Author's note - updated! So all of chapter III is now up, including the second half where Jane is awake:)
Coming up next will be Maura's breakdown which leads to a depression, so there are some heavy chapters ahead. However, I will try to put in some Rizzles for you to hang on to, even when Maura is on her own and it's merely implied. In any case I promise there's light and romance at the end at the tunnel, so don't give up on her! But you know, sometimes a person really has to hit the bottom hard before they can rise from the ashes and build something new.
To those of you who leave reviews - thanks and keep them coming!
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CHAPTER III: RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
25 days before breakdown
"Perhaps he didn't mean it quite as literally, Angela."
Maura had to hold her cell phone between shoulder and cheek while balancing the shopping bag on her left thigh in order to get the trunk of her car opened. Fortunately years of ballet training had paid off.
"Since the shooting you've both been under tremendous stress, which can easily affect the ability to think clearly."
"But the thing is, he…"
The woman at the other end of the phone sighed.
"It sounded like it was something he'd considered for a while."
"Are you certain?"
Maura managed to get herself seated behind the wheel and strapped in, but she didn't turn the keys. Too many traffic accidents could be traced back to cell phone conversations.
"I am. Maura, he wants a divorce."
Maura could tell by Angela's hitched breathing that she was on the verge of tears. Unable to physically reach out to the older woman she tried her best to soothe her with her voice instead.
"I'm really sorry, Angela, I cannot imagine how hard that must be on you. If there is anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask. I can stop by later, if you'd like me to."
At the other end, Angela sniffed.
"Thank you, sweetie, but I know tonight's about getting Jane settled in. Maybe we could talk tomorrow."
"Absolutely." Maura didn't nod. She was one of the few people who never gestured when on the phone. It seemed too irrational. "I can take you out to lunch, if you'd like."
"Thank you, that's very kind of you."
Angela became silent, indicating the conversation was coming to an end. Then, just as Maura was about to say goodbye, she hurriedly pleaded: "Maura, promise not to mention this to Jane."
An almost invisible smile grazed Maura's lips. Jane might think her mother was the most inconsiderate and intruding woman on earth, but over the course of the past few weeks Maura had gotten to know a very caring side of Angela. One which Maura's own parents lacked.
"Of course I won't. You should be the one to tell her – when and if the time comes," Maura assured her.
She remained frozen in her seat for a beat after having put her phone away. The steering wheel felt cool in her hands; the chill seeped through her expensive gloves, and she felt tempted to lean her head against it.
So Jane's father was leaving her mother.
This was not what Jane needed right now. The hospital had only agreed to release her early because Maura had promised to take care of her. She would stay with a Harvard-educated M.D., not in an empty apartment or crammed up with her parents and a recovering Frankie.
However, Jane was by no means well. If she heard of her parents' problems it would certainly set off her protective side. She would step in and take care of her mother, whether she had the physical strength for it or not. Maura couldn't let that happen, but she couldn't live with leaving Jane in the dark about her mother needing help either.
There was only one solution: Maura would have to provide the support and assistance, which Jane was temporarily unfit to give and unaware of the need for. Taking on the role of the diplomat should be simpler for Maura anyway, because she was less emotionally involved. Or at least less biologically involved. It was all perfectly logical, and so Maura had immediately offered to take Angela out for lunch.
Yet, for a second, she really dreaded having made the suggestion. Now, somewhere in between the crazy hours she was running at the station and the paper work that constantly piled up now that Jane and her family took so much of her time, she would have to find extra time and energy and presence for Angela.
Wouldn't someone as outgoing as Angela have other people to turn to, friends at her own age? Surely Maura, who had never even managed to get married, wouldn't be anyone's preferred emergency contact when in a divorce crisis.
Rather, Maura was probably the one least likely to say no.
And why was that? Because of some crazy megalomaniac idea that she was indispensable; that she could solve the world's problems better than anyone else?
She shook her head at herself. At first because she had once again said yes to something when perhaps 'no' would have been better; then because she realised just how selfish that very thought was.
Angela needed help. And if Maura could provide any of it, then of course she would, no questions asked.
The Rizzolis felt more like family than her own did, even if she would always remain the odd one out to some extent. They welcomed her with open arms in spite of the fact that she didn't share their history, and they forgave her when her lack of experience with blue-collar socialization shone through. Hopefully, by being there for Jane and Angela now, she could make up for just a little bit of that kindness.
Maura sighed, then straightened up, shook her hair in place and started the car.
Traffic turned out to be heavy, and Angela had already delayed her. What was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store – somehow she had forgotten to restock the fridge before taking Jane home – would end up taking much longer.
Jane would be alright on her own; she would have to be alone most of the day while Maura worked anyway. But this was her first evening spent outside of a hospital in weeks, and Maura wanted to share it with her.
She seriously considered taking an illegal shortcut by going against a one-way street, but it wouldn't gain her more than a few minutes and the risk of having her license revoked won out.
Instead she felt the frustration physically build up within, and she impatiently drummed her fingers against the wheel.
When she finally parked her car she chose to run the remaining metres up to her house. She unlocked the front door, opened and closed it, threw off her jacket, jumped over Jo Friday and into the living room in one continuous movement.
"Jane!" she called out, "I'm so sorry I took so long. The traffic wouldn't let up, and… Jane?"
Maura suddenly stopped herself.
Jane was exactly where she'd left her: In a chair by the dining table with the newest issue of National Geographic in front of her, but she most certainly wasn't reading it at that proximity.
She was lying on top of it, her cheek resting against a beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean, now framed by a halo of dark brown hair.
For a horrible moment all sorts of medical imagery of broken stitches and ruptured intestines passed before Maura's eyes as she inched closer. One outstretched hand, completely still in spite of the terror she felt, found Jane's neck looking for a pulse, and Maura breathed a sigh of relief so deep it almost made her giddy.
Jane had simply fallen asleep.
The final check ups and procedures at the hospital had taken their toll on her, and on top of that came the excitement of finally getting out. Of course she was exhausted.
Maura automatically nuzzled her neck, enjoying the sensation of the tiny and incredibly soft hair beneath her fingertips. "Jane," she called gently. "Jane, my love-" She winced as she realised how her filter, once again, was slipping. She really had to be more careful.
Fortunately, Jane hadn't heard her. She was completely gone to the world, like a child or a kitten after hours of play. Maura smiled to herself, picturing how Jane would react if she knew Maura had just compared her to a furry animal. But really – she felt so soft, and she seemed so small in her loose clothes; she'd clearly lost weight over the past few weeks.
Maura glanced at the grocery bag. It was important that Jane ate, but she needed rest just as badly. And the idea of waking her friend from her peaceful state seemed too brutal. However, she couldn't sleep on the dining table. She'd wake up with a rigid neck at the very least.
So Maura made a quick decision. She left her friend alone for a moment while quietly and efficiently putting the groceries in the fridge, then kicked off her pumps for better footing and carefully gathered Jane in her arms.
Jane was supposed to stay with Maura until she could return to light desk work in four weeks. She would of course have Maura's guest bedroom to herself; her things had already been brought over and unpacked.
However, although Jane was certainly lighter than normally, carrying her down a flight of stairs seemed hazardous. So Maura changed their plan and headed for the master bedroom instead.
Jane stirred a little, but quickly relaxed against Maura. She uttered a faint, humming-like sound as she buried her face against the crook of Maura's neck. Maura felt slightly parted lips brushing against sensitive skin there, and it took all her will-power to not grow literally weak in the knees.
It's not a kiss. It's not a kiss. It's not a kiss.
She managed pull the door open, but had to give up on the blanket and simply laid Jane down on top of it. Then she gently removed her friend's shoes, brushed the hair out of her face and found a fresh blanket to cover her with.
Hesitating for a moment, she weighed her options. She could eat. She could do paperwork. She could go through her meticulous night time rituals.
In the end she rejected all of them, for once foregoing all routines aside from brushing her teeth and changing into a satin pyjama, before she slipped in beside her friend.
She didn't fall asleep immediately, however, even though her own body was very much in need of rest as well.
Her late night visits to the hospital had messed with her internal clock, and she had so many tasks to deal with that she found little time for contemplation. Her solitary time in the darkness of her own bedroom provided one of few quiet moments where all the thoughts she pushed in front of her during the day demanded to be heard.
Being used to an ever over-active brain she normally wouldn't mind, except the thoughts were getting increasingly hard to shut off. They would repeat themselves and drag on past any constructive point.
They were thoughts of paperwork or lab issues that were clearly better dealt with during day time, or alert-like pop-up reminders of things needing to be done. She had actually resorted to leaving pen and paper by the bed so that she could jot down memos at any point during the night – otherwise they would keep her awake for hours.
The most persistent thoughts, however, were those of the Rizzolis and her relationship with them. Well, one Rizzoli in particular, whose current proximity would most definitely keep Maura's mind abuzz for a while before sleep finally granted her a break.
Maura allowed herself to roll over so she faced her friend.
Jane's slightly angular bone structure was even more striking because of the recent weight-loss, but she still had a girly softness to her that literally made Maura's heart skip a beat sometimes.
Jane hid it well; always big-mouthed and quick to use sarcasm to dissolve potentially cheesy moments. She carried herself and her gun with more self-assurance than many of her male colleagues, and she actively fought any attempt at conforming her to a stereotypical, delicate female.
Yet she had another side as well. It shone through when Jane intuitively knew how to comfort other people through words or touch. She was a very tactile person, and being around her had forever changed Maura's sense of physical boundaries. Aside from European style cheek kisses there had not been much physical display of affection in the Isles family, nor among Maura's friends.
Of course, that could be because Maura had never had any really close friends until she met Jane.
No, that was not the reason, Maura admitted to herself as she fought the urge to trace her friend's high cheekbones and gently rounded brows with a finger. Jane had touched her long before they became friends. In fact, Maura vividly remembered feeling Jane's hand on her shoulder for just an instant the very first time they met.
Maura had been working one of her first cases as the new Chief Medical Examiner at Boston Homicide, and her uniformed colleagues frowned at her annoyingly detailed explanations and refusal to make guesses. Add to that the fact that she was the first female doctor to roam the precinct's morgue, her obvious upper-class background and tendency to be a little socially off, and Maura was the perfect harassment victim.
On that particular day she had felt herself transported back to middle school when a bunch of cops had exchanged eye-rolls and snickers behind her back, as she refused to estimate the cause of death at the crime scene itself.
Her otherwise flawless composure had crumbled a little, her head fallen forward just an inch. Not to better see the victim on the floor, but in a gesture of resignation. Behind her, Jane was telling her snickering colleagues to shut the fuck up and, unless some of them had a secret medical diploma up their ass, let the Chief Medical Examiner do her job.
Once again, Maura was the odd one out, the one requiring special treatment because she couldn't just fit in, couldn't ever just be one of the guys.
That's when she'd felt Jane's hand on her shoulder.
It had been a gently assuring, and most brief touch, but the connection had sent a jolt through Maura's body. Not because she was sexually attracted to Jane; that came later, even if the chemistry had clearly been there from the very beginning. No, Maura was simply completely unaccustomed to this form of physical communication.
To her, touch was ritualised greetings, complex rehearsed ballroom dances or the necessary means to achieve sexual release. Jane's touch was different. It was unforced and without ulterior motives, a sort of intuitive language. A language which Maura had never been taught, but soon found – much to her own surprise – she was fluent in and very much enjoyed when around Jane.
Of course, once she'd become aware of her attraction to Jane, Maura had been forced to re-evaluate her own motives.
However, she'd always considered desire a fluid and often fleeting thing and not read much into it, especially because, in spite of the rumours, she found it unlikely that Jane could ever respond to her in a similar way. The attraction was simply not worth entertaining, and Maura's mental filter had enabled her to push it aside in order to treasure their deep friendship instead.
It had worked perfectly – until Jane had nearly died right in front of her. In one terrifying moment all filters had given in and allowed the realisation to hit her like a tsunami leaving everything forever changed in its track: She loved Jane. Heart, mind and body, and unlike anything she had ever experienced with anyone before, male or female.
Her attempts at rationally distinguishing primitive physical responses from friendly affection or the connection enabling them to work and communicate without words seemed ridiculous. Because in that moment, as she stared the fear of losing Jane right in the eye, she knew she felt all of it and more simultaneously.
And once she'd taken a bite of that particular apple of knowledge, Maura could never again wash the realisation away.
And so now, she could no longer merely look at her sleeping friend; she was simultaneously looking at her partner, her soul-mate, her lover – even if the labels would never amount to more than wistful alternative realities in Maura's mind.
These realities coloured everything Maura did and said to her friend. She could no longer tease her, compliment or hug her without being painfully aware of how much weight her actions carried, even if that weight flew past Jane.
Or perhaps because of it. It made her feel dishonest and unworthy and rejected at the same time.
A few inches away, Jane shifted in her sleep. Her arm fell forward, hand open and seemingly reaching for something.
Maura wanted to grasp it, but was afraid to violate some friendly boundary as she no longer had any boundaries of her own to judge by. So she left the choice up to Jane by moving her own hand even closer; so close their heat mingled and Jane might sense her proximity even if they didn't touch. Perhaps, then, Jane would close the distance in her sleep.
Maura stared intently at their hands in the dark, willing a connection on so many levels, yet nothing happened. And at one point, even the hands gave way to a different kind of darkness as Maura finally dosed off.
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Maura didn't find peace, though. As was happening increasingly often these days, she simply slipped into another, equally trying reality.
She was back at the station, getting ready for work.
Her dress was floating in the air behind her, and she was awkwardly attempting to button it in the back while rushing through the hallways heading for the morgue. Her morgue, except it had somehow fused with the detective's ever noisy open office area.
All around her shiny operating table were scattered desks, their owners eyeing her with disdain as she tried to catch up on her day.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," she mumbled around the hairpins between her lips, and once they had secured her curls she added in her usual voice:
"I'll get to work right away!"
She tried sending each and every one of the impatient people one of her dazzling smiles, which caused her to twirl like a ballerina in slow motion. The detectives were surrounding her and her operating table, all of them awaiting her reaction, her initiative.
She hesitated. There was no body on the table and so she cheerfully asked the spectators:
"What do you need me to do for you?"
And just as everyone started speaking at once, making it impossible to tell words or voices apart – but she could swear Angela's and Jane's were among them – in that very moment Maura was hit by a wave of exhaustion.
The sudden urge to sleep was as overwhelming and unyielding as had she been suffering from narcolepsy. In spite of all the eyes on her, in spite of the bright, spotlight-like fluorescent lights on her, she could do nothing but lay down on the one thing available.
Her operating table.
"What do you need me to do?" her voice repeated, as her body curled up on the blank metal surface.
It was hard and cold against her cheek, but all she could think about were the eyes around her. The people depending on her, the people who expected more from her, the people she was letting down.
.
A shrill, familiar sound yanked Maura from the operating table of her imagination and back to her own bed.
Her cell phone.
As she felt Jane stir beside her, she nearly cursed out loud and mentally kicked herself. For once, Maura wasn't on call. How could she forget to mute her phone? She was becoming more and more forgetful these days.
Without checking the caller's ID she answered the call, wincing as she noticed Jane was by now wide-awake and watching her expectantly.
"Dr. Isles," she said. There was clearly no point in whispering.
"Maura! Thought you'd never pick up."
Maura immediately wished she hadn't as she recognized the voice on the other end. Something halfway between a mumble and a sigh slipped past her lips before she could stop herself.
"Just woken up, have we?" the voice rhetorically enquired, loud enough for Jane to hear it and for Maura to wince again.
'Slucky?' Jane mouthed with an added eye-roll to indicate just how little she thought of the surgeon.
Maura couldn't really blame her. The man spoke of himself in the plural, as if he were royalty, and his ego was higher than the John Hancock Tower.
However, he had saved Jane's life and for that Maura was forever grateful. That gratitude was the only reason she hadn't yet responded to his incessant advances by directly telling him to sod off.
Jane, however, seemed to suspect the interest was mutual and wasted no opportunity to let Maura know exactly how bad a choice she considered Slucky.
As said surgeon babbled on about some restaurant – Maura couldn't make herself focus on his actual words – she let her eyes drift back to her friend who was still watching her.
Realising she had an audience, Jane made a silent finger-in-throat like motion, then tried to strangle herself with her bare hands as Maura continued to say yes, indeed, of course into her phone without having the faintest idea what she was agreeing on.
Jane's reactions were actually remarkably strong. When Slucky was around the two of them she became openly hostile towards him in a way that could be interpreted as downright territorial. It was almost as if… as if she was jealous.
The moment the thought popped into her head, Maura quickly dismissed it again. Watch it, you're projecting! Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous path… Step off of it!
If Maura's wishful thinking began to cloud her grasp on reality – the one in which Jane was her very straight, very platonic best friend – then she'd most certainly violate Jane's boundaries at some point or other. And Jane, with her detective skills, would catch on to Maura's inappropriate longings. Better to spread out a smoke screen to protect the both of them.
And so Maura likened her voice to something that could be mistaken for enthusiasm as she told the surgeon: "Why, I'd love to! No, you don't need to pick me up. I can meet you there at seven. I'll look very much forward to it. Bye."
"You have got to be kidding." Jane's voice was even hoarser than normally, practically like a growl, but it could be because she had just woken up.
Maura, who was temporarily facing away from Jane in order to put her phone back on the chest of drawers, pinched her nose hard. Kidding, yes. Who am I kidding? Yet another appointment to squeeze in between all the others. And one that will undoubtedly lead to more unwanted invitations.
"I know you can list all the healthy benefits of sex, and you probably will in a moment, but seriously, Maur… You can do better than Mr. Royal We."
Jane's voice had softened considerably, and as Maura turned back to her she found her friend looking almost contemplative.
"I mean… Just look at you. You could have anyone."
No, Jane. Not anyone.
Maura blinked a few times trying to clear her mind of the hint of bitterness that had snuck into it. Jane didn't deserve to feel it. This was all her own doing, not Jane's.
"I, well… I haven't had much opportunity to go out and survey the dating market lately," Maura finally stated. It was nothing but truth, even if it wasn't the whole truth.
Jane ruffled her own dark brown curls, and her hand hid her eyes as she quietly said: "I'm sorry, Maura. I know I take up so much of your time and I'm not even very good at showing my gratitude, am I? Of course you should see Slucky, if that's what you want."
The resignation in Jane's voice was too much for Maura to bear. She couldn't help herself, but reached out and pulled her friend's fidgeting hands from her hair. Somehow it slipped into her own, as Maura lay back down, settling her head in her free hand.
"Oh Jane, don't apologize. I'm here with you because I choose to be. You mean so much more to me than some date with Slucky or any man."
She gave her friend's hand a small squeeze that was immediately returned.
It brought about an immediate flashback to a situation not long ago where it wasn't returned and possibly wouldn't ever be again. The accompanying realisation of how very, very close Maura had been to losing her friend made her heart rate double.
It constantly happened to her. A gunshot-like sound from the television, a lifeless patient on her table resembling Jane ever so slightly, and now a simple hand squeeze – they instantly set Maura's internal cinema in motion where the same unbearable movie was always on reprise.
Though lately, the sudden bursts of tachycardia had also occurred completely disconnected from anything related to Jane's injury. During a job interview with a new lab assistant, in the station's canteen as Angela emerged from the kitchen and even once as she was standing in line at the mall.
It could probably be traced back to irregular sleep patterns and too much coffee, but she should get an ECG just in case. When she had the time, which clearly wasn't right now.
"Speaking of dating men…" Jane began, "You know, you were saved by your cell phone before you answered my question about the whole gay before or after graduation thing. Do you still consider women an option?"
Maura carefully studied her friend's face and body language as she mentally weighed her words. Jane seemed relaxed, and although her hand was merely resting within Maura's, she hadn't withdrawn it.
Even if Maura could lie, it would seem like an unforgivable betrayal when facing such an open and accepting expression. So she settled for a minor deflection.
"Given the legal progress in Boston, new reproduction technologies, not to mention the positive attitude changes towards same-sex couples, it would make sense to keep one's mind open. In this day and age it seems irrational to consider gender the most important factor when determining whether someone is a suitable life partner."
This ramble earned her a slight, but clearly amused eye-roll from Jane. She finally withdrew her hand in order to scratch her forehead.
Maura felt the loss as a tingling in her fingertips, but didn't dare reaching for her friend's hand again without a proper excuse.
"It's just that I've never heard you talk about dating women. If you're bisexual, then why is that?" Jane, ever the direct one, countered. "Your big brain's too evolved for pre-historical prejudice, and I know you're not a prude. You carry a shaving set in your purse, for Christ's sake!"
"Language, Jane," Maura automatically said as a way of stalling, "and I never said I consider myself a bisexual. In fact, on the Kinsey scale I would probably score a 1 or 2 at the most."
"Kidney scale? You lost me there, Googlemouth," Jane grinned.
"The Kinsey scale." Maura breathed a sigh of relief as she switched into her didactic, scientific mode, which was so much easier for her to handle.
"The scale was invented by Alfred Kinsey, famous founder of the Institute for Sex Research at Indiana University. Based on rigorous empirical studies he concluded that nature rarely deals with discrete categories, and that strictly heterosexual or homosexual behaviour is much rarer than commonly assumed. Most people fall somewhere on a continuum. Hence the Kinsey scale, which goes from 0 – meaning completely straight – to 6 – completely gay. Only people scoring a 3 are considered perfect bisexuals."
Jane frowned, trying to translate Maura's small lecture on sexology into something resembling American English.
"So you're saying you're somewhat attracted to women, but more attracted to men. Or would that be equally attracted, but more often to men than to women?"
"The scale is based on frequency, not depth of attraction. Kinsey was progressive for his time and nuanced the perception of sexuality tremendously. However, as you rightly point out, the scale does simplify things."
The arm holding Maura's head upright was beginning to give in and she finally put her head back on her pillow and was now eye-level with Jane.
"For one, Kinsey assumes sexual orientation and affectional or romantic orientation are one and the same thing. More and more people, particular among the asexual community, recognize that this is not necessarily the case."
Jane shook her head as much as the pillow allowed. "Please, Maur, in English," she whined.
"What you're physically attracted to and who you fall in love with might not be the same thing," Maura clarified.
This statement made Jane uncharacteristically quiet for a while. She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and stared off into the distance. When her eyes returned to Maura and she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost hesitant.
"So… do you think it's possible to be deeply in love with someone, even if you're not sexually attracted to them?"
"In theory, yes. And the asexuals claim they experience it all the time."
"Is that what it's like for you with women?" Jane pressed on, a strangely insistent expression on her face that Maura couldn't quite read, and it felt unsettling.
So she chose to focus on her own fingernails instead. They were kept short, but hadn't been properly manicured lately – another thing to add to her to do list.
"I… I generally tend to…" she stuttered, before taking a deep breath and pulling herself together.
"My immediate, biochemical response to men is generally greater, yes, whereas I form strong emotional bonds with women. However, in my experience, when one truly loves another person the need to express that love in all ways possible eventually follows."
She regretted the words the moment they'd left her mouth.
It was the truth, but it was a truth that left her naked and jeopardized the friendship she valued above everything else, even if cherishing it meant forever withholding certain emotions.
Now, if Jane ever figured out how much she meant to Maura, then, because of what she'd just told her, Maura would never be able to pretend her feelings weren't also of a sexual nature. Jane would realise that Maura not only occasionally dated women, slept with them even, but that she specifically wanted to sleep with Jane.
Before Maura could come up with a proper deflection or an excuse to leave or anything to break the tension she was feeling, Jane interrupted her train of thoughts. She didn't completely change the topic, but she certainly changed the mood.
"So, speaking of bedding women," Jane said with her usual smirk and eyes glinting with amusement, "how did you get this particular woman into your bed? I can't remember finding my way to your bedroom."
She looked around. "Actually, I don't think I've ever been in here before."
"No one has."
Again, the words simply fell out of Maura's mouth. No filter at all, what is wrong with you? Time to leave before you ruin everything by being you.
"Really?" Jane's smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared and was replaced by an expression of wonder. "Then I'm truly honoured."
"It was closer," Maura said almost shyly. "Also, I found attempting to carry you down the stairs too risky."
"You carried me to bed?"
Jane sat up abruptly and immediately winced at the pain it caused in her slowly healing abdomen.
"Maura, that is… I know you're much stronger than I usually give you credit for – I mean, I could never run in those heels! – but still… That's just… Wow."
Maura couldn't help but smile at Jane's rambling and very honest display of admiration, but remained modest herself: "Well, you had fallen asleep across the dining table, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. I knew you needed the rest."
"Yes, but…" Jane made a face at what she was about to say, "if I didn't loathe the expression I'd say that's incredibly sweet. No one has ever done that for me, not since Pop when I was a little girl. Only you."
She looked at Maura for a while; intensely, almost as if seeing her for the first time or at least in a new light. An odd, almost palpable silence had settled around it. Not an awkward one, more like a stillness rendering a few otherwise inaudible things crisp clear.
The sound of sheets shifting ever so slightly beneath slender, scarred hands. The sound of Jane's light breath and her own somewhat heavier one. And above all the still rapid pulse echoing through Maura's chest sending a brook-like rushing of blood through ever living part of her.
It was too much yet not enough, and eventually Maura reluctantly broke the gaze, afraid her own look would give too much away. Would betray not only the affectional, but also the increasingly sexual response their quiet connection was stirring within her.
"I should take Jo Friday for a walk. I didn't do it after I returned from the mall, so she must really need it by now."
Maura had barely mentioned the dog's name, before the ever happy ball of fur galloped into her bedroom and onto the bed. Unsure of where to direct its attention, it zigzagged between the two women.
The spell from before was completely broken, as Jane automatically humoured the little dog. "Who's my big girl? Who is it? Yeah, it's you, isn't it? It is!"
Jane reached out and scratched Jo behind the ear. The dog settled onto her lap still covered by the blanket and readily rolled onto her back, encouraging Jane to rub the softer fur on her stomach. The dog seemed the very definition of content.
Maura had to run a thousand miles an hour, make up for her lack of social skills, her over-sized brain, and in spite of all her efforts she always fell short.
She would forever be the one harbouring the wrong feelings, the one unable to understand the jokes, the one tolerated by, but not truly belonging to the police squad or Rizzoli family. The one ruining everything by over-thinking everything, yet still managing to say too much or simply the wrong things.
This dog, however, held Jane's heart and pretty much everybody else's too, and all it had to do was eat, sleep, pee, roll over and be loved.
Jo would never have to wonder what any of it meant, would never question people's motives or whether she was worthy of the affection. She could spend the entire day lazily soaking up the sun from Jane's window or chasing a particularly noisy fly without even catching it – yet she wouldn't feel like an ineffective failure.
A feeling was welling up within Maura; one she rarely had and therefore didn't immediately recognise.
A completely self-satisfied, obliviously happy creature. What an easy life.
Was it envy? Jealousy? No, it was stronger than that. Like a flattened palm pressing against her chest, making her entire body tense, her vision cloud.
You make no effort, yet get everything you need. You never stutter, never have to hold back, never have to keep going when all you want to do is drop. You fall into Jane's lap as if it's the most natural thing in the world and don't even realise how lucky you are. It's so fucking unfair.
Maura never swore, not even in her mind. The moment the word slipped into her consciousness, along with it came recognition of the feeling she was harbouring, and the palm on her chest became a fist beating the air out of her lungs.
It was hate.
For a moment Maura actually hated this tiny, innocent, furry creature.
How could someone hate a small dog? How could anyone – well aware of how dog versus human brains and consciousness work – blame a loving pet for not reflecting on its own existence? For simply being what it was genetically programmed to be?
"I'll get dressed, then take her to the park," Maura said as she rose from the bed without looking at either Jane or her dog.
No decent person would hate a dog for being a dog.
And yet, Maura had just done exactly that. The guilt felt like a physical weight on her scalp, making it hard to keep her head upright.