"Excuse me?" Jane hissed, whipping around and facing her assailant.
"I said, 'What size are her breasts?'"
"Yeah, that's what I thought you said," Jane grumbled under her breath. She gingerly held the black silk garment away from her body on two rigid fingers and examined it with wary eyes. "There's no price tag on this thing."
The salesman gave Jane a totally snotty, totally unnecessary sneer of disdain. He removed a letterpressed card from the inner pocket of his impeccably tailored suit jacket, gave Jane another one-over, and handed it to her. "This is the Agent Provocateur price list. That is the Dascha bra."
He bestowed another tight-lipped smile upon her and left Jane to her misery. Goddamn Back Bay, tiny, stupid ass stuck-up lingerie store.
Why was she here, anyway? The whole idea was stupid, really. Jane didn't even know why she wanted to get Maura a present a full month before Christmas – it just seemed like the right thing to do, what with all the kissing and everything. She wanted Maura to be happy, and presents always had that effect on the M.E.
As it turned out, however, the present was shaping up to be more for Jane than for Maura; although she was positive that Maura would be abso-fucking-lutely delighted with another overpriced silken bra, Jane's motives for buying one were not exactly altruistic. Jane had brainstormed for days what she might like to give Maura, everything from a reserve bottle of wine (too expensive), to a leash for her turtle (tortoise – and too tacky, not expensive enough), to some new yoga pants (she could just hear the "Really, Jane" waiting to come out of Maura's mouth).
Finally, Jane had settled on lingerie, ignoring for the moment Maura's admission that she didn't wear underwear. Still not completely over that, are you? Jane thought to herself. Lingerie said, "I care about you!" Lingerie said, "I am interested in your body in a more-than-friends kind of way!" Lingerie said, "Please put this on so I can take it off of you!"
Or maybe not take it off at all, but just work around –
No. No! She was in a public place, and she would not give in to this, again. She could control herself. Maybe. At least for a little while longer. And as long as Maura didn't wear that red skirt. Or kiss her like she had in the car the other night. Or touch her at all.
Ok, Jane acquiesced. Maybe I can't control myself at all and I might explode the next time Maura Isles looks at me.
God, she wanted to get into Maura's pants. The pain of wanting wasn't one that Jane Rizzoli was exactly accustomed to, and it made her uncomfortable. But it was offset somewhat by the sudden emergence of an emotion that Jane was even less familiar with: happiness. It had hounded her for so many months; it had stalked her down the hallways of the station. It lunged at her every time she entered the morgue, swiped at her with its claws and threatened her otherwise simple life. Happiness had claimed Jane for its own, and for Maura.
She ran her thumb over the grooves in the thick card and scanned down the list for the price of the bra she still held in her other hand. It would be nice to give Maura something like this. Maura would enjoy it.
Jane found the "Dascha" – what kind of a name was that, anyway? – and then every bit of air left her lungs in an explosive woosh. She dropped the offending garment back onto the display table, her hands on fire with the obscenity of the price. Two hundred plus for a fucking bra? Jane, who had never paid more than thirty dollars for any kind of clothing, let alone undergarments that nobody else would even see, found herself simultaneously horrified and disgusted. Maybe she'd just make Maura a present. Something out of macaroni and glue; something that really communicated, "Maura, you're too fancy for me, please take pity on me and love me anyways. Or at least sleep with me."
The theme from Cops burst from the pocket of her slacks, heralding the ruin of her peaceful afternoon. She answered the call from the Department after hurriedly fishing the phone from her pocket, waving away the disgruntled looks of the salesman, and rushing out into the brisk Boston chill.
"What, Frost? It's my afternoon off."
"Yeah, but Crowe's out after that incident with the – " Frost paused and coughed, then continued in a whisper, "with the hamster. You know they had to have a doctor out at his house and everything?"
Jane snorted. "Yeah, I know. Korsak told me all about it. Stupid bastard. Who does that?" She toed a leaf in the gutter and pulled her coat closer to her body in an attempt to stave off the chill afternoon that swept around her.
"I know!" Frost exclaimed excitedly. "I wonder who left him. His own handcuffs. God, I wouldn't wanna come back to work, either."
"Yeah. So whaddaya want? I've got stuff to do." She spun slowly, scanning the area for her car; where had she parked? Ah. She spotted the dark Oldsmobile down the street a ways.
"Need your help on a call. A unit already brought the suspect to the station, so you've got your pick of the interview or working the scene. Everyone else is busy dealing with Christmas ragers. You know all the crazies we get this time of year."
Jane rubbed her forehead. She was loath to surrender her free afternoon to yet another case, but perhaps it would give her some more time to think about the gift. "Is Dr. Isles at the scene?"
"Yeah," Frost answered hesitantly. Jane waited for the inevitable question and was not surprised when he asked her why it mattered which M.E. was on the scene.
"No reason. You know I like Dr. Isles better than Mr. Onion Breath."
"Gotcha. So you want the scene?"
Jane heaved a sigh and trudged to her car. Maybe she could get Maura to go to dinner with her later. Maybe she could get Maura to stay after dinner. Maybe she wouldn't completely chicken out and would actually make it past second base.
"Guess so. Gimme the address."
The apartment was in Roxbury, an area in Boston replete with dealers, junkies, pros, and other undesirables of all shapes and sizes. Jane had a hell of a time finding parking, the coroner's van and other police vehicles taking up most of the narrow street as it was. She finally settled on a bus stop zone, sure to leave her dome light flashing on the roof to avoid another tow. Her boss would skin her if her department vehicle got towed one more time.
Jane had barely stepped foot on the slick sidewalk before she was accosted by the vagrant. He came wheeling out of the bus alcove and approached her with alarming speed.
"You can't park there! I'm savin' that spot!" he screamed, gesticulating wildly with one arm while the other clutched the waistband of his oversized, filthy sweatpants around his waist. He kicked the front passenger-side tire of her car to emphasize his point, then stuck a dirt-caked finger in Jane's face.
Jane took a step back on the sidewalk and unsnapped the catch on her gun holster. This just isn't my afternoon. When she saw that the man wasn't following her retreat, she rested her hand gently on the butt of her gun and pointed to the flashing red light atop her car. "I'm a cop, buddy. I can park wherever the hell I want."
"I don't care if you're the fuckin' Queen of Xanadu! That's my parking space! I'm savin' it for my yacht!"
Jane's jaw dropped. "Your yacht? Last I checked, the harbor was about three miles that way." She waved in an easterly direction towards Old Harbor, and watched the man's eyes grow wide with rage.
"My yacht. I was just movin' it over here!" He scrambled across the sidewalk and stuck a few bony fingers through the bars of a dilapidated train of shopping carts, which were evidently roped together in a great caterpillar train of smelly rags and trash bags. The man looked back at Jane and, with a haughty toss of his head – which sent his beaver tail of a single dreadlock flying over his left shoulder – repeated, "My yacht."
Ah, fuck. Jane resnapped her holster. Just another nutbag on the streets of Boston. "I'm gonna go now. When I come back, my car better be here and it better not have any spit or piss on it."
Making sure Jane knew he was ignoring her, the man shouldered the cart train towards Jane's car. He shoved it over the litter mountain that fell from the open trash bags within and groaned with frustration when one of the many wheels locked, slowing his procession to ram the vehicle.
Jane noted a maniacally scrawled cardboard sign hanging from the head of the cart-train. It read: "I bEEN aBdUCTED. AKs ME ABouT It."
An idea popped into her head. "Listen, asshole, I'm fucking parked there and there's nothing you can do about it. Now, if you don't get the fuck outta my face, I'm gonna send a message to the mothership and they're gonna come back for you and probe your sorry ass some more!"
The man's eyes went round with terror and he stood up, halting the cart train. "You… you wouldn't!"
"Oh, believe me, I would in a heartbeat, if I had reason to," Jane said, struggling to keep a straight face. She didn't mean to be cruel, but she had shit to do, dammit. "You don't wanna give me reason to call the mothership, do you?"
He shook his head fervently, sending bits of debris flying from his beaver tail dreadlock. "Lady, come on! Please! Let's be reasonable," the man pleaded, clutching his pants so high up his torso that Jane was sure he must be cutting off circulation to certain vital parts of his anatomy. "Let's say I park my yacht somewhere else just for today."
"That's a good idea," Jane said with a roll of her eyes. She really had to go.
"Yeah, and maybe I could watch your car for you! And maybe you'll put a nice word in to… to them, and maybe they won't take me no more…"
Jane nodded and backed away. When she was certain that the man's mutterings wouldn't turn into a direct attack, she turned and strode away, confident that her car would be safe for as long as she left it there.
The wife had stabbed her husband seven times in an attempt to recover the television remote from him. When uniforms arrived in response to a neighbor's report of screaming, the woman had unabashedly divulged that when her husband changed the channel from her favorite show to a Patriot's game, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife, and returned to the living room. The wife claimed that she warned her husband, and proceeded to stab him repeatedly until he gave up the remote. They had only been married for six months, and as both were in their golden years, they expected that this would be a final marriage for both. It certainly would be for one of them.
Uniforms on the premises reported that the husband was dead when they arrived. The wife sat next to his corpse happily watching The Closer. She did not get up to open the door for the cops until commercial break.
The worst part, in Jane's opinion, was the wife's favorite show. Yeah, maybe it is network television's top ranking crime drama, but it isn't exactly worth stabbing your new husband over, Jane thought ruefully as she hunched over the body.
"Jane, you're here," Maura said, quiet pleasure evident in her voice. "I thought today was your day off?"
Jane straightened and turned to look at her. She gave the M.E. a small smile and snapped a pair of gloves on her hands. "It was, until Stabby McStabberson came to town. Pretty messed up, huh?"
Maura pursed her lips and gave a curt nod, her eyes trailing over the body of the man sprawled over the couch. Blood stains blotted out the white of his tank top. "I can't say that I understand her motivation. He had to have been in excruciating pain by the third stab; there is no evidence that he actually attempted to withhold the remote past that point in time."
Jane allowed herself a moment to take in the woman before her. Maura made her happy. When it finally sank its claws in, when it finally made itself absolutely and irrefutably known, Jane was so completely worn down by the emotion that she had no choice but to succumb. Happiness wrestled her to the ground and crushed her face into the dirt. It enveloped her and left her with no choice but to breathe it in and accept it as her own; Jane belonged to the happiness. Jane belonged to Maura.
Maura flashed a brilliant, questioning smile and touched her arm lightly. Jane nearly swooned.
Flirting over dead bodies, indeed. Jane shook her head at her own foolish meanderings. Pull it together, Rizzoli. She's just a woman. A gorgeous, intelligent, perfect woman with the best tits you've ever seen in your entire life. The sweetest, kindest, most complex woman, with legs that you'd like to –
Dammit. Did it again.
"Jane? Are you alright? You haven't spoken in over three minutes," Maura asked quietly, increasing the pressure on Jane's arm.
"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," Jane said with another shake of her head. She leaned closer, breathed in the scent of Maura, and whispered furtively, "Wanna grab dinner after this? Then my place, maybe?"
She didn't want to scare her, or push her too hard, but Maura didn't seem to be making any attempt to further the progression of their physical relationship. Jane suspected that had she asked the other woman about her hesitation to become intimate, Maura would respond that she was "attempting to ascertain an ideal time frame for the initiation of such a complicated and intense sociological and physical leap." In Jane's mind, Maura was just giving her what was the girl equivalent of blue balls.
It wasn't that Maura was prudish – not at all. She was affectionate. She was a fucking awesome kisser. She frequently invited Jane into her bed, and stayed in Jane's on the rare nights that they ended up at the detective's apartment. But Jane had done her research after Maura's Big Reveal about her autism, and found that many people, women especially, with Maura's condition let themselves be taken advantage of in sexual situations. Jane couldn't stand the idea that she might push Maura into something that she wasn't prepared for. She had no illusions about Maura's history: the woman was no saint, but that didn't mean that Jane should take advantage of the situation and force the issue.
They had been three of the most agonizing weeks of Jane's entire life: she felt trapped in a holding pattern, a languid, tantalizing stretch of dog days that was driving her mad.
To top it all off, not only did Jane now know how much trouble Maura had identifying social cues of others, Jane was in a similar position. She had known Maura as a friend for nearly a year, and she now had to relearn Maura as something different. Something more. The thrill of it swelled inside of her, merging with the happiness there, but it left Jane uneasy. She felt something else creeping behind her, waiting to shatter the newfound emotions with shards of doubt and insecurity.
"I would love to, but I can't," Maura said with a dip of her head. Her eyes flicked to the corpse, then back up to Jane's face. Jane loved the play of golds and greys in Maura's eyes; she suspected that, given enough alcohol, she would sing ballads about them. For now, however, they just served as a painful reminder that Jane couldn't have Maura, again. "This autopsy is likely to take a number of hours, and I have reports that need to be finished before tomorrow. I'm going to be in the morgue for most of the night."
Jane looked away, disappointed. Work had frequently been in the way for the past couple of weeks, one or the other of them always being called to a scene or to interview a suspect. When she looked back, Maura had already recommenced her examination of the body.
Jane sighed, and began walking the scene.
A light knock on the door pierced the sodden, embittered air surrounding Jane, causing her to start and tumble the beer bottle castle assembled on her coffee table. She had been working on it most of the afternoon and evening, then deep into the night, and was pleased with the soaring turrets and impenetrable walls of brown glass. Jane even had plans to create a beer moat through which no tiny invader would dare attack.
"Shit," she muttered at the jumbled mass of bottles and caps, then shrugged. At least they were all empty.
Must be Marissa. TV is kinda loud. She hadn't bothered to flip from the History Channel, which Maura had inexplicably favorited and somehow locked on Jane's television. Some program about Medieval England – a really fucking long show – had been playing out its bloody history all night. Jane had turned up the volume during the battle recreations in an attempt to drown out her own self-pity, which had only been amplified by her other drowning attempt for the evening: beer consumption.
She reached the door and unlatched the deadbolt and chain. "Sorry, Marissa. I'll turn it down. I know you got finals right now – " she slurred before it was completely open, then, "Maura!"
"Yes, Jane," Maura responded, pushing gently past Jane and into the apartment. How does she do that? Just make herself part of my space like there's nothing to it?
Jane watched Maura survey the wreckage of her bottle architecture, watched the smirk of affection – it was affection, right? – play across her face, watched the swirls of honey-colored hair whisp about her face, and couldn't help but smile at the M.E. Jane was sure it was more of a stupid grin than a smile, but in that moment she didn't care.
Maura was there. Jane felt those piercing claws of happiness tightening around her heart again.
"Thought you had stuff to do?" she said, doing her best to not trip over her feet on her way across the carpet to Maura. She removed Maura's coat and placed it carefully on a hook near the door, then wrapped a hand around each of Maura's and pulled her closer.
"I did." Maura smiled up at her. Low heels for the Doctor, today. Jane liked the feeling. She had never been entirely comfortable with her height, but with Maura, she might be able to use it to her advantage.
"So how come you're here?"
"I wanted to see you before I went home," Maura responded sincerely, her eyes gleaming. Jane loved that enthusiasm, that everlasting excitement over the mundane. It was just so fucking Maura.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes," Maura responded with a definitive nod, then released Jane's hands and walked to the couch. She gestured to it. "May I? I've been on my feet all day."
Jane nodded and headed for the kitchen. She threw over her shoulder, "You want something to drink? I've got beer, and…" She opened the fridge and picked over a few mostly-empty cartons of take-out. "… and some questionable milk."
"No, thank you. Jane, will you come here, please?"
Jane turned a bit too quickly and had to steady herself on the edge of the countertop. Had she heard that correctly? Was there a trace of want in Maura's voice? She made her way over the worn linoleum, onto the carpeted area, and had almost made it to the couch when her big toe caught on the edge of a throw pillow that she had casually disposed of over the back of the cushions earlier in the evening.
In a moment of clarity while she flew over the back of the couch, Jane thought to herself, I must look as graceful as a one-legged flamingo in a hurricane. Then, like the air in her lungs, the back of the couch pushed all thought from her brain and her face landed smack-dab in Maura's unsuspecting lap.
Maura yelped and unsuccessfully tried to dislodge Jane with a shove of her unmoving shoulders, to which Jane responded with a weak "Hmmfph."
Maura smells like the sun. She smells like every happy memory I've ever accumulated in my sad, sorry life. God, if she smells this good, how will she taste? Jane decided that she wasn't going to move. Ever, if she could help it. She would continue to breathe in the sweetness of Maura until Death came to get her.
After an interminable length of time – this one absolutely not painful for Jane to endure – Maura said, "Shall I get you a pillow? You might be more comfortable on my chest if you plan on staying there all night." Jane heard annoyance punctuate every word.
She pushed herself up just slightly, then the wounded detective gave a tug on the coffee table and let her lanky body slither the rest of the way onto the couch, careful to position her head right-side-up in Maura's lap. When she succeeded, she smiled up at Maura, hoping to instill in her some of the happiness that Jane herself felt.
The M.E. peered down at her through an angelic halo of golden hair. Pushing aside her haze of alcohol and glee, Jane watched the annoyed look melt from Maura's face and the subsequent tug of a smile on her bowed lips. Finally, Maura wound her fingers through the waves of Jane's hair and tugged her up for a few brief, delightful kisses.
"You taste like noble hops. Lager," Maura said when Jane laid back in her lap.
"I'd say you were some kind of beer Yoda, but I think you have an unfair advantage." Jane pointed to the Pilsner Urquell bottles scattered all over her living room.
Maura let loose an enchanted chuckle. My bringer of light, Jane thought.
What. The. Fuck. Was. That? Poetry? Holy shit. Jane was falling, hard. She hadn't meant to. But Maura was just so fucking good.
She sat up swiftly and wrapped her long fingers behind Maura's delicate neck, used her thumbs to tilt the other woman's face to hers, and kissed her again.
Maura's mouth. Her mouth, with all of its hidden pleasures. Her mouth, which contained the multitudes of Jane's wants and desires. Her mouth, which infused in every luscious bite and soothing swipe of tongue the happiness that had ripped apart and demolished Jane. Jane wanted to build herself anew within the confines of Maura's mouth, upon her tongue, shaping herself around the sharpness of her teeth and the softness of her lips.
She kissed her more fervently, wound her fingers through Maura's hair and pulled just enough to elicit a throaty moan but not enough to truly shock or hurt. Jane advanced into the other woman's lap and leaned into her, reveled in the fingers that ghosted up her back beneath her shirt. She kissed Maura harder.
And then, Maura stopped. She placed a hand on Jane's breastbone, sat back and just stopped. Jane pushed against the hand and leaned back in to kiss her again, but Maura just shook her head and trained her eyes on Jane's face.
"I've got to go."
"Go? Now?" Jane was perplexed. No, Jane was downright fucking confused. "Why do you have to go?"
"I have to be back in the morgue in a few hours, and I need to feed Bass and change." No indication of regret, though she was quieter than usual, Jane noted blearily.
Jane slumped back against the couch and allowed Maura to get up. She watched the other woman smooth her skirt and wished for a moment that she'd had more of an opportunity to truly wrinkle the damned thing. Jane ran her hands over her face in exasperation.
"Maura, am I… am I pushing you too hard?
"You're not pushing me at all," Maura replied. She tucked a lock of hair behind Jane's ear, sending shivers down the detective's neck. "You could, if you wanted to. You can. But for now, I really do have to go home."
Maura couldn't lie, not without extreme difficulty. Jane, sobered somewhat by Maura's seriousness, studied her soft features and the keen honesty plainly painted there.
"You make me happy, you know?" Jane blurted, immediately embarrassed by the way it sounded out loud. God, she was pitiful. A big, Jane-shaped ball of mush. She felt a blush sweeping over her face and turned to hide it.
"You make me happy, too, Jane," Maura said. Then, "I'll see you tomorrow. Dinner if we can manage it?" She leaned down to place one more gentle kiss on Jane's lips. Her fingers worried at Jane's hair, then moved down to her face.
"That would be good." Jane leaned into the fingers tracing her cheek. "Promise I won't get bombed before I see you this time."
"That would be good," Maura echoed with a grin. "Get some sleep, Jane."
Jane watched the M.E. collect her jacket and purse. She opened the apartment door and turned back to flash another radiant smile at the detective, then left. Her heels clicked a steady march all the way down the hall. The sharp clatter pulsed in Jane's chest, crowding her heart against her happiness painfully.
I can push. I'm going to push, Jane thought, and settled back into the couch.