Okay. Well, I have his name, I can do my own search. Thanks Nick.”

Nick nodded. “Well, I hope it works out. Good luck,” he tells her.

“Thanks.”

Kate turned to leave but Jake walked out just as she did.

“Merry Christmas, Jake,” she said quietly.

“Merry Christmas, Kate.”

Kate swallowed, looking up at him.

“You stay safe, okay?” she asked and Jake nodded.

Kate nodded once more before heading off the ship.

#starset writes #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #fic:// u.s.s christmas #pre tgm #top gun maverick au

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anthrofreshtodeath · 1 year

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Ooh I’m torn but 1 simply because I was rewatching Rocky and the thought of Jane the boxer sounds too good to pass up

Boxer AU with a twist! I know nothing about boxing except that it is fun to watch! I am shaming my army boxer grandfather right now, but here we go.

“Listen to me,” Barry Frost starts the conversation like a father, cutting the engine of his Buick and turning to Maura with a large hand to her shoulder. It’s a scorcher outside, and turning off the car means turning off the air conditioning, which Maura regrets almost as much as the kind look in his brown eyes. The worried look. “I know the elbow’s set you back, and we’re graspin’ at straws here.”

“So you’ve brought me to the one gym in Boston to which I’ve vowed never to return? By tricking me into it? You can’t just tell me we’re going to Hannah Grisham’s office. She’s one of the best physical therapists on the eastern seaboard, Barry. You don’t dangle a carrot like that in front of a fellow doctor. Especially when its a lie.”

“I’m sorry, but desperate times, Maura. The scans are clear - the inflammation is pretty much gone, the pain is…”

“Psychosomatic,” Maura admits, possibly for the first time. She leans said elbow on the windowsill and lets her gaze drift to the bright blue sky above them. She thinks of the missed punch that hyperextended the elbow, which handed her her first loss.

She got hurt and she lost the fight.

The line from point A, failure, to point B, the mental block preventing her from getting back in the ring, seems clear now. Repetitive hyperextension trauma has been with her since she’d abandoned her medical practice to fight full time. Perhaps it makes sense that such a banal boxer’s reality would be the thing to undo her.

“I was gonna say elusive, hard to pin down, but yeah,” Frost says quietly. He rubs his chest, hand in a circle against the ribbed tank under his cream-colored guayabera, an unconscious thinking habit he’s had since Maura’s known him. “It sure as hell is eluding me.”

“But you’re my trainer. Why do I have to be… here?” Maura succumbs to a wave of petulance. She knows why she’s here. She just hates that here is the best place to get her… what does Barry call it? Mojo? To get her mojo back.

“Because I’m stumped, Doctor Isles,” he confesses. “I’m stumped and maybe a fresh pair of eyes’ll help us get you back into fighting shape.”

“Jane’s eyes are not fresh,” Maura, now drowning in waves of childish defiance, breathes. That’s all she can do, because she’s not sure she wants to be an adult about this. She’s not sure she wants to be friendly, even if… christ. Even if Jane might be the best thing for her at the moment. “Jane’s eyes are the opposite of fresh.”

“Might as well be, for how long you’ve iced each other out,” Barry grumbles. “I got you a session. She agreed to clear the gym for you. I’ll even circle the block, or go get a drink or somethin’, so you two can hash it out in private. But this is a big ask of her, after all the shit you two went through. I owe her big. I’d at least like to get something out of it.”

“And you didn’t think to consult me before asking for this favor?” Maura counters.

Barry laughs. “I knew you woulda said ‘hell no.’ C’mon. Let’s get this over with.” He steps out of the car with one last smack to her shoulder, and she shakes her head. He’s right. She would have definitely said hell no. But the only thing she wants less than seeing Jane again is losing her career.

So she steps out into the oppressive July sun and approaches the storefront of North End Boxing with trepidation.

“Hey Jane!” Barry shouts into the gym space, leading Maura in.

Maura adjusts her duffel higher on her shoulder, taking in her surroundings. The ring sits in the middle of the floor plan, Jane’s crown jewel- some things never change. There is some updated strength training equipment in the back, and the bags to the left side boast some replacements. The treadmills and rowing machines mock her from her right, conjuring up times Jane punished her with cardio before sparring. “I shouldn’t be here,” Maura whispers to Barry.

“The hell you don’t,” Barry counters. “You used to run this place.”

“The Rizzolis have always run this place,” Maura says. She nods to the giant banner of Frankie Rizzoli, Junior holding up a championship belt with a shiner and an exhausted smile on his face. Action posters of Jane in title matches, just as victorious, twice as vicious, hang on the back wall on either side of a trophy case. That trophy case also contains a framed, signed picture of their father delivering the knockout blow to an opponent already halfway to his knees.

Jane herself comes from around the corner where the private owners’ area. “Been a long time, Frost,” she says. Her face is still handsome. Even more so when she smirks at him and shows her perfect teeth. She’s got her usual training look on: black Nike sports bra, black running shorts with compression leggings sewn in. There is one glaring difference: she wears white training Nikes, instead of her high ankle boxing shoes. The stretch of Jane’s crew socks over her too-thin legs, halfway to her calves, has always captivated Maura, but this time it’s out of place.

Jane catches her staring. “You’re boxin’ today, not me,” she says, reading Maura’s mind. She holds one foot out to put her shoe on display.

“No one’s boxing, not yet,” Maura refuses to smile. Jane’s effervescence hasn’t faltered, and it shines despite the darkness of her features.

“Maura-” Frost tries.

“No no, she’s right. You got her in the door, but she’s gotta wanna be here if this little plan is gonna work,” Jane crosses her arms. Maura detests the challenge leveled at her in Jane’s brown eyes, though her belly flips when she glowers right back. Barry stands to the side of them with a hesitant little half-grin, like he doesn’t quite know what to offer to the conversation.

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “She’s not wrong, Maura. Work the pain out on her. Punish her,” he motions toward Jane.

“That’s not the temptation you think it is, Barry,” Maura tells him.

“Yeah, she already did all that,” Jane teases. “A year ago.”

That sours Maura’s mood again. “You know what? Maybe a little sparring would do me some good,” she responds. She gets close, fingers still tight against the strap of her bag, and even though she has to look up at Jane, it’s still one of defiance.

“Frost? Get out,” barks Jane.

“Jane, I drove Maura here. She’s-”

“You can go,” sighs Maura. She walks over to the ring and sets her bag down, rolling her neck. It’s the first stretch that signals the beginning of an entire routine and Barry looks excited enough to wet himself.

“You got it. There’s a salami sandwich over at Graziano’s that’s callin’ my name. You just text me when you need me to come get you, a’right?” He says with his hand already on the front door, whole demeanor altered. “Have a good workout.”

He leaves the two women alone, and they’ve already begun to pace around each other in routine. Maura ties her honey hair up in a pony tail, unzips her windbreaker meant more to guard her fair skin from the sun than to keep her warm. When she straightens up, Jane already holds a jump rope in her hand, outstretched towards Maura.

Maura narrows her gaze again. “Where’s the other one?”

“This is your workout, not mine,” Jane says. “I already got cardio in. At five. This mornin’. Like I always do - I didn’t think you’d forget.”

Maura breaks the icy exterior for just a moment of whining. She might even stamp her foot. She hates the rope. “I didn’t forget, but you know how I feel about jumping rope and so you should have saved yours to do with me in miserable solidarity.”

Jane guffaws, her belly laugh deep and booming. Maura rubs her lips together so she doesn’t join in. “I can’t argue with that except that Frost didn’t call me until like nine.”

“Meaning Frankie had already worked you out and served you your breakfast of raw eggs,” Maura gags for show.

“I don’t do that anymore,” Jane tells her with a tinge of red on her cheeks. “Now stop stallin.”

Maura snatches the rope with disdain and drops it on the floor while she runs through her stretches. She sits and pulls one foot against the opposite thigh, leaning forward to get a nice, strong tug in her calves. She runs through it for both legs, and then stands to do some hip rotations, and Jane watches quietly. “What?” Maura asks to break the silence.

“Legs feel good?” Jane answers, sort of. She leans one elbow on the closest ring post and stares at the legs in question.

Probably Jane’s favorite part of her, if Maura had to guess. Jane had always praised Maura’s footwork, but with the way Jane looks at her legs now, in skin tight yoga leggings, she’s not thinking about footwork. She’s thinking about they feel wrapped around her waist, the only clothes on either athlete the layer of sweat built up from a workout between the sheets.

And now, Maura’s thinking about it. She starts with the rope just to send all that noxious sexual energy somewhere. “Legs feel fine,” she says as she starts slow, reacquainting herself with the whistle of the rope, with the jumpstart of her heart when her feet start to dance.

There is art in the torture, she’ll concede.

“Legs’ve always been fine, legs’ve never been the problem.” Maura likes how the rope makes her normally verbose speech choppy and efficient. She likes how it makes her sound like Jane.

“It’s the elbow,” Jane says that part for her. “I’ve dealt with it before. The dead arm is fuckin’ demoralizin’.” She talks while she backs away from Maura, and goes to the lockers toward the back of the gym. She pulls out a pair of white pads and slams the locker shut. “You bring your own gloves?”

“Of course,” Maura calls out, and the volume of it burns her lungs. Jane is annoying for having made her do it.

“Well leave ‘em in your bag. You’re usin’ some of mine,” Jane says, and she grabs those from another cubby area.

“I like my gloves,” Maura huffs. “I want my gloves.”

“Too damn bad. They’re all wrapped up in your psychobabble bullshit right now,” Jane argues. She drops the gloves on the side of the ring and adjusts the pads until they’ll fit just right.

Maura wants to snark back but she catches sight of Jane’s hands. Those capable, deadly hands, with a scar in the middle of each one. They didn’t talk about the obsessed fan, about Hoyt, before they got together, when Frank Senior was training both Jane and Maura. They didn’t talk about him after, either, when they dominated their respective classes. They didn’t even talk about him following the blow to the head that ended Jane’s career, when they said awful things to each other and devolved into an ugly type of resentment.

And now, they haven’t talked at all since Jane drank herself into a stupor and climbed drunk into a car with her brother. They haven’t talked since Maura walked out with statistics about concussions and alcohol on her lips, love mysteriously absent. A year ago. “Psychosomatic,” Maura corrects weakly, her own voice quiet in the face of the flood of memory washing over her.

Soon enough, Jane’s scarred hands disappear in to the curved focus pads. “You got two more minutes,” says Jane, busy again with preparation.

“We’re doing padwork already?” Maura asks.

“Yeah,” Jane says. She thumps the pads together and rolls her own neck. “You get all mixed up when you’re punchin’, accordin’ to Frost. So, while I would normally send you straight to the weight rack, punchin’ is the only way we’re gonna break you outta this.”

Maura is pleased with the words coming out of Jane’s mouth for the first time today. “Ok then,” she says. She wants nothing more than to throw fists at her ex. “You won’t get any argument from me.”

“Didn’t think so,” Jane says. She grins to let Maura know she’s seen the saucy glint in Maura’s eyes. “Ok, enough of that. Get some water and let’s go.”

Maura, thankful for the reprieve, drops the rope and throws her head back. She puts her hands on her hips, sweat already dripping from her neck to her chest, already staining the front and back of her gray tank. After she squeezes water into her mouth from her bottle, she realizes Jane is studying. She licks her lips just to be a tease.

Whether consciously or not, Jane bites her own lip.

“You know I’ve never been fond of Everlast,” Maura grumbles like she can’t be pleased when she grabs the gloves waiting for her.

“How can you be a boxer and not like Everlast? You have never made sense, Princess,” Jane tells her, holding up the pads.

“It’s the limited weight-”

“Aht! Save it,” Jane interrupts. “I don’t wanna argue before you even get started. Now c’mon. Show me what you got.”

Maura takes a deep, eyes-closed kind of breath to clear her mind. Instead, she smells Jane, lavender perfume and gym equipment. Her mind races.

“Quit overthinkin’ it,” Jane goads. “Hit me.”

Maura throws her first punch. She barely registers that she does it, but the pad sings and Jane whistles. “You asked,” Maura says.

“And you delivered,” Jane replies. She takes Maura’s slow combos with some grace. “But stop pussyfootin’ around. It’s me. You know I can take it.”

“I don’t want to reinjure myself, Jane,” Maura chides, and continues her methodical warmup.

“Bullshit. Timid and tender is what got you here. Time to get a little messy. A little mean,” Jane blocks, finding the rhythm of Maura’s work quickly.

“That’s your style,” Maura responds.

“So? Try it on,” Jane says. Each hit on the pad, Jane catching them dead center, reminds Maura how lucky she is she never had to fight Jane. It’d be the hardest fight of her life. Jane knows it, too, which makes her insufferable. “Won’t kill ya.”

“It just might,” Maura quips, but she adds a little more power. Imagines being Jane, controlling Jane’s arms, what that would feel like. The dissociation lessens the tingle in her elbow and she slips into a 1, 2, 3 combo. Huh. “Faster,” she demands.

“Been awhile since you said that to me,” Jane chuckles, winking when Maura glances up at her.

Maura speeds up, glancing a blow on Jane’s forearm as a warning shot, but she smirks. “And it’ll be a lot longer yet,” she says, “especially in that context.”

“But not never again, huh?” Jane gives her that pretty boy smile that she knows is Maura’s weakness. Well, one of them. Another is when she talks shop. “Remind me to work in some dumbbell shadowboxing next time. Get your speed back up.”

“Am I telegraphing the hook?” Maura asks.

“Little bit,” Jane answers. “But maybe I’m just good at reading your body.”

That pesters Maura. The innuendo is unprovoked, more pointed. “Watch yourself,” she growls. She punches harder.

“I’ve been takin’ care of myself in the time you’ve been away. After you bailed,” Jane says. “You ever need to blow off some steam, you know, the old fashioned way, I’m around.” Maura lands a vicious jab from which Jane should recoil, given its force. Jane doesn’t. She leans instead, steps forward. “That was never the problem between us, huh?”

“You didn’t hear me say ‘watch it?’”

Jane continues. “Not a drop to drink in a year. I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you,” she leads. “Who could?”

“You’d need… a lot more than sobriety,” Maura cuts.

Jane doesn’t seem to mind. “I thought about you so much, I watched your last fight. Gotta tell ya, you stank it up. No guts in that performance.” Maura’s pulse pounds in her temple, her body so worked up that she didn’t realize how fast she’s been fighting. Jane’s faster, though. “No speed, either,” Jane says, and she proves it by smacking Maura in the face with one of the pads.

Maura’s right hand thunders in from the side, already in motion before Jane could even finish the taunt. Glove connects with Jane’s cheek, and another blow explodes against her ribs just before Maura lands the next face punch that flattens Jane on her back.

“Jane!” Maura calls out when the anger dissipates with the sickening thwack of Jane’s body on the hard floor. She tosses her gloves off and straddles Jane’s torso, stabilizing Jane’s head between her hands.

Jane smirks, however, gaze alight and alert. “For someone who was so worried about my concussion, you sure got no qualms about a blow to the head.”

“You provoked-! You provoked me on purpose,” Maura realizes mid-utterance. “From the gloves to the comment about the guts.” She stills holds Jane’s face, and of their own accord, her thumbs stroke the crow’s feet just starting to come in around Jane’s eyes.

“Any pain?” Jane presses, cocky as ever.

Maura blinks, and then gasps. “No. None.”

“Hatin’ me’s a good look on you,” Jane tells her, nodding to Maura’s figure. “It’s pretty good for your fightin’, too, apparently.”

“Do you think you can get me to feel like this all the time?” Maura asks, serious.

“Pissed off? Murderous? I think we’ve established I’m pretty good at that,” says Jane.

“No. Well, maybe. Pain-free,” Maura pleads.

“No guarantees,” Jane replies. She puts a hand on Maura’s thigh and pats softly. Maura lets her. “But if you wanna try it, wanna try fightin’ pissed, this is the gym for you.”

Maura chuckles and is shocked to find that it’s wet, that she’s crying. “I’ll say.”

“Missed you, kid,” Jane tells her. Her voice trembles with its own wave of emotion, but her eyes stay dry. Maura’s thumb trails to Jane’s lower lip, and rubs the plumpest part of it.

“Is this going to work? Are we going to kill each other? Are you going to resent me for doing what you can’t?” Maura asks, one after the other.

“Don’t tell anyone that works here,” Jane begins with a theatrical whisper, “but takin’ care of myself might include seein’ a shrink. From time to time. And I think that trainin’ you would be the honor of my life.” Jane finishes. Maura hiccups with new tears. And the broadest smile she’s sported in weeks. “So I’ll do it for free - on one condition.”

“For free, hmm?” Maura asks, buys herself some time to wipe her face, “what’s the condition?”

“You go on a date with me,” Jane says with a smirk.

“Absolutely not,” Maura, assured of Jane’s well-being, smacks her shoulder.

“One date. C’mon,” Jane pleads. “Anywhere you wanna go.”

Maura sighs. “Just one? After that I don’t have to go on any more?”

“Well, after one you’re gonna wanna go on a lot more, but sure, I’ll keep my word. One date,” Jane answers.

“Then we go to Maison de la Mer,” Maura asserts. Jane glowers. “And you eat what I order for you, and then we never speak of it ever again.”

“Really? The fancy French place with the plate of oysters that costs a rent payment?” Jane gripes, but then she props herself up on her elbows. “Y’know what? Deal. Now let’s seal it with a kiss.”

Maura scoffs and pushes her back down before getting up. “You’re intolerable.”

“Whatever. Still pickin’ you up at seven tomorrow,” Jane sits up while Maura throws her things in her bag.

“It takes weeks to get a reservation,” says Maura as she zips and tosses it on her shoulder.

“I know a guy who knows a guy. Who would love a Frankie Rizzoli, Junior autograph. You don’t think I called that in as soon as I knew you were comin’?” Jane retorts.

Maura’s jaw drops for a split second, and then she throws the towel she’d just used to wipe her face at Jane’s. “In. tolerable,” she repeats.

“And I better see your ass here at four thirty tomorrow morning!” Jane yells, and Maura chuckles quietly now that she knows her face can’t be seen. She pushes out into the rippling heat without another word, and pulls her phone out to call Barry. She can’t believe she’s looking forward to getting her ass kicked in the morning. By Jane fucking Rizzoli.

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #otp prompts march 2023 #this is so damn long I am sorry #it slipped so far away that I could barely remember what I was supposed to be doing 😂

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