Well folks... it is after way more chapters and years than I intended, that I bring this story to a close. I love you all. More at the end.
Your wedding was a blur.
Past tense. It happened already. How?
That's supposed to be the most momentous occasion of your life, a cherished memory to carry to old age, and while there was still confetti in your hair, already your memory of it was unacceptably brief and full of holes. It's entirely, one hundred percent, Jane's fault.
Oh, up until the ceremony your memory is fine.
You remember neither of you really being able to eat breakfast. You remember Jane kissing you before Angela whisked her away.
You remember the short but very surreal span where you had the silent house to yourself, and you peeked into the basement to assure yourself that your life had not just slipped back a few years, and that yes Jane existed, and you were due to marry her in a few hours.
You remember meditating and primping and rehearsing all possible inflections of I do. I do! I do? I do. i DO! I do. I do.
You remember your mother (in slate blue - sorry, Susie) helping you get dressed, and the diamonds she gave you to wear in your hair, and the way she kissed your cheek and held your hand waiting for the music to start. That part was very nice.
And you remember Barry taking your arm and smiling, and the first couple of steps you took with him.
That's where it gets spotty. After that point you forgot to notice anyone or anything else, because the instant you caught sight of her, you just stopped in the aisle, open-mouthed.
Jane. Your bride, dressed in a gown of white. Glowing and regal and more beautiful than anything you'd ever seen.
All your adolescent fantasies of royal weddings, and she was the one with the classic lines of an actual princess - of course, in the most understated way. You weren't at all surprised she was capable of such elegance and femininity, but were pleasantly shocked that she chose it and wore it with pride. White flowers shone out from her graceful updo and she grinned at you as happily as anyone ever could...
And there it was. You'd gotten your wish.
Her grin doubled into a silent laugh at your reaction to her, and at the way Barry had to tug you to get moving again. Your own grin felt wider than your face, and probably ruined any hope of appearing poised in your photos.
Both of you were almost crying by the time you reached her, and she whispered, "You look so beautiful," and you really hope you said it back.
You stood there beaming at each other until someone said "Miss Rizzoli," gently, but like it wasn't for the first time, and both of you remembered your surroundings, and everyone chuckled.
You remember being relieved that you managed to repeat all the words in the right order.
You remember that holding that "I do" in your mouth as it tried to fight its way out of your mouth at every comma, trying to time your breathing as you waited waited waited for the question mark instead, and still sounding off-guard and breathless when you finally let it out.
You remember thinking it was sweet the way Tommy and Jane smiled at each other when she took the ring.
You remember the way Jane's voice wobbled ever so slightly when she spoke, and being astounded that your love for her could grow even during the process of marrying her.
You know that she kissed you, but you remember how she hugged you, long and tight, oblivious to the whoops and confetti erupting all around you.
"When I thought about what I would say to Jane at our wedding, I planned to say something like... that I never really knew happiness before her."
You look around the table at virtually every face you care about in the world. Each of them offers you a smile when your eyes find theirs, except Angela, because she's busy watching Jane's face react to everything you say, which is fair enough, since that's what you did all through Frankie's toast.
"That might be a nice thing to say, but... it isn't really true. The truth is, before I met her... I was fine. I was happy. The things I did felt fulfilling. I felt complete.
"But once, very early in our friendship, we had some disagreement that I feared jeopardized it, and it made me realize that... if I were to have to go without her and return to my usual happy life, it... it no longer seemed like a very happy prospect at all.
"And that just kept happening."
"Every so often I would pause and look at Jane and think: I have never liked my life more than I do right now. And then a while later, I would look on that previous best moment and realize that the present was better still... that I would not rather go back to it. Except of course, in the sense that I would happily do it all over again."
Jane is watching you with rapt attention and a tender smile.
"So what I can say instead is that knowing Jane has totally and continually redefined my concept of happiness... and fulfillment, wholeness.. love... to the point where the life I used to consider satisfactory in all those areas, now in comparison would be... desolate. When-"
A sudden flurry of movement makes you freeze. A wine glass has been tipped over and various hands have darted over to try to catch it, unsuccessfully. Jane has lunged sideways from her chair, onto one knee, between you and the splash.
"Jane!" you gape down at her, gesturing pained at the red splotches spreading on the front of her beautiful dress.
She gestures back at your clean one, entirely pleased with herself, before gathering herself to her feet again, kissing your cheek and sitting back down.
"My wife the goalie," you shake your head.
The men seem much more amused than the women. Jane motions cheerfully for you to continue, ignoring her appalled mother blotting at the stains.
Your mother watches this from the opposite side of the table with a sneaky smile that you're happy to have caught.
"People often cite their wedding day as the happiest day of their life," you find your place again. "Today is mine. And although it would be naïve to think that the happiness in any marriage can really be an infinite linear progression... I have every reason to believe that not long from now, I'll look over at Jane on some uneventful weeknight... asleep on the couch during a movie SHE chose," (it gets a laugh), "and realize that I've grown even happier.
"I'm so grateful to you for that happiness," you say, finding her eyes again. "For sharing your heart with me, and your life, and your family. And not just family by blood... this whole table is my family, and I would never have known most of them if it weren't for you. I've grown and learned and felt so much that I never would have, if not for you. You turned my life upside down, in the most wonderful way.
"So. Here is to you," you raise your glass. "My best friend... my fiercest protector.. the strongest, bravest person I've ever known. My beautiful, precious badass," you grin along with her. "My wife. My Jane. I love you."
"It's funny. I always thought getting married was supposed to be this big life changing thing. Like everything would be totally different before and after. But... here we are, back home in our civvies," she says, emptying her pockets onto the dresser. "Coffee cups still out. Netflix paused. It feels the same. You could almost tell me I dreamed the whole day."
"I was just thinking I'm so glad we have it on video because I can't believe how fast it went," you nod. "You build up your wedding all your life... all that planning, and then it goes by in a blink."
"Ceremony was a blink. Pictures were six hundred hours." She twists, stretching her back. "Why is holding still and smiling so exhausting?"
Innumerable camera flashes immortalized Jane, your poised, exquisite bride. But between them, out started to peek the Jane you know better - tugging at seams, begging you to scratch an unreachable itch on her back, muttering things through her camera-ready grin to make you laugh. You were glad to see her.
She sinks a knee onto the bed, her phone illuminating a smile on her face.
"You're making that one your wallpaper, aren't you," you ask, taking off your earrings.
A mischievous chuckle is all you get.
It's definitely one of the pictures you posed for at dinner. Maybe the nice one of you standing with your arms linked around Jane's wine-splotched waist, kissing her cheek, as she shares a proud smile with the camera. But very likely the alternate version taken a second later - Jane hunched in a menacing defensive hockey stance in front of you, as if guarding you from the camera. Your expression in the background is one of sighing exasperation fighting a smile.
Soon you'll have hundreds of professional photos to look through, but you already know these snapshots from Frankie's phone will remain her favorites. Okay, maybe among your favorites too.. you just aren't ready to admit it yet.
You finish washing and changing to find Jane still on the bed in her clothes, just staring like her mind is occupied.
"Are you disappointed?" you ask, and she looks up quickly. "That it isn't any different?"
"Relieved. No, I meant that in a good way." Her eyes dip momentarily, possibly comforted at the sight of you in pajamas and not surprise lingerie. "I was hoping things wouldn't change. Now I get to introduce you to people as my wife, which is kickass. But all I wanted was to stay the same old us."
You like that. But considering how incredibly happy she's looked all day, you're a little surprised that she doesn't right now, in your first private moments of marriage. Both of you are tired. You didn't expect her to pounce on you, but you thought you'd have her full attention like you did earlier.
"Then... are you okay? You seem..."
She smiles like you've caught her.
"I'm great." She reaches out to you, and you go over and take her hand. "Sorry. I'm trying to believe it's real." She lies back on the bed, looking at you, playing with your fingers. And she is happy, but there is something else.
She holds your face when you lean over her, and she looks up at you and you look down at her. Just taking in reality.
It's anxiety. Just a wisp of it.
On this night of all nights, you want her to be comfortable, and to make love with only the right motives or else not at all. On this night of all nights, it would be especially difficult for her to do that. Tomorrow, making love will be simple again.
If this were ironically the night of your lives when she would most appreciate just being friends, you would actually understand. Hence the pajamas.
"If you're nervous because you've imposed some kind of expectations upon yourself tonight... quit it."
She turns her head aside and laughs quietly in a you know me too well kind of way.
You sort out her hair on the pillow and kiss her cheek, trying to ease out hidden words.
"I wanted to give you everything tonight," she says quietly. "I just really wished... I mean, I thought this would've been... and now it's here, and..." she looks up at you, loving and a little sad. "We only get one wedding night, and I don't want to make it all... y'know."
You hush her with another kiss, shaking your head.
"My darling," you trace her cheekbone. "Just easy, tonight. We have all our lives."
Soft gratitude looks up at you from two chocolate eyes. "I'd try for you," she says, eyes earnest and voice small. "Now. If you wanted."
You kiss her eyebrow - the right one, that always betrays her worries more than the left.
"I believe that you would. I also believe," you tap the top of her head, "that if there were even one serious scenario in your mind where I might take you up on that, you would not have wanted to marry me."
She half smiles. "I just don't want you to think that we got this far and I'm still waiting to trust you enough. 'Cause I do. I have for a while. I don't know what I am waiting for, but it isn't that."
"Feeling ready," you shrug, relaxing at her side. "There's no rule that that must coincide with the date of your marriage. Really, I thought we would just rest tonight. It's been a long, wonderful day and I wouldn't have the energy to do much of anything."
Her smile at that is slow and suspicious.
"Are you Schrödinger's-bedtiming me or would you actually rather go to sleep on our wedding night?"
You laugh - not in surprise that she's aware of the technique, because she always has been - but because neither of you has ever named it aloud before.
Is your offer totally genuine? Yes. Is it a flawless piece of reverse psychology? Also yes.
Planning on sleep always makes her more comfortable. Sometimes comfortable enough to find that she wants sex after all; sometimes comfortable enough to sleep without worry. Either is a win.
"I really am pretty tired," you answer truthfully. "Aren't you?"
She curls your hair around her finger. "Yeah.."
"Don't feel badly, we're not so unusual. Surveys show roughly half of American newlyweds don't have sex at all on their wedding night due to stress, fatigue or inebriation."
She laughs.
You rest there for a few minutes, both looking at the fingers of your left hands as she slips hers between yours, feeling the way your rings clink together.
"Do you have a little energy left?" she asks with a hopefulness that intrigues you.
"I'm sure I could find a little..."
"There's something we could've tried before now, but I didn't ask because..." she sighs, looking from eye to eye. "I know it's a cliché, but sharing a first tonight actually.. really would mean a lot to me. And I wanted there to be something left. Something I could actually manage. Which means it's something so small that it's kinda dumb I waited."
"Nothing you've shared with me has ever been dumb." You cup her cheek. "What is it?"
Even though you're married, she still smiles shyly, and you fall in love with her all over again.
"C'mere and kiss me and I'll tell you."
And you do get back up on your elbow and kiss her, soft and slow and very long.
Her hands pull down on your head, so you obey, your lips leaving hers and arriving at her chest. Then you feel her tugging up instead, so you skip back up to her lips, thinking she wants another kiss, but she chuckles instead, pulling again.
"What is happening," you ask.
"I'm trying to get you to kiss my neck."
"What?" You raise up a little, sobering. "You don't like that."
That's always been off-limits. You've gotten to kiss there only once - long, long ago, when she asked you to as a test - and you caused her such discomfort that it took all her strength to bear it.
"Sweetie," a knowing smile curves her lips.
"No. I said, no trying tonight. You enduring something for me isn't-"
"That was another lifetime. Maura," she says more quietly, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I'm really asking you. Please."
It takes a long look to satisfy you.
"Please." She raises her head to kiss your lips, pulling you back down like a magnet.
She tilts back on the pillow a little, exposing her throat. The expanse of forbidden skin is tantalizing, as is the way her chest is rising and falling. You've had to hold yourself back from it so many times before that now you have to think how to approach.
With your lips and your nose you nuzzle at her jawline and the vulnerable skin just beyond it. You watch her face carefully.
Are you sure comes to your lips, but you swallow it and touch one barely-there, experimental kiss to Jane's throat instead. She sucks in a breath, and again your eyes move up, expecting the same view as a thousand years ago, of anxious tears seeping through squeezed lashes. That isn't what you see. She's peeking down at you over her cheekbones, smiling gently.
"Please," she mouths again.
You lick your lips.
You kiss and nothing bad happens. You kiss more and the muscles under your lips tense less. You kiss more and her fingers slide into your hair and hold you in place and you check on her less. You kiss beneath her ear. You kiss where you feel her blood pulsing in her cartoid artery. You kiss where her cricoid cartilage bobs when she's laughing or trying not to cry... like right now.
She's not just allowing this, sacrificially, for the sake of intimacy. She looks a little overwhelmed, but... in a good way. There's no mistake. She likes this.
You are so aroused and confused.
This seems so out of order. So... preliminary. This is Jane - you know, Jane. Your wife. But your heart is pounding as if she's still a friend you've just risked kissing for the very first time. It gives you a trembling uncertainty you can't shake, and don't want to. It's wonderful that there is still so much to discover.
And you're trying not to derail this with questions like why don't you hate this and since when is your throat an erogenous zone? when you realize: she never said it wasn't.
You pause to look at those thin silvery scars, and realize maybe you've been conflating two different things. She smiles softly, wet-eyed, up at you like she's read your mind. And you don't know whether to weep for all the things stolen from her, or laugh with excitement that you're the one who gets to win them back for her.
Arousal aside, this means so much to you; you can only imagine what it means to her, and you hope with all your heart that you're doing her trust justice.
You close your eyes and kiss those scars specifically. Repeatedly. Between each, murmuring how beautiful she is and how much you adore her, your words unintelligible against her vulnerable skin. Her fingers tighten in your hair.
The breaths under her chest are how you notice first that she really is crying, and alarm strikes you but fades just as quickly. She's emotional, not upset. One hand comes to cover her face, but you see her pull it away just as quickly.
Letting you kiss her throat is a gift for both of you, but refusing to hide her reaction is a gift exclusively for you.
You kiss her brow, her temple, her tears. She smiles softly without opening her eyes.
As she relaxes, your careful little kisses to her throat become hungrier, more assured, more open-mouthed, her head rolling even farther back. Until kissing simply isn't enough.
Without thinking, you lick the warm hollow of her throat.
She moans, and the vibration goes through you like an electric shock.
"Oh," you moan in echo, new warmth pooling between your legs. "Oh, again. Again," you slip your tongue through her suprasternal notch, desperate to elicit the same reaction.
Her hands fumble their way between you, undoing buttons. Even after she opens her shirt, even after she opens the front clasp of her bra for you, nothing steals your focus from her throat for long, not even the new expanse of warm chest or the fleeting softness of a newly freed nipple.
It's a delight. She holds your head, her hands guiding and keeping your mouth wherever she wants it, and you indulge her as eagerly as you dare without risking marks.
It would seem that the erogenous zones you knew about are merely the outskirts of one larger one. You drag your mouth along her skin, lavishing your affection on everything from her breasts to her ear lobes, and finding new ways to earn moans in between.
"Maura?" she asks a little shakily.
"Hm?"
"How's that energy level doing?"
.
"If you've noticed me change for the better in any way over the past few years... you have my wife to thank." A smile makes her pause, and repeat quietly just for herself, "my wife."
Immediately your eyes are wet and everyone else at the table ceases to exist. This is not going to be a funny toast.
"And I don't mean to say that like all of you haven't been there for me. You all have been, whether I acted like I saw you or not."
The glass in her hand doesn't tremble, but she is speaking in her "everyone is looking at me" voice, and it makes you want to get up and hold her hand.
"But.. for a long time, all I wanted was to go back. Back to this perfect time when I was younger and... everything was... on track. Because I thought I had to get back there first, in order to get anywhere else ever again. And for your only goal to be something you know deep down is impossible... it weighs a ton."
She sweeps an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. The same one that always escapes.
"But now.. if I did have a genie in a bottle and the chance to go back... you know, use what I know now, maybe try to sidestep the bad but still get all the good?... I wouldn't." She shakes her head. "Not anymore. I wouldn't risk it. I wouldn't gamble this life on any other version. Not even another version with Maura in it. Because she makes this one perfect." Her throat is constricting. "I mean.. it isn't perfect. But she makes it perfect.. that it isn't."
She isn't looking at you. It would make it harder.
"I think that's what I love most about her. Not that she's smart or beautiful. That she's just so good. The most kindhearted, sincere, loving person. She sees the good in people and the beauty in things and something interesting about everything. She takes bad and makes it good... and she takes good and makes it better. She makes everybody's life better whose path crosses hers... and I'm so lucky that my path not only crossed hers but gets to run right alongside it..."
She stops there, but you don't think that's the end; you think it's because her eyes met yours and now she's just trying to get the lump in her throat under control before she can continue. You want nothing more than to leap up and offer her your embrace to do it in.
It takes you a second to realize there's absolutely no reason not to. This is your wedding. That is your wife.
You do stand up, and you do put your arms around her. And she laughs, wet-eyed, and says over your shoulder, "See?"
.
"I'm amazed you kept that a secret all this time."
She's been resting on your chest long enough for her breathing to slow, your fingers brushing through her hair.
"Secret? I told you I liked that." Her voice sounds a little congested, and it pokes you in the heart like always.
"What? You did not."
She laughs softly. "Definitely did."
"When," you demand.
"Like, day one."
You have questions. Has she been open to this for a while, and you just never tried? Did the fresher of the two scars on her throat mean starting all over, maybe just when she had almost been ready? You'll ask, but not tonight.
"I don't know why I don't remember that. But what a wonderful wedding present."
"If it's a present for anybody, it's for me."
"Gifts can be mutual." You kiss her head. "I loved it. And I love that you kept it for tonight."
She kisses your sternum in reply.
"Did you have one brain cell that saw this coming?" she asks. "I mean, at the very beginning."
"You mean, was marrying you my devious plan all along? No," you smile, your fingers tracing her spine. "I really never dreamed anything like this was possible. Did you?"
"No. I'd never believe it if I hadn't been there the whole time, but I really didn't." Her fingers draw slow shapes on your back. "I'm glad. Maybe if either of us knew we could get here... we wouldn't have."
"Isn't life strange and wonderful?"
"Yeah." She sighs. "I love you, Maura."
"Can I hear it again?" you ask. At this rate you may wear it out, but you don't care.
"You can hear it for the rest of your life." She lifts her head, which you know is impossibly messy even in the dark, and shifts up, planting a kiss on your forehead. "I love you, Maura Rizzoli."
A happy giggling hum slips out of you, and you hug her tighter. And she laughs, forehead to yours.
"I love you, darling."
The End!
This is not the end of their story, but it does make a better stopping point for this fic than anything else I'd ever come up with. I'll more than likely write more for them at some point, not a full-on sequel but maybe something ficlet style. Not sure yet.
Either way, a huge thank you for making it through this whole thing, especially if you did it in real time.
This story felt like a massive gamble starting out, and truly the best case scenario I expected was to get a couple real readers among the flames, if anyone chanced it at all. I was shocked and humbled by the reception I got from you guys instead. Your words of encouragement have already become something I revisit when I need to smile, and I appreciate you coming on this journey with me.