Chapter 10: Rites of Passage
Maura's POV
Jane's hCG test is positive. You are so shocked that you don't even feel overjoyed. Instead, the emotion most dominant is panic. Utter, wild, illogical, bewildering panic, panic that makes your heart race and your palms sweat and your hands fidget and although you are a doctor and a highly rational human being, there is nothing that seems to do the trick of calming you down. You try yoga, herbal tea mixtures, a variety of meditation techniques – breathing exercises have helped you tremendously more than once in the past -, but you still cannot successfully keep at bay the panic at what should be exciting and amazing news.
You know that you can't fool Jane. First of all, you cannot lie, but mostly, your body language and the slight tremor in your voice and your overall behavior – you are more hectic than normal, less organized and put-together – give you away. Jane's been a Homicide Detective for several years, so of course she's trained to notice the smallest differences in someone's mannerisms. Besides, she simply is more observant and knowledgeable of human behavior by nature; yes, police work might have honed her skills, but like most people, she's far better in reading others than you are.
You don't want to admit your distress to her, though. It seems wrong and unfair, bordering on cruel. You were the one who so desperately wanted a child that she suggested to help you out; and now you can't deal with the fact she's pregnant which has been the goal all along? Your own emotions are so upsetting to you that your go-to approach of cool, clinically detached analyses fails miserably because you just don't know why you feel this way.
Two days after her first blood test, you drive to the clinic together for the second one which is meant to confirm the former result. It's standard procedure, but you still feel anxious, gripping the wheel of your luxurious Toyota Prius as if you are holding on for dear life.
You even have trouble parking the car in the clinic's parking lot despite how good you normally are at it. With shaking hands, you reach for your Fendi leather bag and throw a glance at Jane while reaching for the car door, but the look on her face halts you mid-movement.
"Jane?", you ask, concerned. "Are you feeling unwell?"
She cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at you. "Jeez, Maur, you are terrible at acting unperturbed when you are... well, perturbed. So, before we go in there... maybe we should talk." It's a statement, but spoken so softly that it does sound more like a question and you marvel at Jane's social savviness although you are somewhat surprised at her timing. On the other hand, you are too early for your appointment which means you do have time to talk at the moment and being in the car also means that you cannot avoid her quite so easily. Well, you could pretend to not know what she is talking about and get out of the car to end the conversation but Jane probably – correctly – assumes that you are too polite to pull off something like that.
With a small sigh, you drop your hands in your lap on top of the beige Fendi bag. "I must apologize to you, Jane", you say stiltedly. "It seems that I am going through a phase of intense emotional distress that was induced by the confirmation of our – your pregnancy. I have never felt this way before and I am not entirely sure what is wrong with me although I did some research and found out that antenatal depression is more common than most people realize. However, I am not yet sure if I can suffer from this condition when I am not the one physically carrying – I would have to look into the findings more thoroughly and possibly consult a-"
Jane impulsively reaches out and covers your hands with her own. You like it when she does that although the gesture comes unexpected right now. You can feel the knotty tissue of her scars with her palms on your skin like that, and for some inexplicable reason, the very sensation of it simultaneously soothes your worries and increases your heartbeat.
"Hey", she starts after a long, drawn-out moment. Her voice is raspy and hoarse and yet, the tenderness is clearly audible in every single sound she makes as she continues: "I think you're simply overwhelmed, Maur. Being pregnant is a huge thing and you went through so much already. And y'know, you've always been focusing on me the last few months – my feelings, my health -, which is okay, but it also is a lot for you. I mean, you may not be the one technically pregnant, but this is your chance at motherhood and of course it's freaking you out."
Your lower lip quivers traitorously. "But I should be over the moon, Jane! Now that you are carrying, my condition is not going to affect the success of this pregnancy so why does everything feel so...?" Fishing for the right words, you wreck your brains and cannot come up with a single one that would suit your current emotional state. With a groan, you shake off her hands to bury your head in your palms, willing the tears to stay away so as not to ruin your make-up. But one escapes, then two, and the thought of black mascara streaks on your cheeks only makes you cry harder.
"Hey... hey, hush, sweetheart, it's okay." You hear the faint but very familiar sound of a seat-belt being unfastened and then she is hugging you, tight, like nothing could ever come between you. You hiccup in her strong arms and finally let your hands drop from your face which you instead hide against one of her muscular, yet nevertheless decidedly feminine shoulders.
She starts to rub soothing, large circles on your back and you nearly laugh out loud because of how ridiculously good it feels to be this close to her, to feel so protected in her arms, but the laugh ends up coming out as an oddly strangled-sounding chortle which makes her pull away, slightly, to gently grab you by the shoulders to make you look up at her. "You okay?", she asks, brows furrowed, "did I – umm, hold you too tightly?", and she sounds so genuinely concerned and the tiniest bit embarrassed that you momentarily forget that you must look like – well, like someone who just cried a black mascara river, and instead shake your head vigorously. "No. Thank you", you sniffle, and quickly reach for the glove compartment where you always keep a stack of tissues and sanitary wipes. She beats you too it, though, and hands you what you need, sitting next to you in silence while you dab at your puffy eyes and gingerly remove streaks of eye make-up from your cheeks.
After a short while, you reach into your handbag and pull out the mascara you intend to reapply.
"Seriously?", Jane asks, with only a hint of her usual sarcasm in her voice whenever you do something she finds peculiar.
You look at her questioningly. "Well, although I do feel a little exhausted, we still have an appointment to keep and my lashes are-"
"Perfect", she cuts you off with so much conviction that you blush lightly. "That's nice of you to say, but-"
"No buts", she replies with force, "gimme that crap – and are you even sure you're done crying yet?"
You are so in awe with her current behavior – the comforting you, the touches, the assertiveness mixed with tenderness -, that you instantly hand her the mascara which she quickly shoves into your glove compartment where you do not normally keep it but you let it go.
"I still think I look better with mascara on", you remark, and, as a direct answer to her last question, "and I think I'm done crying. For now at least."
"Feel better?", she asks, compassionately, and then reaches out her hand to softly brush a strand of hair behind your ear. It is another gesture so intimate that you have to focus on science in order not to blurt out something you would later regret.
"The science of tears is very much a niche subject, but studies so far indicate that crying does not actually make people feel better."
She chuckles at that. "Heck yeah, whenever I chop an onion, I definitely don't feel better afterwards, just annoyed."
"Those are different types of tears", you point out, "basal tears and reflex tears are different from emotional ones, did you know that?"
She snorts. "Are you really asking me that, Maur? Of course I didn't, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me."
"Humans are the only species that can weep emotional tears", you explain, "While all tears consist of lipids, metabolites, enzymes and electrolytes, emotional tears have a higher percentage of protein, well, protein-based hormones, to be exact, including the neurotransmitter Leu-enkephalin, which is a natural painkiller."
Jane's expression has gotten a little glassy but she grunts out a dry: "Well, I could also use that Lukefin thingy while chopping onions."
"Scientists think that human tears are a means for social bonding and connection", you add somewhat shyly, "although some also have pointed out their power to manipulate others-"
"Okay, Maur, I think I've heard enough about the fascinating science of tears and I assure you that you are not manipulating me", Jane states matter-of-factly but reaches for your hand once again. She interlocks your fingers: "We will do this together, okay? And if you ever feel sad or overwhelmed, you can just tell me. Please don't think you have to hide anything from me just because I'm doing this for you. I don't want you to think like that. I'm not fragile, okay? This is not only my journey, it is primarily your journey, and-"
"Our journey", you interrupt quietly.
She tilts your head at you. You blush again, thinking you've said something stupid and wrong, but then, her lips twitch upwards into a smile. "Yeah", she agrees, "that's what it feels like, right?" And, after a moment, she repeats, a dreamy look on her face: "Our journey... who would have thought?"
A giggle escapes you, bubbly and childlike in its innocence.
"It seems like crying does make you feel better, after all", Jane deadpans.
"No", you shake your head earnestly, "not crying. You. You make me feel better."
She turns away to open her car door, but her blush is still visible to you, and also how she bites her lips as if she wants to reply something but isn't sure how. Or what to say. It fills you with a giddiness that only increases as she helps you out of the car, apparently not ready to give up on your established little rituals yet.
R&I-R&I-R&I-R&I-R&I
Not very surprisingly, Jane's second hCG test yields a positive result, as well. This time, you don't have to "fake" enthusiasm (Jane claims that you cannot fake anything, anyway). You start to feel excited in the way you had initially expected: This is starting to feel real, after all. Nerves are still involved, naturally: You have had three miscarriages and are more than aware that the 1st trimester is a very delicate period of time in which about 80 percent of all miscarriages happen. Women who have not done IVF and are perhaps not even trying to get pregnant will frequently not even notice they've had a miscarriage in such an early stadium.
Jane still wants to do a "normal" pregnancy test, as she calls it. You point out that it's still early but she is armored with facts and tries to convince you that a false negative result is not the end of the world; she is scheduled for another hCG test – the last one – soon so even if the "stick peeing" (her phrasing, not yours) is negative, a third positive hCG test will outweigh this result by far.
"But then the test is useless for us, anyway", you point out. "It seems like you are just seeking further confirmation which is understandable yet I don't quite understand how-"
"Uh-uh", she interrupts. "Y'know, Maura, one of the things that you always have in movies and TV shows and shit is that one scene where they stare at the stupid stick, waiting for one particular result. It's like, I don't know, a rite of passage or somethin'. I won't feel pregnant before doing that dumb test."
Her reasoning is not very comprehensible to you but you relent. "Okay, I will head out to the pharmacy and get one right now", you say with a glance at the antique grandfather clock that you bought at an auction recently for a ridiculously small amount of money.
"Uh – you don't have to", she mumbles sheepishly. "Believe me, I have more than enough stashed away."
You raise an eyebrow. "Here, in my house? How come I haven't discovered them until now?"
At this, a mischievous smirk plays at her lips. "No offense, Maura, but your cop instincts are only rudimentary developed."
"Fine, go and get them", you say and wait for her to return. When she makes her way to the bathroom, you follow her, but she stops at the threshold. "Umm – I'm not going to pee on a stick right in front of your eyes, Maura."
"Oh." With a blush, you realize your faux pas. "Right. Just – come outside right afterwards and wait together with me, okay?"
She quirks an eyebrow at you in that particularly saucy way she has. "Oh, is Doctor Isles possibly getting nervous although we are just doing a store-bought, basically unnecessary pregnancy test?"
"Jane!" You swat her arm in partially mock outrage and she laughingly closes the bathroom door. One minute later, you are both sitting on the vast couch, hypnotizing the stick.
"They work by the same principle as the blood test, by the way", you explain. "They also detect the hCG hormone but they are less accurate the earlier they are taken."
"Thank you", she mumbles, clearly not listening. She is bent over the item resting on a paper towel on the couch table and you have to admit that there is something that feels quite special about doing this here, together, in your own home, a scene that must have taken place countless times before in countless of homes, evoking countless hopes and fears.
"Did you know that the first pregnancy home test that was approved by the FDA was launched on the market in 1976?", you google-mouth in a rather futile attempt to ease the tension of the current situation. You search your brain for other facts related to pregnancy testing that could be interesting for the raven-haired woman next to you. "Hey, did you know that in the 1920s, two German scientists started to inject rats and mice with the urine of pregnant women, which subsequently made the animals go in heat?"
"What the hell, Maura?", Jane exclaims, and you open your mouth to give her more context, but suddenly she gasps and snatches the pregnancy test, staring at it wide-eyed. "Holy shit, I'm pregnant!"
"We already knew that- oh, let me see!", you eagerly reach for the item and your eyes fall on the two easily recognizable stripes and you don't even know why your heart wildly leaps in your chest and your whole body starts to tingle in joy and bewilderment – perhaps it is just some peculiar sense of déja-vecu, or some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy because of the numerous times a scene like this has played out on the TV screen when you watched a movie of Jane's choice, people reacting in similar ways to you – but the truth is, you don't even care about a valid scientific explanation right now. You can feel moisture gathering in the corner of your eyes and you rapidly blink it away and look up, your mouth slightly parted in an "Oh" of surprise and amazement and there is Jane, so close that your upper arms brush against each other, so close that when she turns her head towards you, you are almost certain that you can see every pore on her flawless skin and your hazel eyes lock onto hers that are obsidian pools of – and now your head is spinning because her eyes seem even darker than under normal circumstances and her pupils are visibly dilated which is an indicator of sexual arousal -
And then it happens, she lowers her head and slowly inches even closer to you, closing any remaining distance, her warm breath is on your face and ta split-second later, as expected and yet so unexpectedly, her mouth lands on your lips and how is it so soft, so incredibly, wonderfully soft and she's being so careful and you can feel her hands tentatively caressing your sides and coming to rest on your hips, holding you loosely while she – oh, she has waited for your acceptance and you have granted it so so readily, parting your lips even more and she kisses you so sweetly, all the tenderness of one thousand innocent touches seems combined in that kiss, and you realize she's holding back a little, out of insecurity or something else, and your hands find purchase in wild, soft curls, gently pulling her into you, almost, and you fasten the pace a little, overcome by a hunger that can only be the result of a long time of pining after her, of oh so many secret fantasies you painfully kept to yourself, but now it is happening, and there is no battle for dominance or control, no, your tongues meet naturally, with the ease of two people who have gotten to know each other so well, over such a long period of time that a kiss only seems the logical conclusion to everything that came before.
After a while, you shift a little and break away from her because you need some air; the separation from her lips feels almost physically painful and you instantly cling to her again, moving yourself onto her jeans-clad lap, and her hands wander to your back, drawing you closer and it turns you on tremendously although her touch is harmless enough; it doesn't matter, your senses are overcome with desire and the next kiss is deliciously wet and passionate and has you sucking in her lower lip between your gently nibbling teeth, teasing her, which makes her emit a sound that is like a mixture between a groan and a moan and has you addicted instantly; you want to draw out more sounds like this from her, want to move your hands over every inch of your body and so, when you reluctantly have to part again for oxygen, you rest your head against hers, forehead pressed against forehead, noses bumping lovingly, your lips inches from her revelation of a mouth, you whisper: "Jane... I want to touch you so badly", the faint throbbing between your legs giving you the courage to verbalize your need and you half expect her to pull back, to shy away, but she blows the gentlest kiss on the top of your nose and hoarsely whispers back: "I want that, too" and you don't know how, but you do somehow manage to scramble to your feet and reach for her hand, guiding her up the stairs and into the bedroom you have already shared so often, but never before like this, entering the room hand in hand and slightly out of breath and full of aroused anticipation and in the deliciously nerve-wracking knowledge that something profound is about to happen, something profound and beautiful and utterly terrifying.
