Just trying to get the creative Rizzles juices flowing again. Disclaimer: I don't own R&I or these delightful characters. Aww, shucks.
"Mmm. It's nice, isn't it?" She murmurs, snuggling closer into the other woman's side.
"What's that?" her fellow occupant asks.
"Being out of the city for a few days."
There's a pause as the brunette looks out over the sloping green lawn, at the lengthening shadows and the tops of the trees that are dark and just barely visible against the navy blue sky that is dusk. "It is," she agrees finally, wrapping an arm tightly around the smaller woman's shoulders and resting her head on blonde curls. "It's quiet."
They sit in silence for awhile, soaking up the peacefulness surrounding them. No honking cars, no tires squealing, no sirens rushing past, no urgent cell phone messages, or bodies that need identifying, no murders, no murderers. They've left the sounds of the city far behind. Suddenly, the taller of the two sits up, peering carefully off the porch.
"Jay?" Her voice is muffled as though she'd been almost falling asleep.
"Hold on," Jane quiets her with a raised hand. "Yes!" she sees something. "Come on," she stands, pulling a confused medical examiner up behind her.
"Where are we going?"
"Just come on, Maur," the detective holds the thin hand firmly in her own strong grasp, leading the way down the steps and off onto the grass.
"Jane," Maura is exasperated and confused.
"Alright," the leader pauses so suddenly, her girlfriend nearly tumbles into her back. "Close your eyes," she orders.
And, without questioning, Maura does as asked, going so far as to place a hand over her eyes so as not to peak. She trusts Jane implicitly.
The brunette bends over slightly to make sure the other woman cannot see, and then she moves away, her feet rustling over the grass. Finally, "Got it!" she exclaims, and her voice carries over the yard. They are the only two staying at the Bed and Breakfast this late in the season, and although it's September, the night air is the perfect temperature. The heat of the day still hanging about, having not yet dissipated to leave an autumn chill behind.
She walks back over to where Maura is still standing patiently, wrapped in one of Jane's old BPD sweatshirts, dressed down in jeans and flats. The detective takes a moment to appreciate the woman before her, lovely and soft. Once she's standing close, only several inches of space between them, "Open," she whispers.
Hazel eyes blink open, focusing first on her lover's face and then, when Jane glances down, on the hands closed together before her. She looks back up curiously. "See," the other woman's voice is soft, reverent, and she opens her hands the smallest amount. Maura leans closer and gasps in surprise when a faint flicker of light emanates from within Jane's hold. It goes dark. And then flashes once more.
"Pop used to call 'em moon bugs," Jane's voice is suddenly childish. Catching them is something she and her brothers used to do all the time growing up. The thrill of the chase, tripping and stumbling around the back yard, the campsite, the street, until they managed to capture one. But they always let them go right away. And she knows, without asking, that it is an activity Maura Isles, in all her mature glory, never got to experience. She grins when the blonde's face breaks out into a smile. The bug blinks again, and then the detective opens her scarred hands and the two women watch as the flickering creature floats up between them and up, up and away towards the stars that are just beginning to shine.
They both gaze skyward until it's lost from sight, and then they come gently back to earth, shrugging slightly at the sudden weight of gravity. Jane points and Maura follows the index finger, tracing her line of sight, until she sees it. What looks to be hundreds of fireflies winking in and out of existence, forming patterns in the air. Her smile grows wider. Jane wraps an arm about her waist, sighing as the blonde leans back into her hold.
"They glow via a process of bioluminescence," Maura begins, adopting the scientific tone she uses while performing an autopsy. Jane has to bite back a loving smirk. "The chemical luciferin makes an enzyme called -"
"Dr. Isles," the detective interrupts her gently, pressing a light kiss to her curls. "All I need to know is that they're beautiful."
"Yes," the doctor agrees, not in the least bit upset at being cut off. "Yes, they are, aren't they?" She watches their loop-de-loops, the dances they are engaged in. "And fascinating." She wants to continue, probably to describe all the different types and their mating patterns and how exactly that one enzyme makes them glow, but she doesn't, and Jane feels a rush of affection for her scientist.
"Yes," this time it is the detective's chance to agree, except she is not looking at the insects anymore. Her gaze is focused on the profile of the woman leaning against her. Beautiful and fascinating in her own right. She is barely able to discern the blush that spreads its way across the medical examiner's delicate features in the gathering darkness.
"Watch the lightning bugs, detective," she admonishes gently.
"I'm far too busy studying you," Jane admits unabashedly. Maura's blush deepens, but the taller woman adores it. Maura doesn't understand that she is more gorgeous than all the lightening bugs in the world, more intriguing, more wonderful, and the thought that she, Jane, a fumbling fool Detective from a not-so-perfect neighborhood, is the one who gets to study her, learn the doctor's every quirk, memorize the spread of freckles across her skin, wake to her soft touch each morning -well, she still can't quite believe it. And she doesn't have to say anything. In fact, she's not certain if she could put into words exactly how stunning she finds the blonde, how perfect she feels standing here, with Maura resting against her, watching the fireflies swoop through the still air. She's never been one for grand speeches or eloquent remarks.
But Maura must understand because she reaches up on tiptoe to press a kiss to the underside of her detective's jaw, before looping their fingers together and returning to her study of the pieces of starlight that are playing about freely on earth.
Moments go by, heartbeats - Jane isn't sure how many - but eventually Maura, the scientific medical examiner who sees life through the eyepiece of a microscope, clears her throat and murmurs, "Thank you. For the magic."
And she means the magic of an hundred moon bugs, and the magic of peace, and of serenity, and mutual adoration and respect. The magic of holding hands. Of affection. Of love. She means all of those things, and Jane smiles softly into golden curls because those words were balanced on the tip of her tongue just moments ago. She may not be the best at feelings, at words, at expression emotion, but this - magic - this, she is proving to be good at. And so she promises it, easy and sure, and without hesitation, a promise that she will uphold far past a night of lightning bugs and stillness, far into a future full of danger and uncertainty, but a future of wonder nonetheless, a future with Maura, and it is a promise she never thought she'd make, but one that she can feel in her bones is true, "Anytime. Anytime, Maur."