"To Be Alone"
2:
The next time it happened you were more prepared for it. You had begun to recognize the look in Jane Rizzoli's eyes right before she was going to kiss you. But really, you weren't sure how you felt about that. The kissing, or learning the signs that a kiss was about to happen.
It was a couple of weeks later and she'd invited you to lunch after solving a case that had kept you both busy for nearly all of those two weeks, with hardly any down time. You accepted her invitation and she met you in your office, escorting you to the door and out of the Boston Police Department. She drove, casting glances at you out of the corner of her eye the entire way.
You weren't quite sure why it unnerved you so, but you found yourself fidgeting and unable to sit still before finally blurting out, "Do I have something on my face?"
Jane flushed a little but laughed none the less, "No, Maur, you're fine."
You'd let it go at that. But still she kept throwing you glances, almost as if she was afraid you were going to disappear on her. She does an awfully good job at that. It had been weeks since the first time she kissed you and then fled in the night, but still neither of you had brought it up. Neither had you brought up the second kiss in the morgue, the one that was decidedly sober and purposeful. You were waiting for Jane to be the first to speak of it, though it seemed that she was doing the same. So it remained unspoken and it hadn't happened since.
Now, she parallel parked on the street and cut the engine before looking at you, "I know we haven't spent much time together these past couple of weeks, and I'm sorry."
Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, you had been just as busy as she, "You're sorry for what, Jane?"
She began to fidget, looking down and not quite meeting your eye, "I avoided you a little bit," she admitted, a pink stain forming on her cheeks.
"No, Jane, we were both busy. That case was a hard one to crack; it's understandable."
She opened her mouth to say more, but decided against it and shut her mouth, nodding, "well, it's over now. Let's get some lunch, huh?" She flashed you a smile and then slid out of the car, waiting patiently on the curb for you to join her.
You stepped up beside her, your heels making a soft click against the sidewalk as you stood before her, smiling, "Ready?"
Jane paused a moment, looking at you. She reached her hand out to grasp your wrist, tugging you slightly closer, "I really am sorry…for everything. I just…" she trailed off, swallowing visibly.
You blushed slightly, feeling as though a confession was about to arise, and you weren't quite sure how you felt about that. You still had yet to process how you felt about the shifting nature of your relationship and whether or not it was welcome or otherwise. You had yet to process why you let her kiss you – twice – and what that meant. Most importantly, you had yet to process how you felt about Jane or even how she felt about you. Surely, her kissing you meant something right? It was something new, not a normal fixture in your friendship even though she was trying to treat it as such.
It surely meant that she felt something more for you, didn't it?
"Maur, I've been a jerk," she tugged you ever closer, now your fronts were barely touching, "I mean, I kissed you. Twice."
That had been the last thing that you'd been expecting her to address. You hadn't expected for her to bring it up first; you'd just assumed that it would get to the point where you'd have to bring it up. But Jane Rizzoli was surprising you, as usual, and she looked only slightly pale.
"Jane, it's okay –." And then she was cutting you off again, this time with her lips. She was kissing you again and the only thoughts you could think were how soft her lips were and god, where did she learn to do that? You didn't even care that none of the issues had been addressed. Nor did you care that you were currently standing on the street, kissing your best friend (one who was very much female).
All that mattered was Jane.
She pulled away first, a look of frustration contorting her face as she drew a shaky hand through her wild hair, "Dammit, Maura… I'm sorry."
"Jane," You grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look you in the eye, "Stop apologizing. I let you kiss me, didn't I?"
"What… what does this mean? I don't even know, I just… I just know that the urge to kiss you keeps getting stronger and…"
This time you initiated the kiss, your arms going around her waist and pulling her flush against you. You kept it soft, not deepening it further and pulled away slowly, "See? I let you."
"But… why? What does it mean?" She sounded slightly breathless and her cheeks were tinted pink. You smiled smugly to yourself.
"I don't know what it means, Jane, you're the one that keeps kissing me, remember?" You smirked at her childlike questioning. Though, you didn't know exactly what it meant either. But you weren't about to analyze it on the streets of Boston in the middle of the day.
"Come over tonight," you started, "We can talk, okay?"
Jane simply nodded, her eyes flicking to your lips, "Okay." And then you took hold of her elbow, leading her quietly into the restaurant, your head swirling with thoughts and emotions.
R&IR&IR&IR&IR&IR&IR&I
You listened quietly; you could hear the low rumble of traffic outside your bedroom window, you could hear birds chirping their morning song, you could hear the soft snore of the woman in bed next to you and you look down at her. She was curled up in your arms, fast asleep and drooling just a bit on your silk nightgown. You only giggled.
The night before had proven to be useless when it came to talking. Jane had shown up around 8 with a bottle of your favorite wine. She'd apologized once more for kissing you and not really having a reason for it. You knew why she kept kissing you – at the very least she was attracted to you.
Over the course of the day, after your rather exciting start to lunch, you'd put your brain to work in sorting out the puzzle that was Jane Rizzoli. You'd come to the conclusion that at the very least you were sexually attracted to your best friend, though you felt that it might've amounted to more than just sexual attraction. You were attracted to her mind, to her heart, to everything that made up Jane Rizzoli. But just how far did that attraction span?
Now, it was the next morning and you figured you were right about the sexual attraction between you and her. It was undeniable and with the added help of a bottle of wine split between you both (okay, you might've had just a tad more), you'd ended up kissing Jane square on the mouth, moving her toward your bedroom. Sure, it hadn't been your intent. Your intent had been to talk to Jane, and try to scope out the brunette's state of mind, but something about the way Jane looked, the way she talked, how she seemed to be even more nervous than you felt… It just seemed right (of course, you probably shouldn't have trusted an alcohol fogged brain).
You didn't regret having sex – ahem, making love – to Jane. It could only be defined as making love because of the way she'd revered your body, holding you close and kissing every inch of bare skin she could find. She nearly cradled you in her arms as she brought you to the point of bliss, acting like a pro at everything that was Maura Isles when she had no experience at all in this situation. But it was Jane. If she couldn't completely wing something and make it look easy, well, you laughed to yourself, she wouldn't be Jane.
Then it had been your turn, and though you felt as if you'd fumbled a few times, you were no less passionate about your endeavor than Jane had been. The bond between you both was mutual.
Now, in the morning light and with a slightly clearer head, you began to wonder if how you'd ended up was inevitable. You wondered if perhaps, this was the culmination of the past few weeks with Jane. She'd still never spoken of the first night, aside from addressing the kiss, never had she spoken of leaving your bed in the middle of the night. So when she'd ended up in your bed the night before, you half expected her to bolt. You looked down and smiled at the smooth face of the dark haired detective; maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was that she was totally satiated, but she'd stayed. And somehow that spoke volumes about the situation without her having to utter a word.
You weren't sure what scared you more, the fact that you had indeed made love to Jane Rizzoli or that she'd made love to you with the same amount of passion and, dare you even think it, the same amount of love. It made you uneasy and totally content, all at the same time and you sat there wondering just how that could be.