Author's note: thank you very much for all your reviews; there is going to be some sweetness soon!

December, 4th:

A few people have crossed my path already – men and women – but only Jane has been able to make my life tip over completely. She stormed in. Just like that, without any warning. I know what people say about me, I know what they think but I don't care. She warmed up my loneliness, gave sense to a lot of things. Thanks to her, I finally understand the whole point of living.

I have never been depressed nor suicidal but before I met Jane, my existence seemed gloomy; a bit precarious. It didn't make much sense and I didn't know where I was going to. Why.

She brought me this serenity I desperately lacked of. Everything isn't perfect. We argue, at times. A lot, actually. But I know that it is nothing important, that it will never ruin our friendship. The only thing that could bring all this down is the confession of my feelings.

I am secretly in love and so what? Shouldn't it be enticing? The sky looks a bit more blue, the birds sing a bit louder. Everything looks softer. We went through a lot, together. A lot more than we will ever experience with a third party. She knows it just as I do. And if only for that, she will always be in my heart.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and see nothing but her lips. Their shape, the delicate shade of pink and their graceful movement whenever she speaks. I have brushed them once, with my fingers. Just the warming coincidence of fate as I was checking her nose after she had got hit. The bare contact – as invisible as it turned out to be – sent a shiver down my spine and for long hours afterwards, nothing made sense to me.

I didn't get used to the contact in spite of the years. Every time, it is the same. The effect it causes – its strength – finds an echo in my inability to do anything else but play the moment over and over in my head. A shameful obsession that rocked me to sleep more times than I can remember.

I chose to be lonely because I understood that nobody would ever bring me half of what Jane does. I will always feel incomplete with someone else; not as happy as I am when she is with me. It has little to do with sacrifices because it actually makes me happy.

Really.

8.30pm

Jane walked in the living-room and cast a glance at Maura before pouting excessively. Dramatically. She pulled on the woolen sweater she had found in her friend's closet and made her way to a stool – the closer to her mug of mulled wine – then took a sip of the drink.

The alcohol melted in the scent of cinnamon, warming up her whole body; bringing a pink shade to her cheeks. It was good, comforting.

"It'd better work or you'll hear from me. What an idea you had to suggest a gingerbread man thing at the orphanage."

Way too used to the Italian's complains, Maura barely paid attention to the remark and opened one of the large cardboard boxes that lay on top of the kitchen counter.

"Workshop. Nobody asked you to spill a whole glass of golden syrup on you either..." She smirked but rolled her eyes as Jane shot her a death glare. "I have just turned on the washing machine. Your clothes – all of them – will be clean within an hour. You don't have to worry. So now..."

The scientist grabbed a golden tinsel out of the box and grinned at Jane who buried her face in her hands.

"No, not that. C'mon. Let me – at least – finish my mulled wine before." The brunette grabbed back her mug and let the scent of the drink go to her head bewitchingly. She squinted her eyes at it. "Maybe I'll have another one in the process. We're never too ready to face the Christmas tree thing."

Maura's laugh rose in the air and warmed up the room, bringing life to her quiet house. It had been snowing all day long but they had nonetheless spent some time at The Home For Little Wanderers. Children and pre-teens had been happy to see them back.

The oldest ones, not so much. They had barely paid attention to them when she had announced the gingerbread man competition. They needed time.

She passed the tinsel around Jane's neck playfully and winked at her. She was in a good mood. Her day at the morgue had been peaceful enough and she had enjoyed her time at the orphanage.

"This isn't a scarf, Maura." Yet while saying so, Jane grabbed the item to tie it up as if it were one and she grabbed another one out of the box – a short one – to use it as a bracelet. She showed the result to the medical examiner. "Better than Tiffany, right?"

"Not platinum worth but I would still take it."

Jane's smile froze as Maura's words resounded loud. She blinked. What did her friend mean by this? She swept away the latent discomfort stirred up by the remark by clearing her voice and walking to the tree they had bought the day before.

"I can't believe you make me set one up every year."

Maura frowned. She seemed confused, uncertain.

"Why? I never understand why you are so reluctant to celebrate Christmas. It is a beautiful holiday, a beautiful time of the year."

Jane snorted and rolled her eyes. She couldn't disagree more.

For her, it was synonym of boredom and family arguments. Of domestic crime scenes as well. It wasn't as festive as people pretended it to be. If it hadn't been for her mother, she would have stayed home by herself on that day. Actually, she often volunteered to work on Christmas day just to make sure that she would skip it. But then it had changed when Maura had appeared in her existence. Everything had changed.

Every single one of her perspectives.

Maura needed it. She clutched to these holidays as if her life depended on them and maybe it did to an extent. She hadn't celebrated them much as a child. She didn't know what a family gathering was and even less the possibility to share this day with her parents. With Angela considering her as one of her daughters, she was given a brand new opportunity to change all this and fill her peculiar life of moments most of people saw as references.

And Jane knew it. That's why she didn't insist.

"Do we go for a golden or red theme, this year?" Her smile concluded Maura's question that didn't find any answer and didn't need to, anyway. Jane was here to make her friend happy.

"I think we will have to go for red, now."

Jane wrinkled her nose and slowly took off the golden tinsel from around her neck. She let it fall on the floor. Quietly. Jo Friday rushed to grab it.

"Have to? How come? It's what they say in Vogue that it has now turned into an obligation?"

Maura shook her head and walked to her desk. She opened her bag that she had abandoned there as they had arrived from the orphanage and took something wrapped in a brown paper out of it. Jane frowned, her curiosity now piqued.

"What is it?"

"Camille made it for us, today." The honey blonde approached her friend and unfolded the paper to reveal two gingerbread women with their respective names on them. "While you were trying to get right of this golden syrup..."

Jane smiled. Camille was a sweet five-year-old little girl. Quite shy but very attentive. For whatever reason, the Italian assumed that Maura had looked like her at her age. Same temper.

"They're holding hands."

Maura giggled and nodded a bit timidly.

"She insisted on baking them this way because that's how we arrived together for the first time at the orphanage. Hand in hand."

Maura hadn't even noticed it until Camille had openly said it. The realization had made her blush a lot. The gesture wasn't inappropriate but unusual for women in their late thirties who were supposed to simply be friends. She had to recognize it. The fact she had genuinely held Jane's hand without the whole thing crossing her mind kept on troubling her slightly. She needed to be careful.

This couldn't just happen every since and then.

"Oh." Jane grabbed the two gingerbread women to observe them. Her smile melted into a grin as she turned around and planted a kiss on Maura's cheek. She let her fingers brush the red and green icing sugar then nodded to nobody but herself. "Red it'll be."

She walked to the Christmas tree – the biggest one she had found as promised – and hung the item right in the center so nobody would miss it. But realizing that Maura hadn't moved an inch and was still by her desk, looking straight in front of her dreamly.

"I accepted to help you, Maura. I'm not doing this alone! And don't you dare putting your infamous Michael Bubble playlist."

The honey blonde jumped slightly as if connecting back with reality and – biting her lips – offered a soft nod before walking to the tree.

"Joni Mitchell, then?"

Jane blinked, suddenly wondering if her friend hadn't developed sarcastic skills.

"Skip the Christmas songs, Maura. And tell me more about your brand new obsession for Canadian singers. I'm all ears and have obviously all my evening."