A/N: So...this is an angsty oneshot that does not end in Rizzles. Just a heads-up about that. Also, it's from Maura's POV. Again: This does not have a happy Rizzles ending. Do not ask me to add another chapter. I really just felt like I had to get this out. If you know you won't like a sad ending, don't read this! It's as simple as that. (And, it was my intention for Jane to actually be straight, not closeted.)

I hate when Jane and I fight.

She gets loud, I get pretentious, we both say horribly hurtful things. We don't always get back on speaking terms right away. Those times when we are separated, when we don't get drinks after work or have our movie nights, have been some of the worst times of my life. It's hell knowing how much joy and vigor Jane can bring into any day, any moment, and then have to cut all of it out. That's why our reconcilations are so wonderful: I am reminded more fully of how much I need her, how much I crave her.

I've always prided myself on my ability to be self-sufficient. I don't need anyone to stand up for me, to protect me, to speak on my behalf. But I find myself indescribably grateful when Jane does those things for me. It truly means something to me that I mean so much to her.

So when we fight, it's at least a good explanation for why we don't spend time together.

We don't have that excuse any more. We just don't see each other as often as we used to.

Oh, we're still best friends. We still laugh at work and we often get lunch together. But there are no more movie nights, and hardly any more drinks after solving a case. No afternoon jogs, no early-morning chess games, no dragging her along to art exhibits or allowing her to drag me to a baseball game. And there are definitely no more sleepovers. She doesn't need me for any of those things anymore.

Why did Casey have to come back to Boston?

Why did I have to encourage him to tell Jane the truth?

Because I'm not an awful person, that's why. He was clearly miserable and Jane was obviously distraught and upset over his treatment of her. I wanted my best friend to be happy, or at least have some sense of closure. Part of me certainly imagined that their reconciliation could lead to a rekindling of their romance, and yet I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't prepared for Casey to take my place.

It's not a fair comparison, really. Jane and I never dated. We never had sex. We never even kissed. To be honest, I don't think I ever really gave much thought to having sex with her (sober, anyway). So when she asked me if I wanted to sleep with her, I was honest in saying no. But I did want to kiss her. There were several times I had to reign myself in, remind myself that Jane was straight and not interested in deviating from the sexuality that was expected of her.

Now and then I did wonder if she was attracted to me, but I told myself if that were true, she needed to make that first move. I didn't want to frighten or intimidate her, but mostly I was wary of making our relationship weird to her. I like to think that if one of us were a man, I would take the same approach. This was about keeping our friendship in tact. No second-guessing, no anticipatory fear of what might happen if we broke up. If we just stayed friends, I theorized that our relationship would always stay as wonderful as it had been. I wouldn't have to risk losing her.

It did not occur to me that by keeping quiet about my feelings and offering her over to men, that I would lose our relationship in an even worse way. That is, it didn't occur to me until the night of her wedding reception, when she was Mrs. Casey Jones.

Sitting alone at the bar while Jane and Casey greeted their guests hand-in-hand, smiling with adolescent giddiness and kissing each other constantly, I finally appreciated the phrase "hurts like hell." Something had been simmering slowly over time: my attachment to Jane, my love for her. It went beyond a mere physical attraction, which is why it took so long for me to notice it.

More than once I had enumerated the many health benefits of sex to an awkward and uncomfortable-looking Jane, who could never quite understand my frankness when it came to discussing such things. Similarly, I could never understand why she was so shy about it. There's no shame in sex, not when it's consensual.

That's when I thought of Jane telling me about the first time she and Casey had slept together—when they really had just slept. It seemed amusing at the time, almost endearlingly juvenile. But the more I think of it, the more I've begun to understand it. In Jane's point of view, sex is something you build up to. It's not something you do for fun, to ward off colds, or because a man finds you attractive. It's what you do when you're in love. It's the last step you take in giving yourself over to someone completely, connecting to them on every level possible.

Jane and I have slept together. Just slept. And those were some of the best nights I've ever had.

She has been my best friend and so much more. My sister and so much more. My confidant, and so, so muchmore. These are essentially the words that come out of my mouth when it is my turn to give a toast, and I start to cry because Jane is looking at me with tears in her eyes as I ramble on about some of our more unique memories and shared experiences.

I cry for so many reasons. I cry because I know I've lost her, and she doesn't seem to care. I cry because our routine used to be that we would go on dates with men and then meet up for drinks to exchange notes, to laugh at them behind their backs and then go home together—until Casey came back, and Jane didn't need to make fun of anybody anymore. She didn't need to come home with me or meet up to ask for advice afterwards. She had finally found a man who stuck. I cry because I missed my chance: if I had confessed my feelings to Jane, maybe she would have admitted to returning them. Or maybe it would have made our friendship more distant—but that's exactly what is happening now, and all because somebody else had the courage to tell Jane how he felt and I didn't.

I cry because of the video Angela had asked Tommy to put together, essentially a slideshow of pictures of Jane and Casey growing up, set to some incredibly cheesy song that made Jane blush. Apparently, she and Casey had danced to it once in high school. I cry because I had never seen these pictures of Jane before, when she was young. I cry because while they were watching the video, Jane was initially embarrassed and voicing (as she often did) her annoyance with Angela, but soon enough she and Casey were laughing over shared memories and swapping stories about people I'd never known. I cry because there were pictures of Casey at Rizzoli family functions, where I know often hung in the background if I went at all. Angela adores him. Frank admires the sacrifices he made for our country. Frankie and Tommy think the world of him. I cry because they are the most real family I have ever known, and I think I am losing them.

I cry because I've never seen Jane look this happy. I didn't realize how fiercely I had cherished being the person she would smile at the most, would tease the most, would cheerfully spend time with the most. So …I suppose for the first time in my life, I am experiencing true jealousy. The thought of Casey being the one in Jane's bed, being the peacemaker between Jane and Angela, being the one Tommy asks advice from, being there to comfort Jane when her father seems distant—it all makes me burn with uncharacteristic, seething, immature envy.

I wanted everything he was going to have. I wanted to be in this family's life forever. I wanted to be in their Christmas cards. I wanted to be an aunt for Frankie and Tommy's children if they ever had them. I wanted to go on family vacations with them. I wanted everyone to know I was a member of this family by association if not blood. I wanted Jane to lean on me always, to need me more than she needed anyone else. I wanted her to come to me for anything she needed, and I wanted to always know she would be there any time of the day for me, no matter how seemingly stupid or inconsequential the reason.

But what really makes me cry the most is the fact that Jane is also crying but for absolutely none of the reasons I am. She's crying because she's touched by my devotion to her as a best friend, and because this whole day has been so beautifully emotional (for her) that I doubt it would take very much to set her off at this point. She is in absolute ignorance of how much she has broken my heart, because I never offered it to her straight-up in the first place.

Very impressively (I thought), I managed to keep a smile on my face for most of the time. I got a few laughs thrown in there. All of this was calculated so that nobody would intuit the utter devastation I was feeling; that they wouldn't realize this was only a last-ditch desperate plea for her to see how much I so completely loved her, disguised only as a tearful toast.

When I finished, people clapped appreciatively as I handed the microphone over to Casey's best friends. As it got passed down and before I could take my seat again, Jane quickly stood up and caught me in an embrace. The unexpectedness of it got a sob out of me and I clutched her tightly, never wanting to let go.

"Thank you," she whispered. She kissed my cheek and I cringed. Her voice was garbled by tears when she said, "I love you, Maura."

I hate how platonic the words sound in her voice. I hate the knowledge that she will never realize how sincerely I mean it when I say, "I love you, too, Jane" when I hug her even closer. But it's too brief. We go to sit down again, and Casey nods and smiles at me. The moment Jane is back in her chair, his arm is around her shoulders and she takes his hand, kissing him on the cheek.

There's no dancing. Just more toasts as I sit there and continue to drink, keeping my eyes on Jane because there's no harm in staring here. Everybody wants to watch the bride's reactions. But now and then I have to look away, because the longer I watch her and the more I drink, the deeper my self-hatred grows.

My feelings for Jane really snuck up on me. I've never allowed myself to develop romantic feelings for a coworker, and more than that, I have never found myself attracted to another woman before. But it was all tumbling out of control, now. I wanted to share my life with her. I wanted to be with her. The night she came to me when Hoyt was still after her, and Dean, her brothers, her father, and her mother had all been insufficient protection for her—I was really struck by the fact that she had come to me. My house. My bed. My side. Nobody else would do.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life."

That was the first time I thought I might like to kiss her. When she admitted that she wasn't always as tough as she came off, that she couldn't be that intimidating badass all the time. In essence, it was an confession that maybe she did need someone, and that maybe Jane Rizzoli wasn't as brazenly independent as she would like people to think. That's why I wanted to sleep with her: I wanted to her to feel like she wasn't alone. I wanted her to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would always be there for her. Her best friend.

The memory of that next morning is seared permanently into my mind:

I wake up first. I didn't remember falling asleep in the guest bed with Jane, but that's clearly what happened. It hadn't been my plan or my intention, but waking up with her sleeping peacefully next to me is one of the most heartwarming things I have ever seen. She is lying on her side facing me, one foot quite close to my leg. When those big brown eyes open and take me in, Jane looks confused.

"What're you doing here?" she asks in a raspy voice, rubbing her eyes.

"This is my house," I remind her.

She sits up groggily, clearing her throat and taking in the sight of the room. "Oh, yeah," she bashfully realizes. "Did you… you didn't sleep in here, did you?"

"Of course I did."

Jane raises her eyebrows, and I find myself wondering the same thing she probably is: why "of course?" After an awkward silence, she says, "Uh… thanks. It all seems kind of stupid in the daylight, now."

"What, being afraid that an insane serial killer might be after you, simply because we know he's after you? Yes, very stupid."

It was the kind of humor I was starting to be able to do, and the kind that Jane appreciates despite its darkness. She rolls her neck and pats my arm affectionately. "Right. Thanks, Maur."

Marrying Casey was not an attempt to hurt me. It wasn't a slight, a payback, or a way to find emotional closeness with someone after we'd had a fight. Jane's in love with him. It's as simple as that. I'm in sure in time that I'll be able to come to terms with it. I will move on past this. I'm happy for her because she's so happy, but cliché as it sounds, it's eating me up in side not being the one to make her so clearly blissful.

Blissful… ignorance is bliss. The thought had crossed my drunken mind that I should confess to Jane how I feel before they leave for Niagara Falls. But I didn't have to be sober to know I could never do that. That's the sort of timing that only ever works in the movies. Badly written, poorly constructed movies. On Lifetime. The kinds that Jane and I would sometime stay up late watching and making fun of when we couldn't sleep. It had no place in real life, and certainly not Jane's.

It was a relatively small wedding. There weren't a lot of people to say goodbye to as the night finally wound down and the newly married couple prepared to leave. Angela was, of course, sobbing as she hugged Jane goodbye, and Jane was clearly too ecstatic to be embarrassed about it. Frank shook Casey's hand, and the boys both gave him a quick embrace.

Casey had recovered fairly well by now; he only needed a walking stick to accompany him when he stood. When he turned to look at me, my eyes were red but mostly dry.

"No hard feelings, doc?" he asked, extending his hand.

"W-what?"

He smiled and reached for my hand when I failed to take his. "You know you're still Jane's best friend, right? Nobody will ever come between you two, certainly not me." He winked and gave me what I think was supposed to be a congenial cuff to the shoulder. "Thanks for sending me back to her." Clearly at this point I had bypassed hell. Where was I now, limbo? We both glanced over at Jane, to see her somewhat stiffly hugging Frank. Casey lowered his voice and looked back at me. "You know… after I asked Jane to marry me, and she said yes, she asked if I had gone to her father for permission. Just as a joke, I think. I said no, but offered to do it retroactively. You know what she said?"

My voice was breathless, not my own. "What?"

"She said if I ought to ask anyone for permission, it should be you," he said. He was smiling, like he assumed this was a very sweet sentiment that would not currently make me feel as if my heart was splitting in two. "She thinks so highly of you and she knows you'd do anything for her well-being. So I can't tell you how much I appreciate your, uh… approval of me!"

There was that laugh and that sense of humor Jane had fallen in love with. I knew I was crying again, but I forced that desperate smile through and, judging by Casey's expression, managed merely to look as if I was still moved by all the beauty that had transpired that day. "I'm just—I'm… Jane's been with a lot losers, Casey. I'm glad you're—I mean—I know you'll treat her right."

"I'll treat her better than right," he assured me. Then he walked over to Angela, who engulfed him immediately in one of her signature embraces.

My breath caught in my throat when Jane walked over to me, looking at me like we were the only people in the room. Her wedding dress was long gone, switched out for something a bit more practical, but still, of course, formal. Her black hair was tumbling down over her shoulders, looking gorgeous in contrast to the sleeveless sky blue dress that hung on her frame so perfectly. She was flushed from the excitement of the day, still smiling all the way up to her eyes.

And out it came, just spilling from my mouth in a quiet sob when she reached me: "Jane, you look so beautiful!"

"Oh, honey!" she laughed, pulling me into a strong hug. "You're—"

"I just realized I never said it to you," I gasped into her hair, my eyes screwed shut from the pain of the burning tears. "Not even when you were in your wedding dress—you looked so beautiful then, too."

"Geez, Maura, thanks," she chuckled. But I continued to cry, and when Jane tried to pull away, I just gripped her tighter. "Maura?" Her voice now sounded a bit concerned, though still a bit jocular. Clearly, though, she was a little anxious. "What're you… are you okay?"

I was the one to break off the embrace, finally pulling back but keeping my hands on her arms. "I'm sorry, I just—I've had too much to drink," I said, which was true. "And I'm—Jane, I just …" I brought myself to meet her gaze, and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears as she smiled nervously. "You're happy," I half-laughed, half-cried.

"Yeah," she said with a shaky laugh, gaining confidence as I made more of an effort to appear glad myself. "Maura, I think this is the happiest I've ever been. This is so cheesy, but I think it really is the happiest day of my life!"

"Well I'm—I'm just so happy that you're happy," I got out, giving her one more short hug.

When we broke apart again, she looked me in the eye and said, "This doesn't change anything, all right, Maura? It doesn't change anything." Everything's already changed, Jane, how can you not see that? "You're still my best friend. I would still take a bullet for you." What if the bullet came from you?

It was too much for me to take in. "Of course," I sniffed, rubbing weakly at my eyes. She gave my arm a squeeze and went to join Casey by the door. "I do love you, Jane," I couldn't resist throwing out again.

She turned to look back at me, and I felt the strangest sensation. Nobody else seemed to have heard my comment. Jane's smile was still in place, but it looked a little more confused now. I got the impression that she was really looking at me, really trying to understand precisely why I was getting so emotional. Jane quickly licked her lips and opened her mouth, maybe to say something—but I'll never know, because Tommy jokingly grabbed her arm and gave her a push in Casey's direction.

Everyone was outside to watch them drive away. Everyone but me. I remained indoors until I knew they had gone. I didn't know how much longer I could hold up this façade of happy crying when all I wanted to do was retch and maybe hit something hard. Ultimately I wound up in the empty bathroom, standing in front of a sink and splashing water into my face as I cried pathetically. I'd never cried like this in my life, but it was all sinking in: Jane was happy, and it had nothing to do with me.

She'd told me getting married didn't change anything about our relationship. That's how unnecessary I had become to her: she didn't even realize how much our friendship had already been affected by Casey. While she was with him, I was usually alone. She and I didn't fall into conversation as easily. She wasn't available as frequently. I was no longer the first or only person she would tell things. There, again, was that surging envy to join the hurt and the despair within me as I envisioned her and Casey lying alone together at night. He saw her vulnerabilities. She opened up to him in ways that previously she had only done to me.

I did not hate Casey for it. I hated myself and my cowardice for missing my chance to exclusively remain that person for Jane, to be more to her than just a best friend.

I've no idea how long I was there before Angela came in.

"Oh, Maura! There you are. Big day, huh?" she sighed, looking tired but happy. By now I had finished crying, but could only summon the energy to nod before Angela gave me a consoling hug. "Aw, Maura, you know we love you, right? You're like another daughter to me, and I know Jane loves you like the sister she never had. You will always be part of our family, all right? Janie getting married doesn't change any of that."

"Thank you," I said, and I knew my voice was emotionless and flat. When I pulled myself out of Angela's arms, she was frowning slightly. "It's been a long day, hasn't it? I should probably get home…"

"Do you think you're all right to drive?" Angela asked.

I'm sure that legally I was, but it still wouldn't hurt to take precautions. "Perhaps I should take a cab."

"Don't be ridiculous, Maura, we'll take you home—"

I was already walking out of the bathroom, shaking my head. "No, no, that's all right."

"Sweetheart, let us—"

"No, thank you," I said a little more firmly. I forced a smile to try and let her know I was all right, but she did not look convinced. I walked out of the bathroom and took a side door out, not wanting any of the other Rizzoli's to try and offer me anything. This had been such a happy day for them all, and I didn't want them to be burdened by me or my sadness.

And besides…I'm used to being alone.