Author's Note: Alrighty, one more fic before the summer break… I guess you know the drill by now — three chapters for easier readability, but the story is already complete.
This one takes place two weeks before my previous fic ("Breakfast With Her Shadow") and stays in the same storyverse with Jane & Maura as a couple. It's basically a companion piece to that other fic, but you'll understand everything without having read the other one.
They've never given the exact date of Jane's birthday on the show, so I took the creative liberty and decided it's in late July — because that's when all the cool kids have their birthdays. ;-)

As usual, the characters belong to Tess Gerritsen/TNT. The title refers to the song of the same name by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros. I'm sure you can figure out why.

Also, thanks for all the feedback on my previous fics! Much appreciated!
Enjoy your summer!

(PART I)

…

And it is that day again.

That dreadful annual spectacle of phony greetings and unannounced hugs, sweaty handshakes and forced smiles, lame-ass jokes and way too much cake. Well, at least the cake part is nice. But the rest? Not so much.

At the thought of the impending play to be enacted by friends and strangers alike, Jane buries her face even deeper in her pillow and stifles a groan. Maybe, if she simply refused to open her eyes, the day would pass and no one would notice… Or she could pretend to be sick… Just take a thermometer and a lamp to fake a fever… After all, her mother always fell for it back then, so why not try that trick again now?

Except that, now, she would have to play make-believe with a doctor whose IQ was most likely twice as high as the human body temperature. Even if one added a fever.

Frustrated, Jane turns around, brushes a strand of rebellious dark hair out of her face, and squints at the other half of her bed — only to find its sheets empty and its blanket carefully pulled back.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she props herself up on her elbows and checks her alarm. 7:05 A.M. Way too early no matter the day. In fact, it is so early that her half-closed eyes almost miss the little treat sitting on her nightstand. But when she blinks again and the blurry sight takes the shape of a cocoa-brown chocolate-chunk muffin, a broad smile spreads across her face.

Three self-indulgent bites later, the muffin is gone. And so is Jane's momentary frustration — that is, until the jangling of keys at her apartment's front door and the sound of her terrier bouncing over the wooden floor announce the return of her two closest companions. And on any of the other 364 days of the year, this would certainly make her heart jump with joy. But today, it is barely more than a timid little hop.

Cursing through her teeth, Jane crumples up the muffin paper cup, tosses it behind her nightstand, then quickly rolls onto her stomach and sprawls herself out across her side of the bed. Playing dead. Or at least semi-comatose. And hoping that wildlife's proven defense mechanism will also ward off the rather gentle predator now quietly climbing back into bed, crawling closer until Jane can feel the other woman's breath in her neck. Just keep on pretending. It will work.

It does not work.

"If you want to pretend you're still asleep, I suggest you wipe those muffin crumbs off your mouth…"

Without opening her eyes, Jane pointedly rubs the corner of her mouth, then resumes her paralyzed state.

"Come on," Maura chuckles and places a soft kiss on her neck. "You can't stay in bed all day."

"Watch me!" Jane murmurs into her pillow.

"I will not." Unambiguously, Maura lets her lips wander over the brunette's skin, all the way from her nape to the edge of her tank top. "And I have to be in court at 10, so if you'd like to spend some time with me, you should do so now."

Reluctantly, Jane turns onto her back and grumpily squints at the woman hovering on top of her.

"Happy birthday, Jane!" Cheerfully, Maura continues her kissing on Jane's chest.

"It'll be a happy one if you promise there won't be any surprises."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Well, first of all, I'm not clairvoyant," Maura states factually in between more kisses. "So, I'm not in the position to make any definitive statements regarding the absence of any surprises from your day."

Her detective senses suddenly wide awake, Jane suspiciously eyes the blonde. "When and where?"

"Excuse me?"

"The big surprise that you got planned." Jane knowingly raises her eyebrow. "When and where will it happen?"

Spontaneously losing interest in her seductive play, Maura withdraws to the other half of the bed and innocently stares at the ceiling. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But the challenge has already been accepted. Teasingly, Jane scoots closer and runs her fingers over Maura's skin exposed by her light halterneck dress. "Are you sure? You really don't know anything about a surprise?"

Before a sudden case of urticaria can complicate her answer, Maura swats Jane's fingers away. "All I know is you should stop being so grumpy. It's your special day after all. Who knows, maybe you'll like it…"

"So, there will be a surprise then?"

"What?" Visibly irritated, Maura glances at the brunette. "No, I… I meant your day. Maybe you'll like your day."

"You're so busted!" Jane grins triumphantly.

"I'm just saying… It's the first year we celebrate our birthdays together — I mean, together-together." Pensively, Maura locks her fingers with Jane's. "Maybe things will be different from now on."

But right now, grumpiness still beats optimism. "The only difference will be that my mother won't storm into my room doing her annual parade of Guess whose birthday it is?!"

"Is this why you wanted to stay here last night?"

"Well, it's certainly not because of the comfortableness of my bed." Annoyed, Jane tosses and turns. "This mattress sucks… just like this whole birthday thing…"

When there is no response, she pauses and peeks at Maura, who has focused her attention back on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Jane whispers as she notices the disappointment in the blonde's eyes. "I promise I'll put on my best smile and endure whatever surprise you have in store."

"You will?"

"Under one condition." Playfully, Jane nudges Maura. "I want another one of those muffins!"

But even on birthdays, some wishes aren't granted easily. "There is way too much chocolate and sugar in those, and you shouldn't—"

"You haven't even tried them! Besides, you said dark chocolate was healthy."

"Yes, but not if you overdose on it."

"Well…, what are we gonna do about my sweet tooth then…? Oh! I know!" Forestalling any futile protest, Jane slides on top of Maura and teasingly smooches her cheek. "You're sweet, too."

Lips curled into an amused smile, Maura invitingly pulls her closer and wraps her into her arms and her warmth. And as they both melt into an affectionate kiss, Jane can't deny that this potential new birthday routine does have certain charms. Maybe some things do change after all?

But just as their kisses deepen and their hands begin to explore each other's awakening skin, a familiar voice from the apartment's front door reminds them both that some things will always stay the same.

"Jane? Are you here?"

At the sound of her mother's nosiness echoing from the walls, Jane scowls at Maura. "You gotta be kidding me?!"

And her frustration finds its match in the blonde's face. "Why didn't you take away her key?!"

"Why didn't you barricade up the door?!" Grumpier than ever, Jane rolls off Maura — just in time before Angela appears in the door frame.

"Oh, hello, Maura!" After a friendly wink, the Rizzoli matriarch exuberantly turns to her daughter. "Guess whose birthday it is?!"

Wishing her gun wasn't out of reach, Jane pulls her blanket over her head and whimpers into her pillow. Yes, it is that day again.

…

Thirty gripe-filled minutes later, Jane finally stops protesting against her mother's presence — not because it has become any less annoying but simply because the plate of sweet-smelling bunny pancakes placed in front of her requires her mouth's full attention. Besides, after 38 years of practice, she is very much capable of conveying the same level of frustration with her eyes only. But as she sits at her kitchen counter and takes another maple-syrup-covered bite, she realizes that this unplanned one-on-one with her mother while Maura is still in the bathroom might actually work to her advantage.

Swallowing down another piece of pancake, Jane casually glances at the elder Rizzoli woman. "So, Maura told me everything about tonight…"

Keeping a straight face, Angela continues her breakfast preparations. "And what exactly did she tell you?"

"Well, you know, everything…"

With an interrogative calmness that would make any seasoned detective jealous, Angela locks eyes with her daughter while putting two more pancakes on a second plate. "And now you're telling me because…?"

"Because… I want to make sure you don't forget to be, uh… there in time." Jane smiles convincingly. More or less. "And no worries, I will still act totally surprised."

Admonishingly, Angela points her pancake turner at the younger Rizzoli woman. "Eat your pancakes, Jane."

Huffing in frustration, Jane gulps down another forkful. "Come on, you know I hate surprise parties. Just tell me what I'm in for this time."

"I thought Maura has already told you everything?" Angela smirks triumphantly.

As if on cue, Maura returns from the bathroom and takes her seat at the counter. "Told you what?"

"Nothing…," Jane focuses on her pancakes.

"Jane thought we would fall for one of her interrogation techniques." Angela shakes her head in disbelief and slides that second plate of pancakes to the blonde. "She claimed you were a little chatterbox and had spilled the beans about tonight."

"Oh, did she?" With feigned disappointment, Maura picks at her breakfast.

Silently cursing herself for having gotten out of bed, Jane turns her attention to the woman at her side. "I did not call you a chatterbox!"

"No, it's okay." Maura keeps her eyes on her pancakes. "I'm aware that you think I can't keep a secret."

"Maura, I know you can keep a secret! But you don't need to prove it today."

"Well, maybe… maybe I can give you one little hint." Finally, Maura looks up from her plate, pauses with secret delight at the sight of the growing anticipation in the brunette's eyes, but then leans forward to whisper that little hint into her ear. "You're gonna be late for work if you don't leave soon."

Jane groans in frustration and leaps to her feet. "I hate you…"

"No, you don't," Maura chuckles victoriously.

"But I'm getting there!"

As Jane grabs her blazer and heads for the door, Maura quickly reaches for something from behind the coffee machine. "Wait!"

"What?!" As Jane turns back around, she finds herself presented with another of those chocolate-chunk muffins. And if there ever was even the slightest possibility of her hating Maura, it is definitely gone now.

"Try not to leave crumbs all over your car seat," Maura smiles and hands her a napkin as well.

"Don't worry, this one won't even make it into my car!" To prove her point, Jane takes a large bite, then thankfully kisses the blonde on her cheek. "Have fun in court!"

As Maura wordlessly wipes the chocolate lip print off her skin, she suddenly remembers something else. "Uh, Jane…? When do you think you'll be back tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know…," the brunette shrugs teasingly and gulps down another muffin bite. "Why don't you let yourself be surprised?!"

"Jane…"

Already halfway out of the door, Jane rolls her eyes in defeat. "My shift ends at 6. I'll get back here as fast as I can, okay?"

And that is all Maura wants to know. "Okay. I love you."

"Yeah, yeah." Without turning back around, Jane waves and stomps out of her apartment. "Bye, Ma."

As the door snaps shut, Angela and Maura exchange a look of amusement before finishing their breakfast together.

…

It takes exactly twenty-three minutes in her car, five derisively gleaming red lights, and one suicidally snarky remark from Detective Crowe for Jane's muffin-induced mood boost to vanish into thin air. And it takes just one not-quite-empty styrofoam cup of coffee hurled right into the very same Detective Crowe's face for her mood to swing back into not-quite-grumpy territory — at least for the four minutes she needs to cover the distance from BPD's main entrance to the homicide squad's premises a few floors above.

Forestalling any further wisecracks from colleagues in the hallway with her patented Rizzoli glare, she makes her way to the bullpen and finds Korsak already behind his desk, dutifully typing up a report.

"Hey, Jane!" The sergeant looks up with a fatherly smile. "Happy birthday!"

"It could turn into one if you have a nice little murder case to distract me." With a hopeful grin, Jane leans against his desk and flips through some of his paper work.

"I'm afraid you're ten minutes too late," Korsak shrugs. "Vogler just took off to handle a scene in Southie."

"Damn it!" And the grumpiness is back with full force. "What about your cases? I know you have a few open ones…"

"Yes, and I will be able to close them if I'm allowed to work without interruption." Pointedly, Korsak takes a file from Jane's hands.

But she instantly snatches another one. "Is that the new one from Tuesday?"

"Yes, it is," Korsak sighs, giving up his attempts to get any work done. "Rich old lady was found in her home. Someone pushed her down the stairs in what appears to be a burglary gone wrong — or at least that's what we're supposed to think."

"But you think it was staged?"

"I'm considering it a possibility, yes." The sergeant pulls out a few crime scene photos from the case file. "Looks like she scratched her attacker. She had blood and skin cells under her fingernails, and I'm waiting for the lab results to come back."

"I could help you interview her neighbors." Mischievously, Jane wiggles her eyebrows.

"Already done that," Korsak dashes her hopes.

"Or talk to her family?"

"She doesn't have anyone left."

"Friends? Her household help? Uh, the butler?" Unmistakable desperation resonates in her voice. "Come on, you know it's always the butler!"

"Jane…," the sergeant moans helplessly. "It's your birthday. You should be happy you don't have any open cases, so you can go home in time."

"In time for what?" Suddenly, Jane is all ears and warily squints at Korsak.

"For… whatever you need to be home for…" The unintentional suspect squirms in his seat.

But now the detective has smelled blood. "What do you know?"

"I know nothin'…"

"The sooner you tell me, the sooner you'll get me off your back, and the sooner you can continue—"

The ringing of Korsak's phone abruptly cuts off Jane's thinly veiled threat.

Relieved to be off the hook, Korsak warningly raises his finger to demand silence and answers the call. "This is Sergeant Korsak…" He listens for a moment, then smiles approvingly. "Thank you! I'll be right there."

"New case?" Jane asks hopefully.

"Nope, but they got a DNA match." Without wasting any more time, the sergeant closes all the open folders on his desk and gets up. "Looks like my case is tied to a series of B&Es. I'll have to talk to the officers handling those. Excuse me." With that, he snatches Tuesday's case file from Jane's hand, grabs his jacket, and bolts out of the door.

"But…," Jane protests at his empty chair. In vain.

With a frustrated pout, she drags her feet to her desk and plops down in her own chair, spins around for half a minute, then begrudgingly decides to tackle the pile of paper work waiting next to her computer.

And as the hours pass and she finishes report after report — dealing with a late-night robbery and shooting at a Roxbury 7-Eleven, with a middle-aged woman stabbed by her jealousy-driven ex-husband, and with a case of voluntary manslaughter in an escalated bullying feud —, Jane's thoughts inevitably develop a life of their own, and her hand begins to doodle on a piece of scratch paper instead of signing her name under the next set of interrogation protocols.

What if this is all there really is? Murders and crime scenes and bringing peace to those who have died too soon? Sure, she loves her job — the thrill and the chases and the satisfying sound of handcuffs snapping shut around the felon's wrists. But when all is said and done, there are no winners in this sport. The game is already lost as soon as the victim's lifeless body hits the ground. And all she can do is try her best to delay the next match. But at what price? Is it really worth it? Does anybody really care when the good guys lose one of their own?

Gloom fills her heart as her eyes fall on Frost's action figure that has been standing guard next to her computer ever since they had begun to allow other detectives to use his empty desk. He is sorely missed by his colleagues, family, and friends. But did anybody on the outside really notice the difference he made? What if he had chosen another path in life? A path that might have led to love and to his own family, and not to his sudden and untimely death?

How do you know that the path you're on will lead you home, and not further and further away?

Absentmindedly, Jane rubs the scars on the back of her hands. Physical manifestations of everything she has sacrificed herself in this game. Battlefield injuries that no one is allowed to touch.

No one but Maura.

Even in the beginning, when her well-manicured fingers only accidentally brushed against the scars, it felt natural and soothing, and it ignited a burning desire for more. And now this gesture has become intentional, often accompanied by soft kisses and whispered words of affection. And it is the one thing that Jane would never want to miss in her life. Maybe this is it then? Maybe this is the right path after all?

Without an immediate answer but with increasingly itchy scars, Jane decisively closes the folder in front of her and tosses it back onto its pile, grabs her blazer, and gets up to head out for a spontaneous lunch with a certain medical examiner. Two can play that game of Surprise!

On her way out of the bullpen, she casts one last glance back at Frost's action figure on her desk, as if to ask for permission to leave by herself. But she knows he would approve. He always did.