A/N: 1) This flashback happens about 18 months after the previous one. 2) When Jane or someone else alludes to not being "made," they're talking about her not taking an initiation oath into the mafia because she's a woman.

Jane shrugs the strap of the black duffel bag higher onto her shoulder, just as she slams the door to her leased Beemer. It's daytime, and she parks on Charter, just east of where Desiderio sits - Mario DiVincenzo's new club and brainchild. It's one of the classier joints that the brothers own, hence why they do most business here. Jane's car is one in a parked line of several: all imported, European cars that she and her… colleagues use to get around town.

Just as she drops her aviators onto her face and engages the lock on her vehicle, Jack Donati bursts out of his two seater. He's an associate, not made, though not for the same reason Jane isn't - he's reckless, and clearly high right now as he marches toward Jane, both on their way to the same side entrance. "Janie!" He calls out, his gelled hair just a little askew from his open windows, conspicuous in the winter. His leather jacket falls awkwardly off of his frame, as if he purchased it a size too big.

She ignores him, and nods to the man at the door.

"Janie I know you hear me," Jack continues, "that Tom's cut? You hopin' all that earnin' potential is finally gonna get you a chip?"

"I'll make him go around front," says the muscle by employee entrance.

"Thanks, Bobby," Jane says to him. He opens the door for her, and she is intent on walking through it when what Jack says next stops her in her tracks.

"Maybe if you stop fuckin' wise guys' sisters, they'll swear you in, bitch," he is angry now, she can feel it rolling off of him. Bobby stands up straight.

She thinks of the piece tucked into the slacks of her navy suit, her blazer and her coat falling just over it, but decides she doesn't need it. She turns around him, gives him the cockiest, toothiest grin she can. "Danielle's a real nice, girl, Jack. Real nice. You tell her I say hello. She'll like that." With that, she walks in, and Bobby slams the door behind her before Jack can get through.

Just one door to the left, she sees one of the bosses, Tom DiVincenzo, seated at a desk in front of some Sports Illustrated posters and a calendar from Pellino's Ristorante with the Pope on it. "Hey, Janie!" He says, and then lifts his hulking form off of his office chair. He is 6'2", nearly four inches taller than her, two now that she has her boots on. "Was that Jack givin' you shit out there?"

"Hey Tom," Jane smiles at him, too, sincerely. They embrace, and he kisses her cheek just after she kisses his. "Jack's not right. You know and I know. I just let it roll off my back."

Tom giggles. It's endearing to see a man his height, with the belly that he has, and his slicked back gray hair, giggle. "The fuck you do," he says, "I'm sure you put him in his place."

"I did," Jane says sheepishly, hands in her back pockets.

"He deserved it. That asshole needs to learn to keep his drama away from my place of business. 'Specially if he wants to keep earnin'," says Tom. He leans against the front of his desk, spreading his long arms out wide on the lip of it.

He is truly a commanding presence. He also loves Jane. Trusts her. She can tell by the way he looks at her, like he could tell her anything. He often does. "Business has been good, Tom, this past month." She tells him this because it's what she's here for. It's why she has the bag on her shoulder.

"Oh yeah? What ya got for me?" He nods to the bag.

"About 250," she says. She drops it on the desk, and he can hear by its heft that it is exactly that amount. "This is before the Super Bowl."

"Jesus Jane," Tom rubs his belly - something he does both when ruminating and when shocked. "I mean, I know giving you your Pop's old book was a good idea, but damn. This is before the big game, you said?"

"Yeah," Jane says. "The key is the college kids. I got earners on campus making big pools with little dollars. Get whole dorm floors in on small time bets, and with the number of schools between here and Cambridge, that adds up."

"Not just washed up men pissing away college funds anymore," Tom whistles just before he says it. "What are you expectin' to see next week?"

"We've been drummin' up interest in a Super Bowl pool on some of the message boards at BCU, MIT, and BC. Plus what we usually get, and a couple big time bettors? Your share'll be double that," she replies seriously, proudly.

He scratches his chin. "You'd be promoted yesterday if I could, you know that, right?" He is serious, too. And he is clearly thinking. "The motherland really lit a fire under your ass, Rizzoli. You've been workin' your tail off since you got back."

Jane looks to the floor for a split second, her eyes narrow and sad. "Ain't got shit to do but work, boss. And with Pop goin' AWOL last year, well, Ma's got a mortgage. And bills to pay."

"I know. And I know you're not him," Tom assures her. When she doesn't look up, he puts his hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Jane. I know that you're not him. I trust you."

"Thanks," Jane mumbles.

"You got this humble thing goin', Jane," Tom says when he sees her discomfort. "It works to your advantage a lot of times, but you need to puff your chest out a little bit."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," Jane responds. She thinks of Maura then, how she hasn't seen, touched her in eighteen months.

He knows that her closed-lips smile is the one she uses when she is experiencing some private ailment she refuses to share. He shakes his head. "And I'm gonna help bust you outta it," he says to her.

She makes eye contact because it sounds like a command. "What's that?"

"Listen, Jane. The heat has been… intense these last few months. I got eyes on me everywhere I go, and so do my guys. But you don't. You know why that is?"

"Uh, I'm a girl?" Jane plays along.

"Well, yeah, but more because you're not made. You run under the radar, kid. And it's been givin' me ideas. I been thinkin' of gettin' a shadow crew together. An invisible level to the pyramid. You see?"

"Kinda?"

"I want you to run it, thickhead," Tom rolls his eyes. "You earn like a soldier. Hell, you earn better than most of my soldiers. Better than Carlo's ass, even. So, I want you to make that work for me. Wrangle up some guys that you trust, put them on the jobs I tell you, and bring me the profits, starting with this Southie venture I got going with the Irish. But they report to you. And you report to Dickie Fiorentini, who reports to me. Capsici now?"

"Jo capisciu," Jane says, shaken even when he claps her on the back and goes to pour her a drink. She takes it, downs it, and then bids Tom goodbye, all on autopilot.

But, when she makes it back out the side entrance, Bobby still there and no Jack in sight, she pounds her fist to her chest, once, twice, biting her lip to avoid shouting her euphoria into the New England winter.

Jane intends to spend the night celebrating with her brother Frankie, a newly-minted twenty-one year-old who can now legally tear a bar apart. They choose the Dirty Robber, less chance that some made men will give Jane grief for what she's just been given.

So, they find a quiet booth and she hangs her coat up on the outside of it, ready to blow a couple hundred bucks on some celebratory beers.

Speaking of, Frankie has four, two in each hand, and he is walking toward her. Not stumbling yet, but rickety. On the way to stumbling. "Ok hot shot," he tells her, "I got you the Peroni you wanted. Guy behind the bar says that Paddy keeps that for you only, by the way. Knows you're a friendly face around here." Jane reaches for one, but he pulls back. "Ah ah. But first you gotta do a shot with me." He puts the beers down and jogs back to the bar, where two shotglasses await.

"Oh hell, Frankie. Whisky? You know I hate that shit," she wrinkles her nose, but takes it anyway.

"Ah c'mon, Jane. It's Jameson 18 year," Frankie whines, shoving himself into the booth across from her. "If you insist on celebrating the best thing to ever happen to us with me instead of some dime piece, we're gonna at least splurge on the good stuff."

"Oh yeah no problem, let's splurge since it's on Janie's dime," Jane gripes. Her eyes twinkle when she looks back at him though, and then she winks. "Three, two, one… down the hatch!"

"God that shit's smooth!" Frankie bellows as it slithers fire down his throat. Jane just pulls her lips back and shakes her head.

"And I know you think I'm swimmin' in it, but Danielle Donati was the last action I've seen. That was six months ago," Jane laments. She lays her head down on the table and peeks at her brother through her beer. "We can't all be Don Francesco over here."

Frankie blushes because things have been hot and heavy between him and Teresa Campusano for a few months now. Then he brings himself back to the subject before them. "You know I don't mean just anyone. Where's Maura, huh? You been all broken up about her since you got back."

Jane rushes to put her hand over his loud lips. "Shut the fuck up, would ya? What're ya thinkin', sayin' her name in an Irish bar like this?!"

Frankie holds his hands up, one occupied with a beer. "Shit, forgot, sorry. I'm just sayin'. Isn't she the one or somethin'? You could be lookin' at her instead of my ugly mug."

Jane sighs. "I don't know, Frankie, I'm twenty-five fuckin' years old. Is anybody the one? And listen, I put the ball in her court and she took it and went home."

"So why haven't you moved on?" Frankie shoves the bottom of his bottle at her before he swigs from it. "Danielle seems nice."

"I been workin' my ass off, is why," Jane says defensively. "Payin' off Pop's debts and makin' sure we all got a roof over our heads, food on the table."

"And I'll drink to that. It's just… so you're saying you don't miss her at all?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I miss her a lot. I just don't think she misses me," Jane knocks her beer back, too. "What do I have to offer a heart surgeon anyway?"

Frankie shakes his head. "Sorry, but that's bullshit. What do you have to offer? Cold hard cash. And with your promotion, you're about to see a lot of it. So fuck her, huh? Let's drink this place dry."

Jane flinches when he curses Maura, but then takes him up on his offer.

Frankie had gotten wasted, Jane pleasantly drunk, and of course, he had begged to be part of her crew. She at first told him no, then told him he had to keep it quiet, and then he finally cajoled her into giving him a job. She's said she'd hook him up in the morning, when he wasn't plastered. They had said their goodbyes, and Jane caught a cab that took her a few blocks down from her place, as a precaution.

She is just about to place her foot on the first step of her walk-up, when she hears it. "Jane!" Her name, contoured by a voice she thought she'd never hear again. She stops, turns around.

"Maura?" She asks, though she knows it's her.

Maura's older, sure - they both are, but she makes almost-25 look good. She's got subtle highlights in her hair, it's longer, Jane can tell, even though it's pulled back into a ponytail. She wears chunky glasses, too, ones Jane knows that she dons at the end of a long day, her contacts too inconvenient to deal with when she's exhausted. When Jane looks down at Maura's actual attire, hospital scrubs under a zip-up fleece and a winter coat, she knows it probably was a long day. She's holding a wrinkled piece of paper in her hands.

"I wasn't sure if you still lived at this address," says Maura, slightly out of breath. "I've been by the past couple of nights after my shift, but you weren't home. This was actually the last time I was going to try."

Jane shakes her head, confused. "Why? Why're you here?"

Maura looks at her feet in their Nike runners. "You said to come find you. If I wanted you."

Jane bounces on her heels. She hates the cold because it tightens all her scars. "That was a year and a half ago, Maura. You've made it pretty clear since then, with 18 months of silence, that you didn't want me."

"You didn't come find me, either-"

Jane cuts her off. "I didn't exactly have any of your information. Your address, your American phone number. And I don't have to tell you how well it'd go over for me in these streets if I started askin' around for Paddy Doyle's daughter."

Maura sighs. She had rebutted out of the knee-jerk reaction of her Doyle temper, but she knew she had no right. "You're right. I know you are. It's just… you were gone, for two whole months after I came back, and then I had to start my final year of residency. It was hell, Jane. At the hospital. But I thought about you a lot, while you were still away."

"Not enough to come get me, though," Jane shouts. "So don't say confusin' shit like that!"

"It was confusing for me too! Listen, I just want a chance to talk to you, a chance for you to hear me. I stayed away because residency took everything I had, Jane. Everything. I was doing everything I could to survive. And a relationship, something as consuming as I had with you? I don't think I would have finished, and if I was going to do anything, it was finish. Become an attending. I needed it and I needed to prove to myself that I could do it."

"Well you clearly did. Look at you, right outta the operatin' room," Jane gestures to Maura's clothes and snarls. Her next words are more vulnerable, however. "I never asked you to give it up. I never would."

"You wouldn't have to. I would have done it anyway," Maura says just as softly. "And eventually, enough time passed that I didn't think you'd want to see me again. But, lately, I've been wanting more for myself. More than just a career, now that I have it. And it… it seems like talk of you is inescapable. You're all I hear about when I visit my father in the places he works. They talk about the work you're doing, the… foundation you're building."

Jane shrugs, remembers her good news from the afternoon, smirks. "I've been followin' your advice," she says, unable to help herself.

"Oh? You have?" Maura asks, chancing a step forward.

Jane doesn't pull back. "Yeah, takin' life by the balls and all. I just got tapped to run a crew today. On the side. Just a few associates, but I'm practically a soldier, despite not havin' my chip." She says it because she's proud, but when Maura smiles, too, and gets that cunning, planning, thinking look on her face, Jane has to suppress the shudder of arousal that burgeons in her. She passes it off as a chill.

"A crew of your own? Congratulations," Maura says, knowing how big that is. Jane's ambition titillates her even more now that she's hearing it from Jane herself and not the Irish knuckleheads that hang around her father.

"Well, hard work pays off," says Jane, pointing to the ID badge that says Maura Doyle, MD Cardiology, around Maura's neck.

Maura looks down at it, too. Then she looks up. "It does. And I told you it would. Jane, I… I want to see you again. And we can take it slow, get to know each other, but I promise that I never stopped thinking about you. And that I just… life…"

"Life happened," Jane finishes for her. "I know. Life happened for me, too. But you coulda come and seen me earlier. Even just to say that - tell me to wait because life was gettin' in the way."

"That's true," Maura says. She hangs her head, because it sounds like a no, and maybe deservedly so.

"And I'm open… but you gotta promise me one thing," Jane says, surprising Maura.

"Anything," says Maura.

"Anything, huh?" Jane teases.

"Well, almost anything," Maura amends. Immediately they blush together, remembering their night out for gelato and Maura saying the same thing then.

Jane considers it the perfect segway. "We get to know each other, the real us. The Boston us. Sicily was… fun. But let that be the… uh…"

"Prelude?"

"Yeah, to our story. We'll start writin' the real thing as of now," says Jane, "wherever it goes. Either as friends or… somethin' more."

Maura puts her hand on the top of Jane's chest and beams. She just about cries. "It's a deal."

"Good. Let's start with a drink upstairs? I'm freezin' my ass off out here."

Maura steps out of Frankie's Mercedes, smaller than her own, but still a sedan. He has just had it washed and waxed, and when he holds his hand out for her to take, she makes it look like she's arriving at Cannes. Nevermind that it's a waterfront hotel in South Boston, or that she'll be walking into a ballroom full of made men and plumbers alike.

She smiles at him when he opens the door for her children, the ones that look so much like him, like Jane. Cristina exits first, in a black dress and a coat, just like Maura. Hers is more conservative at the neckline, and longer on the leg, and she waits to the side, as if asking Maura for her approval. Maura gives it freely, emphatically, in the way that she offers her daughter a smile. A gaze shared just between them.

Cicciu emerges next, less elegant than his female Rizzoli counterparts, in a tumble of long limbs that his uncle has told him would be uniquely suited for Celtics basketball. He looks quite dashing in his crooked bowtie and slacks, without a suit jacket. He, being thirteen, is much more demonstrative in his affection, and takes Maura's hand with his own. It's cold, and she laces their fingers to warm him up. He is already as tall as her.

There is no red carpet to welcome them, but the hotel lights shine brightly, and they can hear boat bells across the way in the harbor. Cicciu squeezes back when he sees Cristina take Frankie's elbow. "Where's Ma?" he asks, not too loud, mindful of the people around them and who may or may not be listening.

"A little behind, sweetheart. She'll be here," Maura knocks her head lightly into his own to answer him. They nod at a few Irishmen they know as they enter the lobby, cross under the ornate chandelier, and make their way left to the seaview ballroom. The plumber's union gala is held here every year, and though the union foots the bill with clean money, everyone in attendance knows exactly where that clean money comes from.

It comes from men like Paddy Doyle, who stands near the entrance with a glass of whisky in his hand, ready to greet them as they walk in. He is in a suit and tie, something that Cicciu rarely sees, and his grandfather so spiffed up causes him to laugh giddily when he runs to him and they embrace. "You look like you're about to play the Boston Pops, Grandpa!" He says as they clap each other on the back. Maura grabs two glasses of champagne from a back table on her way to them, honoring her promise to Jane.

"Not quite," Maura says, her raised eyebrow teasing her father. "A tuxedo this is not."

"Can't you let your old man clean up nice?" Paddy asks her, soft and a little needling. He yearns for her affection as much as she yearns for his, despite their differences. She gives it to him, letting him kiss her on the cheek when they hug.

"I suppose maybe, just the once," says Maura. "Where's Mom?"

Paddy nods in the direction of the largest table, where the biggest benefactors sit. He has donated both the funds and the dinner, after all. And Jane, well, she makes those funds possible. She will sit next to him and Carlo Talucci. "With Angela," he says. "Planning Thanksgiving. I'd avoid them for a few minutes if I were you, otherwise you'll get swept up."

Maura shrugs, sips her glass. "Maybe I want to," she says, then they both share a commiserating look.

"We all know that you prefer business to party planning, sweetheart. Please keep it that way," says Paddy. Then he sees another associate of his, from the O'Rourkes, and he pats her shoulder. "Excuse me, would you? I gotta make sure the O'Rourkes don't plan to off me at my own event. You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Dad," she says, sincerely. He kisses her cheek again and then is off to mingle.

Maura is not alone for long, because a couple of women, dressed in gold and silver, with bold makeup and large hair, approach her on her way to her table. She nods to them, hoping to avoid conversation with the girlfriends of a couple of Talucci soldiers, but it would seem that she cannot. "God Maura, you look great," one of them, Maria DiAngelo, says to her around her spearmint gum.

Her friend, Amber twirls her hair on her index finger. "Yeah, Maura. Jane should feel lucky to even live in the same house," she says pointedly, rolling her eyes.

Maura is confused and feeling very superior, both in intellect and in fashion. It's a combination that begets pettiness, and she tries her hardest to suppress it. She doesn't greet them, and wonders where the hell they found the audacity to put Jane's name in their mouths, let alone hers. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You know, she better realize what she's got at home," Maria answers with eyes as wide as saucers, as if that is supposed to make her point any clearer.

"I have to be honest, ladies, I… am very confused right now," Maura barely keeps it together. She feels her Doyle blood boiling because they clearly think they know something that she does not. She wonders if her ears look as red as they feel.

"Ok, we're tellin' you this out of respect for you because we know what it's like to be in your shoes, and you know what it's like to be in ours," Amber starts.

"And we saw Jane with Teresa just before we got here," Maria blurts out.

"They looked real cozy, Maura. Real cozy," Amber adds. "And Gio was eating that shit up."

Maura tries not to bark out a laugh, both as a release valve for her rage and at their stupidity. "Giovanni Gilberti?"

"Yeah-"

"Ok, ok, thank you," Maura cuts them off before they can continue. "Jane and Teresa work Desiderio together. I'm sure their meeting was about the club." She assumes her most professional of postures, and nods to them to politely dismiss herself. They are about to say more, but then, Jane herself enters the ballroom, with Teresa Campusano and Giovanni Gilberti only a few steps behind. Maria and Amber stare at Maura pointedly when they see them, but Maura pushes past them. "Excuse me," is all that she says.

Jane rubs her hands together, and smiles brightly at Maura when she sees her. "Hey, Mrs. Rizzoli," she says affectionately, a running joke between them.

Maura's eyes are hard when she completes the script, handing Jane the extra glass of champagne. "Doctor," she says quietly.

Jane knits her brow forward in confusion, but leans in for the kiss anyway just as Teresa and Giovanni move past. Maura grabs her face, thumb and two fingers pressing against each side of her mandible, enough to hurt. There are teeth behind their meeting of lips. Maura bites, and Jane lurches back. "Agh, minchia," she hisses, using her tongue to check for blood. "What the hell?"

"You and I will talk later," Maura threatens, but with a thumbswipe over Jane's lower lip, one that would look to outsiders like affection. "After the event."

"Ok…" Jane says, still bewildered. But when she looks up, having taken Maura's hand so that she can be led to her table, she makes eye contact with Carlo Talucci - who, with Teresa Campusano beside him, glares at Jane. No doubt because he has just heard the news that she has reclaimed Desiderio.

Jane, Maura, and their two children walk out of the gala, late into the Saturday night, laughing with each other. "Yeah, yeah, and that one fourth, when Nanna warned Uncle Tommy not to buy all those fireworks, but he did it anyway-" regales Jane.

"And then they started going off in the pantry with all the spices!" Cicciu adds. He is quite amped by the atmosphere and the fact that his routine is sufficiently broken up for a Saturday. He hops and clacks his heels together.

Even his sister finds that funny, too. "There was oregano everywhere," she says.

"I'm glad you can all laugh now, but I was the one who had to go in and make sure that your uncle didn't blow off his fingers," Maura says. They wait for the valet to bring the Rover around, and then Jane takes the keys.

"He survived just fine," she says, and they all take their respective seats.

When Maura closes her door, as calculated and calm as possible, the mood inside the vehicle changes.

Cristina, Cicciu, and Jane all notice. Jane is the only one bold enough to speak. "Maura, you ok?"

"Drive," Maura looks ahead and not at her spouse, through the rain and the windshield wipers.

Jane scoffs. "Amuri, chi cc'è?" she asks. My love, what's wrong?

Maura looks in the rearview mirror and sees that her children have taken the hint: Sicilian means disengage. Cristina already has her AirPods in, and Cicciu fires up his tablet. "Nenti, Jane. Guida, pi fauri." Nothing - drive, please.

"Staiu guidannu," Jane bites back. I am driving. Their voices have reached a climax, and the children squirm, despite having no idea what they're saying. "E picchí stai raggiata, eh? Chi ti fici?!" And why are you mad? What did I do to you?

"Ccà no," Maura stands firm as they whip along Boston streets. Not here. Cristina crosses her legs uncomfortably at Jane's speed and the lack of visibility. Maura catches it, and despite her roiling anger, she places a calming hand on Jane's wrist. "A casa." At home.

Jane slows. She knows the signal. She sighs, heaving a lungful of air out into the heated cab of their car. The ride is silent until they reach their home, and due to Jane being… Jane, the spot right in front of their walkup is free, despite the eleven pm hour. No neighbor would dare take her parking. She slams her door, stomps over to the passenger side, and opens the two doors for Maura and her children anyway. She's fuming, but hurt, and confused, too. "Kids, upstairs. Now." she orders. Cristina and Cicciu scramble up the steps without complaint or lollygagging, not waiting for their parents to follow. Jane puts her hand on the small of Maura's back when they are alone outside, ushering her toward the door.

"Is this how you escorted Teresa into the gala?" Maura snaps as they walk through the door.

Jane recoils. "Excuse me?"

Maura doesn't stop walking. She sheds her coat on the rack in the foyer, and drops her clutch on the front table. "You heard me. Imagine my shock when two… two… airheads come up to me at what is supposed to be a night celebrating our accomplishments with the complex, only to inform me that they saw you practically fucking Teresa Campusano uptown!"

Jane hustles in once she gathers her wits about her. "Excuse me? Who said I was fuckin' Teresa?" she calls after Maura.

Maura enters the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, the one she takes to bed every night. "The DiAngelo girl and her friend," she says, eyes accusatory and wide.

Jane guffaws. "And you believed 'em? With the one brain cell between 'em? What the hell, Maura!"

"Why would they lie?!" Maura answers back. She feels herself getting to that point of madness where she cries, so she darts up the stairs before Jane can see her - that usually expedites the process.

"Ti vogghiu tantu beni, amuri, già sai!" Jane cries out, arms akimbo as she hurries through her kitchen toward the staircase. I love you so much, you know that! "I would never!"

"Nun lu vogghiu sèntiri!" Comes Maura's reply; she's already around the corner to their bedroom, pissed. I don't want to hear it! "I have eyes!"

And then, Jane knows that she has fucked up. Not in the worst way a married person could fuck up, no, but she was seen with Teresa Campusano, and in the circles she runs in, that is enough. Even though their talk just outside the coffee shop on Prince Street had been business, all business, people talk. And yeah, Maura has eyes to see for her on the streets, as many sets as Jane, even without shadow capo status, but it was Italians, their people, who had seen this. So while the content of the conversation had been above board, the conversation itself looked, well… "Maura! Maura! C'mon-" Jane huffs when a door is slammed in her face. She rolls her eyes, more at her own stupidity than anything, and pushes her way in. Her watch dangles against her left wrist when she twists the knob in her hand.

"Teresa Campusano, really? What have I told you all these years?" Maura snaps. She stands in front of the mirror on their dresser and removes the diamond studs from her ears. "Do what you do, but don't embarrass me. And Teresa is embarrassing."

Jane feels herself growing hot under Maura's fiery Irish temper. The one she'd gotten from her father. "Ho hey oh - you make it sound like I routinely cheat on you, when you know, just for the record here, I have never," she growls, growing hot too at the curve of Maura's behind in that shapely, tight black dress- the sleeveless one she likes to wear with the matching Louboutins. Those were kicked off in the doorway, much like they would have been if a very different sort of passion had led them up here. God dammit.

What Jane says is true - for all the rules she routinely breaks in work and in life, many of which pay for the palatial home they live in, her marriage vows have never been among them. But Maura doesn't let the truth get in the way of how she feels, absolutely not. Not when she's this mad. "Her father couldn't handle the Desiderio book. Desiderio, Jane! That club all but runs itself!"

Jane smacks her hand on the dresser top and her wedding ring clangs in response. She threads her other thumb through her belt and leans in close. "What the hell - are you mad at me because they're stupid or are you mad at me because you think I slept with her?!"

"Both!" Maura yells, refusing to back away from the physical challenge Jane had put forth, though the thought that Jane would ever even think of sleeping with Teresa is laughable.

"You wanna know what we were talkin' about? Huh?" Jane shoots back, now much taller than Maura because she still has her ankle boots on. She kicks them off to get a little closer. She would have been thinking about how good they look together, her in her tailored, tapered slacks and silk shirt, Maura as she was. Instead she tries to think about counting sheep to calm herself down. Is that how it works? The shirt comes off in a huff, too.

"Does it matter?" Maura whines, without her trademark logic or levelheadedness. Those fly out the window when she gets jealous, which makes her Paddy Doyle levels of angry, both at the situation and the pure emotion of it all. All of that jealousy is compounded by the sight of Jane's long, tan torso, her upper body tensed with their argument, covered by just a bra. Maura knows it's illogical, impossible. But if Teresa got to see what she is looking at now…

"Course it matters!" says Jane. "I was takin' Desiderio back, for you! Gave the Campusanos the motel out in East Boston because who gives a fuck. Teresa wasn't happy about that but guess what? She knows her opinion don't matter until they start puttin' money in our pocket!"

Maura pauses at the first sense made to her all night. She runs her hand through her brown-blonde hair anxiously, eyes on Jane who is roughly undoing her belt, unzipping her fly. "You weren't seeing her?" Maura asks, sternly, but more quietly than before. She knows the answer, but she also has been made to look stupid, so she seeks payment from Jane.

"What, in front of the whole neighborhood at Milano? I'd have to be fuckin' stupid," answers Jane, with a soft nudge to Maura's shoulder and a raise of her eyebrows. When she bites her bottom lip awaiting a response, she looks young, much closer to thirty two than her actual forty two years.

Maura scoffs. "Really? You can't just answer the question? You have to be funny?" She turns the opposite direction towards their en suite and walk-in closet. Nevermind that Jane was just standing in front of her, topless, in undone pants. She decides to play along, unpinning her hair and shaking it out once she knows Jane has followed. "I swear, Jane. Sometimes you just… ugh. Infuriate me."

"Hey, we're talkin' here!" Jane calls into the closet. "Why are you walkin' away from me when I'm walkin' towards you, huh?" She crosses the distance between her and Maura. "Don't do that, don't, don't push me away when I wanna be pulled."

"Then don't make a fool of me!" Maura spins on her heels, ready to strike. However, she has not anticipated how close Jane is now, that Roman nose against her own, snarling lips glistening under the soft lighting of the closet. The anger they portray angers Maura; she wants a monopoly on the rage in the room. But Jane's presence, Jane's like-mindedness, and Jane's identical mood exist as effrontery to all that, to Maura's desire for superiority. Jane has always been like this, Maura's opposite, and yet, so like her as well - they have always vibrated at a resonant frequency, creating something more than simply the sum of them.

It is the hottest thing Maura has ever experienced, and she falls into it now. They stare into each other's eyes, irate, frozen, for a split second, and then they kiss.

They kiss like it's their first time, or like one of them has just returned from a long voyage at sea. They kiss too, like they want to murder one another. Their mouths turn pink with effort, smack loudly with annoyance and the inability to resist coming together again. Quickly.

Jane ignores the pinpricks of pain from Maura's teeth snatching her lower lip. It pulls her forward, into Maura's arms, and she reaches behind Maura to unzip her dress: with care, of course, to avoid wrinkles and wear. "I shoulda had the meeting inside," Jane admits as she pants into Maura's mouth.

"You should have had me there," Maura counters, pushing Jane's pants down around her ankles. In contrast, she does not give a fuck about wrinkling Jane's clothes. Once her hands are free, they fly up to Jane's face, cupping it, dragging nails against its cheeks roughly. She steps out of her dress, letting Jane hold it, then drape it against the dressing chair in the corner.

"I can conduct business without you, you know. Did it for those two years you were AWOL," Jane chides, chuckling despite herself because she has given into the temptation to get under Maura's skin.

Maura shoves Jane's shoulders, and Jane stumbles backwards, stunned. "Oh? And how well did that work out for you this evening?" she taunts, flushed and wild-eyed and self-righteous.

Jane glares and smirks at the same time from her new position a few feet away. "C'mere," she demands, stalking forward again.

Maura, anger abated somewhat, realizes that she's been naughty. Her eyes meet Jane's; she rakes her lip with her top teeth, and then she bolts.

She rushes by Jane, who tries to grab her arm, but she slips past and into the open bedroom. Her only chance to grab the upper hand will be if she can run to the other side of the bed, but Jane scoops her up and off her feet before she can even move that way. "Ah!" Maura yips, just as she's deposited onto the bed, and then mounted.

"I'll admit… mmm... that maybe it woulda been… prudent to have you there," Jane says between kisses, kisses with wanton tongue and brash lips brushing over mouth corners, noses and chins.

Maura yanks a fistful of Jane's hair backwards so that they can look at each other. "You are mine," she says. The quiet in her voice sounds deadly. "You are not for anyone else."

Jane tsks, takes the hairpulling like a champ. "After all the work you put into me? I'd never throw all that away," she softens her competitive edge just a bit.

"I saw a tyrant in you, when we met," Maura says, with the deepest of affection. She is the daughter of a tyrant, after all. "It's been a pleasure to watch her come out."

Jane growls and pushes Maura's panties to the side so she can slip her fingers inside her. She takes a hearty breath near Maura's shoulder when she goes deep. "You shouldn't be this wet when we fight," she says.

"So sue me," Maura groans, moving her hand from Jane's hair to her bicep as she accepts Jane into her. She licks her lips at how good it feels to be filled, and commits it to memory just before she flips them over.

Jane yelps, shocked at the change, and then at the burning pinch of teeth in her neck. "Jesus," she gasps when Maura starts to suck. It goes on for nearly a minute before she pulls away. "Leave me some real estate, would ya?" she gripes, rubbing at the wet, red-and-purple island on her neck. "And some dignity - point made."

Maura sits back and grinds into Jane's lap. "The point is not for you, my love. The point is for everyone else."

She smirks, satisfied with Jane's hands flying to her hips. She has all evening to exact her revenge. To prove her point.