Chapter Text
“Here for Tasha Williams,” a clipped, formal, British voice said. Miss Tyrell looked up.
There was a woman with salt and pepper hair and fine - white - features. She obviously wasn’t a blood relative.
“Relation?”
“Grandmother.”
Miss Tyrell squinted. Constance sighed.
“Adopted,” Constance added. “Twice adopted,” she added. Miss Tyrell nodded and took the ticket for the graduation from her.
“Tasha Williams,” another woman said. She was with two men - obviously her sons - a blonde woman and a small boy. "The Rizzoli’s,” she added.
“Relation?”
“Grandmother, uncles, aunt and cousin.” Angela indicated her little brood. Miss Tyrell nodded and they went through to the auditorium.
“We’re here for Tasha Williams.”
“Relation?”
“Grandmother,” Miss Tyrell looked up. This one was a redhead, and had a young woman at her side. “And aunt,” Hope added.
“I’ve had two grandmothers come through already,” Miss Tyrell said suspiciously. She’d heard that Tasha was adopted, but this was bordering on farcical.
“I’m one of her adopted mother’s mothers’ - biological - and this is her half sister,” Hope said, straightening her back. "So, half aunt?" Hope asked Cailin, who shrugged. Miss Tyrell sighed and took their tickets, deeply regretting that she’d volunteered for the front of house role.
“Tasha Williams,” a soft voice said. When Miss Tyrell looked up, there was finally an African American woman there for the kid, and she sighed with relief. “No relation,” Nina added, off that look. “We work with her moms.” She was holding hands with a pretty Asian American woman, and Miss Tyrell took the tickets. Tasha’s family must have bought out the whole ticket book.
“Tasha Williams,” a husky voice said. This one was related to the Italians, Miss Tyrell could tell. At least she hoped so; she didn’t think she could tell who was related to who anymore; not after today. She had plasters on her face and chest, as though she’d come here straight after being in a fist fight. She was in a nice suit, her holster chunky on her hip, one arm around the waist of the other woman. “Detective Jane Rizzoli, and my wife Doctor Maura Isles.” The woman with her - clearly related to the redhead - was in a Petier dress, and she blushed with pleasure at being referred to as Jane’s wife. Miss Tyrell sighed and took the tickets. At this rate the entire crowd would be here for Tasha. “And Detective Sergeant Vince Korsak,” Jane added as he caught up with them. The trio wandered out of the doorway and Maura turned to Jane.
“I can’t believe - you knew Tasha was graduating today and you still linebacked that suspect face first into a dumpster. What are you going to look like in the photos?” Maura fussed at her. Jane slapped Maura's hands away from her face.
“It’s Tasha’s day, not mine, and she knows what I do. It’s how we met. And 'that guy' murdered three people, Maura, did you want me to let him get away and kill some more?”
Maura’s face softened and she cupped Jane’s cheek.
“No, I just want you looking your best for our daughter,” Maura said softly. “And putting a murderer away is your best.” Maura leaned up to kiss her, heedless of the packed auditorium, and Miss Tyrell sighed. A nice, quiet, graduation this was not going to be.
—
“And last of all I have my amazing extended family to thank for the honour of being made Valedictorian,” Tasha said, up on the stage, speaking confidently into the microphone. “I was alone when they found me, and without their support I wouldn’t be here.” The Rizzolis got to their feet to applaud her, followed by the rest of the family and friends she’d collected, the peer pressure ending up with the entire crowd in a standing ovation. Tasha came down off the stage and was enveloped by the people that loved her.
Miss Tyrell approached Tasha cautiously; the girl had been subdued and secluded her first year at the school, gradually becoming more outgoing after she’d returned with a fresh gunshot wound. The tall, dark woman had her arms wrapped around Tasha’s shoulders from behind, pressing kisses to her head and face as Tasha giggled, squirming a little but not enough to move away. The little boy was looking at Tasha’s graduation cap; the underneath was decorated with a Yoshi and a Mario stage ending, and the Asian American was pointing out the parts she’d painted. The group looked strange from afar, four of them clearly related, and Maura and her mother an exact copy of each other, like they’d come from a cloning program. But everyone else there looked nothing alike, and certainly none of them looked like they belonged to Tasha. But the way they were patting her and hugging her and kissing her and congratulating her was with the pride of relations. Miss Tyrell had wondered how Tasha had blossomed socially so much, and now she knew.
“Oh hey, Miss T. This is…” Tasha looked up, grinning at all the people around her. “This is my family.”
“Our only granddaughter,” Angela said pointedly, sharing a look with Hope and Constance before focusing on Maura and Jane, who blushed.
“Yeah, Ma, we’re working on it,” Jane said, slipping her arm around her wife, smiling over at Tasha. “But I don’t know how we’re going to top this one,” she added.
“There’s a lot to be said for nature vs nurture - being adopted myself I inherited a surprising amount of characteristics from my biological parents,” Maura looked over at Hope, “but I can also see myself in my own family,” Maura mused, looking over at Constance. “But this one -”
“She takes after you,” Jane blurted out, looking at Maura lovingly. TJ turned the base of the cap, revealing a painting of Tasha’s biological parents in miniature, which Constance eyed with pride, obviously the artist. “And them,” Jane pointed at the painting. “She doesn’t get her smarts from me.”
“She gets her smartass from you,” Angela said. “She’s always correcting me with the Latin names of everything I plant,” Angela complained, shaking Tasha’s shoulder gently before pulling her into another hug. “But I wouldn’t change her for the world.”