Blurred Lines

(POV JANE)

I am tired and exhausted; the case was hard and drained me. I was too emotionally involved, too invested. Who wouldn't be? Even after years as a detective in the homicide division, after years of practice, there are still THOSE cases.

Those cases where the thin line between detachment and engagement blurs, becomes indistinct and fuzzy. How much do I need to invest, physically and mentally, to solve the case? Where and when do I need to draw the line, when is it time to step back to avoid losing my sanity? How much of my soul can I sacrifice to endure hell with manageable damage? Or do we lose a piece of ourselves with every case? Do we ever get those lost parts of our soul back? How do I know if I have invested enough? How do I know if I have invested too much?

As I keep punching the heavy bag, my thoughts drift to the ten children we lost in this case. Ten girls, all between 9 and 12 years old. Ten sets of parents mourning, crying, screaming. Their loss and pain almost break my heart.

The images of the dead girls appear before my inner eye again, lying lifeless in that factory hall. Naked. Their bodies battered and dirty. Raped and murdered. No child, no human being, should ever endure the horror those children went through.

I notice my vision blurring and my eyes filling with tears. NO, I have no right to pity myself. I squeeze my eyes shut, wipe away the tears with the back of my hand, and punch the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling again. My muscles burn, and my body is drained.

Was I too slow? Could I have done something to catch that bastard earlier? Was there a way to discover the crucial clues sooner? Did I not work hard enough? Was I not persistent enough?

The guilt is eating me alive, and with every stifled sob I try so violently to suppress, I hit the bag even harder.

Why is this psychopath allowed to live, with his dirty laughter, without a shred of guilt, while the people he hurt so horribly are suffering? In moments like these, I doubt justice. In moments like these, I hate my job.

I can barely feel my body, yet I keep hitting over and over. Like in a trance. Just to suppress those damn sobs. I have no right to cry. Like a mantra, I repeat this one sentence. Even though I know in my head it's not true, my heart tells me that the death of those ten children is my fault. Am I slowly losing my mind? Have I sacrificed too much of my soul in this case?

I am drained, emotionally and physically. I can't go on.

"Jane." Maura's voice is soft, filled with emotions I don't understand. I pause for a moment, let my hands drop, my shoulders slump, and rest my forehead against the heavy bag.

I close my eyes and feel Maura approaching me. Slowly, uncertainly. She stalks me like a wild animal. Have I frightened her? Should I send her away? Can I keep my feelings in check at this moment when I'm almost about to break?

The gentle touch on my hip makes me flinch.

(POV MAURA)

I enter the BPD's gym, searching for Jane. No one has seen her for hours, and the precinct is deserted. It's Friday, already 11:30 PM, and not a soul is left in the building. The case was brutal, and I know that after cases like this, Jane struggles deeply with life and justice.

The room is dark, and for a moment, only the rhythmic, dull thuds and soft sobs give her away. Moonlight streams through the high windows, casting a soft glow on Jane's silhouette. The sight takes my breath away.

She is stunning. Dressed in short black shorts and just a sports bra, she kicks and punches the heavy bag. Her muscles tense and relax with each perfectly executed move. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, with a few wild strands escaping and falling into her face. My gaze travels over her sweat-soaked body, glistening in the moonlight. The profile of her face, her perfect butt, her toned abs, muscular back, full breasts, and those seemingly endless legs. It's torture, pure agony, to stand here and watch her. She is breathtaking. She is pure sensuality, every fiber of her being.

"Jane," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. Slowly and cautiously, I approach her. She immediately stops, and I see her body trembling, wracked with silent sobs. She is crying, and I instantly recognize how deeply this case affects her, confirming my suspicion that the guilt is consuming her.

She flinches as I lightly touch her hip, just above the waistband of her low-rise sports shorts. I close my eyes and swallow hard. It's overwhelming how much I desire this woman.

"Maura..." Her voice is raw, deeper than usual, and so full of emotion that it nearly breaks me. I open my eyes and look directly into her now almost black eyes.

Without thinking, I lift my right hand and gently place it on Jane's cheek, wiping away the tears with my thumb. She tilts her head, resting it in my hand, and closes her eyes. I also wipe away the single tear that has found its way to the corner of her mouth and hesitate for only a moment before running my thumb over her lips. A soft sigh escapes her mouth before she kisses my finger without warning. Her hands rest on my hips, and her fingers clutch my red silk blouse desperately.

"Maura..." It's a soft, desperate plea. Her right hand slowly slides over my stomach, resting just below my left breast, while her left hand gently presses against my back, drawing me closer to her.

"I'm here, Jane." My voice is trembling. Our lips are only inches apart. I feel like I'm drowning in her eyes, where my next question is already answered.

"What do you need?" I whisper, my heart pounding as I see the fierce longing burning in her eyes.

"You," she breathes. The answer is simple, yet so deeply heartfelt.

I can no longer control my own arousal and surrender to the desire. Without hesitation, I kiss her, at first softly and cautiously. Within seconds, the initially innocent kiss becomes hotter, more demanding.

My hands are everywhere and nowhere as she tears open my blouse, removes my bra, wraps her arms around my body, and kisses my neck. I tilt my head back to give her better access while simultaneously removing her sports bra. My nipples are rock hard, and I moan loudly as Jane alternately takes them into her mouth and sucks on them.

If she continues like this, I'll come in the next few minutes without her even touching me further. I lift her head and look into her eyes before our mouths collide again, and she licks my upper lips with her tongue. Her hands tug at my black, elastic pencil skirt until it rides up over my hips. She kneads my butt and kisses my shoulders while I focus on her full breasts and slip my hand into her shorts.

Our breathing is ragged, our hearts beat faster, and we moan together, one after the other, for each other. I kiss my way from her right breast to the left, lightly biting the erect nipples and feeling them harden further. I can't suppress my moan and continue my journey over her left breast, up to her collarbone, and to her neck. I nibble gently on her earlobe while my thumb massages the bundle of nerves at her moist center, and my middle finger rests just above her entrance. She moans, and I feel her legs tremble. Slowly, I enter her and can barely hold back my own orgasm as I repeatedly thrust into her, massaging the rough G-spot with my fingertips. I feel her tightening, twitching uncontrollably, and her moans grow louder.

Without warning, she pushes my already dripping wet underwear aside and mirrors my movements exactly. I nearly scream as she penetrates me with a second finger, and I follow suit a few seconds later. Our heads rest on each other's shoulders, we moan directly into each other's ears, and kiss each other repeatedly on the neck. I am sure I will have more than just a big round bruise tomorrow.

Together, we drive each other higher and higher until we come almost simultaneously. Our orgasms are earth-shattering. Loud, prolonged, and in waves. We kiss over and over again, gently massaging each other until the last wave passes.

The kisses are now gentle, perhaps even a bit shy, exploring, discovering. For a few minutes, we indulge in the sweet afterglow of our lovemaking. Our hands glide not with desire but with love, softly, reverently over each other's bodies.

"Let's go home, Maura." A simple sentence, in any other situation, would be as insignificant as ordering a pizza. But now, in this moment, it means so much. It means safety, love, comfort, a gentle 'It's okay,' a quiet 'Everything is alright.'

I nod. "Let's go home, Jane."