It could be said that Jane was a little distracted.

What else would explain the three packets of salt that were inadvertently stirred into her morning coffee? Or the two times that the prosecutor had to re-ask his question because her attention was stuck on the golden highlights of butterscotch hair sitting in the front row. Or the mile of extra driving back from the courthouse when she missed the off-ramp she had taken literally 300 times in her life.

It would also explain why she was sitting at her desk re-reading the same email for the fourth time, still not processing any of the words.

Jane was distracted because Jane hated new things.

Maybe more accurately, she hated surprises. Her life had far too many of them. Not the jack-in-the-box delights or the wonder of bow-wrapped presents. No, her life was peppered with the adrenaline-coursing flush of trips down dark alleys and into basements, lethal games of hide and seek, standoffs with weapons drawn.

So, Jane hated surprises. She much preferred the comfort of the known, the familiar.

Maura was familiar. Jane knew her speech patterns, how she thought. She could ask a question in such a way that she could know the exact words Maura would respond with. She would make a game of reciting them silently in her head. She knew the buttons to push to get a rise out of her friend or an eye roll, or a laugh or that megawatt smile the made Jane tingle on the inside.

She knew Maura's scent. She could pick it from the air even at the end of a long day in the autopsy suite after the minions had unleashed a hundred gallons of chlorine-laced disinfectant. Maura had several perfumes that would drive Jane to distraction. There was the one she wore when she went out. Not her favorite, which Jane now surmised, may have been a reflection of the activity more than the smell. There was the power scent she wore almost exclusively to court. And another one she connected to galas and snooty dinner parties. But mostly, Jane would catch the soft floral notes of everyday Maura. Strongest in the morning and mid-afternoon following her autopsy schedule. Often bringing a much-needed note of civility to a gruesome crime scene.

She knew her friend's favorite foods. The ones whose health benefits she recited like a dietitian, and the ones Jane would order herself just to watch Maura snitch from her plate. Maura was typically not a carb eater, succumbing only to dainty portions of her mother's endless buffet of lasagna, carbonara and gnocchi. But the woman was powerless against the sugar-filled, fat-laden, empty calories of Italian desserts.

And now she knew how Maura felt. Not the brief embrace of a comforting hug or the casual familiarity of friends holding hands. Not her own chivalrous hand against a lower back or the playful swat of a hip when she needed her to get moving. No. Now she knew the feel of copper hair running like liquid silk through her fingers. Now she knew the contours of her hands, her feet, her limbs from affectionate stroking while they sat together on the sofa. She knew how their bodies could melt together in a boneless confluence drawn even closer in the relaxation of healing sleep. And she knew the most luxurious feel of soft lips and warm tongue as they redefined what a kiss could be for the lanky detective.

Still, there were new things ahead. Unfamiliarity. Surprises. A dark alley of emotions. A basement of the unknown. Before Jane could slip further into her own anxieties, she reached for her iPhone and flipped through the photos to a new favorite. Maura was leaning against the rail with her elbows back and chest out, cutting an innocent, but no-less seductive, figure with a model-like pose. Her hair was blowing in the sea breeze and her smile radiated with the giddy excitement of anticipation. It was the first day of their cruise taken before they had even set sail.

Jane stared into eyes that were twinkling with affection. She had zoomed in more than once to analyze the emotions written so clearly on the doctor's face. Emotions that we directed at her. Affection so obvious. Evidence irrefutable. It had been there all along.

Maura hated surprises.

She knew why that was. Somewhere in her cognitive development, she had failed to establish the skills needed to react in the moment. That meant she couldn't read an evolving scenario and synthesize a real-time response. She couldn't think on her feet. When others waltzed into classrooms, living rooms or parties with the easy confidence of the socially adept, Maura crept quietly into the corners in hopes of observing as if at arm's length in a lab.

So she liked to be prepared. She needed to be prepared. That was, in fact, the driving force behind her preternatural intelligence. It was a proactive solution to the multitude of "what ifs" that plagued her conscious mind. Questions that might be asked. Topics that might be covered. Culture and rituals that needed to be responded to correctly. Facts, figures, theories, references - they were armor for her, and she suited up for every possibility.

Her genius was her defense.

While she had known others to show a jealous disdain for her encyclopedic brain, Maura had in turn coveted the relaxed comfort that came from casual confidence. The carefree ease that came from social competency. And the holiest of all grails was the omniscient "gut feeling" that guided people like Jane beyond obstacles through which her beloved science could not pass.

Jane could "wing it." Maura could not.

Her mind went back to the conversation she had had with her mother. The one where she had confessed both her non-traditional relationship and her despondency over its lack of progress. Jane was willing but admittedly nervous. Jane was confident in her desire but unsure about her path. Maura would have to guide her, yet let her be in control. She would have to lead the detective in a way that made the alpha female feel self-reliant.

Maura would have to prepare.

Jane sat in her car outside the Beacon Hill address and pondered the paradox of how three days could simultaneously crawl at a snail's pace and whiz by like lightning. It was Friday night. Shoe-dropping time. Pretty much no way around it. The weekend was here, neither of them was on call and Maura had confronted her on the lack of…headway…in the sexy department.

Now it was time to "man up."

The thought made her chuckle wryly. Were they really the cliché they appeared to be? Maura, the dainty, delicate, refined woman, and Jane, the tall, dark, overbearing, unmannered…well…other woman. If she thought of herself as the guy, would the relationship be easier? Jane picked at a loose piece of rubber on the steering wheel while a kaleidoscope of evidence swirled in front of her head. For as long as she could remember, she'd opened doors for Maura, helped her with her coat, held her chair at the table. She did this even if Jane herself was wearing a dress. Was it because of her latent feelings or something inherent to the aristocratic blonde? Maybe Maura was so high on the ladylike meter, everyone was simply a man by comparison.

No, Jane shook the image from her head. They were just two people with a connection that bound them together despite their differences. Sand and surf. Thunder and lightning. Locks and keys.

The universe had brought them together, heedless of gender, culture, talent, means or any other factor that would make them less of an odd couple. And they had weathered storms and built a foundation on years of shared experiences. They would build another layer today.

With the determination of an enlightened mind, Jane sprung from the cruiser and made her way to the familiar door. Back to their comfortably domestic habits, she opened it without hesitation and scanned the rooms for her target. Maura was in the kitchen area futzing over food, drink, it didn't matter. The detective was to her in six long strides.

Maura had heard the door open and, while she was surprised at how quickly Jane approached, it was the clatter of silverware dropped from her own hands against the countertop that caused her to jump. Jane's long fingers had latched onto hips and spun her into waiting lips. Culinary goals discarded, the kiss started with hello and swiftly progressed to I know what tonight is supposed to be about.

Maura felt strong arms wrap around her back to bring their bodies flush. Jane was addressing her with such force that her lower back was biting into the counter. She struggled to keep up with the pace of lips and tongue plundering her willing yet overwhelmed senses. Her own hands gripped at shoulders merely to hang on.

Jane was on a track with deep grooves, a course of action clearly in mind. Her moves were confident and resolute. Maura sensed no hesitancy. In fact, she was a bit overwhelmed by the tenacious approach.

"Do you want to go upstairs?"

The assertive suggestion rumbled against her ear.

Despite the circumstances, it took the doctor longer than customary to process the meaning behind those words. Completely in character with her nature, Jane was unrelenting when her goal was clear and she was fixed on the next step in the path. Maura must have assented or nodded or otherwise indicated her agreement because Jane had found her hand and was leading her out of the kitchen and up toward her bedroom.

Whether the zealous foreplay or the fast clip up the stairs, Maura was out of breath by the time they reached the room. On hitting the carpet, her own feet ground to a halt just past the doorframe. She looked up as Jane, still holding her hand, turned to face her. So much was written in the gaze. The taller woman's frenetic pace looked to be stalling like a sputtering engine on a steep hill. The two held eyes for several more moments. The air was certainly charged, but not with sexual energy. The nervousness of both women filled the room like a thick fog.

Desperate to re-engage the mission, Maura reached down to slip off her heels and then pulled them forward and into bed. A sparkle of mirth twinkled her eyes at the clump-clump sound of work boots being cast over the edge of the footboard. Brown eyes held her own and it was clear that Maura would need to guide the proud detective after all.

"Jane. Touch me."

"Uh…"

"Intimately."

Those brown eyes blinked several times but Maura could see the resolve returning. A firm hand reached up to her hip, paused for a few breaths and then glided along her side and across to cup a full breast. Both women took a deep breath.

Despite the back and slumped shoulders that were facing her, Jane knew that silent tears were running down her lover's cheeks. Were they even lover's? They had tried. She had tried. She had really tried, doing everything that Maura had asked her to. But confirming her worst fears, sex was something that couldn't be forced. Especially for women.

God, how it had always been so much easier with men. They could go from a shouting match to a boner simply at the sight of a pair of boobs. But women were different. Sex was more of a mind game than a simple hormonal, physical response. She knew that enough from her own experience with men. Even the guys she thought she liked, the ones she thought she had an emotional connection to, couldn't bring her to orgasm. Not that they spent a great deal of energy trying.

She had tried really hard with Maura. She was focused and attentive and listening. And she had patience. She would have kept trying. They just couldn't seem to make the connection necessary for both of them to relax. Both of them to trust one another. At first, they seemed to be really enjoying each other. Seeing Maura naked for the first time was breathtaking. And Maura seemed…aroused. But the more Jane tried to bring her to orgasm, the more it ebbed away. She couldn't get the right speed, the right angle, the right connection.

Finally, Maura sighed and suggested they just try to get some rest. She said she was OK. She said she wasn't disappointed. She just wanted to get some sleep. But Jane knew better.

Angry at her failure, Jane laid flat on her back and stared a hole in the ceiling until she finally fell asleep, too.