25 months ago
The sun blazes mercilessly over the Libyan desert, an unrelenting orb of fire casting its oppressive heat on the canvas roof of their tent. Jane wipes the sweat from her forehead, the damp cloth briefly cool against her scorching skin, and drinks the last of her daily water ration. The tepid liquid barely quenches her thirst, leaving her craving more. The air inside the tent is stifling, thick with the scent of dust and sweat. Outside, the desert stretches endlessly, a sea of golden sand shimmering under the brutal sun. She reviews the mission plan one last time, the paper crinkling under her fingers as she traces the routes and checkpoints they have memorized over the months. For months, they have been unsuccessfully trying to free the three hostages. Either they were too late and the hostages had already been moved, or there were so many rebels that she ordered her team to retreat without achieving anything. No matter how frustrating it is, the safety of her team always came first.
Frankie steps into the tent, the flap rustling behind him. He observes his exhausted, emaciated sister tracing a finger over the map in front of her. The lines on her face are etched deeper by the harsh conditions. The rationing of water and food takes its toll on her just like the rest of the team. His eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep, his throat parched. The faint aroma of sweat and desperation permeates the air. He places his hand on Jane's shoulder, feeling the sharp angles of her bones through her shirt. "You should get some sleep, Sis." Jane grabs his hand and squeezes it, her grip weak but determined.
"If everything goes well tonight, we'll be home in three days. This time it will work," Frankie assures her, his voice a mixture of hope and exhaustion, as he turns towards the door.
"You missed Christmas and New Year's…" Jane murmurs guiltily, her voice barely audible over the persistent hum of the desert wind.
"WE missed it, Jay, all of us. Come here," he opens his arms, and Jane lets him hold her for a brief moment. His embrace is warm, a rare comfort in this harsh environment. Then he steps back. "It's not your fault, Jay. You know as well as I do that these missions happen every few years. Missing holidays comes with the job. We know that, and our family knows that. Okay?" Jane nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, Frankie." Frankie gives her an encouraging smile before leaving with a yawn. Time doesn't matter on a mission. You sleep when you can, regardless of whether it's day or night.
Jane puts on her sunglasses and steps outside, the bright sunlight blinding for a moment before her eyes adjust. The heat is a physical presence, wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. She watches Frost, hunched over his laptop, typing furiously. The faint clatter of keys is a constant backdrop to the oppressive silence. Korsak is throwing a few balls with Cavanaugh in the shade of the mess tent, their movements slow and lethargic. The faint smell of sweat and sand hangs in the air. She feels like she's letting her team down. It's a personal defeat. Jane HATES it. She hates every minute of it. She hates that every attempt so far has failed, that she had to put her team on water and food rations due to the unusually long mission. Jane clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms. It's a damned Sisyphean task. Every time she thinks she has the perfect plan, thought of every contingency, everything slips away just before the end, and she's back at the start. As if the finish line is moved a little further each time, just before she reaches it. She wants to scream, loudly and without restraint. This mission has lasted forever. Sometime after day 90, she stopped counting. In the early weeks of the mission, she tried hard to push thoughts of Maura away. Distractions are…deadly. And she's responsible for the lives of an entire team. But just as desperately as she initially tried to suppress thoughts of Maura, she's been trying to recall moments with Maura in the past few days. A few days ago, she finally told Frankie about it. He was furious. Of all people, the daughter of Patrick Doyle. The woman with the father the whole country knows. And hates. Every single member of the Doyle family is on every conceivable watchlist of every secret service.
Not that Jane didn't know that.
But Maura is…different.
Jane lies on the uncomfortable cot and folds her hands behind her head. The rough fabric scratches her skin, and the cot creaks under her weight. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine the moment when she was with Maura at the zoo. She remembers the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about the different animals. The dimple when she read the explanation plaques intently and how she slightly tilted her head back when she laughed at Jane's jokes. She remembers the soft lips on the evening of the kiss. A blanket of contentment and calm settles over Jane, the memory a fleeting escape from their harsh reality.
Only a few hours later, she is running toward the already departing helicopter, accompanied by a hail of bullets. The world is a blur of sound and movement. Jane hears the sharp whizzing and feels the breeze of bullets flying past her head. The acrid scent of gunpowder fills the air. She curses and urges her team on, her voice raw and desperate. A hostage falls, and Jane pulls them up by the collar while running. The gunfire is deafening, but Jane only hears the rushing of her own blood and her too-rapid pulse. She's just one second too slow. Just one step too late. The impact of the bullet on her left shoulder blade throws her to the ground a few centimeters before the already airborne helicopter. Pain explodes in her shoulder, radiating through her body. Cavanaugh leans out far, grabs her by the vest, and roughly throws her into the middle of the cabin as they fly away with thundering rotors.
Jane groans and gasps for air, each breath a struggle against the pain.
"Just the vest," she wheezes through gritted teeth, her voice a hoarse whisper against the roar of the helicopter blades.
xxx Simultaneously on the other side of the world xxx
As the inexorable march of time transforms hours into days, days into weeks, and weeks into months, the festive season ebbs away, leaving the chill of the new year in its wake. Maura, in the solitude that once cradled her, now finds the empty spaces echoing too loudly. Before Jane's whirlwind presence upended her world, Maura relished these serene interludes—immersing herself in projects with the kind of focus that only solitude could offer. New Year's Eve was occasionally marked by the glamour of a gala, a charming "plus one" by her side, but more often she was found alone on the vast veranda of her home. There, with a glass of exquisite Bordeaux in hand, she watched fireworks burst over the cityscape, her heart untouched by loneliness.
Now, the scenario is starkly different. The quiet that once soothed now suffocates, as the ghost of Jane's vibrant energy haunts her. The holidays, once a time for peaceful reflection, now carry a weight of melancholic longing that descends without warning, steeping Maura's heart in unexpected sorrow.
In her daily life, Maura navigates through a labyrinth of meetings and conferences, her professional demeanor as unyielding as the fortress she's reconstructed around her heart—a formidable barrier of ice and stone, impervious and chilling. Within the deepest recesses of this fortress lies a frozen lake, its icy expanse formed from the countless tears shed in solitude over recent weeks.
On some days, Maura's fortitude holds, her smile reaching her eyes, making her face feel alive rather than a mere facade. Yet, there are tormenting days filled with doubt, where memories of Jane feel like fragments of a dream, too ethereal to be real. On these days, icy fear clutches her heart with the terrifying thought that harm may have befallen her beloved.
Today, the fear is palpable, pressing down on her chest with the weight of impending doom. Maura lies in bed, her eyes wide open in the dark, the shadows of the night mirroring the turmoil within. The uncertainty is a voracious beast, gnawing relentlessly at the steel encasement of her heart, threatening to devour her peace.
Compelled by restlessness, she rises and traverses the shadow-filled apartment to gaze out through the expansive windows. Outside, the world is transformed by a gentle snowfall. Large, fluffy snowflakes drift languidly from the heavens, each one a soft whisper against the otherwise silent night. They blanket the garden's lingering green in sparkling white, each flake catching the moonlight to create a scene of serene beauty. The snow muffles the ever-present pulse of the city, turning the usual cacophony into a hushed lullaby. Maura, once enchanted by the magical dance of snowflakes, now finds a bittersweet comfort in the spectacle, a reminder of simpler childhood wonders.
Her reverie is broken by the subtle vibration of her phone. Eyes closing, she leans her forehead against the cold glass, allowing the chill to seep in, a temporary balm to her fevered thoughts. She inhales deeply, steeling herself against the surge of emotions, before turning to retreat back to the sanctity of her bedroom. As she passes, a glance at her phone's display reveals an innocuous email from Europe—but then, a more significant alert catches her eye. She halts, heart skipping, and steps back to confirm what she saw. A message.
Jane: "Are you still awake?"
Her fingers tremble violently, nearly causing the phone to slip through her grasp as she struggles to form a coherent response with shaking hands. Just as she is about to send her reply, Jane's name flashes boldly across the screen, a beacon in the darkness.
Maura's voice is breathless, laden with a cocktail of relief and anxiety as she answers the call.
"Will you open the door for me?"
Maura gazes at the door, then down at her phone, and back again, her disbelief palpable in the tense silence of her living room. With each step accelerating, she crosses the dimly lit space, her movements almost a blur as she rushes to the front door. Yanking it open, the force nearly causes her to stumble, a precarious dance with gravity.
Her eyes flutter against the harsh brightness of the entrance light, needing a moment to adjust. The sharp clatter of her phone hitting the floor punctuates the sudden illumination.
Their eyes lock. Time dilutes into a meaningless haze, whether seconds or minutes, Maura can't discern. Jane stands there, the shadow of exhaustion hollowing her eyes, their sparkle dulled. Despite her deep tan, the light renders her skin unnaturally pale, almost ghostly.
"Jane," Maura breathes out, her voice a whisper of disbelief, as a single tear betrays her composed facade, tracing a silent path down her cheek.
Closing the distance with purposeful strides, Jane's presence fills the space between them. Their lips collide with desperate urgency, the kiss a maelstrom of suppressed longing. Jane's hands, unyielding and warm, explore Maura's body with a restless intensity, tracing the soft contours under the silk of her nightgown. Each touch reaffirms her reality, her presence a balm to the ache of separation. Maura, driven by a mix of relief and desire, pulls Jane into the sanctuary of the apartment, the door shutting softly with a flick of Jane's foot.
They navigate the familiar geography of the apartment in a tangled dance, until the solid edge of the wooden table halts their momentum. With fluid grace, Jane lifts Maura onto the table, the world narrowing to the space between them.
"Sorry it took so long," Jane murmurs, her voice husky, fingers threading through her own damp curls, her smile tinged with apology.
Leaning forward, Maura feels the fabric of her nightgown give way, an unintentional reveal. Jane's gaze dips, eyes darkening, pupils expanding with raw desire.
"I missed you," Maura's voice is a soft murmur, wrapping around them like a tender caress.
"I missed you too," Jane replies, her voice thick, her gaze lifting from the inviting curve of Maura's décolletage to lock with hers.
The air charges with electricity as Maura arches a brow, her look laden with challenge and promise. Jane, responsive as ever, eliminates the last remnants of space between them, her arms framing Maura's waist, stepping decisively into her embrace.
Their reunion is fervent, their kiss devoid of hesitation—a clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, a testament to pent-up yearning. As Maura playfully bites Jane's lip, a soft moan vibrates between them, sending ripples of pleasure through Maura's body. Her hands wander to Jane's face, then trace the line of her neck, settling just below her throat—a gesture overwhelmed by the need to feel, to affirm life through touch.
Jane's response is instinctual; her hands grip Maura's waist, fingers pressing into flesh with possessive intent. The contact sears Maura's skin, the sensation a delicious torment. Desire swells, pushing her to seek more, to deepen their connection, to meld into one.
Feeling Jane's inadvertent thrust, Maura reacts with primal urgency, her legs encircling Jane's waist, drawing her closer, locking them together. Their bodies speak a language of their own, hands and lips narrating a story of reunion and rediscovery.
As Jane momentarily breaks the kiss to gaze upon the landscape of Maura's exposed skin, her eyes laden with desire, Maura trembles with anticipation. The intensity of Jane's stare as she slowly pulls Maura towards her, their bodies aligning with deliberate precision, is almost too much to bear.
"Fuck…" The word escapes Maura's lips, resonating like a fervent prayer in the stillness of the room. Grasping Jane's hand, she presses it to her cheek, her kisses planting promises of deeper pleasures to come. Jane watches, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, as Maura guides her hand beneath the silk, to where warmth and want converge.
The soft gasp from Maura as Jane begins to explore her further is drowned in a sea of sensation. "Please, baby," she whispers, guiding Jane's hand with trembling fingers.
"So sexy," Jane murmurs against Maura's skin, her kisses trailing a path of fire along her jaw, each touch scorching the delicate skin beneath her fingers. Maura, emboldened and unrestrained, meets each of Jane's advances with her own, their dance a crescendo of shared breaths and whispered validations.
Their world contracts to this intimate tableau, their breaths mingling, their bodies syncing in rhythm and need until the need for air tears them apart momentarily. But the respite is brief, Jane's fingers trailing fire down Maura's thighs, slipping beneath the fabric to discover, to tease, to promise more.
The symphony of moans and sighs that fills the room speaks of deep, irrevocable connections and desires laid bare. "You feel so good," Jane breathes into Maura's ear, her words a torch igniting every nerve. Maura's response is visceral, a need so profound it borders on pain.
"I need you," she gasps, urgency lacing her tone as she tugs Jane closer, hands exploring, always seeking more, always needing more.
Jane lifts her arms, a fragile gesture that allows Maura to ease the shirt over her head. As the fabric brushes against her skin, a sharp, pain-filled hiss escapes Jane's lips, echoing poignantly in the quiet of the room. Maura instantly pauses, her hands hovering in mid-air. Jane's grip tightens on the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening, as she lets her head fall with a groan onto Maura's shoulder.
"Sorry, I got... a little scratch," Jane murmurs, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and pain.
With an apologetic smile that softens the moment, Jane kisses Maura, her breath unsteady. As she steadies, Maura gently pulls away, her fingers delicately pressing against Jane's back, probing the unseen wound. Jane's reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath and a pained exclamation, "Maura!" which sends Maura's eyebrows soaring in alarm.
"A scratch? Show me," Maura insists, her voice soft yet imbued with a sternness that brooks no argument.
At Maura's command, the apartment is bathed in a dim, warm light that casts long shadows against the walls, creating an intimate ambiance. Reluctantly, Jane turns to the side, the motion fraught with discomfort. She attempts to lift her arms to fully remove her shirt, her face contorted in a grimace of pain.
Maura gasps, her shock palpable as she takes in the sight before her. An ugly, almost black bruise, large as a dinner plate, mars the landscape of Jane's left shoulder blade and creeps over part of her ribs. The severity of the colors and the swelling suggests it's a fresh wound, no more than two or three days old.
"Has anyone looked at this?" Maura asks, her voice tight with concern, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes the injury.
"Sort of?" Jane offers another apologetic smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, clouded as they are with discomfort.
"We're going to a doctor, Jane. Now!" Maura declares, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"I hate doctors... can't you...?" Jane's voice trails off, her question hanging in the air, laden with hope and hesitation. Maura tilts her head, considering. She has the necessary medical equipment at home, and her experience as an emergency doctor certainly qualifies her to handle this. Yet she hesitates, knowing the gravity of the injury. "I think we should go to the hospital now, Jane. I can look at it tomorrow."
A brief, heated discussion ensues, the air charged with Jane's silent pleading and Maura's firm resolve. But how could Maura truly refuse those deep, chocolate-brown eyes that hold so much trust and vulnerability? Jane, her head bowed, pleads quietly for just one night—a single night to find solace in sleep.
"Please, Maura. I'm so... exhausted." Her voice is barely a whisper, heavy with weariness.
Jane is so strong, yet in this moment, her fragility is heartbreakingly clear.
"I just wanted to say hello; I'll go home and lie down now," Jane murmurs, turning to leave. Maura's response is immediate, her hand reaching out to grasp Jane's.
"Please stay," she whispers, the words barely audible yet laden with emotion.
Jane hesitates, torn. "Maura..." she begins, but Maura's finger gently presses against her lips, silencing any objections.
"Just sleep, okay?" Maura's voice is soothing, a balm to Jane's tumult.
Jane nods, her resistance crumbling, and she allows Maura to guide her to the bedroom. They lie down side by side, the bed a small sanctuary in their tumultuous world. Jane shifts restlessly, seeking a position that eases the throbbing pain. After minutes that stretch like hours, Maura extends her left arm, creating a cradle of warmth and safety. Jane rolls onto her right side, nestling into the curve of Maura's body. Their limbs entwine, a silent testament to their need for closeness, each touch a reassurance of their shared presence in the quiet of the night.
A few hours later, Maura awakens, the remnants of sleep slipping away as a wave of panic washes over her. She reaches beside her, the bed cold and empty. Did she only dream it? Was it just a cruel trick of her exhausted mind? Her heart races, each beat a thunderous echo in the silence. She takes a deep breath, the familiar scents of linen and faint lavender calming her, allowing her to keep the panic attack at bay. She has become adept at this, recognizing the onset of panic before it can grow claws and teeth.
A glance at the carelessly discarded clothes on the floor—the gray jogging pants and long-sleeved shirt—anchors Maura, pulling her back from the dreadful abyss of doubt, where there is nothing but darkness and nothing to hold on to.
She rises, the cool air of the room brushing against her skin, and steps into the living room, her bare feet soundless on the wooden floor.
Through the glass doors, she sees Jane standing outside, her bare feet stark against the pristine, cold snow. The winter night is crisp, the air filled with the sharp, clean scent of snow and pine. Maura moves to the kitchen, the soft hum of the kettle filling the quiet as she sets a pot of hot water to boil. She pours two cups of tea, the fragrant steam curling around her face, and turns to see Jane staring at her from across the room. The glitter of the snow reflects in Jane's hair, and the cool winter air tugs at the oversized T-shirt she wears. Though Jane stands upright and motionless, Maura senses a restless energy beneath her composed exterior. Jane's eyes dart around the room, almost nervously, as if she is searching the shadows of Maura's apartment for a threat.
"I missed you," Jane's words are soft, almost a whisper, but they burn into Maura's heart, flooding her with a warmth she has longed for during the long, cold months. Maura sets the two cups down as Jane takes a small step towards her. The glow of the bright moon illuminates each of her movements.
Silence stretches between them, thick and tangible.
"I missed you too," Maura's voice is rough, cracking at the end. She swallows hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. Jane takes another step closer, her presence like a balm to Maura's frayed nerves.
"There were days when..." Jane's breath is shaky. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again, a newfound resolve steadying her gaze. Her eyes no longer dart restlessly around the room but fix firmly on Maura.
"...I could feel the memories fading. But then I looked up at the sky. I told the sun about you. Told it how I...fell in love with you." She exhales, the words leaving her lips like a confession. Her gaze drops to the floor momentarily before meeting Maura's eyes again. "I told it about the beautiful woman with the big, kind heart. I told it how you turn my world upside down with just a smile. How my heart skips a beat when you touch me. How I can barely breathe when I'm not with you. I prayed…prayed to God to let me get home safely. Home. To you..."
Maura's mind races to grasp Jane's words, each one a lifeline pulling her from the depths of doubt. Her heart pounds wildly, the sound roaring in her ears, drowning out everything but Jane's voice.
Jane takes another step closer, her vulnerability laid bare. „I…I was so scared that I might forget how you smell…how your skin feels…the sound of your voice."
Maura closes the remaining distance in two strides. She gazes into Jane's pale, moonlit face, her cheeks glistening with the trails of still-falling tears. Tenderly, Maura strokes Jane's wet cheeks with her fingers, pulling her down into a kiss. It is a tender, almost delicate kiss. Slow and sensual, just a whisper of their lips touching. But Jane understands.
They savor the moment of silence that envelops them, a cocoon of shared breaths and unspoken words.
"The first nights are sometimes...hard," Jane admits softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry."
Maura takes Jane's hand, the warmth of it grounding her, and picks up the two still-warm cups of tea. She leads Jane to the couch, where she opens her legs and pats the space between them. Jane sits down, leaning back slightly to relieve her shoulder, her head resting on Maura's chest. She listens to the steady, comforting thud of Maura's heartbeat. It doesn't take long for Maura to recognize from Jane's deepening breaths that she has finally fallen asleep. The rhythmic rise and fall of Jane's chest against her own is a soothing cadence, lulling Maura into a peaceful reverie as she holds her close, cherishing the moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of their world.
xxx Two days later xxx
Jane maneuvers around the sunlit kitchen of Maura's elegantly appointed home, her movements graceful and assured as she juggles pots and pans. The rich scent of brewing coffee and the comforting aroma of pancakes waft through the air, blending subtly with the gentle strains of music from Jane's carefully chosen playlist, which plays almost imperceptibly in the background. Maura sits at the dining table, her gaze fixed on Jane, observing her every move with a mixture of admiration and quiet contemplation.
The scene is profoundly domestic, imbued with a sense of settled, everyday life.
Yet, the sling encasing Jane's arm whispers of another, more turbulent reality—one that waits just out of sight, ready to disrupt their tranquility at a moment's notice.
Maura sighs, her eyes flicking to the clock. Duty calls. Despite the tranquility of the morning, she knows she must return to her work at the institute, to the unsolved mysteries and cold realities of crime scenes and autopsies. The respite of the previous day, spent nursing Jane's injury and cocooning together on the sofa, watching TV or simply sharing the silence, now feels like a distant memory.
As Maura nervously bites her lower lip, her mind teeming with unresolved thoughts and swirling emotions, Jane turns to face her. There's an almost magical quality to her smile, one that seems to reach deep within Maura, illuminating her innermost feelings. "I have at least two months of leave, baby," Jane says, her voice a tender caress. "You're my doctor; you're the one who certified that it would take at least eight weeks for my shoulder to completely heal. I can't even begin requalification until then. There's truly no need to worry about me disappearing unexpectedly." Her assurance is comforting, and with every hour that passes in the warmth of their home, her spirits lift, her presence a balm to Maura's often-anxious heart.
Stepping out from behind the counter with an ease that belies the depth of her recent pain, Jane leans in and kisses Maura deeply, a connection that momentarily blurs the edges of reality. She tenderly smooths away a smudge of lipstick at the corner of Maura's mouth, her touch gentle and precise.
Minutes later, Maura takes a deep, steadying breath, gathering herself to face the day. "Don't forget your medication," she reminds Jane aloud, a soft admonition filled with care. With one last glance at the serene domestic tableau behind her, she closes the door of her home, sealing within it the warmth of the morning and the promise of return.
xxx 5 hours later xxx
Maura has been poring over the toxicology report for hours, her focus frayed despite her best efforts. Her thoughts, unbidden, persistently wander back to Jane.
Stretching her back, she rotates in her expansive chair to face the window. Her fingers glide across the cool, supple leather, a luxury she's afforded herself but seldom takes the time to appreciate. Yet again, her mind drifts to Jane. Could she have already returned to her own apartment?
The day before, after accompanying Jane for shoulder scans at the BPD lab, they had found themselves back at Maura's residence, a silent agreement hanging between them. It was only after dinner, in the soft glow of the evening, that Jane had hesitantly suggested she should probably head home. Maura cherishes the memory of how effortlessly she persuaded Jane that the night was too far gone for departures.
Yet today, according to their unspoken agreement, Jane would retreat to her own apartment. This was the expected routine, the normal progression. So why does the thought twist Maura's heart with a sense of loss?
Maura exhales deeply and glances at her phone's display—no new messages. Naturally, she's barely been at work for five hours. She admonishes herself to regain composure. She's only known Jane a few months, in truth only a handful of weeks if counted by the time spent truly together. They haven't even shared a night's sleep, and here she is, her mind relentlessly circling around this stunning brunette, whose gaze holds a depth that is both exhilarating and daunting.
Pressing her lips tightly together, Maura mentally chastises herself. "Get a grip, for heaven's sake! You are Dr. Maura Isles, not a lovesick schoolgirl!" she rebukes herself and then leans forward, immersing herself once again in the complex data of the report.
xxx At the same time in another part of town xxx
"Do you even live in the same city, the same COUNTRY, as the rest of us?"
Frankie rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a long, contemplative sip of his beer. The air in the bar is thick with the scent of stale alcohol and wood polish, mingling with the faint undertone of frying oil from the kitchen. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the pool table, accentuating the almost deserted state of the place. It's no surprise—it's only 2 PM on a weekday. The clink of glasses and the murmur of distant conversations create a cocoon of privacy for the siblings.
"Jay… she's a Doyle. A DOYLE. And an Isles on top of that. She's one of the richest heiresses in the country, related to one of the most dangerous men in the country." Frankie's voice is a mix of incredulity and frustration, echoing slightly in the near-empty room.
Jane remains silent, her gaze fixed on the pool table.
"Do you remember the little boy in Yemen? Four years ago. The one you bought those colored sugar balls for every day."
Frankie reaches for the block of blue chalk, methodically rubbing it over the tip of his cue. The memory comes alive as if it were yesterday. The boy, seven or eight years old, with torn pants and a dirty T-shirt, pressing his forehead against the glass window of the tiny village shop. The scent of dust and spices fills Frankie's nostrils as he recalls the scene. The boy's large, hazel eyes had pleaded silently with him. Frankie had knelt down, pointing to a rainbow-colored sugar ball. The boy's vigorous nod and the subsequent purchase of a sandwich and the candy had cemented a silent bond. The next day, the boy had wordlessly joined Frankie in the shade, where the scent of blooming jasmine mingled with the dry desert air. Over the weeks, Frankie had bought him new clothes, a daily sugar ball, and taught him German and chess.
"What kind of question is that? Jamal, you know him too…" Frankie looks directly at Jane. "I don't see how he relates to Maura Isles alias Doyle."
But Jane knows her brother well enough to understand that he knows exactly where she's heading.
"It took us six weeks to locate the rebel leader and realize that Jamal was his son. But it didn't matter to you who his father was—you took him in against all rules and brought him to safety. And he's a wonderful boy."
Frankie smiles softly, the kind that reaches his eyes. He still meets Jamal regularly, now living with an adoptive family. Jamal's laughter, his intelligence, and warmth are stark contrasts to the bloodthirsty cruelty of his father.
"That's different," Frankie replies, but his voice wavers.
"No, it's not. And you know it. Maura may be the biological daughter of Paddie Doyle, but she doesn't resemble any of her family members. And she has no malicious intentions."
"Yes, it is different," Frankie murmurs, quieter now, his resolve slipping.
"Why should Maura be different from Jamal? We don't judge people by their families, Frankie. We've never done that, and you know it!"
"Jay…" Frankie takes a deep breath, the air thick with unspoken concern. "I just want to protect you. Jamal isn't a threat to me… to us. But this Isles/Doyle…"
Jane interrupts sharply. "Maura, Frankie. Her name is Maura."
"Fine… Maura. I see it in your eyes. In the way you talk about her… you're my sister, and after the whole thing with Casey… I just want you to be safe. I want you to be happy, Jay."
Jane steps closer and hugs her brother tightly. "You softie."
Frankie chuckles, punching her playfully on the upper arm. "I'll kill you if you tell anyone." Jane laughs too, the sound bright and infectious.
"You really don't need to worry, Frankie. I feel safe with her, and I am happy," Jane assures him, her voice steady and sincere.
"And I know you already asked Frost to run a thorough background check. And that nothing unusual was found, yet you're still worried despite all the facts."
Frankie looks down, guilt etched in his features, and nods.
"I love you, bro. Now let's play some pool."
Frankie accepts his sister's silent forgiveness with a grateful nod. As he arranges the balls, Jane pulls out her phone and types a message:
Jane: "Just thinking about you. I know we saw each other this morning and spent the last two evenings together. But I thought I'd ask anyway… want to go out for dinner after work? If you have other plans, that's okay."
She waits only two minutes for Maura's reply.
Maura: "6 PM at Al Pacino's?"
Jane responds with a smiley and a thumbs-up, a sense of contentment settling over her.
Then she leans over the table, grips the cue tightly, and with a decisive motion, sends the white ball crashing into the colorful array, scattering them with a satisfying clatter.
xxx A few hours later xxx
Jane waits patiently at the restaurant, her gaze intermittently sweeping to the entrance as Maura arrives fashionably late. Al Pacino's, nestled just around the corner from the BPD, boasts the charm of an intimate Italian bistro. Jane and Maura have dined here before, finding the atmosphere perfectly tailored to accommodate both Maura's chic business attire and Jane's relaxed ensemble. Maura had toyed with the idea of a later rendezvous at a more upscale venue, allowing her time to change, but that would mean sacrificing precious moments together.
Stepping from her car, Maura hands her keys to Thomas. Every so often, she indulges in the simple pleasure of driving herself home, a subtle defiance against her mother's expectations. The thrill of the open road, especially in the evening when traffic ebbs and the day's urgency fades, brings her a sense of freedom. She smooths her black pencil skirt and releases her hair, letting her honey-brown waves cascade freely. Her smile is a prelude to loosening the top two buttons of her red silk blouse, hinting at the black bra underneath—a clear signal that tonight's gathering is purely personal.
Entering the restaurant, Maura is enveloped by the enticing aromas of garlic and fresh tomato sauce, intermingling with the homely scent of just-baked bread. Tony, the waiter, assists her with her coat, his glances a bit too bold, his touch lingering slightly too long. Yet, Maura's attention swiftly scans for Jane. Their eyes lock—a silent acknowledgment of Tony's awkward advances. Jane's expression flickers with irritation, her hands pressed flat against the table, a silent testament to her discomfort.
In that moment, Maura inwardly curses the constraints of her public persona. If only she weren't so widely recognized, she'd greet Jane with a passionate kiss right there. But as Dr. Maura Isles, she must navigate the intrusive lenses of paparazzi and the omnipresent smartphones of amateur reporters, relegating moments of intimacy to secluded spaces.
Jane's eyes undress Maura, tracing the contours of her attire with an intensity that stirs the air between them. Maura pauses, relishing the heat of Jane's gaze as it lingers on the hint of exposed skin above her blouse. Stepping forward, she dips down to plant a soft kiss on Jane's cheek, her whisper for Jane's ears only, "Do you like what you see?"
Regaining her composure, Maura takes her seat opposite Jane, her greeting casual yet tinged with apology for her lateness. Jane, momentarily lost for words, manages a strangled response after clearing her throat. Maura, amused by the effect she has, signals for a glass of red wine to dispel the lingering waiter.
"You're teasing me," Jane finally accuses, a playful smile dancing on her lips.
"I would never," Maura responds with feigned innocence, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Jane merely raises an eyebrow, her attention returning to the menu.
As the evening unfolds, their conversation meanders through light-hearted topics and shared memories. Jane speaks of her recent pool game, carefully steering clear of any mention of their deeper discussions. They indulge in a shared dessert of homemade tiramisu, the night drawing to a close around them. They linger until midnight, the last patrons in the now-quiet restaurant. Tony, having sensed his advances unwelcome, retreats with a professionalism that only slightly masks his bruised ego.
When it comes time to settle the bill, Jane insists on paying, a gesture of chivalry that Maura, despite her independence and wealth, accepts with a rare grace. It's an old-world courtesy she usually resists, but with Jane, it feels right.
Exiting the restaurant, Jane leads the way, allowing Maura's gaze to appreciate the casual elegance of her form-fitting jeans and carelessly styled ponytail. In these moments, Maura finds herself unexpectedly at peace, the world's expectations held at bay by the simple pleasure of Jane's company.
Jane escorts Maura to her car, her posture slightly awkward, one hand buried deep in her jeans pocket as she stands before Maura in the soft glow of the streetlamp.
"Thank you for the lovely evening, Jane." The words slip from Maura's lips as she instinctively reaches up to tuck a rebellious curl behind Jane's ear. The curl, soft and warm, reminds her of the intimacy they share. Jane rewards her with a smile, gentle and laden with unspoken words, before leaning in to press a tender kiss to the corner of Maura's mouth. Maura turns her head, seeking a deeper connection, but Jane, teasingly, pulls away.
"Now you're playing with me," Maura murmurs, her voice a soft blend of frustration and amusement.
"Maybe…" Jane replies, her smile turning mischievous. She steps closer, her body pressing Maura back against the cool metal of the car door, and breathes a kiss onto her neck. The touch sends a shiver through Maura, her body responding with a soft moan as her hips press unwittingly against Jane. Feeling the heat between them, Jane momentarily retreats, her eyes locking with Maura's in a gaze intense enough to halt time. She traces her fingers slowly across Maura's forehead, down the curve of her cheeks, to her chin, each touch electrifying. Jane plants another soft kiss on Maura's mouth, then lets her fingers wander down Maura's neck, pausing at her collar before daring to venture further. Her fingers slide teasingly between the buttons of Maura's blouse, stopping just at the edge of the first fastened button.
Maura tilts her head back against the car, her senses overwhelmed by the featherlight caresses. Goosebumps dance across her skin, her legs threatening to buckle under the weight of her arousal.
"Will you come home with me?" Maura asks, her voice thick with desire, barely a whisper in the cool night air.
Jane's smile flickers again, tender yet regretful. "Not tonight, Maura."
She leans in once more, capturing Maura's lips with hers in a kiss that promises more, a long, lingering embrace of their mouths that speaks of deep longing and undeniable connection. Reluctantly, Jane steps back, the space between them charged with the echo of their closeness.
"Good night, Maura. Please text me when you get home," Jane says, her voice soft, carrying a note of care that wraps around Maura like a warm blanket.
It takes Maura over ten minutes to gather herself, her mind replaying every touch, every look, as she sits in her car. The memory of Jane's lips on hers, the feel of her fingers tracing her skin, lingers, haunting her as she finally starts the engine and pulls away into the night, the taste of Jane still vivid on her lips.
xxx A few weeks later xxx
"Maura, we need to go," Jane calls out, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious apartment as she shifts anxiously from one foot to the other. The anticipation stirs a light breeze that flutters the curtains in the soft morning light.
"I'm coming," Maura replies, descending the staircase into the living room with a grace that belies her rush. Jane's gaze lingers on her, momentarily captivated. "Too casual?" Maura inquires, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she smooths the fabric of her simple yet elegant violet top. "I can change…" But Jane, struck by the vision before her, silently shakes her head. Maura's outfit, though simple—a pair of snug, low-cut blue jeans and a fitted long-sleeved V-neck—embraces her form in a manner that artfully highlights her curves without crossing into the realm of the provocative. Her hair cascades in gentle waves over one shoulder, catching the light with every subtle movement, her makeup minimal yet flawless, enhancing her natural beauty.
Uncertain yet, Maura pauses in the center of the living room. The air is filled with the faint scent of lavender from the morning's cleaning, mingling with the more robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Jane closes the distance between them with determined strides. "You look stunning, babe," she whispers, her voice a soft caress against Maura's ear as she plants a gentle kiss. "We need to go, or we'll be late," Jane insists, clasping Maura's hand and leading her toward the door.
Two hours later, they find themselves in Maura's favorite café, a quaint place bathed in the warm glow of midday. The café buzzes softly with the murmur of other patrons and the clink of coffee cups. They share a table with Jane's mother, Angela. Initially, the air hangs heavy with a mild awkwardness, but soon, Maura and Angela are deep in conversation about opera, art, and classical music, their dialogue weaving through the complexities of cultural nuances and personal anecdotes.
However, the dynamic shifts when Jane excuses herself, leaving a palpable silence in her wake. Maura sips her coffee, the rich, bitter aroma grounding her as Angela's penetrating gaze holds a weight of unspoken questions. "Do you really care about my Janie, Maura?" Angela's inquiry slices through the stillness, direct and unnervingly sharp. Maura's expression tightens slightly, her voice carrying a defensive edge. "Of course I do, Angela," she responds, her tone reflecting her sincerity yet bruised by the implication.
"Forgive my directness, Maura. I just want to spare Janie a broken heart. I can see she really cares about you." Angela's voice softens, her hand reaching out to cover Maura's, offering a tactile apology. "Her last relationship was... well... complicated," Angela continues, her eyes clouding with concern. "She might not show it, but Jane is not as tough and distant as she appears. She has a gentle, fragile soul and a good heart. She tends to put herself last, neglecting her own health. Promise me you'll take good care of my daughter?"
A warm smile spreads across Maura's face, softening the earlier tension. "Of course, Angela. I promise I'll do everything in my power to make sure Jane is well," she reassures earnestly, and Angela's expression melts into one of relief, her hand squeezing Maura's in grateful acknowledgment.
When Jane returns, the atmosphere lightens considerably. "Did I miss something?" she asks with a playful tilt of her head.
"No, my dear. Sit down for a minute with your old mother and tell me what plans you have for the weekend," Angela invites warmly.
Jane laughs, wrapping her arms around Angela in a heartfelt embrace, her words spilling out enthusiastically. Maura watches, a tender smile playing on her lips, appreciating the genuine bond between mother and daughter, feeling a twinge of longing for such maternal warmth.
Later, as they settle back into the car, Jane's smile is radiant. "She really likes you," she says, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Maura returns the smile, her thumb caressing Jane's hand on her thigh. "I like her too," she murmurs, filled with a sense of contentment and belonging as they drive away into the soft embrace of the evening.
xxx Three days later xxx
The display on Maura's phone glows 11:56 PM in the dim light of her bedroom, its screen starkly empty of new messages. She taps the messaging app with a sense of resignation, her last message to Jane lingering unread from fifteen hours ago. Deep down, she knows the silence will remain unbroken.
With a heavy sigh, Maura closes her eyes and allows herself to sink into the soft expanse of her bed. The cool, crisp sheets contrast sharply with the warmth of her memories, making the space around her feel overwhelmingly vast.
It had been precisely ten weeks—an interval exactly as Jane had predicted. Jane's shoulder had mended in just shy of eight weeks, her life seemingly poised to resume its rhythm with the requalification appointment penned in for the week following her recovery. Maura had hoped they'd have a little more time. But fate, it seemed, had other plans; just days after reclaiming her physical strength, Jane had vanished from her life.
Yet, those ten weeks had been a mosaic of moments spent dining, laughing, and exploring the depths of newfound affection. They had savored lunches and dinners, the hours blurring into whole days filled with whispered secrets and tender touches. Their sessions of intense, passionate kissing often teetered on the brink of evolving into something more profound, but Jane always paused, her desire palpable yet restrained. Initially, Maura had understood—Jane's injury was a justifiable barrier. However, as weeks turned and pain faded, possibilities for deeper intimacy had blossomed, ripe for the taking.
The memory of a particular evening lingers vividly in Maura's mind. As Jane slipped on her jacket, her silhouette framed against the soft lighting of the doorway, Maura's voice had broken the stillness, hesitant yet laden with unspoken yearnings. "Why do you never stay here, Jane?" Her question hung between them, vulnerable and raw.
Jane had paused, the motion of turning halted by the weight of the inquiry. She faced Maura, her hands cradling Maura's face with a tenderness that made the world seem to stand still. "My…my last relationship…it was difficult," Jane confessed, her breath a shaky whisper. "I want you to know exactly what you're getting into, Maura. I think we need a bit more time—I need a bit more time…is that okay?" Her eyes searched Maura's, filled with a mix of hope and fear.
"Of course, baby. As much time as you need," Maura had responded instantly, her heart swelling with a mix of affection and ache. How could she deny anything to those soulful, chocolate-brown eyes that seemed to see right into her heart? Jane's response had been to pull her close, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both a promise and a pause, leaving Maura with a smile that masked a quietly breaking heart.
Now, as the night stretches on, Maura lies awake, enveloped in the scent of lavender and the echo of Jane's voice, the emptiness of her bed a stark reminder of her solitude. Her heart holds tight to the hope of more days, more kisses, more whispered truths—perhaps, one day, even more.
We are slowly moving towards developing a serious relationship between the two. I'm gonna change the rating to M soon - it will soon live up to a mature rating, but just not yet;-). As always: your reviews are very much appreciated!!