A/N: This just popped into my head and I wrote. Jane's POV. Thank you for taking the time to read this! I would love to hear your thoughts x

I close my eyes, but the pounding of my heart is even louder. It seems to vibrate through my whole body. I can't remember the last time I was this scared. My feet won't cooperate or move at all, my hands are clumsy. I rub them together, feeling the scars on my palms. I've had my eyes closed or have been staring down at my feet the whole time, but then someone gives me a nudge and I automatically look up and catch sight of her.

Maura.

I suddenly remember the first time I knew I was in love with her. It flashes through my mind in bits and pieces.

I was lying on a cold metal table, a plaything in Hoyt's game yet again. And he was relishing in the pleasure of the idea of finally killing me. But first he had to torture me. I was so terrified, my own boogeyman had come to life–I thought nothing could be worse until he pulled Maura into the middle of it.

And then the fear weighing on my chest was not for me, but for my best friend. I looked at those hazel eyes, saw the terror and the love and the pain in them. I watched her fall backwards at the shock of the taser, helpless, the light disappearing from her eyes. And it was then that I knew: I absolutely needed her in my life. It would be a wasteland without her–no sunlight, only darkness and pain and cold.

I found strength deep inside of me that I didn't know I had. Because no one was going to fucking hurt her. I couldn't stand her in pain. It was over for Hoyt as soon as he pulled Maura into the situation, and I think he knew it. He knew it when I straddled him on the ground, ready to plunge a scalpel into his dark, empty heart. It was in my eyes.

That night, my hands were killing me, as if the scars were sensitive from a close encounter with their maker. I tried to hide the pain. I just wanted to hold Maura in my arms, and attempt to be distracted by a movie she had found on TV.

But she just knew. She gently took my hands into her own. I pulled them back instinctively, but she waited patiently, her hands open and still. I finally placed my hands on top of her palms. She worked some sort of magic–massaging them, melting the pain away until it was only a dull throb.

"How do you do that, Maur?" I said, sighing back into the couch.

She smiled, still focusing on my hands. Then she looked up at me and her smile vanished. She gently ran her fingers across the bandaged cut on my forehead, traced the line the scalpel had made on my neck. I closed my eye, feeling my skin tingle at her touch, my heart racing a little faster. I looked at the cut on her neck, and slowly reached out to touch it. I wish I could erase it with my finger, I wish I could take her pain away. She was suddenly in my arms and relief washed over me.

"I was really scared that I was going to lose you today," I said, hating how my voice cracked.

"Me too," she whispered against my neck.

All of a sudden the weight in my chest was back again, tears filled my eyes. It was my fault she had been in danger.

"I'm sorry," I barely choked out. She held me closer and sighed.

"Please don't, Jane. Don't beat yourself up. You saved my life."

That night, I could only fall asleep if she was wrapped tightly in my arms. Safe. When I was sure she was sleeping soundly, her breath coming even and steady, I whispered the words I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to say directly to her: I love you.

Now, I focus on her again. I don't deserve you, is all I can think.

But she is everything I want.

So many years of her not knowing how I really feel. Yes, she is my best friend, but I want to kiss her, I want to love her, I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

Maura is walking towards me, moving so gracefully. My knees are weak. She has never looked so beautiful.

Before this moment, she had looked the most beautiful I'd ever seen her on a cold December day. It was early morning, and the snow was coming down heavy. There was a glow coming in through the window that shone right on her. Maura was sleeping on her stomach when I walked into my bedroom with a mug of coffee. I studied the delicacy of her shoulder blades, the birthmark right between them, the freckles that were sprinkled across her skin. Her honey blonde curls fell gently across the pillow, and I placed a soft kiss on her head. I had never felt such tenderness for another person before in my life.

All I want now is to run my hand through those curls of hers. Maura is closer to me now, almost to where I am standing. I am already reaching my hand out, eager to hold her hand in mine.

A fear jolts me suddenly, one I am very familiar with: one of these days, Maura may come to decide that I am not a person worth caring about or loving. What will I do if she's not around anymore, if I can't hold her hand?

But then Maura catches my eye and smiles at me and all of those horrible thoughts and anxieties fade away. I feel my cheeks flush. She takes my outstretched hand, running her thumb gently over my scar, then turns to face me. Maura knows that I've been internally freaking out, she knows me too well. Her eyes tell me, It's okay, you're okay.

The way Maura says "I do," the way she carefully pushes the ring over my finger, the way she kisses me after we are told that we are finally married, that I am her wife and she is mine–well, that tells me she loves me.

Something I think I've known somewhere deep inside of me all along.