Maura knew quite well that her heart could not actually leap at all, let alone leap into her throat, but suddenly she understood the idiom. Her eyes widened before she could stop them, and she was struck dumb, lips parted as if they could come up with something to say without her permission. Which, indeed, they did. "That sounds uncomfortable," she said with almost her normal speaking voice and cadence. Almost immediately, the idiocy of the statement brought back her power of more rational speech, and as her heart rate slowed again she said, "Better in what sense?"

"Really, Maura? That's just a figure of speech." Jane rolled her eyes. "Better… you know," the brunette made a vague hand gesture with her right hand, keeping her left arm across the back of the couch. "Like, it'd make him more uncomfortable. He totally has the hots for you, you know." She shrugged. "But, I mean, who wouldn't? At least my baby brother's got good taste. But, if I'm not your type then he is definitely not your type." Jane gave an almost humorous laugh.

Maura's head tilted again, and suddenly she was back on firm footing. Not that she noticed. One didn't notice security, only the lack thereof. Instead, what she noticed was the undercurrent of not-quite-humor beneath her best friend's laugh. "Hm. Well, actually," she said carefully, almost as if poking an anthill with studious seriousness to see if anything happened at all, "I do appreciate things like integrity, bravery, competence, protectiveness. Those traits are often found in law enforcement officers. Not to mention the physical characteristics I find appealing, such as fitness, piercing eyes, a strong chin… It's actually quite possible for one's type to change over time. Or for someone to be so extraordinary in a multitude of ways that one's normal type becomes less and less relevant over time."

"Uh… okay, so…" Her face contorted in confusion as the brunette tried to follow what her friend was saying. "You're telling me Frankie is your type, or are you saying," she grunted in frustration, "You know, I'm not really sure what you're saying. What are you telling me, Maura? You're doing that thing you do that I hate that you do."

Maura enunciated with perhaps excessively precise diction, choosing her words to give as much information as possible, so that Jane wouldn't become more irritated – and so that she couldn't possibly be accused – not even by herself – of being less than fully honest, "Frankie might be my type if I were looking for a man. And if I didn't already think of him as a friend, and as your brother. But I do think of him that way, and… Well, to be honest, he's a man. And as much as I do view it as a character flaw on my part, I have to acknowledge that men are chiefly a physical pleasure for me, not necessarily an emotional one. Do you understand what I mean?"

She fidgeted with the ring on her middle finger, turning it around and around as if grinding out devotions on a prayer wheel. "I've gone long enough without sex that it's starting to feel more and more significant. As if… as if I'd been on a kind of ascetic discipline for a long time, eating nothing but bread and water. It was cleansing, and then it was difficult, and then it was downright painful, and suddenly I've reached the point at which it's become almost a kind of meditative practice."

Maura's explanation came at first in a rush, then more slowly, each word invested with both all the intellect at her disposal and also a depth of feeling she seldom, if ever, showed to anyone about any topic. "The more I've waited, the more I've wanted, the longer I go without… the more important it seems to break my fast with something truly worth the wait. As much as I like and respect Frankie, I know that my heart wouldn't be fully engaged if I took him to my bed. He deserves better than what I would give him." She paused, glancing away as she realized she'd never broken eye contact. People got uncomfortable when she did that, maintained such intensity for so long. But she still had to finish. "Frankie is close to what I'd look for, but no. He isn't my type. And he isn't someone that could make me forget my type."

"Okay," Jane raised an eyebrow, her facing falling into detective mode despite the still relaxed position of her body. "So, your type is close to my brother, but not close, and you do really prefer women when comes to relationships, right?" She didn't bother to let Maura respond. "And, Frankie's not someone who would be awesome enough to make you forget your type. So," Jane's eyes narrowed. "what woman is your type or good enough to make you forget your type?"

Maura quickly ran down her mental list of choices. She couldn't lie; Jane knew it. She could remain silent. She could prevaricate. She could say something that sound relevant but wasn't, such as Well, Marie Curie was a fascinating woman, and let Jane assume whatever made her happy.

No.

She'd already said she would do none of those things. Besides, Jane had just been reminded of the rules; would she ask if she didn't want the answer?

No.

And as many a perp had discovered, constantly maintaining a deception was mentally tiring, emotionally draining. The majority of confessions happened, Maura had been told, because the person being questioned simply got tired of resisting. Now she understood why. She was so tired. So very tired of resisting, of being questioned and not having anything truly satisfactory to herself, let alone to her interrogator. Besides, this was Jane. Jane. Had she ever really wanted to keep hiding from her best friend, the only person on whom she had ever bestowed that designation?

No.

Maura inhaled, and her eyes closed as she held it a second, then released both the breath and the last of her struggle. "It's you," she whispered, and only then opened her eyes to see the effect of her confession.