Hello! My first R&I fic! Originally posted on Tumblr, but I decided I liked it and wanted it on here.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles! Please see Janet Tamaro and TNT!
Scents and Sensibility
A hyper-aware pregnant Jane notices something about her best friend.
The doctor walks across the room to retrieve something, sending a gust of air her way and she chokes, drowns in it momentarily before the air around her clears.
Not because. Not because it's unpleasant.
Maura senses her unease and frowns. "Jane? Are you okay? Are the fumes nauseating you again?"
A stirring in her belly that the doctor told her she'd at first attribute to gas bubbles catches her attention and she almost smiles before the scent permeates her nostrils again.
She gasps. "Ah. Yeah. I got to—got to…" She bursts out of the morgue and into the hallway without another word.
It's all around her again when the little blonde crowds at her back, a comforting hand resting between her shoulder blades. Jane groans when the familiar scent invokes memories of last night's dream.
Something dangerous pools in the pit of her stomach and no. She can't.
"Um. I just remembered that I have to do something," she manages on a single breath and shakes off her best friend.
A pair of concerned eyes burn into her back as she speeds away.
It's not until after lunch that this happens again.
"…but check out the ex-boyfriend's alibi for me, will you?"
Jane spins to return to her desk, leafing through the file in front of her. She doesn't notice the medical examiner until last minute, starts almost comically when she finds Maura just inches from her.
"Jane," she says, visibly agitated. "Why did you run off today? Is something bothering you?"
It suddenly hits her like a brick wall, an invisible shroud around her. Her head spins and her belly clenches uncontrollably.
"Ah. No," she tries, attempts to edge her way around the shorter woman.
Maura blocks her, sidestepping easily and her hip collides with Jane's thigh and shit, Maura, that's not…
She hisses lowly at the contact, quietly enough to avoid catching the attention of those around them. But Maura seems to hear it, eyes widening and body tensing as she stares at her.
"Jane, what—?" she starts, but the detective drops her gaze. Feeling her face grow hot, she lets her hair curtain her cheeks as she turns away.
She struggles to keep her voice steady. "Uh, I'm kinda busy. Catch you later?"
"Jane!"
But she's already retreating.
"Hey," Korsak murmurs. "You should go home."
She's frazzled from her earlier encounter, jumps at his voice, then calms when she realizes who it is. "No, I'm good. Just running down a few leads."
He places his large, callused hand over hers that is tracing a path with the computer mouse, effectively stilling it.
"It's not just you you have to think about," he murmurs, and his eyes flit down to her now-distended belly. A soft jersey hoodie is stretched across it, a beloved garment Maura bought and that she has cherished in her maternity.
"Rest," Korsak murmurs. "For you and your little one."
She blinks back tears at the tenderness of her loved ones, nodding and standing from her swivel chair.
His voice is soft when he speaks again, watching her gather her things. "Go home to Maura."
Her eyes shoot up to his, and she finds mischief swimming there.
She bites her lip, brushes an unruly lock of hair out of her face.
"Just go," he insists, "and everything else will fall into place."
She doesn't even have to knock.
She approaches the stoop, teeth grinding nervously, when the door swings open to reveal a weary Maura clad in a silk robe.
The blonde smiles weakly at Jane, whose answering grin drops when she sees the pain hidden there. She hurt Maura today.
Wordlessly, Maura steps aside and Jane ducks in from the darkness of night, feeling silly for nodding to Bass on her way.
"Do you want anything to—?"
Jane shakes her head vigorously, and Maura's face seems to fall even more at yet another rejection. She turns away.
The brunette catches her hand. "Let's just go to bed."
Maura's eyes meet hers and she's awed by the delight she sees there.
She has to…has to let Maura take care of her. If it makes her this happy.
She had expected the onslaught of fragrance when she entered Maura's house, but had been surprised when she hadn't met the rich scent she associated with her best friend.
She had been relieved, yet disappointed. It's torturous and tantalizing, and at the same time, so comforting to her heightened pregnancy senses.
So when she perches on the edge of Maura's mattress to tug off her boots, she is not prepared for the bombardment that comes when the shorter woman removes her robe.
She stills, dropping her socked feet to the floor, and gapes at Maura bustling around in her room. The doctor is rummaging through dresser drawers, combing through for items that Jane normally sleeps in.
She's wearing a sleep romper, a grey striped one that Jane thinks isn't even meant to be sensual in the slightest, but the blonde makes it so. Her eyes, of their own volition travel down the line of Maura's back, down over the curve of her ass.
She draws in a stuttering breath, taking in the aroma, and this time, she allows herself to do it fully. Absorb the essence of Maura until it courses through her veins, until all she is is Maura, Maura, Maura.
The object of her adoration turns back to her, and she doesn't take her eyes off of her. Wipe off her adoring look. Suddenly, it's plain to see, and Maura at least partially senses the change, falters as she walks towards Jane.
"I have sweats and a Red Sox t-shirt," she says triumphantly, holding the mentioned items out to Jane.
Almost immediately, Jane feels her stomach turn, and her eyes fill with tears at the proof of an earlier theory.
Jane glances at the articles, but her eyes are irrevocably drawn back up to the angelic face hovering above her.
Gingerly, she takes them, only to set them aside on the bed next to her.
She doesn't have time to see the bewilderment on Maura's face before she snakes her arms around the woman's waist to pull her abdomen flush against her cheek.
There's a moment of utter silence, except for the sound of their harsh breathing and the quickening of Maura's strong heartbeat in Jane's ear.
She squeezes her eyes shut, inhales deeply again, then lets it out shakily against the flat plane of her friend's stomach.
Lavender, chamomile, lilac invade her senses and she revels in it, shudders with longing and arousal when it brings back her recurring dream.
A white crib. Whimsical, animal-print wallpaper. Maura with, in the crook of her elbow, a dark-haired infant. Watching her kiss the child on the head, laying it down in the safety of its blanket. Turning out the light. Crowding at her back as she laughs. Falling into bed with her.
At this, Jane instinctively clamps her thighs together, forgetting about the body nestled between her knees.
Maura doesn't protest, goes willingly further into the vee of Jane's legs and lets herself be clutched.
She's not resisting, Jane marvels.
She pushes the boundaries, nuzzling her face deeper into Maura's body.
In response, the other woman lets out a soft, contented sigh, and one once-motionless hand comes up to tangle in Jane's hair, the other cradling a shoulder.
Another quivering breath, and Jane is confronted by the most vivid part of her dream.
Maura and her baby share the same unique smell.
She shudders again, embracing Maura tighter.
She wants this.
She wants to swaddle her baby up in Maura's scent.
She wants to stay with Maura forever.
She wants Maura to love her in a way she never can.
She wants Maura to share in her child's life.
A groan breaks her from her reverie, and she's suddenly despairing at the sheer impossibility of her dream.
She doesn't have to for long, though, because Maura cups her chin gently and tilts her head up so that she can crush their lips together.
Jane is stunned into stillness at first, but quickly processes what is happening and surges upward, responding enthusiastically.
Her body sings, moving without encouragement. She clutches at Maura desperately, afraid that this is just another hopeless dream.
But the smack of their lips, tender but loud in the soft glow of the bedroom is all too real, so she abandons fear and focuses solely on her.
It's always been her.
And now, her baby.
"The baby loves you," she gasps out, somewhere between kisses, without even realizing what she's saying.
Maura pauses, and Jane groans, nipping at her lips, anxious that she's ruined it, ruined it all by reminding her too soon of the most important aspect of whatever's developed between them.
"What do you mean?" she murmurs.
Jane swallows hard. "He—he moves around when you talk. He's doing it now."
The expression on the woman's face is unreadable, and Jane bites her lip, pushing back tears that threaten to fall.
Then Maura's face splits into a wide, watery grin, eyes glistening with her own unshed tears. "Really?"
"Yeah," Jane answers softly, and goes in to press her lips to the doctor's again. And just like that, the entire dynamic of their kissing has changed from desperate, frantic, to slow. Steady. Sure.
Jane knows they have all the time in the world.
The sweats and the Red Sox t-shirt, along with a grey romper, are discarded somewhere on the bedroom floor, to be found at a later time.