Note: If any of these characters were mine, I'd be retired and drinking whiskey on the beach.
There were two things that the Dirty Robber always got right: cold beer and more cold beer.
The bar was packed tonight with the Boston Police Department, celebrating the long-expected and well-deserved retirement of one of their own. Captain Harrison "Hatch" Deacon had served on the force for more than 40 years and his wife had finally succeeded where others (namely serious injuries) had failed—she had convinced Hatch it was finally time for a changing of the guard.
The crowd roared in laughter and hollered encouragement as Korsak shared a story of how dedicated Hatch was to the job. His booming voice, laced with hints of a familiar Boston accent, thundered across the noisy bar. "So that's how Deacon, with his 100 degree fever, ended up in the interrogation room with our only suspect in the case. We had spent hours trying to get him to talk, but he never said a damn thing—didn't even ask for a lawyer. Deacon is in there with him for five minutes and we get a detailed confession. How'd he do it? He threw up on the guy."
Jane instinctively leaned to the side, waiting for Maura's commentary on the different types of exotic diseases that express themselves through fever and vomit. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. It had become second nature for them in moments like this, to tilt their heads toward one another conspiratorially. Maura would spout off another one of her fun facts or a history lesson and Jane would listen. The detective always listened… she just didn't always care.
It took Jane an extra moment to realize all she could hear was Deacon retaliating with a tale from Korsak's failed marriage… one of them, at least. Her head shot up at Maura's absence, dark brown eyes immediately scanning the room for a glimpse of honey blonde hair. How could someone in heels that high and a skirt that tight move so fast?
Maura tried to flag down the bartender, but it was nearly impossible in a crowd of increasingly rowdy officers. She had noticed Jane's empty beer bottle earlier and was hoping she could slip away and return back with a fresh one before the dark brunette even knew she was gone. Though this was taking longer than she had planned, Maura was never one to back down from a little challenge.
She cleared her throat and caught the attention of the rookie officer standing next to her. The nameplate on his uniform read "Mackenzie." Maura smiled, batted her eyelashes and leaned forward, gently pressing her chest against his arm. "Oh, I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm having a little trouble catching the bartender's attention…"
The officer turned around, still laughing at the exchange between Korsak and Deacon. His laugh cut off abruptly as his eyes met a hazel gaze before briefly dipping down to trace the swell of Maura's breasts, currently pressed convincingly against his forearm. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. He had heard the rumors about how attractive the Chief Medical Examiner was, but he never imagined this. The blonde waves framing her face, blush pink lips, hazel eyes watching him from beneath long lashes… There was no denying it—Dr. Maura Isles was hot.
He cleared his throat and licked his lips, voice cracking slightly as he spoke. "Oh, it's no bother at all. What can I get for you?"
This was too easy. Maura tracked each physiological reaction and knew, without a doubt, that the rookie officer was attracted to her. "Two beers, please. And thank you, Officer Mackenzie…" She softened her voice when she spoke his name, breathless. Again, too easy.
Jane rolled her eyes when she finally spotted Maura at the bar pressed against a uni. She started to slowly make her way through the crowd, firmly pushing inebriated cops out of her way, never once taking her eyes off of the doctor. Halfway there, Maura turned her head and caught her gaze, tilting her head and smiling innocently. She always knew when Jane was nearby. They maintained eye contact as Jane closed the remaining distance between them, drawn like a moth to a stunning blonde flame.
Mackenzie nearly threw himself over the wooden counter to grab the bartender. He put the two beers on his tab and turned around, holding both bottles by the neck, only to collide with a hand pushing against his chest.
"Nice try, Mac. Go beat off elsewhere. She's too young for you," smirked Jane. "But no need to waste good beer. Thanks for the drink." She bit down on her tongue to keep from laughing at the rookie's disappointed face, plucking the cold bottles from his grip.
Maura watched with amusement. It had taken Jane longer than normal to intervene this time. Usually, she didn't even get the chance to breathlessly say someone's name before the dark-haired detective stepped in. Not that she minded all that much.
"Jane, be nice." Maura arched a brow and took a beer from Jane's hand.
"It looked like you were being plenty nice for the both of us. Officer Mackenzie you're so strong, holding those two heavy bottles of beer," Jane mocked before taking a long drink.
"He does appear to have very well-developed musculature, but I wouldn't go so far as to claim he is 'so strong' because of his ability to hold two bottles. I would, of course, need to perform a few additional fitness and conditioning tests to determine his strength."
Jane stared, beer tilted back against her lips. Maura smiled, knowingly, and waited for a reaction. Brown eyes met hazel and a few heartbeats passed before Jane broke into a large grin. The Dirty Robber crowd cheered again and the noise drowned out any possibility of a normal conversation. Jane stepped forward, intimately and comfortably into Maura's personal space, and bent her lips to the blonde's ear. Both silently assured themselves that this was the only way they could hear each other, so it only made sense to stand so close. Though all Maura could hear at the moment was Jane's low breathing and Jane was deaf to everything but the steady roar that accompanied standing so close.
"Why Dr. Isles, you had me going there for a moment. Well played, doctor." Jane's voice was quiet, but the words cut straight to Maura's core. It was raspy, hoarse, feminine, deep, and so implicitly Jane. Maura turned her head slightly to the side, leaning up to speak into Jane's ear, almost purring, "I learned from Boston's finest."
The crowd surged, rambunctiously fueled by alcohol, and Jane was suddenly knocked forward against Maura. The detective's hips pressed against the doctor's, effectively pinning her against the bar. Their eyes met again and Maura, without a second thought, reached up to brush back a loose tendril of Jane's dark curls that had fallen in her face. Jane's breath caught in her throat as Maura's eyes dropped to her lips.
The moment was interrupted by a sudden commotion from the door. Deacon started shouting and the bar's merriment turned as officers tried to decipher what he was yelling. Jane turned, instinct taking over, and gently pushed Maura behind her. The move did not go unnoticed—the doctor recognized that Jane was placing herself between Maura and possible danger. She placed her hand on the detective's back, acknowledging the protective gesture. This interaction defined their relationship. Words weren't always necessary. They moved as if the steps were rehearsed.
"We've got a body! Some sick fucker propped it up like a scarecrow in the alley," Deacon shouted again.