A/N: Thanks for the support, guys! For the optimum reading experience with this chapter, I recommend going to Youtube or someplace about halfway through and pulling up a recording of Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade." Because my grandparents have the best taste in music. :)
Also, there's a shout-out here to the season 1 blooper reel.
"So you must've had a wedding fantasy when you were young. C'mon!" Maura laughed when Jane just chuckled. "Every little girl has one!"
"Okay, okay," Jane gave in. "It wasn't really a fantasy…I just had this dumb idea I would…" She turned to glance at her friend, but had to look away when Maura returned the move—Jane knew she could never get this out with a straight face if Maura was looking at her. "Say my vows at Fenway, over home plate. In a Red Sox jersey." She shot another nervous glance at Maura to see that the doctor was still looking at her, and then Maura broke into a beautiful smile and they both started laughing, each turning to face the ceiling again.
"It's not dumb!" Maura chuckled. "It's not exactly elegant, but at least it's colorful!"
When the laughter died out, Jane found herself continuing, and Maura found herself unable to look away: "We would have the reception over the pitcher's mound, and we would serve foot-long hotdogs and frozen lemonade …and guests would throw peanuts at us instead of rice."
"Can I come?" Maura asked.
Jane rolled onto her side, a bit startled by how much she overshot it and how close she was to Maura. "What kind of dumbass question is that? Can you come?"
"I guess it was just one of my poor attempts at humor."
"Of course you're coming," Jane murmured, throwing her arm over Maura's stomach. Maura tensed, but in hopes of distracting Jane from the fact that she had, she brought her hand down to gently touch Jane's forearm.
Things like this seemed to happen between them often. Neither of them would ever consider themselves very touchy-feely people, except when they were with each other. Jane hated having her personal space invaded, but with Maura, she never minded. In fact, her feelings were so the opposite of being annoyed that she sometimes felt almost disconcerted about it. Each began second-guessing herself when one touch lasted too long or one gaze lingered too much, and in an effort to make things less weird, one of them would overcompensate with humor or more overt physical contact.
"Take off your shirt." "W—okay, now I know you suffered a head injury!"
Pull Maura in, convince Giovanni, push her on the boobs to make her go away. Yup! Not gay!
Sitting on a park bench, Maura rubs her hand up and down Jane's leg. Jane pretends to lean in for a kiss, and Maura even moves to grab her face before Jane pulls back and laughs, not able to take their kidding that far. Which of course led to another accidental boob grab. But it had all been a laugh, hadn't it? Just a case of one-upping each other?
For Jane it was a matter of not wanting to look gay. If she overplayed it, nobody would assume how she really felt about Maura, right? She'd be making a joke of it, and then Maura wouldn't have to feel weird. For Maura, it was a matter of trying not to fall for her best friend. It couldn't work out well… could it?
Whatever it was, it brought them to this moment: lying on Jane's mattress after drinking some wine, talking about wedding fantasies, Jane's arm slung over Maura's waist and one of Maura's coming to rest around Jane's shoulder. Cuddling, like friends do.
"A Red Sox jersey?" Maura asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Hey, you're in my fantasy," Jane said, pretending to sound annoyed. "You cannot tell me what to wear!"
She loved being able to feel Maura's laugh. "All right, so then what do I get to wear in your fantasy?"
"Well, you're my best friend, so I guess you'd be the Maid of Honor," Jane said. "So I figure you could wear umpire gear and the bridesmaids would all wear Green Monster T-shirts."
"Gear?" Maura whined. "It's so bulky and unattractive!"
"Maura, please," Jane snorted. "You could show up wearing a Lady Gaga-inspired outfit of athletic cups and still look amazing."
"That does not sound aesthetically pleasing," Maura observed seriously, earning her an unseen eye roll. "But if I was your Maid of Honor, that would mean I get to plan out your bachelorette party, wouldn't it?"
Jane groaned. "No! No bachelorette party, no bridal shower, no nothing. Oh, don't pout!" she laughed, glancing up to see the look of exaggerated disappointment on Maura's face. "You just want an excuse to hire a bunch of male strippers."
"I do not!"
"Yes you do! I knew I never should've agreed to go with you to Magic Mike."
"Oh, Jane. All right, no strippers and no bachelorette party. What about a reception?"
"I dunno, what about it?"
"Or the music for your ceremony! I always wanted an orchestral quartet to play at my wedding, as I walked down the aisle," she said with a dreamy sigh.
Jane couldn't help picturing it: Maura with her shining hair impeccably styled, flowing over her shoulders, a pure white dress with an empire waist and twenty-foot train leaving everyone in awe as she walked down the aisle to a bass, a cello, and two violins playing Pachelbel's Canon. And then she would arrive at the altar, standing next to and smiling at some nameless, faceless guy that Jane wanted to punch.
"And would your reception end by everyone jumping into the volcano?" Jane asked.
"Shut up."
"Whoa! Snark from Dr. Isles? It was an honest question!" Jane laughed.
They were silent for a few more moments, and then the sounds of old jazz music came wafting into the apartment. Jane groaned again, although she sounded more exasperated than annoyed this time. She moaned internally when Maura sat up, dislodging Jane's arm from over her stomach.
"Where's that music coming from?"
"Down the hall," Jane mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Apartment next to the one Riley was in, actually. Dennis Mitchell, World War II vet. He's kinda gone deaf, so he has to blast his music when he listens to it." She sighed and sat up. "I tried asking him to turn it down once, but then he wound up just bringing me into his apartment and giving me coffee and telling me all about his experiences in Bataan. He's a real cool guy. I can't bring myself to ask him to shut off his music anymore."
"It's nice," Maura said. "I like it. Glenn Miller."
"Hm?"
"Glenn Miller's 'String of Pearls.' That's the song."
"Oh. Gotcha."
"I actually wanted to have my first dance with my husband to a Glenn Miller song."
Jane laughed, but the sound died in her throat at the sight of Maura's honest face. "What're you, ninety years old?"
"It's lovely!" Maura chided her, giving Jane's arm a shove. "And when I was twelve, my parents were trying to educate me about Americana, so they introduced me to one of the original American genres. Jazz. When they would go to concerts, I would put on a record of Benny Goodman or Glenn Miller and dance to it alone. If I was feeling really fancy, I might pour a little apple juice into a champagne flute and drink it."
This was sort of a sad image. Jane could just picture a young Maura, dressed in her fanciest clothes with a flute of apple juice, twirling around alone in a big, empty European flat.
"How would you dance?" Jane asked.
Maura raised an eyebrow. "I'm not showing you, you'd just make fun of me!"
That made Jane all the more curious. "No I won't, I promise! Just show me."
A new song came on, and Maura gasped. "Oh, 'Moonlight Serenade'! This was what I wanted to accompany our first dance—this song always used to make me swoon! Isn't it beautiful?"
"Uh…sure, I guess."
Before Jane quite knew what was happening, Maura had stood up and taken Jane's hand, pulling her up with her. "Come on," she said eagerly, putting her hands on Jane's shoulders. "Dance with me."
"What?" Jane sputtered, hands hanging uselessly by her side.
"Humor me, please?" Maura begged. "I've never gotten to dance to this song with anyone, and now I can practice for if I ever get that volcano wedding of mine."
"Maura, c'mon. I can't dance." Crap. You should've said yes. A friend would laugh and go along with it. You're making it weird!
"Don't be shy," Maura said, taking Jane's hands and putting them on her waist.
"Okay, okay," Jane muttered, allowing Maura to set the pace. She kept waiting for it to stop being awkward, but it never did. She did get more into the song and eventually stopped stepping on Maura's toes, but Jane remained uncomfortable with where this was going. Maybe she shouldn't have been so accommodating. Her gaze was fixed firmly at a spot over Maura's shoulder until she finally brought herself to glance at those hazel eyes, and she felt like her stomach was about to drop. "S-so. Maura."
"Yes?" It was incredible and not a little nerve-wracking how sensual Maura was able to make that one word.
"When you were twelve, did you still envision dancing to this song with Antonio autopsy-guy?"
"No," Maura chuckled. "I didn't care who it was at that point."
"Who do you picture being the groom now?" Jane asked. "Or are you too old for fantasies?"
No, I'm not. "I don't picture a groom."
Jane's heartbeat picked up dangerously. "Well you gotta marry somebody," Jane scoffed. "Otherwise it isn't really a wedding, is it?"
Maura recognized the trepidation in Jane's voice, but was determined to beat it. "No, it wouldn't be," she agreed. "But I could have a bride, you know." Jane tensed under her touch, but Maura stayed firm. "I've decided recently to keep my options open. If I get married, it will be because I fell in love, and that love won't be prescribed by gender."
They had all but stopped dancing, only swaying slightly, as Jane tried to stay casual. "Have you fallen in love with a woman before?"
Just one. "I just think that …I think that the idea of love and everything it encompasses—living together, pleasuring one another, being a couple—shouldn't be restricted by something as basic and black-and-white as a social construct."
"You think it's that simple?" Jane whispered.
"I don't know if anything about love is simple."
"I mean, you think a woman could date guys her whole life, and then wind up being married to a woman? And be happy?"
There was nothing guarded in the look Maura was now giving Jane. "If she fell in love, yes."
Jane finally stopped moving, though her hands remained at Maura's waist. "What're you doing, Maura?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"You can't figure it out, detective?" Maura asked, trying to smile but her voice trembling with nerves. "I'm attempting to come onto you."
Jane grinned warily as the serenade ended and a new song began. "Attempting?"
"Why, is it working?"
And how. The cheesy '40s phrase passed through her head, but Jane found herself unable to speak. All it took to get her to act was one more pleading look from her closest friend, and she leaned down, brushing her lips against Maura's. She was rewarded with a soft moan, and one of Maura's hands curled around the back of her neck while the other traveled down to rest at Jane's hip. When Jane pulled away, Maura effortlessly reeled her back in, and Jane didn't resist. This feeling was too perfect.
What have I been running away from?
From happiness. From joy. From Maura. From potential.
"I don't want to run anymore," she heard herself whisper out loud.
Judging by the hungry look on her face and from her tone, Maura understood Jane's intent. She wanted this as much as Maura did. So with a grin that was slowly reflected, Maura took Jane's hand and suggested, "Then how about we dance?"