A/N: Well, folks, here we are - the end of Boston Kama Sutra. Thank you all for reading and reviewing this little story about family that masqueraded as a story about sex. It was such fun to write! I thought this arc with the final time we see Frank Sr. would be a fitting finish to a fic about fathers and their legacies: Jane and Maura are very much products of the actions of their dads, and I wanted to explore how that would affect the way they might pursue a romantic relationship. I hope you enjoy this last chapter. It's been a pleasure.
When Jane strolled into BPD headquarters almost a couple hours after her usual start time of eight AM, she saw her mother and her two brothers huddled around a table in the Division One Cafe. She had just gotten Angela's text on the way in, about having told Tommy and Frankie about their father - and from the looks of it, they all needed moral support. "Hey," she said, straightening her blazer over shoulders and walking over to them.
"Hi," Frankie said sadly.
Tommy was much more distraught. "It's gonna be ok, right, Jane?" he asked. He sounded small.
Jane shook her head and crossed her arms. "I-I don't know, Tommy. Let's get all the information first, a'right?"
"Yeah. We can't control the cancer, so let's just help Ma," Frankie said. He put one hand on his mother's shoulder and one hand on his brother's.
"Right. If she wants to be there for him, whether he deserves it or not, then we'll be there for her," Jane agreed.
Not two minutes behind her, however, was the man in question. Frank Sr. came into the cafe with a measured and careful stride.
"What are you doin' here?" Frankie asked him, all his anger bubbling up to the surface.
Angela squeezed his wrist firmly, with finality. "I'm taking your father to his oncology appointment."
"Your mother's been a godsend," Frank said. He straightened his jacket, smoothing it down his sides.
"Oh, it's too bad you just figured that out," Frankie countered.
Tommy smacked him in the stomach from his seated position in the stool he occupied. "You're wreckin' him; will ya stop?" he whispered harshly.
"Would you stop, Tommy?" Jane argued, staring him down, until their father interrupted again.
"Listen, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. All I'm askin' for is one last family dinner before it's too late. Please," Frank asked of them with a slight bow of his head.
Angela took pity. "Ok, fine. We'll do it at Maura and Jane's tonight, ok?"
"Ma, you can't ask Maura to do that," Frankie chimed in.
Frank offered another option. "Let's do it at Mario's. You know, just us family."
Jane stepped forward, but was shoved back by her mother, forcefully enough to make a statement: let me handle this. "Family?" Angela said, "Maura is family. She took me in when I had no place to live after you left me. She takes care of our daughter every night when she gets home from this nightmare of a job. You want our support? Well, it has to be done my way, with my family."
Frank put his hands up. "Ok."
"Alright. Let's go to the doctor," she said, undoing her apron so she could drive them.
Jane's phone chimed with what was no doubt a message from one of her partners about their current case. "Call me when you're done, ok?" she said.
Frank frowned at her. "I was wondering if you kids want to come to the doctor with me."
Tommy jumped up from his seat. "Yeah, Pop. Yeah."
"Frankie and I gotta get back to work, Pop. Sorry," Jane said, though the apology didn't hold water. She glared and she thought about Maura. About how little he thought of her when Jane thought the whole world of her, thought the world didn't deserve her.
"Back to work. Ok, sure. C'mon, Tommy," Frank Sr. said, tossing one last glance back to his two eldest, who watched him leave.
"We should go with them," Frankie said quietly. He ran his hand over his perfectly gelled hair.
Jane continued to watch her family leave the building. "Yeah, we should."
Late morning passed into late afternoon when Jane was finally able to make it to the basement to see Maura for the first time that day. She stopped in the doorway when she saw her collecting files for the evening, reorganizing them in the order they needed to be analyzed and processed for the next day.
A banal activity on its face, for sure. But Maura wore a navy dress that looked like it had been painted on, and all of a sudden file sorting was the most titillating thing Jane could think of. The half sleeves provided a mockery of modesty, existed as a caricature of demure professionalism, because the way the dress accentuated everything else talked only to Jane about sex. "I came here to ask you somethin' work related, but it all just went out of my head," she husked, her voice impossibly raspy.
Maura smiled distractedly as she finished her task. "Would it happen to be about-"
"Cleavage?" Jane supplied, rather unhelpfully.
Maura looked down at herself, realizing for the first time what had Jane so flummoxed. Ah. "No. About Delroy King. There was no trace evidence on his array of buckets."
Jane shook her head and screwed her eyes shut. "Yeah no. Dead end. His alibi checks out. He was with his old lady and the neighbors saw him come home. He'll be back performing on the street tomorrow."
"Old lady, huh?" Maura chuckled, packing a few things in her purse.
Jane bit her lower lip at the view, raked her teeth over it until it popped from under them, appreciating the curvature of Maura's spine and its contradiction to the swell of her behind, all contained within tight fabric. "Yeah. Wife," she clarified. She stuck her hand in her blazer pocket almost reflexively.
"Mmm," Maura acknowledged her by winking. "Well, he's clean. And the crinkled paper you found in the victim's guitar case had cacao bean extract on it."
Jane slumped to the couch, crashing back to reality. No leads, no justice - the only thing that could pull her from naughty thoughts to the sobriety of hopelessness. "Where was she before she was at the bar, and what the hell was in her guitar case that it had traces of chocolate, and marshmallow root?"
"That is for you to find out," Maura said, as she often did. She took a seat in the chair next to Jane.
"What if this is some random killing that we can't solve?" Jane asked glumly. She rested her elbows on her thighs and wished that her moods would stabilize just a little bit.
"Don't say that," Maura scolded her softly.
"Well, I mean there are a lot of homicide departments that have piles of unsolved cases like this one," Jane said with a dismissive shrug.
Maura put her hand on Jane's wrist. "But ours doesn't, because it has you. So why are you talking like this?"
In light of the previous night's events, Jane didn't even consider lying. "My father's PSA numbers came back. Ma said they're through the roof."
"It's not a very reliable test," said Maura. "Numbers can rise with a routine prostate examination, or even digital stimulation during sexual experimentation."
"Maura, stop. The only sexual experimentation I wanna think about is between you and me. With that thing on," Jane huffed, rubbing her hands over her eyes before looking directly at the plunging neckline of Maura's dress.
Maura smiled in sadness and heat. "Have they done the ultrasound yet?"
Jane shook her head. "It's tomorrow."
"Then are you ready to go home, have some dinner?" Maura figured a change of scenery would do them both good.
But, Jane had forgotten what her mother had promised her father. "Shit. I was gonna ask you the same thing."
"What does that mean?" Maura inquired. She got up and retrieved her bag, turning just in time to see Jane's sheepish wince.
"I'm so sorry," Jane tried in advance.
"Sorry for what?" Maura was suspicious based on the apology alone. "What have you got to apologize for?"
"My Pop, uh, he came by today and said he wanted one more family dinner 'before it was too late.' Ma may or may not have volunteered your kitchen," Jane said.
"Did she or did she not?" Maura replied, but she already knew the answer.
After they had arrived home, Frankie, Tommy, and Angela already waiting, Maura became a spectator in her own kitchen. She wrung her hands close to her hips, watching Jane and her mother spin about the stove as they stirred and removed all manner of nitrate-filled dishes.
"Tuna casserole, vienna sausage wrapped in bacon with water chestnuts," Angela explained to her confused face. "Jell-O mold, Boston cream pie."
Maura bit her tongue as long as she could. "And where are the vegetables?"
"Right here, canned corn," said Jane, holding up the can and smiling widely.
"Frank's favorite," said Angela, laughing despite the nerves in the room. "We'll eat extra kale tomorrow."
Maura smiled painfully and Jane chuckled at her. They all turned around when they heard the two brothers bickering over the silverware. "How hard is it to remember where the fork goes?" Frankie griped, still in his work suit.
"I'll show you where the fork goes," Tommy countered, waving a fork menacingly at Frankie.
"Boys, knock it off!" Angela slipped into old hat. "Our guests are gonna be here any minute!"
Maura looked back at Jane in distress. "Wait. 'Guests'? Plural?"
Jane looked just as confused as she did.
"I'll get it!" Tommy, usually the first of them to bounce into action, trotted over to the door and opened it to reveal their father in his button-down shirt and member's only jacket from the morning. In his hands were dyed-blue carnations and a bottle of red wine. "Hey, Pop," Tommy said as they embraced. "How're you doin'?"
Frank hugged him as best he could. "Good, good. How's my boy? Alright?"
"Good, thanks," said Tommy, moving aside so that he could close the door and Frank could walk in.
Angela took a sobering breath and met him in the dining room. "Hi, Frank," she said, standing in front of him. He handed her the flowers and patted her arm lightly.
"Nice flowers, right, Ma?" Tommy asked her hopefully.
She didn't have the resolve to correct him, both out of pity and because of the alcohol she could already smell on his father's breath. "Yeah, thanks," she said quietly to Frank as she put them on the counter.
Jane took a look at them and frowned. "Blue carnations?"
"They're actually white. But dip them in blue dye, with capillary action, you get that." Maura leaned in close so that she could whisper right against Jane's ear. "At least you never buy me dyed flowers."
"You kiddin' me?" Jane scoffed. "Nothin' but all-organic from that nursery a few blocks away. I know better," she said, making sure to look Maura right in the eye as she finished talking.
"I know," Maura said, kissing her lightly. "Thank you."
Just a few feet away, Frank was also handing Angela the bottle of wine he had brought. Angela shook her head. "Listen, I don't think this is a good idea tonight."
Frank chuckled. "Well, it's one bottle for six people," he said to her. "It's a'right, c'mon. It'll be fine. You really think it's gonna be a problem?"
Angela's response was truncated by another knock at the door, and she went to go answer it. Lieutenant Cavanaugh stood on the other side, holding a considerably more ornate and more natural flower arrangement in his hand. He gave it to Angela and accepted a kiss from her. "Hi, honey," she said, genuinely happy to see him.
"Hey," he said to her quietly, his tie from earlier in the day gone, but still in a suit jacket and slacks.
"OK, everyone's here - let's sit and eat," Angela announced to the room. The Rizzoli children got to work - Jane finished setting plates and taking out glasses for drinks, Frankie finished the silverware, Tommy helped his mother with the food, and Maura grabbed the two pitchers of water from the refrigerator to place on the table, as well as a bottle opener.
Frank watched the orchestra as he always had, as a spectator, but this night was the first that he had felt loss. His family had continued without him as a well-oiled machine. They danced around each other in concert, no words needed, and still, a set table appeared. It soured his mood. He took the bottle opener that Maura had set down and opened up his bottle of wine, pouring himself a full glass and taking a swig.
Maura pulled out a chair across from Frank, gingerly, but with a confident stare in greeting. She poured herself a glass as well, though not as full, and sipped it. It was not in the league of the wines she was used to, no doubt, but she showed no signs of distaste or disapproval.
Frank, still itching for an argument, started to open his mouth to say something to her, but then Tommy and Jane made eye contact. Jane swooped in and took the chair right next to Frank, while Tommy sat in the one closest to Maura's left on the opposite side of the table. Whatever he had meant to say died before it hit his mouth. He only glanced between Jane and Tommy and sucked on his teeth. Frankie took a seat at one end of the table, across from his mother so that he could keep an eye on her, and with Cavanaugh close to her as well, everyone had backup. Except Frank.
Everyone served themselves, and no one really spoke. There were long minutes of silent eating and cleared throats while Frank poured himself a third glass of wine.
"Well, uh, we certainly have an interesting case that we're working on, don't we, Jane?" Maura entered the arena gallantly, leveraging her home training to at least begin a conversation.
Jane felt her father stiffen at the mention of her work. It had been the wrong thing to say, but Jane didn't care. She smiled softly at Maura and said, "Yeah, yeah. Why don't you tell them about it?"
"Well, it's tragic really," Maura began.
"I'll say," Frankie griped from where he sat, more to himself than anyone else.
But Maura was determined to have some propriety. "The case, actually. I mean, the victim. She was a child prodigy."
"I was a prodigy," Tommy chimed in, chuckling proudly to himself, "I could skate backwards when I was three."
Angela, Jane, and Frankie laughed quietly, smiling at him, remembering the time fondly. Frank guffawed loudly. "That was me skating backwards, holding you up!" he shouted, the cadence of his laughter mocking and pedantic. It clamored in the previously quiet room.
"Oh," Tommy said, instantly deflated. He tapped his water glass with an index finger, watching the condensation gather on his fingertip, twisting his hand to catch it before it dripped.
"You're no prodigy," Frank continued, "he was like an idiot savant. But that was because of the way he could play chess. Almost as good as his teacher," he said, patting Jane on the shoulder heartily. She refused to accept the compliment. "He was useless at everything else."
The ambience of the evening had been on a slow descent since Cavanaugh had arrived, but Frank's last statement sent it into a death spiral. It also sent Jane into an old and quiet anger.
"Tommy did a lot of things well, Pop," she said, a defense of her brother, but also a warning to her father. She glared at him, held his gaze, dared him to continue.
The wine in him kept him from stopping. "Ah, but Frankie here? This kid had a million dollar arm," he turned to Frankie as he took another drink, "I thought you'd be playing for the Red Sox."
Frankie shrugged and wiggled his bad elbow. "Yeah, me too."
"He kept whining about his sore elbow," Frank spat, waving his son off.
Tommy had regained some concentration just in time to hear Frank tear Frankie down. "Wanna know why? You know what Coach Tony said?"
Frankie put his hand on Tommy's wrist. "Tommy, don't waste your breath."
Tommy didn't pull away, but he glared at Frank. "No. I'm gonna say it - you made him throw so many curveballs, he blew his arm out. That's why he needed Tommy John."
"Nah - he was a quitter," Frank said, his last couple of words slurring just a bit. Then he turned his aggression to Angela. "And be honest, you babied him. You knew he didn't need that surgery."
"His UCL was in tatters," Jane jumped in, ready to battle, when Angela stopped her once more.
"Frank, you know what alcohol does to your tongue," Angela said quietly, waving a finger in front of her mouth to make her point, to scold him.
He gritted his teeth. "Don't embarrass me here."
Tommy scoffed. "It's ok, Pop. I'm sober," he said. He lifted his water glass and took a hefty sip just to prove it.
Cavanaugh pitied Frank, and spoke much more softly. "I'm sober too, Frank."
Frank wanted to stand, but then Jane's hand was on his leg. "It's ok, Pop," she growled. "We all know what alcohol does to you."
"For the record," Cavanaugh continued, "Frankie is a great detective. And Tommy? He's a great father."
"Yeah, you know, on that note, I gotta go see my kid," Tommy said. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and picked up his plate. "Thanks for dinner Ma, Maura." He stood, placed a kiss on the top of Maura's head and then his mother's as he walked toward the kitchen, leaving without a goodbye to anyone else after he had rinsed and loaded his dishes.
"I'm gonna get outta here, too. Thanks for the dinner, Ma." Frankie repeated his brother's actions and slammed the dishwasher shut.
"Hey, I… I was just bustin' balls!" Frank cried out when Frankie walked to the back door. He got up to go after him. "I'm just kiddin'! Where're you goin'? I'm bustin' balls."
Frankie left without even looking at his father. Cavanaugh stood up next after hearing both Frank's speech and mood degenerate - one into slurring and the other into rage. "I think I should go, too," he said to Angela, kissing her softly.
"I'll walk you out," she replied, eyes on Frank, body angled in front of the lieutenant in case Frank decided to pounce.
He nearly did. "Oh, let him go! I wanna talk to my wife."
Cavanaugh had almost made it to the back door when he heard that. He felt his ears getting hot and he put his hand on Angela's shoulder. "She's not your wife no more, Frank." It was bold, audacious, and it made Jane stand up. She watched him, her eyes pleading with him to let it go, but her boss and her father were very similar. "And you're gonna show some respect, starting now."
Frank saw red; he lunged forward. "C'mon, you gonna make me?" Jane's forearm caught his chest, hard, and he looked at her for a moment, surprised to feel that much violence coming toward him from her.
"Yes!" Cavanaugh shouted, lunging right back.
Angela desperately tried to hold him. "No, no!" she said, feeling him coiled tight against her hands on his shoulders.
"C'mon then!" Frank goaded, and just as Cavanaugh was about to give him what he asked for, Jane shoved him so forcefully he staggered backwards, his fall caught only by the kitchen island.
"Stop it!" she yelled, a finger in her father's face and then pointed at Cavanaugh. "What're you gonna do, huh? Duke it out? This is my house," she said, back in Frank's face. "And you, bringin' your shit in here, in front of Ma, in front of Maura? What the hell is wrong with you? C'mon, we're goin' to the motel."
"Just like I thought, you're a coward," Cavanaugh said, slave to his pettiness, slave to the moment.
"Oh hell no," Frank started forward again.
"Sean, Sean please," Angela pleaded with Cavanaugh, hands moving from his shoulders to his face to both comfort him and to block his vision of Frank.
Cavanaugh seemed to allow it. "Hurt Angela again, and it won't be the prostate that kills you, Frank," he said.
"Sean!" Angela begged one last time, and then he stood down.
Jane stared darkly at him the whole way from the kitchen to the back door. She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled onto her tongue, and she squeezed the bunched fabric of Frank's shirt in her hand so tightly she thought it might tear. Maura could only watch her from the table, stuck in her chair, unsure what to do, afraid to insert herself. "Please, Daddy. Let's just go," said Jane, resignedly, but with venom.
"I'm sorry," said Frank. He straightened the front of his shirt.
This irked Jane, hearing what he should have said to her brothers, to all of them, long ago. Clearly he could only say it to her. "You know all that shit you say to Tommy and Frankie? You can't ever take that back, Pop!" She shouted at him, snatching her keys from the sideboard in the hall and shoving him toward the front door. He stepped out, and she looked back at Maura, who had started to collect dishes from around the table. "I'm sorry, Maura," she said, voice shaken by tears.
"No, it's ok. Just go," Maura said quietly and shook her head.
After Jane had left, she set about the task of cleaning the kitchen.
Over an hour later, the doorbell rang for the third time that night. Maura went to it, surprised to see Jane on the other side, a giant bouquet of orange roses, white carnations, and peruvian lilies in hand. "Hi," she said, "why did you ring the bell?"
"Because I brought all this into your home and I'm not sure if I deserve to have key privileges right now," Jane said simply. "The nursery was obviously closed, but Whole Foods is so bougie it's practically the same thing."
Maura laughed and took the flowers being offered to her. "Come in, please," she said, smelling them. "The carnations aren't dyed. Well done."
"Mmm," Jane hummed. She stood in the front hall, watching Maura review her purchase, her apology. She crossed her now empty hands, holding them in front of her pelvis.
Maura looked down at them. "I always associate flowers from you with sex."
Jane smiled. "And I never intend 'em that way," she said, "but I'm always happy for the end result."
"Let me get a vase for these," Maura retreated to the kitchen cupboards to pull out one of her less ornate vases. She snipped the stems, added some of her own plant food from under the sink, and then arranged them neatly in the center of the island. Jane followed, putting a hand on the counter and sticking the other one in her slacks pocket. "You know, it wasn't you who brought that debacle into our home. It was your father," Maura said.
"Yeah well," Jane replied, hanging her head, "sorry my father's an asshole."
"Mine isn't exactly father of the year," Maura replied. They shared a short, rueful chuckle at that.
Jane grew quiet quickly, however, and tapped her fingers nervously against the granite. "I'll never treat you like that, Maura. I'll never treat our kids like that."
Maura gave her a closed-lips grin and put a hand on her cheek. "I know. You'll be a good husband," she teased.
Jane made a displeased face. "I'm serious. What you saw tonight from my Pop? From Cavanaugh? You'll never get that from me. I promise."
"Because you've changed. You're better than they are," Maura said, her voice dropping unusually low as she stepped into Jane and smoothed her palms over the top of her chest. "Even when you couldn't apologize to me, when the only way you could talk to me was when you were in bed with me, you were better."
Jane dropped her forehead to Maura's and put her hands on that dress for the first time. "Is this thing new?" she whined, rubbing up and down Maura's hips, until she couldn't take the suspense. She dropped her gun hand back to her own side and then slid her right one around to cup Maura's ass. It felt as good as it looked poured inside the fabric. Jane bit her lower lip as she cocked her left shoulder back and pulled up.
Maura lurched at the pressure and leaned fully into it, nipping at Jane's mouth as she was lifted. There was something hard pressing into her belly from Jane's blazer pocket, and she closed her eyes at the pleasurable sensation. "I bought it months ago. But this is the first time I've worn it," she said of the dress.
"Well, it's a problem," Jane groaned, both hands back to wandering.
Maura sighed when she felt teeth on her neck. "You want this because you're feeling very strong, very negative emotions. And you're Italian."
Jane breathed against her jugular. "Let me anyway," she asked.
"I would never say no," Maura responded immediately. The first time their lips met, it was soft. Jane was reverent with the way she slid her hands up from Maura's hips to cup her face. Their eyes slipped shut, and they found their way to one another by memory. The second time they kissed, it was wet. Maura's tongue touched Jane's, and then their mouths were open and connected. The third time they kissed, Jane had braced her forearm under Maura's backside and carried her up the stairs, somehow maintaining a searing lip-on-lip union for the entire ride.
"You remember the first time we did this in here?" Jane asked when they finally broke apart, firmly within the bedroom with the door locked and the lights off.
Maura leaned in to kiss her again. "Yes," she said, "why?" She went to push Jane's blazer off of her shoulders, but Jane stepped back quickly and removed it herself to keep Maura from touching it. She threw it on her side of the bed and then immediately untucked her shirt.
"Hands on the dresser," she said, eyes narrowing. Maura's mouth fell open, but she complied, standing at her full height and with her palms on the wood. Jane approached from behind, one hand on top of Maura's left, intertwining with the fingers there, the other pulling the zipper of her dress down in hot torture.
That hand then swiped down the now exposed skin of Maura's back, and Maura knew what was being asked of her. She found her way out of the dress, kicked off her heels, and awaited further instructions.
They didn't come. Instead, she heard Jane, removing her own clothes, now farther away. Confused, Maura wanted to turn, until she heard the telltale opening of her nightstand drawer. She heard buckles being fastened and footsteps getting closer again, and she knew. It was heaven to hear Jane say it anyway.
"Bend over," she said, the 'over' like ovah, the 'r' barely there, ghosting across her auditory nerve just like Jane was ghosting over her now. "And open it up for me."
Maura bit her lower lip in a mimicry of Jane downstairs, squeezing the edge of the dresser tightly. "Help me first," she finally said, looking with hooded eyes behind her shoulder toward the clasp of her bra. "Show me you love me first."
This beckoned Jane. She buried her nose in the hair at the back of Maura's head and leaned her body into her. "I love you, I love you, I love you…" she whispered hoarsely, breath tumbling in a serpentine fog down Maura's back, fingers undoing the clasp. She moaned when she held Maura's breasts, heavy in her open palms, squeezed them when she felt Maura's hips roll backwards into her. "Is it time?" she asked, and Maura nodded the base of her skull against Jane's nose. Jane took action, pulling Maura's underwear, a barely-there black thong, down to her ankles, biting skin as she lowered herself, kissing all the angry red spots she left as she rose up again.
They were back to front for a long while, Jane groping, kissing shoulders and triceps and back muscles as Maura flexed them in anticipation. And then, as quickly as she had arrived, she was gone again, and the air that replaced her chilled Maura. Maura startled when a small bottle of lubricant was placed next to her on the dresser's top. She rested her forehead on her folded arms, and then spread out, making a show of what Jane asked of her. "You aren't going to need that," she said, muffled by the cavern of her forearms and the grain below it, and as if on cue, Jane slid two fingers between her legs to check.
"You're right," Jane croaked. She tapped the inside of Maura's thigh twice, telling her wordlessly to open up even more, and then she was inside.
They both gasped and Jane said fuck, more than once.
There was no time to get reacquainted, to take things slow, because Jane spread her stance wide, hips cocked in much the same way she moved through the world, and began to piston. She worked Maura shallow at first, keeping her movements light and quick.
Maura's knees buckled at the sweet intrusion, and she moaned loudly when Jane's arm braced against her belly. That scarred palm rubbed against her hipbone, back and forth and back and forth, and it was a secondary source of friction that drove her wild. It paired with the rough slide inside of her like a twin, and she bit down on the meat of her arm to ground herself. And when it was gone, when Jane moved her hand up to her shoulder instead, she sobbed as if she had lost a part of herself. The only thing that consoled her was lifting her head up and putting her hand over Jane's, lacing their fingers as they bounced with the rhythm of their fucking.
Jane burned with lust and with effort. Her thighs clenched, her abs hardened, but quick was the way to go - it staved off orgasm and allowed her to move with Maura for longer, allowed her this view of Maura from behind, in a way that she rarely saw her. "Agh," she breathed out, trying to calm the fire in her lungs as she thrust forward, "you alright?"
Maura realized Jane must have been asking this because she sounded like she was crying. In reality, she was trying not to scream. "I'm ok. Keep going. I'm ok," she assured her, and then she lifted her torso up as best she could, her arms back out against the dresser, an invite for Jane, which Jane accepted by gripping her hips and dropping her head between her shoulder blades. It was a welcome moment of rest.
They continued in blissful strain for a few more minutes after that, giving and accepting, until Jane slowed, panting heavily and sweating into the dip of Maura's spine. She stopped, and then pulled out. "It's not good enough," she said, still out of breath. Maura turned around, and Jane fell into her arms. "Not close enough."
"What?" Maura asked, just as gassed but a thousand times more disappointed, thinking they were finished.
Jane kissed her feverishly, pressed them together as though she were trying to make them one. "Up, up," she said, and the goading smack of her hand on Maura's behind sounded sinful in their bedroom. "Sit up there."
She waited for Maura to jump up in her arms for leverage, and when she did, Jane picked her up and sat her just at the edge. When she smirked and slipped into Maura again, Maura gasped in delight.
Their dance changed. Maura's hands were sliding from scapulae to sides to the round of Jane's ass as Jane entered her more deeply, more slowly. She switched from the broad-muscled offensive of before, and rolled her hips with pinpoint control.
Maura felt each sensual winding in her palms as she encouraged the plunge. They kissed, and she shivered, filled in two places at once. "What changed?"
"Huh?" Jane asked against Maura's cheek, trembling from the pleasure that deep and slow brought her.
Apparently Maura felt the same, because it took awhile for her to answer. "You moved us. What changed? Oh god. Keep doing that."
"This feels better," Jane laughed breathlessly, and then she pushed up further just the way Maura asked with words and with the way she pressed insistently against Jane's behind.
"So much better," Maura agreed.
"Am I findin' that stroke?" Jane panted through a smile, mocking Maura's words from their first time together.
One finger came back up to rest against Jane's lips heavily. "Shut up. I don't want to have mixed feelings when I come for you," Maura commanded, and it would have been much more intimidating if she weren't already so close to the edge.
"Are you gonna?" Jane pulled back, gauging Maura's readiness.
Maura yanked her in closely again, and wrapped her arms around Jane's shoulders. "Soon," she whispered.
Jane kissed her and to Maura it tasted like victory and a little bit of smugness. But mostly, it tasted like happiness. "Wait for me," Jane begged in between kisses, "wait for me and we'll do it together."
And of course Maura waited.
"Hey," Jane said as she walked into Maura's office early the next evening. "I made it through a whole work day without cryin'. I think I deserve some ice cream."
Maura had been typing the finishing touches on their latest victim's final report when she saw Jane enter. She saved her work, and then shut down her desktop. "I will never understand how you can eat an ice cream cone when it's forty degrees outside."
Jane shrugged. "Ice cream is good year round, Maura. It's not like the taste changes when it gets cold out."
Maura shook her head, chuckling quietly, shedding her white coat and leaving her black blazer underneath. Her dress of the day, pink and sleeveless, was not as risque as the one the day before, but she still caught Jane looking.
Jane, however, looked debonair in a dark-navy suit, tailored to show off her long legs. The combination of it with her black boots, black v-neck t-shirt, and firearm screamed danger. But, only the best kind. Maura couldn't resist putting her hands on the lapels and tugging them straight, even though they needed no adjustment. "And why do you look so dashing today?"
"You watched me get dressed this morning," Jane said, secretly pleased. She looked at Maura with crinkled crow's feet and pursed lips full of humor.
"Hmm," Maura conceded the point. "But that was at home, and this is at work. Where you look very serious and in charge."
Jane shrugged. "You're the one who's actually in charge, here. I'm a mid-level pawn at best, and you're the Chief Medical Examiner."
Jane was here to drive her home, so Maura walked back to her desk and gathered her things. "Even so, you've got an… edge about you today. You're happy about something. The suit only adds to it."
Jane blushed. She waited for Maura to pass before walking back to the elevator with her. "We just closed this case, finally, is all. That always puts me in a good mood."
"This isn't case face, Detective. But trust me, you won't be able to keep your secret for long," said Maura.
"No? How do you figure?" asked Jane, not looking at Maura as she pressed the up button.
Maura knocked their shoulders together softly. "You can't hide things from me. You're practically incapable."
"Maybe so." Jane didn't deny it. "Right now all I have to say is that I can't wait to get home. It's been a long-ass seventy-two hours."
"Certainly has," said Maura. She touched Jane's tricep in thanks when they were outside and her car door was opened for her. "At least we have some cause to celebrate this evening."
"Yeah. Our close rate lives to see another day," Jane said, dropping her body into the driver's seat.
The drive back home was a calm one, with exchanges about workdays and evidence reports, and even a spirited discussion about buying ice cream.
Jane looped her arm through Maura's as that conversation continued. "Ok, but what if I watch something I don't want to, all for you?"
Maura considered. "Downton Abbey?"
Jane metronomed her head back and forth. "Maybe. Is staying awake a prerequisite?"
Maura laughed as she unlocked the front door. "Oh absolutely."
"Fair enough, but that means I can pick out a gallon tub, though," Jane said, catching Maura's contagious cheer. "Neapolitan."
"Fine," Maura said as they stumbled into the living area.
Angela and Frank Sr. stood just beyond the couch, waiting for them.
"What are you doin' here?" Jane's countenance changed at the sight of him. She put her body between him and Maura.
"He came here to tell you something himself," Angela said with her arms crossed. Her glare nudged him forward, and he put his hands out as he stepped towards Jane.
"I came here to apologize to you, Jane," Frank started, "and to you, Maura. I was a pig last night."
Jane pushed back because she could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Don't blame it on the wine, Pop."
Frank shook his head. "I said some terrible things. I screwed up and I'm sorry."
Jane took a deep breath. "Thank you for apologizing," she said honestly.
"That must be hard for you," Maura said with a friendly smile, "thank you for that."
Frank didn't get upset, but instead just acknowledged the fact. "It is. It always has been. But I got some good news at my ultrasound today. I do have cancer, but they said it was stage two."
"That's very treatable," Maura said excitedly, stepping forward to rub Jane's back.
Jane's harsh visage faltered only a little, and only because even with all her father had said and did the night before, Maura still was genuinely happy for her. For her family. "I'm glad to hear that," she said.
"I want you to forgive me, Jane, please," Frank said. "You're my number one daughter."
His earnestness softened her enough to complete their script from her childhood. "I'm your only daughter, Pop." She went to him, and they embraced. She hugged him in the masculine way he taught her, strong and enveloping, in what Maura thought was one of her best traits. "Ok," said Jane when she pulled away. "So now what?"
"Well, I'm thinkin' of moving back to Boston," Frank said happily, looking between Jane and Angela.
"You have a new life in Florida, Frank," Angela said in surprise. "I have a new life here."
It clearly wasn't the response he expected. "What are you sayin', Ange?"
"I'm saying… you're not my husband anymore. You'll always be our children's father, and I'll be here if you need me. But you should go back," Angela replied, standing up with her arms still crossed.
Frank was shocked. "Jane?" He tried, hoping she would run to him, tell him to return.
"Yeah, uh, stay in touch, Pop. It's a short flight. Come back anytime," she said instead, smiling at him sadly.
He shrugged off his own disappointment. "Ok, I will. You take care of yourself, Angela."
"You too, Frank," Angela said, biting her lip when he went over to Jane, opening his arms for her again.
"Goodbye my sweet, big girl," he said, sniffling loudly as she hugged him again.
She kissed the side of his head. "I love you, Daddy," she said, crying softly.
"I love you, too," he replied, and then he nodded to Maura just before he walked past her and out the front door.
Jane watched the tiny exchange in awe. Maura, through her quiet confidence and well-placed kindness, extracted respect from him. She didn't run after him, offer him the guest room, or make him a cup of tea. Instead, she gave him what every Rizzoli valued the most: his dignity. She didn't fuss over him, she didn't spew off facts about how to treat alcoholism or condescend to him about his diagnosis. She let him be himself, knowing that in the end, somehow, that this is what would win him over. Jane's hands shook and her palms sweated, because she knew what this revelation meant - what it meant she had to do. Now.
"Ok," Angela said, unaware of Jane's sudden silence, her nervousness. "So… now that we're all good and depressed, what should we do? I have some Jell-O from last night. Nobody ate it."
"That's a shock," Jane snarked, moving with her mother and Maura into the kitchen, but her voice was quiet.
"I have some cookies," Maura called behind her back.
"The ones that taste like cardboard?" Jane said, close against Maura's back, with Angela not far behind her. "This night just gets better and better."
"Oh good," Maura said, turning around once she had taken out the almond cookies. She scratched just under Jane's chin before kissing her. "Well, I'm glad I saved a few for you."
Jane shuddered. She looked to her side. "Really proud of the way you handled yourself, Ma," she said to her mother.
"I'm proud of you, Jane, and your brothers. That's who I'm proud of," Angela said, hugging Jane's left arm and placing a kiss over the fabric on her shoulder. "You're all better people than he'll ever be."
Jane looked at Maura and her breathing quickened. "And uh, thanks for putting up with us nutballs, Maura."
Maura laughed softly. "What do you mean put up with you? You're my nutballs. You're my family," she said opening her arms, ready to hug Angela and Jane both.
However, Jane held a hand out, stopping her in her tracks. "You always say the right thing," Jane said when Maura looked at her, confused and hurt. The hurt alleviated, but the confusion stuck around. "You always do the right thing. Just like how you finessed Pop today. You get me, you get us. And I was gonna wait to do this, but I just can't," she said, fishing around in her blazer pocket.
Angela gasped right before the bright teal box came out.
Maura gasped after. "Jane," she said, as though she were scolding her.
"I know, I know. I just kicked out my deadbeat dad and my Ma is standing right here. Not the most romantic setting," Jane said shakily, "but you cracked the Rizzoli code and I can't take it anymore, babe. It's already been burnin' a hole in my pocket since yesterday mornin'. Ok?"
Maura nodded. "Ok," she said breathlessly.
"Janie, if you don't get down on one knee…" Angela whispered, kicking at Jane's calf.
"Ma! I got this covered, alright? Back up," Jane snapped, but knelt anyway. Angela put up her hands in surrender and walked backwards, landing awkwardly on the other side of the island and keeping one crying eye on her daughter. "I know we talked about this, that we decided we were gonna do this no matter what, and soon. But you deserve more than some haphazard agreement that you can come watch me die in the back of a meatwagon. You deserve a life. And for some reason, you wanna live it with me and the rest of these crazy people, so I'm gonna do everything in my power to give it to you. So… marry me? Because I want nothin' more than to marry you."
And so, while Maura let a few tears slip down her cheeks unbidden, Jane opened the Tiffany box and waited.
"Yes," Maura choked out, "even though I'm the one who told you that we needed to do this. Yes."
Jane laughed when Maura did, both of them emotional when they kissed to seal their intentions. She slipped the ring onto Maura's finger, but didn't wait for her to admire it before gathering her up again.
"Oh thank god," Angela sighed theatrically, crying even more than the newly engaged.
"Relax, Ma. We talked about this. Maura wasn't gonna say no," Jane said, too happy to be annoyed.
"No, but I might say no to this ring," Maura said, finally getting a good look at it on her finger - one rather large diamond placed just above a channel-set diamond band, in platinum, all of the smaller stones serving as accent marks on the one that took center stage: brilliant and blindingly clear. "Jane. It's easily worth thirty-four th-"
Jane's hand flew to Maura's mouth, and she widened her eyes to indicate that Angela should not hear that the ring she bought Maura did in fact cost almost thirty-five thousand dollars. "Yeah well, call it an impulse purchase. The condo sold, and the market is on the upswing so I've got a little spending money in my pocket. Well, had a little spending money. You're wearing it now. Do you like it at least?"
"I'd like it if you tied string around my finger. But this… it's exquisite," Maura said. The most expensive ring she'd seen? No. But definitely beautiful. And nothing to sneeze at. "You really, really should not have."
"Nah. I should've," Jane said, the air whooshing out of her in relief, "because you deserve it."
Angela came over then, unable to hold it in. "Ok, I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that Janie bought a ring that costs more than my car, because I have to see it."
Maura smirked, held out her left hand, pleased beyond words to have any mother, but especially this one to whom she was so close, to share the moment with. Jane stepped back when Angela stepped close, crossing her hands over her belt buckle and letting the appraisal commence.
"Oh my god," Angela exclaimed in true Italian emotion. It was an excitement that had all the colorings of anger to an outsider, but the way she held Maura's hand felt like affection. "It's phenomenal. Who helped you with this?" She turned to Jane, eyes all narrow and suspicious.
Jane gasped in hurt surprise. "Who said anyone helped me?"
Angela only raised her eyebrows as high as humanly possible.
"I can shop for jewelry!" Jane yelled, indignant.
"Huh," Angela was unconvinced. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"I can! I picked it out all by myself! The lady at the counter even complimented my taste!" Jane said, arms now out to her sides and hair a little more wild than usual.
"Well Jane, they have to say that. They get paid to move product, even the ugly product," Maura said matter-of-factly.
Jane simply gaped at her in disbelief until Angela guffawed, and then she laughed too. Maura smiled, wide-eyed, unsure what was so funny about what she'd said, but happy for their argument to have so quickly turned back to mirth.
"Oh you kids!" Angela said through gritted teeth as she gathered them both in her arms and squeezed tight. Jane protested through the whole thing, but Maura sank into it with pleasure. "I love you so much. And your children are going to be ugh. Gorgeous. Look at you," she snatched their cheeks in between her thumbs and forefingers, and pinched until Jane looked ready to pounce. "I'm going to call your brothers. Tonight, we're gonna have a celebratory family dinner. And no one's havin' a fist fight, or leavin' early! It's gonna be all love!" she called, her voice stretching further and further away until she was behind the back door to retrieve her cell phone from the guest house.
This left Jane and Maura alone, much in the same way they had been that fateful night, when Jane gave Angela an ultimatum and Maura walked Jane up to her bedroom. "Out of all the scenarios I could have imagined, you proposing to me in front of your mother wasn't one of them," Maura said, hand on the center of Jane's chest.
Jane shrugged. "But it worked out, didn't it? It just felt like it was time. I don't know."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," said Maura. "Well, I mean, there could have been better venues than my kitchen, but I would only want you to do it when you felt most convicted. I honestly didn't expect you to do it at all. I thought we would just sit down and agree to a date one day."
"You deserve all the pomp and circumstance, Maura, even if I hate it," Jane said seriously.
Maura smiled, happy to accept the compliment. "Just promise me that you won't wear a jersey to our wedding."
Jane feigned offense. "Not even the navy road alternate?"
"I don't know what that is, but no. Not even that one," Maura said firmly.
"Ok," said Jane. "As long as we don't have coffee-flavored frosting."
"Deal. Jane?" Maura asked, stepping forward, asking to be held.
"Yeah." Jane wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"I love you more than words could possibly say." Maura admitted quietly against the hot skin of Jane's neck. She inhaled the floral scent there, and closed her eyes to savor it, uninterrupted by any other sense.
"I love you that much, too. But I swear I'm gonna spend the rest of my life tryin' to come up with them." Jane said, and they stood together, content just to be until Angela came back and their lives returned to benevolent chaos once again.
