A/N: Wow, I am so happy about the positive feedback! Glad you're on this emotional roller-coaster together with me :D It really does motivate me to update as frequently as possible. This story currently serves as my daily coping mechanism and I truly enjoy writing Rizzles!

Chapter 6: The Donor

Maura's POV

"So we'd use the sperm from the same donor we chose back then?", Jane wants to know and hands you the Chai Latte she's ordered for you, not entirely able to not wrinkle her nose at your choice of drink.

"Yes", you reply and add, worried at her out-of-the-blue question: "Why, would that be a problem for you?"

"No. Not at all", she says and thanks the waitress as the attractive young woman hands her her own drink over the counter, coffee of course. She pulls out her wallet. "Umm, I'll pay by card, please."

You move to hold her drink for her so she can pay, and you realize that the waitress is actually looking at your best friend with an expression on her face that shows all the signs typical for feeling sexually attracted: slightly parted lips, her eyes dark and hooded, she checks out Jane slowly, like savoring a fine wine. It definitely makes your body stiffen and your spine tingle uncomfortably although you are well aware of how inappropriate your feelings are. Still, you can't help yourself, moving closer to her, almost pressing your body against her taller form. "We could always pick another donor", you suggest slightly louder than necessary but Jane will probably just think you're talking louder due to the background noise of chattering customers and roaring coffee-machines.

She throws you a puzzled glance while accepting the bill from the waitress, accidentally brushing her fingertips against the younger woman's ones. "Sorry", she instantly apologizes although the female behind the counter looks utterly unfazed.

"Maura, no", she addresses you again, eyeing the pastries in the display case behind the waitresses' back with interest. She must have overlooked them until now because you know Jane Rizzoli well enough to be very familiar with her decidedly sweet tooth. "I'm fine with the donor we have", she says, "I was just thinking back to when we were choosing one for you. And it made me wonder how much of those little - swimmers they actually give you."

You chuckle softly. "I think there are enough left for a few more tries." The waitress wipes over the already clean-looking counter-top in a way even you find suspicious. She must be eavesdropping. Well, the conversation between you and Jane won't exactly encourage her to hit on the gorgeous Italian.

Jane turns her attention back to the waitress. "Sorry, could I also have, uh – one of those chocolate chip cookies?"

"Jane!", you gasp, horrified at her choice. "This much sugar is not good for your – ow", you complain at the very light shove she gives you in order to shut you up.

The waitress hands over the giant cookie in a brown paper bag with her mouth pinched, probably because of the way Jane seems so familiar with you while not even looking her in the eye. You can't hide the smug smirk on your face when Jane turns, confident you will follow her outside, and the waitress can't help but appreciatively take in the detective's attractive, jeans-clad butt.

She gives you an annoyed glance and you shake your head, more bemused at yourself than at her, before hurrying up to Jane.

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It was a typical Friday night at your place. You had opened a bottle of fine Italian wine, a Barolo from the Piedmont region, and now greatly enjoyed its aromatic taste that reminded you of your last holiday abroad, exploring charming Italian towns and doing a wine tasting that immediately had you fall in love with the tannin taste and rich red color of the liquid that was also in your glass right now.

Jane had her usual beer. You watched her lift the bottle to her lips in a fluent motion while she leafed through pages and pages of potential "baby daddies". Her brows were creased in concentration and you felt weirdly emotional about her behavior, taking this thing you had asked her to do together with her so utterly serious. You did love her funny, jokey side but it was oddly touching to see her so focused on the task at hand.

"Hey, this one looks interesting", she said and read aloud: "He is a pediatric surgeon with honey blonde hair, light brown eyes, and in his spare time, he likes to play chess and go to museums."

You slid down on the sofa next to her.

"He'd be the perfect match", Jane exclaimed excitedly and handed you the relevant pages.

You read through the profile before you gently remarked: "Well – I'm not really looking for a male version of me here, Jane."

She frowned. "What's wrong about a genius sperm donor who is as educated and literate as you are?"

"I just don't think he'd be my type", you tried to elaborate. At Jane's confused expression, you continued: "I know we are only looking for a donor here, but I would like to choose someone whom I could actually imagine having a family with, you know? I was never into guys who are exactly like me with male genitalia." Her nose crinkled in disgust at the last words, but you continued speaking: "There are different ways to approach this, and all of them are valid, but for me – I want to focus on the ones that could have actually been potential life partners for me, I want to have the child of someone I would have been able to maybe fall for."

"'kay", she simply replied, for once not roasting you. "So, what's your type?", she asked which you found a little ridiculous for someone who knew you so well but you figured that the guys you had been with after your friendship to her developed perhaps weren't what she deemed ideal partners for you. And she was kind of right because after all, you weren't with one of them anymore.

You sighed, taking a sip of red wine while contemplating her question. "Someone smart... in a not necessarily intellectual way, no – street smart. Funny. Someone who could make me laugh so hard I'd have to catch my breath. Someone who is dedicated to their work, and ready to protect the ones they love. Someone... well, dark and tall and good-looking, athletic... deep brown, soulful eyes and a smile always tugging at the corners of their mouth..."

You blushed furiously when you realized that you had just more or less described your best friend the Detective. The long-legged, sports-obsessed, raven-haired, obsidian-eyed, witty and clever woman currently sitting next to you on your couch.

What had you been thinking? This wine was definitely going to your head.

Jane did not speak which you took as a bad sign. She couldn't be oblivious enough to not notice the parallels between her and this elusive ideal partner you had just come up with, right?

Tentatively, you turned your head. She was staring at the outspread sheets of paper on the couch table in front of her, not meeting your gaze. After a moment that seemed to last hours, she suddenly clapped her hands together. "Well, thank you for sharing, it's given me a much better idea of what we are looking for here", she said, in a cheerful manner that sounded very much unlike her.

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You cannot believe that this is indeed happening: Jane Rizzoli, heading out of an exam room of your fertility clinic, giving you a huge thumps-up and a goofy grin. "Everything looks just fine!", she announces, "so let's get this party started very soon!"

You can't contain the laugh that bubbles to the surface. "Someone's eager", you tease but she's so psyched that she only reaches for your hand and twirls you around in the empty waiting area, sporting a wide smile.

You can't believe that she is so excited at the prospect of starting IVF. As much as you want to join in her unbridled optimism, you need to keep your cool.

"Jane – this is only the very beginning of this journey", you warn her once she opens the car door for you in the parking lot.

"I know it can and will probably be daunting", she replies without missing a beat. "You've told me so multiple times, Maura! But I just can't run around moping the whole time. I have my own way of dealing with tough stuff." She cocks her eyebrow at you. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude", she apologizes at the look on your face.

You shake your head. "You're not being rude. I guess I feel – protective", you offer and slide into the car so she can't see your flushed cheeks at this latest admission.

She gets into the driver's seat and closes the car door as quietly as possible, just the way you've instructed her to do when you use your car that is easily worth three times as much as her own.

"I'm glad you're trying to protect me", she states, matter-of-factly. You almost elicit a gasp when her hand suddenly lands on your skirt-covered thigh, seeking – well, you don't know. You don't even care. You feel the burning desire to lift your skirt up to have her touch actual skin. Pushing aside your inappropriate thoughts, you try to focus on her voice instead.

"I am prepared for disappointment", she says. "I promise. Hell, I stay up late every night to read about pregnancy-related crap! I need to have my small moments of joy and excitement as well, though. For my sanity."

"I should not always paint a dark picture", you reply earnestly.

"Paint a black picture", she corrects automatically, "but, yeah... I'd appreciate that. I mean, we're in this together, right? So whenever I get anxious or need to vent – I'll let you know. In the meantime, though", she taps the steering wheel deep in thought, "let's just take it one day at a time, okay? And today has been a good day because it looks like I can actually do this." She nods to herself.

"Okay", you agree, and she starts the engine and on your drive home, you chat about other, less monumental things which actually helps to calm your nerves a little.

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"Why aren't there pictures of them dudes?", Jane grumbled, later the same evening. You were both mostly reading through donor profiles quietly by now, and you had started to feel a little discouraged because none of them seemed to be an all-around good fit.

You answered honestly. "I only requested a basic profile as I didn't want to be shallow. I think that pictures are overrated in this process, actually. I mean – would you pick a partner solely or primarily for their attractiveness?" When she didn't reply, you carried on: "I mean, of course there has to be mutual physical attraction, but I can't imagine choosing someone based on their appearance or rule out a good guy because of a crooked nose or sparse hair."

"That's very – noble", Jane commented.

"I don't think so. Thank you, though."

"I mean, people love their kids no matter what they look like anyway", she mused. "Although I honestly think your child will look beautiful, I mean-" She gestured at you freely. "You're gonna be, like, the best-looking mom in all of Boston, Massachusetts, maybe even in all of New England!" Her tone was light and amiable yet there was a sudden heat in your face and prickling at your neck.

"Don't be a suck-up", you admonished and she gasped. "Dr. Maura Dorthea Isles using such a colloquial term?", she hooted and you slapped her arm playfully to stop her teasing.

"Hey, are you resorting to violence now? You're becoming quite the thug", she laughed and leaned over, her hands shooting out to your sides and - "Oh God, no!", you squealed, wriggling to escape her relentlessly tickling fingers. "Jane, stop it or-"

"Or what? You'll call for backup?", she continued to tease and you, already breathless with laughter yet also unduly aroused, a tight coil in your belly and a treacherous throb between your legs unmistakable in their meaning, managed to shakily tempt her: "Or I'll throw away that bucket of salted caramel ice cream I bought for you specifically for this occasion", sighing in both relief and disappointment when her fingers stilled and she looked at you in obvious suspicion. "For real?", she asked and when you bobbed your head vehemently, she scrambled to her feet and warned: "This better not be a trick-", already on her way to your fridge.

"Wow, Maura!", she exclaimed a minute later, triumphantly pulling the bucket of ice cream out of your freezer. Of course she immediately started to scoop ice cream into a bowl at your counter while you remained sitting on the couch, waiting for her to return.

She did and, happily spooning ice cream into her mouth, teased: "We should do sperm donor selection more often if it means I get to have ice cream each time."

You sighed in feigned exasperation. "You are incorrigible, Jane Clementine Rizzoli."

She grinned behind her bowl. "That's what you like about me, c'mon", winking at you in a manner that had you force yourself to tear your gaze away from dark obsidian pools.

No, you internally corrected. That's what I love about you.