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Chapter Three – Secretive Dichotomy

She had heard about it by accident one day as she had stepped into the office of a renowned female journalist, quite influential in Boston. The woman was on the phone when she had given the name of the place, asking her interlocutor to meet her there. The smile she had given Maura afterward – a mix, rather subtle, of mischievousness and curiosity – had made the rest and as she had left the building the medical examiner was carrying in her purse a card with the address of the club.

It was select. The guests were hand-picked. Most of them having jobs with high responsibilities. None of them felt like making the headlines of a tabloid for frequenting such a place, abandoning themselves to such activities once the night had fallen over the city.

They weren't ashamed. They simply knew that it was better if it remained secret.

The waitress brought the Martini and put it down on the oak table before turning around to head back to the bar counter. Sat in a comfortable leather armchair, Maura looked at her; the way the black dress moved on the woman's hips under each one of her steps led by vertiginous stilettos. Her rhythm was one of pure perfection; a tantalizing parallelism with the music playing.

"Feeling close to the staff tonight, Isles?"

A peaceful smiled curled up her lips. Bending over the table and offering a full view of her cleavage to the whole room, she grabbed her drink then let the vodka slide on her throat before embracing her stomach of a comforting warmth.

"No."

The brunette sitting next to her burst out laughing. An intoxicating voice; full of self-confidence, rather deprived of any genuine nuance. Catherine Banks was a very talented lawyer. A strong woman as well. Intimidating even in the sweetest, most intimate moments.

"It's been a while since the last time you came here."

The ice cubes hit the edge of her glass as Maura moved them around. She liked the odd melody of the contact. Fragility meeting with solidity. An oxymoron within a sound.

"I was working."

Catherine Banks wasn't a friend but an acquaintance. And yet. If she hadn't come to the club one night – out of curiosity – Maura would have never talked to her outside of a court. She did have her number but for professional purposes only and they didn't call each other; only happened to meet behind the doors of the private club.

And a couple of times in the intimacy of a bedroom but it was long forgotten.

"On a case or on your detective?"

Maura finally looked up and locked her eyes with pale green ones. She didn't like Catherine's amazing nonchalance but envied her for it. She was herself too dark for that. Too self-conscious.

"She is straight."

The lawyer lit a cigarette and swept away Maura's comment with a gesture of the hand. Her gaze was lost on an invisible point somewhere down the lounge. Unless she had succumbed to personal thoughts and silent regrets.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't define the rules of the game and you know it."

A buzzing sound made them both look down at the table. Maura's cell phone had lit up as the name of Jane appeared now brightly on the screen. Catherine repressed an ironical laugh and rose an eyebrow rather sarcastically.

"Be careful, Isles. You're playing with fire."

Maura stood up – adjusted her dress – and disarmed enough, shrugged at her interlocutor. Her nails dug in the leather of her purse as something hurt in her heart. She pursed her lips.

"That's all I have."

She didn't give time for Catherine to reply. She didn't want to hear anything, not now. Not tonight. She lacked strength to face a few facts and who cared anyway if she lived in a dream that nobody or so had to know about?

But even as she reached Jane's apartment and knocked on the door, her whisper kept on burning on her lips. The words had been bitter, painful. True.

"C'mon in, Maur'. I made popcorn."

The scientist stepped inside the living-room and took her shoes off. She had come straight away after receiving her friend's message and was still wearing stilettos a bit too high to stand in them for a long time; appropriate for a bar, not for an evening inside.

Jo Friday welcomed her warmly, brushing her ankles and following her to the kitchen where she leaned against the counter before accepting the glass of wine Jane held out to her.

"Wait. Were you on a date? You look..."

The Italian motioned at the dress, her face. Immediately, Maura shook her head but chose to take a long sip of wine before replying. If only to win some time.

"I am not seeing anyone, Jane."

Her answer seemed to have a comforting effect because all of a sudden the brunette's features lightened up and everything went back to normal. Or so. It wasn't a lie, anyway. Maura had stopped dating for quite a while. It didn't work out, she had lost patience for it. One-night stands were frustrating but nonetheless satisfying when she didn't want to be alone at night.

"How is Casey?"

Jane casually put down the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table – sat on her couch – and shrugged at the question as Maura came to settle by her side. Not that the honey blonde felt like talking about him but she knew she had to. That was what people expected her to do.

"Oh, he canceled our Skype session. Last minute change of plan... But anyway, I didn't ask you to come here for that."

Maura nodded – somewhat relieved – yet troubled as Jane didn't keep on talking. Clutched to her glass of wine that had suddenly become indispensable to her survival, the honey blonde cast a glance around. Desperate before such silence. She wasn't good at guessing and hated it. Especially after a full workday.

"I didn't want to be alone, tonight."

The confession took Maura aback, its nuances twirling in her head before wrapping up her body of an odd yet delicate feeling. Jane was staring at her lap; embarrassed by her own words. Should she have really said that? It had sounded selfish, probably a tad sad as well. Incomprehensible, out of character.

Too much vulnerability within a few murmured words in the silence of the night.

Without a word, Maura closed the distance with her friend before taking her in her arms; holding her tight. Jane settled there. There was no complain, no joke. Nothing at all. The Italian's dark eyes were absentmindedly focused on the coffee table while the scientist's heat soothed her brain and calmed her troubled soul.

A secret dichotomy of feelings. That was how Maura saw it. The gap between what she showed to the crowd of strangers had very little to do with whom she really was to the point it could even be seen and described as the exact opposite of her public figure. And Jane was alike. In her own way. She knew it. They both knew it.

That was the reason why their relation was so singular.

"I've read two of the manga the Chinatown victim had ordered. It could be us, Maura. The brunette and the blonde, the tomboy and the feminine woman. Fighting crime... The adventure, justice type... It's weird to think about that."

Maura swallowed hard. Her heart was beating fast as a wave of discomfort spread over her mind.

"We aren't lovers, Jane."

The detective shrugged – not troubled the least by the comment – and folded her legs under her to settle further in her friend's arms. She repressed a yawn, closed her eyes.

"But we have the emotional part."