Chapter 2

Maura arranged the place settings, aligning forks and knives, spooning portions of Le Von Truk cuisine onto two plates. Steam wafted from the food, and Maura closed her eyes and inhaled, savoring the sharp scent and the satisfying rush of endorphins. She associated this food with comfort, and that's exactly what she and Jane needed—especially Jane. She glanced towards the bathroom.

Jo sat at her feet, ears perked and one paw raised: a silent monument to pitiful.

"Certain human foods can be detrimental, if not fatal, when consumed by canines," Maura informed her.

Jo licked her lips and tilted her head the other way.

"Begging does no good at all." Maura raised an eyebrow as she spooned capellini. "Do you think I'll risk your health and safety for a mere treat?"

Jo switched paws.

"You're impossible." Maura sighed and knelt, letting Jo gobble a noodle from her hand. "Don't tell Jane," she whispered, ruffling Jo's fur and rising to her feet once more. "She's got enough on her plate right now." She stored the canard in the refrigerator, making a mental note to take it with her when she left tomorrow.

As Maura worked to open a bottle of her favorite cabernet sauvignon, Jane strode through the hallway, her typical loose-jointed gait a little stiff. She came to a stop at the edge of the island. Maura took one look at her and re-wrote the entire script for the evening. Jane's shoulders were tense, her face forcefully relaxed. She wore sweats and a loose shirt, typical evening-in attire for her. But her eyes—the brief moment she met Maura's gaze, there was something…haunted in them. She hadn't seen a look like that since Hoyt.

Maura's grip on the bottle slipped, and she lurched forward, barely catching the wine before it crashed to the floor.

"Hey, you okay?" Jane asked, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand. She stopped just shy of touching, her brow furrowed with concern.

I could ask you the same question.

Maura shook her head as she fumbled to pop the cork, wondering at her sudden clumsiness. "Yes. Just…lost my grip." The cork finally gave and Maura poured herself a glass.

The flavor was dry, fruity. More acidic than she was accustomed to. Maura studied Jane surreptitiously as she slowly sipped her wine, rolling the sharp flavor over her tongue. Jane's hands were fidgeting, constantly in motion. She seemed distracted. The new concern in her face had replaced whatever shadow lurked there. But something had been bothering Jane all day. Maura assumed it related to the case—a child rapist and murderer was on the loose, and the recent stall in evidence and leads had the entire team exhausted both mentally and physically. She wanted to give Jane a chance to talk about it, if she wanted.

"I thought we could relax," Maura said, gesturing to the food. "Eat in. Watch a movie."

Jane paused, her hand halfway through her wet hair. "Dinner and a movie?" Maura couldn't tell if Jane's tone held more panic or trepidation.

She glanced up, perplexed. "Yes. But if you'd rather—"

Jane waved her hand and flashed a smile. "No, it's fine. It smells great."

Maura blinked at her. Had Jane just complemented her food selection? Where was the sarcasm, the all-in-fun joke at Maura's expense? That was how it worked. Jane never gave in without a fight.

Jane cleared her throat, appearing uncomfortable, and eyed the two plates. "What were you saying?" she asked, her voice a little gruffer than its usual rasp. "You brought something?"

"Oh, I brought canard for Angela, should she want it."

Jane made a face. "If that comes from the appendage of some animal, I don't think she'll be interested—"

Maura's heart warmed to see a glimmer of the usual Italian attitude. She laughed and grabbed both plates, heading towards the living room. "Canard is French for duck." She paused. "And, in aeronautics, an airplane with horizontal stabilizing and control." She glanced over her shoulder to see Jane following with the silver. "Angela has already tried it once. And loved it, I might add."

"The plane or the duck?"

Maura rolled her eyes, then frowned. I've been spending too much time with Jane, she thought with a fond shake of her head.

"Did Ma know it was duck?" Jane countered, raising a thin eyebrow. It was almost a smirk.

Maura hesitated—more for theatric's sake than anything else—as she deposited the plates on two TV trays. "She knew it was a species of avian, yes…" she hedged.

Jane snorted, but didn't retaliate as she arranged the silverware. Maura stood in growing disbelief as she watched Jane work, once again knocked off-balance by Jane's pensive silence. Where were the hand gestures? The eye rolls? The Italian dramatics and banter? Maura had practically walked into that lie of omission, and now Jane would not call her on it.

The ground kept shifting beneath her, and Maura began to realize she had to tread carefully. She was used to social awkwardness, yes. She had a lifetime of experience from which to draw. But with Jane, the sensation was novel and unwelcome. With Jane, she never had to guess. Never needed to censure her thoughts or actions. Never needed to worry about crossing a line, editing her performance to satisfy the other. With Jane, they were simply themselves. They worked.

Until now.

The thought, however overly dramatic, left her feeling desolate. Which was ridiculous, because Jane was standing right there, not three feet away.

"Did I mix up the dinner and salad forks?" Jane asked without looking up.

"What?" Maura's eyes went to Jane's hands as she aligned the last knife. She frowned. No, the setting was just fine. Immaculate, in fact. She was at a loss until Jane glanced up at her with a crooked smile, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Oh. Sarcasm.

Something nudged into place, like a teetering foundation block newly settled, and Maura felt herself returning Jane's smile.

A strand of damp, curly hair fell into Jane's eyes and she shoved it away.

"You know," Maura began, in her element once more, "it's not recommended to let hair air dry. Especially long, thick hair like yours. The oils condense and gather near the scalp, promoting further build up at an accelerated rate and darkening the roots. Using a dryer and appropriate products would prevent that."

Jane considered that a moment, then put her hands on her hips. "You saying my hair's dirty?" The strand fell again and Jane huffed, preparing to toss it once more.

Maura reached out and took hold of her wrist. Jane jerked at her touch, but Maura ignored it and tucked the strand into its proper place. "There." She arranged the curls so it wouldn't escape again, then met Jane's eyes as she let her hands drop. "And of course not."

Red creeped up Jane's neck and suffused her face. She shifted uncomfortably and swallowed.

Fearing she had crossed some boundary—and not wanting to interrupt their now comfortable exchange—Maura quickly stepped away and headed into the kitchen.

After a moment, she heard Jane follow.

Maura snagged her wine glass and filled it up. She indicated the bag on the end of the counter. "Oh, I brought your beer too. You were running low the last time I was here."

There was no response. She glanced up and her motions stilled at what she saw: Jane, head bent, her hand tilting a beer bottle to study the label. But that wasn't what sent a shock of worry down Maura's spine. Despite the angle of her head and the curtain of hair partially concealing her features, Maura could read the expression on her face. Jane appeared…choked. Teary. Distraught, even.

"Jane—" Maura began, fearing she had done something wrong.

"Thanks, Maur," Jane said, her voice somewhat strained. She cleared her throat, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Thank you," she repeated, quieter. Then she looked up.

Her expression made Maura catch her breath.

Jane stared at her a long time, and Maura held her gaze. This is it, she thought. Now she'll open up. Reveal whatever demon weighs on her shoulders. Maura kept herself open, reassuring, expectant. But as the exchange lengthened, the air shifted. Something changed. She sensed that Jane was searching her face, looking for something, perhaps even asking a question. Her gaze flicked between Maura's eyes, a spark of hope or desperation in the jerky movement. Maura leaned forward. Jane's lips parted, but no sound emerged.

"What is it?" Maura finally murmured. Talk to me!

Jane's face froze, then she blinked. The light faded, died, and Maura was helpless to do anything but watch it happen. Jane turned away, and Maura's hand extended towards her retreating back without conscious thought.

"What movie did you want to watch?" Jane's voice echoed from the den, giving it a strangely hollow quality.

What just happened? Breathing deeply, Maura waited a moment before following, trying to reconcile the relatively minor interaction with the disproportionate emptiness in her chest. Disconcerted, she took a larger than normal sip of wine. She felt like she had missed something, participated in an entire conversation without being aware.

When she returned, Jane was already settled on the couch. Jane patted the cushion and Jo hopped up between them, leaving Maura to sit on the opposite side. "Yeah. Hey, girl," Jane murmured, bending down to press her face into Jo's fur.

"I brought Moneyball. I know how much you like it," Maura said, trying and failing to banish a sense of rejection as Jo occupied the space next to Jane.

Face softening, Jane smiled and glanced at her. "Thanks."

They ate. Maura thought the change in routine—eating while watching TV—would be freeing. But instead the sense of not-quite-right wrongness continued. During the movie, Maura felt Jane's eyes on her more than once. The one time she looked over, she caught an odd mixture of wistful determination in the flickering light cast by the screen. Jane gave her a polite but empty smile and turned her attention back to the movie.

When the credits rolled, Maura turned the system off with the remote and they sat in the dim room, silent. Jane slouched into the cushions, her gaze distant as it settled on the far wall. She seemed lost in thought, content with the silence. No, not content. But…resigned. At Jane's thigh, Jo breathed heavily, her legs twitching in some doggy dream.

Maura brought up the case, hoping to prompt Jane into whatever topic frustrated her. But Jane rattled off leads and plans—full work mode. "Frost volunteered to stay late. I owe him one," she finished. She pointed a finger at Maura. "But don't tell him I said that," she warned with a half-smirk.

"I'll keep that in mind." She raised her eyebrows. "Dirty Robber tomorrow night?" she asked hopefully. Tomorrow was Friday, and she knew Jane would want to unwind with Korsak and Frost.

Jane picked at a stain on her sweatpants. "I think I'm busy. Tommy wanted my help with something."

"Oh."

The quiet settled around them, and for the first time in Maura's memory, it felt awkward.

That seemed to be the theme for tonight.

Jane finally sighed and patted her knees. "I'm tired, Maura. I think—I think I'll hit the sack."

Maura blinked. Thoughts raced through her mind, preventing her mouth from responding right away. Usually when she stayed this late, Jane offered her a bed for the night. Maura had even brought her duffle to replace the clothes that would need laundering. But Jane's tone, her words, her expression, they all added up to one thing: "please leave."

"Of course," Maura said and hastily stood. She smoothed her dress with her hands and made a show of gathering her things. Surely she had misread Jane's cue. Any minute now Jane would laugh and ask what the hell she was doing and say, "Don't you know sarcasm when it smacks you in the face?"

Jane walked her towards the door, and Maura felt her stomach drop with each step.

"Thanks for dinner, Maura. And the movie. It helped. Things've been stressful lately." Jane glanced away briefly, and Maura missed the flash of emotion in her eyes.

"Anytime," Maura said, trying to convey more with the simple word. Don't pull away from me. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Trust me. Confide in me. I need you as much as you need me…

Jane nodded and opened the door. "See you tomorrow."

…Or maybe not.

Maura's face fell, and she stepped into the hall before Jane would notice.

"Hey."

Maura turned—and found herself wrapped into a quick but complete embrace. She let out a breath of surprise, then sank into the reassuring warmth. The fist in her chest loosened slightly, and she closed her eyes to soak in the welcome comfort. But before she could return the gesture, it was over, and Jane pulled back.

Leaning against the doorframe, Jane offered her a soft smile. "'Night." The raspy quality of her voice, the tousled mess of hair, the casual clothes and casual posture, unaffected and genuine… It was all so…Jane.

So why did it sound like 'goodbye?'

"'Night," Maura repeated. She wondered if Jane heard the defeat in her voice.

As Maura walked to her car, pulling her jacket closed against the chilly wind, the bitter tannins from the wine coated her throat, and she decided that particular label was no longer her favorite.

A/N: Okay y'all. This story was originally intended as a one-shot. But people wanted more, so you got more! Ask and you shall receive. :) So. This chapter's depressing, but fear not. I'm a full-fledged Rizzles shipper. There will be a happy ending, even if it's not in sight, even if it's not for 2 chapters or 20. I'll get there eventually, but Jane and Maura have a few things to work out in the interim.

Reviews make me happy, and they make me write faster! So what'd'ya think? More?