A/N: So in this story, instead of having Maura's father be a college professor, I've decided to basically make him Richard Gilmore, so he works for an insurance company. I'm really not sure how relevant his job may end up being in this story, but I just wanted you to be aware that he does not work for BCU, though he did attend school there.

Thanks again for your patience as I slowly, but surely make my way through this fic. Your feedback has been much appreciated :)

"Call us if you need anything, darling."

Her mother swoops in for an obligatory kiss. Maura's eyes sting briefly, and she inhales the sharp scent of her mother's perfume, a familiar smell that she wishes were more comforting. The moment passes quickly, as she swallows heavily. Her father, standing stiffly in the doorway, nods in her direction.

Suddenly, she is alone.

She steps over toward the box by the foot of the bed. Her bed, she corrects to herself, though the plastic-coated dorm mattress hardly feels like her own. As she pries open the box, she realizes at once that there is hardly sufficient space for the numerous books she has carted here, her childhood companions, her items of comfort. She glances around the room, already cluttered with her absent roommate's possessions. There's a small shelf above her desk, just enough space for a row of books. She can stow the rest under her bed.

She rifles through her books, gnawing on her lower lip as she contemplates the titles worthy of the shelf.

The door clicks open. Maura jumps, clutching her copy of Little Women to her chest. A girl enters, carrying the scent of cinnamon with her as she strides across the room. Her legs are miles long, emerging from pair of daisy dukes. The skin of her stomach peaks out from her cropped tank top, and her hair tumbles down her back, so black that it reflects shards of purple in the light.

Maura's mouth suddenly feels dry.

"So I was thinking we could bunk our beds so we'd have more space," she jumps into conversation as she plops herself gracefully onto her mattress. Her tiny shorts ride further up her thighs as she crosses her legs.

Maura manages a nod.

The girl waits a moment, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, as if prompting Maura to speak. But Maura's tongue sticks to her throat. She reaches for another book.

"So...Maura, right?"

Maura nods again, swallowing, quite aware that if she doesn't make herself to speak now, she'll be forced into the labels of anti-social and freak that she has worn for so long. And perhaps, just maybe, she can summon the courage to no longer wear those titles. "And you're Lisa."

"That's right." She smiles. Maura feels an unfamiliar warmth in her stomach. "Lisa Dellagato – but you can call me Dell."

XXX

The vibrating startles her, as she shifts her body away from the barstool to access her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. The sudden movement has the room spinning, and she grips the countertop for a moment before focusing on the screen of her phone.

Her heart jumps into her throat when she registers Jane's name dancing across the screen, though it takes her a moment to coordinate her thumb and her mind to slide it open. She inhales a breath, certain that Jane will hear the loud, sloppy sound of her heart slapping against her chest.

"Hello."

"Maura, you okay?" Through her haze, she detects a tone of mild panic.

"Of course," Maura swallows, trying not to slur. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you've called me three times, so I was getting a little concerned," Jane laughs lightly, but it sounds forced.

Maura frowns, as the reason for Jane's sudden call has not occurred to her until now.

"Oh, um," she stumbles over her words, gripping her phone a little more tightly. "It was…my phone! My phone was in my back pocket. My, um, gluteus maximus did it," she finishes, quite ineloquently.

Jane chuckles, this time more genuine. "Are you drunk?"

"Perhaps I am mildly," she hiccups, breaking her speech, "intoxicated."

"Mildly?" She can practically imagine Jane raising her eyebrow.

"Okay, perhaps slightly more than mildly. I am," she hiccups delicately again, "sufficiently inebriated." She takes in a gulp of air.

"You got a ride home?" Jane speaks after a moment.

Maura hesitates, but only briefly, "I'll call a cab."

Jane lets out an audible sigh. "What bar are you at?"

Maura twists a strand of hair around her finger, letting it coil. Her heart is beating rapidly once again. "You shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition."

"Avoiding my question won't do you any good. I can go down to the station and get your cell phone location tracked." Maura imagines Jane looks a bit smug.

"MacLarens," she answers, defeated almost immediately. "And you're being rash, Jane."

"And I see your intoxicated state does not heighten your sense of humor. I'll be there in a few."

"Jane…"

"Don't bother arguing," Jane counters. "I'm showing up whether you want me to or not. It's what friends do, alright?"

"If you insist," Maura sighs, swirling the last of wine in the bottom of the glass.

"I greatly insist. I'll be there soon, okay?"

Maura keeps her phone pressed to her cheek for a full moment after Jane hangs up, her mind reeling, her heart soaring.

XXX

They're back at Maura's place. Maura's nestled into the corner of the couch, watching Jane kick off her boots before sitting beside her. She's dressed in jeans and a white button up - a simple outfit, but she's still so strikingly attractive, and it takes Maura all the restraint she can muster not to tell her so.

She had expected Jane to merely drop her off, so her presence in her apartment is quite a surprise. Then again, perhaps it shouldn't be so startling. It may be taking some time, but Maura is slowly convincing herself that Jane just might like spending time with her as much as she does.

"So a Wednesday night, huh?" Jane kicks her feet up onto the coffee table. "Can I ask what the occasion is?"

Maura's silent for a moment, as she feels her bliss drain quite suddenly. "It's the anniversary of my father's death."

The tone of the room becomes noticeably heavier. "Oh, Maur…"

Maura shrugs, tugging her knees to her chest. "Becoming intoxicated helps me reach a state of euphoria, even if it is somewhat deluded. I'd rather not cry."

"I'm sorry." Though Jane's words are obligatory, they are laced with a genuine pain.

"It's just difficult to deal with the feelings of guilt and regret that tend to resurface this time of year," Maura mutters vaguely. She knows she's more loquacious when she's been drinking, so she hopes she won't say anything she'll regret later. "But I apologize; I didn't mean to put a damper on the mood."

"Hey, stop that. There's no need for you to apologize. I'm just sorry that I had no idea." Jane reaches for Maura's hand. Even with her dulled senses, Maura can feel the fiery ignition from the contact.

"It's quite alright. You couldn't have known," Maura assures her. She's glad when Jane keeps her had clasped over her own.

Jane scratches her head with her free hand. "How'd he die, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A car crash," Maura tells her, her voice well-collected, though she feels that grating, guilty feeling surface to her chest.

They're both silent for a moment. Maura keeps her gaze focused on their intertwined hands.

Jane crosses her legs, picking at a lose string poking out from the toe of sock. "I'm glad your butt dialed me tonight." Her lips curve into a small half smile. "I'm glad you don't have to be alone."

The guilt dissipates quickly as Maura allows the rush of warmth to replace it. "I'm glad you're here too," she finally admits, a bit sleepily. She swallows a yawn; she can't spoil this moment; she's been waiting for too long.

"You should get some sleep," Jane whispers.

"I can stay up a little longer," she protests weakly, following her words with a yawn.

Jane chuckles softly. Maura feels her eyelids flutter shut. "Jus' one minute, then you can wake me, okay?" she speaks, her voice muffled by the pillow.

She feels Jane's thumb brush against her hand. She nestles her own hand deeper into Jane's, as she quickly succumbs to slumber.