A/N: HI GUYS. I know it's been a year and a day, and I'm so sorry, so thanks to anyone who's actually stuck around through all the chaos. This month is NaNoWriMo, and I've decided to challenge myself with writing 50k words... which means this story will hopefully be wrapped up sometime in the next weeks. No guarantees, but I'm confident that at least some progress will be made. :) As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think in the comments!

Jane had expected the aftermath of the stagecoach robbery to feel urgent and action-packed, but mostly it felt very… bureaucratic. There were reports to compile and send to the US Marshals, preparations to recover the lost possessions of the passengers, and an awful lot of paperwork to fill out. Jane felt like a raw nerve, half-wishing something would actually happen so that she'd have an excuse to act.

And yet the summer stretched on as if nothing had changed. There were horses to be fed and clothes to be washed and annoying younger brothers to fuss over. Tommy was still laid up in bed (as per Maura's orders), and Angela insisted on Jane coming around to visit every day despite Maura's repeated assurances that the youngest Rizzoli would indeed be just fine. (Thank God. Jane would've never forgiven him if he'd gone and died.)

Things had been tense between her and Maura for the past days, every interaction tainted by the storm cloud hanging over their heads and threatening rain. There had been no progress in the investigation; both Doyle and Hoyt remained frustratingly out of Jane's reach, though one of them was remained locking in a cell within the sheriff's station. Suffice it to say, the law had not, in fact, caught up with Paddy Doyle, nor had Maura been able to reach him. Or if she had, she hadn't seen fit to tell Jane about it.

They'd shared many a meal, spent nights analyzing the available evidence with Frost, hunched over Jane's desk in the station. Maura had slept over, kissed Jane's mouth, held her close in the darkness. But Echo Station was beginning to feel like a cage from which they didn't have the courage to break free. Jane felt unsettled and claustrophobic. She had an itch under her skin, the kind she usually soothed by taking a day's ride out of town on Jo Friday and setting up camp somewhere in the middle of the woods.

So as the final days of August transitioned to September with little more to signal the change than the whisper of a chill overnight, Jane packed her bedroll and a day's worth of provisions for two. They took the same trail they'd taken on the night Jane and Maura had had their first kiss, diverging only once they reached the base of the hill. Instead of proceeding to the peak, Jane turned Friday down toward the river with Maura following close behind.

The swimming hole was exactly as Jane remembered it: a large, slow-flowing eddy in the middle of the river, a little low now that it was late summer. Oak trees and slender willows cast shadows over the glassy water, and crickets chirped from within the foliage, their sounds intermingling with periodic birdsong. The bank was flat and grassy, fading from dusty yellow into bright shades of green down near the edge of the water.

They'd used to come here when Jane was a kid; she remembered hot summer days and the water fights she'd have with Tommy and Frankie, the way her father would hoist her onto his shoulders and let her do a backflip off into the river. Ma would always sit in the shade on the edge of the bank, feet in the water, watchful and ready to scold Tommy for being too rough or splashing too vigorously and making Frankie cry.

Jane had dragged Clara here for the first time back when they were both teenagers. They'd stripped down to their underwear, Clara squealing at the coldness of the water until Jane convinced her to just dunk her whole head under, get the worst of it over with. It had become their place over the years, the place where they could talk about all the things that seemed too fragile to express within the bounds of Echo Station. This was where Clara had brought Jane to tell her she was moving to Aurora, years ago now. And, of course, this was where they'd spent that night two summers back, the both of them floating on their backs and looking up at the stars.

Jane had been complaining about her mother's unceasing attempts to find her a husband, a common pastime of hers, and Clara had suddenly gone very quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Jane had lifted her head to look over at her friend and nearly gotten a noseful of water in the process.

Clara had laughed. Whatcha lookin' at me like that for?

I dunno, just not used to having a moment of peace and quiet when you're around.

Clara's eyes had been staring up at the moon instead of at Jane's face, arms moving slightly in the current like the wings of an angel. That was, if angels had Southern accents and river water soaking through their undergarments. And that was when she had said it, so matter-of-factly that Jane almost hadn't comprehended her words at first:

Ya know, Janie, men ain't the only option.

Well, it was safe to say Jane had learned that lesson by now. She couldn't help the smile on her face every time she so much as looked at Maura, admiring the overly-technical way she spoke or watching the way she moved—so much more carefully and gracefully than Jane herself, but with a kind of quiet self-assuredness all the same.

Once their canvas bedrolls were laid out for the night—Jane had been bitten in the ass one too many times in the past by putting it off and having to make camp in the dark or pouring rain—they walked down near the water. Maura admired the brook, her attentive eyes focused on the swirling eddies, but Jane was running characteristically low on patience. She stripped off her shirt and trousers, threw her boots haphazardly to the side, and with a whoop of joy, jumped into the creek.

Surfacing, she grinned, the coolness of the water washing away the tension of the day's ride. "Come on in, the water's fine."

Maura looked amused, but not at all upset that Jane's hasty entrance had unleashed a spray of water across her own clothing. "Patience is a virtue, Jane."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, it's not one I have."

"We'll see about that." Maura's eyes were mischievous, the way they'd been back when she'd suggested strip poker at the Wild Rose, and Jane's stomach was instantly overwhelmed with butterflies. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

There was no way Jane could say no to that. Not when Maura was looking at her like that, all tantalizing in the way only she could be. Jane watched as she slowly unbuttoned the bodice of her dress ("it's a riding dress, Jane," she'd said that morning when Jane had questioned her choice of attire). Once it was fully unbuttoned, she let the whole garment fall to the ground in a distinctly un-Maura-like fashion, leaving her standing in her undergarments. (No corset today, although Jane thought her figure looked quite lovely without it.) It was nothing she hadn't seen before, but Jane's eyes widened in appreciation anyway. She had a strong suspicion that looking at Maura would never cease to feel like a miracle.

She was met with the warm sound of Maura's laughter as the doctor stood there on the bank. A rosy blush lit Maura's cheeks now, soft sunlight making her skin almost glow. For a second Jane could have sworn her heart stopped beating. (She could almost hear the way Maura would chide her for the anatomical incorrectness of that statement.) And then Maura was entering the water in a long, fluid jump, still seeming somehow graceful even as she landed with a sizeable splash that drenched Jane's hair all over again.

"Nice cannonball, doc," she teased when Maura surfaced, delicately wiping water away from her eyes. "Spectacular form, if I do say so myself."

"Thank you kindly, Jane," Maura said, and then she was wrapping her arms around Jane's neck and pulling her into a deep kiss, right there in the middle of the river.

It was a moment of contrasts: the cold water and the warm press of Maura's body against hers, the gentleness of the kiss and the fierce burn of desire that made Jane want to haul Maura in even closer until they were less two people and more one body, standing there warm and alive amidst the vastness of nature. There was no one here to stop them, no one to observe or comment or make Jane less sure that this—all of this—was what she wanted.

The rocks of the river were smooth and slippery beneath her feet, but Jane stood strong against the current. Her hands couldn't help but seek out every curve of Maura's body—one at her waist, steadying them against each other, the other caressing the soft skin at the base of Maura's neck. They were slick with river water, hair limp and tangled and falling into their eyes, but it didn't matter. Jane pulled back, resting her forehead against Maura's. The doctor's eyes fluttered open; she and Jane wore matching smiles. Maura laid a gentle hand on Jane's cheek, thumb stroking gently over her face in a movement that both calmed Jane and set her on fire.

She liked this feeling—the feeling that you were magnetized to a person, that your hands would find theirs unprompted no matter the space between you. Jane had never realized that this was what the ballads and the epics were all about. Love songs had never meant anything to her until this moment. So—

"I love you," she said. There wasn't time for her to panic or overthink it, because Maura didn't hesitate.

"I love you, too."

Jane could feel her mouth opening and closing like a fish; she'd never gotten to this point with anyone before, and she found herself at a loss as to what to say next.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Miraculously, her vocal cords appeared to be in full working order. Jane wasn't sure she could say the same of her brain. "I—yeah, I guess you could say that."

Maura grinned, her laugh unrestrained for once. "Eloquence is more my skill than yours, I suppose."

"You could probably write poetry about all this," Jane mumbled, feeling distinctly lacking.

"Probably," she conceded, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jane's forehead. "But you are poetry, Jane."

Jane blinked, caught off guard. The way Maura was looking at her now—the way the light was catching her eyes, highlighting the golden tones at the center of her irises—made her feel almost holy. Her throat felt tight. "What do you mean?"

"The loping stride of your gait, the gravelly undertone of your voice in the morning, the way your hands are so gentle with Friday. That's what poetry is made of, really."

Jane could feel the heat reach her cheeks; it was only a matter of time before her face was fully scarlet. She had no idea how to say anything that could even come close to what Maura had said, no way to convey the fact that no one had ever said anything remotely so meaningful to her in her life. Not Ma, not Frost or Frankie, not even Korsak, whose words of encouragement she had always clung to in her lowest times over the years. It wasn't like she hadn't gone over this moment in her head dozens of times, trying to get to sleep at night. But now that it had finally come, she was confronted with the reality that none of the scenarios she'd dreamt up had given her anything close to a script for this.

So instead, Jane did the only thing she could think of: she splashed Maura full in the face. The doctor didn't even have time to be surprised, just spluttered and looked shocked in the aftermath of the tsunami Jane had sent in her direction. For a moment, Jane considered apologizing—why had she done that? Way to ruin the moment, Rizzoli. But then, catching Jane completely off guard, Maura pounced on the sheriff, dunking her.

Jane went under with a tremendous splash, half-snorting water up her nose in the process. Pushing her hair back out of her eyes, she surfaced to find Maura waiting with a mischievous grin. Well, it was too late now. The seriousness of the moment had been shattered; let no man say she wasn't committed. Jane Rizzoli had never lost a splash fight—not by her own judgement, anyway, though her brothers might have disagreed—and she sure as hell wasn't about to make this her first.

With a holler, Jane sent a tidal wave of river water directly at Maura's head, but Maura simply smirked—actually smirked! Jane hadn't been aware that that expression was in the doctor's repertoire—and ducked underwater, resurfacing with an elegant flip of her hair and a smug expression.

"Cheater," Jane complained, but she found she didn't have much to complain about when Maura's lips met hers again for another deep, warm kiss. Frankly, kissing someone in the water was not as romantic as Jane had assumed it would be—their faces were somewhat slimy, and having to balance against the current did her technique no favors—but she found herself smiling into the kiss nonetheless. When at last she was breathless, she buried her head in the crook of Maura's neck, nuzzling into her in a way that would have embarrassed Jane had anyone else been around to see it.

So this was what love felt like. Jane thought it suited them.

They swam for a while longer, floating on their backs and holding hands while looking up at the sky. They stayed like that, fingers intertwined, until the dappled shadows of the trees over the water lengthened and the sun shone with the deep gold of late afternoon. Drying off was made somewhat difficult by the fact that Jane couldn't seem to keep her hands off of Maura, now that she finally felt there was nothing to hold back, but Maura didn't seem to mind. She simply pulled Jane's face down to hers and kissed her and gave a little sound of happiness against her lips that was somewhere between a sigh and a hum.

That night, they laid side by side under the stars, huddled under a blanket. ("It's cold," Maura had said, scooting closer to Jane under the blankets as though she needed an excuse. Needless to say, Jane hadn't seen a reason to protest.)

"That's Cassiopeia," Maura said now, pointing up at what looked to Jane like a random arrangement of stars. How people saw drawings in all those white, flickering dots was beyond her.

"Mmm," she murmured encouragingly, knowing Maura was itching to tell her some fun fact or the other.

Sure enough, Maura shifted, rolling onto her side to face Jane. Her eyes were glittering the way they always did when she had something particularly interesting to share; Jane remembered a time not so long ago when Maura's encyclopedia mouth had baffled her, but now it seemed to be an integral part of her life. "In Greek mythology, Cassiopeia was—"

Jane couldn't help but kiss her again; what was she supposed to do, with Maura right there next to her under the blankets? She made a mental note to at least partially remember whatever Greek mythology bullshit Maura wanted to talk about so she could ask about it later—but right now, Cassie-whatever really wasn't Jane's primary concern. (Not that it was ever really her primary concern, if she was being perfectly honest, but she'd humor Maura some other time.)

For the first time, Jane let her hands wander a little further, feeling emboldened by the dark and the warmth of remembering Maura's I love you, too, and the way that Echo Station and her worries felt far, far away if only for a night. She hesitated only long enough for Maura to give her an encouraging nod, then slipped her hand under Maura's nightdress, skimming up the other woman's side. Her skin was warm and soft in a way that almost overwhelmed Jane's senses; Maura hardly felt real beneath her fingertips.

"You can take it off, you know." Maura pulled back from the kiss with a slight smile. "I wouldn't mind."

"Okay," said Jane, half-stunned and feeling as though her brain were short circuiting.

And then she was lifting the thin white garment up and over Maura's head, and if she'd thought her brain had turned to mush before, well, that was nothing compared to this.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she said, startled into honesty and almost afraid to look at Maura even though she knew she'd been given permission to do so. "I probably won't be good at it."

Maura laughed. "That doesn't matter."

Jane couldn't help but think it really sort of did, but she pushed the thought down. There was a first time for everything, wasn't there? And truly, there was no one better to guide her through it than the woman by her side.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous." She tried for a nonchalant chuckle, but it came out a little more strangled than she'd intended. "I guess for such a long time I thought… I mean, I guess I thought all this was wrong, you know?"

"I do." Maura was nodding, reaching out a gentle hand to touch Jane's shoulder. Her skin shone softly even in the darkness, and it didn't take much for Jane's imagination to run wild.

Taking a deep breath in, Jane pulled her own shirt up and over her head, then leaned in and took Maura into her arms before she could think better of it. There was something peaceful in the press of Maura's body against her own, something achingly intimate in the brush of their skin against each other. Maura's hand curved around Jane's waist, tracing circles into the skin just above her hips as Maura's mouth moved warm against her own. Her head spun, almost in a daze, as she made the conscious decision to let go of her anxieties and focus on this: the blow of the night breeze over their cheeks, the way Maura's thigh had slotted between her own as if they were puzzle pieces fitting together. She ached along all her nerves. No amount of closeness could ever be enough.

And from there, it finally began to feel natural. Not effortless, certainly, but touching Maura began to feel sacred instead of sinful, and Jane let go of the pain and the guilt and the worry she'd been holding onto all her life. She gasped when Maura touched her for the first time, shook under the force of it all.

There would never be words for this feeling. Maybe for someone like Maura, to whom the words came easily, but not for Jane. The best she could do was to touch Maura the way Maura was touching her, to mimic her actions and hope she might make Maura feel half the emotion Jane wanted to express to her. The way Maura moved under her told Jane she was doing a good job, even though she felt sure she must be fumbling and imperfect. Slowly, though, she began to understand what Maura had meant—this wasn't about being good. Skill was something you could learn, and Jane had a feeling she'd have no problem mustering the enthusiasm to practice.

What mattered was the way Maura was murmuring her name, low and soft and under her breath, in a way that made Jane feel as though she were simultaneously the most vulnerable and most powerful person in the world. I love you, Jane whispered, and heard it echoed back to her. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Waking up next to Maura had always been wonderful—life-changing, even—but the next morning when Jane rolled over, she couldn't help the ridiculous grin that spread across her face. She felt unrestrained, as if an enormous load had finally been lifted from her shoulders. Life sure as hell wasn't perfect, but it was worth living. Especially when she could wake up to the miracle of Maura by her side, still sleeping peacefully.

Jane couldn't help but snuggle in closer, careful not to disturb her companion as she settled back underneath the blankets, wrapping an arm around the doctor's waist and pressing against her back. Maura's skin was warm—much warmer than the air, which was admittedly slightly chilly—and Jane felt it might lull her right back to sleep. She laid like that for an unmeasurable number of minutes until Maura shifted, sighing slightly, then rolled over to face her.

"Hi," Jane said, feeling giddy and almost bashful.

"Well, hello there."

Jane kissed her, softly, the kind of kiss that was about comfort and togetherness and love more than anything else. When she finally pulled back, she smiled. "I love you." Now that she'd said it once, there seemed no harm in saying it a thousand more times.

"And I love you." Maura snuggled in closer to her side, and Jane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting the doctor use her as a pillow.

"So…" Jane wasn't quite sure how to ask the question she wanted to ask next, letting her words trail off into nothingness. She didn't quite know if she had the language to express it; all the words she knew seemed inapplicable. Maura wasn't her suitor, her beau, her betrothed. They weren't courting or engaged or intended to be wed, which surely would scandalize Angela all over again—Jane's stomach twisted at the thought of having to tell her family, but she pushed that particular thought away. There was no point in considering it now.

"So?" Maura's eyes were wide and curious as she shifted to look Jane in the eye, her messy, honey-blonde hair spilling down over her shoulders.

"I—er…"

Her tone was warm but teasing. "I know you said I'm the poet, but surely I haven't used up all the words in the English language."

"Better make sure to leave some for the rest of us," Jane managed, squeezing Maura's hand as she pondered how best to phrase this. "What I meant to say was, well, uh… what is this?" She gestured hopelessly between the two of them, hoping Maura would get the point.

"This what, exactly?" Unfortunately, Maura looked quizzical.

Shit. "Uh… us?"

"Oh." Maura's tone took on a knowing edge. "Whatever you'd like it to be, Jane."

Jane knew what she wanted—her and Maura, together in whatever way that would be possible—but she wasn't sure what else to say except, "Well, I guess I'll have to tell Ma to stop bringing random men around to dinner."

Maura laughed. "You've already been doing that, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I guess." She had, but never in a way that had actually made Ma think she was serious. Not in a way that she could respect, in a way that told her, No, really, Ma, I know who I am. I know what I want. Because she hadn't. Not until now.

"What are you saying?" Maura's eyes searched Jane's face intently, looking for any hidden meaning there. "You're going to tell her?"

Jane shrugged. "I don't know," she said honestly. Telling Ma felt like a bigger step than she was ready for, but if it came to that, well, she wouldn't rule out the possibility. "What I do know is that I want to be with you. As, uh, more than friends. In case that wasn't clear."

"Well, I should think the events of last night were more than enough to establish that." Maura paused, cocked her head as though considering something. "Unless you tend to engage in coitus with all of your close friends."

"Wh—no, Maura," Jane wheezed, heat rushing to her face all over again. "I—no, I do not do this with my other friends. In case that wasn't clear."

"Not even Clara?"

Jane laughed. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Jealousy is illogical."

"Doesn't mean it's not one persistent son-of-a-bitch." She grinned. "But to answer your question, no. Clara's the one who… told me about all this. But there were no hands-on lessons, if you know what I mean. I've known her so long that she's like my sister at this point more than anything. Why, doc, worried you wouldn't have me all to myself?"

She kept her tone teasing, but deep down, Jane was touched. For some reason, it had seemed almost impossible to believe that Maura—with her cool head and her tendency toward logic above emotion—reciprocated even near the amount of feeling Jane had for her.

"I won't lie—" Maura began, but Jane cut her off.

"You can't lie, you mean."

Maura rolled her eyes. "You are correct, Jane, I can't lie, but I wouldn't even if I could. But as I was saying, I wouldn't mind that. You being… mine, and mine alone. If that's something you'd be agreeable to."

"Christ, Maur, you sound like you're negotiating a business agreement." Jane couldn't help but laugh. "But yeah. I, uh, kinda like the sound of that."

"Good," Maura said, looking extremely pleased with herself. She brushed a strand of Jane's tangled hair out of her eyes and pressed a kiss to her cheek, short-lived but full of affection. The gesture brought butterflies to the sheriff's stomach, and she couldn't help but think that this, right here, was perfect.

Jane had never quite admitted to herself just how much she had hated this grey area they'd been in up until now. She'd always liked to keep things direct in her professional life, but never in relationships before. She'd always been content to keep her male suitors at arm's length, wary of defining anything lest it lead to a commitment she couldn't trust herself to want to keep. But with Maura, all this dancing around had been almost painful. It was easy to never feel insecure about someone's attention when you didn't even want it, Jane realized now, but far more difficult to keep from anxiety when you felt like you'd found someone you actually liked and wanted to be with, by some miracle.

There was just one more thing…

"So, what do I call you?"

"Call me?" Maura looked perplexed.

"No, I mean…" Jane struggled for a moment. "I mean, what are you to me?"

Maura hummed thoughtfully, fiddling with the hem of the blanket. "Well, we're already partners, aren't we?"

"I guess?" She wasn't sure exactly where this was leading. Frost was her partner, too, after all.

"So that's what we'll be, then." Maura said it very matter-of-factly, clearly pleased with herself. "Partners. In a deeper sense of the word than before. Nothing has to change, really."

She was right; it hadn't changed. Which was comforting to Jane in a way. There was no sense of loss, no sense that she was giving up anything in this shift in their relationship. There had been a part of her that had been afraid that loving Maura would mean losing her in a platonic sense, but she saw now that those worries had been unfounded. They'd be everything they'd been, still, and more.

Partners. Jane liked that.

A/N: This one goes out to my girlfriend, who, after a month of dating me, sent me a "month to month relationship renewal agreement" to sign that contained the phrase "you know what screams romantic? a business formatted renewal agreement." (I did, of course, renew the relationship, because that is peak romance, and I adore her.) I think Maura would approve.