Author's Note: People do the craziest things while under the influence of alcohol… Some of them even write fanfics for no good reason.
This story has an established relationship and all that jazz, but it works as a stand-alone fic.
In case anyone cares, the title refers to the blues song of the same name originally recorded by Amos Milburn in 1950.
Cheers to Tess Gerritsen for enduring all the things that various people have done to her original characters!
...
November sucks.
November is gray and rainy and damp. November is nothing but an inconvenience, a necessary evil between October's glorious symphony of fall foliage colors and December's sensory pleasures from the taste of hot chocolate to the sound of footsteps in the snow. Of all the months of the year, November would certainly be the first to get voted off the island.
Impatiently tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Jane glares at the red traffic light that forces her to spend another two minutes in the dark and deserted streets of Boston. She curses through her teeth as the rain keeps pattering against the windshield of her sedan.
11:47 p.m.
Three hours later than originally planned. On a Friday! Because a recent routine investigation of two other detectives turned into a bloody stand-off with a gang of strung-out thugs, resulting in Jane and Korsak having to fill in for their now incapacitated colleagues.
With a stifled yawn, Jane reaches for a plastic cup of lukewarm coffee. Its bitterness matches the dreariness of the night.
November really doesn't have much going for it, she sighs. Except for Thanksgiving. Maybe.
She weighs the pros and cons of too much turkey and nagging questions of nosy relatives as the red traffic light finally surrenders and allows her car to continue its lone journey back to Beacon Hill. At least, this year's Thanksgiving is promising to be a deviation from the usual routine. Not only will it be the first that she and Maura are going to celebrate together as more than just friends, but Maura's father himself has announced a spontaneous visit for the occasion. And even though the news hasn't exactly helped Jane sleep any better, the odds that her introduction to the elusive Dr. Isles will cause less discomfort than the last visit of Frank Rizzoli Sr. are clearly in her favor.
As her sedan finally turns into Pinckney Street, a smile finds its way onto Jane's exhausted face. After a strenuous week and too many extra hours, the prospect of diving into fluffed-up pillows and falling asleep to the sight and scent of Maura at her side instantly vanquishes her November mood.
Shielding her head from the rain with a creased newspaper, she slips out of her car, hurries to the front door, and sneaks into the warmth of her de facto home.
Her boots, coat, gun, and badge remain in the hallway as she drags her tired feet into the kitchen, searching for a quick snack in the fridge to appease her stomach's incessant growl. Fortunately, the owner of the house anticipated her needs — and Jane moans in delight at the sight of an eye-watering sandwich, with leaves of salad subtly hidden between layers of bacon and cheese.
FOR YOU, DETECTIVE, it says next to a smiley face on a handwritten note.
Without restraint she sinks her teeth into crispy bread and leans against the closed fridge door, almost dozing off.
But then the familiar sound of four paws bouncing over the floor emerges, and Jo Friday darts into the kitchen.
"Hey, there… Shouldn't you be upstairs drooling all over my pillow?"
Gulping down another bite of her sandwich, Jane eyes the little ball of fur expectantly panting at her feet.
"You tryin' to tell me something?"
Contrary to expectations, however, the terrier isn't interested in Jane's food but only in her attention. With a loud bark, Jo Friday pads towards the hallway, repeatedly turning her head until the detective begrudgingly moves. And when Jane pauses at the end of the counter and frowns at a corkscrew and an empty bottle of Beaujolais, another bark quickly reminds her who is in charge.
"Yeah, yeah…," she mutters into the last remains of her sandwich and lets her dog lead her to the back of the house, where a murmuring voice coming from Bass' room indicates the cause of Jo Friday's mission.
Despite being used to the occasional quirky sight in this house, Jane raises her eyebrows at the peculiar scene in the tortoise's humid and dimly lit realm. In the center of the room, with its plants and pebbles and artificial hiding spots, Maura is kneeling next to her pet, casually dressed and surrounded by another bottle of Beaujolais, a glass half-filled with the same red wine, a bottle of water, two almost empty Chinese takeout boxes, and a bottle of whiskey that has already lost more than half of its contents. Holding a whiskey glass in one hand, she tries with her other to feed a green salad leaf to her tortoise, whose face is even more wrinkled than usual. Apparently, Bass isn't amused about the late-night disturbance of his sleeping pattern.
As Jo Friday bounces back into the room, Maura looks up. Her cheeks are flushed with wine, and her eyes have trouble finding their focus.
"Look who's here! Our favorite detective…," she greets her visitor with slurred speech and a warm smile.
"Apparently you forgot to invite your favorite detective to your fancy party." Still puzzled, Jane crouches down next to Maura. "What's going on?"
"Jus' having some quality time with my turtle…" The blonde pats his head and takes another sip of whiskey.
"Uh, I think he's a tortoise," Jane grins at the sight of her drunken partner.
Teasingly, Maura squints at the detective. "And how would you know?"
"Someone keeps reminding me…"
"See!" Beaming with pride, Maura turns to Bass. "I told you she listens to me."
A few glances are exchanged between the desperate tortoise and the tired detective, then Jane focuses back on Maura, unable to ignore the sadness lingering behind her eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Maura sips from her glass to avoid the other woman's scrutinizing look.
"Maura…?"
"What? Can't I enjoy some excellent Beaujolais on a Friday night?"
Jane points at the glass. "Uh, I'm not a wine expert like you, but I'm pretty sure that's no Beaujolais…"
"Huh? Oh…" Confused, Maura squints at the drink in her hand. At the realization of her mistake, she trades the whiskey for the glass of red wine. "Well, now it is."
As Maura takes another swig, Jane encouragingly nudges her arm. "Come on, talk to me."
And for a few moments, the blonde seems to be drawn between searching for comfort in her wine or in Jane's eyes. But then she scoots closer and forces a smile. "Did you know that according to an Italian study, a glass or two of red wine improves a woman's sexual function?"
"Based on past performance, you're quite functional already." Mentally thanking all those drunken felons who made her nose immune to the obnoxious smell of insobriety, Jane takes the glass of wine from Maura. Too soon.
"Wait! I'm not done!" Trying to get back her glass, Maura abruptly leans forward — but without any sense of balance. When she grasps at Jane's shoulder for support, they both topple backwards.
Jane grunts as the back of her head hits the floor and Maura's weight pins her down. At least, the glass of wine is still standing.
And at least, the little mishap brings a real smile to Maura's face as she finds herself in Jane's arms. "Well played, Detective."
"I didn't—"
The detective's protest is cut short when the blonde silences her with a desirous kiss. Bold and void of any hesitation. And after a week of too much work and not enough play, Jane's resistance is melting away under the warmth of Maura's lips. Habitually, their hands find each other, and their bodies merge in a much longed-for embrace.
More and more kisses gently land on Jane's lips, and on her neck and on the skin beneath the edge of her long-sleeve pullover, and they elicit quiet moans of delight — until Jane catches a glimpse of Jo Friday sitting right next to her head and watching in disapproval. She whispers apologetically, "Don't judge me! That's not helping!"
Unaware of their canine observer, Maura continues her sensual exploration of the brunette's skin.
"We really… shouldn't… be doing this…," Jane objects feebly as Maura tickles her earlobe with the tip of her tongue.
"Then why don't you stop me?"
"You know I can't…"
But then their play does come to a sudden end when Maura's hand knocks over the bottle of whiskey standing near Jane's shoulder.
"Crap!" Jane picks up the bottle as its golden liquid spreads over the floor and reaches the fabric of her pullover. And to make matters worse, Jo Friday instantly sniffs at the puddle of whiskey. "No, Jo Friday! Off!"
But as usual, the little puppy ignores her command.
"I said 'off!'" Jane tries again. In vain. Frustrated, she lets her head sink down and sighs.
Sensing the problem, Maura clumsily props herself up on Jane's chest, squints at Jo Friday, and points towards the door. "Out, Jo Friday!"
And with a disgruntled growl, the terrier finally trots away.
"We really need to stop, Maura," Jane murmurs as the blonde's lips reunite with her own. "You're drunk."
"I'm not drunk."
"Oh, yeah? Then how would you call your current state?"
"Jus' a little motorically challenged…" Maura smiles into another kiss.
But as Jane still feels the whiskey seeping into her clothes and peeks at the bottle, she recognizes its label. "Wait, isn't this the overpriced booze you bought for your father?"
"Mmm… maybe…" Maura doesn't show much interest in neither the bottle nor the detective's question. "He's not coming anyway."
"What? … Okay, seriously, stop it!" With one swift move, Jane rolls Maura onto her back and slides on top of her, pinning her hands down like that of a suspect.
And for a moment, Maura is taken by surprise. But then her lips curl into a smile. "Am I in trouble, Detective?"
"Depends…" Jane tries to focus, though the warmth of the blonde's body right under her own makes it rather difficult. "See that bottle over there?"
Reluctantly, Maura turns her head and squints at the now almost empty bottle of whiskey.
"Is that the bottle you bought for your father?"
A pause as Maura's smile fades away. "Yes…"
"And did you open it because your father canceled again?"
Lost in another moment of silence, Maura's eyes are searching for answers in the distance. "I should've seen it coming… He always does that…"
Her face filling with concern, Jane loosens her grip. "I'm sure he has a good reason…"
"Another conference… I suppose that's a good reason…" Without her previous exuberance, Maura turns back to Jane. "I wanted him to meet you…"
"I'm not in a hurry to meet him." In fact, every fiber of Jane's body rejoices at the news of Dr. Isles' cancellation. "And if he doesn't wanna come, it means I get to keep you all to myself."
Absentmindedly, Maura runs her fingertips over the detective's cheek. "I just want him to like you…"
"Meh, I don't care if he likes me." Roles reversed, Jane begins to tease the blonde's skin with her lips, trying to lighten her mood. "As long as you like me, I'm fine." But as her lips land on Maura's and there is no reaction, Jane pauses with a feigned frown. "You do like me, don't you?"
And finally, Maura's mind finds its way back into the present moment. She smiles at the woman hovering above her. "Yes…"
"Good, because I like you, too. And that's all that matters." As Jane confirms her promise with another comforting kiss, Maura hums contentedly and closes her eyes. "No, no, don't fall asleep now! We still have to get you upstairs."
Tiredly, Maura blinks. "Can't we just stay here?"
After brief consideration, the brunette shakes her head. "Nope, I'm not gonna let you sleep on the floor in a puddle of booze like some bum." She wraps Maura's arms around her own neck and carefully raises her up. "Come on, time for bed."
And somehow, Jane manages to get them both onto their feet — except that Maura's feet are still motorically challenged. She stumbles backwards, dragging Jane with her and almost tripping over her own feet, and kicks over the glass of red wine in the process.
"No, no, no!" Barely, Jane prevents their fall and brings them back into a balanced position, letting Maura lean against her for support.
"Room… spinning…," she murmurs and holds on to Jane's chest, closing her eyes.
"Ah, shit, no!" Jane grouses as the ruby liquid is staining the floor and Bass crawls towards it.
"No, don't move," Maura protests against the attempt to maneuver them both to the door.
"I have to… Your turtle is on a wine-tasting mission — oww!" Confused, Jane winces at a pinching pain in her arm. "What was that for?!"
"He's a tortoise!"
"Yeeees," Jane grumpily acknowledges Maura's stern reminder. "But he will be a drunken tortoise if I don't stop him."
As soon as she is sure that Maura holds on to the doorframe and won't fall over, Jane hurries to Bass, grabs the plastron of his shell with both hands, and carries their heavy housemate to his sleeping pod at the other end of the room. At a sluggish pace, Bass disappears into an artificial cave without looking back.
"Well, good night to you, too, Sir," Jane comments dryly on the reptile's manners. Wondering when her own tired bones will finally find some rest, she struggles to her feet — and stifles a shout of rage as she spots Jo Friday sneaking back into the room and sniffing at the mélange of alcohol on the floor. "Damn, it's like a frickin' zoo in here!"
Once again, she is forced to slip into her role of late-night pet taxi cabbie. She casts a worried glance at Maura, who has huddled up against the doorframe and is seemingly dozing off, then cradles Jo Friday in her arms, and rushes to the great room, where she delivers her passenger to her basket near the couch.
"You had one job," Jane glares at her terrier. "How could you let her get hammered like that?!"
But when she gets nothing but an innocent look from big puppy dog eyes in return, she ruffles Jo Friday's fur and sighs in amusement on her way back to Bass' room.
Her brief moment of ease is over at the sight of the whiskey glass and bottle that have somehow found their way back into Maura's hands.
"Come on, Maura, you've had enough."
"It's too expensive to pour it away…" Maura swats away Jane's hand and takes another draft.
"I won't throw it away," Jane offers and sits down next to her on the floor. "We're gonna put it back in the closet, okay?"
"No… You can't just hide it somewhere and then ignore it…" Depressed, Maura seeks solace in her glass.
Jane scoots closer and pulls the blonde into her arm, hoping to make her feel less like a forgotten bottle in the back of the closet. As another round of whiskey is poured into the glass, she ponders her strategy. "How about we finish it together?"
But Maura shakes her head. "You don't even like this."
"Neither do you." Determined to get a hold of the bottle still clutched in Maura's hand, Jane nudges her arm. "Sharing is caring…?"
Reluctantly, Maura surrenders the half-filled glass and tiredly rests her head on the detective's shoulder.
Jane chug-a-lugs the drink and grimaces as the burning taste of whiskey fills her mouth. "Eww, why the hell do people drink this?"
"Because people are stupid…," Maura murmurs, her face buried in the soft fabric of Jane's pullover.
Chuckling at her alcohol-induced bluntness, Jane steals the bottle from Maura's hand and refills the glass, thankful that the rest of the whiskey is already spilled all over the floor. Before Maura gets a chance to reach for the glass, Jane gulps down the strong liquor and rolls away the empty bottle.
After a few moments of silence, she gently jogs Maura's elbow. "So, how about we try going upstairs again?"
"Mmmh…" Maura doesn't move. "In a minute…"
Yearning for sleep herself, Jane checks her watch. It's way past midnight. She waits for a few symbolic seconds. "Okay, minute is over!"
"No, it's not," Maura protests as Jane gets up.
"You wouldn't know, sweetie. You're drunk." Once more, Jane pulls the blonde to her feet, making sure this time to keep their balance.
"I'm not drunk," Maura insists, though her slurred speech and staggering stance prove the opposite.
But somehow, they manage to make their way through the dimly lit hallway without bumping into walls or furniture. At the foot of the stairway, Jane turns on the light and doubtfully assesses their challenge ahead. "Well, here comes the fun part… One step at a time, alright?"
And step by step, they slowly ascend the stairs.
Until Maura's brain is bored. "Did you know that optimal stairs have a tread width of 7.2 inches and a riser height of 11 or 12 inches?"
"Fascinating…," Jane grunts and wheezes as she drags Maura upstairs.
"No, wait," Maura frowns. "I… I think it was the other way round…"
Out of breath, Jane glances at the blonde. "And what are optimal stair dimensions for someone who's drunk as a skunk?"
"I'm not dr—" Maura's objection is cut short when she misses a tread and they both almost tumble downstairs.
"Geez, Maura!" Jane hisses and clings to the handrail. "No! Don't sit down now!"
But it's already too late.
"Jus' a moment…" Maura settles herself on a tread and leans against the wall.
Seeing all her hopes for a rendezvous with her pillow fade away, Jane sinks down on the next lower tread to prevent Maura from toppling downstairs. Just in case.
As the brunette exhales in frustration, Maura squints and clumsily reaches out for her arm. "You look tired… You should go to bed."
"What do you think I'm trying to do?!"
Maura shrinks back at the unintentional harshness of Jane's words. "Are you mad at me?"
Regretting her outburst, Jane shakes her head and links their fingers together. "No… I'm sorry…" She counts the stairs still left to climb. "It's only a few more steps… You think you can do that?"
"I feel dizzy…"
Impatiently, Jane checks her watch again, yearns for their destination upstairs. So close, and yet so far. But then her desire for sleep trumps everything else. Resolutely, she gets up. "Alright, the piggy-back train will leave in a minute. You ready to board?"
"Huh?" Drowsily, Maura observes Jane squatting down in front of her with her back turned to the blonde.
"Come on, we don't have all night!" Without waiting for a response, Jane pulls Maura's arms around her neck from behind. "Try not to strangle me. That would make things between us a little complicated…"
Too tired to resist, Maura snuggles up against Jane's back. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"At least as good an idea as your decision to get drunk tonight," Jane huffs and pulls Maura closer.
"I'm not—"
"You're not drunk, yeah, yeah… I know…" Clutching the handrail for support with one hand, Jane grabs hold of Maura's leg with the other. "Just FYI: If you make us fall down these stairs and break our necks, there will be no more cuddling this week! … Ready?"
Maura hums affirmatively and locks her arms around the brunette's neck — the groundwork for colorful strangulation marks.
Carefully but with determination, Jane pulls herself up, teeters back and forth as she balances Maura's weight on her back, then slowly turns around and takes one step after another towards the finish line.
And miraculously, the second floor comes closer and closer.
"This… was a… stupid… idea!" Jane gasps and drags them up another stair. "Did you… really… have to… eat all that… Chinese food?"
A quiet sigh is all she gets for an answer. Instinctively, Maura holds on to her carrier while fighting her dizziness.
After a brief eternity, they finally reach the end of the stairway.
"Almost there, Rizzoli!" Jane wheezes to herself and glances towards the bedroom door just a few feet away. "You can do it!"
More stumbling than walking, she carries Maura into the bedroom. And with her last ounce of strength, she reaches the king-size bed and its welcoming sheets. She lets the blonde slide onto the mattress, then flops down next to her.
"Aaaand homerun!" Jane sighs in exhaustion. Letting the soothing scent of jasmine tickle her sleepy senses, she catches her breath and stares at the ceiling, with Maura lying motionlessly next to her. But then…
"I think I'm going to be sick…"
"What?!" Jane jolts up. "You're kidding, right? Please, be kidding!"
But the paleness on Maura's face leaves no doubt that she is not kidding at all.
"No, no, no!" Panicking, Jane stumbles back onto her feet and helps Maura up. "Bathroom! Come on!"
Another round of dragging Maura through the house ensues. To the adjacent bathroom this time. Fast.
And they almost make it to the toilet.
Almost.
Just as they enter the bathroom, with the toilet already in sight, Maura can't hold back any longer and blows chunks into the corner next to the door.
"So close…," Jane sighs and lets her eyes wander from the shaking blonde in her arm to the toilet. The corners of her mouth twitch in disgust as she notices traces of Maura's misery on her own socks.
As soon as the first wave has ebbed away, Jane helps Maura to the toilet — just in case — and sympathetically watches her lean against the seat, still shaken and pale. She grabs a cloth from a hook, wets it, and carefully dabs Maura's face — until another load of Chinese food decides to make a reappearance.
Two more battles later, Maura's stomach finally agrees to a truce, and the blonde slumps against the bathtub in her back, with beads of sweat on her forehead and her eyes red from the strain. As Jane resumes dabbing her face, Maura catches a glimpse of her first delivery next to the door. And oddly enough, a faint smile fills her face.
"What's so funny now?" Jane wonders.
"Stomach contents…," Maura murmurs absentmindedly. "That's my favorite part…"
"Yeah… I know." After years of shared time in the morgue, Jane could recall the medical examiner's autopsy routine in her sleep. "But you're not gonna play with those tonight…"
"What's your favorite part?" Maura's voice is as fragile as her appearance.
"Watching you…," Jane admits quietly and hands her a small cup with mouthwash. "Don't swallow it."
Almost as if in a daze, Maura lets Jane finish cleaning her face and raise her up. Carefully guiding them past the contaminated corner next to the door, Jane leads her back to the bed, helps her out of her pants and V-neck sweater, and wraps her into the blanket.
"Try to get some sleep, okay?" Jane whispers and breathes a kiss on the blonde's cheek.
But as soon as she heads back for the bathroom, Maura stirs under the duvet. "Where are you going?"
"Well…, someone has to clean up your crime scene…" Jane hesitates, drawn between bed and bathroom. But given the sadness still resonating in Maura's voice, she slouches her shoulders, pulls off her tainted socks, and crawls onto her side of the bed. Trying to ignore the ungodly hour on the alarm clock's display, she lets the blonde snuggle into her arms and gently kisses her goodnight.
"Jane…?" Maura pipes up again without opening her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I think I'm drunk…"
"Really?" Jane chuckles. "Gee, I haven't noticed all night."
Moments later, Maura's breathing deepens and her sorrows fade away in the warmth of their embrace.
Impatiently keeping an eye on the alarm clock on the nightstand, Jane waits and waits and watches the minutes tick away, still needing to remove all the traces of their long night.
After more than an hour, when she is sure that Maura is sound asleep, she quietly sneaks out of the bed to tackle her unexpected tasks. She picks up Maura's clothes and her own socks from the floor, turns off the bedside lamp, and tiptoes into the hallway and then downstairs.
With a hook shot, the dirty clothes land in the washing machine in the laundry room. And while the machine is rumbling and doing its job, Jane gathers whatever cleaners she can find, then rushes back upstairs.
Half an hour later, the bathroom floor and the toilet are squeaky-clean, and the smell of fresh citrus hangs in the air.
After assuring herself that Maura is still away in the land of dreams, Jane once again returns to the ground floor, where she continues her cleaning agenda with Bass' room, working as quietly as possible in order not to incur the wrath of a sleep-deprived tortoise.
Just as all empty bottles and food takeout boxes have made it into the trash, and the floor in the reptile's domicile is free of all alcoholic remains, the washing machine beeps and signals the end of its cycle. Almost sleepwalking at this point, Jane retrieves the still damp clothes, drags herself upstairs again, and carefully places them over a chair next to the bed.
And then, finally, all that is left to do is just one last round through the house. One more peek into every room to make sure that everything is alright.
Yawning drowsily, Jane turns off the main light in the kitchen and trudges towards the hallway — but then pauses as she spots the second open bottle of Beaujolais on the counter. A few sips of red wine are left. And she decides that they are definitely well deserved.
With her glass of wine in one hand, she sneaks back into the bedroom, silently curses at the first beams of daylight reaching the window, and pulls close the curtains.
Moments later, the wine glass is empty, and Jane tumbles into her bed, face first, arms and legs spread out. Before she gets a chance to really savor the fluffiness of her long-awaited pillow, her eyes already flutter shut and sleep pulls her into its embrace.
…
Just a few hours later, the blurred November sun has come out and peeks through a crack in the curtains into the dimly lit bedroom.
Jane is still spread out in a semi-comatose state, fully dressed except for her socks, but the other half of the bed is already empty and the sound of running water emerges from the bathroom. After a little while, it stops and Maura slips back into the room. Wrapped into her silken bathrobe with her hair damp from the shower, she looks refreshed and shows almost no signs of the previous night.
She pauses at the foot end of the bed, observes Jane snoring into her pillow, and glances at the alarm clock sitting in silence on the nightstand. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she reclaims her side of the bed.
"Jane…" She taps the brunette's arm. And again when there is no initial reaction. And again. "Jaaane…"
"Noooo…," is the grumpy, muffled response.
"It's almost 11!" Maura frowns as she leans over and smells at the other woman's pullover.
"Don't care… My head hurts…" Jane ignores all attempts to wake her up, yearning for just a few more hours of sleep.
"That seems hardly surprising," Maura states factually. "You always forget to rehydrate when you're getting drunk."
"What?" Suddenly, Jane is all ears. She turns her head and squints at Maura.
"I told you to alternate alcoholic drinks with water to lessen the diuretic effect when—"
"I wasn't drunk!" Jane protests with a certain sense of déjà vu, but Maura's raised eyebrows show her disbelief. "Why would you think that?"
"Well, apparently, you were incapable of properly undressing last night," Maura begins to list her observations. "Your pullover smells like a liquor store. You just admitted that you have a headache. And then there's this…" She points at the empty glass of red wine on Jane's nightstand. "As a cop, you really should know better how to hide the evidence."
"Mmmh… guess I should…" Trying to shake off her sleepiness and make sense of the situation, Jane searches for clues in the blonde's unexpectedly cheerful face.
"I didn't even hear you…," Maura wonders and playfully links her fingers with Jane's. "When did you come home?"
"When did I— … You don't remember?" Gradually, the fog lifts and Jane understands.
"No. Did you wake me?"
"Uh, not exactly…"
"Then how would I remember?" Maura smiles in amusement at what she perceives to be a severe case of hangover confusion.
"That is an interesting question…" Equally amused, but for different reasons, Jane fully turns around and props her head on her arm to mirror Maura's position. "Speaking of interesting questions: How was your night?"
"Rather uneventful," the blonde shrugs innocently. "But I don't think we should go to that Chinese place down the street again."
"No? Why not?"
"I'm not sure, but I had takeout last night, and my stomach has been upset all morning." After careful consideration of all the facts she remembers, it really seems to be the most plausible conclusion. "Research results are contradictory, but excessive amounts of monosodium glutamate do cause certain symptoms. It would explain why I fell asleep so early and don't even remember going to bed."
"Well, less Chinese food means more pizza," Jane grins victoriously.
"Or more salad and healthy—"
"Nope, more pizza," Jane quickly discards her suggestion. "Italian is better for you anyway."
"It is?" Teasingly feigning her doubts, Maura lets the brunette pull her closer and convince her of certain benefits of the Italian cuisine. But as their lips merge in a delightful embrace, an almost forgotten thought forces its way back into her head. "By the way, my father sent an e-mail yesterday. He's not coming next week."
"Yeah, I know."
"Wait, how do you know?" Reluctantly, Maura pulls back once again.
"Uh, you talked… in your sleep." Jane mentally high-fives herself for her save.
"I did?"
"Yup."
"Huh." Not yet convinced, Maura ignores the distractive sensation of Jane's fingertips gliding over her neck. "And did I talk about anything else…?"
"Well, you just went on and on about how much you like me, and how lucky you are to have me, and—"
"You're lying."
"Oh, so you don't like me?"
"I did not say that." Maura tries to withstand Jane's seductive play. But when more and more gentle kisses land on her chest, she gladly gives in to the temptation. After a week filled with work and just fleeting embraces at night, her body is aching for the brunette's tender touch.
Minutes fly by as they submit to their needs, as hands float over awakening skin and lips leave trails of affection.
But then a glimmer of sunshine falls into the room just when Maura caresses the bend of Jane's neck. She pauses and frowns. "What is that on your neck?"
"What? Nothing. It's—" Before Jane has any chance to hold her back, Maura reaches for the nightstand lamp and turns it on to take a closer look. A distinctive pattern of strangulation marks serves as a reminder of the previous night's piggyback ride.
Admonishingly, Maura shakes her head. "Another one of your 'incidents' at work?"
"It's… uh… yeah… at work…," Jane sighs. And while it may not be true this time, it could be on any other given day. So why bother the blonde with details of her drunken escapade?
"I told you to be more careful." With a trained eye, Maura examines her skin and the purplish marks. "What happened this time?"
"Someone had a bad night…"
"That's no reason to take it out on you!" Maura states resolutely but then places a soft kiss on Jane's neck. "I don't like it when you get hurt."
"Mmmh, well…," Jane's lips curl into a smile. "It comes with certain benefits…"
And after a moment of confusion, the message is well received. "You can have those benefits without getting hurt…"
"I can?" Invitingly, Jane runs her fingers up and down Maura's arms.
In place of a response, Maura proves her promise with another passionate kiss. When their lips finally part, she sternly looks at the brunette. "And next time you want to get drunk, talk to me first. I'm sure we'll find a better way to pass the time."
"Only if you'll do the same…"
"Well, I don't get drunk."
Annoyed, Jane rolls her eyes. This again. "Alright, fine. Hypothetically speaking. If some highly unlikely, totally hypothetical circumstances ever make you so sad or angry that you wanna get drunk — hypothetically, of course —, then promise you'll talk to me first, too. Even if I'm at work and in the middle of a chase or something. Okay?"
At the rare absence of that distinctive sparkle in the detective's eyes, Maura tilts her head in confusion, wondering what may have spurred Jane's plea. But as she still owes her an answer, she nods. "Okay…, I promise."
"Good." Jane's face fills with relief. And just moments later, the prankish sparkle is back. "So, out of curiosity… You said there was a better way to pass the time. Were you thinking of anything in particular?"
Relishing the moment, Maura leans in for an auspicious kiss. "I was indeed…"
And without further words, she lets her body speak instead and leaves no doubt about just what exactly she had in mind. As their lips reunite in another intimate kiss, Maura's silent sorrows finally fade into oblivion. Some of her memories may have been forgotten, and some of her problems may still need to be solved. But she knows that the answer to most of her questions is found right there in Jane's arms. And at least for now, that is all she needs to remember.
...
END