AN: Was trying to update Taste Test but just am not in the mood for lighthearted, fun stories. So instead, I ended up with this. If you happen to read, please don't hesitate to tell me how you feel. Reviews are precious and most appreciated. This is set after Jane's miscarriage, an angsty take on how I imagined she would have felt at some point while she mourned the loss. Anyway, read on. Thanks.

Quenched

I have lost myself and I feel broken, marred, and fragmented.

Out on the streets, I fight monsters everyday and conquer them almost all the time. But the monsters I fear most live in here, with me when I'm alone and supposedly insulated in the warmth and safety of my own home. They strip me of the me I know and leave me questioning who I am.

Especially now, they surround me, badgering me with doubts, with fears, with shame and self-recrimination.

They force me in front of this mirror that shows me the life I've come to live, the person I've come to be. Alone, empty, determined to deny herself the one thing that could possibly put her back together. A woman who's almost died more than once, more than anyone should. Almost died but survived and for what?

To live through this inventory of losses and miseries?

Foremost of which is what I've had to live with for the last several days. The loss I am reminded of everytime I go for a run and come across a mother pushing a stroller. Or when I turn the TV on and see a pregnant woman talking about her fucking precious baby. I am reminded of what I have lost before I'd even had it. The child that could have had brothers and sisters, a mother and...who knows.

And then there's the part of me another monster had stolen, gone along with the bits of my flesh left on that scalpel when it was pulled out from within each of my palms. That part of me lost, replaced with a fear that won't ever leave me, irrational as it may be. I hate that as much I own myself, there is a part of me that I am unable to control and fear that I never would.

And of course, if we're to talk about fears and losses and miseries, we might as well talk about the one that trumps everything else. The one thing I keep denying myself, the one thing that leaves half of my life, of my bed, of my heart unoccupied and empty. The one thing I want nothing more than to pull closer but instead keep pushing away and building that wall in front of and between us. Because more than any monster, I fear her. I fear the power she has over me and the devastation that is inevitable should I go for broke and stop denying myself of a chance at her.

I find myself crumbling to the floor, miserable and lost and desperate for the one thing I can't have, the only thing that could ease my pain while hurting me beyond measure. I fold myself into me, squeeze my fingers around my arms and hope that maybe, I can cry myself into numbness and into forgetting.

I sit here in my car in the pouring rain, hours after crumbling and then getting up, fueled by a familiar motivation. I sit here battling once again with my demons, the monsters who have come along for the ride. I stare through her windows and know she is in there, tucked safely away in her bed. And I know if I knock, she would let me in.

But I continue to sit here, warring with myself, forcing the braver side of me to step up and let me step out of this car. I try not to but keep thinking of every single reason I should turn the ignition back on and drive myself back home. A litany of reasons I've catalogued in my head thousands of times as I lie in bed alone, when I sit in my car like I do now waiting to drive with her most mornings, and even when I sit across from her at the Robber and she does something so damned adorable I feel an overwhelming urge to blurt out just what it is I feel for her. Every single time, of course, I manage to convince myself not to.

But right now, I am just so tired of doing what I deem as reasonable. So damned tired of being a coward. I question why I can't just go and take the chance. Things could only head either of two ways, toward rejection or acceptance, happiness or sorrow. And the choices I have are simple, too: to live with the truth or keep living a lie.

So I muster up enough courage to unlock the door and make a run through pouring rain for her front door with my heart in my hand, perilously close to and in danger of being dropped or crushed. Either way, there is no going back.

I knock before my cowardice can regain control of my motor skills. I can use my key to get in but this time, I feel it wouldn't be right to. She comes to the door no more than a minute later, all tousled hair and squinting eyes, pink satin pajamas and bare feet.

And she is so beautiful I almost forget why I'm here.

But she reminds me when she wakes up fully, finally registering the downpour behind me, my own soaked, shivering self, and my eyes that must be red and betray all the crying I've done tonight.

"Goodness, Jane, you're soaked. What are you doing here?" She questions, mildly scolding, as she pulls me inside before shutting the door hurriedly. "Are you in pain?" She's almost frantic, one hand running through my sopping wet hair, the other gently resting on my stomach. She is all worry and concern and I suddenly just want to weep again.

"I'm ok, Maur. I'm not in pain." At least not where a Tylenol could take care of. "I'm just...I'm…" I just can't find the words…"cold." So I go with the easiest, the most obvious.

She disappears and then comes back in no time with a towel that quickly goes around my shoulders. Her hands go up to rub warmth back into mine, vigorous but careful. And then she stops and just looks at me, her gaze penetrating me with questions.

The next thing I am aware of is of being gathered in her arms, folded into warmth, security, and a strength masked by her slight stature. My face naturally finds its way to burrow into the familiar smell of her neck. And I start to cry, cry like I had just done on my apartment floor hours earlier. She soothes me with quiet reassurances, mostly my name uttered so softly. I practically crush her within my arms and she lets me, calming my fatigued muscles with a hand running up and down my back, halting only to rest around my waist. And I cling to her, the only lifeline I know. I ignore the wetness I've rendered onto her shoulder and just cling for life. I hear her quiet voice, I smell the familiar scent of sunflower and jasmine, I feel the drum of her heartbeats against my chest and I am fine, fortressed against my demons and monsters.

I don't speak and neither does she, except for the repeated utterance of my name. And I pray we just stay here, quiet, for as long as we can. I am so scared of words, especially ones right at the tip of my tongue, dangling by a cord connected straight to my heart. Words that could put me back together just as easily as they could tear me apart should they end up unreturned.

Eventually though, I feel one of her hands leave my waist to reach up and gently pry my face away from her neck and up to where she could see me.

"Jane…" she says my name again and this time it's different, no longer soothing but wondering. Curious. Confused.

I refuse to look up, so damn terrified of what my eyes would betray and of what hers would reveal.

And then I feel warmth and dampness against my cheek and realize she has leaned forward to kiss my cheek, lips lingering on the skin just in front of my ear. "Jane…"

This time I am powerless against her summon so I gather every fiber of courage in me and make a decision to face this, face her. I meet her gaze with mine, humble but determined.

I look at her and fill myself up with fearlessness and fortitude, realizing this is now or never. Now or never will be.

I look at her and I ask her to complete me, to remind me who I am the only way I can.

My mouth lands over hers and for a moment, hers is still, unmoved by confusion and surprise. And then she responds in kind, lips pushing back with as much fervor as mine do and I come undone. I am immersed in chaos, thoughts warring between elation and fear of what's to come next. I feel myself drowning in pandemonium, my insides disintegrating and yet leaving me engulfed in a blissful fog.

The barest of responses and she has pushed my world into disarray and yet I feel myself being reborn. She alone possesses the ability to dismantle me and then put me back together.

I return to consciousness after the longest of moments wherein my mouth refuses to leave hers. My eyes open to hers which now reflect what I have done nothing but hide all this time. All the love, the adoration, glorious awe and uncertainty, the tenderness shining through her eyes at me. They seek reassurance from me and I, for the briefest of moments, reprimand myself for being insensitive to her insecurities even as I find it unbelievable that she would be the one needing reassurance.

She whom I have feared loving all this time, thinking there would be no chance at reciprocation.

She needs reassurance from me.

"Maura, I love you." It's the only way I can think of to reassure her. And it seems to be the best way. Her heart unravels in front of me, the relief shining through amidst the awe and affection - now more confident - in her gaze.

"And I love you, Jane. So, so much." I bite my lip, choke back a sob from the simplicity and, more importantly, the certainty of her words. I cannot believe that we have come to this.

"How long?" I need to know. I need to know how long I have been drowning unnecessarily.

"A long time, Jane. A very long time. I think I've always loved you." She kisses away the tears tracking down my face. "I'm sorry I haven't been brave enough to tell you. But I'm telling you now," she cradles my face with such care I cry even harder, my heart continuing to swell with emotion I haven't let myself feel in a long time. "I love you so much, Jane."

"I love you, too." And I marvel at how easily it rolls off my tongue now. Now that my heart has been freed. "I love you, Maura." I savor the sound of those three words and her name all uttered as one. I am in awe of how amazing it feels to say those words that used to always be intercepted somewhere along the way from heart to mouth.

I kiss her again. My tongue seeks entrance and when it touches hers, I swear I can still taste the words in them. "I love you," whispered by her mouth against mine. I thread my fingers through her hair and she does the same, only needing to reach up higher. Hands on heads, gently pushing, we keep kissing like we're parched. And we are. We have been.

But we no longer need to be.

-END-