Falling in love with Maura was the hardest thing Jane had ever done.
It was a slow process. It took a great deal of time. But eventually, Jane saw things as they were; she wanted to wrap her fingers in the fine, loose curls of Maura's sweet honey hair. She wanted to run the palms of her hands against the smooth stretches of milk white skin peppered with chocolate freckles. There was not a single inch of flesh Jane wanted to leave unexplored. A fire burned in the pit of her stomach for Maura Isles and there was not a person in the world who could put it out.
But even after coming to terms with her feelings, it took time. It took time to summon the courage of telling Maura. It took time for Maura to be willing to put their friendship on the line for something greater. It took time after the first time they broke up because Jane was afraid for Maura's safety. It took time when Maura was offered a job in DC and she and Jane had to decide what was best for them. But, officially, it took Maura all of three seconds to slide her finger into the thin silver band that Jane had pinched between her fingers.
It had been Christmas. Jane was watching Maura; just watching. A four year old TJ was sitting on the marble countertop, a spoon thick with some kind of sweet, chocolaty batter clutched in his small fist. His pink tongue poked out now and again, but most of his attention was drawn to Maura pouring the batter into muffin tins. Jane was always in awe of how easily Maura got along with TJ. He was naturally rambunctious bu with Maura he was quiet and docile. There had always been something special between the two of them.
The ring had been sitting in Jane's pocket since the day Maura and Jane agreed DC wasn't an option – exactly three months to the day that Jane finally proposed. She never wanted to admit it, but nerves got the best of her. Every night before bed, Jane would take the ring and stash it in the safe where she had routinely begun keeping her gun after TJ learned to crawl. Maura knew the combination, but never used it. Jane felt it was safe there.
But eventually, it wasn't enough. The fear wasn't enough to hold her back. Jane had been captivated by the simplicity of the moment; Maura's eyes reflected he lights of the Christmas tree in the living room. She and TJ danced and sang. Every inch of Maura came alive when she was happy. Her smile was wider, her eyes sparkled, and the crinkle of her nose and the dip in her cheeks from two dimples… it all made Jane melt. There was nothing better than seeing Maura happy. Her hand had patted the ring box a few times.
There wasn't a thought process to it. She hadn't rehearsed. Looking back, Jane could say that it was the one time she resented her natural impulsive behavior, because she could have said more, done more, made a bigger scene. But it didn't matter. Maura didn't care that Jane didn't get down on one knee. She didn't care that Jane was still in her Boston PD sweats that she hadn't changed out of from her morning run. She didn't care that her own arms had splotches of batter and a bit of flour stuck to the tip of her nose.
"Marry me?" Jane had said, the ring extended towards Maura. And Maura didn't say a word, she just slipped her hand in the ring as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and Jane and her shared a look; it was a look Jane would never forget, because Maura's eyes were wet with tears but the happy shine was still there, and her smile was still as wide as it had been before, and two dimples still sat to the left and right of her floured nose. They didn't kiss. They didn't need to. Every ounce of love was shared in that one look, that one look that said, you are mine forever.
Jane looks down at the grave. It's snowing out. She tries to remember a time in the past year where she found herself not missing Maura's contagious laugh, her glowing smile. She tries to remember what it was like before eternal sadness lapsed over her aching bones. It's hard. It's hard waking up every morning to the feeling of a cold bed. It's hard sitting at a dinner table and looking up to see an empty chair. It's hard to celebrate Christmas without the look of Maura's childlike face when she takes her first look at the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, or at the first snowfall when she wakes Jane and begs her to sit on the porch wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate and watching the earth die beautiful.
"Merry Christmas, Maura," she whispers, crouching down as best she can, but her old bones don't fare as well as they did when she was younger. Her hand shakes a little as her fingers etch against the engraving on the marble white stone.
Maura Rizzoli
August 7, 1976 – February 14th, 2051
Loving daughter, wife and friend
"You are mine forever,"
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.