A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the lovely reviews 3 I have been busy apartment-hunting the last few days. Moving soon, but I'll try to continue regular updates (at least 2-3 times a week). Writing this is so fun. I'm so in love with these two characters!

Chapter 9: The 2 week wait

Jane's POV

The waiting period seems to get more agonizing with every minute. Sometimes you forget and think of a task you could start and hopefully, complete; but then, when you've decided for yourself to paint Maura's tool shed or dig the hole for the biotope Maura has so often mentioned she'd like to include in her garden, each time just when you wanna get started, you wince, suddenly again remembering why you are not at work in the first place; and while you've acted rebellious on a couple of occasions in your life, now is simply not the time to take unnecessary risks. You find yourself placing a hand on your taut belly, wondering if something is is actually going on in your lower abdomen; could there really be an embryo nesting inside of you? The more you think about it, the more unlikely it seems to get. Pregnancy all of a sudden turns into an unachievable mystery, something that your body may simply not be able to pull off. But then again, the doctors performed several thorough exams and tests, and then they told you that everything looked fine for a woman your age and that it seemed like nothing physical would prevent you from getting pregnant. And yet, it's a matter of luck, and you know that some women truly have rotten luck in the pregnancy department. Teenagers who desperately try to hypnotize their test into showing a negative result sometimes - way too often - get pregnant immediately, after just one reckless, carefree encounter; and then there are women trying and trying for years who do not even have a physical condition and yet, thy never do get pregnant.

You realize that the uncertainty takes a toll on your behavior; you are easily irritated and get grumpy more often than normally and you have trouble focusing which, after a few days, gets into the way of the mind-numbing telly shows you watch for lack of a better pastime. You leaf through magazines you are not interested in anyway just to put them aside after a couple of minutes; you start crossword puzzles only to get annoyed after a short while; you even try to read a book Maura has recommended to you more than once, but the letters blur in front of your eyes and you find yourself re-reading the same paragraph again and again, not able to make sense of anything printed on the page.

Maura is a champ; she somehow puts up with your moodiness and inability to sit still and gives you the space you need. You are very aware of that although you don't tell her; you don't know why, but from time to time, you find it hard to find the right words for something that concerns your friendship; like it's too complicated or...intimate?, in a way, to put into words what you are so immensely grateful for. So, in typical Rizzoli-manner, you make the decision to let your actions speak for you.

Grocery shopping is, after all, not forbidden, although you are mindful of not lifting or carrying too heavy a load; but you have a certain recipe in mind, so in the supermarket, you don't randomly throw items in your cart as is your habit usually (much to Maura's chagrin), but carefully look for the products you need, refraining from any impulse purchases.

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You know she won't be back before 7pm today; she has texted you at lunch to let you know she'll be home late. Work is insanely busy, there have been two suspicious deaths at a care facility recently and she is intent on performing the autopsies herself. This is a point in your friendship that you cherish in particular: that both of you never have to explain or apologize themselves for working long hours, for sometimes being extremely busy for weeks at a time, basically coming home only to catch some much-needed sleep or take a hot shower; you don't have a large social circle because of your job, but it's what you are passionate about. You understand that not everyone identifies with their profession so strongly, but as a Homicide Detective, while a certain professional distance is of great importance, you can't just leave your desk every day at 5pm sharp and leave work at work; it's much more intense and while you occasionally, during especially trying investigations or gruesome murders, find yourself longing for a regular 9-5 schedule, you know there's not much else you would be able to do for a living with this level of vigor and commitment. Sure, it's intense, but it's also deeply rewarding to finally catch a perp, to solve a case that seemed to have reached a dead end more than once. There aren't really any happy endings in Homicide, but at least sometimes you are able to prevent even greater suffering; and you can offer the bereaved ones at least some sort of clarity, some closure. While Maura's job as Chief Medical Examiner is not the same as yours, there are similarities. She is the one to establish cause of death. She is the one to properly listen to a human being for the very last time in their life; of course she wouldn't like the metaphor, stating that "I can't listen to the the dead, Jane". But the thing is, she canand she does: She is always so thorough, so methodical, she'd never jump to conclusions or just go with the easiest explanation available. Maura isn't one to shun hard work and it angers you to no end when people underestimate her abilities because of her designer dresses and impeccable hairstyles. Yes, you do tease her, too, but you would never ever dare to question her professionalism or commitment; both equal yours and that's one of the things that made bonding with her so surprisingly easy despite the obvious differences in your backgrounds and upbringing.

These are the thoughts running through your mind as you prepare dinner; you have chosen a dish you hope Maura will like. You don't cook for her very often; heck, you don't even prepare home-made meals for yourself regularly. With the crazy hours you often work, food is mostly just a way to fuel your energy so your senses remain as sharp as they can possibly be. It has to be be convenient and fast and it's no secret that like most of your colleagues, you are drawn to the greasy, high-calorie stuff; there's nothing better for you on many days than the satisfying first bite you take of a hamburger with fries as a side. Take-away and ordering have saved your hungry ass countless of times. Maura is a good cook and keeps her kitchen well-stocked and you find it amazing how often she does find the time and energy to actually cook, although she likes going out for dinner, as well - only her taste in restaurants in decidedly more sophisticated than yours -, and over the years, she has served countless freshly prepared, delicious meals at her home. You want to reciprocate; you have done so, from time to time, but you have the odd feeling that you've never quite poured your heart and soul into it the same way you currently do.

With your hair tied back in a loose ponytail and an apron tied around your mid-section, you follow the recipe's steps as closely as possible; you've learned the hard way that improvisation doesn't typically produce the best results.

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It does get somewhat stressful when you are in the middle of the recipe, but you manage to avoid disaster from happening and soon, the kitchen is filled with quite the intoxicating, delicious scent that even has your own stomach grumble. You feel a weird mixture of joyful anticipation and mild anxiety; because what if Maura won't be thrilled by the meal you are currently preparing? Wouldn't she rather have eaten something else? "Okay, Rizzoli, relax", you tell yourself sternly. "It's just Maura and me. No need to turn into a bundle of nerves, we've had dinner together countless times!"

Only a few minutes later, you hear Maura's key turn in the lock and the sounds of her high-heels on the floor before she takes them off to get more comfortable.

Then, she enters the large room that holds the kitchen, but also the dining area and the living room (she prefers large, open spaces to smaller, separated rooms) and instantly exclaims: "Jane! What's going on here?"

You look up from the plate you are in the process of arranging only the tiniest bit miffed. "I cooked dinner for us, what's it look like?"

She immediately backpedals. "Oh no, I didn't mean - Jane! It smells so divine, I just had no idea you were going to cook such an elaborate meal."

"It's not elaborate", you nervously state. "Just... dinner."

Maura tilts her head in that adorable way of hers. "Either way, it's nice to come home to - this."

"Rough day?", you ask to mask the effect her words have on you.

She shakes her head with a sigh. "It was quite intense."

"Cause of death's suspicious?", you ask, eager to hear something - anything - about work.

"Still waiting for toxicology to finish some tests", she explains, ever hesitant when it comes to guessing. Maura Isles doesn't like to guess. For your sake, though, she adds: "I can tell you from what I have established so far that a natural cause of death does seem more unlikely than a poisoning. However", she raises a hand admonishingly, "we do not have the final results yet, so we must wait and cannot wildly make assumptions based on the findings so far discovered."

You try to reel your professional curiosity in. "That's fine", you say, playing it as cool as possible. "Because right now, I just wanna enjoy a peaceful dinner with you."

She smiles and it reaches her hazel eyes and makes them glimmer so beautifully. "I would love that too, Jane."

You pull out her chair for her; it's not something you consciously think about normally, but today, you find the gesture almost unsettingly domestic. Maura doesn't comment on it; relieved, you retrieve a bottle of wine and pour some into her glass and because you can't quite shake the weird feeling that is like an undercurrent giving off an almost electrical tingling inside of you, you do a silly little bow at the end: "Madam..."

Maura chuckles heartily and you hastily serve the food before you sit down yourself, opposite of her.

"It looks amazing, Jane", she says and you blush helplessly. Why does this dinner feel so different today? Could it be your hormones already running rampant? But you are barely even pregnant! Maybe you aren't at all.

Mercifully, Maura asks a question that requires a reply, thus saving you from your frantic wheel of thoughts. "What's it called?", she asks politely, sipping a little of her wine.

You shrug. "It's a recipe I found. I just thought you would like it, umm, and so I gave it a go. It's grilled salmon and asparagus with parsley puree, in a lemon dill sauce." You pause. "The sauce only consists of-", you start, wanting to assure her that you are not serving her food she would consider too unhealthy to have for dinner.

She cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. "It's lovely. Thank you so much." And then she simply starts eating and you sit there and wait for her reaction a little anxiously, carefully watching her facial expression. After swallowing, she simply says: "It tastes wonderful, Jane. Very light and mild. Won't you have some of it yourself?" Concerned, she gestures at your full plate. You are flooded by relief that she actually does like what you so painstakingly prepared; you are not the most practiced cook, so this could have gone either way. Finally able to take a bite, you relish the explosion of texture and taste on your tongue and hum contentedly.

"I told you it's good", Maura remarks and you actually have to cough-laugh a little at your silliness. You do not worry so much, normally.

For a while, you both eat in silence, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere between the two of you.

When you are almost finished eating, you decide to bring up the elephant in the room: "So... in only a few days, we will know more, I guess?"

She instantly knows what you are talking about and visibly perks up. "Yes, Jane, then we will go to the clinic for the blood test."

Impatiently, you say: "But couldn't we do a pregnancy test already, Maur? I mean", you start to rip up the napkin next to your plate, "like last time - just so that we have a clue what's actually going on?"

"Jane." To your surprise, she doesn't sound exasperated at all. "I know that this is a lot, but unfortunately, a home pregnancy test at this point would not tell us anything conclusive. A false positive or negative result would not help us, I'm afraid. We've been through this. Last time, the symptoms you had were quite the strong indication that you weren't pregnant, but remember we still did the blood test after your three negative urine tests. The blood test they can do at the clinic is normally much more accurate, especially at this early stage."

"Tell me again what they do", you groan, looking up from the successfully teared up napkin pieces that now are scattered on the table.

"Of course." Calmly, she states: "The test is supposed to detect and measure the hormone hCG in your blood. It is commonly referred to as the pregnancy hormone. Scientifically-"

"Okay, I don't need to know the scientific name, I wouldn't be able to remember it anyway", you jokingly interrupt while she already pronounces it: "-human chorionic gonadotropin."

"Yeah, human chronic godrop-thingy-something", you chuckle and free your hair from its ponytail that's starting to give you a headache. "And this test will provide a reliable result?"

"It is a very good marker, Jane, but the test will be repeated two days later in order to make sure", she diplomatically replies. "Let's - let's just do it 100 per cent properly this time, if you don't mind? We can still do the home pregnancy test later on, when we think it would be beneficial."

You snort. "That sounds like we will have to wait ages until we can be sure about anything", you cannot fully hold back the whiny undertone of your voice.

To your surprise, she gets up from her chair and walks around the table, soothingly resting her small, perfectly manicured hand on your shoulder. "I know it's a frustrating process, Jane. I have been through it several times and I am well aware of the mental impact it has. Please tell me if there is anything I can do for you. And please don't forget what we talked about recently – you can take a break anytime or opt out of this, no strings attached."

You raise your hand and place it on the one that is currently on your shoulder. It feels warm and soft and so wonderfully familiar and yet, the touch also does something to your body, something to do with sparks and goosebumps and – arousal?

Confused, you shift a little on your chair, but you don't let go of Maura's hand, it is too comforting, too lovely to be physically connected like this. You sigh at her words, suddenly feeling cross with yourself for being such a wuss while Maura has had it much worse with the three miscarriages and several failed attempts she had to endure. Although you don't say it aloud because you know that Maura would protest fervently, you do owe her this by-the-book IFV cycle, in your opinion. Last time you did not take time off work during the two-week-wait and you insisted on the home pregnancy test instead of waiting for the recommended blood test. While logically, it could have worked out nevertheless - it didn't, and somehow you can't get rid of the illogical hunch that following the rules as closely as possible this time will definitely yield a different result, and because there is simply no way to convey this to Maura verbally, you turn your head slightly, remove your hand from Maura's and then place a tender, short kiss on hers still sitting on your shoulder.

"Thank you", you merely say because you know she's going to get the gist of what you are thanking her for. To your surprise, when you pull back, she gently embraces you from behind, her mouth so close to your face, to your ear, that it makes your breath hitch a little in your throat.

When you feel her open her mouth practically into the shell of your ear (auricle is the medical term, you remember she told you a while ago), you expect a simple "You're welcome" in return, but what she actually whispers is even more perfect, "Always", and you already feel oddly moved when she inhales, still wrapped around you from behind, and adds: "always, Jane. I love you. So much." It's all she says and you awkwardly realize that it is the first time either of you has ever said those words out aloud and it is thrilling, terrifyingly so, and you want to say it back, but you're speechless and so you don't, instead giving her a feet massage later on the couch that probably can't compete with the ones she treats you with occasionally, although she does hum contentedly under her breath and finally even falls asleep on the couch which offers you the opportunity of studying her face closely, intently, the perfect curvature of her lips, the nose with the barely-there tiny freckles she tends to get in the hotter months of the year, and – but your eyes fall on her mouth again and for a wild split-second, you are almost overcome by the urge to lean forward a little, half above her, to kiss her, full on the lips, and you'd never do that, not without her consent – what?! You'd never do that at all, period. With your free hand you reach for the light woolen blanket that she keeps in the lower shelf of the small ornamental table next to the sofa; you throw the item over the both of you, making sure she's well covered by it, and you drift into the land of dreams pretty soon, feeling safe with her, so close to the warmth she radiates.

A/N: I know it's sooo slow burn but I don't wanna hasten it. Bear with me, please. The next chapter will definitely have a big Rizzles moment!