R&I FIC :: "LLBFFs" [Jane/Maura, PG]
Title: LLBFFs
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG
Pairings: Jane/Maura pre-'ship
Date Written: 9-10 August 2011
Word Count: 2753
Written for:
femslash11
Recipient: txltosfo
Summary: Maura wonders if being BFFs is enough anymore.
Spoilers: Takes place immediately after Episode 02x03 "Sailor Man", so everything up to that point is fair game.
Warnings: No standard warnings apply.
Website: ShatterStorm Productions -- Doggie Duo
Link to: http://bdkk.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Author’s Disclaimer: "Rizzoli & Isles", the characters and situations depicted are the property of Hurdler Productions, Ostar Productions, Warner Horizon Television, and Turner Network Television (TNT). This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Rizzoli & Isles", TNT, or any representatives of the actors.
Author’s Notes: This was my first time writing for this pairing, so it should come as no surprise that I ended up writing for the character that I thought would be more difficult to get a grasp of. And then to write her in what I feel is my most difficult POV? Yeah, I'm a serious masochist, clearly. LOL! But by the time it was over, I think I got a good idea of how Maura's mind works. And who knows? There might be more for this pairing from me. Oh, and if you get the Disney reference hidden in here, you get major brownie points, and a few virtual brownies to boot. *heh*
Dedication: To my muses, for always coming through in the end.
Beta: Many thanks to luscious_words and
shatterpath for their beta help.
"LLBFFs"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Maura: I really, truly enjoyed your company, but Jane and I, we're, um, uh--
Jane: Best friends. *significant look* Like more than BFFs. We're LLBFFs.
Maura: Exactly. We're L-biffs.
Jane: Yes, we're lifelong best friends forever. *winks* Get it?
-- Rizzoli & Isles, Episode 02x03, "Sailor Man"
You've been lying in your bed for thirty-seven minutes, failing in your attempts to fall asleep. You can hear Bass' shell scraping against the wall down the hall and sigh. It should only take seven minutes to fall asleep on average, and you've passed that by four times as many and more. With another sigh, you shift onto your left side and stare across the expanse of your seemingly enormous bed. That's not physically possible, but it certainly feels that way at the moment.
For a split second, you would swear that you can feel her arms around your waist again, holding you close to her body. She felt so strong, so warm, against your back. It just felt so right to be in her arms like that, to feel her whole and healthy again. You have to wonder if your memory of her nuzzling into your hair was real or wishful thinking.
"Even if it was real, it was just an act to break things off with Giovanni, that's all."
You can't even believe your own words. Not since Jane's gunshot wound. Perhaps even before that, but you don't like to dwell on those thoughts. Nor do you like to think about the fact that you didn't exactly answer Jane's question about wanting to sleep with her.
"She wouldn't understand."
Your hand caresses the pillow, memories of the sleepovers the two of you have shared bubbling up from your subconscious. Leaning forward to rest your head closer to that pristinely white pillowcase, you almost think you can smell Jane's shampoo. Realistically, you know that's not possible; you've washed and changed the bedding three -- no, four -- times since Jane last slept here. The odds of her shampoo's scent still clinging to bedding that she may or may not have slept on are astronomically high. But you can dream, right?
One more deep breath of imaginary Jane scent, and you turn back to face the door again. Bass' scraping is coming closer; clearly, he can feel your distress. You really should go and calm him. Some hearts of romaine would definitely make him happier. Well, as happy as a tortoise can be. Organic fresh strawberries would make his little head explode. Oh, how that sounds like something Jane would say.
With a sigh, you push back the covers and sit up. Hesitating for a moment, you consider just going back to bed. Bass' plaintive scraping urges you to your feet and out the door. There he is, slowly ambling toward you with his head hanging lower than you'd ever have expected a tortoise could manage.
"Come on, Bass," you say with a gentle smile. "Let's go have a midnight snack together." When he stares up at you with that slightly reproachful look in his eyes, your smile turns sheepish. "Okay, so it's not a midnight snack; it's a twelve-forty-two snack. Are you happy now?"
Bass begins the slow task of turning around, and you patiently wait before stepping in front of him to head toward the kitchen. Once there, you begin pulling his favorite fruits and vegetables from the crisper drawer. The familiar clack-scrape-clack-scrape of Bass's claws and shell alert you to his coming presence. You chop his treats and set them in his treat dish on the counter, before grabbing the opened bottle of Sonoma County 2007 North Slope Pinot Gris that Jane bought you for your birthday. It's nearing the end of its shelf life for an opened bottle, and one does not waste a perfectly good bottle of Pinot Gris.
The bottle sits on the counter to breathe as you slice a pear to eat with the remainder of your French baguette, as well as Camembert and Emmentaller cheeses. As you finish preparing your snack, Bass finally makes an appearance in the kitchen. You move your dirty dishes to the dishwasher, wash your hands, and pick up Bass to set him in front of his treat dish. Just as you're about to sit down to join him in a little snack, you hear a knock at the door. Your phone rings before you can even consider opening the door and the caller ID flashes Jane's name, which startles you.
"Jane?" you ask, hoping that she's not in trouble.
"Open the door, Maura," is all she says.
Making sure Bass won't fall off the counter, you cross the room and open the door to let her in.
"You look awful, Jane," you say without thinking, and lead her toward the kitchen. "What's wrong?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Doc," she replies, but follows you anyway. Clearly, something is wrong. She slumps onto the bar stool, head resting in her hands. "I couldn't sleep."
"Are you in pain?"
Images of the damage she suffered from that gunshot wound appear in your mind, unbidden, to torment you with the very real fact that you could have lost her. You study her closely, eyes constantly returning to the site of her scars.
"It's not that." At the touch of her hand on your arm, you raise your eyes to meet hers. "Maura, stop, I’m fine. Really. I just couldn't sleep for some reason, so I went out for a drive. I was just wandering around. Next thing I knew, I found myself outside your place and saw the light on."
You attempt a warm smile at that, images of her bleeding still in your mind. Shaking your head, you point toward the food. "Bass and I were having difficulty sleeping, too. We decided to have a late night snack." Her stomach gurgles, and she gets the most adorable sheepish look on her face. "When was the last time you ate something, Jane?"
The lines between her eyebrows deepen and her gaze goes slightly glazed as she clearly is trying to remember so she can answer your question. You fight the urge to reach out and smooth those lines away. Instead, you pull the plate closer to her.
"I'm not--" The noisome gurgling of her stomach cuts off the rest of her sentence. "Fine, I'll eat." She reaches for the bottle of wine. "Isn't this the one I got you for your birthday?" When you nod, that frown flits across her face again. "You didn't drink this with Giovanni, did you?"
"Oh no! I opened this a couple of nights ago for myself," you explain, smiling when she sets the bottle down and practically inhales some of the bread and cheese. "Besides, everybody knows that you don't drink white wine with the dishes I had for our dinner. Well, maybe you do when you're eating plain spaghetti with butter, like he prefers, but that's apparently better with beer."
"Did you give him one of my beers?"
You would love to deny the thrill racing down your spine at the possessive tone in her voice, but what good would that do? It's a natural, physical response to…
"Maura, tell me you didn't let him drink my beer. I need to hear you say those words."
You shake your head. "No, I didn't let Giovanni drink your beer."
She narrows her eyes at you for a moment before getting up to open the door to your refrigerator. Turning back, the narrowed eyes have transformed into an actual look of perturbation. "Maura, you don't have any other beer in this fridge. Unless he drank an entire six pack, you let him drink my beer."
"He didn't drink your beer, Jane," you say, watching her pull out one of the very bottles she covets so. "I bought him a six pack of the beer he liked. Beck's, I believe. When he left, I let him take the rest of it with him."
"He drinks Beck's?" Jane nods in appreciation. "I wouldn't have given him enough credit to drink anything that wasn't cheap, American piss beer." Taking a drink of her beer, she reaches back into the refrigerator and pulls out a couple of eggs and the free range, nitrate-free, nitrite-free, uncured bacon you bought earlier in the week. Closing the door, she glances over at you. "You don't mind, do you? I need more than finger food right now."
You shake your head and settle on the bar stool she so recently vacated, waving a hand in her direction. "If it means you'll eat, I don't have any issues with it. My kitchen is your kitchen."
Jane studies you curiously for a moment, then shakes her head and pulls out what she needs to make herself some bacon and eggs. You drink your wine and nibble at the pear slices as you watch Jane cook. The woman is better in the kitchen than she gives herself credit for, but you know better than to try to compliment her on that. The angle you're at allows you the opportunity to study the long lines of her back. When the memories of the shooting rear up again, you take a deep breath and a healthy swallow of your Pinot Gris to help push them back down into the box in which they need to remain locked.
"You wanna eat here, since Bass is being a slowpoke about his treats?"
Her words bring you back to the present to see two plates piled high with bread, cheese, pear slices, and eggs and bacon made to each of your specific tastes. You smile as she sets the plates in front of you and joins you on the next stool. Silence surrounds you comfortably as you both eat your impromptu meal. When Jane actually holds out a strawberry slice for Bass, who eats it far more delicately than when it's in his dish, you would swear your heart is about to burst.
***
By the time the two of you stumble into your bedroom for bed, the rest of the Pinot Gris and the remainder of the six pack of her beer have been consumed along with the food. Jane knows better than to fight with you on spending the night after drinking like that. She's taking her time in the bathroom, changing into the pajamas she keeps at your house for just this kind of occasion. You find it amusing that she still feels so self-conscious about changing in front of you, even after all this time and all of the sleepovers you've had at both of your homes.
Sliding under the covers again, you fluff up her pillow before settling your head on your own. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you stare at that pillow, knowing that Jane's head will be on it soon enough. Just knowing she'll be close and alive is enough to make you relax and realize how sleepy you are.
Coming out of the bathroom, Jane makes an exaggerated effort to fold her clothes and set them on the dresser. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she's still nervous. And then you remember the scars, and the fact that this is the first time she's slept over here since she was shot. That nervousness suddenly makes sense as she finally settles down next to you. She shifts a couple of times before finding a comfortable position on her side, facing you.
"Do you need another blanket?" you ask, concerned that she's sleeping on that healing side of her body too soon.
Jane reaches across to rest her hand on yours on the pillow. "I'm fine, Maura. Please stop fussing."
***
If asked later, you'll never be able to say exactly what it is that wakes you in the early morning hours before dawn. All you know is that your dreams end abruptly and you find yourself staring at Jane, just like you did before you drifted off to sleep in the first place. She looks so different in her sleep; none of the weight of her responsibilities is tugging at her facial features. Yawning, you close your eyes with the intent of going back to sleep.
You're just at the edge of consciousness when you hear a low moan. Eyes snapping open again, you watch Jane again. Her face contorts into a grimace as she moans again. She begins to mutter under her breath, words you can't quite make out. Without hesitation, you reach out to touch her arm.
"Jane? Honey, wake up. You're okay, it's just a dream." You repeat the words, a soft mantra, as you stroke her arm. It takes several moments before she finally startles awake to blink blearily at you. "Hi, Jane."
"What" -- her voice cracks on that single word -- "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Are you okay?"
She shifts onto her back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. You catch the movement of her hand as she absently rubs at the spot around the healing entry wound. That verifies your theories about her dreams. Well, nightmares really. You stretch your own hand out to lay over hers, stilling her movements.
"Does it hurt badly?"
She sighs and shifts her hand to cover yours, trapping your hand against the warmth of her stomach. "It aches more than anything, I guess," she finally says. "The ache tends to bring on the nightmares."
"Maybe it aches because you're sleeping on it?"
She nods and sighs again. "Probably."
"Do you regret it?"
"Maybe? I don't know." She starts to turn back onto her side again, but the pressure of your hand tightening slightly stops her. "Keeping Frankie alive was all I could think about. You know that, Maura. But I certainly wouldn't mind skipping all of the pain crap associated with what I did."
When she yawns, you pat her stomach lightly. "Go back to sleep, Jane. I'm here, you're safe. And if it doesn't stop, we'll bring Bass in to stand on guard duty next to the bed." That makes her chuckle, a sound you love to hear.
"Thanks, Maura. What would I do without you?"
You start to protest as she leans forward toward you. The two movements work counterpoint and instead of her lips landing on your cheek, as you imagine she intends, they come to rest against your own. You suck in a startled breath, but don't pull away. Neither does Jane at first. Your eyelids flutter shut at the sensation of those warm lips pressed to yours, and you unconsciously lick your lips. That makes her gasp and press closer for a few tantalizing seconds, before she finally leans back.
There's panic in her dark eyes when you meet her gaze again. You reach up to stroke your hand down her cheek once, twice, three times. That's all it takes for her to remember how to breathe again, and she blinks rapidly.
"Oh god, Maura, I'm so--"
"Jane, don't!" Your words sound more frantic than they really should be, and you force yourself to take a deep, calming breath. "It was an accident, right?" It doesn't matter that saying the words is like a knife in your heart.
"I -- Yeah, an accident."
There's something different in the tone of her voice, something you want to explore. But not now, not tonight.
"Right, and that means we should get back to sleep. You need your rest still."
"Yeah."
You start to pull your hand away, intending to face the other direction as you sleep, but she grabs your wrist. There's more than a hint of fear in her eyes.
"Jane?"
"This is gonna sound totally crazy, but, um…" She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Stay close? Maybe it'll help stop the nightmares tonight?"
You smile and nod, trying not to get your hopes up again. "Of course."
She shifts onto her left side and finally settles into a comfortable position. Reaching back, she pulls you closer by the hand she's grabbed. You move closer, molding your body against her back as she rests your hand against her stomach.
"Maura, about that kiss--"
"Not now, Jane," you murmur. "There's time enough to talk tomorrow."
"Right. Tomorrow. G'night, Maura."
"Good night, Jane."
She shifts slightly once more, but quickly relaxes against you, breathing deepening as she falls asleep. You watch her for a few moments, just to make sure the nightmares don't start up again, and you refuse to get your hopes up too much before you talk tomorrow. Just before you nod off again, you swear you can hear her whisper, "Love you, Maura."
Okay, maybe your hopes can be raised just a little bit.
"I love you, too, Jane."
Original post @ Dreamwidth with
comments. Commenting is welcome on either post.
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG
Pairings: Jane/Maura pre-'ship
Date Written: 9-10 August 2011
Word Count: 2753
Written for:
femslash11
Recipient: txltosfo
Summary: Maura wonders if being BFFs is enough anymore.
Spoilers: Takes place immediately after Episode 02x03 "Sailor Man", so everything up to that point is fair game.
Warnings: No standard warnings apply.
Website: ShatterStorm Productions -- Doggie Duo
Link to: http://bdkk.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Author’s Disclaimer: "Rizzoli & Isles", the characters and situations depicted are the property of Hurdler Productions, Ostar Productions, Warner Horizon Television, and Turner Network Television (TNT). This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Rizzoli & Isles", TNT, or any representatives of the actors.
Author’s Notes: This was my first time writing for this pairing, so it should come as no surprise that I ended up writing for the character that I thought would be more difficult to get a grasp of. And then to write her in what I feel is my most difficult POV? Yeah, I'm a serious masochist, clearly. LOL! But by the time it was over, I think I got a good idea of how Maura's mind works. And who knows? There might be more for this pairing from me. Oh, and if you get the Disney reference hidden in here, you get major brownie points, and a few virtual brownies to boot. *heh*
Dedication: To my muses, for always coming through in the end.
Beta: Many thanks to luscious_words and
shatterpath for their beta help.
"LLBFFs"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Maura: I really, truly enjoyed your company, but Jane and I, we're, um, uh--
Jane: Best friends. *significant look* Like more than BFFs. We're LLBFFs.
Maura: Exactly. We're L-biffs.
Jane: Yes, we're lifelong best friends forever. *winks* Get it?
-- Rizzoli & Isles, Episode 02x03, "Sailor Man"
You've been lying in your bed for thirty-seven minutes, failing in your attempts to fall asleep. You can hear Bass' shell scraping against the wall down the hall and sigh. It should only take seven minutes to fall asleep on average, and you've passed that by four times as many and more. With another sigh, you shift onto your left side and stare across the expanse of your seemingly enormous bed. That's not physically possible, but it certainly feels that way at the moment.
For a split second, you would swear that you can feel her arms around your waist again, holding you close to her body. She felt so strong, so warm, against your back. It just felt so right to be in her arms like that, to feel her whole and healthy again. You have to wonder if your memory of her nuzzling into your hair was real or wishful thinking.
"Even if it was real, it was just an act to break things off with Giovanni, that's all."
You can't even believe your own words. Not since Jane's gunshot wound. Perhaps even before that, but you don't like to dwell on those thoughts. Nor do you like to think about the fact that you didn't exactly answer Jane's question about wanting to sleep with her.
"She wouldn't understand."
Your hand caresses the pillow, memories of the sleepovers the two of you have shared bubbling up from your subconscious. Leaning forward to rest your head closer to that pristinely white pillowcase, you almost think you can smell Jane's shampoo. Realistically, you know that's not possible; you've washed and changed the bedding three -- no, four -- times since Jane last slept here. The odds of her shampoo's scent still clinging to bedding that she may or may not have slept on are astronomically high. But you can dream, right?
One more deep breath of imaginary Jane scent, and you turn back to face the door again. Bass' scraping is coming closer; clearly, he can feel your distress. You really should go and calm him. Some hearts of romaine would definitely make him happier. Well, as happy as a tortoise can be. Organic fresh strawberries would make his little head explode. Oh, how that sounds like something Jane would say.
With a sigh, you push back the covers and sit up. Hesitating for a moment, you consider just going back to bed. Bass' plaintive scraping urges you to your feet and out the door. There he is, slowly ambling toward you with his head hanging lower than you'd ever have expected a tortoise could manage.
"Come on, Bass," you say with a gentle smile. "Let's go have a midnight snack together." When he stares up at you with that slightly reproachful look in his eyes, your smile turns sheepish. "Okay, so it's not a midnight snack; it's a twelve-forty-two snack. Are you happy now?"
Bass begins the slow task of turning around, and you patiently wait before stepping in front of him to head toward the kitchen. Once there, you begin pulling his favorite fruits and vegetables from the crisper drawer. The familiar clack-scrape-clack-scrape of Bass's claws and shell alert you to his coming presence. You chop his treats and set them in his treat dish on the counter, before grabbing the opened bottle of Sonoma County 2007 North Slope Pinot Gris that Jane bought you for your birthday. It's nearing the end of its shelf life for an opened bottle, and one does not waste a perfectly good bottle of Pinot Gris.
The bottle sits on the counter to breathe as you slice a pear to eat with the remainder of your French baguette, as well as Camembert and Emmentaller cheeses. As you finish preparing your snack, Bass finally makes an appearance in the kitchen. You move your dirty dishes to the dishwasher, wash your hands, and pick up Bass to set him in front of his treat dish. Just as you're about to sit down to join him in a little snack, you hear a knock at the door. Your phone rings before you can even consider opening the door and the caller ID flashes Jane's name, which startles you.
"Jane?" you ask, hoping that she's not in trouble.
"Open the door, Maura," is all she says.
Making sure Bass won't fall off the counter, you cross the room and open the door to let her in.
"You look awful, Jane," you say without thinking, and lead her toward the kitchen. "What's wrong?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Doc," she replies, but follows you anyway. Clearly, something is wrong. She slumps onto the bar stool, head resting in her hands. "I couldn't sleep."
"Are you in pain?"
Images of the damage she suffered from that gunshot wound appear in your mind, unbidden, to torment you with the very real fact that you could have lost her. You study her closely, eyes constantly returning to the site of her scars.
"It's not that." At the touch of her hand on your arm, you raise your eyes to meet hers. "Maura, stop, I’m fine. Really. I just couldn't sleep for some reason, so I went out for a drive. I was just wandering around. Next thing I knew, I found myself outside your place and saw the light on."
You attempt a warm smile at that, images of her bleeding still in your mind. Shaking your head, you point toward the food. "Bass and I were having difficulty sleeping, too. We decided to have a late night snack." Her stomach gurgles, and she gets the most adorable sheepish look on her face. "When was the last time you ate something, Jane?"
The lines between her eyebrows deepen and her gaze goes slightly glazed as she clearly is trying to remember so she can answer your question. You fight the urge to reach out and smooth those lines away. Instead, you pull the plate closer to her.
"I'm not--" The noisome gurgling of her stomach cuts off the rest of her sentence. "Fine, I'll eat." She reaches for the bottle of wine. "Isn't this the one I got you for your birthday?" When you nod, that frown flits across her face again. "You didn't drink this with Giovanni, did you?"
"Oh no! I opened this a couple of nights ago for myself," you explain, smiling when she sets the bottle down and practically inhales some of the bread and cheese. "Besides, everybody knows that you don't drink white wine with the dishes I had for our dinner. Well, maybe you do when you're eating plain spaghetti with butter, like he prefers, but that's apparently better with beer."
"Did you give him one of my beers?"
You would love to deny the thrill racing down your spine at the possessive tone in her voice, but what good would that do? It's a natural, physical response to…
"Maura, tell me you didn't let him drink my beer. I need to hear you say those words."
You shake your head. "No, I didn't let Giovanni drink your beer."
She narrows her eyes at you for a moment before getting up to open the door to your refrigerator. Turning back, the narrowed eyes have transformed into an actual look of perturbation. "Maura, you don't have any other beer in this fridge. Unless he drank an entire six pack, you let him drink my beer."
"He didn't drink your beer, Jane," you say, watching her pull out one of the very bottles she covets so. "I bought him a six pack of the beer he liked. Beck's, I believe. When he left, I let him take the rest of it with him."
"He drinks Beck's?" Jane nods in appreciation. "I wouldn't have given him enough credit to drink anything that wasn't cheap, American piss beer." Taking a drink of her beer, she reaches back into the refrigerator and pulls out a couple of eggs and the free range, nitrate-free, nitrite-free, uncured bacon you bought earlier in the week. Closing the door, she glances over at you. "You don't mind, do you? I need more than finger food right now."
You shake your head and settle on the bar stool she so recently vacated, waving a hand in her direction. "If it means you'll eat, I don't have any issues with it. My kitchen is your kitchen."
Jane studies you curiously for a moment, then shakes her head and pulls out what she needs to make herself some bacon and eggs. You drink your wine and nibble at the pear slices as you watch Jane cook. The woman is better in the kitchen than she gives herself credit for, but you know better than to try to compliment her on that. The angle you're at allows you the opportunity to study the long lines of her back. When the memories of the shooting rear up again, you take a deep breath and a healthy swallow of your Pinot Gris to help push them back down into the box in which they need to remain locked.
"You wanna eat here, since Bass is being a slowpoke about his treats?"
Her words bring you back to the present to see two plates piled high with bread, cheese, pear slices, and eggs and bacon made to each of your specific tastes. You smile as she sets the plates in front of you and joins you on the next stool. Silence surrounds you comfortably as you both eat your impromptu meal. When Jane actually holds out a strawberry slice for Bass, who eats it far more delicately than when it's in his dish, you would swear your heart is about to burst.
***
By the time the two of you stumble into your bedroom for bed, the rest of the Pinot Gris and the remainder of the six pack of her beer have been consumed along with the food. Jane knows better than to fight with you on spending the night after drinking like that. She's taking her time in the bathroom, changing into the pajamas she keeps at your house for just this kind of occasion. You find it amusing that she still feels so self-conscious about changing in front of you, even after all this time and all of the sleepovers you've had at both of your homes.
Sliding under the covers again, you fluff up her pillow before settling your head on your own. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you stare at that pillow, knowing that Jane's head will be on it soon enough. Just knowing she'll be close and alive is enough to make you relax and realize how sleepy you are.
Coming out of the bathroom, Jane makes an exaggerated effort to fold her clothes and set them on the dresser. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she's still nervous. And then you remember the scars, and the fact that this is the first time she's slept over here since she was shot. That nervousness suddenly makes sense as she finally settles down next to you. She shifts a couple of times before finding a comfortable position on her side, facing you.
"Do you need another blanket?" you ask, concerned that she's sleeping on that healing side of her body too soon.
Jane reaches across to rest her hand on yours on the pillow. "I'm fine, Maura. Please stop fussing."
***
If asked later, you'll never be able to say exactly what it is that wakes you in the early morning hours before dawn. All you know is that your dreams end abruptly and you find yourself staring at Jane, just like you did before you drifted off to sleep in the first place. She looks so different in her sleep; none of the weight of her responsibilities is tugging at her facial features. Yawning, you close your eyes with the intent of going back to sleep.
You're just at the edge of consciousness when you hear a low moan. Eyes snapping open again, you watch Jane again. Her face contorts into a grimace as she moans again. She begins to mutter under her breath, words you can't quite make out. Without hesitation, you reach out to touch her arm.
"Jane? Honey, wake up. You're okay, it's just a dream." You repeat the words, a soft mantra, as you stroke her arm. It takes several moments before she finally startles awake to blink blearily at you. "Hi, Jane."
"What" -- her voice cracks on that single word -- "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Are you okay?"
She shifts onto her back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. You catch the movement of her hand as she absently rubs at the spot around the healing entry wound. That verifies your theories about her dreams. Well, nightmares really. You stretch your own hand out to lay over hers, stilling her movements.
"Does it hurt badly?"
She sighs and shifts her hand to cover yours, trapping your hand against the warmth of her stomach. "It aches more than anything, I guess," she finally says. "The ache tends to bring on the nightmares."
"Maybe it aches because you're sleeping on it?"
She nods and sighs again. "Probably."
"Do you regret it?"
"Maybe? I don't know." She starts to turn back onto her side again, but the pressure of your hand tightening slightly stops her. "Keeping Frankie alive was all I could think about. You know that, Maura. But I certainly wouldn't mind skipping all of the pain crap associated with what I did."
When she yawns, you pat her stomach lightly. "Go back to sleep, Jane. I'm here, you're safe. And if it doesn't stop, we'll bring Bass in to stand on guard duty next to the bed." That makes her chuckle, a sound you love to hear.
"Thanks, Maura. What would I do without you?"
You start to protest as she leans forward toward you. The two movements work counterpoint and instead of her lips landing on your cheek, as you imagine she intends, they come to rest against your own. You suck in a startled breath, but don't pull away. Neither does Jane at first. Your eyelids flutter shut at the sensation of those warm lips pressed to yours, and you unconsciously lick your lips. That makes her gasp and press closer for a few tantalizing seconds, before she finally leans back.
There's panic in her dark eyes when you meet her gaze again. You reach up to stroke your hand down her cheek once, twice, three times. That's all it takes for her to remember how to breathe again, and she blinks rapidly.
"Oh god, Maura, I'm so--"
"Jane, don't!" Your words sound more frantic than they really should be, and you force yourself to take a deep, calming breath. "It was an accident, right?" It doesn't matter that saying the words is like a knife in your heart.
"I -- Yeah, an accident."
There's something different in the tone of her voice, something you want to explore. But not now, not tonight.
"Right, and that means we should get back to sleep. You need your rest still."
"Yeah."
You start to pull your hand away, intending to face the other direction as you sleep, but she grabs your wrist. There's more than a hint of fear in her eyes.
"Jane?"
"This is gonna sound totally crazy, but, um…" She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Stay close? Maybe it'll help stop the nightmares tonight?"
You smile and nod, trying not to get your hopes up again. "Of course."
She shifts onto her left side and finally settles into a comfortable position. Reaching back, she pulls you closer by the hand she's grabbed. You move closer, molding your body against her back as she rests your hand against her stomach.
"Maura, about that kiss--"
"Not now, Jane," you murmur. "There's time enough to talk tomorrow."
"Right. Tomorrow. G'night, Maura."
"Good night, Jane."
She shifts slightly once more, but quickly relaxes against you, breathing deepening as she falls asleep. You watch her for a few moments, just to make sure the nightmares don't start up again, and you refuse to get your hopes up too much before you talk tomorrow. Just before you nod off again, you swear you can hear her whisper, "Love you, Maura."
Okay, maybe your hopes can be raised just a little bit.
"I love you, too, Jane."
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