"Jane?"
"Yes, Maura?"
She takes in her response, soft and distracted too. Always a beat slower if you know to listen; her mind racing now with thoughts on what thoughts race through the mind of her partner. Presence, present, was it ever a present? A documentary about whales is playing as background noise. They had just watched a game rerun, taped because they had had a case they had to solve. A case that had left Jane beyond frustrated and her, drained. Worn out, beat, fatigued, and burnout. Burnout. It is a medical condition, and her brain comprehends but her own fragile presence, her partner who can now be frail and, she will not be her parents. She will be emotionally present. Maura Rizzoli-Isles. It's Maura Rizzoli-Isles. She lets her eyelids shut as she rests her head back against Jane's shoulder; comforted by the knowledge that her detective's home and so very close to her. They are tired, but they are safe together. She is different, but who isn't. It's Maura Rizzoli-Isles.
Jane hasn't spoken yet about the session that they had had. Maura hasn't quite broached it either.
She trails her fingers gently along her forearm. Assured that there's no one else she'll rather have in her arms than her Maura, her partner. Her reason. She watches a school of tuna. She thinks about the therapist – a stranger that now has and will become a part of their life. She's feigned indifference whenever Maura brings up the session. She's made excuses to not talk about it, to not reflect. She's frightened and she's afraid to admit it to her. She's noticed that Maura doesn't push her. That Maura hasn't been pushing her since the incident. Since the nightmares have grown way too frequent.
She pulls her closer to her.
These moments of calm, these moments of quiet; these moments that aren't episodes of traumatic destruction.
Would I be anything without my badge? Without my honoured promises? My duty sworn to serve and to protect? She is tired. They could go for a walk along the shore, she thinks; days, weeks, months even away from all that death and darkness with waves wetting their toes covered in sand and washing away prints, prints that she doesn't need to keep track of or document. Why are we even bringing a child into this world? She pulls Maura closer to her. The smell of her shampoo, the scent of her person, the reality that someday soon and yet thankfully not entirely too soon, there would be another to love. She's not quite yet ready for the new human. She's not quite ready yet and she worries that she might never ever but – she pulls Maura closer to her. Her breathing, her constant. Isn't that why the sessions are important, isn't that why they decided on them together.
She holds her closer to her.
These moments of calm, these moments of quiet; these moments of just being with the person she has chosen to respect and to love.
These moments, also hers.
"Maura?"
"Yes, Jane?"
A response heavy with sleep and yet always, a response.
Tell her.
Tell her.
Tell her.
She feels a hand closing around hers. Fingers, kissed, tender. Eyes weary, yet compassionate.
Palms, now, warm against a womb busy with procreation.
She smiles, in spite of her fears.
"I am glad Maura," she kisses her, "That we get to be on this therapeutic journey together."
She smiles, in spite of this crushing weight within her.
"I have your back Jane," she plants kisses across shoulder blades and a jawline that's bruised, a little.
"I'm here."