I still don't own anything.

Anything For You - Ludo

"Shall we rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and succession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By no means... there is a necessary connexion to be taken into considerations." - David Hume

Stephen Crane once wrote of the inherent futility of man, of that strange stranger who desperately beat against the earth in that equally strange attempt to capture the horizon within the net of his fingers. Stephen Crane once wrote of the stupidity of man, of those ordinary workmen who built that admirable mason ball atop a hill. He wrote of the stupidity of man and killed them with his pen.

Shake your head at the stupidity of human beings. Shake your head at their unshakable desire for the futile. Shake your head and walk away.

Shake your head and ignore.

For mankind is irrational. Unworthy of nature. Unnoticed by the vast universe, for people are only fractions of fractions of fractions in comparison. Shake your head and forget the most important thing of all. That everything that happens, no matter how small, no matter how minor, is a thermodynamic miracle. A miracle worthy to be written about in books. Occurrences of astronomical improbability.

David Hume once claimed that causation may very well not exist. The idea that one event causes another simply because they follow one another, he said, is false. Night follows Day. But can we ever truly say that Day causes Night? We may speculate. Always we may speculate. The pen has, in the past, fallen every time it has been dropped. It must drop the next time. And the next. And the next. Simply because it has been observed to have done so before. We vilify cause. Glorify it. And yet, we have never once found it. Confirmed its existence.

"We're really here, aren't we? Doing this."

Maura looked up at Jane, quizzically; "Of course, we are. We're physical beings, sharing a space relative to each other. We are doing this. I don't understand what you're getting at, Jane."

"I'm just nervous. That's all. Can't believe we've actually gotten to get this far," Jane said, chuckling and feeling better because of Maura's quirky reaction.

"You're afraid?"

"A little," Jane muttered. "I just don't want to mess this up, you know?"

"After all that has happened, it would be strange if you didn't feel a little nervous. Or afraid," said Maura, completely unsure as to what to say, and as she watched Jane shift uncomfortably, she knew she didn't like what she had chosen.

"Guess you're right," muttered Jane again. "Well, here's an idea. We don't talk about all that crap that went down before. We can talk about it later. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight we start over. How's that?"

"That sounds like it works."

Maura was glad that she had dodged that and secretly thanked Jane for having the foresight to come up with her rather haphazard solution to the whole ordeal. She, as much as Jane, wanted to this to work. With all her heart. This was new. Incredibly new. And it terrified her. But it was a good terrified her. She internally thanked Jane again.

"You're welcome," she whispered.

"You're also afraid this date isn't going to be as enjoyable as you thought, aren't you?" said Maura, speaking up.

"Yeah, kinda."

"Like you've built up an image after all this time, and it's only an image?"

"Yeah. You know. Kinda like… the Great Gatsby, or something."

"Jane!"

"Yeah, what?"

"You just quoted something intelligible. Not just one of your movies or some athlete interview."

"Hey, I read the Great Gatsby in high school. It was the only thing I really got. Didn't get the Scarlet Letter. God that thing was complicated. Had no idea what was going on. Didn't like it."

"Jane, Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter was a masterpiece."

"Didn't get it." Jane paused before smiling and wrapping her free arm around Maura. "You know what?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not really that nervous any more."

Maura smiled as she felt Jane lean into her, their bodies molding together.

"And why not?"

"Well this feels good. We feel good. Like… before. It's a hunch."

"I don't like your hunches, Jane. Not enough empirical evidence."

"Nah, you no me," smirked the detective, scrunching her nose. "I don't do empirical. I got my own science. Just for me."

"Oh, do you, now?"

"Yeah," remarked Jane, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's called Rizzoli Science. I'll buy you a textbook. BCU probably didn't think to teach you it. It's kinda a shame. You've been missing out."

"Well I suppose I won't be missing out for much longer."

"No," whispered Jane. "You won't."

The walked down the concrete in a comfortable silence. They had reached a main road, and Jane was still wrapped around Maura. People were walking around them, and they could hear their conversations, their lives. They listened in, letting their happenings mingle with theirs.

It made all of this all the more real.

All the more tangible.

"You're really enjoying that cane, aren't you?" asked Maura.

"'Course I am. It's badass." She lifted it up as proof, showing off the racecar flames that were painted on the wood. "It's got fire on it."

Maura laughed before leaning in deeper into Jane; "You would choose the one with fire on it."

"They tried to put me up in crutches. No way. Nuh-uh. No way was that happening. I told them if I had to be walking around with some sorta stupid aid, it was gonna be a badass stupid aid. With fire on it."

"Did you really say that?"

"You really think that I didn't?"

Maura laughed again; "You're right, Jane. It would be stupid of me to think otherwise."

Jane breathed in; "Well, I missed us. I missed this. This is nice."

"I missed this, too," admitted Maura.

"We're here," smiled Jane.

Maura looked around, a little confused at first. The confusion was overtaken by understanding. And then my amazement. She looked up at the detective smiling down at her. She could only imagine what her own expression looked like. Apparently it was what Jane had been going for. Her heart pulled when she saw Jane flash her a Rizzoli smile.

"Thought about booking a table at some fancy pants place. But… You know. Thought that'd be something you're used to going to. I wanted to, uh, make this special. So I thought of this. It all worked out nice and good in my head… And I had a better speech… Uh, whatever. C'mon."

A coin is flipped. Heads. Again it is flipped. Heads. Once more the coin is flipped. Heads. And it is flipped again and again. A million times it is flipped. Heads. Heads. Heads. Never does it land on tails. Is the coin loaded? No. Is the coin a cheat? Check; it is not. Don't worry; it is, after all, a possibility that a fair and equal coin might land on heads without fail. Not probable.

But, a possibility.

Should we say, then, that the coin will once again land on heads? The coin will be flipped tomorrow. Is it known that this fair and equal coin must and will land with the printed head facing the sky?

Would that be science?

The pen is dropped. And it falls. Again it is dropped. It falls. Once more it is dropped. It falls. And it is dropped again and again. A million times it is dropped. It falls. It falls. It falls. Never does it remain suspended in the air. Never does it shoot up towards the sky. Don't worry; it is, after all, a possibility that a fair and equal pen might fall without fail.

A possibility.

Should we say then, that the pen will once again fall? The pen will be dropped tomorrow. Is it known that this fair and equal pen must and will fall? Simply because it has done so every time before?

Would that be science?

"Pop used to take me, Tommy, and Frankie here when we were little. Couldn't afford Sox tickets, so we'd always come here…" Jane looked at Maura, suddenly nervous again. "You know, I booked us a table at some fancy restaurant. We could go there, if you want…"

Maura shook her head and Jane visibly relaxed; "No, I want to see what Jane Rizzoli has planned for the night.

Jane smiled and turned to the man sitting in the booth labeled "Tickets."

"Two," she said.

"You know the drill, detective. That's fourteen dollars."

"You come here often?"

Jane nodded as she handed over the money and received two cheap looking tickets in return; "Yeah. Pop stopped taking us 'round when I turned fifteen. I started coming back after a year of walking the beat. They're the only minor league team in Boston."

"Boston Hellfighters," murmured Maura, as she fingered one of the tickets. Jane watched the fascinated pair of eyes. "The Harlem Hellfighters were quite a distinguished regiment during the first World War… you know, they…"

"Alright there, Google. Settle down."

Maura continued her history lesson anyway, rambling about the exploits of the one particular regiment who shared their nickname with the small time baseball team filling the field.

"Well these guys… They're a rookie team for the Yankees," explained Jane.

"In Boston?" Maura asked, confused. Even she knew these little nuances.

"Yeah, I dunno why, either. C'mon. Let's find grab something to eat and find a place to sit."

Jane moved her hand slowly and shyly to lightly grasp Maura's. The latter felt a blush rise up in her cheeks, and she shivered as she felt Jane's other hand instinctively run her thumb across the side of her face. There it was again. The sensation of Jane's fingers against her numb skin.

She felt joy creep into her heart as Jane guided her through the thin crowd.

"Hey there, detective!" smiled a large man from behind a counter.

"Hey, Vic."

"We missed you at the beginning of the season!"

"Yeah well…" Jane turned to Maura giving her a shy smile. "I was a little busy, you know?"

"You cops. Well let me guess. You're here for the usual?"

"Uh, that depends." Jane turned to Maura again. "What do you want?"

"I trust you, Jane."

She smiled and ran her thumb across the back of Jane's hand and internally squealed when she saw the detective shiver, swallow, and completely lose her train of thought. Mist left the taller woman's lips sporadically.

"Detective?" asked Victor, clearly enjoying himself.

"Yeah, uh, sorry. Um, just get us… two of what I usually get and…" Jane gave Maura an apologetic look. "They only have beer."

"I like your beer."

Jane smiled at the distant memory, of convincing Maura to taste some of the beer. The ME had downed the liquid almost as quickly as Jane had tried to down the one-hundred-dollar-a-glass champagne.

"Get us two Rogue Irish Lagers, Vic."

"Always a good choice, detective."

The two found their seats on the bleachers and looked out at the players, clad in pinstripes, warming up beneath the large field lights. Maura peeled back the aluminum and the waxed paper that wrapped around her dinner. The slight apple-y taste of the lager still swirled in her mouth when she took a bite.

"Oh my."

Jane turned her head beside her, a slice of chicken hanging from her own lips; "You like it?"

"This is delicious, Jane."

She laughed as she watched the doctor take another bite.

"Vic's been making falafels here for ages. I have no idea what he does when it isn't baseball season, but he's always here. Best falafel on the East Coast."

Maura didn't answer. Her eyes were closed as she leaned back and chewed, swirling the flavors around on her tongue.

"How often do you come here, Jane?"

"I dunno. A lot. I come here… when I get that burnt-out feeling, you know? These guys are just a bunch of rookies… They're not even the better Yanks rookie team. They're underrated and most of these guys won't make it through the system, but here they are anyway. Playing ball. And the fans, Maura. There aren't a lot of us, but… You'll see when more people start coming in. We're all a bunch of Sox fans and this team here's all up with the Yanks. Nothing matters. It feels right, you know?"

Maura nodded; "It feels… nice here. I'm glad you took me here, Jane. It's lovely. All of it."

Jane did nothing more than smile, unsure as to how to receive a compliment. She fidgeted sheepishly, allowing Maura to correctly gauge Jane's reaction as a thanks.

"You know what's funny? If these guys had any other team behind them… Like Tampa or the Dodgers or something… I don't think most of us would be here cheering them on."

"Well," started Maura, and Jane immediately knew the other woman was about to start another one of her lessons. The detective silently watched, once again reminded why it was she loved this woman. "Yankees and Red Sox fans do carry with them a sense of superiority over other teams… The two teams do have the best of everything. Including one of the best rivalries, and…"

Jane laughed and wrapped an arm around Maura, inching the two woman closer. Maura stopped and reflexively snuggled into the other woman.

"You don't have to stop," Jane whispered.

"Well," started Maura again, trying to keep her composure. "The best teams… choose the best… rivals… And…"

Frustrated, Maura stopped again, choosing to instead place her lips on Jane's.

They stopped only when they realized that the players were beginning to fill into their respective positions, and that other fans had filled in around them. The Hellfighters's starting pitcher waved at the fans who joyfully roared back in return. They had all risen to their feet.

Jane set the cane behind her and stood behind Maura, placing all of her weight on her good leg. As the first pitch flew over the base and into the catcher's fat mitt, Jane wrapped her arms around Maura's waist and rested her chin on the top of Maura's head.

She smiled as she felt the other woman lean in.

So perhaps Hume was correct in his words. Perhaps causation does not exist. But for hundreds of years, for thousands of years, for millions of years, the world has been one way. We have seen it for ourselves. The pen has been dropped and it has fallen. Perhaps Hume was correct. Perhaps the pen might not fall the next time it is dropped.

But for a thousand years, it has.

It must be probable then, that the pen must continue to fall.

After all, the pen has been falling.

But is it not true that each individual event is, in fact, individual? A common occurrence does not make an event fact. It also, however, does not make an event probable.

So perhaps Hume was correct. The pen has been falling.

But truly understand the consequences of his theory, take in account the probabilities, as they should be.

The crowd was silent as the opposing team's closer wound up for another pitch. The Hellfighters were down three points in the bottom of the last inning. Two outs. Three balls. Two strikes. Although there had been five other pitches, all of which had been fouls.

It had taken Jane what seemed like forever to explain to Maura how the whole system worked, why the foul counted as a strike, but why the foul that would have been the third strike did not, in fact, count as a strike.

"That's just a lack of consistency," Maura had complained, a little tipsy from her second lager.

"Well if that had been the third strike, we would've lost the game, right?"

"Yes…"

"So let's just go with it, okay?" Jane had said – smiling – clearly pleased with herself.

Every fan was still in the fans and only a small number had left the bleachers to go home. There were a good number of major league teams that couldn't even dream of matching the retention rate this late into the game. But the crowd was silent. Maura was silent, warmth filling her chest as she placed her arms over the ones wrapped around her waist.

Two balls, three strikes, and two outs. But the Hellfighters had given them hope, loading the bases with runners that seemed ready to spring forward at first opportunity.

They waited.

The ball left the pitcher's hand. A slider.

Another foul.

Someone gave the ball to the catcher, and he threw it back to the pitcher. He seemed menacing beneath the fluorescent lights

The ball left his hand again, and his arm looked like rubber.

And there it was. The crack.

No one moved. They only shifted their heads and eyes to follow the path of the small baseball. They all knew where it was going. When it sailed past the fence, the suspended world seemed to erupt. Explode. Fans hugged each other. Players ran out of the dugout.

Jane turned Maura around and kissed her.

"That was exhilarating," breathed Maura, blushing from the sudden kiss.

She hardly noticed Jane leading her down the steps of the bleachers, towards the field. She hardly noticed one of the Hellfighters (later she would discover that that second basemen was an old high school friend of Frankie) nod to Jane, letting the two onto the field itself.

She had never told anyone this, but baseball fields had always fascinated her. The green grass that always seemed so even. The crisp white lines. The smooth dirt that always seemed to be that most beautiful color of brown.

"Mind keeping the lights on?" asked Jane, calling out to one of the players.

"Sure thing, detective."

Jane fitted a mitt on Maura's hand.

"You know how you said you never learned to play ball as a kid?"

"Yes, I do," said Maura, slightly confused.

Jane stepped behind Maura, still placing all her weight on her good leg. Maura shivered as she felt the detective's breath graze over the skin around her neck. Jane wrapped her fingers lightly around Maura's arms and guided her through the motions of throwing a baseball. She placed one of the muddied balls into Maura's throwing hand.

She pointed towards the player that had let them on the field. He waved, his own mitt snug on his hand.

"Alright, now let's throw to him, alright?"

Maura nodded, nervous as she rolled the baseball around in her hand, running her index finger across the red seam. She threw the ball, Jane still behind her, guiding her, pressed up against her.

She laughed without abandon as she watched the ball sail towards the man in pinstripes. The laugh quickly died down when she realized that he was lightly winding up to toss the ball back.

"Jane," she said, nervously. "He's throwing back."

"Then we'll catch it," whispered Jane. "It's okay. I'm right behind you."

The ball floated to the two woman, and Jane guided Maura through the catch. She had placed one of her hands behind the mitt and when they both felt the satisfying thunk of the ball hitting leather, Jane squeezed, assuring that the ball wouldn't fall out.

They stayed like that, catching and throwing together, until it was deemed that Maura could begin to competently do it on her own. She frowned when she felt Jane's body leave hers, but smiled again when she saw Jane pick up her own mitt, taking the player's place.

They continued to catch and throw in the green grass of the outfield, swimming in the crisp, autumn East Coast air, beneath the lights that illuminated them brightly in the night.

Later, they would put the ball and mitt away, and Jane would go over to turn the field lights off. Together they would leave for Maura's apartment, and when they arrived, they would stand together and stare at each other breathlessly.

And Jane would lean in for a kiss.

And Maura would let her kiss her.

Does not the pen have an infinite amount of choices to choose? The pen might choose to fall. It might choose to do the opposite. It might fly forward, or back. It might stay, floating in the air. It might disintegrate and turn to dust. It might implode. Or explode. It might turn into a lion, or a bear, or into those other millions of things we have never even seen before.

But multiply those odds by the odds every single other pen in the world that has ever been dropped in the course of human history choosing the action to fall. Multiply the infinite amount of different possibilities by an equally infinite amount of different possibilities. Keep multiplying until every pen has been accounted for.

Now multiply those odds by the astronomical odds of every other seemingly commonplace occurrence. Like an airplane staying in the air. Like Night following Day. Like the sequence of our seasons. Like a balloon flying up into the sky. Like a compass pointing North. Like ice melting into water.

Keep multiplying those odds until every other seemingly commonplace occurrence has been accounted for.

And consider that number.

i know i took a while to update this baby. s'all good. i'm back on the horse. the reviews have been real great. and helpful. :)

also wanna take this little end time to put in a word for the thirty SEALS of Team Six who lost their lives recently. it's moments like these where i've got this bittersweet pride for all my other fellow Americans. it also makes me sad, though, that we don't get as much noise around the Lance Corporal or the 2nd Lieutenant or that airman or petty officer who also make the ultimate sacrifice. so this is me, i guess, pulling for everyone who goes out there.

jaigagne - really grateful you've managed to get around to this story on personal time. don't know much about the army but i'm guessing there isn't a whole lot of it? well me i got my eyes set on parris island and MCT (i'm more of an oorah girl). we'll see how all that goes haha

more rizzles to come.