(Maura)
I look at the sleeping figure in my bed, the soft morning light casting a warm glow over her relaxed features. Her face, normally marked by tension and furrows of worry, is now peaceful—free from the shadows of fear that have haunted us for so long. The clock reads exactly 9 a.m., and the realization that we've slept through 15 solid hours of uninterrupted rest brings a gentle smile to my face. Yesterday, when we arrived at my house, we received the call from Detective Danville, confirming that Casey was finally behind bars. Since that moment, we've done nothing but eat, sleep, and try to regain a sense of normalcy.
As I watch her sleep, the weight of everything we've been through seems to ease slightly, like the faint fog lifting outside. The thought that a future with Jane—a real, tangible future—is now within reach, stirs something deep inside me. Hope, tentative but steady, rises in my chest. I lean down and press a soft kiss to her lips. My lips linger there for a moment longer, savoring the warmth and familiarity of her touch. Just as I think she might still be asleep, Jane stirs, and with one swift motion, pulls me onto her.
"Good morning, Dr. Isles," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep yet tinged with that playful tone that sends shivers down my spine. Just the sound of her voice is my undoing.
Her fingertips glide over my body in gentle, teasing strokes, never quite crossing the line of my clothing, and I feel a slow heat building under my skin. We kiss, languidly and without rush, the world outside forgotten as our lips move together in a rhythm that feels both familiar and electrifying. The desire rising between us is slow, deliberate, like the sun creeping higher in the sky. My hands move of their own accord, sliding over her skin, mapping the places that I've come to know so well. There's no urgency, no need for haste—just the quiet, steady assurance of being in this moment together.
(Jane)
I relish the feel of her body against mine, the taste of her lips, and the way her unique scent wraps around me, grounding me in this moment. Our breaths grow heavier, and I know I could lose myself in the familiar rhythm of her touch. My hands, now moving with a mind of their own, crave to explore every inch of her, to drive her to the point where her moans become the only sound that matters. The pull between us is intoxicating, drawing me in, demanding that I surrender.
But with the last shred of self-control I can muster, I push us into a sitting position, creating an unwanted distance. My breath catches in my throat as I force out the words I loathe to say. "We have to stop, Maura."
Her eyes, wide with confusion and desire, flicker with the sting of rejection, and it hits me hard. The guilt rises instantly, making my pulse race for an entirely different reason. She deserves more than my half-baked attempts at explanations, more than the hesitation that always seems to linger between us. For months, I've rehearsed this moment in my mind—how I'd tell her everything, open up, show her the parts of me I've always kept hidden. If we're going to make this work, I know I have to give her more than just this surface, more than physical desire. I need to trust her. I need to be with her, fully.
Before she can pull away, before she can retreat into the frustration that's building, I grab her wrist, holding on with a desperation I can't quite hide. I gently pull her back onto the bed, the warmth of her skin a lifeline against the storm of emotions I'm battling.
"Wait... please?" My voice cracks, and I close my eyes, pressing the palms of my hands hard against them, as if I can block out the vulnerability I hate to show. The insecurity in my voice grates at me, the helplessness foreign and unwelcome.
She hesitates, her body tensing slightly beneath me, and I can feel her bracing for the conversation we've both been avoiding.
"Can we talk, Maura? Please?" I barely manage to say, my voice softer now, almost a whisper.
The weight of what I'm asking presses down on me, and I wish I could push this moment a little further away—just a few more days, maybe weeks. But the truth is, I can't. We can't. This has been coming for too long, and if we don't talk now, I might never find the courage to face it again.
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
"Maura?... Please? I… I want to do this right this time… this…" She gestures vaguely between us, as if the words are too fragile to speak, "...with us."
(Maura)
The initial anger that flared up at her rejection, sharp and unexpected, begins to subside. Her words, hesitant but sincere, take the edge off. I sigh softly, realizing that this is new territory. She's never asked to talk about us before. Our conversations usually dissolve into half-finished thoughts, cut short by frustration or arguments, and more often than not, they ended in bed. But now, I can see the weight of her vulnerability, and the logical part of my mind pushes aside the simmering anger and the lingering frustration.
I stand and offer her my hand, knowing we need space, distance from the intensity of the moment. "Let's go downstairs, okay? It's easier to talk over coffee and breakfast."
Her hand is warm, but I can feel the faint tremor of nerves beneath her skin. As we move to the kitchen, I notice how her movements are hesitant, how her fingers twitch slightly, betraying the storm inside her. The Jane I know is confident, sure of herself in every situation—except, it seems, when it comes to this. To us.
Once we're in the kitchen, the weight of her nervousness becomes almost tangible. Her hands are slightly clammy, and I can't bear seeing her like this—uncertain, lost in her own struggle. Without thinking, I pull her into a firm hug, one that I hope says everything words can't. Her body tenses for a moment, then relaxes into me, and I press my cheek against her shoulder, grounding both of us in the familiarity of the moment.
"Everything's fine, Jane," I murmur softly, my voice steady, offering her the reassurance she needs. "Just tell me what's on your mind, okay?"
I pull back slightly, offering her a smile—gentle, encouraging, the kind of smile I hope gives her the courage to open up. I know how difficult this is for her, how much it takes for her to face her own feelings, to unravel the mess of emotions that neither of us have fully dealt with. But if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that I want this to work. I wantusto work. And if that means navigating through these moments of discomfort, of vulnerability, then so be it.
I squeeze her hand gently, a quiet reminder that I'm here, that I'm ready to listen, that I want to understand.
(Jane)
I swallow hard, once, twice, before I finally find the courage to meet her eyes. Those hazel-brown orbs, filled with so much love and quiet understanding, make my heart stutter, but they also give me the strength I need. I focus on Maura—on that radiant, thousand-watt smile she reserves only for me, on the warmth in her gaze. No, she's nothing like Casey. She won't tear me apart at my most vulnerable moment, when I'm about to lay my heart bare, every raw feeling exposed. I draw one last shaky breath before I let the words spill out.
"I love you, Maura," I begin, my voice rough with emotion. "More than I've ever loved anyone before. I want to be with you, and I'll do whatever it takes to make this work. I know I've hurt you, more than I can even imagine, and for that, I'm truly sorry." My throat tightens, but I force the next words out. "You've shown me so much patience, more than I deserve, and I know asking for more is selfish… but I need a little more time. I want to give you what you give me. I don't want to keep taking, like I've done in the past. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She tilts her head, that familiar, thoughtful gesture, and a quiet laugh escapes me despite everything. No, she doesn't understand. Not yet.
I drop my gaze to the floor, my fingers clenching into fists at my sides. The next words feel heavier than any I've spoken before, and they press down on me, like a weight I'm finally ready to let go of.
"I'm traumatized, Maura. I have post-traumatic stress disorder. Casey... he..."
My voice catches in my throat, and my vision blurs. Damn it. Not the tears again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold them back, but it's no use.
Before I can fully crumble, I feel Maura's hands on my face, her touch gentle but grounding. I open my eyes and find her gaze waiting for me—steady, unwavering. And in that moment, everything else fades. I focus on the calm in her eyes, on the reassurance I see there, and for the first time in a long while, I don't feel like I'm fighting this battle alone.
(Maura)
I'm torn between the all-consuming pain that gnaws at me when I see Jane this broken and the uncontrollable, fiery rage that burns within me for the despicable man who did this to her.
We sit in silence, her head cradled gently in my hands, our eyes locked in a shared grief I can hardly bear. I wipe away her falling tears with my thumbs, my movements slow and deliberate, as though trying to ease her pain with the smallest gesture of tenderness. I don't push her; I just wait, patient and quiet, while she gathers herself. How I wish I could take this part of the conversation away, bury it deep, never to resurface. But I know she needs to say it—for herself, for us—so we can begin to heal, together.
"He raped me, Maura. He abused me. Not just physically, but… emotionally."
Her voice, so small, so fractured, cuts through me like a jagged knife. The weight of her confession is bone-chilling, and it takes me a moment to realize that my own tears are falling too, her face now in my hands. We remain like this for what feels like an eternity, suspended in time, crying, comforting, clinging to each other like the world outside has vanished.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." The words come out shakily, and even though they feel inadequate, I mean them with every fiber of my being.
I should be stronger for her, I think. I should push my feelings aside and offer her the comfort she deserves, unburdened by my own pain. But how can I suppress the unbearable ache of knowing that the love of my life endured this living hell?
After what feels like forever, the tears subside enough for her to continue, her voice still trembling but determined.
"I need time, Maura, before I can give you all of me… before I can… be with you. I don't know how long it'll take. I don't want to hurt you…"
The insecurity in her words, that flicker of fear that I might reject her, nearly undoes me. Her vulnerability is like a fragile thread, stretching between us.
Without a word, I wrap my arms loosely around her neck and press my lips to hers, hoping that in this one kiss, she can feel every ounce of love I hold for her. It's soft, patient, full of promise. I pour everything into it—my love, my devotion, my unwavering belief that we can weather this storm, together.
"We'll do this at your pace, darling… our pace," I whisper softly when we break apart, my forehead resting gently against hers. "Together. You don't have to be alone with this anymore."
And then she smiles—that breathtaking, albeit tear-streaked, shy smile that makes my heart swell with so much love, it's almost painful. It's in that smile, in that brief glimmer of hope, that I know: whatever comes in the weeks, months, even years ahead, it will be worth it. Not just for me. But for us.