A/N at the bottom. (Yeah, I know. Wrong holiday. Bear with me.)

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

Thankful for Thanksgiving

The patter of rain tugged her from sleep, easy and slow, like a lullaby. She breathed deep, not bothering to open her eyes, and caught a familiar scent that made her smile. Memories of yesterday came unbidden, sluggish like the rest of her body, and she enjoyed the quiet moment of respite before the expected chaos began in earnest, a moment just to herself. She inhaled again. Well, mostly to herself. But it was a welcome addition. She shifted her head towards the source, imagining what she'd see.

She stretched, feeling the pleasant tug of sleep-heavy muscles. The room wasn't very bright behind her eyelids – she must have woken before her alarm – and she considered turning over and going back to sleep. Not her usual style, but it was a holiday, after all. A holiday that already was holding up to its promise of being hectic. Concessions could be made.

The haze of dreams hovered just out of reach, and the covers were warm, contrasting with the distinct chill in the air. She settled further down into the mattress.

The covers shifted next to her, and she opened her eyes, waiting. That scent of lavender bloomed stronger, and then warm softness came to rest on her forearm. After a moment, the rustling stopped, and she heard the other woman's breathing even out once more.

Maura lay still, thinking, staring at her popcorn ceiling. Soaking in the silence and the warmth now gracing her forearm. It was a light touch, unexpected and barely there. But it was pleasant. It felt like togetherness. It felt like family. It felt like…trust.

The warmth of that hand took up residence somewhere in her chest. And bloomed.

The rain picked up intensity. Rain on Thanksgiving, she mused, letting her eyes wander the familiar there-but-not-there patterns above. She wondered if there was some superstition about that, something similar to weddings. She would have to ask…

Her wandering gaze rested on the wild nest of brunette curls on the other pillow. Features relaxed in slumber, Jane appeared tired, but at peace – a welcome relief from the hectic mess of yesterday. She traced sharp cheekbones with her eyes, noted the shadows, the periorbital puffiness. Jane needed the rest, the break from cases at work. Maura felt her lips form an involuntary smile. A bit of drool came from the side of Jane's parted mouth, and a few dark curls had fallen over her face. Maura studied her, wondering at the presence Jane brought to a room, even in slumber. The sheet had scrunched down to her waist sometime during the night, exposing her tank top and bare shoulders to the air.

Maura had expected Jane to be a restless sleeper – dreams or nightmares on top of the stress of the holidays – but that wasn't the case. At least not last night. Not once had Maura been woken by any tossing and turning. She was glad, for Jane's sake.

Her attention went back to the hand on her arm, and she resisted the urge to cover it with her own.

There was something soothing about rain, and about Jane. Some settledness in her chest and abdomen that made her feel content. And seeing Jane like this, relaxed and safe – well, it made her feel the same. And with the promise of the rush of people and family and energy and food later that day – which secretly she would love – it made the moment here, quiet and just them, all the more memorable.

Very rarely did they share a bed, but Maura found herself grateful to wake up to this, to Jane, and a house filled with family – a home. Maura was used to solitude, but here, now, Jane chased away loneliness and reminded her how much she needed this, the comfort of mutual love.

An eye opened, and Maura found herself staring into hazy dark brown. She blinked and glanced away, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and unsure why.

"Is it over yet?"

The raspy question caught her by surprise. She glanced back. "What?"

"Ya'know." Jane cleared her throat, voice clearer, but the rasp remained. "Dinner. Relatives." The voice lowered even more. "Purgatory."

"Jane," Maura laughed and swatted her shoulder. How like her to wish the entire ordeal already over. Family dinner, with everyone. A sparkler of excitement sizzled in her stomach. Maura was looking forward to it.

The hand left her arm as Jane stretched, and goose bumps formed in its wake. Maura frowned at the unexpected wash of loss, dull but deep. She clasped her hands over her stomach, allowing a deep breath to sooth the emotion.

Jane rubbed her face, fingers swiping almost roughly across her eyes. "C'mon, Maur." She turned on her side towards Maura, but buried her face into her pillow. The rest of her words came out muffled. "Yesterday was hell, and we haven't even sat down for the actual dinner yet."

"Or the cooking." Maura reminded her, smiling at the expected groan that elicited. The gust of breath chased a lock of hair over Maura's face, and she brushed it away absently.

"Ma'll probably insist on having manicotti instead of turkey. Have you ever tried to carve stuffed pasta?" Jane's shoulders shook once, silent laughter.

"I imagine spoons would suffice." Maura blinked lazily and wiggled her toes. The ridiculous image of pasta molded into the shape of a turkey flitted through her mind and she shook her head.

Jane cracked an eye open, gave her a smirk, and closed it again.

The silence stretched, and Maura frowned, head tilted. "I can't tell if you're joking."

"Family tradition." Jane didn't move, and after a quick inner debate, Maura decided not to ask for an explanation, and let the statement stand.

Tradition. Maura liked the sound of that. She wondered if this year would be the start of new traditions – Rizzoli and Isles style.

Her thoughts paused their rapid pace for the space of a breath. Rizzoli and Isles. She sounded it out in her mind, like savoring the first taste of a fine wine. Yes, that had a nice ring to it.

Yesterday felt like setting up a chessboard before play. Some of the pieces had to be flown in cross-continent. After the rushed aftermath of yesterday's harried trip to the airport, Angela's dinner preparations, and coordinating calls between Rizzoli relatives, Constance and Richard were finally settled in the guest room downstairs, the pre-predinner preparations were congealing in the fridge or stocking the pantry, and both Barry and Vince had relayed promises to attend. When the last relative had settled in and the last suitcase was lugged into the house, it had made more sense for Jane to spend the night. Jo was already here, and a harried Jane had only made a token protest before she found herself in spare pajamas under Maura's sheets.

Thanksgiving with her parents and the Rizzolis. This would be a first. In her youth, Thanksgiving and family were about as synonymous as Target and Jimmy Choo. The dinner itself involved getting to know the help…or names like Hamlet and Clarissa Dalloway. Oh, she could count on a long-distance phone call, but that was hardly the same. As for spending Thanksgiving with friends…well. The pattern continued into adulthood, and by then she didn't know to ask for something she never had in the first place. She was comfortable with herself and comfortable with solitude.

But togetherness was something everyone craved this time of year. And for once, she wouldn't have to pretend she didn't want it.

"What's going on in that big brain of yours?"

Her eyes focused to find Jane studying her, head propped up in hand. Maura gazed back, until dark eyes met and held hers, and an eyebrow arched in silent question and part amusement.

"It's Thanksgiving," she said quietly. The rain and the room came into focus, sounding loud in the silence.

Perhaps Jane heard the we're all here, for she didn't jump in with a joke or sarcastic remark. Her eyes went soft, that soft that only a few people were allowed to see, and she smiled. One of the genuine I'm-happy-you're-happy smiles that transformed her face.

"Yeah," she said, just as quiet. And Maura heard I know.

The glow in her chest flared for a moment.

As Jane sat up to lean against the headboard, it occurred to Maura that Jane spoke more with her hands and her expressions than she ever did with words. A voiceless language, but no less loud if one knew how to hear it.

Jane's complaints from yesterday came to mind. The groaning and the sarcasm, the hand gesturing. The way she ran her hand through her hair when she was flustered. She spoke volumes with the raise of an eyebrow, the tilt of her hip against a counter. A hand to the small of Maura's back.

For once, Jane didn't attempt to break the lengthening eye contact. Jane held her gaze, eye to eye, and Maura felt an idea teasing the back of her mind, a thought not yet formed. Something about the charged static that seemed to surge between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, just different. A shift in their easy dynamic, some emotion in Jane's expression she couldn't read.

Maura finally spoke. "Thank you for picking up Constance and Richard."

"No prob." Jane stared at the opposite wall, laughed, and shook her head.

Maura watched her, suspecting some incident had occurred. Curious, she opened her mouth to ask, but then decided she didn't want to know. Jane was smiling; it couldn't be that bad.

The scent of bacon and eggs met her nose. "Angela must already be up," she said instead.

"Yeah." Jane sounded distracted. She picked at her hands, eyes on the door, then her lap.

She expected Jane to get up, rush downstairs to demand instant coffee to help her greet the day. Instead she felt the brunette's attention on her. Thoughtful, curious.

"You didn't have to host Thanksgiving, you know."

Maura chuckled. "That's all right. It's my pleasure." And it was. Constance's call had been a surprise – a pleasant one, and only somewhat frightening – but Maura would have hosted the Rizzoli Thanksgiving anyway. Her own parents were a bonus of sorts. She felt a sense of comfort, of belonging, ever since her home seemed to become the home court for anything Rizzoli. Her house had never felt more full of life. That was something to be thankful for. How better to celebrate that than by hosting a dinner where family and friends gathered?

She blinked. Did I really just use home court as a metaphor to myself? Jane's sports shows were rubbing off on her.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I'm sure you love having Ma invade the house and turn the kitchen into Fort Knox."

Maura pursed her lips. "I am, actually."

Jane snorted. "You're so…generous." Jane made it sound borderline non-compliment, and also unfathomable. But Maura heard the underlying criticism. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Jane. Jane saw herself as less, as inferior.

Generous. Maura watched the frown contort Jane's face. I could say the same of you. You just show it in different ways. It never failed to amaze Maura, how blind Jane could be to her own virtues.

That glow in her chest swelled.

The good Jane did just through her job was so obvious as to not require mention. She wondered if Jane knew what this meant to her, the gathering of people in her life she loved on Thanksgiving. Excitement and nerves swirled in her stomach, tingling out to her toes. That was because of Jane. (She knew from Angela that a few pointed words from Jane had led to Constance's sudden phone call. And Jane had acted so surprised.) And this, here. Jane entrusting a piece of her past, sharing her time with the doctor. The little gestures – lunch, a phone call for reassurance, a phone call just because, movie nights – that added up to so much more. Friendship. And—

In a rush of motion, Jane reached for her phone on the nightstand. The muscles played beneath Jane's skin as she turned, and it made Maura's stomach dip for an entirely different reason.

"What are you thankful for?"

Maura snapped her eyes up. "Hmm?"

Jane set the phone down and settled under the covers once more. She turned on her side, facing Maura, as though she'd come to a decision. Her excitement was palpable and made Maura unconsciously lean closer. "It's a game me and Frankie'd play every Thanksgiving morning. Started out as prep for dinner so we'd have something to say after grace. But after that it just kinda…" Jane waved a hand, grasping for the right word.

"Grew?"

The hand dropped and brown eyes met Maura's with a half-smile, almost bashful. "Yeah." She ran a hand through her messy curls. "I know it's kinda stupid, but—"

"Mmm. Okay." Maura scrunched her shoulders as she thought. "I'm thankful for…" You. "…baseball."

Jane let out a huff and shot Maura her Really? glare. "That's supposed to be my line."

Maura smiled, unrepentant. "You can be thankful for baseball, too."

"Nah, that's the rules. Can't say the same thing." Jane bit at a nail, brow knitted in thought.

"I wasn't aware there were rules."

Jane made a noncommittal noise, and Maura rested her head on her arm. This was rather comfortable, lying here in bed, talking. The day ahead, but no rush to be anywhere. How long had it been since she'd realized the simple joys of waking up beside someone? Spent the morning with someone she loved?

"Baseball must mean a lot to you if it's taking this long—"

"Ma's cooking." Jane slapped the sheets, shooting Maura a triumphant grin.

Maura pursed her lips and nodded. "All right." She was beginning to see the shape of this game. Perhaps serious, meaningful answers were not the true purpose. Or perhaps she had unintentionally set the tone with her first playful response. Although, her statement was more true than Jane realized. After all, baseball meant Rizzoli gatherings in red-sox red. Couch roughhousing, TV shouting, and spirited wagering. It also meant rainy days in with Jane, popcorn, beer bottle water rings on her coffee table, and DVRed shows as counterpoint to Jane's laughter and banter beside her on the couch.

"Okay." Maura paused, contemplating her next answer, and decided to stay safe. Far more editing was going on, at least on her end, than she thought necessary. How could a simple game make her afraid of revealing more about herself than she wanted? "Spas."

"Jo Friday," Jane immediately countered, barely letting Maura finish.

Brown eyes met hers, and an eyebrow rose in silent challenge. Maura felt the game shift, felt the competitive edge creep into Jane's posture. Jane was trying to one up her. Well, two could play that game.

They fired off responses in quick succession, until Maura was having trouble generating nouns rapidly enough. She racked her brain for something to follow DVR.

"The BPD," Maura blurted.

A pause. Jane didn't immediately respond, and then she let out a groan, rolling her face into her pillow briefly. "Why you gotta be like that?"

"Like what?"

"All worldly…wise." She batted her eyes, voice going high. "World peace!" she imitated, and smirked.

"It's a valid response, Jane."

"Yeah, yeah. But it's the simple things you should mention, ya know?" Jane said. "What's special to you personally."

"Personally?" Maura glanced at Jane, who appeared to be debating the wisdom of her next answer. Maura's interest piqued. Perhaps she wasn't the only one censoring her responses.

Jane sighed and rolled onto her back. "Like…family." Her voice was as rough as it usually was, but her tone softened around the word, as though giving it proper reverence.

Maura smiled, eyes going distant. She saw what Jane meant, felt it probably more than Jane realized. "Yes, family." The game had shifted again, and she was unsure of her footing. But her next answer came easily enough. Easy because it was true, and perhaps encompassed everything she wanted to say. Succinct, yet full.

"Thanksgiving."

"You're thankful for Thanksgiving?" Jane frowned at the ceiling. "Isn't that redundant or something?"

Maura chuckled. "A day set aside to acknowledge family and friends and loved ones. It forces us to recognize all the blessings in our lives. Even those we take for granted."

"Alright, well if we're going there, I'm thankful for the day after Thanksgiving." Jane met Maura's confused stare. "Leftovers and saying goodbye to said family."

"You're impossible." Maura's expression took all sting from the remark, and Jane bumped her shoulder, playful. Casual affection, Maura realized. How is it we show affection with each other so freely? How do I, being who I am? But I like it. Smiling slightly, she shifted on the mattress to a more comfortable position.

"Did you know," she began abruptly, and felt more than saw Jane jump, "that Thanksgiving only became a Federal holiday during the Civil War? In 1863, Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a day of 'Thanksgiving,' and it became official." She felt Jane's scrutiny, but didn't look over. "Of course, the first Thanksgiving that many refer to colloquially took place during the colonial period with the Pilgrims. In Canada, though, they celebrate Thanksgiving in October, which is symbolic for the harvest—"

"You."

Maura trailed off at the interruption, unsure she had heard correctly and also trying to jam the upwelling of information on Thanksgiving back into her brain. Jane remained silent, and her admission ran through Maura's head. You…thankful for you.

It could be laughed off. It could be dismissed as a foregone conclusion between friends. But it was the way the word was pushed out, bold and sudden and true, and left to linger in the static between them, that gave that word a new shape and new meaning. Something deeper and stronger – and only slightly terrifying.

"Me?"

Jane was blushing, playing with the scars on her hands. "Yeah," she mumbled, huffing a breathy laugh.

"Girls!" The call raced up the stairs, muffled though the bedroom door. "Breakfast!"

Neither moved.

Jane seemed to shake herself from whatever thought held her fast. She glanced at Maura out of the corner of her eye. "'Course I'm thankful for you. You're my best friend, Maur."

Maura remained still, trying to reconcile the casual statement with the burst of – was that fear or elation? – radiating from her chest. Her pulse sped, but she kept her voice even, soft, as though afraid a loud word would break the fragile moment. "I believe it was my turn." She allowed Jane an out should she wish it, but hoped for the opposite.

Silence. Jane fidgeted with her hands.

"I'm thankful for you as well," Maura said quietly, hoping Jane could hear the sincerity of her words, and not just an echo made out of obligation. "But it doesn't take a day of 'thanks' for me to realize it. And I hope you know that."

Jane kept her eyes on the ceiling, with only a nod offered by way of response. Was she listening? Or just hearing? Because there was a difference. Maura reached out and placed her palm over Jane's restless hands. They stilled under the light touch, and she heard Jane take a breath and hold it. Jane finally turned her head, rumpled hair almost obscuring her eyes, but her gaze caught Maura's. Dark and questioning. Maura had never seen her more beautiful, so raw and unmasked.

For a brief moment, something wondrous happened. She could read Jane.

Her hesitation was a paragraph, full of stuttered ums and uhs and I don't knows. Her eyes were dark, uncertain, and Maura read not yet. But she also read hope and maybe and a million other things that made that flame in her chest melt. Things that added up to I love you, and maybe more than I know. And Maura thought that was more than enough. More than she'd ever need. This, here. The start of their beginning.

The warmth in her chest swelled, clogging her throat with emotion. With this woman lying next to her, Maura finally knew the meaning of being thankful, heart and soul.

Maura leaned in, and Jane's face registered confusion as she neared then surprise bordering on panic, just before her lips brushed – barely there – against Jane's cheek. She lingered the span of a heartbeat, feeling the soft smoothness and the heat of Jane's surprised exhale. Chaste, intimate. She pulled back and turned away, rising to her feet in one smooth motion.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Jane." Soft, like an offering.

Silence, and the rustle of sheets. Maura checked her phone from the nightstand and padded towards the bathroom. The chill of the air drew her arms around her torso. She rubbed warmth back into her skin, even as she knew the warmth of that bed, of this morning, was marked in her memory. Indelible, irrevocable. Tension gathered in her shoulders with each step. No matter Jane's response…

Finally, Jane cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah."

Relief loosened her shoulders and she couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder.

Jane sat with a knee bent, elbow propping up her head and hand in her hair. Her eyes met Maura's, brown and warm and open. A lazy half-smile quirked her lips. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Maura turned away, not bothering to hide her smile.

Yes. It was definitely a happy Thanksgiving.

A/N: I know it's a month late (but hopefully not thirty dollars short). This was written a while back thanks to a prompt JoBeth posted on her tumblr from Meg's tumblr: "headcanon: Maura and Jane 'sleep in' on Thanksgiving morning, busy naming things they're thankful for." I don't usually do this sort of thing, but I read that and had an idea that just wouldn't leave me alone. So I gave in and ran with it. This little ficlet is the result, and I finally decided to post it. Hope it's up to par. You should thank caskett41097 that this got posted at all. It's thanks to her encouragement that I finally screwed my courage to the sticking place.

As for Just a Dream, I haven't forgotten or abandoned it (though my recent inactivity may indicate otherwise). It's just…hard to write right now. But I'm working on it. Promise.