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Chapter Twelve: How To Square With Silence

"You aren't very focused, are you?" Tuppence's voice resounded low and calm in the study while an amused smile played on his lips.

Jane pouted, forced to recognize that the old man was right. "Not really..."

"How come?"

She didn't feel like talking, even less to someone she barely knew. The wonders that were weighing on her mind were nobody's but hers. The doubts as well. Frowning, she motioned at the chess board and feigned to concentrate on her next move. Who was she fooling, though?

They had kissed. No. As a matter of fact, Maura had kissed her. The honey blonde had been the one who had made the first step towards something none of them could properly define. Sitting on these rocks by the lake, Jane had let her friend do and nothing else.

She had responded to the kiss - eagerly if she had to be honest about it - and thus had made things clear.

And then?

Well, nothing. Nothing special, actually. Maura had found peace in the crook of her neck – the heat of her arms – and they had remained quiet until it had been time to go back to the house.

Hand in hand, they had passed the door and before any of them had had a chance to realize the mere thing, Apolline had dragged her cousin to her bedroom for a hairdo approval; leaving Jane alone by the stairs, relieved to escape from something as frivolous as this.

She had found refuge in the study, by the fire place. Then Tuppence had showed up and out of pure politeness, Jane had accepted to play chess.

"Nothing important..."

False. What was going on could actually have an impact on the rest of her life. Yet why did it have to be so complicated, so uncertain? They had kissed but hadn't defined anything. Not clearly. Were they supposed to be a couple, now? And if so, what would happen once they would retreat back to their bedroom for the rest of the night?

Jane bit her lips. The whole situation was awkward. They needed to speak but she didn't dare to do it herself.

Why couldn't it happen just like in movies? Everything seemed so fluid on screen, so easy. None of the protagonists seemed to think over and over about their first time, about the way they had to act. Their gestures were natural - logical - when the mere gaze turned into a complicated game of what-ifs for Jane.

And being far from Boston didn't help, all of a sudden. She had lost her references.

"Everything is important in life. Every single detail. If you don't pay attention to them properly then you won't be happy."

Jane looked up from the chess board and locked her eyes with Tuppence's as the man's words stayed there, floating around. The clock struck eight.

...

Maura closed the door of the bedroom and turned around. She had dreaded this moment more than anything else. If they had kissed there – or even at her place in Beacon Hill – things wouldn't have been the same. They wouldn't have had time to think about it all over and over, to analyze all these details she didn't know what to do with. In the action, they would have probably made love. But here, they were facing a very different scenario.

Standing by a window – on the other side of the room – Jane wasn't really helping. What did she want? Move on as if nothing had happened earlier by the lake or – on the contrary – give a smooth continuation to the kiss they had shared?

"I really liked the soup. It was... It was good." The brunette made a face before her own words. An incredibly ridiculous attempt to break the ice imposed by the heavy silence.

Maura offered a timid nod and walked into the room.

"You might not say the same tomorrow, as much as Molly's haggis is excellent." She laughed, out of nervousness. Her stilettos landed loudly on the floor. Too loudly. She froze.

"Well... We'll see, then." Running a hand through her hair, Jane went to lean – casually – against the window but while doing so, she bumped her forehead against the thick frame. "Ouch!"

Way to go, Rizzoli.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" Forgetting to her uncertainty, Maura rushed to her friend; worried. It was not the best moment for a late-night trip to the ER. "The same happened to me when I was six... I had stitches. Are you bleeding?"

Forcing Jane to take her hand off so she could see the damage, the medical examiner frowned and squinted her eyes to check out the injury. Thankfully, the skin was only slightly pink. Jane wouldn't even have a bruise. Nothing.

"I guess... I guess I'm fine. Just the typical clumsy Rizzoli thing. Nothing to worry about."

Maura smiled at the poor attempt from Jane to pass it all for a joke but nonetheless made her sit on the bed. Just in case. The bump had been rather loud, troubling the peaceful crackling of the wood in the fireplace. She sat by her side, not letting go of the Italian's hands.

"Do you want some ice? It is barely red, to be honest. Do you feel dizzy?"

The last question seemed to float in the air. Jane blinked, and nodded.

"Yes."

But it was not a dizziness caused by her clumsy gesture. No. It had more to do with their kiss by the lake and its reminiscence burning her lips; asking insidiously for more. And Maura's closeness.

Before it being too late – before her to start thinking about it properly – Jane bent over and captured the honey blonde's mouth for a repeat of the afternoon. With more eagerness, perhaps.

More certainty.

Now she knew what she was doing.

Carried by the same frenzy, she followed Maura further on the mattress and soon passed on top of her. Never letting go of her lips. How could she? It seemed like her breathing came within them, a powerful source of life emanating from the whole. Her leg slid between the blonde's, stirred up a gasp that got lost in her mouth.

Reluctantly and after long minutes of intense kissing, Jane abandoned Maura's lips but – still unable to break contact with her skin – she began to trace a path down her neck as her hands had somewhat passed underneath the scientist' top to caress for the first time a stomach she had lusted for a while.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Their wonders and doubts had disappeared as soon as they had made contact while their caresses – melting in quiet sighs – had taken them far from the time being.

Perhaps it had to be like that. Perhaps they needed it. Hard to say, hard to define properly. But for the moment, none of them felt like speaking; nourishing the secret hope that they wouldn't need it.

Clothes got discarded, soon replaced by the smoothness of bed sheet against hot – shivering – skin. Bodies intertwined, lips looking for an inch of flesh to capture and make its. Years of frustration led to this. Years of untold feelings.

Nails digging in a back – a hip – as desire seemed to build up from playful caresses.

They would make love, maybe twice. Without ever saying the mere word. Barely looking at each other as if the moment still belonged to one of their respective quiet fantasies; the ones they might have had at some point, on a lonely night after a couple of drinks when their loneliness had managed to win.

And then – tired but happy – they would fall asleep in each other's arms, letting the night take them far from whatever their future was holding. Far from the consequences of their acts, of this intimacy they had reached. They wouldn't be friends anymore. Lovers? Maybe.

The frame of their relation – as sweet as it could be – would be hard to define properly. But why thinking about this?There was a time for everything and – for once – this night would only be about satisfying all these feelings they didn't manage to put a name on for them usually belonging to hopeless dreams.

It was just the surge of something, an invisible force – desire – that they wouldn't have repressed but embraced. Echoing in their moans, their sighs. A smile of pleasure brought by a kiss, a hand on a thigh. The warmth of a body.

Was it a once in a lifetime thing? Only time would say. They weren't in Boston. They didn't have references in Scotland. The exotic surroundings might have helped and perhaps everything would crash down once their plane would land in Massachusetts. But intoxicated by the moment, none of them wanted to think about it. Out of cowardice, out of fear.

Because if there was something sure, it was that – in spite of their absence of words – both actually nourished the desire to make of this the frame of their respective existences.

The first day of the rest of their life. A delicate – strong yet fragile – brand new beginning. Just like in their dreams, the ones they kept for themselves; too afraid they would break into pieces if one of them dared to recognize they had been there since the day they had met.