Jane sprints over to the Dirty Robber. Her briskness, her brashness, left for her to ponder and decipher whilst she awaits her order. Fries and burgers, beer. She puts in an order for a bottle of wine. Best to make an impression. She swallows, an attempt to rid the tightness in her throat. She shuffles nervously on her feet. Time, passing, precious. She sneaks a few nibbles of the peanuts by the counter. Thank goodness she's tidied up her nails. Gosh Janie, she shakes away thoughts of indecent. Her cheeks a mild blush in the dimly lit Dirty Robber. A cop's bar. Well, she's still just a woman. She picks up her order and makes, quickly back, to Maura.
Maura is a little beside herself. She's known passion. She's had sexual encounters. She's known desire but not these flutters. These little tiny subtle and yet significant flutters. The warmness of her fingers where they've pressed against the forehead of the woman. The subtle elevation of her heartrate when she comes near.
She's beside herself and her cheeks are flushed. From simple imagination, from the simple act of recalling the woman's nearness.
Her tenderness.
Maura runs a bath.
A quick dip to cool the senses, a quick wash to calm the nerves. She steps into cold water.
An attempt to assuage a warm centre.
She laughs aloud.
Her bath smells of lavender.
Jane sees it. The house on Beacon Hill. She can smell the fries, the burger, and by golly, her smile. A wide grin like a child on a candy run. Jane please! Calm yourself, she stops.
There's a florist around the corner, she thinks.
Jane makes off to get a couple of roses.
She won't be long.
Maura wraps a bathrobe around herself. Heavy, warm, and cleansed of the desires she had been before by so aroused. A woman knows to control her urges and herself, Constance had taught. It is elegance.
She smiles.
Oh mother, you'll love Jane. She's puzzled. An unbidden thought. She's never before felt the need for familial introductions.
Compartmentalisation Miss Isles. You've taught yourself well. Her therapist had spoken. It's as if you're afraid of interactions between the intersections of your life. As if you wear constantly a mask.
She wraps her arms around herself.
Maybe I just want to be a woman now. She meekly tells herself. Her cheek soft against the bathrobe wrapped around herself.
She moves to blow her hair out. The brush. She recalls the feel of the woman's hair. The untangling of Jane in her hands.
Heat again arises.
A woman, is also brave enough to love. Constance's words before their separation, before her departure.
She smiles and shakes away thoughts of fantastical. Jane will return, and they'll have dinner. They'll, engage perhaps in a passionate performance and she'll go back, always, to her bed alone. Alone and unloved.
Jane rings the bell.
Hoping that the flowers will not overwhelm.
Maura heads for the door, hearing the bell.
Her lady friend coming to call.
She smiles.
What's gotten into you today Maura?
"Oh –" Jane starts.
Maura, perplexed. Flowers?
"You're not," Jane brings forward the flowers, "I got them for you." She hands them stiffly over like a teenager untrained, like a machine of cold. Geez Rizzoli, so what if the woman's in a bathrobe.
"Thank you," Maura hides her face amongst the roses. No one's gotten before her flowers.
"You look," Jane softens, "Divine Maura." She wants so much to kiss her.
"Come in Jane," she holds onto a hand waiting.
"I got us an order each of burger and fries, with a side of jalapeno poppers." Jane looks at the food before her. Greasy and slightly cold. "I'm sorry if it's not…."
Maura has her hand against Jane's back.
As if beckoning her with presence.
Maura's warm print pressed firmed against a back toned. Imagine what she'll look like under that shirt. She catches a thought. One she'll act on.
A hand on Jane's shoulder. Turn. Eyes locked.
"No one's before bought me flowers."
Jane feels an overwhelming need to fill this woman's life with flowers and love. How can that be possible? That she's not been pampered.
That she's not been loved.
There are tears in her eyes of lovely and there's in them, a darkness. A sadness, distant.
She reaches to brush the fallen tears. "I'm here," she presses a kiss to where the tears have slid. Peppering more along the side of Maura's jaw and down the expanse of skin. Maura trembling as Jane's breath ghosts along her neck, her shoulder, bared.
Softness she's never, had or seen.
She moves to Jane's buttoned top. Six. First, second, third- Jane holds her hand.
"I don't want us to be a one-time thing," Jane confesses. A bubbling desire spilled over. Wasn't that why she spent minutes over each rose chosen. Wasn't that why she returned. To see the mega-watt smile on this woman's face. To know Maura's laughter. To taste her on her. To protect her from the Doyle residence. She can. She's a police officer.
Maura stills.
She's not sure of this woman's intention. What does she expect from her. Love? Care? Concern?
How can anybody want from her, how can anybody possibly want her love?
"Jane," she undoes the third button. Leaves the fourth. The sight of lace an unexpected thrill.
"Maura," Jane makes a move to step away. Knowing the moment's departed. Her lips still moist from its short little exploration. Her hand knowing now the curve of Maura's waist and her heart, heavy from disappointment at a bubble she's burst.
"You're a romantic," Maura smiles and pulls Jane nearer instead.
Jane cautious, hopeful, plants a kiss amongst Maura's hair. "For you I am." She admits. The truth. Something about this woman makes her want to give her the world, to build her a castle, to keep her protected and safe. To know days without tears.
"I think you're an angel," Jane presses her lips against Maura's hand. "I think you're the most beautiful person in the whole wide world," she presses a kiss alongside Maura's wrist, "And I know," she holds her other hand. "That I'll come back and always stay if you want me too after," Jane blushes, "After we," she guides Maura's hand to her buttons, to her top. "If you want to still."
Maura doesn't know what to do or say. She's never had a sensitive lover before and she's only just met Jane. She's only just met this woman currently giving her permission to have her undressed and she's never felt safer or closer to anyone.
Humans don't always deliberate and classify their emotions and actions Miss Isles. It's okay to just, go along with the moment. To accept, your emotional and emotions.
"Do you think," Maura rests her hand against Jane's chest. She can feel it thumping beneath. Almost as fast as her own heart must be. "We could have dinner first?" She echoes Jane's earlier sentiment and hopes, it brings Jane comfort.
She's never had to, before, empathize with another.
Do what's best calculated. What's most logical. Do what saves lives, even if it hurts.
"Would you like to be friends first?" Maura's question, implausibly sensible with Jane's lips hovering close to hers.
Jane smiles. "I'll like that a lot Maura," she presses a kiss to Maura's cheek, "I'll consider it an honour."
Maura smiles and buttons back up her almost lover.
She's never felt more tenderness for another human nor greatly as intimate with another.
"I think you'll like the burger," Jane starts plating the meal.
"The best burger in Boston," Maura repeats Jane's before declaration.
She remembers.
She listened.
I matter, both women thought to themselves. I matter.
To her.
She looks at her and her at her.
A house, an abode, filled with sparse furniture and yet with each laughter and conversation lengthened, feeling so much more like home.
You matter,
They think. Curly fries and a woman they'll grow to love.
A/N: And…prepare the onslaught of 'hate mail'. Perhaps. I'm so sorry. / I…went totally out of my comfort zone it seems and, got a little ahead and too much out of myself. I can't, I don't think I wanna write a love love scene if you know what I mean and, I don't know. Hmm. I don't think I want to write about knowing another woman when I haven't myself you know, even dated. So, it's not that they aren't attracted to each other and, it's not off the table. Who knows if I'll update again in a year or so. It's just: I think it's more intimate an experience, more nurturing and worthwhile if, well, how easy it might be to have a quickie in the dark (or light) but how difficult it actually is, to have a friend, to have a confidante. To have a someone, who'll stay just for your smile. Hmm. / Personal: And I was wrong. There's more to life, more to love than, knowing the hold of her hand and the taste of her smile. I had to go – to veer us away from what we might regret. / She has a boyfriend. And, she didn't see it but I could see his hurt, his disdain for me almost. / such is life. Doing what's right.