2.05 Don't Hate The Player
It had been a challenging week for Jane's poor brain. For the first time in a while, she had been on a date with a pretty attractive man - whom she had later arrested for murder, but the point was, she'd been on a date - and all she thought about was the fact that Maura was wearing her clothes. It was for the best, looking back, that Maura's house had been broken into, because, damn, Maura looked fantastic in Jane's clothes.
Why don't I ever look like that? wondered Jane as she unlocked the door to Maura's house. Boobs. It was the boobs. Maura had them, and Jane didn't. "Hey, Maura, I brought your dress back," she called out bumping the door with her hip. Jane was hoping neither her brother or her mother were over this time, so she could just hang out with Maura and not be awkward about it. Jane had been trying her hardest not to let the information of Maura's bisexuality, if it was that, affect their friendship. "And I brought snacks so we can watch the game."
Movement below startled Jane, who instinctively leaped back onto the doorstep as Bass shuffled past her. "Jesus! Oh, man. Bass, buddy, you came at me out of nowhere. Slow down, or you'll get whiplash." The African spurred tortoise didn't even look up to acknowledge her; she was a common enough sight now that he had absorbed her as a part of his routine, and thought nothing of her at all. She didn't bring him his food.
As the lanky woman walked behind Bass to get a beer from the fridge and set the brown-bagged dress on the counter top, the sound of pouring water startled her yet again, and shortly the home's owner emerged from the utility room off the kitchen, laundry started, hands now empty, and headed for the refrigerator for a bottle of water for herself. "Hi," she greeted Jane with a cheerful smile once she'd had a nice, long sip. "Is that my dress? I have your suit back from the cleaners, too. It's hanging in the guest room closet. What snacks? Is it those disgusting Cheesy Toes things that turn your fingers orange?"
"Cheetos," replied Jane, emphasizing the first syllable heavily. "And no, and yes. I brought those Cape Cod chips you like, cause you said you hated getting orange on the couch. The one time," she added, as an undervoiced mutter. Jane held the dress out with her non-beer hand, still in its baby-killing plastic sheath, to Maura, before glancing around. "Is Ma here?"
Maura peeked into the bag and, with a small noise of delight, took her favorite chips out of the bag. "No, she went shopping with Tommy. Did you bring Jo?" Not that Maura didn't enjoy Jane's terrier, but she was noisy and attention-needing in ways that were contrary to a quiet afternoon.
Snagging the chips back out of Maura's hand, Jane stuck her tongue out and went to sit on the couch. "Frankie borrowed her to pick up girls in the park." Excellent. There would be no extraneous Rizzolis this afternoon. "Have you ever watched a hockey game before? It's just the exhibition season, but you get to see all the new guys."
Before Maura really answered, Jane glanced back and saw what the woman was wearing as 'lounge' clothes. It looked like she'd raided Jane's closet again, with a comfortable cotton top and pants. But those clothes never hugged Jane's curves the way they did Maura's, and Jane's mouth spun into overdrive. "It's the pre-game stuff, so you can cheer for anyone and not feel guilty when you're happy if your guys lose. We're the Bruins, y'know. Oh! Did I ever tell you about the time Frankie and I got up in the middle of the night to watch the women's hockey in the Olympics? It was the first time they ever played, and we were over at Ma and Pop's. Dad came in and asked who all the short guys were. Couldn't even tell they weren't men, it was great." While her mouth babbled on, Jane wondered if this feeling of confusion was why Maura always babbled around her.
Listening with the happy smile she wore so often of late, Maura let the rambling continue as, without really noticing, she broke open her bag of chips and ate three or four of them. The salt-and-vinegar chips flooded her tongue with their sour tang, sharp enough to make her mouth overproduce saliva. When Jane wound down about hockey, the diminutive honey-brunette realized belatedly that comprehending the words, not just listening to that rough, husky voice, might have been a good idea.
The one word she'd caught, however, was helpful. Easily she began her own contribution to the subject of sports, subset hockey, subset Boston Bruins. "Ursus arctos arctos, the Eurasian brown bear, is a very strong animal. Normally, a round head and small, rounded features such as ears would look cute and non-threatening, but with an animal like a bruin, with its forty-two teeth and weighing nearly eight hundred pounds on occasion, it's easier to remember how dangerous they can be. Especially because evolutionarily speaking, they're predominantly carnivorous, despite the declining prey populations that have forced them to become mostly herbivorous in modern times."
When Jane stared blankly at her, Maura became flustered. It wasn't easy to remember to rein in her loquaciousness, even when she had heroically restrained her sesquipedalian impulses. "Um... Bruins are big, hungry, and threatening. An ideal totem animal for a village's warriors. I mean, a local hockey team." She waited for some sign of approval, or at least an indication of understanding. "No?" Silence. Maura sighed, though with more humor than disappointment. "Let me put the dress away, and then we can watch the game."
Shaking her head, Jane tried to fight the smile from her face, and failed. "Just hang it up and come back and sit with me," asked Jane, watching Maura retreat into the back of the house. It wasn't until Maura vanished around the corner that Jane realized she'd been staring at Maura's … butt. Backside? Posterior? "I'm hanging out with Maura too much," groaned Jane, and she flicked the TV on.
As the pre-game show started, Jane's mind wandered. The last thing she wanted was to screw up her friendship with Maura, but now that she knew it was impossible to un-know. It wasn't that she was avoiding the information, or the truth, but she was trying to come to terms with what it meant to her before dumping her baggage on Maura. Of course, Maura being Maura, she had to be really careful not to make her friend think they were fighting. A commercial caught her attention, selling 'NHL gear for ladies!' "God, that's sexist," grumbled Jane.
"What's sexist?" asked Maura as she returned from disposing of the dress; Jane's suit presumably remained hanging in the guest room, waiting for Jane to either take it home or need it while visiting. "The atrocities still happening in Darfur?"
Jane's jaw worked for a moment. "That too," she said, firmly. "I was talking about this commercial, though, for 'Lady' Fanatics. They were, uh, separating guy fans from women fans by making a totally separate domain name. Anyway, isn't Darfur inhumane? It's sexist, but it's way worse than that. And I don't work sex-crimes for a reason, Maura. SVU is fun to watch on TV 'cause of Butchy McFabulous and the Ice Princess, but that's a job that'd eat my soul right up." She patted the cushions for Maura to sit beside her, and not miles away on the other end of the couch.
Obediently, Maura scooted closer, propping her feet up as if it were almost natural to do so. She'd given up early trying to get Jane's feet off the coffee table; they had compromised on bare feet only, never shoes. "I agree, it's inhumane, but it begins with a basic feeling that women are less than human and can therefore be treated as objects When the... No?" she paused, as she had earlier, and backtracked to find the subject at hand. "Right. Sports." Another pause. "But isn't it good that they're providing fan gear for the feminine form? Separate domain names may be a bit silly, but it's certainly convenient. Who wants to spend time looking through page after page of things that won't fit properly? Separating the men's attire from the women's just makes sense."
Begrudgingly, Jane agreed. "The gear is fitted better. I don't look like a guy in my shirts." She gestured to the (relatively) new Bruins t-shirt she was wearing. "I just think if they're gonna have a Ladyfanatics-dot-com site, they oughta have a Dudefanatics site too. Or Babyfanatics. They even have these onesies for kids." Jane wriggled her bare feet in the warm house. "Equal URLs for equal fans. Besides, they all show the same stuff now, you have to go Ladyfanatics, and click on 'women' to show just stuff for us."
Their hands were close enough to loop fingers, if Jane had wanted to. Her fingers twitched, and Jane reached over towards Maura. Instead of taking Maura's hand, however, she took the bag of chips and settled it on both their thighs. Chickenshit, she told herself, and winced. She really wanted to just hold Maura's hand right now, and feel that warmth and softness over more than just her shoulder and leg.
Observant as ever, Jane's action did not go unnoticed by Maura. "Are you okay?" she asked, clearly concerned but not attempting to take Jane's hands. When the detective had reached over, small hope blossomed in Maura's chest about how pleasing it would be to sit on the couch together, holding hands. While Jane's choice of entertainment wasn't what Maura would have selected, she did not object to hockey or any other televised sport, if it meant spending time with Jane.
Jane put her beer on a coaster and started rubbing her palms. "Yeah, yeah, it's just going to rain." Lie. Lie. Partial lie. It was going to rain, and her hands did hurt a little because of it. That just wasn't quite what was actually going on in her head.
As the pregame announcements and commentaries made way for the opening of the game itself, Maura hopped back up, left the room, and came back in under a minute with a little tube in her hand. "Give," she instructed with a smile, holding out her hand until Jane lay her own in it. A moment later, there was a small dollop of creaminess in Jane's palm, and Maura began rubbing it in.
It was satisfying to them both, an excuse to hold hands, and the smaller woman used it with little compunction. "Your skin's a little dry, too," she remarked, coating the skin before beginning to massage in earnest with her thumbs and fingers. "Remind me before you go, and I'll grab you another bottle of this. I have a couple of backup bottles. You should be using some kind of lotion every time you wash your ha-"
"AW, COME ON, you bastard!" Jane broke in, overreacting to a play on the flatscreen TV. All that contact had been a little much for her. She was thanking every god that ever existed that she wasn't a man, or her body's somewhat surprising reaction to Maura rubbing her hands would have been way too obvious. Clenching her hands, Jane partly undid Maura's hard work. "Sorry, Maur," she apologized, and let her hand lie, palm up, on Maura's thigh again.
The outburst had startled Maura, and similar to her tortoise, she retreated into her shell. When Jane's hand returned, she had to calm herself deliberately as she re-did the undone massage, then patted the palm and reached over. "Give me your other hand." The shifted positions on the couch so Jane was leaning against Maura to allow the same attention paid to her far hand.
"I'm really lucky to have a friend like you," sighed Jane, trying to keep still under Maura's ministrations. The goalie barely stopped another easy shot and Jane growled at the TV. "Come on," she snapped. "Ma can do better than that!" Maura couldn't stop the giggle that slipped out and Jane grinned. "Ma's a terrible goalie. She tried playing with me once when I was trying out for the school team, and I hit her in the face with a puck."
Giggles calming to a warmer expression, Maura shook her head. "I'd worry, but her nose looks like it's never been broken, so I know it turned out fine." The game held almost none of her attention; sports weren't much fun for her to watch. She preferred participating. However, what was immensely entertaining was watching her best friend react to televised athletic endeavors, shouting as though she were present in the audience, and as if her encouragements or blandishments could influence the game's outcome in the slightest.
That, and she liked watching Jane in general. She knew exactly what she was doing to her friend. The flutter of faint movement in Jane's neck alerted her to changes in heart rate; breathing rate and depth were even more obvious. Fingertips warmed, cooled, and warmed again as blood rushed hither and yon throughout the tall brunette's body, and her facial expressions and pupil dilation were also telling.
It would have been easy, Maura reflected as her fingers stroked along Jane's hand bones, isolating one tendon at a time to sooth the aches of tension, rerouted blood vessels, chill, tension, injuries remembered in flesh. It would have been easy to turn her ministrations into a seduction, and she knew that it could be a successful one. Maura Isles was not blind to the effects she could have on another human being, whatever their experiences or preconceptions had been up until that point. She could give Jane sensations that would make her momentarily suspend her self-image as a heterosexual, and it was possible they'd be in bed together by the end of the evening. And God, it was tempting.
But there were consequences to every action, and the consequence of this one would be awkwardness between the two of them, self-doubt for Jane, mistrust of Maura. Their friendship would shatter into slivers around them both.
Maura altered the pressure and speed of the hand massage, and very subtly the sensations became restful, untroubling. Friends, her fingers promised. "I'm lucky too," she remarked with an open, easy smile.
Squirming slightly, Jane wanted the massage to go on forever, but had a sneaking feeling that it would end up somewhere else if it went on much longer. She squeezed Maura's hand firmly, gently looping their fingers together. Straight girls did this all the time in high school, just holding hands as friends. Keep telling yourself that, Jane told herself. Picking her beer back up, Jane sipped and then started explaining to Maura the various positions on the hockey team. This was a forward, this a defender, and so on and so forth.
Without meaning to, Jane gently pulled Maura closer, until the doctor was leaning against her arm, shoulder to shoulder in a very comfortable, comforting way. "You really don't care about hockey, do you?" asked Jane, at one commercial break.
"Um," Maura stalled, eyes flicking from the screen to Jane and back, smile turning nervous, though at her angle, Jane couldn't see it. "No," chuckled the woman who couldn't lie, "but I like that you're enjoying it. You're fun to be around when you're excited about things." She shifted her weight a bit, head tilting to rest on the taller shoulder until the next time Jane leaped into action to protest a play or a call, or to proclaim approval. "Which position is yours? Who's the attacker?"
If a guy had lent on her shoulder like that (Jorge, for example), Jane might have jumped to her feet and run off. When Maura did it, it was really, really nice. "That's really nice," she said, absently, and was rewarded with a contented sigh of agreement. "Oh, position? The attacker is for field hockey. It's the forward on ice hockey. Unless you take the goalie off the ice and replace him with an extra attacker, which is really dangerous, but you do it when you don't even care a bit, why am I rambling like this?"
"Yes, why are you?" Maura wondered rhetorically, amused. "Oh! It looks like your Ursus arctos arctos have scored another touchdown!"
Jane laughed and pushed her shoulder against Maura, "Just call 'em the Bruins, would you?" She looked over and grinned at Maura. "And it's a goal." Normally she'd be annoyed or frustrated with Maura's inability to catch on with normal human things, like sports, but today, she was really comfortable. Mostly comfortable. "Hey, speaking of bears, what did you do with that big stuffed bear?"
"Why do you ask?" Maura replied without answering, lifting her head off the shoulder for a moment to look up into her friend's face. "Did you want it?"
"Huh? No! I was just thinking about bears." Jane shifted in her seat a little. If Maura had kept the bear, then maybe she could get one that matched, or complemented, whatever. When Maura settled back down again, Jane thought about telling her what she was really thinking. How did you start that conversation? Could she just say that she'd been thinking about what Maura said, and she didn't mind thinking about it, but she didn't have a reply yet? No, that would just bother Maura. If one of them was going to be bothered, let it be Jane. "I didn't bring the shoes back," she blurted. "The ones you cut. Did you want 'em back?"
Against her shoulder, Maura's cheek rounded with another smile. "No, those are... Well, I suppose I could see if they're reparable. Sure, but there's no hurry. I've replaced them with some standard pumps. Oh, and I found some that are very similar, in case you liked them." She named a well-known chain store that carried almost-designer items for much more reasonable prices. Knowing how sensitive Jane could be when reminded of the differences in their backgrounds and income levels, she would not directly mention it. Settling again, she squeezed Jane's hand. "They really did look nice on you. So did the dress."
"You looked really amazing in my suit," replied Jane, before the sentence really had a chance to process itself in her own head first. Whoops. Quickly, Jane squeezed Maura's hand back. "I don't think I'll get more shoes like that. I can wear my court shoes next time I dress up." She sighed, "Of course, the next time I have a 'date' will be a long time." Air quotes were not made, but Jane was pretty sure Maura would be able to hear them.
She did. "Hey, that was a real date," she protested the unspoken negation. "Jesse Wade didn't ask Barry Frost to Le Beau Truc, did he? He asked you. You interested him. Therefore, even if you only went because you wanted to question him about the case, it was still a date." She took a moment to let her eyes swim back into focus for a moment, so that if Jane spoke about the game, she had a better chance of answering intelligently, then let her eyes relax again. Hockey had the potential to be exciting, she decided, if they would explain what was happening in a way that somehow differentiated it from the bar brawl it looked to be. "That's how it works. If one party thinks it's a date, it's a date."
"Seeing as Wade's in jail now, I don't think he's spending a lot of time worrying about me thinking it's a date as much as his cellmate does." Evil, but accurate. She followed Maura's gaze and noticed the faint crease between her eyebrows. "Do you want me to explain what's goin' on, Maur?" she wondered, surprised at the attention the TV was getting.
Her companion considered the offer. Maura didn't care about the hockey game. She liked when Jane got excited about it. It was cute that she actually would find a hat of some kind, or turn a newspaper or scarf or napkin into a hat, just for the purpose of putting it on upside down; she called it a rally cap and insisted that it helped. Somehow. Maura didn't care about the players, either, but Jane did. She could cite their game stats, list their injuries, knew at least the information that was released to the public that might have accounted for a better or worse than par performance in a given game or season. She would see a player and, even before he turned so his number was visible, recognize him by his build and stance, and point out where a slight alteration in movement indicated an injury that had not yet been reported, or an illness, or a hangover, or a divorce that weighed heavily on the player's heart. No, Maura didn't really care a bit about hockey, or baseball, or football, or really, almost any sport outside fencing and ballet. But Jane did.
"Yes, please."
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