She sat in a crumpled pile on the cool concrete, watching that naked ass saunter away. An invitation. A warning.
That ass could cure famine in Africa. Jane imagined for a brief moment what it might be like to sink her teeth into the curve just there -
Aw, hell. She was so screwed.
Things only got worse from there. Although the good doctor had seen fit to cover herself before returning to collect the flabbergasted Jane from the garage floor, the damage had been done: Jane could not unsee that ass, nor the delicious contour of the undersides of her breasts, nor even the way that Maura's hips sloped down to meet her thighs. The silk robe didn't exactly hide those thighs, either.
She was so fucking screwed, Jane thought as she replayed all of these images and put them into their respective places on Maura's now-clothed body. How could she ever not envision the other woman naked under her clothes now that she knew exactly how that nakedness looked?
"Get up, Jane," Maura said as she extended a hand to the distracted detective. Jane looked at the offered hand. An invitation. A warning? She shook her head to clear her addled brain and let Maura pull her off the concrete.
She hitched her pants up as best she could without the button and allowed herself to be dragged down the hallway and through the laundry room; every surface was immaculately clean, of course. Not a hand towel out of place. Containers organized by both shape and purpose. Maura had explained that tidbit on a dreary Monday morning a few months prior. She had been so fucking excited about the "newfound efficiency in the laundry room." As usual, Jane couldn't find it in her heart to burst Maura's bubble and tell her she really didn't give a damn; the M.E. was fucking adorable when she got that excited about something ridiculous.
When they reached the kitchen, Jane placed herself safely on the opposite side of the countertop to Maura and slumped atop a stool.
"Why, uh… Why did you take those underwear off again?"
Maura shot her a quizzical look as she opened the fridge and removed a carton of eggs. "You're overly concerned with underwear this morning."
Only when they are or are not adorning your ass, Maura, Jane thought and twirled her fingers in hopes of an explanation.
"You needed your shirt back. It stands to reason that you would need all other items of apparel that I borrowed as well," Maura said. She cracked an egg, then another, and drained the whites into a clear Pyrex dish. Sometimes Jane wished Maura would just tack on the "Duh, Jane" that she just knew was lurking beneath the surface.
"Oh."
Jane didn't know what to say. Her best friend had seen her naked. She'd seen Maura naked. Maura had kissed her – kissed her! – and she couldn't even fucking remember it. And now, despite a growing wave of attraction, Jane couldn't escape the feeling that she had somehow ruined things in a colossal way.
Why else would Maura have turned her down?
Dammit, this is stupid. Maura had offered a perfectly acceptable explanation for why she turned Jane down, and Jane just needed to get over it. But the surprise of it all… It was so unexpected. The things that she'd said – things she would never have said aloud to another living being sober.
Jane slouched on the stool, mired in her own sense of inadequacy, and buried her face in her hands. The clangs and clatters of Maura's activities around the kitchen threatened to break her. To have not consciously understood that she wanted Maura beyond friendship, to have not understood the gravity of her own feelings – Jane couldn't stand it. She never got this emotional about something so meaningless as a couple of kisses.
But, as much as she wished they had been, the kisses weren't meaningless. Jane felt the weight of them coursing through her, pressing against her limbs, choking her. She wanted Maura Isles.
God, she needed another drink to get through this. Maybe she could convince Maura to make mimosas.
"Do you need to go feed Jo, or can she wait for a few hours while we get some rest?" Maura said, interrupting her somber thoughts.
We. Jane looked into Maura's face, an open book that spoke only of caring and honesty. She has no idea what she's done to me.
"No. Frankie borrowed her yesterday. He's gonna try to pick up girls in the park with her," Jane said as she swiped a hand through her unruly hair. Maybe she could make Maura want her, too?
"Ah," Maura said with a nod before turning her back on Jane and continuing to beat the egg whites.
"What?"
"I've witnessed that technique a number of times," Maura said over her shoulder. "Women are drawn to babies and dogs. Gaunt's Theory of Nurturing posited that women experience a hormonal shift when they witness males in roles traditionally held by females. This shift causes…"
Gotta get out of here. Fix this later. She'll understand. Jane listened to Maura happily chatter at her bowl of egg whites as she crept down the hall, towards the master bedroom. She needed a few items to make her escape: a safety pin, a cell phone, and her house keys. A jacket, if she could manage. Maybe she could solder them all together into a sword and throw herself on it. Jane Rizzoli: Ajax of the Boston P.D. Man, Maura would be so impressed that she knew that story…
Focus, Jane. She tip-toed into the master bath and opened the drawer that she knew contained a variety of pins and sewing supplies, organized in size order from front to back. Why did she know where Maura kept this crap? Damn, she spent too much time over there.
That would be coming to an end after last night, Jane thought as she selected an appropriate pin. Maura hadn't wanted her, didn't want her. But God, Jane wanted her. How couldn't she have seen it? Was their burgeoning friendship enough to have hidden her feelings for the other woman? As she drew her pants up to fasten them where the button should have been, she heard movement behind her, and then:
"Jane."
She spun around and into a crouch, then thrust the open safety pin out in front of her. What the hell kind of defense mechanism is that? It's a fucking pin! It was just Maura. She hadn't seen her in the mirrors all around. Must be getting rusty.
"Were you planning on using that as a murder weapon? Should I be worried?" Maura said, gesturing at the pin with a faint smile.
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, doc," Jane said. "Just need it to fix my pants."
She slid the pin into place – easy enough to do in a shirt that didn't even attempt to cover her stomach; nothing to hinder her sight. This orange thing had to go. Why hadn't she thought to pick up her button-up – not to mention her underwear – on the way out of the garage? Oh, that's right! She had been staring at Maura. Naked Maura. Naked Maura with her ass and breasts and that mouth curled into a smile just for her.
Shit. She had to get out of here. Alternating rhythms of anguish and arousal pulsed through her veins as she pointedly avoided Maura's eyes. Jane shoved her hands into her pockets and allowed the awkward silence to swell around her; it was Maura's move.
And move she did, much to Jane's surprise. She strode purposefully towards the detective and wrapped a hand around each tense arm. It's as if she wouldn't allow the awkwardness to grow any larger. That space, that arm's length, was all she would allow. Jane wondered, Does she even know I'm feeling uncomfortable? Probably not.
"Jane, I don't understand." Of course she didn't. Jane didn't, either.
"I'm gonna go home. I need to sleep," Jane said with a huff. She stepped back, out of Maura's grasp. She couldn't be that close to Maura – it was too much. Too much to have been shot down by her best friend, whom she hadn't realized she had feelings for until she was half-naked, drunk, and touching her.
"You can sleep here. And you need to eat. Don't you want breakfast?" Jane watched Maura's face crumple in confusion and hurt. She hated that.
"Look, Maura," she said with a sigh. "What we did last night, that wasn't exactly something that coworkers should do together."
"Coworkers?" Maura was near tears. Shit.
"Friends, I mean. Coworkers and friends," Jane corrected quickly. Where was that MacGyvered sword, now?
"I knew you would be upset. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you. I certainly should not have allowed it to progress as far as it did," Maura said. Then the tears arrived. No. No, no, no. Jane couldn't stand it, couldn't fix it just then.
"I – I gotta go, Maur," Jane blurted, and rushed past the other woman. She hastily grabbed a sweatshirt out of Maura's closet on her way out. A quick stop by the garage produced her cell phone, shoes, and keys. Throwing the sweatshirt over her head and shoving her feet into her shoes, Jane exited out the side door.
Fuck. What was she doing? Maura was back there, bewildered because she couldn't navigate her way around other people's emotions with a fucking roadmap, hurt because Jane couldn't sort out her own crap. What the hell was wrong with her?
Jane stood on the side stoop, surveying the tidy garden that Maura had planted earlier in the summer, trapped between the zucchini, her burning desire to flee, and a strange niggling sensation in the back of her brain; it told her to stop being an asshole, march back inside, and explain herself to Maura.
Jane glared at the tomatoes and did her best to not think of other ripe things in the Isles household. That sent her pitching headlong towards the gate that let out onto the street. She couldn't do this with a woman, couldn't have feelings for a woman. Too complicated, Jane. Besides, Maura could have taken the opportunity when she had it. Who knew if Maura even liked women! The M.E. had her fair share of dates with men, and though those rarely went well, she never mentioned anything about having an inclination towards T & A before.
Jane struggled with the latch – some newfangled one that Maura had asked Frankie to install after the whole debacle with her dad and the Irish mob. She knew she should go back inside and stop being such a sissy, but the urge to run, to hide from all of this was too much. Forcing the metal pieces together, she pushed, pushed again, and in a fit of mounting frustration slammed her fist into the wooden slats. Fuck. That hurt.
Jane Rizzoli was stuck, in more ways than one.