Sorry for the long disappearance, my unmedicated ADHD thingy sometimes makes it impossible for me to work at an even and steady pace. Also, I am currently moving, dog number 2 has had some health troubles and my broke ass is thinking about getting a side hustle although I don't have a clue what I could possibly do. But, I have missed working on this story so much and I hope to get it right, blossoming feelings, self-doubt, pregnancy worries and all...
Chapter 13: Doubt and Doughnuts
Jane's POV
When you wake up again, sunlight falls through Maura's windows and illuminates her naked body, her back turned to you, rays of sunshine caressing her flawless skin, the color of her hair almost competing with the golden hue. You stare at her, mostly in awe, but also a little worried and shocked when you think back to last night's rather... intense activities. You can't quite believe that you really, truly slept with your best friend who also happens to be a genius, raised in wealth and privilege, and who turned out beautiful and cultivated and classy. She easily is the best person you know. She certainly is the most noble one. You admire so much about her, her altruistic streak, her photographic memory, her excellent taste in everything from expensive wine to designer clothes, her quite impressive ability to change a tire while wearing heels and a Michael Kors mini cutout dress, and the way she has somehow managed to capture your whole family's affection and make them feel at ease in her presence although her own upbringing couldn't have been any more different from yours; but she always talks to anybody in that special way she has, not just pretending to be interested in them but genuinely curious about everyone she meets and treating everybody with an equal amount of respect and warmth, no matter whether it's a sales clerk in a supermarket or a rich entrepreneur at a champagne reception.
And see, this is what startles you; how can a person so... unique, so purely good, sleep with someone like you, someone who is sarcastic and oftentimes grumpy and forgets birthdays and important appointments and cannot even afford to buy a house and hunts murderers for a living? With a confused shake of your head, you roll out of bed and snatch yourself an oversize t-shirt and a pair of leggings from the wardrobe you share with Maura in her bedroom. You are extra careful to be quiet because you do not want to wake her in your current, agitated state. A glance at her digital alarm clock reveals to you that it's a quarter to nine; she normally never sleeps in that long, but she must be exhausted. You basically tiptoe down the stairs where you nearly fail in your desperate attempt not to make noise when you almost stumble over Bass, her beloved pet tortoise, whose head instantly draws back into the protective shell.
"Ouch, sorry, Bass", you mumble, rubbing your toe. Feeling guilty, you get some salad from the fridge and try to coax him into forgiving you by offering it to him, "Yummy breakfast!" Indeed, the tortoise can't resist the fresh greens and happily chews on the salad leaves as if they were the most delicious treat someone ever fed him.
You realize that you are in desperate need of a shower and that you should also get properly dressed. You'd have to go back upstairs and your showering would probably wake Maura, though. As much as you are loathe to admit it, you don't feel ready for that at all. Last night was... easy. Well, perhaps not easy, but.. light. Everything was so good and delicious and it seemed so clear, so obvious, that it was right. Now, though, anxiety courses through your veins and you feel on edge, self-conscious and less than up for a confrontation or even just a conversation.
You suddenly need to get out of here, although you know it's a coward thing to do. The most immature, selfish reaction after a night in the throes of passion and... well, perhaps something more. Like, a lot more.
Only when you have scooped Joe Friday up in your arms and started your car's engine, you chance a glance back to the building that has become your home quite a long time ago– and not because of its numerous amenities, not even because the modest guest house is inhabited by your mother, but because of Maura, because of how drawn to her you feel, like you are two opposing sides of a magnet.
You drive home feeling like an utter jackass which only serves as further proof of how undeserving of Maura Isles you are. You are not utterly clueless; you know that she must see something in you, something special and hidden from everyone else but her. She was so sweet with you, and she showed you a side of her you had not really believed you'd ever get to see and your hands grip the steering wheel harder when you remember, in flickers and sensations, moments from last night, but that's the thing about Maura: She unfailingly, unwittingly always focuses on the good in other people. She can't even be mad at someone who deliberately hurt her. It sounds like such a cliche but she truly is a gem too good for this world, and she deserves someone who can offer her so much more than you can. Spontaneous weekend trips to cute French towns, a vacation home in New England. Someone with at least one academic degree, someone who doesn't have to use Google Translate when perusing a menu in some exclusive foreign restaurant, someone who doesn't have to deal with thugs and scumbags all the time, someone who doesn't compulsively hurl expletives when frustrated and doesn't understand only one third, max, of the medical terms she uses at work; someone who wouldn't have to apply for a loan in order to buy her fine jewelry from Tiffany's; someone who is just not as ordinary as you are.
You arrive at your own apartment in a sour mood, angry at yourself yet unable to change anything about the dark train of thoughts you are currently on. Pacing around in your apartment with a cup of decaf coffee, your brain presents you with more and more reasons why you are not an adequate match for your best friend, why it would never work out between the two of you: You are bossy which she does find annoying; you are not even gay or bisexual; you are not cut out for a life under scrutiny by others because of the alternative lifestyle your relationship would suggest, you actually get itchy at the mere thought of attending Pride parades or going to women-only cafes and whatever it is that lesbians do all day. You remember that one time you went undercover at a lesbian bar; how glad and relieved you secretly were not to belong to a minority so objectified and ridiculed, so stereo typically portrayed in sitcoms and so invisible in everyday life. When have you last seen two women in broad daylight, walking down the streets holding hands? Have you ever? You cringe when you picture yourself with Maura out in public, hand-holding or giving her a soft peck on the lips; what insults people would holler at you or how they'd furtively nudge the person next to them, point you out to friends and family, Look, that's the gay couple. You clench your teeth together as your mind wanders to your profession as a cop, and how often it has led people to believe that you're secretly a dyke. When you went to the police academy, you very soon learned that your tough exterior and your hands-on mentality, paired with your physical strength and your lack of distinctively feminine traits turned you into a suspect although you were as much of an aspiring cop as the young men trained with you. Things have not changed all that much in such a heavily male-dominated field like the one you work in. As a woman, you always have to give at least 130 per cent to not be seen as a slacker. You can't allow yourself to show a lot of emotion because some guy will certainly attribute it to your gender and there are still enough people out there convinced that the fairer sex should stay away from a career with the police. Being excellent at your job is not enough; you also must do it in a manner that doesn't draw any attention to the fact that you're a member of the female sex. But even when you follow all the very convoluted unwritten rules, you are judged differently than the men – because why would a woman want to work as a detective? Why is she acting so brash? What kind of man would want someone like her, must be a real handful, that one. Such a show-off! Only cares about her career. Bet she's never had a good dick to suck in all her life. I mean, just look at her – it screams dyke, right? Bet she's one of them, pretending to be a real stud and all. Ha!
You've heard it all, from hateful co-workers who enjoy to spread rumors and share their dirty jokes with everyone who cares enough to listen; but also from some of the sleazebags you went to investigate; even in a few cases from random bystanders at a crime scene; once, a very religious witness refused to talk to you, demanding to speak with Korsak instead, claiming that he did not want anything to do with a deviant. He could have meant it differently, of course; you knew, though, that he didn't. It was written all over his face.
And you just don't want it. The snickers, the slurs, your life the cheap punchline of a trite joke. You don't want to be the dyke cop. The token gay. Lezzoli. You know that there is nothing shameful about being homosexual, but... it's just not for you.
And then you spill the rest of your decaf coffee on your shirt, when you remember the reason for drinking bland-tasting decaf in the first place and realize that avoiding Maura would even be dumb and chicken under different circumstances; but currently, you are pregnant with her child, and as if that wasn't already unorthodox enough and a stellar way to give people weird ideas about the exact nature of your relationship, you now also have to deal with the fact that there is at least a part of you who is absolutely not only platonically interested in Maura Isles. Under the shower, you allow yourself a few precious minutes of self-indulgence; you don't actually touch yourself, not after the night you just had, but you grant yourself permission to recall the smooth, creamy expanse of skin, the sounds of her coming undone, the silky wetness that welcomed you so eagerly, the taste of yourself on her lips. You swallow, hard, and you close your eyes and rest your forehead against the bathroom tiles while the hot water almost scalds your skin. How did you get yourself in such a mess? And who is there to talk with about all of this? Normally, you would tell Maura, but Maura is the cause for your emotional state of emergency right now.
Ugh. You turn off the water and step out of the shower, and you berate your reflection in the mirror loudly, with the worst curse words you can think of, the hot steam slightly obscuring your view of yourself. You don't want to see the details of your face, your body anyway. You know that you are pathetic. A shitty excuse of a lover and an even shittier best friend. And you have no idea how to make this right again. Maura deserves better has never sounded more true in your head.
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The next day, at work, you avoid her as good as you can. You try to do it in a manner that doesn't seem too obvious, though. So, when she comes into the bullpen around 10:30 to talk to one of your co-workers about a case he is working on, you act as nonchalant as you can, which of course you totally screw up because why are you nodding at her like an idiot? You don't normally do... oh Christ, it looks like they're finished talking, oh no, is she coming to your desk? Certainly looks like she is, uh-oh...
And then she is standing in front of your desk and you have to shut your eyes for a moment because having her this close to you after that one night is simply too much for you to handle. You can unfortunately still smell her perfume, subtle and flowery, with closed eyes, so you open them and force yourself to meet her gaze that doesn't look happy at all but also not as angry as you thought. Part of you expected her to make a scene, maybe not here, as it would be uncalled for at your workplace, but you could never relax yesterday in your apartment, part of you dreading the tought of her storming up the flight of stairs to bang on your door and loudly demand to talk to you, furious glint in her eyes and all.
You did send her a text message yesterday, claiming that Jo Friday had diarrhea and that's why you'd had to rush home. It's such a flimsy excuse that you are entirely sure she has not bought it. She might not be the best at reading people, but she does know you.
"Can we talk?", is all she simply asks and your head jolts upwards in surprise.
"Uh, umm, sure, but – now?", you try to sound casual and utterly fail again, your voice is hitching in your throat and sounds rusty although you went over the unavoidable "encounter at work" situation multiple times during the very sleepless night you've had.
"No, during lunch break", she replies, "let's say at 12:30, in my office?" And you nod and make an awkward assenting noise that you immediately wish you could take back but of course you can't. You're glad that you only have boring paperwork to do currently because as much as you like to be out in the field, you seriously doubt your ability to properly investigate a crime scene or ask meaningful questions in interrogation today.
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"Would you like a doughnut, Jane?"
You eye the box of treats that she is offering you across her desk warily. "I dunno, Maura, are they poisoned?", you try to joke, referring to the tension you can feel between you in the office. She has a quinoa salad ready on her desk, but she doesn't seem incredibly inclined to have a bite.
She snorts. "Jane, as difficult as this situation is, I hope you are aware that I would never attempt to poison you."
"Then why do you have doughnuts?", you ask and narrow your eyes into slits. "You certainly don't eat them yourself."
She pulls back her outstretched hands and puts the box of doughnuts down. "To be honest, I don't even know", she admits, searching your gaze. "It seemed like a good idea this morning when I was driving to work. It does seem silly now." She looks down at the sugary baked goods with her nose scrunched up in slight distaste before she meets your eyes again and sighs deeply.
"Jane – I am sorry if anything that happened between us made you uncomfortable, and - "
"It did not", you immediately interrupt, not willing to let her beat herself up over this mess. "I mean, we're both adults and I did consent, so maybe it was just something – I don't know, something we had to get out of our systems?" When you formulated it inside your head last night, it did not sound quite so terrible and insensitive. You even considered telling her that maybe your pregnancy hormones had a part in it, but now you bite your lip instead because it seems unnecessary and cruel to make such a comment.
"Yeah. Maybe it was", she agrees very softly. A minute of silence ensues before she speaks up again. "Or maybe it was more. However, I do understand that this is a very delicate situation and I will tell you something I have told you before: I would never let anything threaten our friendship, because it is far too valuable a bond to me. I have no intention whatsoever to push you into anything you do not fully and wholeheartedly want and desire yourself, especially under the current circumstances. You are carrying my child, Jane, and that is beautiful and extremely selfless of you, and it would not feel right to insist that you just – well, that you do anything more, because you are already doing more for me than you could ever imagine. I simply do not wish to ruin our friendship, Jane, and I hope that having had sex with you is not going to tear us apart. Please rest assured that I understand why we cannot continue a physically intimate relationship. I still cannot fathom a life without you as my best friend, however."
So this is it?, you think. She is letting you off the hook this easily? Somehow, you didn't expect it although doesn't it make sense according to your own frantic reasoning? You told yourself that she deserves better. You told yourself that you couldn't have your happily ever after with your best friend who happens to be a woman who happens to be a frighteningly intelligent doctor who also happens to be loaded and who furthermore happens to expect a child, a child that you are carrying for her as she just pointed out one more time.
The cases you take on as a detective are complicated enough. You don't need to do complicated in your personal life as well. You don't even want to, right?
You force yourself to smile at her. It is a genuine smile although it does feel a little different now that you have seen her naked body and felt her bare skin against yours. She probably gave all of this a good deal of thought, too, and came to the conclusion that she would not even want to be in a committed relationship with you anyway and you can't blame her. There are other options for her, better options. Safer options. She just would not voice it like that, though, because she is well-mannered to a fault.
"Maura", you say, "we're two grown-up people and we've been through such a lot together that I would not ever dream of just ending our friendship, okay? I mean, I'll admit it will probably feel weird for me for a while that we did what we did, but I am sure we can put it behind us. I mean, I am pregnant with your child after all, right?", you point out with a laugh. "So I guess that really means we have to get our act together, huh?"
She instantly sits up straighter and reaches for your hand over the desk, seeming like a huge weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. You give her hand a reassuring squeeze. She's still your best friend. It is all that matters.
"So, uh, could I have one of 'em doughnuts now?", you ask and you both chuckle as she leniently lets you pick one of them.
You talk for a while, about work stuff mostly, and she even eats some of her salad and the atmosphere between the two of you is already beginning to feel much less charged. Just two best friends enjoying their shared lunch break at work.
When you leave her office with the usual "Okay, gotta go, see you later", though, you can't help but be annoyed at yourself for the disappointment you feel at having to leave her. You will see her again later today, dammit, and also it is not appropriate for friends to miss each other like that, right? And she did make it all very easy for you, right? Why should it bother you that she doesn't want to be more than friends? You don't want that either, right?
You try to lose yourself in paperwork so you can't overthink any longer.
Sorry we're not quite there yet! There's a little more to this chapter but let's take this story one step at a time, right...
