The familiar muted wail cuts through Jane's fitful slumber, tugging her heavy eyes open. She groans, because she's allowed to moan about this, unlike the millions of women who saddled motherhood upon themselves. Jane didn't ask for this, so her displeasure comes with validation.

Maura stirs, equally as tuned to his soft cry. Her eyelids flutter open, a soft sigh escaping from her lips. Jane gently rests a hand against her arm, heaving her own body up instead. "I'll get him."

"You sure?" Maura's voice in almost unintelligible, heavy with sleep. She closes her eyes, her protest feeble.

Jane nods, though Maura can no longer see her. She pads softly down the hall to the guest room, cracking open the door as the baby's wails grow louder. The room is hardly done up in the fashion of a typical nursery, with only a crib and a recently acquired changing table adorning the room. It wasn't meant to be permanent, but Jane's finding it hard to remember what it's like not to have an ear splitting cry wake her every four hours or so during the night.

She scoops him up with the finesse of a long-time mother, cradling him gently against her chest. She offers him her knuckle, which he prefers to his pacifier, much to Jane's chagrin. He sucks her finger with his bare gums, his tears quickly waning. She carries him into the kitchen, the dim lighting nearly blinding her tired eyes. Jo peeks up from her bed by the door, hardly phased by Jane's presence so late at night. Jo has become quite adjusted to her new home, as Jane has all but officially moved into Maura's place.

Jane finds a pre-made bottle in the fridge, agilely removing the top with one hand and popping it into the microwave. Maura would scold her, reminding her of the inconsistencies in microwave heating, encouraging her to warm the bottle in a pot of hot water instead. But Jane doesn't have that kind of patience tonight, and Henry is fussy enough already.

He had gone for a week without a name, a long enough stretch that had Maura and Jane both worrying that he'd be stuck with the title of 'Baby' if they didn't do something about it. It was hardly their baby to name, and both were hesitant to take the liberty of such a task.

But Lydia was long gone with no indication of where she'd run off to, having left only a scribbled note begging the detective and her family to care for the infant. She claimed that she was hardly capable and that she wanted him to have a good home. Jane couldn't argue with that - if the poor boy at been left in the care of his ditzy, incompetent mother, Jane wagered he'd have been dropped a fair few times already.

Words like 'adoption' and 'social services' had been tossed around without any follow up. After all, he was family, though his exact relationship to the Rizzoli family was still unknown. No one was rushing for a paternity test at this point, and Jane wasn't even sure she wished to know if the tiny infant was her half-brother or her nephew – and she tried her best not to let her mind dwell too long on the topic.

Tommy had offered to take him, but it was a brief offer that had Angela clinging to the baby tighter than necessary. Her mother had immediately fallen in love with the baby, quite predictably, making the prior options of bestowing the child upon another family less and less likely. Maura and Jane had settled into their respected motherly roles quite unexpectedly as well. The spare room was in the main home, not the guest house, making Maura and Jane the logical nighttime feeders.

The first few nights that Jane had spent the night, Maura had woken up beside her, surprised to find that Jane had not left.

"You're still here," she mumbled, peeling herself up from the comforter, still in her clothes. Her blouse was rumpled, a stain a formula crusting against the collar.

A poorly blotted spit up stain decorated Jane's own shirt, and her hair was even more unruly that usual. "Where else would I be?" she muttered, bitter for a moment, but her frustration had soon faded to a small smile. The baby was no one's, but somehow he had become everyone's, and as easy as it would be for Jane to shirk the responsibility – one she could have easily run from – she instead found herself tied to this tiny life, right from the start, and she was grateful Maura remained by her side without so much as a hint of regret.

Angela had grown accustomed to taking the baby to the station during her shifts, and he was certainly the catch of crowd, earning more affection and attention than Jane could have hoped for the poor kid after his unfortunate abandonment on her doorstep. The first day her mother had brought him in, Jane had found herself strangely anxious for the lunch break she hadn't taken in years, eager to see the little boy with Maura in tow behind her.

"Look, he's smiling," Jane crooned, picking the baby up out of his carrier.

"Reflex smiling," Maura noted, her chin brushing up against Jane's shoulder as her eyes fell on the baby. "Babies don't smile in response to stimuli until they are about six to eight weeks of age. These first smiles are both fleeting and innate, and are believed to make newborns more appealing to keep them safe."

Jane had scowled slightly, "Yeah, because I'd eat him right now if he weren't instinctively being cute."

"Many animals do have the habit of eating their young," Maura informed her, patting the splay of dark hair on his head gently.

Angela had appeared a moment later, glad to see the two women indulging the baby. "He needs a name," she stated, reaching into her bag to prepare a bottle for him. "I can't tell you how many people have asked me that today."

Maura was quick to spout of her suggestions, ranging from Sophocles to Icarus to Darwin, earning quite a few eye rolls and noises of disgust on Jane's behalf.

"Well, do you have any suggestions?" Maura had demanded indignantly.

Jane did not. She was not at all prepared to take on the task of providing a child with a name he'd be stuck with for the rest of his life.

"I like Henry," Angela spoke. "Always have – I would have named Tommy that if I hadn't named him after my father."

"I do like Henry as well," Maura immediately agreed. "There are lots of significant Henrys in history – Henry VIII, Patrick Henry, Henry David Thoreau, Henry Ford..."

"Oh, I love it!" Angela exclaimed, beaming down at the small child.

Jane did not, claiming that it was too stuffy and old-fashioned, but she had been outvoted. And Henry had stuck.

XXX

The beep of the microwave slices through the silence of the kitchen, and Jane replaces the lid, shaking the bottle to distribute any heat inconsistencies as best she can. Angela has just bought them a rocking chair for the baby's room, but Jane finds she prefers to feed him in bed, listening to the soft sound of Maura breathing beside her.

She's lucky to have Maura, in whatever strange scenario this is, two best friends co-raising a child. She still feels guilty that Maura has been sucked into Hurricane Lydia, paying for the carelessness of either Jane's father or brother with such responsibility. But she is glad to have Maura by her side, because even with her mother quite available, Jane's sure as hell thankful for the endless stream of knowledge that Maura spouts off about the development and habits of newborns.

Maura doesn't stir as Jane slides into the bed, pressing the nipple of the bottle to Henry's eager lips. Moments like these still feel so surreal and a bit overwhelming. Henry is theirs now, and she gets a little dizzy as she imagines him morphing into a toddler, a child, a teenager. But her heart-stopping panic is usually relieved by a sense of pride – because even though Henry is really her nephew or half brother or whatever, he's become hers, and she's proud she'll be the one who gets to see him grow up.

Henry begins dozing about two thirds of the way through his bottle, and Jane wiggles the nozzle of the bottle to keep him awake until he's done. Maura shifts beside her, cracking her eyes open. "How's he doing?"

"Almost done," Jane whispers, coaxing him to finish. Maura's informed her that its best to have him finish the entire bottle in one feeding instead of letting him sporadically eat here and there.

Maura sits up, watching the pair in the dim lighting. "He looks like you," she mutters, scooting a little closer to Jane on the bed.

"He's a baby, it's too soon to tell," Jane protests, but it is apparent that the Rizzoli genes have taken dominance over Lydia's fair features.

Jane's nodding off herself as Henry finishes the bottle, and she's tempted just to keep the baby in bed with them instead of completing the arduous task of returning him to his crib.

"Jane," Maura's voice tugs her back to consciousness. "As much as I know you don't want to get up right now, it's really not in Henry's best interest to stay with us. Bed sharing with the parents increases the risk of SIDS." With the parents, Jane smirks but she refrains from commenting. Because if they aren't Henry's parents, then what are they?

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome - Jane's well versed in the term, at which she had suggested moving Henry's crib into their room the first time Maura had rattled on about it, and it's enough to rouse her from the bed, carefully delivering Henry back to his own room.

"Night, sweet boy," she whispers, kissing him softly before leaving his door open a crack, never guessing that motherhood would have suited her so well.

XXX

"You and Maura should go out tonight," Angela offers, tucking her knitted blanket up against Henry's neck. He's asleep in his brand new Pack 'N Play, just after finishing a bottle. Jane cranes her neck in Maura's direction, her tired eyes registering the exhaustion in Maura's face as well. She's about to decline, but Angela insists. "You two deserve a break. Go to dinner or see a movie or something. Henry and I will be fine."

Maura doesn't even rag on her for not changing out of her rumpled outfit, and as they walk to Jane's car, Jane realizes she at a loss of ideas as to what they should do. They'll fall asleep during a movie within minutes, and neither of them have the energy to sit through a nice dinner. As Maura steps into the passenger seat, she looks a bit regretfully back at the house, as if she feels bad about leaving him.

"He'll be okay," Jane soothes her unspoken worries. "Ma managed to raise all three of us," she assures her with a chuckle, and Maura matches her laugh, though she catches her craning her neck once again as they pull out of the driveway.

"Where to?" Jane asks, turning out of Maura's street.

Maura muses for a moment. "Dirty Robber." Jane immediately agrees, the casual atmosphere and easy conversation over drinks is the best either of them can do right now.

It hits Jane just how much of a couple they appear to be right now. Her mother's babysitting offer is in line with a grandmother eager to relieve the anxious new parents of their duties for the night. They've hardly seen anyone but each other in the past three month. Hell, they even share a bed, even if in the most innocent sense – which is all Jane imagines they'd be doing regardless of if their relationship happened to be more, at the rate that Henry keeps them up at night coupled with their endless exhaustion.

Jane has always imagined parenthood would be more daunting, more frightening, and while it is binding, Jane doesn't feel as stuck as she thought she'd feel, which does surprise her when she fully analyzes the circumstances. She can't remember the last time she's been on a date; she can't even remember the last time she entertained the idea of date. She's approaching forty, no closer to finding a husband than she was ten years ago when she would always remind herself she had more time. She's got a kid that's not even hers, tying her to a life she didn't even choose. Yet she's happy – she can't remember being happier, quite frankly, and Maura, who's in a similar boat, seems far from anxious to break away from this life they've created as well.

It's all any middle aged woman could ask for, Jane realizes when she further considers it. It's like they skipped all the heartache, all the uncertainty, and instead just landed themselves with a committed, loving person and a child to raise as their own. Maura is everything Jane has ever wanted – and she realizes that this is not a revelation of any sort. She's known for years now, building a relationship with this amazing woman whom she understands unlike anyone else, who appreciates her far more than any man ever has, and whom she loves in such deeply devoted way that they haven't even needed the added aspect of romance to complete it. In the back of her mind, Jane's always assumed she'd find the love of her life, but she realizes she already has. She's been there all along, just waiting for Jane – just as Jane's been waiting for Maura. This goofy, intelligent, lovable woman is all Jane has even wanted and is all Jane can ever imagine wanting.

She pulls into the parking lot of the Dirty Robber, prying the key from the ignition. "Ready?" she asks, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Can't we just crawl into the backseat and take a nap?" Maura mutters with a small smile, closing her eyes.

The idea is tempting, and Jane laughs, tapping Maura's arm before she really does fall asleep. "Come on. I smell a glass of Chardonnay with your name on it."

As the two women cross the parking lot, Jane dares to reach out and grab Maura's hand. She's a little startled at first, and she gives Jane a coy glance, but she lets her fingers gently intertwine between Jane's. The fit is perfect, just as Jane wagered it'd be. There's so much she could say right now, so much they could speculate right now, but for now, Jane just revels in this feeling of perfection she just so luckily happened upon.

A/N: This is intended to be a oneshot, and usually I never revisit oneshots once they've been completed, but there's a small, small chance I may add a chapter or two to this one - I'm too in love with Henry to completely abandon the idea of exploring him with his two mommies again ;)