A/N: A relatively short one, but hopefully the next update will be here soon. Angsty, silly drama is so fun.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I'm so sorry."
"Jane, you don't have to apologize."
"I do, I feel like a total creep! Angela, you're a really incredible woman. You're beautiful, and you're smart, and you're really funny—"
"Thank you."
"—so you deserve somebody who's going to give you the respect you deserve and who's going to treat you like—well, the way you should be treated."
"You're right. I do. Ultimately."
"I don't want you to think—"
"Would you like to know what I'm thinking? Right now?"
Jane swallowed hard, still feeling consumed with guilt. She had come disgustingly close to taking advantage of Angela's desire for her, all while Jane knew she herself was in love with somebody else. Booth's right; I've been a coward and I need to man up. The worst part of the feeling was that she really did believe all those things she'd said about Angela, and in another time and space, maybe they could've been great together. Jane finally dared to look Angela in the eye for the first time since breaking off their heated kiss from moments earlier. "All right," she said with a shallow breath. "What're you thinking?"
Angela sighed deeply, rubbing Jane's back in a consoling manner. "I'm thinking of all the times I've been used as a means to an end. I'm thinking of how often I've been someone's second choice, or been on somebody's arm because of an obligation they felt they had to fulfill. At the end of the day, someone ends up bitter, someone ends up hurt." She sighed again, smiling ruefully at Jane. "There are a lot of times they should've stopped, or I should've stopped, and we didn't. You did. I think you did the right thing."
"But I led you on," Jane said, determined to make Angela at least acknowledge that the detective was guilty for something.
"You didn't," Angela said. "Or if you did, I certainly didn't feel like you were. I was the aggressive one, not you. I usually am," she chuckled. "I feel confident enough in daring to ask if you find me at all repulsive."
"What? No! Of course not!"
"You might even, dare I say, find me attractive."
"Well…well, I mean, like—what I said earlier…"
"I'm just not her."
Jane returned her gaze somberly to the ground. "Yeah."
"Don't beat yourself up about this," Angela said quietly. "This was just a date, right? What do people go on dates for, anyway? To see whether a certain relationship is worth pursuing, right? So I think our takeaway from this is that sure, we could work on a physical level. Maybe we could even work on another level, too, but… not if you've got this other woman on your mind. Does she know how you feel?"
With a heavy sigh, Jane leaned forward, rubbing her forehead. "No."
"Well why the hell not?" Angela asked, giving Jane's back a light punch.
To her own surprise, Jane was able laugh, possibly because of Angela's unexpected spunky attitude. "I bet a sound like a total cliché, Ange. I can chase down a perp. I can tackle a witch. Hell, I can freaking shoot myself through the gut to incapacitate a criminal! And I can't—I can't… tell a woman how I feel about her."
"You shot yourself through the gut?" Angela gasped.
"Yes," Jane sighed with a wince.
"Wow. You're very brave."
"In some cases, sure. Not here. I can't even go on a date with a beautiful woman and…" She gestured to Angela's mussed up state of dress.
"And…take advantage of how hot she is for you when your own heart wouldn't be in it? Yeah, you cowardly asshole," Angela deadpanned.
"You're not making this easier."
"What? It's true. I think you're hot. You already know that, I've already made an idiot of myself saying it, so I'm not gonna back out of it now. But I am gonna, well, back out. Jane, sweetie, you clearly have some things to work through."
Jane grunted, twisting her fingers together. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up."
"Jane, stop saying that. Stop saying that about yourself or I swear to God, I will—I will call you every day a million times just to say the words 'moist vaginal flesh ointment!'"
Groaning, Jane finally leaned back and really laughed. "Agh, Angela! Nice memory."
"Honey, you only told me about those word aversions like...four hours ago."
"Guess that's true."
"…don't get your panties in a twist—"
"Aaand there's the last one," Jane chuckled. She ran a hand through her hair, brushing it behind her back (painfully unaware of how distractingly hot she looked while doing so, deepening the disappointment Angela was feeling in spite of her upbeat bearing). "Angela."
"Don't apologize again, please."
"All right. Just…thanks, then. I guess."
"Don't thank me yet," Angela sighed, getting to her feet. Jane remained on the couch as she collected her purse and coat, saying, "If I thought I could help you, Jane, I would. But I don't want you to be saddled with the feeling that you're using me. But, if you ever do need… I don't know, anything, give me a call. Or if… I dunno, things don't work out…" The words had slipped out of her, her own desire temporarily dismantling tact, and she felt instantly guilty at the sight of Jane nearly cringing. "I mean, not that they wouldn't. Jane. Look at me." Jane wearily turned to catch Angela's eye, still a little surprised at herself for letting this gorgeous creature go, when she'd have been a sure thing. Just not what I need right now. "You are a very… you're a very interesting person. I've only known you a few days, and I already want to know you so much better. You're smart, you're brave, you're loyal… too bad you're butt-ugly."
"Shallow," Jane snorted with a grin, looking back down at the floor.
"But seriously, Jane." She waited to continue until the detective made eye contact again. "Any woman would be lucky to have you on her arm. Sometimes …I dunno, sometimes people don't really know how they feel about a person until they hear that person say something. You know? But even if whoever it is doesn't return the sentiment, isn't it better to know?"
Jane took a deep breath. "Yeah. Then I'd stop beating myself up, I guess. Then I'd be able to go on dates with people without feeling weird about it."
"Hey. Like I said—if things don't work out and you need an outlet, you have my number." You can screw the living daylights out of me. Angela turned and headed for the door, and once she opened it, said, "Jane. Just… promise me you won't wait too long. With Maura, I mean."
The expression on Jane's face told Angela that her guess had been exactly right, and Jane's stammer did nothing to dissuade her. "With—wait too long for what?"
Angela just smiled ruefully. "To tell her."
When the door closed behind Angela, Jane continued to sit on the couch, feeling like the world's biggest tool. Her head was throbbing, as was—she was embarrassed to admit—the very heated area between her legs. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it, you sicko. Too late; somehow her belt was already undone, and her hand had slipped beneath the waistband of her slacks and underwear. A light hiss escaped her, escalating quickly into an aggravated moan as she touched herself, screwing her eyes shut and gasping into the suddenly thick air of the room. She tried to focus singularly on herself, just on bringing herself down from this peak she had reached, without envisioning anyone else. It was hard, because Angela had just been there, had in fact been the one to get Jane to realize how much she needed this, but Jane refused to do the woman the final discredit of masturbating to her memory. She had gotten up and left when Jane admitted she was holding a torch for Maura—this sent Jane's mind on an involuntary racetrack; her hips jerked up into her hand at the thought of Maura sitting on top of her, stroking her, touching her—
Which is when two things happened almost simultaneously: with a shiver, Jane released hard and thick into her palm, and when she slowly pulled out, it dawned on her that in her confession just now, she had never mentioned Maura by name. Angela was the one who had.
This realization, combined with ridiculous guilt-racked pleasure Jane had just given herself and the alcohol she had consumed with Angela, caused her to actually fall off the couch. She lay face-down on the carpet for several long moments, breathing heavily and willing herself not to throw up. You sick f—k. You're a disgrace. Get up and never look at another woman again.
Jane finally was able to climb groggily to her feet, but not until she'd wiped her dirtied hand on the material underneath her couch. She made to zip her slacks back up, then thought better of it and just stepped out of them, leaving them carelessly on the floor as she walked to her bedroom. She was just going to go ahead and change into some pajamas when she passed herself in the mirror, and as she was wont to do when she was tipsy, flip-flopped on her opinion of herself.
She was standing in front of the mirror in nothing but the mostly-unbuttoned top half of her cop uniform and a pair of underwear that was probably ruined past the point of reuse. Her hair fell scraggly and long, giving her that just-rolled-out-of-bed look. You know what, Jane Rizzoli? You are hot, she told herself, loosening her tie and smirking at her reflection. But seconds later, she was frowning and on the verge of alcohol-and-frustration induced tears again. The hell is wrong with me? I need to chill the freak out and stop being such a dick.
Solution? Vacuuming.
Preoccupied with this domestic chore, Jane failed to hear or see her phone vibrating in the pocket of the pants she had so carelessly left on the floor (and was vacuuming around). This was probably just as well, because the person calling was an excessively drunk Dr. Isles, officially leaving her first incredibly drunken, rambling phone message.
She and Booth had gone to a bar near Maura's home called Morgan's, where Maura felt they were less likely to run into someone from work. Not knowing her very well, Booth was unable to judge whether it was normal for her to knock back so many drinks, but after her fourth martini he felt the need to jump in.
"Uh…Maura? I think now might be a good time to stop."
"Stop? Stop what?" she asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Um…how about we get you home?"
"Home? I am home," Maura said morosely, picking the olive out of her last glass and sticking into her mouth. "I was born in this bar. I grew up in this bar. And I thought I was going to die in this bar… alone." A wide grin plastered itself onto her plastered face as she leaned towards Booth. "But then you should up, and whoops!"
"Okay," he said, ducking quickly out of her grasp as she tried to put her arms around him. "I'm gonna go bring the car around. You stay right here, Maura, okay?" He glanced at the bartender and said, "Make sure she doesn't leave?" The bartender nodded, and Booth dashed quickly out of the bar.
"We're husbands," Maura explained to the bartender. "Or I mean, we're going to be. We're Mormons."
"Really? Shouldn't have let you come to the bar, then."
She looked angry. "Why? Are you prejudiced against my people? Persecutor?"
"No, I just meant—"
"We didn't come all the way out of Egypt to Utah to be kept out of places by people like you, you blasphemer!"
"I meant you don't usually drink."
"What? Why—oh! Ha, ha, ha! OH! You know what I just realized?" Maura asked, and a giggling fit overtook her to the point that she couldn't speak for a few moments. "It's like my name! Maura, Mormon! Get it? Maur-mon! But it's okay, we're only going to be them tomorrow. For a day. Ha, ha, ha, ha—I have to call Jane."
"Uh…kay."
Suddenly looking all business, Maura pulled her phone out of her purse and tried to focus her vision enough to find Jane's number. Once she had accomplished this, she called it and put the phone to her ear. It rang several times, and Maura pulled it away slightly; the sound was aggravating. But then came that voice, that beautiful voice – "Hi, you've reached Detective Jane Rizzoli. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks." – and there was the beep.
"You know Jane, I really think you ought to change your machine message," Maura said. "You could say, 'Hi, I can't come to the phone right now because I'm off being a sexy badass cop. Maybe I'm even coming for you.' HA! Jane, would you ever come for me? Because I think—I think it'd be fun, don't you? Only you're on a date right now with that woman from the place where the other guys work. Oh God, Jane, if you come for her I swear I will cut her. With a knife. With all the knives. Because I am that song that came on the radio when we were listening to it in the car. It was a love song because I love you and I don't know what to do about it because we work together and you're a detective and you're my best friend and you're beautiful. You're beautiful like a portrait by John Sargent Singer Sargent… Singer… who am I thinking of? Never mind. Did you know I think you're beautiful? Because I do. But I don't want you to think I assume you'd be interested in me just because you're a lesbian and I am an extremely attractive woman of the homo sapiens female species of humans. Human beings, which is what we are. I think we would go good together. Your body would feel really good on top of mine and in mine and around mine. Don't you think? And don't you think Jo and Bass could be best friends, and they could play together, and dear God, I am so drunk right now I don't even—"
The machine cut her off there. But she didn't notice. "—know. I am going to come to your house tomorrow, or tonight, and you won't know what hit you because I'm going to blindfold you first. And then have my way with you, the hard way."
And with that, she hung up and promptly passed out.
When Booth came running back into the bar, he groaned upon seeing that he had already lost Maura. "Thanks for your help, bud," he said to the bartender, who merely shrugged as Booth carefully hoisted Maura into his arms and walked outside. A man helpfully held the front door open for him, allowing Booth to quickly reach his car, which was parked right on the curb. He propped Maura against the car as he opened her door, and she stirred slightly.
"What's going on?" she slurred.
"I'm taking you home," Booth said, assisting her into the front seat.
Once he had gotten into the car as well and was struggling to help Maura with her seatbelt, she said, "Are you trying to take advantage of me?"
"No! I'm trying to belt you in." When it clicked successfully, he immediately moved his hands to the steering wheel and drove off. He was only grateful that Maura had pointed out her home on the way, because he doubted that in her current state, she'd be of much help at all. Indeed, after singing a few off-key bars of "Piano Man," Maura seemed to have really lost consciousness.
Booth was sure he looked extremely sketchy as he carried Maura and her purse to her front door, then set her down to fish around for her keys. They were buried deep inside of the purse, but he finally found them and impatiently entered the house, holding it open with his feet as he picked Maura up once again to carry her inside. He felt his phone ringing, but couldn't answer it as he had his hands full of medical examiner and wanted to get her comfortably in bed. The vibrating phone lent a strange aggravation, as if it were a time bomb and if he didn't lie Maura down soon, she would explode. After a quick search, he finally found what he had to assume was her bedroom, and deposited her on the bed. He took a moment to collect himself, sitting on the edge of the silk sheets and catching his breath. Maura sighed deeply and tucked one of her legs up. There was a light smile on her face.
She really is gorgeous, Booth couldn't help thinking. No wonder Jane fell for her like a safe.
This was not a particularly good thing to have in mind as he went about removing her heeled shoes, one hand near her ankle as he undid the tiny straps. Once he had removed them both, Booth got to his feet and headed for the door. He wondered whether he had imagined it, but it sounded very much to him as if Maura had just whispered Jane's name … oh, man. I hope she's not doing too much with Angela right now. Locking the front doorknob, Booth left Maura's keys on a hook by the door and stepped outside, which is when he remembered he had a missed call. Just as he was pulling out his phone to see who it had been, it started ringing again.
"Booth."
"BOOTH! WHY ISN'T ANYONE ANSWERING THEIR DAMN PHONES?"
"Whoa! Who—"
"IT'S ANGELA. TALK ME DOWN, BOOTH, TALK. ME. DOWN!"
"Angela! What—where—?"
"I tried to call Brennan and she didn't pick up, and I tried to call my dad and he didn't pick up, and I even tried to call Hodgins and HE didn't pick up, and then I tried calling you a minute ago and you didn't pick up either! What's going on? Are you still at the party?"
"No, no, I've been at Maura's—"
He was glad he wasn't driving yet, because Angela's shriek caused him to jump so badly he lost his grip on the phone. Picking it up off the grass, it was still easy to hear Angela's words: "NO! Stop right now! I don't care if she's naked and in bed, get away from her right now! Back up! Hands against the wall!"
"Angela! How the hell much have you had to drink?"
"Not hardly anything, Booth, I swear! I am not drunk, I'm just hysterical!"
"…yeah, apparently. Ange, you cut me off. I'm leaving Maura's house right now."
"Why were you there in the first place?"
"Never mind. I was dropping her off, okay?"
"Okay. Did you… do anything?"
"No. Not a thing. Now why are you so freaked out? Why'd you try calling everyone? Are you okay, is Jane okay?"
"I'm okay, Jane's a wreck."
"What happened?"
"Well we were… we were… oh, geez. Are you on your way back to the hotel?"
"I can be."
"Do it. Apparently Brennan is still partying it up with the cops, and Hodgins is nowhere to be found, so you and I could talk in some privacy. Get here as soon as you can."
"Okay, okay, I'm on my way."
Neither Booth nor Angela was totally prepared for what their impending conversation would include. How much did the other know, and what all did they have the right to share? The only thing they both fervently believed in was that Maura Isles could not lie—and all that would be left to discover was which of the contradictory statements she had given was the false one.