Author's note: thank you/gracias/merci for all your reviews, I am really happy to see that you like this story so much.

Chapter twenty-two: Relax and Live

"Are you sure you don't want extra whipped cream? We can ask for more. Really. I don't like it at all when there's not enough whipped cream. It's not... You know, it's not the same and..."

"Jane!"

End of her monologue. Jane swallowed hard but kept on avoiding her mother's gaze. She still had a hard time looking at her in the eyes. It was ridiculous and she knew it but she couldn't help it either. She had tried but it wouldn't work.

She had felt uncomfortable since the exact moment when her mother had spotted the two of them in the kitchen in a rather compromising situation. Half-naked.

Eleven hours and twelve minutes earlier to be more precise.

At least they hadn't waited for too long before having a necessary face-to-face with her mother. This should spare her several nights of insomnia.

As soon as they had left the BPD, she and Maura had invited Angela to share a waffle and a hot drink. They couldn't keep on pretending anymore. It was stupid. Some things needed to be said and done. And the sooner, the better.

"I have enough whipped cream, thank you very much." Maura looked down at her plate and let her whisper – an almost inaudible one – pass her lips.

She didn't particularly feel better than her partner in spite of the cheerful message she had passed to her in the morning.

She still was determined to make things clear but it appeared to be a lot harder – and delicate – than what she had imagined. There was something intimidating in this face-to-face; something she had never lived until now.

"Are we really going to talk about waffles?" Angela smirked. She was amused by the whole thing. It was ridiculous enough for her not to enjoy it for a while. "I used to take Jane to the Waffle Factory. Quite a long time ago, obviously... I guess she was four or five by then." She looked at her daughter. "Do you remember it? You loved this place."

Jane nodded, still focused on the door on her right. She wanted to die at the scene, been swallowed by the ground that would open at her feet. The situation was incongruous. She had never had to make any of her past relationships official before. Not like that.

As a matter of fact, she had always tried to keep the news far enough from her family. Even in high school, nobody really knew whether she was dating someone at the time. She didn't like sharing this kind of things.

"Yeah. And I used to order the one I got today: strawberries and whipped cream." She smiled. "With a glass of milk."

Silence. Maura cleared her voice – moved on her seat – but didn't say the slightest thing. It seemed like nobody was eager to talk. The three of them knew the reason why they were there but none of them wanted to actually mention it. Jane bit her lower lip.

The silence was loud. The proof that it was still delicate in spite of letters and secret evening dates.

"I guess it is the first time that I actually go to a Waffle Factory. My parents never took me to one as a child; neither did my nannies. They seem... They seem delicious, though."

Angela politely smiled at Maura. The scientist had not come up with a very interesting fact but at least she tried; she really did. And it was better than nothing.

"Oh, that's too bad."

Maura nodded. She wasn't convinced by the semblance of conversation but nonetheless accepted to play along. It was still better than this terrible silence she didn't know what to make of.

"Isn't it?"

"Oh, please! Will you just stop? The two of you! Enough with the... Sham convo." Jane tightened her grip on her cup of coffee and finally locked her eyes with her mother's. She shrugged. "Yeah, we're together. Satisfied?"

She was on the defensive and it wasn't a good sign. The sharpness of her tone simply betrayed her discomfort. Angela understood this immediately and didn't take it badly. A timid smile lit up her features. She looked sorry.

"You didn't have to offer me a waffle to let me know. I had guessed it somehow..." She blushed and looked down at the table.

Her reaction took Jane aback. It was the first time she saw her mother somehow intimidated by her romantic life. Until now, Angela had always been very invasive if not just harrassing regarding her potential dates but now it seemed like she didn't know what to say either. Everything had changed. All of a sudden.

"And you want a medal for that?"

Jane shook her head then raised her hands in the air to apologize as soon as Maura frowned at her. She was being awful for absolutely no reason.

Stop that, Rizzoli. You'll regret it even more and you know it.

A cell phone rang – loud – at their table. It was Maura's. She grabbed it – stood up – and left to go answer the call a bit further. Jane bit the inside of her cheeks. Perfect timing for a face-to-face with her mother. Or not.

Silence.

Angela finally broke it with a light giggle. Her face leaned against the palm of her hand, she shook her head out of despair. Why was it so hard for her daughter?

"It's okay, Janie. You're not doing anything wrong."

Jane frowned and tilted her head. It was now easier to properly look at her mother. She felt alright doing so. Yet her latest remark began to weigh on her shoulders.

"I know and I'm not ashamed of it. It's just... Why do we have to make a special announcement? It's stupid. Next thing I know, I'll be publishing it in The Boston Herald making sure it'll appear in their headlines... Front page and all. Can't we just live it without having to organize a whole freaking ceremony of some sort..."

She stopped talking as soon as she felt her mother's hand on her wrist. Angela pressed it tightly with all the care in the world. The care only a mother could bring.

"You don't have to. People will see it by themselves at point. Actually, most of them already do. I'm no exception. Don't hide and that's it. Nobody will ask you for any detail and if someone does, you're still free to not answer. It's your life..." Angela grabbed her fork and started eating her waffle. "I already know the only thing I need to know: Maura makes you happy, you make her happy. You love each other. The rest is yours... Enjoy it."

"Is this your way to tell me you won't send a super long letter to let me know I have your blessing?"

The question made Angela frown. She didn't seem to understand what her daughter meant. Jane did not insist and rolled her eyes instead. She waved her hand apologetically.

"I was just asking in order to know if I had to start a letter collection or something."

...

She had learned it herself, a long time ago. She remembered every single detail, every trap she had had to avoid; the delicacy of the pace and its constant changes. It seemed simple like that – from the outside – but it was actually a tough piece.

A tough piece Margot played perfectly.

She had asked as soon as she had come back from school; her backpack hanging on one shoulder, a couple of books under the arm. Jane had said yes right away and there she was now, listening how a sixteen-year-old brought back to life her piano.

Margot showed sweetness – determination – and delicacy. The keys seemed to slide under her long fingers as if it were meant to be. Jane had never reached such level. She found it bewitching.

Maura came to sit by her side but she remained focused on the piano. She was moved. The melody was a source of powerful reminiscences, from the lessons she had taken to the day these scars had appeared on her hands and the instrument had turned quiet. She had killed it, to an extent.

All of a sudden, Margot turned her head around and motioned her to approach. Jane obliged but as she understood what the French girl wanted, she shook her head vehemently. She wouldn't sit there. She wouldn't play.

She had sworn it to herself.

Margot insisted. In silence. Still focused on the piece she was playing. Schubert. Jane had had no problem whatsoever to recognize the composer's work but it belonged to another life for her. After long seconds of hesitation, she still sat next to Margot; not really eager to disappoint. Her eyes focused on the teen's fingers immediately.

She wouldn't be able to play anything anymore, anyway. It had been too long. If she even dared to try, it would be a complete disaster. A real shame. She couldn't do that.

"Which one is your favorite?" Margot motioned with her head the music sheets and smiled brightly.

"Ravel..." Jane's admission rose in the air through a barely assumed whisper. She placed her hands under her thighs as if to hide them even better.

"Oh, you are a bolero lady? I should have guessed!" Margot burst out laughing and stopped playing. She went through the sheet and placed a new one on the small piano stand. "C'mon. For Maura."

Jane stared at the music sheet and swallowed hard. She couldn't do this, could she? Of course, she hadn't forgotten how to read music. It was one of these notions one could never forget. But all the rest – her emotional background mainly – played a role she had a hard time ignoring.

She approached a shaking hand at the same time as Margot. A piano four-hands. It was challenging but comforting. Perhaps that was all what she needed: a support to overcome a thousand things.

"You can do it, Jane." Margot winked. "Relax and live."