Jane had been in labor for what felt like months, but she felt no pain. She was at the shooting range and instead of having contractions, she fired rounds into the target. It was close. She widened her stance and aimed. She took a breath and held it, then squeezed the trigger, one, two, three, four. The baby was out. But when she looked at it, it was a turtle, slowly creeping away. She shot it dead.

Vivid dreams were not new to Jane. Especially when she was emotionally involved in a case, she would dream about it, as if her subconscious were piecing together the evidence. Sometimes she dreamed about the victims, her brain bringing to life the stories Maura told about who they were and how they died. Other times it was their killers, or Jane's would-be killer, who invaded her thoughts when she was supposed to be resting. She probably should have expected the baby to make an appearance as well.

Over the last week, the baby thing became real. It wasn't just something Jane and Maura thought about together and kept from everyone else. It wasn't their own little world of fuzzy heartbeats and furtive glances anymore. It wasn't just a dream, it was real, and it was becoming part of her identity. Up until this point, Jane had still been the woman detective. Now she was the pregnant detective.

Once the family knew, they couldn't keep the news from spreading. Angela, especially, seemed to be telling everyone in the greater Boston area about her newest grandbaby. She was so proud, and Jane was happy about that, especially because she knew the circumstances weren't exactly what Angela had imagined. Still, being the talk of the station wasn't easy. At least this time it was for something good.

Jane had spoken to Cavanaugh first thing Monday morning. Legally, he couldn't force her into light duty for the duration of her pregnancy, though he wanted to. He urged her to be realistic about her physical abilities. She knew better than anyone else how dangerous her job could be, and the physical toll it took on her, even on the good days. But Jane insisted on performing her regular duties as long as possible. Now that her energy was coming back—Maura had explained that would happen at the beginning of the second trimester—she hated the thought of being stuck at her desk (or worse, in the basement working evidence) for the next six months while the men were out doing the real work.

So things had changed in little ways. She was now the last to enter a suspicious building instead of the first. Korsak nagged her about wearing a vest when it wasn't really necessary. And both he and Frost kept trying to stand in front of her when they were questioning someone. Maura insisted that they were being protective, that it showed that they cared for her, but Jane just found it annoying. Demeaning.

Even her brothers were acting differently. Suddenly instead of being their big sister, who stuck up for them at school and whipped them into shape when they acted up, she was fragile, someone who needed to be protected, even from herself. Suddenly everyone thought they knew what was best for the baby. The kept looking at her belly instead of her face when she walked in a room. As if she had been reduced to an incubator.

Maura was the only one who didn't treat her that way. Maybe because it wasn't new to her, or maybe because Maura was just remarkable like that, she was the only person who could still make Jane feel like herself. Maura obviously cared about the baby, but she was also concerned with Jane's thoughts and well-being. So when Jane awoke from her dream, sweaty and confused, and Maura asked what was wrong, she confided in her friend. Maura ran a hand down Jane's back as she related the details. It was meant to be comforting, but Jane squirmed away. She didn't know why. Maura was just trying to help.

Maura didn't react to the rejection. She just got up and pulled a clean, dry tank top from the bureau. "What do you think it means?" She handed the top to Jane and turned away to offer a modicum of privacy.

For some reason, Jane wanted to get a rise out of Maura. She felt the attitude build up in her chest like it was ready to explode. The fuse was lit by the way the satin of Maura's nightgown ruffled as she turned, and the edge landed right below her ass. Why did she have to wear that sexy shit to bed? Why couldn't she just wear regular clothes like a normal person? Jane said the most obvious—and most disturbing—thing that came to mind as she stripped off her shirt and tossed it to the floor, "It means I want to kill the baby." She just sat there, breasts exposed, mentally daring Maura to turn around and look at her.

But Maura stayed calm and facing the wall. Robot therapist. "Do you?" Sterile. Her ability to compartmentalize was so fucking frustrating.

"God, Maura." Jane honestly didn't know why she was using this harsh tone. "Don't you think I would have done that already?" This, at least, got a tiny reaction. Maura's head drooped and her arms wrapped around herself. Jane felt delight and regret at the same time. She pulled on the tank top.

"Then maybe it means you're worried." Maura's voice was quieter now. Her feelings were hurt, but she was trying not to show it. She was still trying to be nice. Doormat.

"You can turn around now." Jane was ready to let it go and stop talking about this. She just wanted to forget it and go back to sleep.

But Maura persisted. "It's not unusual for—" Fuck, the last thing Jane needed right now was Googlemouth reassuring her about the baby. Baby, baby, baby.

"I know, 'it's not unusual for expectant mothers to have fucked up dreams,'" she mocked. She could see the hurt on Maura's face. Maura didn't deserve this snark, she was just trying to help. But Jane couldn't stop herself.

"That's not exactly what I was going to say, but yes. For their fears to manifest in their dreams." Maura was still standing. Why was she still just standing there? Why didn't she get back in bed so Jane could hold her and they could go back to sleep?

"So I'm afraid I'm going to kill the baby?" Jane was almost yelling now.

Maura just shrugged. Were there tears in her eyes?

Jane took a breath, tried to be calm, rational, salvage this conversation and make Maura come back to her. "But why was it a turtle?"

"I don't know." Then after an uncomfortable silence, "Was it a turtle or a tortoise?"

Jane failed. She exploded, "I don't know, Maura, it had a shell. What difference does it make?"

"I'm going to go get some water. Do you want anything?"

"No."

Jane waited for Maura to return, but gave up after twenty minutes. She slept fitfully with the bed to herself.

Maura didn't sleep much at all. She had fumed in the kitchen for a few minutes, trying to tell herself it wasn't worth being upset over. Jane had been stressed this past week; she had complained more than once that all anyone could talk about was the baby. She was stressed and she was taking it out on Maura.

Maura had tried to stay calm, to be the good friend she had always been, to listen and comfort and be exactly what Jane needed. And the more she did, the more it had become clear that what Jane really needed wasn't a friend. It was space. So Maura removed herself from the situation. She didn't have to subject herself to Jane's abuse. She wasn't going to confront Jane about it, that would just make it worse. But she didn't have to welcome it, either.

In the kitchen that night, Maura decided the last thing she wanted to do was walk back into Jane's hostility. If Jane calmed down enough to talk rationally, that would be a step in the right direction. But it was up to Jane to take that first step.

Maura had sat on the sofa. She had waited. More than anything, she had wanted to go back into the bedroom and tell Jane it was ok, she wasn't mad, couldn't they just go back to sleep? Sleep, their own sublime version of it, with Jane's long legs stretching across the bed and her body warming the space under the covers. Their sleep, in which Maura's skin burned where Jane's toes rested on the top of Maura's foot, or even better, when Jane graced Maura with the weight of her arm across Maura's torso, her whole long body pressed against Maura's.

But Jane never came. When dawn began to awaken the rest of the city, Maura put away the blanket she had been using to keep herself warm in Jane's absence (it had been a poor substitute anyway) and found some old workout clothes in the guest closet. A run would raise her endorphins and help push away this feeling of... what was it? Anger? Loneliness? Rejection? All of the above.

Sometimes even a rush of neurotransmitters isn't enough. Maura was feeling better after her run, really, she was, until Jane appeared in the kitchen and noticed the sheen of sweat on Maura's chest. The look on her face was surprise or sadness, maybe both, but not an apology.

"You went running without me?" Of course she did. Jane hadn't run with Maura in months. She was either with Casey or too tired. It was no longer something they did together.

"Twelve miles, 98 minutes." She didn't have to say, I can go farther, faster, without you tagging along, but the implication was there.

Jane's face went slack. "We have a doctor's appointment in an hour," she muttered, retreating back to the bedroom.

Jane had handed Maura the car keys and their fingers touched for a second. That was all it took to begin recovery. The gesture itself, Jane relinquishing the only bit of control she still had—driving—to Maura, was an olive branch. It was please, it was I'm sorry, it was love me again. Take care of me. I need you. Jane said none of that aloud, but Maura heard it anyway.

Still, they were both quiet on the ride over and until Dr. Filer appeared. It was a defensive silence, Maura surmised. Neither woman wanted to risk fighting again, so both stayed silent.

The doctor's cheerful words sounded discordant. "Good morning, Jane. How are you feeling today?"

"Fine." Jane tried to match the doctor's cheer, but it fell flat.

Dr. Filer picked up on the tension and looked to Maura, who explained, "You had a nightmare, Jane."

"It wasn't a nightmare, it was just a dream. A weird one."

"And it precipitated a disagreement."

Jane snorted. 'Disagreement' was putting it mildly.

Maura closed her eyes. Please, not more of this, I thought we were done.

Thankfully, Dr. Filer took over the conversation. "Well, pregnancy dreams are sometimes exacerbated by stress. Has your work been stressful?"

"I'm a homicide detective," Jane rolled her eyes. "It's not exactly a day at the spa." She knew she had to stop this snark before it got out of hand and she offended both doctors.

Dr. Filer gracefully continued, "And what about things at home?"

"Well, up until last night, it was fine. It was great, actually." Jane finally relaxed, thinking about how much she had been enjoying spending that downtime with Maura, and how much she missed her when she had been absent. Her eyes glided over Maura's body, from her face to her crossed legs, pausing at her stylish heels, then back up to her eyes. She abridged everything she wanted to say, "Maura is perfect."

The softening of Maura's face as she held Jane's gaze urged Jane to continue. "I was mean last night. I don't know why. She doesn't deserve that." Jane's words were directed at the other doctor, but they were meant for Maura's ears. Without breaking eye contact with Maura, Jane added, "She deserves so much better than that."

Maura interrupted, "Doctor, could we have a moment?"

Dr. Filer must have said something as she exited, but neither Jane nor Maura paid much attention. Maura stood between Jane's legs where she sat on the exam table, her hands on the outside of Jane's knees. Jane's fingers reached for the hem of Maura's jacket and her eyes played there as well.

"I'm sorry, Maur. I don't know why I acted like I did."

"OK." Maura's thumb grazed Jane's cheek.

'I don't want to do that again. I missed you too much." Jane's hand slipped underneath the jacket and gently gripped her hip.

Maura swayed forward. "Me too." In one fluid motion, both Jane's hands slid up Maura's back, and Maura's arms wrapped around Jane's shoulders. It was the relief they had both been waiting all night for. Jane rested her cheek in the curve of Maura's neck; Maura nuzzled Jane's hair. Neither wanted to let go.

Jane was searching a suspicious residence. Her gun was drawn and her only backup was Maura. The house turned up empty, except for a small tortoise Jane found in a closet. She gave it to Maura.