A/N: The usual disclaimer applies. I own nothing.

Chapter 3

Maura felt lighter after her lunch with Jane.

As she went about her work, she found her mind wandering, thinking about how the weekend would go—whether she had enough fresh food in the house or if Jane would want to go out for meals; if she had changed the sheets in the guestroom recently; if Jane liked eggs for breakfast or just cereal.

She was so caught up in her plans she almost forgot the reason why Jane was staying over.

Maura was finishing up her work for the day when Jane called to say there had been a few snags in the case and she would be late. Maura told her she would have some food ready for her at the house, whenever she was able to get away.

At home, Maura busied herself getting ready for her guest. She cleaned, cooked, and cleaned again.

At eight, the phone rang again. It was going to be at least another couple of hours, so Jane offered to send Frankie over.

"If I tell him that your satellite dish picks up Canadian hockey, he'll jump at the chance to come over. And he knows what it's like to—I mean, after everything with Hoyt, he wouldn't mind at all. And you could sleep if you knew Frankie was there, right? He's a good cop, Maura."

Trying to make her voice sound even, Maura replied, "Of course he's a good cop, I adore Frankie and it's very sweet of you to offer but I'll be fine until you get here, really."

Maura hung up the phone, shaking her head and wondering what had possessed Jane to offer to send Frankie over, like she was a child in need of a babysitter.

I want Jane here, not . . .

Not . . . anyone else.

Clarity washed over Maura slowly. She sank into the couch, suddenly feeling dizzy.

If this were just about being afraid that Doyle or some other unsavory character was stalking her, she would be fine with Frankie hanging out on her couch while she slept. She was so exhausted, it shouldn't matter who was standing guard.

But it did matter. She didn't want a bodyguard or a babysitter, she wanted Jane.

She began to wonder, horrified, if she had somehow invented her fears and even her insomnia as an excuse to get Jane's attention.

Or perhaps not invented, but exaggerated. Conflated. Twisted.

The thought was terrible and thrilling, all at the same time.

On the phone the night before, her mother had asked her if the insomnia was as bad as it had been in medical school. What she could have said, but hadn't, was that no, it wasn't as bad, because then the insomnia was the result of being in the middle of a rather complicated love affair with one of her professors.

She hadn't told her mother about the affair, and there seemed to be no reason to bring it up years after the fact. Besides, this time, there was no love affair.

This time, there was . . . something else.

Something else that she couldn't define, couldn't articulate. But even Maura Isles the cyborg knew it felt a lot like love.

Illicit love.

Love that couldn't happen because it would ruin everything.

Besides, I'm not . . . and she's definitely not . . .

Maura stood up abruptly. She decided that the kitchen floor needed to be mopped; the cleaning lady had been in on Tuesday but Bass often left marks on the tile.

Sliding the mop back and forth across the floor, she formulated a plan.

When Jane arrived just after ten, Maura had finished the floor, showered, plowed through several journal articles while taking meticulous notes, and gotten ready for bed. She ushered the detective into the guest room, told her to make herself at home, and retreated to her own bedroom, certain that with a little careful breathing and meditation, she would fall asleep in no time. After a good night's sleep and perhaps a nice breakfast, she could convince Jane that she was fine and that she didn't need a babysitter for the weekend.

Then things would go back to normal on Monday.

Jane tried to stay awake, intending to peek in on Maura and make sure she was asleep before going to bed herself, but the guest bed was amazingly comfortable and the long week had taken its toll on her. She dozed with the lamp on, stretched out on top of the comforter, letting one of Maura's novels land unread next to her.

She did not fall deeply into sleep, however, and when a noise from outside the room woke her she sat up, alert, and reached instinctively for her gun. Listening at the crack in the door, she recognized Maura's footsteps in the kitchen and put her weapon back on the nightstand.

According to the clock on the wall it was nearly two in the morning and Maura was apparently still awake.

Jane found her standing at the sink with a glass of water. The doctor turned around, startled, when Jane came in from the hallway. Maura's eyes were tired, swollen. It was clear there had been tears. Her face was tense with worry.

"It's okay, it's just me." Jane gave a half smile, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I know—I mean, I knew it was you, but I—" The doctor looked away absently. "I had a plan, Jane. But it didn't work. I still can't sleep." Maura set her water glass on the counter, avoiding Jane's eyes. "Sorry I woke you up, I tried to be quiet."

For the second time that day, Jane had the impulse to take Maura in her arms. This time, worried and tired and feeling powerless to do anything else, she gave in to the impulse. Crossing the room in three long strides, she put her arms around her friend and held her close.

Maura stiffened at first, and made a slight sound of protest, but then surrendered when Jane's arms only tightened around her. Her body went limp as she leaned against the taller woman, resting her head on Jane's shoulder.

Neither woman said anything for a long time. Jane ran her fingers through Maura's hair. Maura listened to Jane's heartbeat. They both breathed.

Jane's gravelly voice finally broke the silence. "Did you know I used to sleepwalk?"

Maura leaned her head back so that she could look at Jane, but kept her arms clasped firmly around Jane's torso. "I'm not sleepwalking, Jane," said Maura, her voice flat. "I wish I was sleepwalking, because then it would mean I was, you know, asleep."

Jane chuckled, and Maura felt a little lightheaded from the thrill of hearing and feeling Jane's laugh at the same time.

"I know you're not asleep, sweetie. What I was going to say, was, that sometimes when I was a kid my parents would find me wandering around the house babbling about something. My mom would give me this look, and I knew she thought I was asleep, so I would start to cry and yell at her that I wasn't asleep and that I had something very important to tell her. She would just take me by the shoulders and guide me back to my room, while I cried and whined, 'I'm not asleep, ma, I'm not asleep!' Something like that. She just ignored me and put me back in bed, and then lay there next to me until I settled down."

"So," said Jane, pulling away and taking Maura by the shoulders, "that is what we are going to do with you." She gently turned the doctor around, and began steering her down the hall.

Predictably, Maura protested. "Jane, it's okay—you don't have to—"

"I know, I know, I'm ignoring whatever you say though, and putting you back to bed." Jane kept her hand at the small of Maura's back, not breaking contact until they reached the bed and Maura scooted over onto the far side. Out of habit, she turned away from the light coming from the hallway, and from her friend. Jane followed and slid behind her, close enough so that Maura would know she was there, but without actually touching her.

"Wait," said Maura suddenly, accusingly, "if you were asleep, how do you remember these sleepwalking episodes?" She twisted her head so she could see the woman behind her. "Jane, did you make that story up just to make me feel better?"

"What? No! I have no idea why I remember, but I do! I would always remember the whole thing in the morning, and my mom would tease me about it." Jane's voice grew more serious as she dug deeper into her memory, and she reached out and began stroking Maura's arm. Up with the backs of her fingers, lightly tickling with her short nails; down with the pads of her fingertips; up again; down again.

"I distinctly remember this feeling that I had to tell my parents something important, and that I had to convince them that I was awake so that I could tell them. In the morning I always recognized that I had actually been asleep, but that feeling of panic at not being able to say what I wanted to say would stay with me all day."

Maura remained silent for a few moments, distracted by the sensations being produced by Jane's caresses. Jane's fingers strayed under the edge of her sleeve, pushing the fabric toward her shoulder. Maura closed her eyes and willed her to go higher, further . . .

Maura shook herself mentally. She's not . . . I'm not . . . But this feels . . .

Jane's fingers stopped.

"I have dreams like that all the time," whispered Maura, hoping that Jane hadn't fallen asleep, praying that her fingers would begin their circuitous journey once again.

"What do you mean?"

Up . . . down; up . . . down. Jane's hand, Jane's fingers. Her toes met Maura's beneath the sheets.

What's happening? Are we crossing a line here? Right now?

Maura took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, stretching her body and letting a leg tangle between Jane's. "I dream that there is something happening that only I know about, and I have to tell everyone but no one will listen to me. No matter how much I yell at them."

"Huh," grunted Jane. "Care to analyze these dreams of ours, Dr. Isles?"

"It doesn't seem very complicated, Jane. It means we just want to be heard. It's funny that we would both have similar dreams, though."

"Why is that funny?" Jane stilled her hand, but then draped her arm lightly across the smaller woman's waist, inching her whole body closer to Maura's as she did so.

Maura swallowed audibly before answering. She felt the heat radiating from Jane's body on her skin, and felt both warm and cold at the same time. "I guess, it's funny, because we're so—so, different, but there are some aspects of our personalities that are quite similar—obviously. I mean, compatible, or, maybe, complementary." Maura knew she was babbling, but Jane seemed to understand what she was saying.

"I guess that's why we're friends, huh?"

"Yes, I believe it is." Maura let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

After another brief silence, Jane spoke, her voice just above a whisper. "It gets better, you know. Easier."

"What do you mean?" Maura was finding it impossible to follow even the simplest logic.

"I mean, it won't be long before you'll be able to sleep without a nightlight. You'll stop startling at every noise. It takes awhile, but you'll be okay."

Maura bit her lip, holding back the tears that had been threatening all night. "I don't know if I'm strong enough for this, Jane," she whispered. "Any of this," she added tentatively, still not quite sure if this conversation had a deeper meaning.

"I never thought I was, either. Don't you remember what a pathetic mess I was when Hoyt was after me?"

"You weren't pathetic." Maura sniffed.

"Yes, I was. But don't tell Korsak I said that. Or Frost. Or Frankie. Or . . . anyone, really."

Maura chuckled.

"You'll get through it, Maura. We'll get through it."

Jane tightened her grip around Maura yet again, and Maura leaned back, sinking into Jane's torso, feeling her whole body relax, finally.

I knew I would feel safe in Jane's arms.

And her breasts are so very soft.

That was her last coherent thought before she drifted off to sleep.