Hey guys! I'm terribly sorry for being extra slow with TBER. I've just felt terribly squashed by school, and while I was writing this piece I should have been doing homework. /: Anyway, I hope you enjoy this semi-smutty one-shot. No beta because well...I was writing and not speaking to her at the time I was writing this because I suck at writing and speaking.

Words-2,949

Rating- M

Spoilers- Very few, mostly first season.

Disclaimer-If I owned them I wouldn't spend all my time writing about them. Also, this song belongs to the amazing Counting Crows, "Anna Begins". Which I (surprisingly) also don't own.

Reviews- Please? My very first try at...smut-esque stuff.

My friend assures me, "It's all or nothing."

I am not worried, I am not overly concerned.

My friend implores me, "For one time only,

Make an exception." I am not worried.

Wrap her up in a package of lies,

Send her off to a coconut island.

I am not worried; I am not overly concerned with the status of my emotions.

"Oh," she says "you're changing."

We're always changing…

"This isn't love, Jane." She tells me in a placating way, as my shirt is discarded to the ground. To join my pants. Her hands begin to wonder my body, and I suppress a shiver—bite back a moan. I'm not entirely sure what's going on. But I think I like it—think I want it. She touches me like she loves me though. Her fingers tread up my sides—light a match in my veins and I'm sure all the sparks rush to my heart and ignite a desperate fire. Right now though, I'm not too concerned with my emotions, and what can or can't come of this. It's all or nothing…she said. I've been far too fixated on getting it all to leave with nothing. I've made an exception for Maura, just this once. I'll lie to her, pretend this isn't happening. If this is the only way I can have her. With Maura down on her knees and me braced up against the counter—grasping on for dear life. "You're changing," she says. Probably surprised that she's not the one being fucked up against a counter, I can change for her. We're always changing.

It does not bother me to say this isn't love.

Because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love.

And I guess I'm gonna have to live with that.

But I'm sure there's something in a shade of grey,

Or something in between,

And I can always change my name,

If that's what you mean.

"Okay Maur, it isn't love. This isn't love—I get it." I rasp out, the words breathing past my lips and soaking their way into her neck where I can see the steady pulse of her heart hiccup and begin again at a quicker pace. Her freckled eyes betray nothing to my prying detective stare, what a master she's become at denial. It's hard to believe honesty when the lie wears such a truthful face. I'm sure that if this, her down on her knees with my legs quivering like a tightly pulled bow, were love; she'd at least want to talk about it. Maura's never been one for emotions though, which is why I'm the surer of us. We're somewhere in between, I can feel it in the tentativeness of touch. I'm sure I can see it in her bright smile when it's directed towards me; this grey state. I need to make her see what I see.

Somehow my fingers ended up threading their way through Maura's incredibly soft hair; I'm left pondering how the hell she gets it so silky. "Maura," I manage to utter out. She doesn't stop doing that thing with her tongue and I gasp. "Damn it, Maur…" She only takes that as encouragement. Fuck, I would too. So I release the countertop and grasp her shoulders and slowly pull her up off my wooden floor. I see the marks her knees made, and I know that every time I pass by that place this image will be burned into my mind for days…months, afterwards. Before she can question herself—because honestly, no person in their right mind would stop something like that—I pull her into a kiss. It's heated, fervent, animalistic, wild…and many, many more words that I'm sure my best friend can come up with to describe this kiss. I just sum it up to mind-fucking-numbing.

As she pulls away, with her pants rushing out and sticking to the sweet spot between my neck and shoulder, I run my tongue across my bottom lip and I try not to groan. The taste of me intermingled with Maura's expensive pomegranate lip gloss—it tastes right, tastes…beautiful. And she's started kissing my neck again…oh wait, that's my, fuuuucccckk. It all feels so damn good and I stupidly mumble out, "I could change my name, if that's what you want." Before the implications of what I say settle in, I turn around. My hand clasps around her delicate wrist in a make-shift handcuff and I tug her along to my bedroom. She follows, she always follows. I hear the naked patter of our feet against the floor, and I know in my loneliest of hours those sounds will bounce around in my head—even when they're not there.

My friend assures me, "It's all or nothing."

But I am not really worried, I am not overly concerned.

You try to tell yourself the things you try to tell yourself

To make yourself forget. To make yourself forget. I am not worried.

"If it's love," she said, "then we're gonna have to think about the consequences."

But she can't stop shaking and I can't stop touching her and…

It's all or nothing. It's moments like this though, with her splayed out across my bed—her milky white skin contrasting with my olive colored sheet—that I wish it were nothing. The image of her swims in my mind and the hues of Maura and my sheets blur together to create my new favorite color. Fuckin' blue has nothing on this. If it were nothing, we could keep doing this; and I could see my favorite color and hear my favorite sound every day. But I can't stop touching her, kissing her, can't stop loving her. I try to tell myself there's no need to worry. Your hands look perfect on everyone's body, Rizzoli. I know that they look best on Maura's hips though, wrapped in Maura's hair….It's times like these when I think these hands were made for touching and caressing, not for playing the piano. Because this, with my left hand on her hip, and my right on her breast—doesn't hurt nearly as much as pushing down damn black and white keys. It'll only hurt for hours afterward when fingers ache for something that isn't there. So I'll play the piano.

"If it's love," those breathy words tumble forth and create hope out of air, "then we're going to have to think about the consequences." Then air is just air and hope turns into a warning. I don't say anything, because I know she'll come to her senses. I can't stop touching her—I know she doesn't mind much. She can't stop shaking, and I know she's close. With two fingers buried inside of her, and a hand delicately tracing the shape of a form—a form it will be drawing for hours later—is when I know she doesn't really care about consequences. Her analytical mind stops processing, stops making emotions into data that she can easily manipulate and process. Her mind just stops and Maura's rusty heart picks up tenfold.

This time when kindness falls like rain

It washes her away. And Anna begins to change her mind.

"These seconds when I'm shaking leave me shuddering for days," she says.

And I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

And then I can feel her seize up around my fingers, and I know this is it. I know that she knows. It was foolish of her to think otherwise. I try not to look at her face, because I know she's crying. So instead I look at her stomach and gently pull my fingers out from inside of her. And I feel almost useless now that my fingers aren't inside of Maura. Their purpose is her. She can't stop trembling and I can see every atom that comprises my best friend break apart and create someone with a changed mind. I sidle up her body and lay next to her. I wrap my arms securely around her waist; pull her closer, kiss her hair. Maura's quaking passes from her body into mine. I hold her tighter.

"These seconds when I'm shaking leave me shuddering for days," Maura's resigned sigh accents what I knew all along. I let out a husky laugh—it blows past her hair and skims the side of her neck. Bumps erupt along her ivory and cinnamon speckled skin; I attempt to kiss each individual bump. But that's about as impossible as the moment that just took place. Am I ready for this sort of thing? It's always easy to persuade someone to bend to your will, but when they actually agree in the end—you don't know what to do. Now that I have Maura, I'm scared. So scared. Facing serial killers, mob bosses, furry dogs…it's all a breeze. I am tired of being afraid, but it doesn't prepare me to be brave.

But I'm not gonna break, and I'm not gonna worry about it anymore.

I'm not gonna bend, and I'm not gonna break. And I'm not going to worry about it anymore.

It seems like I should say, "As long as this is love…"

But it's not all that easy, so maybe I should

Snap her up in a butterfly net and pin her down on a photograph album.

I'm not worried because I've done this sort of thing before.

But then I start to think about the consequences,

And I don't get no sleep in a quiet room and…

Before I can dwell any longer on my state of mind—like my best friend is so prone to do—I'm flipped over and onto my back. Confidence was found again somewhere between Maura's persistent fingers and her shining eyes. You look into her eyes and it's more than your heart will allow. That thought isn't entirely unbidden, even if I know it's from some corny song. With Maura, I can be corny and that song seems to fit, almost as well as her slender fingers fit inside me. I'm not going to worry about it anymore…mainly because I can't even fathom thinking right now. I can only feel, and –fuck—now I can see why Maura's brain shut off.

I tangle my aching hands in green sheets, if only to stay grounded. Her heated lips replace her fingers and I close my eyes. Falling stars streak across the back of my eyelids leaving behind sparks of star dust. The feeling of cool cotton beneath my fingers disappear, the only thing thrumming through my body is the pattern of Maura's incessant tongue. I open my eyes. I'm certain the image before me is more amazing and breathtaking than the stars that I imagined—but more so felt. She slows down; I want to scream and laugh all at once. And once again her fingers are back inside me, pushing, twisting.

Maura stretches up to meet my lips and our eyes connect for what can be assumed as only the second time that night. I feel as if I should say, "As long as this is love…", but I can't speak those words without doubt clouding my mind. I don't want our only moment to be spoiled with unmade decisions. When I capture this up and pin it down in my mind—pin her down like an ensnared butterfly—I want to remember it with clarity and love. Not as a prelude to an empty room, because when she leaves this room I know I won't get any sleep—not in a quiet room. These moments will flicker in my mind like a beloved film.

This time when kindness falls like rain,

It washes me away. And Anna begins to change my mind.

And every time she sneezes I believe it's love and,

Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

Finally, I lose all connection to Earth. I feel like I'm suspended in space with all the comets and asteroids racing around me, crashing into one another to create endless upon endless amounts of sparkling dust. I've never been here before. My glassy eyes open and peer into the face of my own personal rocket ship. Fuck NASA, I've got the next best thing—if not the best. I'm sure Maura can see stars in my eyes. My suspicion is confirmed when she smiles that smile. I return in kind. The silence stretches, only broken by my whimper when I'm not longer filled. Maura spoons me from behind—and sneezes. And I'm sure that's the most adorable sneeze I've ever heard, post-coital or not. I want to see her face because it always has the cutest of expressions. But I refrain. I think it's love. But we're always changing. I think it's love. But damn, I don't think I'm ready.

She's talking in her sleep

It's keeping me awake. And Anna begins to toss and turn.

And every word is nonsense but I understand and,

Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

The loosening of Maura's arms around my waist assures me that she's asleep now. Her exhausted body has finally let go, and her mind's given in to what we knew all along. The bed dips and hugs my present lover's body; it would be ridiculous to be jealous of a bed. I know this much. Doesn't stop me from glaring at it though. Nonessential words tumble from pink, swollen lips and jumble with the air to create a myriad of feelings inside of me. I can't sleep. Every word she speaks is meaningless and just babble, I understand it though. Without a distraction I'm forced to reevaluate what just took place. And where she and I are going to go. My mattress groans and Maura turns onto her back, and that's answer enough for my questions. My bare waist is cold with only a sheet for cover, and where my best friend's hands had been a stinging chill seeps in.

No longer braced up against Maura's warm chest I carefully extricate myself from my own bed. And promptly trip over Jo, she whines. I cringe. I peer over at Maura, and my breathe catches. Her honey blonde hair is twisted up with my sheet, her fingers wrapped securely around the green pillowcase. Her eyes aren't open, so I know I didn't wake her. Thankfully. Another word escapes her mouth, "love," it seems to sound like. But it could just as easily be anything else. More movement and all I can see is the expanse of her back rippling down to meet the cotton threads wrapped around her ass; legs weaved with sheets. I foolishly wish to climb back into bed with her, kiss her skin, taste her lips…love her again. But I don't. I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

Her kindness bangs a gong

It's moving me along. And Anna begins to fade away.

It's chasing me away. She disappears, and

Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

I walk out of my bedroom and to the counter top, I imagine Maura down on her knees and I almost sprint back to the room. I bend down and pick up my discarded clothes, put them on, and find Jo's leash. My apartment breathes love, and it strikes a chord within me. I might just have to sell this place. But that's a passing thought, like most everything else tonight. Well, now it would be this morning. Another well placed whine of Jo's interrupts my thoughts. I smile lovingly down at my fuzzy friend. With leash in hand and Jo trotting around my feet I leave the cumbersome air of my apartment. I leave Maura. Leave love. The hallway of my building swims with solemnity. But I keep moving forward and farther away from the vivacious particles that encompass my home.

When I return I know she won't be there. The clock said 5:33, and today is Tuesday. And even if it weren't for work, I know she'd feel it the moment I'm gone—and she herself would leave. I enter the predawn daylight with Jo chattering and pulling me towards the nearest lamppost. My phone breaks the comforting noise of birds and crispy leaves humming along the sidewalk to crunch under passerby's feet. I answer it, "Rizzoli," and Korsak's voice enters my ear. I hang up and walk a little farther off the path and to the side of the building towards the park across the street, but most of all—out of sight. Something's never change. I imagine Maura waking to the sound of her cell phone and the feeling of silence. I imagine her having to run to the living room to answer it. I see her end the call, and look around for something—someone—that isn't there. I know a frown will crease her brows…I know she'll still look adorable. Then I see her put, albeit reluctantly, wrinkled clothes on, grab her car keys—and then she'll leave my apartment.

I also know things will go back to normal, when I arrive at work. She'll have on a clean, tempting dress. And I'll insist on my boring pant suit and V-neck combo. Her eyes will still light up, and I'll still smile. Biding my time I plop onto a far off bench that surveys the street. Jo circles the grass, and then lies down and waits with me. I see a blue Prius pull off from the side of the road, and disappear down the street and out of my eyesight. Sighing, I walk back to my apartment. And when I open the door, I know all life has been sucked out. My rumpled bed is nothing but a prelude to an empty room. And damn it, I'm not ready for this vacancy.