This is Jane's POV.

The comments from lashawn and MarCor3 inspired this. You are right...Janes POV is vital.

MarCor3...I'd absolutely love to write a whole bunch of storied of a blind Jane still crime-fighting and solving cases using her other senses and with Maura by her side...but I'm already letting you all down with at least one incomplete story...plus I'm REALLY lazy and that sounds like a lot of research...but you never know when inspiration will tackle you and win ;)

Thank you all for your continued kind words and support. I love them all and you for taking the time to write them.

Xx Jam xX

P.s. Stop making me write so much. Lol.


She always wakes before me and I know she just watches me sleeping.
She notices when I wake even though I don't say a word.
I feel her breath against my neck and her fingers dance in heart shapes across my stomach.
She kisses my cheek and whispers 'good morning my love' and then she nuzzles against my neck and waits.

I smile and I turn to her. I've never enjoyed waking so much before.
Without seeing her, I look at her like she is the most precious thing in the world.
The way I have always seen her.
The way I have always looked at her.

Her hand brushes my cheek slowly, she doesn't pause when she feels the textures change beneath them.
There's no hesitation in her movements, there's no fear or disgust, only gentleness.

I have no idea what I look like now, I only have her word on that.
And since I will possibly never see, she doesn't talk about changing the way I look anymore.
I wonder if she will tell me when I start to turn grey.
I wonder if she will tell me when she does.

When we go out, It is I that misses social cues, but she doesn't tease me about it.
When we stay home, I fall asleep easily, and she just lets me rest against her.

It's a strange thing to live in a place where the physical doesn't matter.
To not care about the colour of you shoes, or if you dribbled coffee down your front.
But she cares.
Her wet thumb is constantly removing crumbs or smears off my face and she laughs when I protest.
Her fingers are always gently adjusting my clothing, straightening my shirt even if it doesn't need it.
Her hands dance through my hair to try to soothe it into place.
Those things don't matter to me anymore. But that she wants me to fit in is the wonderful sweetness that she is.
She doesn't do those things for her sake, otherwise with how I think I look she would never have stayed.

She is there for the things I don't see.
She is there for the things I do see.

And She is always ready to tell me what I am hearing.
The plate Ma puts down in front of me is a bunny pancake with syrup.
The cause of the laughter in the park is a child's birthday party.
If a bird chirps I'll know the entire history of it.
If a batter strikes I'll know the speed and direction and angle.
And at sunset she just melts into my side because she knows, without sight, I feel the beauty of it.
At the beach the water caresses my feet and she wraps my arms around her waist because she knows I already know that which I cannot see.

It's funny you know, if I could see, I don't think I would have ended up with her.
Because when I used to look at the way she dressed, I knew she was out of my league.
Because she was too beautiful to be with someone who wasn't a celebrity.
And it's because when she puts her hand on my leg at family dinner, I can't see the looks my mother gives me.
I don't see the looks people give when we walk down the street hand in hand or arm in arm.
It's because I'm blind I can just be free.

And then there is her, and she is wonderful.
The way she pretends to let me lead on the dance floor.
They way she moves under my touches.
They way she just lets me explore.
The way she whispers my name.
She puts my hand on her cheek when she smiles so I can feel it.
She holds my hand to her chest when she is sad so I can feel her pain.

Sometimes, in the complete darkness, I feel cut off from everything. Like my ears are only hearing recordings and I don't really exist.
Let me see you, I ask. I beg. And within seconds she has kissed my palms, and placed my hands on her face.
She doesn't ask why. She is just there, bringing me back.
And when my fingers stroke warm soft skin, I can see her in my memories again, and I'm not alone.

She is my eyes and she has my whole heart and she can feel the width and depth of it.
And in return I give her everything I know she needs and whatever else she manages to ask for.
Without her I would be lost.
I would be blind.
But with her, I can do whatever I set my heart and mind too.
And I know she can't wait to see what that will look like.
What we will do together.