A/N: Okay, I had planned to update this story more regularly, but real life just has its ways of coming in between! Rest assured I'll finish this one. I promise. The past few months have been crazy for me – my mum's illness, getting back together with a toxic ex and entangling myself from her once again, receiving my ADHD/autism diagnosis... I guess one of the reasons I like Rizzoli & Isles so much is that I read Maura as someone on the spectrum and it is kinda nice to feel represented. Anyway, thank you for your patience and for still following this story. You are the best!
Chapter 15: Morning Sickness
Maura's POV
You have not shared a bed since the night that truly felt like a teenage dream come true but one evening, the two of you end up in Jane's apartment
instead of in your spacious house, and while you pretend to watch baseball with her and nibble on the peanuts she has offered you as an evening snack
(it was the healthiest thing she still had stored in one of her kitchen drawers - you normally spend so much time together at your place that she stocks her own apartment rather sparsely with food), your mind is working full-speed, contemplating your options. Of course you could leave after the game, make up some weak apology why you will not be able to stay the night, but you don't have anything that sounds half-way convincing and isn't an utter lie on top which is a problem for the condition you internally call your "chronic honesty". You could also just take the couch. Maybe she even expects you to sleep in the living room now that things have happened between you. However, you could be totally wrong and that would mean that you offering to spend the night on her couch could make an already awkward situation even more awkward.
And while you really do not want to get your hopes up, a part of you wishes so so much for her to actually want you in her bed. Not for anything sexual, no, although that would be the best thing ever, but, no, you won't get ahead of yourself: you just crave being close to her, share a bed with her again which means falling asleep with the unique scent of her
surrounding you and being able to bury your nose in her pillow to get an even more intense dose of it and you have also come to cherish the very light and accidental touches, like when she is rolling over in her sleep and her hand brushes your waist or when you wake up with your leg resting on top of hers - all of this somehow means the world to you because
you just love her so much that the physical closeness to her is deeply reassuring and fulfilling even without anything erotic going on. You cannot imagine never having "sleepovers" like this with
her again. But then again, maybe you have to accept it because while she used to sleep in your bed at your house, she hasn't done so since that one fateful night.
She now mostly tells you that she'll go to bed later whenever you start to commence your nighttime-routine and that you should just go ahead and get a good night's rest and then she stays in the living room and where she used to sneak into your bedroom when you were already asleep or half-asleep
to slip under the covers next to you, she now retreats into the guest room, leaving a wall and a painfully empty space between the two of you.
You startle when Jane loudly yells "YES!" and jumps up, knees bent, in order to pump her fist in the air as the Red Sox seem to have scored or something like that. Sports jargon is not your strong suit, although you have actually learned numerous facts about her favorite team in order not to be utterly clueless. Sometimes, you surprise her when you mention something she wouldn't have considered you of all people to know but you are so good with facts and numbers that committing them to your sharp memory isn't actually that much of a big deal.
Jane has sat down again and you almost startle again when she suddenly turns to you and asks: "Okay, Maura, seriously, what's wrong?"
You frown and try to avoid her gaze resting on you. The way she is looking at you somehow feels way too intense.
"We can watch somethin' else, I'm not that interested in the game", Jane announces matter-of-factly and reaches for the remote control. You know that she is lying because she would not ever want to miss a Red Sox game and you are torn between your appreciation for her sweet gesture (would she really turn off a Red Sox game for you?) and the more pressing matter at hand: How to get out of telling her about your quiet obsessing with the sleeping arrangements for tonight?
"I was actually just getting a little tired...", you start. Maybe she will get the hint, walk you to the door even. That would be nice, but it wouldn't be very Jane. It's already dark outside and in the past, in early stages of your friendship when sleepovers hadn't become a regular occurrence yet, she always insisted you stay after nightfall.
Jane doesn't get your hint or she pretends not to. "Okay, so – you wanna go to bed?"
A faint blush creeps up your neck and probably makes your cheeks glow pinkish. "Yes, but I was not entirely certain about – your preferred sleeping arrangements." God, why can you never be subtle?
To your relief but at the same time to your mortification, she blushes too, although less noticeably so than you.
For a minute, the only sound breaking the silence in Jane's modest living room is the commentator's voice on the TV, rattling off some player's athletic successes.
She is the one to speak first: "Maura – I'm sorry. The last weeks... I mean, I wasn't trying to avoid you or anything." She hits the Mute button on the remote and lightly pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes like she is searching the insides of her head for the right words. "I just wasn't sure about what's – appropriate."
"You could have told me", you say, not accusingly, but with a trace of disappointment in your voice because you have made it clear so many times that she can talk to you about literally anything, even matters concerning your friendship. But of course, she's Jane, and Jane is not a big talker when it comes to the "emotional stuff".
Her sigh sounds weary, not irritated. "I didn't want to make things weird between us, so I – I don't know, I kinda figured that me staying in the guest room would be a reasonable solution."
"It's not like I would just pounce on you", you cannot help saying.
She takes a deep breath. "I know that, Maura. I wouldn't wanna do anything to make you uncomfortable, either."
"Well", you carefully remark, "it does not make me uncomfortable to fall asleep next to you."
She looks at you, a little baffled but also with a sparkle of something else in her eyes – a glimmer of hope? Satisfaction? Curiosity? "It doesn't?"
"No, silly", you laugh, "I have actually come to enjoy it very much. I find it extremely soothing to fall asleep next to another person, as long as our sleep rhythms match." You realize that you purposefully phrase it like you are talking about sharing a bed with another human being in general, although you don't. It is specifically about her. You have never been someone who craved a partner's warmth in their bed before. With some partners, you even preferred them not staying overnight with you because it made your sleep lighter and less restful. It's different with Jane. You bite your lip because saying this aloud would probably be too much.
She eyes you quizzically. "I could take the couch, y'know. I wouldn't mind." She shrugs. "I wouldn't be mad at you or anything." So she's still being skeptical. You cannot hide the half-smile forming on your face. "Jane, you know I can't lie, so trust me when I tell you that I do not want you to sleep on the couch. You should also keep in mind that couches are not generally designed for sleeping on them, so they do not support the spine and can lead to back pain or - "
"Okay, okay, point taken,", she chuckles and even winks at you. "Don't go all nerding out on me, right?"
You have to suppress a sudden yawn. She notices and nods at the TV. "I'll watch the rest of the game and come to bed then, alright? Just go ahead and do whatever is taking you ages to do in the bathroom every night ever."
You grin, happy about her easy-going manner and equally happy about the prospect of her claiming one side of the bed later tonight. "It's a simple skincare regime that has been scientifically proven to be quite effective!", you toss over your shoulder as you leave the room.
R&I-R&I-R&I-R&I-R&I
Falling asleep next to Jane has been a blessing. You slept soundly and only woke up once, and you could not resist the urge to turn around a little in order to face her, to marvel at her features, so beautiful even in her sleep, although the darkness made it impossible for you to discern any details – luckily, you have looked at her often enough to not be dependent on a source of light in order to conjure them: her long, dark lashes, the slight upward tilt of the corners of her mouth, the soft curve of her lips, the strands of dark-brown in her otherwise raven hair. You fell back asleep to the rhythm of her steady, even breathing.
When you wake up in the morning, it happens less peacefully, though. You hear some sort of hiccuping noise, then a muttered curse that to your half-asleep ears sounds like something with hell, and then there's a rush of cold air when Jane forcefully yanks away the covers from herself and in the process also from your short pajama pants. You only understand what is happening when she bolts into your en-suite bathroom and leaves the door ajar, and one moment later she is already half-bent over your sink and retching into it. You don't even wrinkle your nose. You are a doctor, after all, and Jane is pregnant. You do feel, however, a pang of sorrow and regret as the reality of morning sickness hits you. This is not something Jane has chosen for herself, she has chosen it for you. You know she never likes to be pitied, but you do feel sorry for her.
You get up and hover around uncertainly, not sure whether Jane wants you to leave her alone or to stay with her. When you don't hear a sound for several consecutive seconds, you hesitate only a moment before calling: "Jane? Do you need help in there?"
Another gagging sound is the initial response you get, but then she replies: "Umm – I'm fine, Maura. Just let me clean up this mess and I'll be right back with you!"
Now you do enter the bathroom where Jane is standing in front of the sink in her top and pajama pants, her hands resting on the exquisite marble material. She is breathing heavily, almost panting, and drops of sweat have formed on her forehead. She turns her head to you, brows knitted together in obvious disapproval. "You don't need to be in here, Maur, the smell's really not - "
"A problem for me?", you finish the sentence for her and automatically touch her arm in a reassuring manner. "I am a doctor", you state, "and it seems like morning sickness has hit you full-force, and I will not allow you to clean anything up in here, I will do it myself later, but first of all,", you give her arm a light squeeze, "let's take care of you, okay?"
You know that she must be exhausted when she doesn't even protest and only follows you obediently into the kitchen area. You let her nibble on a cracker and instruct her to take small sips of water from the glass you hand her, then you put a kettle of tea on and wait for the whistling tone to signal that the water is ready.
You can feel Jane's gaze on you, following your movements. "What's the matter?", you finally dare to ask when you place a cup of tea on the table.
She looks a little caught, but seems willing to answer nonetheless. "I was just thinking about this kiddo and how lucky it will be to have you as a mother. I mean, I puked all over your sink that must have cost a flying fortune, and you didn't even flinch and immediately went into this Lemme take care of you – mode-"
"Well, I'm a doctor", you say for the second time this morning, but she only shakes her head adamantly. "No, I know, but it's not that. It's much more about the way you immediately put me at ease. It's like – you're this very, very caring person. And I mean, I've always known that, kinda, but I guess I'm just now fully realizing it. How much of a maternal type you truly are." She shrugs and lifts the mug to take a sip, probably to cover up her embarrassment.
Your reaction comes naturally, you lift both of your hands and gently touch her arms. "Don't."
She pauses mid-movement. "Huh?"
"The tea's still too hot", you point out in all seriousness and emit a confused laugh when she starts to cackle. "What did I say now? What is so funny?"
Mug placed down, Jane gets up and hugs you and there is, miraculously maybe, no awkwardness at all. "Nothing. You're gonna be a great mum, is all."
R&I-R&I-R&I-R&I-R&I
You watch her carefully for signs of nausea. It can hit her at any time of day now, violent and intense, and you become extremely good at spotting it, sometimes even before she seems to realize it herself. She doesn't always have to throw up, sometimes it is enough if she can leave a situation and with it a triggering smell or sight, but other times, only vomiting seems to bring her the relief she needs. You try to take care of her whenever possible and she tries to brush it off and downplay her discomfort but in the end, she always seems glad about your presence and lets you serve her tea and open the window and make a general fuss although you do so in the least annoying way possible (at least you hope so). One time, she even asks you to guide her through a breathing exercise. You stare at her open-mouthed. Is this the same Jane that used to make fun about your yoga and meditation rituals, the same Jane that snorted whenever you wanted to introduce her to exercises that could be beneficial for her?
"Don't look at me like that", she snorts, "I'm really desperate, okay?"
Her morning sickness normally is at its worst early in the morning which is a good thing as it allows her to still do her job without too much trouble. However, you do notice that she has some bad moments at work as well, although she attempts to hide them as good as she can. She leaves the bullpen whenever someone opens a container of food in her vicinity. She avoids the Division One Cafe. She works less overtime hours than she usually does. She still comes down to the morgue frequently but she mostly does so after having made sure that you are not currently performing an autopsy.
One afternoon, she comes to visit you in your office and when you walk past her to get her a toxicology report she wanted to pick up, she gasps audibly behind you. You instantly turn around and she has gone pale, a telltale sign for her nausea kicking in. Your instinct makes you try to reach out for her, but she yanks her arm away and even takes a wobbly step backwards. Only when she notices the hurt and confusion on your face, she forces herself to spit out the words in between heavy gulps for air: "Nothing personal, Maur – your perfume's just... really strong."
You realize that you have used a different bottle of perfume today, as a kind of treat for yourself. It's a crazily expensive one that smells like orange blossom and rose and has an underlying luscious sweet fragrance, like marshmallow and berries. It's one of those scents you normally like to wear on dates for its almost seductive effect.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, Jane", you state, and with another glance at her, you order her to wait right here. You disappear into the next lady's room and try to wash off as much of the scent as possible. When you return, Jane almost cannot believe what you have just done. "That's ridiculous, Maura! I could have just left, y'know."
You shoot her a stern look. "Don't be absurd, Jane." Sensing your opportunity to ask her a question you have put off asking her the last few days, you continue: "When should we start telling people? You will not be able to keep up this charade for much longer."
She reaches for the report and leafs through its pages absentmindedly. "I really dunno... whom should we even tell first?"
"I think it would be best if we started with our mothers", you suggest, although your heart nearly leaps out of your chest with anxiety at the thought. Angela was very much on board when the baby was something still very theoretical, but you are not so sure how she will react to her daughter actually being pregnant with your baby. It might be a little extreme for her catholic values. And then there is your own mother, of course. Ever-busy, ever-determined, ever-composed Constance. You have not even told her about your desire to have children because frankly, you've been scared of what she might tell you. Oh darling, don't be silly. You are the Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, your successful career should be more important to you than taking care of a wailing toddler 24/7. You know that such words coming out of her mouth would hurt you. She has never been the warm, maternal type and deep down, you have always been afraid of her confessing to you that she regretted becoming a mother.
Jane emits a grunt that sounds like reluctant agreement. "Let's tell my Ma first", she suggests, "I bet she'll start to suspect something very soon anyway."
