Maura rolled out the last of four batches of pasta. Frankie had made the meatballs under his mother's tutelage, and though Angela was stirring it while her youngest took out the garbage, the sauce had been the result of Tommy's labors.

"That's thin enough," Angela mentioned to Maura as she reached over to feel the pasta sheet. "Good job. Now, switch from the roller to the cutter and send it through. That'll be good for a couple of lunches or dinners. Maybe for a date? There's this terrific guy that works with my divorce lawyer. He's in tax and financial law. Very cute. You should meet him." Her voice lowered so that Frankie, his meatballs finished, would not hear her over the television as she leaned in to say with significant gravity, "Big feet. You know what that means."

"Big gloves?" Maura answered brightly while taking the pasta roller off the rolling machine.

Angela enlightened her. "It's just like I told you about their hands, and especially their thumbs. Noses, too. Oh, and ears."

Maura's eyebrows lifted, though she seemed a bit preoccupied in putting the cutting wheel on the pasta machine. "Big hands, big feet, big nose and ears? Well, the poor man had better be well equipped, if you're looking for something quick instead of something long-lasting, because that is one oddly disproportionate man!" she remarked.

Angela cracked up, then looked out the window, wondering, "What's keeping Tommy? Janie's here. Act natural."

"Doesn't acting indicate a lack of natural behavior?" Maura wondered idly as she slipped the pasta sheet into the machine and started turning the crank. "Besides, it's not like I'm trying to set the stage to trick her. I just want a chance to have best friend time again."

Angela nodded even as she gave Maura a small pat on the arm. "Shh, here she comes."

The door swung open and a smiling Jane sauntered in. "Ma? Maura?"

"In the kitchen!" Angela's voice rang out over the sound of cooking.

"Of course," Jane grumbled. "Hey, I ran into Tommy. He's walking Jo for me."

"He was supposed to help me with the bread! Sometimes I think your brother's never going to learn to cook. I don't know how he eats." With a roll of her eyes, Angela handed a spoon to her daughter. "Go help Maura stir the sauce and tend to the pasta."

"Yeah, sure." Jane sighed but did as she was told, taking up a spot next to Maura at the stovetop. She stared down at the sauce with a frown, dropped the spoon in, and began to stir. "Thirty years old, youngest detective to ever hit homicide, more medals and awards than I can think of, and the best I can do on a Friday night is stir my mother's meatball sauce." She shook her head, lips pursed.

Maura shifted her weight from one foot to the other, drawing her hip close enough to gently knock into Jane's. It was as good a greeting, or peace offering, as they would get; Maura's hands were covered in flour as she cranked pasta through the cutter, precluding hugs. "Hey," she murmured softly, managing to lace her tone with quiet apology. "After this, would you like to stay over, you and Jo? I have The Thomas Crowne Affair. Original and remake, directors' cuts. Or I have some chicken flicks." That was one slang phrase she knew correctly, but enjoyed teasing Jane with incorrect ones now and again.

She warmed to her subject as Angela browbeat Frankie into tidying the dining room and setting the table, their louder speech covering up her quieter voice. "We could watch them and make some kind of fattening dessert? Maybe I'll do your hair? You always say you like the way it feels. And I miss you."

Jane ran her free hand across the back of her neck. "I don't know, Maura. I mean, it's been a long week, and I just," she glanced over to see the pleading look on her friend's face. "I can't deal with Ma, okay. Why don't," Jane winced, "you come over to my place tonight after dinner? Maybe Ma can watch Jo and the turtle?" After a brief pause, she said, "And it's 'chick flick', not 'chicken flick'. I know you know better." The chuckle she gave undercut the chastisement in the detective's voice.

"You know better, too," the shorter woman reminded her friend with a warm smile. "Bass is a tortoise. But yes, that sounds good." Deftly she drew her left hand away from the pasta machine as her right hand continued to crank out a two-feet-long stretch of fettuccini. It was a relief, in fact, that Jane had consented to one chaperoned night, though Maura hoped she would not think of it as such. "I think I prefer staying at your place, anyway. It feels more like a real sleepover."

"That's only because you have to sleep with me," Jane shot back, a smile creeping across her face. "That didn't come out right, but you know what I mean." She shook her head. "Just, give me a few to tidy up before you come over, okay? The place is a mess, and I'd feel bad if you had to deal with that. I know how you are about that kind of thing." Eyes steadfast on the sauce, she kept her voice light and even.

Maura nodded yes, both to the request and the suggestion. The observant genius was well aware that it was an excuse for tidying up evidence of alcohol use and abuse, but at least it would mean that there would be no overt drinking tonight. No drunkenness. "Actually, you're probably right," she mused, draping each long piece of fettuccini on the wooden pasta-drying stand. "I do sleep better with another body beside me. That was always the best thing about boarding school and college. I wasn't popular to hang out with, being so much younger than my classmates, but at night anyone who missed her younger sister at home knew whom to invite in for a cuddle. Even today, at least half of what I want from sex is the partnered sleep that I get afterward." She shot Jane a wink and a chuckle as she admitted, "The before is pretty good, too."

Before Maura could mention the duringpart of sex, Angela returned to the kitchen for the pitcher of ice water for the table. "How's it coming, girls?" she asked, giving each one a hug around the shoulders. "Jane, the sauce looks good. Turn it off. Maura, good job on the pasta. Is that the last of it?"

"Yes. It will have to rest for another half-hour before it can be used, at least, but the first three batches are ready, and that should be more than enough for all of us. I think the water's boiling now, if you'd like to take over."

After dinner, Maura left the kitchen to the others, having chores to do in the rest of the house.

Later on, Maura could never quite get Angela or Jane to explain what had happened as the two of them washed and dried the dishes. All she ever knew was that Jane left after a fight, and had instructed Maura, specifically, to leave her alone.