Yes, yes – he’s back. Casey is back. Little Casey is back. Great, so he is plus one working organ and Maura is without one. I do not like this math. Now, I could tell you what transpired next – unimpressive chemistry, confessions of PTSD and proof all his parts are working properly – or we could discuss Jo Friday’s new look. Seriously, is she puffier than she used to be? Or maybe this is how all the mutts are wearing their hair this season.
The next morning Jane is in bed. Casey has come over again after completely not spending the night at her house to try to cook her breakfast because he can’t take a hint and has terrible gaydar. He chides her about an expired jar of Marmite she has in her kitchen and she tells him, “No, put that back. Maura gave it to me.” See, it has to be love. Why else keep an old jar of Marmite?
Also, to prove what a good decision Jane made in not allowing him to spend the night – ahem, Casey tells her he’s leaving. Good thing they didn’t do it because otherwise I’d say that’s a dick move. He says he’ll be in Afghanistan for a few months to train in virtual therapy, I think. I don’t really know – I stopped listening when he said he was leaving. See ya, dude, and give us back that Marmite.
Naturally, the next time we see Jane she’s upside down in Maura’s
sex inverter machine. She complains about Maura not getting there sooner (haven’t we all, sister, haven’t we all). And then Maura says she’s late because Jane wouldn’t stop talking while she was getting dressed. Oldest trick in the book to keep a lady from putting her clothes on, folks.
Jane confesses she was relieved when Casey told her he was going back to Afghanistan. So were we, screamed every gay lady watching. Then she starts picking apart the things she can’t stand about him. He moved her cereal boxes. He threw out her shredded wheat. Maura notes she’s had that box for five years, because of course Maura intimately knows the contents of Jane’s kitchen. She intimately knows the contents of Jane’s everything.
To prove that point, the next thing she talks to Jane about is the “hairy honeysuckle flower.” If that’s her pet name for Jane, I’ve just learned a whole lot more about Det. Rizzoli’s personal grooming habits than I cared to know. Jane then calls it the “horny honeysuckle” and now I’m certain that’s her pet name for Maura.
All roads in the case we’ve all forgotten about lead to Reidville. So Jane drags Maura with her there to “take water samples” because that’s exactly what chief medical examiners do. Turns out something in the town is giving everyone cancer and the state senator was investigating it. Wouldn’t it be easier if we just called Julia Roberts and had her finish this case?
Still, Jane and Maura do just fine wrapping it all up on their own. After hopping on each other’s random thought caravans (and other things – nudge nudge, wink wink), they uncover a battery company in Reidville was poisoning the townspeople with toxins on the workers’ uniforms and find out the inspector was paid to look the other way. The inspector was – completely unsurprising drumroll, please – the crazy-haired sister!
Case solved, time for beer. Maura is helping Frankie fix up his bike while Jane sips on a Blue Moon. (Lesbian Bonus Points for classy beer choice.) Something tells me watching Maura grease up pistons and valves is getting Jane hot. It’s getting the universe hot. There’s so much talk of sucking and combustion and explosions and ramming and force and rotation and wanting that I’m going to ignore the incorrect pronoun.
Just then Lt. Cavanagh and Mama Rizzoli walk in, destroying everyone’s fantasy. No one wants to think about these two tossing and turning with each other. Jane, Maura and that bike? Well, that’s another story. Where’s that inverter when you need it?