I have a cat named Dr. Maura Isles and I'm currently watching her zoom around the house pouncing on everything in sight and tangling herself in her favorite sari hanging from my door. I took it as a sign to start writing this fic.
I of course don't own any of the characters. Rather, they own quite a bit of me.
"Where the FUCK is the damned broom?" Jane asked, storming around her house. She was pretty sure there was a bit of eggshell on the tile in the kitchen. And a few crumbs from the top of the donut she ate yesterday.
Casey was cruel.
Jane threw open her refrigerator and prayed to the God of Hops that a beer was in there.
Farmer's market vegetables and farm-fresh milk greeted her.
"Shit." She angrily slammed the door shut.
He didn't ask her if she wanted her refrigerator cleaned out. He didn't ask if he could come over for lunch at the precinct yesterday.
He didn't ask her to marry him.
No, instead he simply took it for granted that she would like a "clean" refrigerator. That she would like to have lunch with him. That she wouldn't care for flowers and rings and the question.
No, instead he simply asked her to choose between his career and her future. Marry me or never see me again.
No fucking big deal, right?
Jane paced her apartment, Joe Friday trotting annoyingly at her heels, searching desperately for a conclusion. She found the vacuum and began at the far side of the living room.
She ticked it off in her head: she liked Casey. They got along well. They had known each other for decades, enjoyed spending time with each other. She didn't mind kissing him. He had a pretty nice body. He was loyal, doting, hard-working.
All things said and done, he was a pretty great guy.
She groaned in frustration. The damned vacuum cleaner couldn't get to the crumbs just under the coffee table. She turned off the vacuum cleaner, frustrated, to move the offending piece of furniture.
But do I want to spend the rest of my life with him?
"FUCK." the coffee table came down hard on her bare toe. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," she muttered, leaping around the living room while Joe Friday watched unconcerned.
"Some dog you are," Jane said, glaring at the scruffy creature.
And then the cons: The metaphorical knife wound she felt when he shut her out after his injury. The anger she felt at that god damned pride of his that got between them. The happiness she had to feign when he surprised her with dinner, forcing her to cancel plans with her best friend. The little flutters of annoyance that brushed against her when he reorganized her refrigerator.
I always wanted a wife.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw that she had two texts from Maura.
M: The broom is on your balcony.
She smacked herself on the forehead. Of course! She had dropped a mug there a few days ago when Maura surprised her in the morning with breakfast.
M: I have a six pack of Blue Moon in the refrigerator.
She is a goddess.
J: Leaving now.
Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on Maura's couch and knocking back her second beer. The petite blonde sat silently next to her, one hand on her leg. The fingers were drumming rhythmically against her thigh.
The clock over the giant flat screen TV loudly reminded Jane of the passing seconds.
"Ya playing Beethoven with those fingers of yours?" Jane asked, looking down at Maura's restless hands.
"Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto Number 2, actually," Maura said nonchalantly.
"Is that the one that goes BUM dA dUMMMM BUM dA dUMMMM baDADUM…" Jane asked, comically pretending she was playing the piano.
Maura nodded and smiled, but there weren't any dimples, "I thought you didn't like classical music?"
"I used to watch the Seven Year Itch a lot as a kid. My mom really liked it."
"Ah, yes. Marilyn Monroe and Tom Ewell. A classic," Maura's uncharacteristically short answer fell flat.
Jane got up, stretching, to go get another bottle of beer, leaving Maura's hand to fall limply to the couch.
"I always liked how the crazy, elaborate seduction of Marilyn Monroe is all in his head," Jane says, cracking open the beer and walking back to the couch.
Did Jane just say the word, "seduction"?
"Did I just say the word 'seduction'? Jeeze, Maur," she chuckled nervously. "This Casey thing must really be going to my head."
She sat down heavily and stared at the intricate, undoubtedly hand-stitched, patterns of the rug beneath her feet. She smelled the delicate scent of her best friend waft toward her as the smaller woman shifted toward her on the couch. Feet tucked under her tight, yoga-pants clad ass, she wrapped a comforting arm around Jane's back and one across her front, her two hands meeting at a point just below Jane's shoulder.
Jane sighed into the embrace, lightly rubbing her head in acknowledgement against the one resting on her shoulder.
"Maur. What do I do?"
She felt the Medical Examiner stiffen at the question.
"Do you love him?"
"Of course I love him. I just…I don't know if I want to get married right now. It all seems so sudden, you know?"
She sighed.
"If I don't marry him, he sticks with his job and I lose him."
But you stay with me. The words came unbidden to Maura's head.
"If I marry him, he gives up his job and I keep him."
But you lose me.
"Why does he make me choose between his job and me? Why can't he have both? Why can't we do what we've been doing?"
"Because of me," Maura said quietly.
"Excuse me, Maura. WHAT?"
"Because of me. Casey gave you this ultimatum because I'm in the painting."
"Picture, Maura. You're in the picture," Jane corrected automatically.
She took a long gulp of beer.
"What does he mean by 'you're in the picture'?" Jane asked slowly.