Thanks to the encouraging number of views on my last fic, my inner writer has been let out. Congrats y'all, you've probably unleashed a monster, or at least a small horror, into this fandom.
This fic is Jane-centric. I have another one-shot in progress that I'll be posting sometime next week, with a high T/low M rating, also Rizzles. Thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Word count: 1,150. Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Soft. The sensation supporting her body can only be described in that word. The mattress is too downy to be hers, but it sinks and accommodates her, adaptive to her every move instead of the stubborn resistance she's used to in her own residence.
Another person might have let the light from the Atlantic sunrise to gently stream and filter through their eyelids and basked in the early-morning heat it provided. Maura was always alert the moment the rays refracted enough to send signals to her brain to wake up. Jane usually woke near the same time, but her path to consciousness usually takes a few detours. The crack of dawn is not her specialty. In another two hours, she'll roll over in bed and wonder why her home's windows never have curtains if they always face east.
She doesn't know when she started referring to Maura Isles' bed as 'home.' The rest of the house was the same way, but here, in her bed, sometimes her arms, she finds it's more safe, 'safer,' she knows Maura would correct, and finds a place secure enough to free her heart from its iron enclosure and allow the warmth that's been sewn from the doctor's hands to blossom and engulf herself from the inside, out.
A quarter past eight is not the time she expected to be waking up, on her first weekend night's sleep that had been completely nightmare and call-free. Ten or eleven, or maybe even waking up just before noon and scrambling to eat breakfast before it was technically called lunch was more the detective's style.
But lately Jane has found herself in Maura's bed. Physically exhausted but her mind still running at breakneck speed, and once she had explained that her racing thoughts were the root of her insomnia, Maura had only been too happy to help.
She thought at first that it was pity. That Maura only sacrificed her own sleep and ability to function the next day simply because she felt sorry for Jane. The thought of this caused her stress as well until Maura gently eased it out of her and told the worried woman that she so happened to enjoy their late-night talks that often carried over into the next day.
She didn't notice how the blonde had stopped recommending different treatments she had previously pushed her to try - reading before bed, getting rid of her alarm clock, avoiding bed when she wasn't tired - and simply asked her what she'd like to talk about.
When they started out on the phone, their topics usually circulated around subjects that were not Jane's top concerns. She didn't often divulge the problems that were most worrisome to her; she often didn't truly know what they were until she was able to slow down for a moment. Maura learned that as the stereotypic norm rather quickly, and never pushed. If Maura saw she was struggling with sleep while she was here and hadn't been able to let go of whatever was keeping her from relaxing, Maura may have nudged her into telling her what was on her mind, but was gentle. She knew when it was appropriate enough to do so.
Sometimes the detective came over with the honest desire to talk, but as soon as her eyes hit the ceiling as she laid back, Maura still waiting for a sentence to begin with Jane's familiar sigh, sleep simply found her before she had even begun to consider it an option.
Soon the question was not 'do you want to come over tonight?' but 'do you have enough clothes for this weekend?'
Maura had even given up trying to get Jane into actual sleeping clothes on the nights when they'd had bad days, or just lost a lead on a case or had a suspect mysteriously disappear as they were trying to find them. She'd given up when the last had happened, and just told Jane that while the detective might be allowed to stay in her bed anytime, her shoes were not. By the end of the month her shoes were being kicked off as she crossed the threshold.
The dark circles had slowly receded from under her eyes. She'd come to not only treasure the place that Maura offered to her, but the peace that came with it as well. Her presence alone seemed to find a way to permeate her subconscious. Maura didn't drive away her fears. She found a way to leak out of Jane's skin, her warmth thawing the frozen grip the terrors had managed to hold so tight.
Occasionally Jane woke to find one of her limbs flung over Maura. She never did have the heart to tell the woman that she feigned sleep horribly, and instead managed to stay that way for a few more minutes, savoring the feeling before 'waking up' with a grunt and a wild body twitch in the opposite direction.
A few other times she woke when the bed was empty. Which caused her adrenaline levels to peak - only until she was awake enough to hear the water running from the bathroom a few feet away, or the smell of food being made in the kitchen.
Waking up to Maura's breakfasts became common until one night she spilled that she'd rather have Maura still here instead of getting a hot breakfast. Cold Saturday-morning cereal became a new ritual they both happened to enjoy.
They both ended up compromising over the brand, but she found that she could deal with unsweetened Cheerios if it came with that smile every weekend.
She even learned how to make Maura's fancy coffee.
But the most surprising thing she found about sleeping with Maura was not that the blonde woke up early, but that Maura stayed until Jane found herself waking from hazel eyes on her. And how surprisingly easy it is to look at Maura with heavy eyes and reach out a hand to grab at her shirt gently without uttering a thing in her voice that's deeper than it ever is normally.
She knows her eyes aren't nearly as open as Maura's are. Maura's been up for at least an hour, maybe two, she reasoned, and made a note to ask her how she always did that. Even though she knew it would just be on REM cycles or circadian rhythms, something she could actually remember Maura telling her she needed to straighten out.
For once she hushes her mind quiet as she scoots closer to Maura. Even though it's the middle of summer, it's still a breezy sixty-five degrees inside. The feeling of warmth spreads across her chest and torso with ease, and the quiet dawn of realization that it's coming from Maura is a familiar, but always-new feeling that she knows she'll never tire of.
The scent of home is one that she's never been able to ignore.