Archive of Our Own

It is raining. It has been raining on and off all week and Jane Rizzoli hates it. She hates the case she's just closed and hates the weather outside. It is late September, still warm enough to not have to worry about autumn's quick approach, but there's a bitter chill in the air that she can't help but shiver as she glances towards the rain lashing against the window.

The lockbox is in her hands.

She's supposed to keep her department-issue firearm in the box any time she is at home and not cleaning it, but Jane Rizzoli isn't prepared to leave herself vulnerable like that. Her gun sits on her bedside table next to her badge and an empty glass from last night's three-am run to the kitchen for a drink.

No, the lockbox protects something far more precious. Jane is almost afraid to open it, to key in her older brother's birthday into the mechanism and pull it out.

She's ready though, more ready than she's been in a long time. She can go through with it. She has the confidence to do it.

She moves the dial in the familiar pattern, three clicks to the right, seven to the left and then two to the right, and exhales before pulling the lock down and open.

Jane needs this. The week has been hell, the case had fucking kids and the kids are fucking dead and there isn't anything Jane could have done to save them. They all knew that going in, when the Medical Examiner had told them that this, his last case with them before his replacement came in next week, was going to be a terrible one. She's still considered a rookie in the department, despite passing the test with flying colors, she hates it.

She didn't know what else she had expected, rolling out of bed at four a.m. on Sunday to the call of murdered children. Jane has been working all week, straight through for two days and then today she did all the paperwork she'd neglected during the actual investigation.

She needs the release.

The lock falls lifeless onto the kitchen counter, trapped in an open position. Jane smiles, her hand pulling open the top of the lockbox and staring at its contents.

The contents had cost her, but the experience was worth it each and every time. Jane fingers the soft leather of the harness, the firm hardness of what will be her release tonight and grins. She is ready.

She unbuttons her jeans and unzips the fly, shimmying out of them and haphazardly tossing them into the hamper as she passes it. The jeans she wants for tonight are buried deep in her closet (far enough back that her mother will not find them, should she look). They're Levi's – a slim men's cut that accentuates what she has and hides what she doesn't want seen. Hips and ass vanish in these jeans, and all that is visible is the length of her legs, and the soft bulge that Jane will affix there when the time is right.

She finds the underwear tucked into the pocket of the jeans, where she left them. She has to be careful, they cannot know, no one can know about this depraved way that Jane seeks out the release she cannot grant herself.

She's naked from the waist down and she doesn't look in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door. She very purposefully moves so that it is out of her line of sight as she pulls off her work shirt and bra.

The sports bra is a size too small and doesn't have to be hidden. It's sitting, innocently enough, on top of her three other ones that she wears to the gym. The gym is not the purpose of this one, it is to flatten, to help Jane blend. She slips it on, and then pulls on a tanktop from the drawer below it. The starched (her mother's doing) white collared shirt comes next. Jane pulls it on and stares down at herself, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

It is time.

Her stride is purposeful, full of a swagger she doesn't dare use at work. They'd never shut up about it if they saw her walking like this, like a man.

This is the way she wants to be.

The harness is in her hand and the cock feels cold under her fingertips as she carefully tests its position in the harness before stepping into it. Everything is right and good when she's doing this, when she's not letting the constant demand to be a fucking damsel in distress get to her.

She tightens the straps and heads back into her bedroom, picking up the underwear and adjusting herself once she's got them on.

Her feet are shoulder width apart, like they made them keep them at the academy, and Jane finally allows herself to look in the mirror. She shifts, tugging and pulling at her cock, getting it situated perfectly and reaching for the dark – almost black jeans on the bed. She pulls them on and buttons the fly, the zipper is pulled up and Jane is ready.

She's picked a new place this time, four stops on the T uptown and away from anyone who could possibly know her. She had heard about this place from a college student they interviewed who said the scene was classy, if queer.

Jane likes queer – she does not know how to describe herself any other way.

She certainly isn't a lesbian, even if her end goal tonight is to find a woman willing to let Jane fuck her long into the night until they both forgot anything but that moment.

Jane needs to forget that that is always the goal, that she's always trying to make herself forget how everything about what's she's doing is oh so wrong, and yet oh so wonderfully right.

She never lets them touch her; she throws them out before she comes.

Her keys are in her pocket and she's thrown on her suit jacket from work to complete her fucked-up image. She's a boy – he's a girl. Jane doesn't know what the fuck she is, but she feels right as she heads into the rain, up the road and down the steps to the T.

It's a Friday night, but the bar itself is quiet. Most of the bar's patrons have drifted off to the dance floor upstairs, but Jane doesn't particularly feel like dancing. She doesn't like dancing, it feels too much like sex and there's people touching her places she doesn't want to be touched and it's honestly not worth fucking with her own hang-ups to find a hook-up.

There's a woman at the bar in a little black dress, a tan raincoat slung over the stool next to her as though she's saving it for someone and fuck, she's wearing the most amazing red pumps Jane has ever seen.

That is the woman that Jane is taking home.

It is what that confidence that Jane sidles up to the woman and taps her on the shoulder before sliding into the space next to her. "Hey," she says, eyes cast low and voice pitched even lower. She's had way too much practice with this, she has the ritual almost down to a science. "What's your name?"

The fun is in the chase, Jane thinks, as a pair of inquisitive hazel eyes look her up and down once before settling back on her face. Jane can tell they're lingering on her pants, on her lack of defined breasts, but she does not care. It's not about their perception, but rather her own. This is her night to be a man, to take as men do.

The woman purses her lips as though thinking, and Jane hopes she's not going to run. It's hard to change targets once she's picked one. "Maura," she says quietly, and Jane leans in closer, smelling expensive perfume and catching just the barest hint of a freckled cleavage hidden just underneath the silken neckline of the woman's dress.

Jane licks her lips and she can see Maura's eyes darken even in the dim light of the bar.

"What is your name?" Maura asks and Jane curses her luck. Usually they just roll with it.

"Jay," She says quietly. She's used the name before, a lot actually. She likes it, likes how it rolls off the tongue so similarly to her own name, and yet without the female connotation.

Distract before she asks anything else.

Jane turns and gestures for the bartender, asking for a vodka, double on the rocks. Liquid courage for what she's about to do. "Anything for you?"

Maura gestures to a half- full wine glass and Jane inclines her head.

Her fingers brush along Maura's thigh and she can tell by the way that Maura's breath hitches that she's doing this right – that Maura wants it as much as she does.

Maura's eyes are lingering on her crotch, on the bugle of her cock and Jane pushes her hips forward just a little – rolling them as though she's fucking the air in front of her.

Eyes widening, Maura's cheeks turn bright red and Jane gives her a self-satisfied smile before taking a sip of her vodka.

"Has anyone ever told you," she asks swallowing and preparing herself to not wince as it burns going down. "That you are exceptionally pretty?"

"Not in so many words, no," there's an odd truthfulness in Maura's voice that Jane finds endearing as she allows her hand to move upwards, her touch now more bold as she's pushing Maura's dress up and touching the warm skin underneath it.

Jane leans in as close as she dares, her voice quiet and as laden with sex as she can imagine. "You'd look even better in my bed – with your sexy shoes and your lips wrapped around my cock."

She might have gone too far with that last comment, but there's a red flush on Maura's cheeks and her chest is raising and falling rapidly. "Really?" she asks quietly, her voice a little shaky.

Jane pulls her wallet out of her pocket and lays down seven dollars for her drink and a tip. She brushes her lips against Maura's ear as she whispers, "I'm taking the T home, orange line south-bound." Her lips linger for a moment longer than necessary, but Jane drains her drink in two long pulls and turns to head out of the bar, very aware of the rustling behind her. It is soon followed by the steady click of heels on pavement as Jane walks the two blocks to the T station.

The pressure against her jeans is almost too much and Jane already knows that she's not going to be kind to Maura tonight. Her keys jingle in the lock at her door as she eyes Maura, wide-eyed and rather hesitant in her body language, over her shoulder.

"I've never…" Maura begins, but Jane lays a finger on her lips and pulls her inside. She slides the locks back into place and toes off the boots that she was wearing.

Maura stands here in her living room looking awkward and highly uncomfortable. Jane likes that, it gives her the control she needs and craves.

Her jacket is discarded, tossed over the back of the couch, but she lays Maura's out more nicely, folding it a bit and fingering the fabric. It's expensive feeling.

She wants to touch Maura. She's pretty sure she'll feel as expensive as the jacket.

She's making herself wait.

Maura's biting her lip, still clearly turned on by this whole situation and Jane contemplates drawing it out longer, offering her another drink. There's just something about this girl, about how easily she'd come along – for a girl as pretty as her, Jane usually had to work much harder to get to this point – that bothered Jane.

She's leaning against the island of her kitchen, watching as Maura moves about the room, picking up knickknacks and inspecting them, before she's had enough. "Come here," she says quietly and Maura obeys without question.

Jane likes obedience, it makes doing this less awful and more real.

Maura's skin is so soft under her fingers; Jane cups the other woman's cheeks and pulls her in, kissing her roughly. Her tongue pushes forward against Maura's still-closed lips once, twice, and then Maura gasps and Jane is granted access. She pushes her tongue in again and again, spinning them so Maura is pressed up against the island and Jane has one leg thrust between Maura's.

Her hands brush against the front of Maura's oh so sexy dress, feeling for the sensitive nipples she knows will be there. The dress is backless, Maura isn't wearing a bra.

Her nipples are hard.

Jane smiles, satisfied and smug into the kiss and pinches both of them. She revels in the little noise Maura makes at the back of her throat as Jane rolls her fingers around the sensitive skin she's found.

Maura's fingers are pulling at her shirt, tugging on the buttons. Jane can't have that. Can't be touched, can't be seen. It isn't about her, it's about how she makes them feel – how she blurs the line. How she's as good as any man.

Her fingers close roughly on Maura's shoulders and she pushes down, their kiss breaking. "Get on your knees," she says. It sounds almost like a suggestion, but both parties know that it is a request that must be obeyed or this all will end.

Maura's fingers fall slack and she hesitates for just a moment, eyes searching Jane's own for the unspoken reassurance that Jane will not hurt her, that's she'll stop if asked. Jane gives her the barest of nods before moving her fingers down, tugging at her belt and undoing the buckle. She pops the button but leaves the fly zipped.

The bulge of her cock, hard and ready and always prepared for this is obvious, straining against its confines. Jane exhales, "Take it out."

Short, practical nails where not what she expected from Maura, but they were just that. Jane swallows, hips almost subconsciously bucking forward as Maura pulls the zipper on jeans down. She can see, in the bright light of her kitchen, Maura's fingers close around her cock and she hisses in pleasure just watching such a beautiful woman handle her like this.

"Oh Jay," Jane wants to moan, just listening to that breathy voice say her fake name – the androgynous one that she actually rather likes. She bites it back, not giving Maura the satisfaction of knowing she got a reaction. Jane can't show, can't feel. It isn't about that. "It's so big," Maura adds, as if she's surprised Jane was hiding that much in her pants.

Modesty was never really her thing.

Jane's fingers tangle in Maura's hair and she finds herself almost growling. "Suck it. That's what you came here to do, isn't it?"

She likes to talk, while she does this, she thinks it adds to the experience. Maura seems to like it, for she's doing exactly what Jane says, her lips brushing against Jane's cock, licking, kissing, not sucking, not yet. She likes to draw it out, she's like Jane then.

Jane's hips roll forward, she can't help herself. There's a beautiful woman with the sexiest shade of lipstick she's seen in weeks sucking on her cock and she's done with trying to pretend that this isn't who she is.

Maura's fingers press hard into her hips, Jane can feel them through the layers of denim and cotton she's wearing. The pain is good, but it is better when Maura's head begins to bob, moving up and down, taking in as much as she can with each pull.

"That's it, that's a good girl," Jane mutters. She can barely think; her body has all but taken over her emotions and she's so fucking happy she decided to do this. Maura is fucking hot as hell and Jane wants to fuck her so bad.

She pulls Maura's hair, groaning and thrusting into her mouth, not caring that it's probably uncomfortable, that it most likely doesn't feel nearly as good for her as it does for Jane. She's the man, this she takes without question.

Maura pulls away, eyes half-lidded and Jane is intrigued as she sits there, contemplating Jane's cock. "We should have intercourse."

Moment. Killed.

Jane wonders how someone could say something so completely and utterly unsexy, and yet here it is, right in front of her. She groans, running a hand through her hair, angry it's so long, but knowing that she will never cut it. Her cock aches for the attention that Maura was giving it just a moment before, but Maura has gone and said something colossally dumb and now Jane isn't sure if she wants to throw her out or gag her.

"How about this," She says, bending offering Maura her hand and pulling her to unsteady feet. "You don't say anything at all?"

Maura thinks about this for a moment before shrugging. "After a certain period of time during intercourse I cannot control-"

"That's good talk," Jane says, cutting her off before she can get started. She's pulling Maura towards her bedroom, she doesn't care about the moment that Maura ruined. She has to fuck her, has to be in her, has to take her dress off and touch those breasts she's barely touched enough. "Using clinical descriptions of shit? Bad talk."

This takes a minute to settle in and Jane knows she's walking a bit bowlegged because she's too turned on and Maura has left her standing at attention.

It isn't real, but she likes to tell herself it is.

Maura's hand is on her back, touching, holding her steady. Jane spins away from the touch, pressing insistent lips against Maura's neck, pulling at her dress.

She's so warm, she feels so good, Jane is going to fuck her with her clothes still on and she's so fucking hard just thinking about it. She's that fucking good, she doesn't even need to make concessions to get Maura to go along with it.

Jane pulls away just far enough to whisper against Maura's lips, "How do you like it?" She doesn't know how much of a response she's going to get, Maura's breathless and obviously preoccupied with how Jane has got her hands on Maura's ass. She's squeezing and kneading and Maura is whimpering against her lips.

"How do you want me to fuck you?" She asks again, grip tightening and voice hard. She doesn't like not getting an answer. It's a carryover from work, she knows it, but she doesn't care. She's not thinking with her brain anymore anyway.

Maura's response isn't one that she anticipated. Fingers brush against the starched fabric of Jane's shirt and Maura pushes her backwards onto the bed. Jane yelps as she falls backwards, landing in a tangled mess of jeans and shirt and too-long limbs.

She's struggling to sit up, taken aback by Maura's sudden aggression. She doesn't like it, it isn't part of her plan for the evening, but oh god, Maura is taking off her dress. And suddenly Jane can't think of anything better that she has to be doing.

Maura pulls her dress over her head, letting it fall to the floor and stepping out of it carefully. She's still got those fucking hot shoes on and Jane swallows visibly, watching as Maura pulls off the thin bit of lace that can hardly be called underwear. It falls out of long fingers, Jane watching as Maura gives it a disinterested glance before she climbs on top of Jane and hovers, right above her cock.

"I like to be on top," Maura says quietly, biting her lip. An adorable flush covers her cheeks and chest as she sits there, Jane's hands now firmly latched onto her hips.

Jane wants to be in her – just like this, to be able to see those fucking amazing breasts bounce up and down as Maura rides her.

This wasn't what she had planned.

The conflict that Jane's very existence is based upon is about perception. She wants to let Maura do this to her, and she's in concert with herself about how this would be completely and utterly hot. She can't let it happen though. Because this is not about Maura, or how fucking amazing Maura's tits are. This is about how she can't decide what the fuck she is.

Her grip on Maura's hips tightens and Jane pulls her down, roughly, onto her cock. Her hips rock up to meet Maura's downward motion and Jane groans long and loud. She's so fucking hard – she has to get off and this position might actually do it for her.

She can't come – not when Maura's here and wanting to see her come like a fucking girl.

She isn't a girl, she doesn't know what the fuck she is.

Maura's pretty hazel eyes are screwed up in an expression of bliss and Jane can't help but turn her head and look away. She doesn't want it like this, she has to change it. Maura's riding her cock and it's hot as hell, but it isn't right. It wasn't planned.

Jane can't stand this.

"Get off," She mutters, her hips halting their motion.

"Jay?" Maura asks. Her cheeks are flushed and her body is covered in sweat.

"Lie down, I can't do it this way anymore."

She's pliant, at least, and her skin is soft and she smells good. Jane is used to picking up women when she's had a bad week and taking them like this, but Maura is making it hard for her to do it. She wants to treat her right, and not throw her out as soon as she's calm enough to walk after Jane is through with her.

Jane knows that that will take some time at least.

She's also a cocky son of a bitch and likes to fashion herself to be the best they've ever had.

She's been told enough that it's the case that she's probably not tooting her own horn that much.

Maura's legs wrap around Jane's waist, her hot-ass shoes still on, and Jane pushes back into her. Maura is tight and wet and Jane groans as she pushes back into her. She begins slowly, eyes trained on Maura's face, watching as she bites her lips and inhales sharply with every thrust.

"Jay…" Maura begins, fingers clawing at Jane through her starched shirt and too-tight sports bra. She's almost completely masculine around her chest now, and Jane likes it. She wants to know what Maura's fingers would do to her back, if she could bring herself to allow Maura to touch her skin.

She can't. No one can. That isn't how this works.

Jane bites her tongue and goes faster. Everything is in this moment now, her mouth on Maura's neck, breath coming in short pants. Maura moaning.

She moves her hand, resting awkwardly on one arm. Her fingers brush against Maura's breasts, against her stomach, and then in between their rocking hips. This is one reason that Jane's always been so grateful that she at least understand female anatomy better than most guys, she can twist her fingers against Maura's clit – push her over the edge in a few drawn-out seconds rather than risk her not being one of those women who can come from normal sex.

That's a laugh, normal sex.

Nothing about this shit is normal.

Maura's babbling incoherently at her now, and Jane knows that she's close. She slows her pace, pushing her cock in and out of Maura, drawing it out for as long as she can.

"Just do it," Maura says, breathless. Jane wonders if she knows what's coming.

Her hips are going to be bruised in the morning, but she locks her hands in place on Maura's hips and fucks her until she can't any more – when Maura is coming too hard for her to move in and out with ease.

The fake name that Jane gave her is on Maura's lips, her voice is loud and breathy and fucking hot as hell.

Her neighbors are going to worry about her, but they know she's a fucking cop and has a gun and will shoot any motherfucker who tries to rape her. Jane Rizzoli has the most ridiculous sex, they'll say.

If Jane gets to see Maura come like that, she's tempted to say let them talk. Until it gets back to her mother, and then she'll fucking kill anyone who even looks at her funny.

"Should I be using male pronouns when I refer to you?" Maura has apparently calmed down enough to say completely ridiculous things.

"What the fuck… No!" Jane growled, scowling and standing. Maura's already worked her way down under the covers and is apparently settling down for the night. "Why would you even ask that?"

What the fuck, Jane never said she could stay.

"Because it is a logical question to ask. You clearly do not completely identify as female, and I wanted to know if you would be less fidgety if I used male pronouns," Maura's face is pressed into Jane's pillow, hand curled and body contorted so she can still watch Jane. There's tiredness in her eyes, Jane can see that, and she's glad. If Maura's going to insist on staying, she must be asleep soon, as the ache that Jane can barely contain between her legs is growing more and more pronounced with every moment she stares at Maura's naked form.

"I don't know," Jane says, standing. She picks up the t-shirt and shorts she's been sleeping in and walks out of the room, "I don't like thinking about it."

Maura Isles pretends to be asleep as she waits for Jay to return to bed. She doesn't know why she did it, why she let herself be picked up and taken back to this unknown apartment. She'd gone out to get away from the movers and the boxes and everything that she was sick of dealing with from her long and stressful day of unpacking her life after the movers dropped it off.

She'd found the bar on the Internet, following links through several social networking websites that she is a member of, looking for a place that would accept her personality quirks and had a decent wine list. She'd found the bar and had gone without a second thought, braving the T in order to not have to worry about evening parking in Boston. She just had to get away, had to do something different for a little while, she hates moving.

The wine had been good, and the atmosphere quiet, until Jay walked in, all confidence, bravado and oozing sex appeal. Jay was everything that Maura looked for in a lover, and the confidence that Jay moved with made it difficult to say not to such a proposition as Jay's had been. It was risky and foolish and she really should know better. She probably should have made Jay work a little harder to pick her up; she probably shouldn't have followed Jay out of the bar. She probably should have done a lot of things tonight that she is gleefully not doing in favor of the sex that Jay has offered.

Yet she did, because Jay is a lot more interesting than the average individual that Maura finds herself attracted to.

Jay is fascinating; Maura doesn't know how to figure him… her … (hir?) out. Despite Jay's protests, Maura still is convinced that perhaps male pronouns, at least in her mental monologue, are the best for Jay. She'll have to watch her tongue to not slip-up when speaking. It isn't respectful to misgender someone, and never appropriate.

As an individual on the transmasculine spectrum – Maura sighs and tries not to think too hard about the reading she's done on gender and gender identity in western society. She doesn't want to think about it, she doesn't want to put Jay into a box that Jay does not want to be put into.

Her breathing slows as Jay comes back into the room, body still covered, but female form far more evident minus the constrictive clothing and prosthetic phallus. She doesn't know why she's pretending to be asleep, but it seems like the logical thing to do – she's curious if Jay will attempt to stimulate himself to orgasm or if he will just go to sleep. Maura was positive that Jay was going to throw her out afterwards so as to achieve sexual release. She had not wanted to leave, however, so she didn't give Jay the option.

Maura Isles, master manipulator.

It has a nice ring to it.

Jay gets into bed, and Maura can feel the tension coming off of his body in waves. She doesn't move, keeps her breathing still, and listens as Jay brings himself off – silent and breathless. Maura wants to help, but knows that she can't, that Jay isn't comfortable enough with himself to allow her to touch him, not like this, probably not ever.

When Jay finishes, he falls asleep, curling as he dozes around Maura's still form. Maura exhales, shifting closer and allows herself to drift off as well.

Her eyes, as they close, spy the badge and gun holster on the bed and Maura's lips curl upwards into a smile. Boston Police, she'll see Jay again.

Jane wakes up to lips on her cheek and a hand across her stomach moving in a less than innocent way downwards. She sits bolt upright and lunges for her gun, which is in the other room and not on her bedside table where it usually is. It takes her a moment to realize that there's a warm body under her arm and a pair of rather alarmed-looking hazel eyes staring up at her.

"Good morning, Jay," Maura says, eyes brightening as Jane remembers the night before. There's something about her smile that Jane finds incredibly unnerving.

"You need to leave," Jane says, pulling her body away from Maura and wrapping her arms around her knees. She can see her reflection in the mirror on her closet door and she turns away quickly. She hates how she looks, early in the morning after these ventures. She looks so fucking feminine and vulnerable. She isn't like this, she's not, she's a fucking cop – a detective in homicide. The only female in a sea of men, it's part of why she can't be the fucking girl, they won't take her fucking seriously. "I shouldn't've let you stay."

Christ there are so many reasons she's fucked up. Maura fucking asked her if she wanted to use male pronouns – she's not fucking trans or whatever…

Am I?

Jane doesn't know what the fuck she is.

This fucking blows.

Maura's face falls and she leans off the side of the bed and picks up that tiny bit of lace that Jane supposes was supposed to be underwear. She dresses quickly, facing away from Jane, and does up her shoes without a word.

"Will I see you again?" There's a hint of sadness and remorse in Maura's voice that Jane almost feels guilty about.

"That is a stupid question and you know it," Jane mutters, flopping back on the bed. "You saw me at my absolute worst."

"If that was your worst, Jay, I don't think I can handle you at your best." Maura turns and walks out of the room. Jane listens, hearing the sounds of Maura gathering her things from the living room. The door slams and she knows that Maura has begun the walk of shame. She doesn't know where Maura came from, she doesn't know how far away she is from home, but as Jane curls herself into a ball and stares miserably at the dent that Maura's head left in the pillow, she doesn't feel anything at all.

She's fucking broken.

A week and three dead bodies later Jane is considering going out again. Crowe has been a colossal ass all week and even Korsak is starting to grate on her nerves. She wants to punch something, wants release and desperately wants to not feel like she's being treated like a fucking little girl by the other detectives.

She doesn't know what she has to do to get them to realize that she isn't some fucking baby that they can treat like their secretary and coffee-gofer. That isn't her, but there's only so much being an ass (or a bitch) that she can do before she wants to be nice and friendly and fucking helpful. She's a goddamn detective, not the girl who tags along to copy notes for the big bad men.

"The new ME's got this one," Korsak says as they pull up at the crime scene.

Ah, yes, 'the new medical examiner.' Jane scowls, trying to not think yet another guy in the department that will not see her for who she is. "Oh?" she says, tucking her notebook into her pocket and helping herself to gloves from the box that Korsak keeps in his cruiser.

"Heard she's a real hard ass," Korsak says, taking some gloves for himself and getting out of the car. They approach the line together and Jane rattles off their badge numbers and precinct quickly before ducking under the tape. "The kind that's weird too."

"Great," Jane rolls her eyes. She? Medical examiners, by rule, were a little off. Jane chalked it up to spending more time among the dead than the living, but she'd liked the previous guy well enough, but he'd taken a position at some private company in Chicago and had moved his entire family out there just to get away from Boston and the terrible memories of its police department.

Fuck, he'd had some hard cases too.

Jane shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing she had worn flats, or a simple v-neck under her work jacket today. She doesn't like being seen as a fucking girl when she meets new people professionally if she can at all avoid it. She schools her face into a stern expression and buttons her jacket quickly. Her boots are sensible, at least – unlike the pair of discarded heels next to the box of booties that they both slip onto their feet upon entering the house.

"Body's upstairs, Jane," One of the crime scene techs says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and up the stairs. "Stick close to the wall and don't touch the railing if you don't mind, we're still processing."

"Sure thing Mike," Jane says. She likes Mike, he doesn't treat her any differently and she feels very at-ease around him. If she were at all attracted to men, she might date him.

Jane shakes her head, trying not to think about the fact that she doesn't even know what her sexual identity is any more. This isn't the time or the place for such thoughts.

Jane never wants to think them. She hates that she can't get away from them.

The body of their victim is in the master bathroom, the call suggested a suicide, but Jane isn't so sure, just glancing around the room. There's a woman crouched over the body, light brown hair falling over her shoulder and playing about her back in a way that Jane finds particularly attractive.

She shifts from foot to foot, watching as the woman pokes at the victim's neck. Dread is setting in for Jane. She knows she's seen her before – seen her naked.

Fuck.

"Korsak, I've gotta go." Jane says quietly to her partner.

Korsak scoffs, "What, the smell get ya?"

"No." Jane says stiffly and the woman turns.

Jane was right. She's gotta leave now. Right now. Right fucking now.

"Hello, are you two the lead detectives on this?" she gestures to the body she's leaning over and Jane wants to crawl in a hole and die. She knows she's flushed, that she looks agitated, that she has to stop looking like this or Korsak's hyper observant ass is going to be all over her wanting to know why.

Inhale, exhale.

"Yeah, Vince Korsak and this is Jane Rizzoli," Korsak jabs his thumb over at Jane and Jane swallows and puts on her most professional smile (more of a grimace really) and holds out her gloved hand to the woman she fucked a week ago.

"Nice to meet you," she says, eyes hard and threatening. If you fucking tell, Jane is saying. I will end you.

"Doctor Maura Isles, I took over for Doctor Samuel three days ago," She gives Korsak a small smile before turning her eyes back to Jane, a question on them. Jane shakes her head ever so slightly. "I'm still learning names and faces."

"No worries, doc," Korsak says, crouching low next to the body. "Call said suspected suicide, can you verify that here?"

"Heavens no, I must complete a full examination before I give you my conclusions," Dr. Isles seems rather taken aback by Korsak's question.

"Not even a guess?" Jane is a little taken aback, usually the ME will at least hazard a guess for them.

"You will have my report soon after the autopsy is completed," Dr. Isles says, she gives Jane an almost flirty look that makes Jane long to feel her cock pushing in and out of the woman before her. "Come down and get it."

Jane nods curtly and walks out of the room.

"Hello Jay," Maura says, pulling off her gloves. Jane can see the body that she's just cut into sitting on table autopsy table right behind her. Maura looks so out of place in black scrubs and a surgical cap. Jane likes her better in tight little dresses and ridiculous – if sexy - shoes. Clogs really aren't her thing – they're so… pedestrian.

Maura Isles is anything but pedestrian.

Fuck just thinking about Maura's got her using fucking SAT words like it's no big deal.

"Don't call me that here," She's hovering by the door, unsure if she should run or stay and face the music. She's never had to deal with this before, her two worlds crashing into each other in the form of one perfectly put together and beautiful woman.

Fuck, she should leave.

Jane doesn't leave though, she moves into the room with all the swagger and bravado she dares, sauntering right up to Maura and leaning against the autopsy table. She's aware that there's a dead guy on the table, that she probably should not be so close to his body if Maura hasn't finished processing him yet; but she doesn't care. This is how a man would act, leaning in close and intimate with this woman that she's already fucked once.

There's a certain smug contentment that comes over Jane as she invades Maura's personal space. She had noticed how everyone at the crime scene earlier had given her wide berth, but she would not do that. She could get away with it, because she has seen Maura Isles up close and incredibly personal.

Jane wonders if this is how men feel when they've had a woman.

She's never had the heart to ask before on the dates that her mother sets her up on.

Jane wishes she could swallow her tongue and finally find the words to tell her mother that she isn't interested in men – not like that anyway. They are her brothers, comrades. They are not sexually appealing to her. She can't let them fuck her, it is just so wrong. She doesn't feel gay, but all she wants to fuck are women.

Jesus Christ she's so fucked up.

Maura moves out of the personal space bubble that Jane has invaded and walks over to the printer. She pulls a report off of it and places it into the manila folder that she has waiting. She pauses then, lips pursed and lost in thought. She seems to decide that what she is going to say is alright, and asks, "Whyever not, it's your name isn't it?"

"Not here it isn't." Jane shifts her weight forward, towards Maura; ready to spring if need be. She trusts Maura to not say anything, but doesn't trust her to leave Jane's identity alone. There isn't anything to see but queer-ass fucked-upness. She doesn't need Maura troubling her beautiful mind over her. "They can't ever know."

Maura nods resolutely. She folds her arms across her chest and Jane can't help but notice her breasts. They're still there, in the scrubs that do not flatter Maura's frame. She wants to touch them, but that would be highly unprofessional, not to mention incredibly wrong without her cock. She doesn't have it here, won't bring it here, she's afraid to touch Maura without it. It's her shield.

"Then they won't," Maura says. She flips through the report, stapling pages together inside the folder and arranging them correctly. "I don't say things I that are told to me in confidence."

She doesn't know why she asks, she doesn't particularly want to talk about it. But Maura knows, and that's more than anyone can say here. She wants to talk about it, she's afraid to talk about it. Maybe Maura will just listen to her. "And the sex?"

"I will not mention it," Maura closes the folder with a snap and raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow, "Unless you wanted to do it again."

Jane coughs, cheeks coloring. She nods and doesn't meet Maura's eyes. She would very much like to do it again. Maura knows her secret anyway, might as well work the situation for all it is worth.

There's a folder being pressed into her hands and Jane flips it open as Maura begins to pace in front of her, running through the report with the precision of any other medical examiner that Jane has ever encountered. She's grateful that Maura can be professional, and it seems like she knows her stuff and then some. Jane likes smart women, shit.

"I've found your cause of death. The suicide hypothesis was not completely incorrect, but there are some abrasions that I want you to look into about the neck and forearms. If it was indeed a suicide, it is the strangest one I've ever seen."

"But you won't hazard a guess?" Jane raises an eyebrow, a smirk growing across her face. She thinks she's got Maura figured out.

"No. Never. Guesses and hunches are not very scientific."

Jane's heading to the door, but she pauses, hand hovering in the air, "Come over tonight."

"Ja-" Maura starts and then stops again, eyeing Jane with a curious expression on her face. "When would you like me?"

"I get off at six, so say, seven?"

Jane puts it on as soon as she gets home. She had to glare down some creepy banker who was checking her out and wanted to die at the thought of being so obviously check-out-able. She wanted to punch him.

The cock in her hand and she's got the confidence again. Maura's coming over and Jane just sprawls on the couch and goes through the facts of their case. She's copied the reports and the file and brought them home to mull over. Maura was right, there definitely were signs that it wasn't a suicide. Korsak had grunted at her when Jane had told him about it, but he'd gone to the bossman and they'd exacted the okay to pursue the case a little bit more.

She flips moodily through the papers, making notes and wondering what the angle could be. There were no tell-tale leads at the crime scene that indicated a second person's presence, but Jane isn't going to let it go. She never lets it go, it's sort of her thing.

There's a knock on the door and Jane shifts, standing and heading to open it. Through the peep-hole, Jane can see that Maura's wearing those ridiculously impractical shoes (that are amazingly hot) and the dress she was wearing at the crime scene. It's black and yellow and rather avant garde, not that Jane pays any attention to that sort of thing. She's got a bottle of wine in her hands and smiles at Jane as she opens the door.

"I brought wine, if that's alright."

Jane isn't that much of a wine drinker, but she pulls Maura inside and grins at her. "I've got some Dixie cups."

Maura looks horrified for a moment before her face blossoms into a smile. Jane wonders how she got to be so out-of-touch, how Maura can't really follow the joke that Jane is making. She chalks it up to too much time spent in ivory towers and ivy leagues and not really having a good sense of humor at all.

Still, Maura looks beautiful when she smiles and Jane can't help but smile back at her. "I was thinking Chinese?"

"This wine won't go well with Chinese," Maura is taking off her shoes and her coat, hanging it in the closet as though it's the most natural thing in the world. Jane likes that, likes how natural it feels. She knows Maura saw it, knows that she was probably expecting it. "Maybe Indian?"

"There's a place that delivers until nine, we'll have to get the order in," Jane's digging in the drawer for the menu already, but Maura is touching her shoulder and she turns, staring at the woman that is trying valiantly, to steal her heart.

"Did you want to talk about things?" Maura asks. Her tone is caring, if academic. Jane wonders how many of these conversations she's had in her life, it doesn't seem familiar territory for Maura. "You've got it on again."

Jane knows then that she's caved, that Maura will get the answer out of her eventually. She doesn't want to talk about it now, so she does the next best thing, leaning forward, kissing Maura, hands tangling in her hair. Her tongue pushes out and Maura doesn't resist her, letting Jane push into her mouth.

Jane's fingers intertwine with Maura's and she inclines her head to the bedroom, "Want to?" Her tone is questioning, she wants it to be commanding, but this is new territory for her, she's never fucked the same woman twice.

Maura acquiesces and Jane kisses her again, pulling at her dress and unzipping it. This time it is less frenzied, and Maura gets her shirt off but Jane doesn't much care. She pushes up and into Maura and Maura respectfully keeps her hands where Jane feels comfortable, clawing up her back and never teasing her breasts the way that a man (or a woman) would, and afterwards Jane doesn't feel quite so compelled to run hide.

"I don't really… want to be the way I am," Jane says over their samosas later. She can't really articulate it, it's fucking awful and she doesn't want to talk about it. She does owe it to Maura, however, to tell her the truth as best she can.

"There isn't anything wrong with being confused," Maura sets down her fork and adjusts Jane's shirt on her shoulders; her dress is still in a pile on the floor in the hallway. Honestly, Jane likes Maura better wearing her clothes. "Sex and gender are not the same thing."

"Okay." Jane says, she knew that already at least. She gives Maura half a nod, going back to her samosa and contemplating the container of curry. She wants to see what else Maura has to say on the subject, but she's almost afraid. Maura is smart, educated, has degrees and letters after her name, Jane never went to college. She doesn't know if she wants Maura to try and put her into a box.

She fucking hates boxes.

"Well, gender is learned," Maura begins. She folds her hands in her lap (and a pair of Jane's boxers that her mother has yet to eradicate [and never will] from her wardrobe) and watches Jane poke through the curry with her fork. There's chicken, Jane offers her some, Maura nods. "Gender is a social construct. Sex is determined biologically. You can look at chromosomes, XX or XY and get a biologically definitive answer – but that is not always the correct one."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, there are primary sexual characteristics, like a penis or vagina; and then there are secondary sexual characteristics like vocal pitch, hips, breasts, laryngeal prominence – although this is debatable as women can also develop that," Maura shrugs, and Jane wonders if she's somehow gotten involved with a walking dictionary and encyclopedia. "Sometimes people just don't fit into one or the other. It's not black and white, to borrow a literary term, but rather a spectrum."

Jane sips her wine (out of a wineglass that she didn't know she had – her mother, again) and frowns, she doesn't want to talk about this anymore. It's too uncomfortable, too obvious and blatantly new. She hates it, hates that it's taken her blind and robbed her of her peace of mind.

"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Jane asks, eyes never looking at Maura. She's so fucking uncomfortable right now, she wants to run and hide. She can't, not from Maura. Maura understands, it wouldn't be fair to her to run away.

Maura kisses her cheek, "I'm here if you do want to talk about it more."

They're standing over a dead body, alone in the room (Korsak is interviewing a neighbor and Crowe and his partner are off canvasing) when Jay says something that throws a new monkey wrench into the mental picture that Maura Isles had of him.

"Sometimes, I wonder if the reason I'm like this – that I can't help myself – is because I don't even want to be a guy," Jay sighs, shifting him – her - hir self to better get a look at the lacerations on their victim's arms. Maura knows that she can't put Jay into a box, that she shouldn't even try. Jay is probably desperate for her to run, but Maura is as stubborn as Jay is and a scientist to boot. She's used to her initial hypotheses being wrong.

"You'll have to clarify that, I don't follow." Maura makes a note on her clipboard and turns to inspect the wounds that Jay has since moved on from. They're deep, not necessarily killing blows. She'll have to look under a microscope to see if they transected any major veins that would contribute to the pool of blood they're kneeling in. Maura's glad that she wore pants today – even though she's got her waders on over them. Waders are awkward in a dress.

Jay throws hir hands up in the air and rolls hir eyes at Maura. "I'm perfectly fine being a girl, some of the time. I don't like the dresses and the shoes at all, but I don't mind having good hair or taking care of myself." Jay sighs. "Hell, I don't even mind being Jane for you. Also, if I were a guy and did half the shit I do, I'd be fucking gay as hell."

"So the moments of weakness?" Maura purses her lips and frowns. She doesn't understand Jay. Doesn't understand what ze wants from her. Does Jay want validation to even be Jay instead of Jane? Does Jay even know what ze wants?

This whole situation is rather confusing.

"I don't know what the fuck they are." Jay stares at hir hands, contemplating them for a moment before beginning to pat down their victim for a wallet and ID. Maura can tell that there isn't one in the man's pockets, but she knows that it does give Jay something to do, keeps hir talking. Talking is good and important. "I never feel compelled to have sex with men or women when I am being perceived as female."

"When you're not?"

Jay swallows. "I want women."

"So you're heterosexual." Maura takes a measurement and writes it down, her tone even as though she's commenting on the weather.

"I have fucking tits Maura." Jay looks very much like Jane at that moment. Maura swallows, Jane is as beautiful as Jay is handsome, there's only so much resistance she can put up. Jay – Jane – is the most intriguing individual that Maura has ever encountered in her life. She can't even begin to put into words how powerful the draw to this individual is for her. She can't resist. Jay can take and take and Maura will come back for more every time.

Maura sighs and sits back, blood soaked carpet squishing as she moves. She wrinkles her nose and Jay grins at her before shifting hir own weight so that ze too, was making the gross squishing noise. This is a strange sort of flirting, Maura thinks, but does not voice her opinion, instead choosing to respond to Jay's colloquially (and crudely) put comment about hir breasts. "But you do not feel female, therefore when having sex as a man would, you are male – and in being solely attracted to women, you are heterosexual."

Jay's face pitches downward into a frown. "Shit's fucked up, huh?"

"I would not phrase it like that, no." Maura bites her lip. She doesn't mind it when Jay swears, not that much anyway. She's not going to tell hir to not do it, as it is an intrinsic part of who Jay is. It would be pointless and Maura Isles does not waste words.

"You know what I mean."

Maura sets her clipboard down on the floor away from the blood coated carpet. She stands and tries not to look down at the knees on her waders, knowing without looking that there is fluid, potentially blood mixed with water, their victim did bleed out here and they've already confirmed that the puddle is indeed blood. It's slightly grotesque and distracting, but Maura manages to keep a straight face and meet Jay's gaze evenly. "Jay, you're you. No one else can tell you who you are."

Maura certainly isn't about to try.

"If I asked you, would you?" Jay's voice is almost begging. Ze wants Maura to put hir into a box, but Maura won't do it until she's sure. If she does it at all.

"No, I don't think I would."

Jane takes Maura out sometimes – to the Robber (although that's usually with Korsak and some of the other guys from homicide) – and to other places. One day they go down to the river and ride the duck boats that she loved so much when she was a child. She can tell by the way that Maura is sitting primly on the edge of her seat paying rapt attention to the guide that she's never done this before.

"You did grow up in Boston, right?" Jane asks, leaning back and pulling Maura into a more relaxed position. The child next to them squirms and his mother shushes him. She knows Maura comes from here, even with her ivy-league way of speaking. She's seen how Maura will steal the sports pages or tune into the radio to check the Sox score, how she rolls her 'r's when she thinks Jane isn't paying attention.
Jane is always paying attention.

Maura gives a little nod, "This is rather pedestrian for my parents, however."

They've never talked about her parents before. Jane has told Maura all about her troubles with her mother (Maura's even met her once in passing) in order to avoid talking about other things, but Maura has never once mentioned her parents. Jane just assumed that they had a shit relationship or something. She knows that Maura's a trust-fund kid, that she's working not because she has to, but because she wants to, and Jane respects that but privately she wonders if her parents think she's an idiot or something cutting up dead people for the city for forty k a year. Maura is married to the job, just like she is. Jane likes that, it makes sense and Maura's as good as they come.

"Come on, they didn't take you down to the duck boats even once?" Jane shakes her head, grinning ruefully at Maura, who is shaking her head to the negative. "Did they even read you Make Way for Ducklings?"

"Of course, as is a classic and won several awards, it was deemed appropriate." Maura sniffed and Jane wants to tease her for looking very much the uptown girl that they both know she is. "I was rather partial to the scene where they cross the road and the policeman stops traffic for them."

Jane laughs.

"I was four!"

The four year old next to Jane kicks her shin and Jane glares at him. Brat.

Maura smiles politely at the mother who is looking to apologize for her child's lamentable behavior and Jane is chewing on the inside of her lip, trying not to ask Maura any questions that might make her uncomfortable. There's a certain give and take in their relationship, Maura pushes, Jane runs the fuck away, but always comes back. If Jane pushes, she doesn't know what Maura will do.

"Did you watch Sesame Street? Play NES? Read the Babysitter's Club?" These were all things that Jane had done and had loved as a kid, even the lame-ass girly fucking books that she still had hidden deep within the recesses of her closet. Right next to her boy jeans and the lockbox, coincidentally. The irony is not lost on Jane.

"I did play some NES, but only at other children's houses, I was always very good at Mario." They're heading off the boat now, and Jane pulls Maura towards a hotdog vender. Maura's nose wrinkles in distaste and Jane grins. She's going to love it, even if the cooking conditions are less than favorable for the delicate palate of Doctor Maura Isles. "I wasn't allowed to watch television until I went to boarding school."

Boarding school… Jane shakes her head. She went to Catholic school just because everyone in the goddamn neighborhood went to St. Bridget's. It was just sort of the thing to do. Sure it cost her parents money, but not as much as fucking boarding school.

There have been times when Jane has wondered what Maura is doing, slumming with a blue-collar character like herself. She knows that the sex is good, but Jane is also chalk-full of fucking complicated as hell issues and there's only so much enjoyment that Maura can derive from it.

Maybe they should stop seeing each other.

Maura's fingers close around her own and there's a worried look in her eyes. Jane has been told her face is telling, she thinks this is one of those sorts of moments.

"I wish I could give you more," Jane says, handing over a ten for their hot dogs and taking the change and stuffing it into her jeans. "I mean, I'm pretty fucked up, huh?"

Worried hazel eyes meet her own and Jane sighs, but Maura begins to talk, carefully unwrapping her hotdog and sniffing it before taking a hesitant bite. She smiles easily when she finds it to her liking and Jane is full of smug satisfaction knowing that that she was, once again, right. "I find being with you far more fulfilling than anyone else I've been with in a long time. You give me more than what adequately meets my needs."

Jane contemplates her hot dog for a moment, before getting up from the bench they've settled down on and crossing the walkway back towards the vendor. She grabs an extra packet of mustard and a few more napkins before heading back to Maura. "I can't let you touch me," Jane's voice is low, dangerous. They're treading on thin ice here and she's afraid that one wrong word is going to break the spell that she's so carefully created with such a nice day so far.

"You're getting better," Maura isn't lying either. She's touched Jane in places that no one has touched in years, but Jane is still uncomfortable with the idea of being so vulnerable and open to Maura completely. She knows that she should be, that it's normal and not fucked up, but to break through the place her brain goes when she has her cock on is very terrifying and Jane wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

Jane squirts mustard out of the packet before flicking the empty wrapper into the trashcan a few feet away. She grins brightly at her food and begins to eat, staring off into space. "I guess it is just this weird loop I've gotten into in my head." She doesn't want to talk about this anymore. Maura is dangerously close to making Jane admit to things that she's barely even thought of enough to know if that's really how she feels. "I just worry that the whole thing will collapse if I try it."

"Then let me try it with you?" Maura has finished her hotdog and is crumpling up the aluminum foil wrapping and brushing off her skirt. "I have been told that I'm very good in bed."

Beat.

Swallowing her food so that she doesn't choke laughing at Maura's adorable sincerity, Jane wraps her arm around Maura. "You are quite good in bed," she whispers in Maura's ear, voice low and full of promise. It's easy to pretend with Maura, even when her cock isn't there. It's easy to flirt and to have innuendo and it's getting easier to kiss Maura when they're out and not around anyone they know.

Maybe Jane doesn't have to be a man to fully enjoy this beautiful woman. She isn't sure she can go through with it, but the way that there is such earnestness and caring in Maura's smile makes Jane know that if she does, that it will be alright.

"Then let me show you how it feels."

Jane is at home, running through her case files over a beer, when Maura shows up wearing a raincoat and scant little else – not that Jane is looking. Jane is a little taken aback, full of awkward teenage energy that causes her limbs to fly out every-which-way, all elbows and knees and jesus fuck she's too tall for a girl and not tall enough for a guy.

This is every teenage boy's fantasy. It's probably her fucking kid brother's fantasy.

Carpe Diem, as they say.

"Should I?" It's really not a question, at least in Jane's mind it isn't. She sets her beer down on the counter, closing the case files and shoving them back into the leather briefcase that her father bought her upon passing her detective's exam. She's already moving towards the bedroom, towards her closet and the safety of her cock, but Maura hasn't answered her and her silence makes Jane pause at the doorway to her bedroom, staring as Maura takes off the rain jacket.

Underneath the raincoat there is underwear. Sexy underwear, Jane would even go so far as to say that it's lingerie. Obviously it is from a very high-end store because Jane can't look away and wants nothing more than to see it on the floor, where all hot ass clothing should be. She swallows, still paused in the doorway as Maura moves towards her. She's taken off her shoes, her height falling to be more acceptable to Jane's mental picture of her. She's a few inches shorter without her heels, and Jane likes that, likes that she's naturally taller and loves that they can both be barefoot around each other.

She does like it when Maura leaves her shoes on though.

Maura Isles is in love with sexy shoes and Jane thinks that she might be in love with Maura Isles.

"Come with me," Maura brushes past Jane, taking her hand and pulling her into the bedroom. Jane follows, wordlessly. Her eyes keep turning, panicked, towards the closet where the lockbox is – where her safety net is.

And then Maura's on her tip-toes and is kissing her, pressing her scantily clad body up against Jane and wrapping her arms around Jane's bent neck. Jane growls into the kiss, fingers already toying with the hem of whatever the fuck it is that Maura is wearing. She wants it off, wants to touch Maura, wants to make her come.

"Where is it?" Maura asks, pulling away a few seconds later with her lips swollen from Jane's aggressive kissing.

Jane wordlessly points to the closet. "In the lockbox," she says, almost collapsing onto the bed. She's afraid of what Maura is going to do, afraid that Maura might not let her put it on. She's (reluctantly – very reluctantly) agreed to let Maura try and touch her – to see if she can even have a reaction to it, but Jane is fucking terrified. She has to have her cock, it isn't about self-expression or comfort, Jane simply must have it or else this is going to go downhill very quickly. "Closet."

"The irony of that statement is rather humorous, especially if one considers that colloquially and for the sake of outward appearance, we appear to be homosexual and are certainly not in the open about our relationship…" Maura finds the lockbox and Jane whispers prayers to God or anyone else who happens to be listening that she's finally shut up. When Maura babbles she often says things without thinking, and they make Jane uncomfortable. Like the idea of appearing to be a lesbian. She gets that enough at work to know that it really isn't her speed.

Still, for Maura she might consider it.

"Put it on," Maura says and Jane falters.

"I thought the point was that we didn't use it," She knows it isn't the right thing to say, but she knows that Maura likes it when she's honest.

Maura shrugs. The strap of the lacy bit of fabric that she's wearing to keep herself (mostly – okay, not at all) falls off her shoulder and she suddenly looks so much younger than just barely thirty one and Jane swallows. She's beautiful. "I think you should wear it, we'll figure it out."

"That sounds…"

"Rather scientific, I know." Maura turns as Jane pulls off her work pants and fishes in her dresser for boxers. She pulls on her cock and tucks it down, tugging on the boxers on top of it in record time. She's usually more ritualistic about her cock, but Maura's right fucking there and Jane is fucking turned on. "I have a hypothesis."

She's afraid.

They call Maura 'Doctor Death' behind her back at work for a reason. Maura Isles is fucking terrifying.

Maura pulls her over to the bed and sits her down. Jane is motionless as Maura undoes the buttons on her work shirt. She's freaked out, it doesn't feel right, she doesn't want Maura to touch her. She reaches out, hand shaking a little as she touches Maura's wrist.

"I don't know if I can do this," she's a fucking pussy and should just let Maura touch her. A beautiful woman wants to touch her, Jane Rizzoli is a fucking pussy for wanting to run the fuck away.

Maura's smile is soft, kind, if still possessing that quirky academic look that she can never quite shake. Jane is rather fond of that look, she catches Maura looking at her like that sometimes, before Maura goes back to whatever thick book on gender theory she's perusing at the moment. Jane has flipped through a few of them, but she hates boxes and doesn't want to be put into one.

"Do you want me to talk to you?"

It is an odd question, and Jane uses the moment that she ponders it to calm down a bit. She's so close to running, but she so desperately wants to share this with Maura. Eventually she nods and Maura pushes her backwards onto the bed.

It's a little silly at first, Maura struggles to find the right things to say, and they're both giggling before long.

"I'm going to take your shirt off, alright Jay?" Maura says eventually. They've been kissing and laughing for a few minutes and Jane is a lot more comfortable as Maura's fingers nimbly finish unbuttoning her shirt. She urges Jane to sit up and pushes the shirt off of Jane's shoulders, tugging at the tank top Jane has on under it. Soon that is gone too and Maura's fingers rest on the bare skin of Jane's shoulders for a moment, hot and full of the tension in the room.

She kisses Jane then, pushing her tongue into Jane's mouth. Jane can taste the desperation there, and she clings to Maura as her fingers tangle in Maura's hair. Maura is undoing her bra, and then it's off, gone, one of her shields is completely gone.

She exhales, unsteady as Maura begins to kiss along her shoulder, traveling down her collar bone – clavicle (she's sure Maura will correct her). Maura lingers there, kissing her long and hard enough to leave a mark and Jane is strangely okay with that. Maura is the first to broach this territory since Jane was a teenager; it needs a badge of honor to prove that she's been there.

There's something about the way that Maura's kissing her chest that is very similar to how, in her limited experience, one would kiss a man's chest. Maura isn't spending too much time there, kissing her breasts, staying away from the nipples and then moving down to her stomach. She lingers there, fingers splayed across Jane's abdomen, feeling the muscles that Jane has cultivated there.

Fuck it's turning her on. Jane shifts, pushing up into Maura's touch.

"I'm going to try something," Maura's tone low and husky and Jane wants her to suck her fucking cock and not dick around anymore. "I'm going to touch you."

Jane growls. That isn't what she wants. She rolls her hips forward to drive her point home.

"I am also going to stimulate you orally."

Jesus fucking Christ she has got to gag Maura during sex.

"Whatever you do, just don't talk. You're doing the unsexy thing again," Jane trails her fingers down Maura's cheek, watching as Maura leans into the touch with awe. What the hell did she do to deserve such a wonderful woman?

Maura's fingers close around her cock, pulling it out, feeling it (getting it pushed back into the position that Jane can fuck with), and Jane moans. The sight alone drives her insane, it's always done that. Maura pauses, her fingers pressed against Jane's harness-covered sex. The contact is strange, unreal, it feels almost good – if fucking weird as hell.

She could get used to it.

Those pretty lips close around the tip of her cock and Jane's eyes flutter close. She pushes her hips upwards, but there's surprisingly strong fingers pressing against her, not letting her move forward. Jane can't help it, she moans a little.

And then there is another sensation, gentle and hesitant. She can see Maura sucking her, but there's pressure building between her legs, Maura is coaxing it out of her with gentle caresses and clever touches. The sensation is so arousing that Jane can barely contain herself. Her fingers tangle in Maura's hair and she begins to mumble her encouragement in response to Maura's touches.

"That's it baby," she mutters, not really paying attention to what she's saying. "Look at those pretty lips on my cock, god you're so fucking hot."

It feels so strange, to be so turned on around someone else. She wants to get off, she wants Maura to be the one to do it. She swallows whatever waves of uncomfortable feelings that come as Maura begins to circle her, drawing the orgasm closer and closer with each small and tight gesture.

"Jesus Maura…" Jane whispers, breathless. She hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected it to feel quite so goddamn intense. She's so fucking close, she's going to come and she's worried that she's not going to be able to suppress bucking her hips any more.

Maura does something with her tongue on her cock, the imagery is all Jane needs to be sent over the edge. She's coming hard, biting back a long and drawn out moan as she tries to hold herself still. She's bucking into Maura' into her hand now, her mouth is gone.

It takes a few minutes for Jane to come back to reality, but she can definitely say that she's okay with that, if it were to happen again.

"Was that alright?" Maura asks, crawling up to curl around Jane and nestle her head in the crook of Jane's neck.

Jane turns and kisses her forehead. "It was … intense, Maur."

"Jay, you are allowed to feel pleasure in our sexual encounters," Maura's tone is matter of fact and Jane bites down the urge to tell her, for the millionth time, that her name is fucking Jane and Jay was a fucking fake name she gave Maura in order to pick her up in a fucking queer bar. She likes Jay though, but sometimes she feels as though Maura is too attached to it as a nickname. She's given Maura a few nicknames of her own, 'babe' chief among them, but Maura seems to have decided that she's going to call Jane Jay no matter what Jane says about it.

It is oddly validating.

"I do feel pleasure from them, just not that much. Not all at once," there's so much that Jane wants to say to Maura. She doesn't think that Maura understands that this experience is unique for Jane. That she's never really come during sex before, and that it's an amazing and beautiful feeling.

Maura's lips are pulled into a pensive look and Jane swallows. "I had hoped that in providing joint stimuli to your female genitalia and male prosthetic that the experience would be pleasurable for you."

Jane groans and rolls over.

Maura Isles is the most un-fucking-sexy person in the fucking world.

"It was awkward okay? I didn't think I would feel quite so terrified as you were doing it." Jane's talking into the pillow, but she can feel Maura's hand on her arm and knows she's listening. It's safer here, talking to the pillow. "I had to have the cock, I was so fucking scared that you were going to make me get it out and then not fucking put it on. I didn't want that. I wanted to feel like a normal human being for a fucking change, but you made me feel so goddamn amazing, Maur." Jane sits up. "I almost feel like I just had like… rather kinky and really hot lesbian sex."

"Well, truth be told and biologically speaking…"

"Don't you say another fucking word." Jane is on her, kissing her, pushing that goddamn lacy thing out of her fucking away and touching Maura's breasts. She's practically naked, she knows she should be more covered, but it's Maura and she's pretty sure that she's okay with this.

More sure of anything than she's ever been in her life anyway.

Jane pushes up into Maura and she can still feel how sensitive she is under her cock. It feels good, fucking Maura then, her teeth biting a matching hickey into Maura's neck and her cock driving Maura closer and closer towards ecstasy.

Maybe she's a fool and in love, but Jane Rizzoli is perfectly happy to have this.

Jane doesn't know how she's done this for as long as she has. How Maura Isles has managed to fucking insert herself into every aspect of her Jane's life and how Jane doesn't give a shit about it. Maura is nice, easy, and uncomplicated. Maura understands far more than she lets on about Jane. Jane likes that; it makes her feel safe enough to be herself.

She's been doing a lot of thinking in her downtime, away from work and from Maura. Well, away as she will ever be from either of those two driving forces in her life.

Maura has managed to coax emotions out of nothing from Jane. She cannot be Jay anymore, not around Maura, as Maura is with Jane just as often as she is with Jay. There's a blend there, one that Jane cannot explain in any way other than that Maura has forced Jane to put herself back together.

She hadn't meant to fall in love when she went out to that bar that night in September.

She hadn't meant to do a lot of things.

Jane sits, legs haphazardly sprawled across the couch and frowns, deep in thought. She knows that she shouldn't feel this way – that she isn't designed to feel this way about anyone.

And yet here she is, debating things, wondering if she could truly be with Maura.

Be naked with her, all defenses gone.

She's let Maura touch her, let Maura make her come. She's fucked Maura with her fingers and her tongue – her cock always there to finish the job because she's so goddamn afraid that it'll make her gay or some shit if she enjoys doing it like a lesbian would too much.

Maura told her that she was probably heterosexual, that she was somewhere on a spectrum of masculinity that did include those who are female in body. That she chooses to express herself sexually in a masculine sort of way. Jane doesn't fucking get it. If she likes fucking women, she's gay, but she doesn't fucking feel gay. Most of the time she's not even attracted to women, it's just that sometimes there's a girl and Jane is so captivated that she can't look away.

She hates that she even has to fucking think about this shit.

Why can't she just be normal?

There's whiskey, good Irish stuff, in the glass before her and Jane contemplates the amber liquid. She watches as the ice in it starts to melt, and condensation starts to form on the glass. She should be using a coaster, Maura would be insistent.

Jane turns, pulling one out from deep within the reaches of the couch, and sets her glass on it. There. Now Maura can't be snippy.

Jane doesn't know why she's thinking about Maura anyway. She's not even coming over today. She's gone to New York to attend a three day seminar. This is day two of her absence.

Jane hates that she's not here. She's almost used to her presence and the guys are work are calling her fucking lovesick because she's fucking pining and she can't hide it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Jane flips back on the couch, staring sullenly into nothingness. She thinks she understands, even if her brain wants her to pretend for as long as possible that she doesn't get it. Maura is right, she feels good and right when they're fucking, when she's got her cock and Maura's screaming her name – she feels male and she is happy in that moment.

But Jane Rizzoli can't be male, at least not all the time.

They've talked about this, Jane has told Maura that she'd rather be with Maura and be very genderqueer than be alone and oscillating between two extremes in an unhealthy pattern that Maura had just so happened to come along at the right time and interrupt. Jane knew that she could not keep going out and fucking women like that. She would get caught, she'd catch something – her mother would somehow find out.

Oh jesus her mother.

Maura had met Jane's mother, they had had a rather nice few minutes of (incredibly inappropriate) conversation before Jane had shut it down and had dragged Maura off to the lunch that they were about to share. Frankie is just getting out of the academy, her mother is still fucking annoying and clingy and had wanted to make sure that he's situated at his new job.

Jane could really, really do without her mother stopping by her workplace on a daily basis.

Korsak seems to understand and just smiles at her when she is buzzed to go downstairs and explain to her mother that no, she can't come in to see her workplace, that's it's restricted and not for civilians. Crowe and Hawkins are assholes about it and tease her even though her mother is clearly there for Frankie. Jane tells them to fuck off for what it's worth, but it doesn't do much.

She doesn't know how to tell her mother that she's in love with another woman. She doesn't even feel gay, so she can't come out to her mom about it because it wouldn't be the truth. Jane has so much trouble comprehending her own gender identity that she doesn't think that trying to explain it to someone else, especially her mother, is a particularly good idea.

So why can't she just lie, come out to her mother – say she likes women and that she's dating Maura – a fucking doctor?

Because it isn't true.

Without her cock she feels nothing for anyone, no matter their gender presentation. She feels stirrings of things for Maura, and she's fairly sure that in the heat of the moment she could act on such feelings, but it isn't the same as it is with her cock. There is no lustful desire, or passion in her actions without her cock. It's a fucking shield, a protection against everything that's fucked up about her.

Jane sits up, drains the rest of her whiskey and winces as it burns on its way down. She knows that drinking won't solve her problems, but it's making it a little easier to come to the conclusion that she knows she should have come to a long time ago.

She has to leave her cock in its lockbox.

Or else she will never truly know if she can find a way out of this gentleman's dilemma.

Jane picks Maura up at Logan on a Thursday night. Her weekend is Friday-Saturday this week and she's exhausted after a nine-day workweek. There's a hearing in court tomorrow morning that she's debating going to despite having the day off, but as she drives out towards the airport, Jane is seriously contemplating skipping. She just wants to curl up next to Maura and sleep.

This week has been awful. Maura goes home as often as she spends the night still, but Jane hasn't been able to sleep knowing she's far away.

Not that New York is far away, but rather an evil place that Jane would rather never, ever, think about except when it comes to beating the Yankees every goddamn time they play next season. This year the track record had not been so good.

Maura's waiting for her on the curb, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her (sensibly) small suitcase right beside her. She's got a plastic bag in her hands and a rather innocent looking smile on her face.

Jane is instantly worried. Innocent smiles from Maura suggest deviousness on the highest level. Jane has learned that the hard way.

"Hey," she says, putting the car in park and hopping out of the car. She opens the trunk and Maura hands her the suitcase and then her carry-on.

There's a moment of hesitation, but then Jane leans forward, pecking Maura on the (rather surprised) cheek. She does it not because she feels obligated, but rather because she genuinely wants to. She's missed Maura.

She can see Maura's cheeks flush in the early December cold and Jane knows by the ache in her hands that it'll probably at least snow a little tonight.

"Hey," Maura says back and Jane grins at her, eying the bag in her hands with some trepidation.

A gust of wind blows by them then and Jane shivers, "Shit, get in the car, it's too cold for reunions here and that security guard looks like he's 'bout to come over here."

They clamber into the car and Jane cuts off the Boston College basketball game she was listening to on the radio (they're gunna beat BU anyway, but still, it is good to keep track) and turns to Maura, who has that grin on her face again.

"Wicked cold," Maura says, fingering the plastic bag in her lap.

"Wicked cold indeed," Jane pulls out of the loading zone. "It warmer in Satan's backyard?"

"Jane, the Yankees are not playing currently, the least you could do was respect the city for being a cultural mecca, not to mention one of the largest in the world during the off season," Maura sighs and adjusts the air vents.

"Can't, Jets're still playing." Jane's being annoying on purpose and she thinks that Maura knows it.

"You're impossible," Maura mumbles. Jane wonders if she's going to point out that the Jets (and the Giants for that matter) actually play in New Jersey.

"Boston born and bred," Jane retorts with a bright grin. "Was it warmer in the city?"

"A bit, the wind was terrible and I had to go into the subway," Maura gives Jane a completely horrified look and Jane grins. Maura can handle the T because she's been riding it on and off for years. She knows which stations to avoid and how to not touch anything that will potentially have germy disgustingness on it. The subway in New York is different, alien to her. Completely out of Maura's element.

Not to mention completely and utterly disgusting. Much like the rest of New York.

"That must have been awful," Jane says, her tone as sympathetic as she can make it.

"It was. I spent the money and took a cab back to the airport this afternoon. To avoid doing that again." Maura grins at Jane who is attempting to make a left and getting cut off by assholes running the light. "It did give me a few moments at the JFK giftshop however. I got you a present."

Jane's agitated, people are assholes and it's starting to snow already. The road is slick and they're driving like morons. She's got very precious cargo in the car. "Oh?" She turns when she's next stopped at a light and raises her eyebrow at Maura.

Maura unwraps the contents of the bag and Jane wants to groan when she sees the navy blue back of a baseball cap. "I know you don't much care for the Yankees, so I got you a Mets hat. I hope I got the size right."

"Seven and three quarters," Jane secretly hopes that she doesn't have to wear this hat to work, ever. Or in public, ever.

"Oh perfect," Maura leans over and sticks the hat, tags and all, on Jane's head. "I guessed correctly."

Jane is committing all sorts of sins against the city of Boston, but Maura's smiling at her and she's grinning right back, stupid Mets hat and all. "Thanks babe." Her tone isn't sarcastic, even though she feels like it should be. Jane is genuinely pleased and grateful. It's a nice gesture.

Maura Isles didn't want a relationship going into this. She had wanted a puzzle and had found one in the form of Jane Rizzoli. She still called Jane Jay on occasion, but the frequency had quieted, she understood that Jane could not be Jay all the time. Jay is an expression of everything that Jane has kept suppressed, everything Jane cannot allow to come to the surface.

But now, as Maura finds herself in a relationship that she very much wants, she realizes that Jane and Jay truly are the same person. That Jane is Jay privately, publicly, and in every aspect of her life. She doesn't know how her initial hypothesis could have been so off base. There are so many facets to a person's identity, and if there are moments when Jane Rizzoli wants to be a man, then that is totally fine.

It works for them.

Jane is probably mad at her for buying her a Mets hat, and for making her wear it. Maura's not sure she likes it when Jane's mad at her, but this is the good natured sort of mad that Maura's pretty sure she understands.

She also grew up in Boston, after all. Certain things are simply not done.

"I did some thinking, while you were away," Jane says, apropo of nothing, as she closes the apartment door and slides the deadbolt and chain into place.

"Oh?" Maura raises an eyebrow as she shrugs off her coat and hangs it in the closet. "What about?"

She's pretty sure she already knows, but she won't hazard a guess. She doesn't have enough evidence to make an informed hypothesis.

"Us, well, me." Jane runs long fingers through her hair and heads into the kitchen. "Want a beer?"

"No, thank you," Maura says. She sees the half-gone bottle of wine that they'd started the previous weekend tucked in the corner next to Jane's three different bottles of olive oil. She follows Jane, taking down a glass and pulling the cork out of the wine bottle. A tentative sniff tells her that the wine is still good, and she pours it while watching Jane use the countertop as a bottle opener. Maura doesn't wince, she really doesn't, but on the inside she cringes.

Jane. Is. So. Uncouth. There's a bottle opener lying out on the counter too. Maura twitches.

"So what have you been thinking about?" Maura knows that sometimes it takes Jane a little while to get start these conversations.

Jane laughs, harsh and barking. "Honestly, I've been thinking about my cock."

Maura shakes her head. Men.

"It's like… a defense mechanism, you know? I know I'm not gay, despite all outward appearances, and I guess it gives me… I don't fucking know, a way of being myself without actually dealing with things." Jane is pacing, roaming up and down space between the kitchen and the couch, beer clutched like a lifeline in one hand.

"Well, you did have a good bit of anonymous sex too," Maura raises an eyebrow, and knows from the look on Jane's face that her delivery is flawless.

Jane grins at her, "Yeah, that too." She flops down on the couch. "I was thinkin'… maybe we could try leaving it off?"

Maura nearly drops her wine glass. She regains her composure quickly, shifting her weight to lean against the island that separates Jane's kitchen from living room and inhaling slowly. Yoga has done this for her, given her the ability to bring her concentration back from a moment of complete and utter distraction.

"Would you feel comfortable?" The unspoken question of: 'do you trust me enough' lingers and Maura bites her lip, watching Jane.

Jane looks at her hands, the beer is dewing on the table and Jane isn't using a coaster.

"Honestly. No." Jane looks up at Maura then, eyes dark and full of trepidation. "But I want to do it anyway. I have to try, for you."

Jane has never been completely naked with Maura. She's been nearly there plenty of times, especially recently, but this is completely new. Maura's eyes are on her body and Jane is very aware of how her anatomy doesn't match how she feels – on fucking display with nothing to show for it. She shifts, uncomfortable, but Maura's kissing her, hands resting on her hips.

Jane likes Maura's kisses, even if they are tentative and too fucking polite. She's not made of glass.

"We don't have to do this," Maura whispers as she pulls away.

"No, I want to." Jane puts her arms around Maura's shoulders and kisses her again. "I have to try at least."

Maura's eyes flick towards the closet. "Do you want me to at least have it ready?"

Jane shakes her head in the negative. She knows that if she has it, she'll use it and if it's just not there, she'll have to work around not having it. She wants to take Maura, to see her rise up and to see her come from nothing but Jane herself. No tools and no shields. "Maura, I love you, I'm going to do this."

She hasn't said it yet. She's been wanting to, for a long time now, and the way that Maura stiffens underneath her and the breathy way that Maura says her name, her real name, makes Jane smile smugly. It is very nice leaving Maura Isles speechless. She kisses Maura then, tongue pushing forward, hard and insistent. She nips at Maura's lower lip and allows Maura to push her own tongue forward eventually, sucking on it with reverence.

This woman deserves to be worshiped, she's so goddamn fucking amazing.

Maura's hands are on her breasts, lingering longer than they've ever lingered, fingers rolling over Jane's nipples. It is a nice feeling, a little alien, but Jane isn't opposed to it. Men have nipples after all, and her skin is sensitive.

Jane growls and pulls on Maura's shirt.

She's wearing too damn many clothes. She understands Maura likes clothes, likes to look good (amazing, beautiful, hot as hell), but there are so goddamn many buttons and zippers on this fucking jacket and shirt and pants that Jane is going nuts trying to undo them all to get Maura out of her clothes.
Jane moves her hands downward, resting them hesitantly on Maura's hips. She's always the one in charge, always the one setting the pace, even when Maura's touching her. Jane likes being in control, but now, as she feels so completely out of control and vulnerable, her pace is hesitant and shaky. She's not sure that she can do this.

Her fingers curl around the swell of Maura's ass, pushing her pants down with the motion. Maura squeaks and they tumble backwards onto the bed. Jane ends up sprawled beneath Maura and they're kissing again. This time it is slow, Jane rolling her hips against Maura's leg and Maura's hands are roaming over Jane's body in a way that Jane has never let her before.

"Jane," Maura whispers, lips pulling away as Jane finally manages to undo her shirt enough to get it off. There's a moment of a clothing barrier between their faces, Maura's hair is all fluffy and flutters around her face as Jane successfully pulls her shirt off and throws it away. She's smiling, Jane is grinning back. "Jane, you're beautiful."

She wants to blush, she wants to tell Maura that she is handsome, thank you. She knows that it will ruin the moment, that Maura is doing this for Jane's benefit and for her own. Jane doesn't say anything, she just cranes her neck upwards, wrapping her arms around Maura and pulls them together as tightly as she can.

Maura kicks off her pants and they're naked, pressed against each other.

Everything stops.

Jane is acutely aware of how Maura feels against her, she's felt her many times before, but as Maura begins to trail kisses down her body, Jane wants to stop. She knows that she can say no at any time, and that she probably will before this is over, but she wants to see if she can get caught up enough in the sensations to just forget how fucking weird this shit feels.

Maura's lips close around Jane's nipple, fingers rolling the other. Jane gasps, she likes this.

It isn't that she hasn't had sex before. She has, real full-on touching sex with both men and women. She was a lot younger then, before a lot of this discomfort with her own body and gender identity had fully manifested. Jane hates that she's been so repressed for so long that her one release was to basically become a potential victim. She watches the women she sometimes sees come across her desk, dead, identity unknown; all because they happened to go out with the wrong stranger.

That could have fucking been her.

Maura saved her, brought the taboo of her being back and held it up before the light.

Jane is hard, fuck it, she's not.

She's wet and as Maura's hand slips down to cross the final boundary of their relationship, Jane realizes just how much of this she's kept pent up.

"Don't…" she begins, her voice hoarse and hardly above a whisper.

Maura's hand freezes. Questioning hazel eyes stare into Jane's and Jane shakes her head.

"Don't go inside. I don't think I'm ready for that."

"I'll only do what you're comfortable with." Maura promises, but now her mouth is moving lower too. Jane watches with wide eyes as Maura trails kisses along her stomach, fingers now splayed out across her inner thigh.

Jane has seen this many times before, it is the hottest fucking thing.

Maura is about to give her head and Jane's mind puts two and two together, everything tumbling into place.

This isn't any different.

She wants it just as much.

Mechanics are mechanics, and the plumbing's not quite right, but Jane is a plumber's daughter and she knows her way around pipes.

"You okay?" Maura's voice is quiet, muffled. She is breathing heavily, Jane can hear it and feel it rather than see it.

"Yeah."

And then Maura's tongue is on her and Jane can't think of anything else. She loves the feeling of Maura's lips on her, her hot mouth and those pretty lips. Jane loves Maura's lips, she could stare at them for hours, kiss them for hours.

Maura's lips can pull her out of her dysphoria, pull her into the moment.

She twists, gasping, embarrassed as how she's reacting to Maura's touch. She can't stay still. It's awful, she's so out of control, she wants more.

Jane's fingers tangle in Maura's hair, and she pushes against the comforting weight of Maura's hands on her hips, holding her in place.

She's not sure she can come like this, it's been years since anyone went down on her.

Fuck this feeling is so intense. Jane twists, groaning Maura's name, telling her harder, faster. The ache in her is building, she needs something, she doesn't know what – just a longing that she can't quite place.

Maura's tongue chances downwards, away from Jane's center and towards the place Jane instructed her to avoid and Jane lets out a low hiss of approval.

Your mind says no, Jane thinks, trying not to think too hard about it, Your body definitely says yes.

She comes hard, hardly aware that she was that close when Maura pushes her tongue up and into her. Jane can't stand herself, and yet she wants more, she lets Maura coax the orgasm out of her, pulling her up when it's over, holding her close, telling her again and again that she's the best thing that's ever happened to Jane.

"I love you," Maura mutters, fingers smoothing hair away from Jane's forehead. "I love that you trust me enough to do that with you."

Jane smiles at her. "Glad we're on the same page."

Sometimes, Jane is Jay. When he is Jay, he talks shit with the guys at the station and at the bar where they go to watch the Pats play. When he is Jay he fucks Maura like she is the only woman alive and clings to her in sleep as if she was his one lifeline to safety. Jay loves Maura for loving him even though most of the time Jay doesn't want to be Jay at all.

Most of the time, Jane is just Jane. She's a detective, a woman who is married to her job and probably a little too close to the chief ME down at HQ. She goes to yoga (grudgingly) with Maura and sometimes babysits her partner's foster animal of the week. She fights with her mother, tries to be a good role model for her little brother, and is head over heels in love with Maura Isles.

Maura Isles, the woman who created unity out of chaos.

FIN