It was half past eleven when Jane finally got around to driving Maura home.
"So," Jane sighed heavily, pulling into Maura's driveway. "Looks like you survived unscathed. A Rizzoli Christmas Eve, I mean."
"Looks like you survived, albeit barely," Maura chuckled. She took Jane's hand encouragingly, her voice softening. "See? It wasn't so hard, was it?"
A smile worked its way slowly onto Jane's face. "No," she whispered. "It wasn't."
Actually, as wonderful as the evening had been in most respects, part of it had been difficult for Maura. Particularly, the last bit. Apparently one tradition Angela refused to break was that each of them opened a gift on Christmas Eve, which her kids had never been very excited about because the gift was always a set of pajama's. The guys' matched and Jane's always matched her mother's, a cutesy touch she had never cared for (especially as Angela always ordered them from the same company, which Jane was sure employed only the most color-blinded of Lifetime-watching grandmothers).
This year had been no different, and Angela had foisted the box on Jane before she could leave. Maura offered to take a picture of everyone in their matching clothes, and as she'd fiddled with the photo settings on Angela's phone while they all changed, she couldn't help feeling a little sad. She didn't feel left out, especially as Angela had apologized profusely for not having another set Maura could put on. Much as Jane had employed the term over the last week, Maura knew there was no such thing as "Christmas magic," and yet it was hard to know what else might have caused Jane Rizzoli to allow her mother to hug her so much in this mini-photo session.
The only reason a lump had formed in Maura's throat was simply because she could never picture doing something this goofy with her family. Frank might have been smiling a little stiffly and Jane might have been rolling her eyes, but the sentiment of bashful family love stuck.
"Let's get one of the lovebirds, huh?" Frankie had suggested.
"Oh, but I don't think I'm dressed for it," Maura responded.
In lieu of replying, Jane began unbuttoning the new flannel top, which boasted a surprisingly un-embarrassing pattern: a simple red-and-cream plaid. She had on a white tank-top underneath it, and though Angela insisted she'd be cold, Jane waved her off and handed the top to Maura. Though a little unsure at first, Maura pulled the large plaid top over her own sweater, grinning at the camera when Jane stood behind her and put her arms around her.
Angela texted Maura the photo, and it arrived as she and Jane idled in the car in her driveway. Maura laughed and showed it to Jane, who just shook her head at how ridiculous the oversized garment looked on Maura.
She was still wearing it.
"I suppose I should give this back, now," she said a little shyly, preparing to remove her coat to get at the flannel.
"No," Jane said softly, touching Maura's arm by way of telling her to stop. She had bundled up with a puffy jacket of her mother' to make up for her own lack of proper attire. "I don't like sleeping in button-down stuff, anyway. I sleep on my stomach most of the time, so it's not really comfortable for me. So, um… you can keep it, if you want. Unless—I dunno, unless it'd be weird."
"I'm not really the right person to ask if something seems weird or not," Maura admitted. "So… do you think it's weird?"
"No way," Jane muttered, her eyes dipping briefly to Maura's lips. "I think it's really …um, really not weird." She leaned in for a kiss, one which Maura quickly and eagerly returned. "Mmm," Jane hummed, letting her fingers curl at the back of Maura's neck. "I still don't get it."
Maura's breath hitched when Jane left a short kiss at her jaw. "Get what?"
Jane inhaled deeply and pulled back just a bit. "When I was a kid, Ma used to tell me that it took fewer muscles to smile than it did to frown."
"Did you know that's actually undetermined?" Maura whispered, kissing the corner of Jane's upturned mouth. "You would be hard-pressed to find two scholars who agreed precisely on the subject. It's mostly an adage." She chuckled when Jane said "oh," her grin widening slightly. "What were you going to say, though?"
"Smiling really feels like a work-out right now. Like, for my face. My face is sore."
"Aww, Jane," Maura giggled. "You pretend to be such a badass, but you're really just a softie, aren't you?"
"Not towards many people."
"Just the ones you date?"
"Um…just you, actually," Jane realized. Maura was genuinely touched, her features softening as Jane averted her gaze. "So there's my Christmas confession, I guess."
"I look forward to more of the same."
"Yeah, yeah, don't spread it around," Jane chuckled.
Maura laughed, took Jane's face in her thinly gloved hands, and pulled her close enough to kiss. It was too short for Jane's liking, and Maura shifted to breath into her ear, "Good night, sweet prince."
Jane stayed numbly in her car, watching as Maura walked carefully to her house on the icy driveway. She sat stock-still and Maura fumbled for her keys, eventually picking them out of her purse and turning the lock before waving Jane goodbye with a million-dollar smile. This had been their routine a few times already; Jane wouldn't leave until she saw Maura safely inside. But this time she didn't want to leave. A buzz was going through her from head to toe, and she nearly felt drunk with—with something. Happiness or anxiety or affection, she wasn't entirely sure. All she knew was that she could not go home.
Without another moment's deliberation, Jane vaulted herself out of the car and hurried towards Maura's door. She knocked (just to the side of a wreath she had helped the doctor pick out), and when Maura opened it, looking surprised, Jane stepped inside and pulled her into a kiss. After an initial gasp escaped her, Maura quickly gave herself over to it, lifting her arms around Jane's neck and rolling her hips towards her. The door had been closed by one of them and Jane's first plan had been to press Maura up against it, but she didn't get the chance when Maura instead turned them to the side, her hands now at Jane's waist, keeping her against the wall.
For the next minute or so, Jane was only barely conscious of the fact that they were moving, in tandem, to Maura's bedroom. But she didn't fully realize it until the back of her knees hit the end of the bed, and with a light push, she was on her back with Maura looming over her.
"Maura…"
There was a hint of hesitation in that tone, a drop of nervousness. Not wanting to take this too fast. Not wanting to mess up, to be insufficient. Maura smiled reassuringly, and her dimples caused Jane's stomach to lurch.
"You didn't ask me what I wanted for Christmas," she whispered.
"Well, that's 'cause I kinda already got you something," Jane said back, her hands coming to rest near Maura's thighs.
"And I'm sure I'll love it. But I have one request to make."
"Okay, name it," Jane said, her voice a breath.
Maura leaned down for one more kiss. "I want you to wake up with me on Christmas morning."
"Funny," Jane whispered. "I was going to ask for the same thing."
When Maura woke up that morning, it took her a moment to realize what was different. There was an arm resting over her stomach, curls by her shoulder, and a warm body pressed quite closely behind her. She smiled to herself as her fingers found Jane's, and she heard a soft pleased sound come out of Jane at the action. She shivered when Jane pressed her lips against the back of her neck, tightening her hold at Maura's waist ever so slightly.
"Happy December 25th, Maura."
Maura shifted to lie on her other side, so she could be facing Jane. But when she caught sight of Jane's toothy grin and tousled hair, she found herself suddenly speechless. She encircled her arms around Jane as best she could, pressing her face into Jane's shoulder and holding her tight.
"Merry Christmas, Jane," she mumbled.
Jane gently rubbed her back, both of them knowing Maura didn't have to say or explain anything else.
As a child, Jane's Christmases had consisted of she and her brothers waking up at dawn, entertaining themselves best as they could until 6:00 a.m., the earliest their father said they could wake up the parents. A melee would briefly ensue at 6:01 as they delved into their stockings, Frank made coffee, and Angela took photos (and eventually videos, once Frank splurged on a good camera). The older Jane got, her enthusiasm for rising early waned, but her excitement was taken on by Angela, who was soon the one hassling Jane to get out of bed on Christmas morning. These days, Jane and her brothers would head over to their parents for a late breakfast to exchange gifts, and as everyone finally had enough sleep and their lives no linger hinged on getting that certain toy or piece of sporting equipment, it was an enjoyable morning for all those involved.
Maura had grown up jealous of her classmates who described the excitement of Christmas morning. She couldn't imagine anything like that, because there just wasn't anything like it. Not even a birthday—a birthday was about one person alone. Christmas seemed to be a collective experience, a family holiday, something she yearned for desperately. Her parents enjoyed the time off of work by sleeping in, and Maura never bothered asking if they could get up early to celebrate. They would give her gifts, but rarely was it anything personal (she had never known what to ask for, and even if she had, she wouldn't have known how). A few boxes were unwrapped, and the paper was then quickly discarded by the house staff before Maura could consider recycling it into a book cover or some such thing.
She had just grown to assume Christmas morning would never be enjoyable or meaningful for her, and she readily accepted it.
But that was before this year, before she woke up still wearing Jane Rizzoli's flannel pajama top. The one that matched the pants Jane Rizzoli was still wearing. It was before she truly appreciated snow for its aesthetic qualities, rather than focusing on the inconveniences it could cause. Before she had ever made a gingerbread cookie, tasted wassail, made a snow angel, or seen a true holiday classic. It was before she ever actually had a gift she was excited to give someone.
"Your feet are like ice," she suddenly noticed, running her foot down by Jane's.
"Yeah, I ran a little errand this morning," Jane admitted. "I just got back a few minutes ago."
"An errand? Were stores open?"
"I just went back to my apartment to grab something," she explained. "A couple things, actually. But anyway." She cleared her throat. "Don't let me disrupt your usual morning routine. Just act like today's any other day—what would you do first?"
Maura bit her lip, thinking. First she would probably brush her teeth and take a shower, but… "I don't want to act like today's any other day, Jane. For once, I just want it to be something special."
"One Christmas special, comin' right up," Jane said cheerfully.
She got onto her knees and tugged Maura over to her side of the bed before getting to her feet and scooping Maura up into her arms. Jane smiled at the delighted gasp this elicited from Maura, as the doctor's arms loosely wrapped around Jane's neck and she headed for the door of the bedroom. She nudged it open and walked straight for the kitchen, dropping Maura onto a stool by the island.
"Do you like pancakes?" Jane asked.
"Of course."
"Good, because I made some batter here."
Maura slid off the stool and walked around to Jane, who, while she had managed to locate a pan and spatula, looked mystified by the many buttons and knobs on Maura's impossibly fancy stove. Wrapping one arm around Jane's stomach, Maura leaned around her to turn the appropriate dials that would start a fire under the pan. Once it got going, her eyes brightened when she noticed a small gift-wrapped box by the fridge.
"Is that for me?" she asked.
"Actually, it's for Bass," Jane said, reaching over for the package. "No, seriously!"
"I can never tell if you're joking or not."
Jane tossed her the box. "Yeah, well, open it and see how serious I am."
She had to chuckle at Maura's precision in unwrapping the thing. Whenever she or her brothers opened a gift, paper and bows tended to get ripped and tossed around thoughtlessly. You would think Maura planned on scrupulously saving the entire paper, preserved perfectly, as she gently peeled the tape back and carefully removed the bow. Jane figured she had enough time to put some batter down in the pan, which she did.
Eventually, Maura's mouth fell open in gentle surprise. It was a carton of British strawberries.
"I remember you saying he liked those," Jane said, briefly worrying that Maura's expression was an unhappy one. "It took me a while to find some, like, I wound up going to this grocery store I didn't even know we had, but, um…"
"I can't believe you remembered that," Maura said, once she had recaptured her ability to speak. "I was sure that would just get filed away as some random, inconsequential comment, like most of my ramblings."
"Hey," Jane said quietly, resting her hand at Maura's waist. "I listen when you talk, Maura."
It broke her heart a little to see the lovesick expression on Maura's face, which seemed to say, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Instead, Maura leaned up on her toes and kissed Jane's cheek. "I'm going to go put some of these by his crate."
When Maura got back to the kitchen, it was to see that Jane had already set two plates and put one pancake on each of them. "I saw all those fancy jams and syrups and things you had," she said, "Natural preservatives and whatnot, but that's not what Christmas is about, I'm afraid."
"It's not?" Maura asked, sitting down.
"Nope." And before Maura could stop her, Jane leaned over and sprayed a liberal amount of whipped cream on top of her pancake. "Oh, and I put some chocolate-chips in there, too. Trust me, Maura, you're gonna love it. I swear."
In reality it was far too much sugar for Maura's liking, especially this early in the morning, but she had to admit the chocolate was a surprisingly nice touch. And it was difficult to be displeased when Jane looked so excited for her to try it, to share the experience with her.
After eating, Maura's next step was always to immediately wash the dishes, but Jane convinced her that today, they could wait. So she let Jane stack them up in the sink, and rather than worry about growing bacteria or at least the light unpleasant smell that was sure to soon follow, Maura went back to her room for Jane's gift. When she got back, it was to see that Jane was already sitting on the floor by the fireplace (in which she had earlier started a fire), the best Christmas-y substitute in light of the fact that Maura didn't have a tree.
Maura took the opposite end of the couch, settling under the large blanket Jane had already gotten out. Needlessly smoothing out her end, Maura asked, "So… do we open these at the same time, or does one of us go first?"
"You go ahead and open yours first," Jane said, handing over her package.
Obligingly, Maura set down the (rather large) box that had been on her lap to the floor, so she could take Jane's gift. She opened it with the same precision and gentleness with which she had opened Bass', and laughed once again in surprised delight once she had unwrapped it in its entirety. "I've never gotten a gift like this before," she said.
It was a box of tree ornaments, all themed from the Nutcracker ballet: a sugar plum fairy ballerina, a mouse dressed as a soldier, the mouse king, Clara, and of course a Nutcracker. Each had a small loop on top of their heads, threaded with glistening gold material.
"No pressure to get a tree, of course," Jane said. "Especially not for this year. But even if you don't want to get one next year, I just thought maybe you could cut off the thread and just use 'em as decoration."
"Jane, they're beautiful," Maura said, reverently taking off the lid and inspecting each ornament individually. "And you can bet I'll be getting a tree next year to put them on. Although you may have to help me locate a few more, so it won't be too sparse."
Clearly pleased that Maura liked the gift so much, Jane beamed and offered, "Or you could just get like a Charlie Brown tree—perfect size for that many ornaments."
"What's a Charlie Brown tree?" Maura asked innocently.
"Wow," Jane sighed. "I keep forgetting how much of an education you need."
"I have an M.D.," Maura said, sounding offended.
Jane narrowed her eyes. "Was that a joke?"
The anxious reply: "Only if it was funny."
Jane granted her a laugh and said, "Good one, Dr. Isles. Anyone ever says you don't have a sense of humor, you send 'em on over to me. Now what's that you've got for me there?" She asked not in order to bring the attention around back to herself, but to diver it, in a way: she was sure Maura had been about to ask where and how Jane had found such nice ornaments on such short notice. It had taken a couple of sleepless nights and a bit more driving around than Jane wanted to admit. Once Maura had handed her the sizeable gift, Jane said, "I've got it. It's a car."
"Jane."
"A new house?"
"Jane!"
"A horse!"
"Would you just open it?"
Showing about as much restraint as a five-year-old, Jane tore into the package and for a moment, stared in confusion at what appeared to be an empty cage. She lifted it so that it rested on her knees, and peering into a small dome in the cage, noticed a shell that might have fit in the palm of her hand.
"You got me a turtle?" she guessed.
Maura eagerly tucked her feet up on the couch and leaned closer. "A tortoise," she corrected. "A Geochelone sulcata, to be precise. Just like Bass! Now you have a pet, too. And I know it's a lot of responsibility, and you have a very demanding job, but tortoises are actually relatively low-maintenance. And furthermore, if you ever need any assistance, I would be happy to watch him for you—or I could recommend a good sitter if needs be."
"You know a turtle-sitter?" Jane laughed.
"Tortoise," Maura insisted, now looking a little perturbed.
Jane just laughed again, and looked back at the tiny animal, which had poked its head into view. "They're kinda cute when they're this small," she said. "What should I call him? I'm not really much good with naming pets."
"Well, you could always go with the name he came with."
"And what was that, Cosmic Creeper?"
"No," Maura said slowly, looking a little confused as to why Jane would even suggest such a thing. "It was Watson."
"Watson, eh?" Jane said. "I kinda like it. I don't think he's quite big enough yet for a full-on detective name, like Sherlock. Maybe he'll grow up to be portly, and it'll be perfect!"
"So you like him?" Maura asked eagerly.
"I do," Jane said genuinely. "I really do."
They parted ways about an hour later, when Jane would soon be expected to show up at her childhood home and Maura expected a phone call from her parents. It was a cliché time of year to get in touch, but it suited the Isles fine otherwise. Everyone else in the world used it as an excuse to catch up with people they rarely spoke to during the year, so why not? After the requisite family time passed for both of them, Jane would come back over to pick up Maura for Frank and Angela's Christmas party.
While Jane and her family went to visit Tommy, Maura did something she had never before done: gushed to her parents about who she was dating. They had known about Garrett, of course, and Constance remembered Maura once mentioning an Australian she'd been seeing, but this was the first time either Isles could remember Maura going on like this about someone she was seeing romantically. The easy, cynical thing to do would be to say it was because the romance had just started, and the freshness had yet to be cooked out of it, but that didn't quite account for all the brightness in their daughter's tone. She sounded lighter than she ever had.
"…and mother, you'll never guess where she took me for our first date."
"Policeman's ball?"
"The ballet! The Nutcracker!"
"Really? How sweet!" Constance laughed, sounding sincere. "She must know you well."
"I've just never been with someone this… considerate," Maura said. "She's just—oh, well, I don't want to bore you…"
"No, no," her father said. "Go ahead, Maura."
For some reason, it was easier to talk to them about all this over the phone than it was in person. There was no pressure, less formality, discussing it this way. She had somebody to spill all her schoolgirl feelings to, and did so with abandon, cutting herself off at first but slowly realizing how good it felt to share all this with someone. And not just anyone, but her family. Her parents. As their daughter spoke to them about this slightly reckless but completely romantic detective, Constance felt tears stinging at her eyes. This was the best Christmas gift she had ever gotten, and she didn't even know that she'd wanted it.
After all the festivities at the Rizzoli's had ended, Maura lamented to Jane that her parents hadn't called on the twenty-sixth, instead. Then she could have told them all about the party.
"What," Jane asked. "Do they only have a phone that works one way? Call them and tell 'em about it if you want to!"
So she did.
She called the next day to laugh about how, arriving back at Frank and Angela's house, Jane had immediately engaged in a snowball fight with the neighbors' kids. More appropriately dressed this time around, Maura had gotten involved as well. They hid behind a small fort Frankie had built up earlier, and as Frank diverted the kids' attention, Jane showed Maura how to sculpt the perfect snowball. But mostly she'd looked on in awe as this hard-edged detective, who'd seen and spilled real blood, treated this fight like an all-out war—just like the kids were. Without consciously doing so, Jane mimicked the sound-effects that the kids came up with as they hurled their snowballs, and she yelled melodramatically when she was finally hit.
(Maura skipped telling her parents about the part afterwards, when they had gone into the garage to remove their wet coats and gloves and boots, and wound up doing a little recreational activity of their own to warm-up. Mostly innocent, but Maura figured her parents didn't really need all the details of what Jane referred to as "tonsil-hockey.")
She did, however, tell them that the kids (whose families had been invited to the party) were all watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special as they warmed up by the fire, and Jane had made her sit through the half-hour special in its entirety. She smiled at the way Jane's hand had tapped out in rhythm to the movie's soundtrack, and laughed with her as the kids all tried to dance like the characters with limited success.
And then how she'd noticed a small stocking at the end of the fireplace, next to Jane's. It was simple, plain red with a white border at the top, and her name had been written on it with a black felt-tip pen. Inside were varying trinkets Jane had picked up, explaining as Maura picked excitedly through them where each had come from and what had inspired it. After going through it all, she kissed Jane on the lips and nobody covered their children's eyes.
With pride she recounted how respectful she had been when Frank read the Nativity story out of the Book of Luke, avoiding questioning that everyone accepted the story as, well, gospel, by picturing Renaissance paintings she had studied which depicted various scenes from the story. Jane had been sucking on a candy cane to keep herself awake.
The dinner was one she knew her father would have loved, pan-seared chicken with a festive pomegranate sauce practically poured on top of it—delicious, regardless of Sergeant Korsak's joke that it made it look as though the cooked chicken was bleeding. The kids kept trying to sneak some of their parents' drinks. Jane's garlic potatoes were a success, which more than made up for the somewhat chewy green beans Frankie had tried to prepare.
The neighbors brought trays of various desserts—sugar cookies and peanut brittle being the first to go. Korsak had also brought a bunch of chocolate lava cakes, which he attempted to pass off for his own until Angela ratted him out, explaining that she'd had to heat them up for him after he ditched the Trader Joe's box from whence they had come.
Constance and Desmond could practically see Maura blush with embarrassment as she said the night ended with caroling around the piano, which Frank was surprisingly good at playing. Maura was so tone-deaf that she was way off with just the first note, so she was happy mostly to listen. But Jane had thrown an arm around her and shoved the music book in front of her face, saying that if she was singing, Maura had to as well. She very softly, basically mouthed along, unable to keep a smile off her face.
And then, once all the guests were gone, nobody had wanted to clean up. Frank was fast asleep on the couch, Frankie was eating one last sugar cookie, and Jane was on the verge of drifting off herself (not that she wasn't riveted by Angela's gift, a page-a-day calendar with quotes from every edition of Chicken Soup for the Soul on it). Maura had insisted on helping Angela clean, seeing as she'd done nothing to help prepare. At first, Angela refused, but Maura maintained conversation with her, and naturally fell into place as her cleaning partner.
Once all was said and put away, Frankie had left, and Angela had dragged Frank off to bed. Maura did not fully detail for her parents just how peaceful Jane had looked when Maura went back out to the living room to find her. She'd been stretched out on the floor in front of the fire place, its dying embers leaving the faintest glow on her face, her features relaxed with sleep. She did, however, divulge how surprisingly soft the floor had been, and how she'd been able to keep Jane undisturbed as she lay down next to her with a blanket she'd pulled from the couch. And how she had shortly fallen asleep there afterwards.
"It sounds like you had a wonderful holiday," Constance said.
"Words can't begin to describe."
"Well, we're glad you tried, anyway," Desmond chuckled. "So what's on the agenda for you and Jane today?"
"Oh, we're back at work. The fun never stops around here!"
"Fun?" Constance laughed. "Isn't that a bit macabre for your line of work, dear?"
"Mm, you may be right," Maura conceded. "But I can't help it—I love my job. I do. And I appreciate the people I get to work with. And Jane—well, 'fun' may not be the best word to describe what it is we do on the job, no. But whatever it is, wherever we are and what you would call it…" She laughed. "It never stops."
A/N: Thanks for reading, guys! It's still winter, so this story's not totally out of season yet, right? :-p I've got an epilogue to wrap this all up with, and then it'll be all cozy and done, and back to that business with the western and Kate Todd.
