It had taken years, but she finally talked the responsible doctor into one night out on the town. Just so happened that this particular night was St. Patrick's Day, a day where the Irish (and, honestly, everybody else) try to imbibe as much liquor as physically possible. Maura would finally get the opportunity.
They didn't go to the Robber. After a careful discussion, they'd agreed to try some place new, where no one knew them. The bar they chose was only a few blocks from Jane's; a short cab ride or a long, drunken walk away. They wandered in around seven, but the party was already in full swing. Almost everyone had a pint in their hands, commenting on the rugby game on the screen or singing along to an ecclectic mix of Irish folk songs.
Jane led Maura to a corner of the bar, where they could drink in relative solitude. She slapped a twenty on the counter and ordered them two beers and a shot each to start the night. Maura, being a doctor, also insisted on two tall glasses of water.
Let's just say, the water remained untouched the entire night.
They took turns laying twenties on the bar and ordering shots. Maura's were classic, whereas Jane's were adventurous. It's not like Maura would decide to try a "Buttery Nipple" or a "Red-headed Slut" if left to her own devices. And Jane wasn't one to try liqueur shots, such as Maura's "B-52" or an "After Five".
Honestly, Jane was impressed Maura knew any shots.
They worked their way steadily through Maura's entire repertoire of alcoholic shooters and they were making a very significant dent in Jane's list as well. They were also ridiculously drunk at this point, falling all over each other and giggling. In the morning they'd remember flashes of their evening and thank God that the guys around them were too involved with the shamrock traditions to attempt to engage the ladies hiding in a corner.
"Jane," Maura said after they'd downed both an "Irish Car Bomb" and a "Jager Bomb" in rapid succession.
"Maura," Jane returned, grinning at the way her friend was losing her pristine quality.
"Jane, d-do you have any-any Irish in you?" Maura asked, tripping over a couple of words due to her intoxicated state.
"Maur, you know I'm a p-pure Italian! God, you must b-be drunk," Jane giggled, poking Maura in the cheek.
The doctor bent down close to the detective's ear, her breath blowing across the sensitive skin. "Would you like s-some?"
Jane jerked away from her friend in surprise, but when she raised her eyes to meet Maura's, she saw nothing but desire in the glossy hazel. On impulse, she leaned down and kissed Maura on the cheek before whispering in her ear, "Only if you-you're supplying."
The mischievous grin, though not a usual addition to Maura's facial features, was definitely hot. Jane gulped as Maura grabbed her purse and took Jane's hand, pulling her out the door. She ogled the doctor from behind and smirked. Definitely hot, period.
A four-block walk had never taken so little time; they practically ran back to Jane's place and didn't leave.
For the entire weekend.