**DISCLAIMER – I do not own the characters, they belong to TNT and associated bodies. **

(However I have a wonderful imagination and that belongs all to me, just sometimes Jane and Maura wind up naked in it, and there's not a thing I can do to stop it. Gutted.)

This Chapter deals more with Maura's present, rather than the past. Again, if you don't want to read something that doesn't have a happy ending, then this isn't the story for you.

I just thought it would be interesting to see (and show) that sometimes grief is the true expression of someone's feeling for another person.

HERE WITHOUT YOU

Chaper Three.

Walking home from the Robber, Maura's thoughts couldn't untangle themselves from that night, the first night she spent with Jane as more than friends. She smiled as she walked along the familar pavement, tucking her hands into her coat against the November wind. She giggled as she passed the wall where Jane had pulled a wild flower out from it's home between the old cracks, seeing the frozen reminants that would no doubt, some summer soon, blossom again.

She sighed as she finished the short walk back to her house, whistfully touching the left side of her temple where Jane has placed the flower; before taking Maura's hand in her own as her brown eyes searched the pavement. Maura remembered the spark of the touch as she entwined her fingers with the gloved ones of the taller woman. Nothing had ever felt no natural, so easy; than the simple touch which signified such a change between them.

Maura stopped in front of her door, to touch the same place on the wood where Jane had placed her hand to hold it open for her on that night. Her sight blurred as her mind was flooded with the scene.

May.

Maura stepped past the brunette, into the warmth of her home, on an unusually chill night. She turned quietly, key in hand; motioning Jane in with her eyes. The soft click of the door put to bed both their fears.

"Bed?" Jane whispered.

Maura nodded, reaching out to link their little fingers as she led Jane down the familiar corridor.

She stopped in front of her door, turning slowly to the woman behind her; but keeping her eyes on the door handle.

"If we step into this room, everything changes," she barely managed to speak.

Jane moved to stand directly behind the blonde, releasing her finger to join their hands completely.

"Everything changed . . . a long, long time ago."

Maura breathed in the scent of the other woman, before turning to face her.

"Last week, at the Connor's case, when you touched me . . ."

Jane smiled, remembering tracing her ribs; moving her free hand to mimic the motion.

"I don't make promises I can't keep," she looked hungrily down into the green eyes searching her own.

"Then make it worth my while."

Maura stood frozen at her bedroom door, unable to prevent the electricity sparking through her as she remembered the feeling of Jane's lips on hers for the first time. She couldn't help but touch the door handle with the edge of her palm, as she did that night; opening the door as Jane guided them gently to the bed.

She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes drifting to the pillows that Jane had thrown accross the room, unable to supress the smile that crept up on the corners of her lips as she relived the crash of the lamp and the room turning to darkness; the flush that crept up her neck as Jane explored her.

Maura's eyes turned back to the dresser, she remembered waking on her stomach on the empty bed; reaching out for Jane but finding nothing there. She remembered the sting of the fear that filled her, the rush of disappointment, the embarrassment. Most of all she remembered the relief.

"Good Morning, Doctor Isles;" Jane almost purred from the door.

Maura turned, grabbing the red sheets half-on, half-off the bed; to cover her modesty. She couldn't help but laugh as she let her eyes fall over Jane's make-shift toga.

"Good Morning, Detective Rizzoli," she smiled. "And you would rather wear my bed-linen than the clothes you keep here, why?"

Jane sauntered to the bed, sitting on the edge before leaning accross to bury her face in the blonde's neck.

"It smelt like you," she mumbled, before raising her head, "And I didn't wanna wake you going through drawers, having you think I was leaving when I'm only downstairs making breakfast," she smiled before leaning in for a morning kiss.

"Good," Maura let her hand wander accross Jane's cheek, to her neck and up again; eyes roaming. "So what's for breakfast . . . if it isn't you," she raised an eyebrow.

Jane swallowed.

"Scrambled eggs on . . . Oh Crap!" Jane bounded off the bed, trying to hold onto the sheets covering her, as Maura let her head hit the pillow, laughing.

A few steps took her accross the room to the drawer where she kept those covers; the covers cast off onto the floor as the night gave way to morning, as need gave way to exhaustion, motion gave way to gentle patterns traced accross newly discovered skin, goosebumped and glistening.

Maura touched the folded covers, cracking under the memories that surfaced against her will.

"Christ Jane," she began to rack with sobs, gathering the fabric up in a ball against her chest and face, knees dropping to the floor as she desperately tried to breathe in the long-gone scent of the Detective. "How . . ." she croaked, " . . . am I meant to do this?" The tears came harder now, cascading onto the precious remenant of happy memories, "How am I meant to do this without you?"

Maura rocked on the floor for hours, sobbing and clutching the covers.