"The hard way." Maura straightened her back and gave a definitive nod. She set her lips in a hard line and removed her black 7/8 coat with cool, measured movements, then carefully draped it over the tidiest stack of boxes in the overcrowded living room.
Jane's attitude had made the past three months insufferable. Buying mostly useless items by mail order was only the latest in a long line of tactics the detective used to push her friends and family away. When outright demands for "some damn peace and quiet" failed her, Jane had tried tantrums, declined phone calls, and even rekeyed her apartment. None served her well.
The M.E. suspected that the growing stacks of QVC purchases were meant to be Jane's blockade against the world. While not an effective bulwark against Mrs. Rizzoli, the boxes certainly kept creeping reporters and well-meaning officers out of the house. The boxes worried Maura. Jane needed social interaction to heal, not a collection of George Foreman spices. She knew that eventually Jane would have to relent and quit the madness, either for lack of space, or, more likely, lack of funds. This negligent spending was unlike the normally frugal officer. After all, QVC notoriously marked their merchandise up between 200 and 400 percent; Jane's savings couldn't hold out if she continued her assault.
And now, Jane refused to attend the benefit which had been so kindly planned in her honor. She refused to put on her uniform, even.
Maura would have to do it the hard way.
She observed the detective, who was settled in a familiar repose across three quarters of the couch, one leg dangling off the edge and the other propped firmly on the coffee table. The turned head and clenched jaw articulated a practiced evasion familiar to Maura by now. She knew better than to attempt a rational conversation. Jane's attention would not be easily won, and she could not arm herself with words any longer: her slings and arrows had to be actions if she had any hope of scaling Jane's walls.
With another firm nod of her head, Maura reached behind her neck, undid the clasp of her dress, and drew the zipper down her back in a single fluid motion. She watched for any sign of acknowledgement.
Jane's eyes flicked towards Maura at the sound of the zipper, but returned just as quickly to her laptop screen. She squinted purposefully at the computer, staunchly ignoring Maura's movements.
She had chosen the dress to display just a hint of cleavage, in the hopes that Jane might take notice. As she released the zipper, the square neck slackened and fell away from her chest. She slid two fingers beneath the cool black silk and brushed first the right, then the left strap off of her shoulders.
The rustle of silk falling to the floor drew a quick glance from the detective once more – nothing but a lightning-fast spark of interest, but it was all the reassurance that Maura needed to understand that the walls were crumbling.
"I dunno what you're doing, Maura, but I'm not gonna put that uniform on," Jane mumbled without conviction, a blush creeping up her neck.
"You will, Jane," Maura replied quietly. Jane would open the gates, or Maura would storm the walls; either way, the M.E. intended to win. Sometimes, she mused as she folded the dress and placed it on top of her coat, the hard way was the best way.
She waited for Jane's eyes to flash back to her once again, then slowly, languorously pulled her slip over her head, leaving her clad in only a matching lace bra and panty set.
After folding the slip and placing it neatly atop her dress, Maura turned back to Jane, who, as she suspected, had forgone the sly glances in favor of blatant staring. Dark eyes traced up her legs, over her bare stomach, and came to rest reluctantly on her breasts.
The walls were open to her, unprotected. She stepped out of her heels and walked around the coffee table, all the while enjoying the rapid-fire succession of expressions that washed over Jane's face as the detective realized that Maura was on a trajectory straight for her. Maura believed fear to be the primary perpetrator, but she thought she saw traces of exhilaration and perhaps even a bit of want in that warring face. Jane winced once as she scrambled to sit up and scoot away from the advancing M.E.
When she reached the couch, Maura gently held Jane's retreating shoulders and climbed into her lap, careful to give Jane's right side a wide berth.
"Maur, what… what are you doing?" Jane sputtered, hands in the air. Whether she offered her hands in surrender or simply out of respect for personal space, Maura had no idea; nevertheless, she took advantage of the detective's open posture and wrapped her arms around Jane's slender torso before she could squirm away.
Maura smiled at Jane's sharp breaths as they pressed together, counting each as a brick that tumbled from the walls of the woman's self-perpetrated prison. She waited – first for the trembling to stop, then for Jane to relax into the embrace, and finally for her to return it with broad, careful hands on her back. When she was positive that Jane wouldn't bolt off the couch, she leaned back just enough to press a warm kiss to Jane's mouth.
She hadn't expected Jane to respond with any degree of enthusiasm, let alone hunger: Jane grabbed the back of Maura's skull and kissed her hard, once, twice, again, and then again, before releasing her. They greedily sucked air into their lungs, foreheads pressed together. Maura felt the rubble around her, breathed in the dust of Jane's demolished ramparts. She settled against the detective again.
"I want you to be happy, Jane," Maura whispered into dark locks. She could feel Jane's heart pounding against her own. She had won more than planned. "I want us to be happy."
"What would make you happy?" Jane rasped against her shoulder.
It would have pleased Maura to stay in Jane's living room, wrapped around her, a new wall against the world. But Jane needed more to heal, more than heated kisses and flushed bodies – they both did.
Maura disentangled herself from Jane's grasp and stood up. She pointed across the room. "It would make me happy if you put on that uniform."
The hard way resulted in the most gratifying of victories, she found.