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Jane only ever really pretends not to like the charity galas Maura's always trying to drag her to. Sure, there's usually incredibly boring humanitarian speeches and forced handshakes and networking with so-called elites she doesn't at all care about impressing. And of course, she usually has to dress up in the kind of clothes she often finds uncomfortable and restrictive and try not to embarrass herself by using the wrong cutlery or spilling on herself or something. But she also gets Maura wrapped up in expensive, beautiful dresses with earrings shining extravagantly in her ears and her bolder going out lipstick gracing her mouth. She gets Maura looking like a prettier, more human version of a chandelier, so sparkling Jane fears she'll be burned to touch her.
And Maura invites that touch, holds onto her arm or sweeps her hands along her spine and sometimes they even dance close, close enough for Jane to worry about stepping on Maura's toes in the heels she's unused to wearing. Plus the alcohol is free-flowing and smooth going down, which is almost an excuse to touch more, move closer, lean on each other in the gentle sway of drunkenness. So, Jane doesn't hate Maura's events. Not when Maura's standing on some elaborately designed carpet in higher heels than her work ones, her green silk gown tight along the bodice and loose down to her ankles, sporting a slit up to here and an ample view of cleavage and delicate collarbone. Jane can count the freckles on her, each one a place she wants to touch, to kiss.
If she were allowed.
What she is allowed is the solid weight of Maura at her side, perfectly formed waves brushing against Jane's cheek with how close she's leaning. Jane smells her fancy shampoo, the particular one that's like a tea garden or a wedding bouquet, as well as the champagne on her breath. She's had too much, teeters on a line of propriety it becomes Jane's job to keep her on the right side of, smiling politely if not somewhat awkwardly and excusing them from benefactors and socialites so she can get her home safe before the giggles set in.
"Are we leaving?" Maura asks as Jane tugs her across the floor. "You haven't even danced with me."
Maura pouts. Pouts. Jane sighs. "I'll dance with you at home if you can still stand up by then. I think you had too much."
"Did not," Maura complains. But she sags closer to Jane. "'M just tired."
She'd have to be utterly exhausted to be losing syllables in the way she'd often correct Jane for doing.
"Yeah," Jane soothes, swooping an arm around Maura to keep her upright. "You insisted on coming even after a triple autopsy. What'd you expect?"
"It's supposed to be fun," Maura says. "And it's for a good cause."
Jane doesn't even remember what the cause was tonight. Only Maura draped in greens and gold, the kind of colour combination that makes looking into her eyes feel like looking into a trick mirror or a kaleidoscope. Makes it hard to look away.
"Yup," Jane says. "Cause over. You gave a giant cheque or something, right?"
"Why do you think the cheque would be giant?" Maura asked. "It was regular-sized. Approximately six to eight inches by three."
Jane barks out a laugh, leading Maura out of the building. She calls for a cab, holding Maura around the waist on the sidewalk. Maura, haloed under the streetlight, watches the city lights of downtown Boston while Jane just watches her.
Jane knows Maura won't be awake long enough for a dance around the living room as soon as they get into the cab. Maura leans against Jane, warming her, heavy with nearness to sleep. A sharp turn and Maura's turning her face into Jane's neck, breath coming at a slow, sleepy rhythm. Jane indulges it just a moment, brushing Maura's hair behind her ear and pressing her hand there, gentle against the crown of her head.
Jane shakes Maura awake as they turn into her neighbourhood, rubbing her back as she moves upright.
"We'll get you to bed, honey," Jane says.
Maura blinks slowly at her, like a cat. "Did you just use the royal we? After all that teasing about Dr. Sluckey?"
"Nope," Jane says. She escorts Maura by the arm into her own house, then bends to help Maura step out of her heels before kicking her own off. "You dreamt it."
"Did not," she says.
"Don't sit down," Jane says. "I think I left my bag in the kitchen.
Jane finds her bag slung onto one of the kitchen stools, and when she turns back into the living room, finds Maura on the couch.
"Maura," Jane complains. "I said don't sit. Come on, up."
She reaches for Maura's hands and she lets her take them and pull her to her feet.
"We're dancing now?" Maura asks, warm and close.
"Sure," Jane says, tone indulgent.
But Maura won't be able to manage even a quick spin around the coffee table, so Jane just lets Maura press against her, knows she isn't really coherent enough to tell the difference between the sway of a dance or the sway of Jane leading her to the staircase while she rests her weight against Jane's front.
"You're always a good dancer," Maura says into her neck.
"Hm, drunk or delirious," Jane says. "You're one of those for sure. We gotta go up some stairs, you good?"
With Jane's limbs as a support system, Maura makes it up the stairs, immediately going for her bedroom and sitting on her bed. She kicks her heels off haphazardly while Jane watches with amusement. It's so rare for Maura to get sloppy, to lose that taut thread of control. It's cute.
Maura can barely hold herself up, looks like she's going to fall face first into her pillows and wake up to a make-up smudged impression of herself on a pillowcase.
Jane drops her bag lightly in the doorway and passes into Maura's bathroom to collect the little bottle she's watched Maura use to remove her makeup and one of the specialty cloths piled in her bathroom drawer to save the planet or something.
She sits beside Maura, letting her lean her shoulder against her as she reaches around to apply makeup remover to the cloth. She presses the damp cloth gently over Maura's eyes first, following the routine she'd watched Maura engage in many nights. Her bare eyelids are such an innocent part of her to fall in love with, a part Jane can almost convince herself means nothing except that maybe she likes having all of Maura's trust, incapacitated and home-vulnerable and still leaning against her.
Jane removes all of Maura's makeup gently, internally chastising herself when she lingers over her mouth. She wants. And oh does she hate herself for wanting.
Maura mumbles something of a thank you, placing her hand over Jane's a moment before she moves to lie down.
"Wait, aren't you going to hang up your dress?"
She doesn't know why she even asks. The answer is in the heavy blink Maura does, not even bothering to verbally respond.
Jane debates for a moment. Maura's always hated wrinkles, but it also seems inappropriate to help her remove her dress at the end of a night out, when her mind's not in it. But Maura's never been the prude that Jane can sometimes be. Earlier in the evening, after Jane had suited up for the gala and switched out her boots for heels Maura'd chosen for her, she sat at the foot of Maura's bed and they conversed through the door as Maura went through some elaborate shower routine.
And Maura had invited Jane into the bathroom so they wouldn't have to shout, into the room with the clear glass shower with only fog to obscure her nudity. Jane hadn't went in, cracked the door and tried not to think of what the steamy, muggy air rushing out indicated about her friend's current activities. Jane swallows and holds Maura up while she undoes a zipper, and Maura half-mindedly helps kick her own dress off before laying over her comforter and burying her face in the pillow. Jane blushes now at the swell of her chest, the curve of a hip. She turns away. There's no way she'll be able to finagle sleep-heavy limbs into new clothes, so she just hangs the dress up on a stray hanger in Maura's closet and finds a blanket in there to throw over her instead. And, well, didn't Maura tell her she sleeps in the nude anyway?
Jane takes one parting glance at Maura, remembering to remove her earrings and pile them on the bedside table, then she slips out to the guest room. She lies awake for far too long trying not to think, but she imagines Maura finding enough charity within her to give her a real chance. So, one more thing Jane doesn't like about going to benefits and galas and gallery openings with Maura is that she's reminded how deeply she wants and just how far she is from having.
Jane wakes earlier than expected in the guest room. She just lays there, blinking up at the ceiling and wondering how she's going to face Maura, how she's going to look at her and not let it slip how much she feels.
Stupid, stupid feelings.
Maura knocks on the door and immediately cracks it open, slipping in as soon as Jane's eyes meet hers and prove her awake. But Maura's got coffee, so Jane's already sitting up and reaching to receive the hot ceramic mug on offer.
"Good morning," Maura chirps, watching Jane greedily gulp hot coffee with a crooked grin. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you last night."
"'S'okay," Jane says, not surrendering the coffee. "You worked."
"I should also thank you," Maura says, that grin still present, still bright. "For putting up my dress for me and keeping me from falling asleep in my makeup. That was kind of you."
Jane's cheeks warm. She tells herself it's the amount of coffee she's just borderline chugged. "You're welcome."
Maura tilts her head and her grin shifts to something more playful with the rise of an eyebrow. A knowing glance, one like she's about to tease.
Maura climbs into bed beside Jane and she tenses for a moment at her closeness. The smell again, floral arrangements and soft sweetness, invades her senses. She can almost taste it, how she imagines that freshness might bloom on her tongue.
Jane refuses to meet Maura's eyes.
"So is it an... aesthetic appreciation that you're so embarrassed about? Or are you just a little prudish about the bare human form?" Maura asks knowingly.
"Maura!" Jane says.
"I'm just curious," Maura says. "It's not... it'd be flattering if it was. Appreciation, I mean. It's not like you even undressed me fully. There's a lot you didn't see."
Jane has to pointedly deter her mind from imagining those few places hidden under the last vestiges of Maura's clothing. What she'd seen was enough to have her stumbling and blushing. The rest might actually turn her mute.
"That's only 'cause you're all like socially French or whatever. They're basically nudists... they have no shame."
"Well, there's nothing to be ashamed about," Maura says. "Everyone has a body. Some are very much worth appreciating."
She takes a side glance at Jane that she ducks away from. Is she…?
"Do you remember the question I asked you the first time we shared a bed?" Jane asks.
Maura nods. She resettles into a more comfortable position, her arm brushing Jane's and rising gooseflesh in response.
"You never answered."
"Well, no, I wasn't trying to signal that I was attracted to you," Maura says.
"Oh."
"But I am," Maura says. "I am attracted to you."
Jane turns a quick look over Maura, on the hunt for hives. All she finds is pale, smooth skin. She closes her eyes.
"But you don't lie, you can't. You said you didn't want to sleep with me."
"I didn't lie," Maura says. "I didn't want to sleep with you under those conditions. I didn't want to risk... you mean a lot to me, Jane. I couldn't sleep with you casually and have it mean nothing, as it would've been with Giovanni. I couldn't if you didn't feel the way I did."
"Who said it would have to mean nothing?" Jane says softly.
"Jane," Maura says and her voice is almost a bit strangled. "Can you just be direct please? I don't want to misinterpret you."
"Do you want me, Maur?" Her voice is smaller than usual, raspier. "Not just to sleep with. The whole everything?"
Maura looks at Jane, looks at her mouth a little too long before her eyes, the sincerity in them.
"You'd have to be gentle with me, Jane," Maura says. "Could you? I couldn't take..."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"You broke a lot of hearts," Maura admits softly.
"Because you already had mine. I couldn't give anyone else any of it because it was yours. I shouldn't've been with them, Maur. It was stupid."
"You broke my heart," Maura says softly, near tears.
Jane looks at her first in shocked horror, then realization dawns easily with the familiarity of her expression. Dean. Casey. The engagement ring instantly spotted on her finger. That broken, hollow way Maura'd said she wanted to throw the engagement party, like she had to, like someone was forcing her to do something it hurt to think about. It was almost always framed as some fear she'd lose Jane's friendship, or mitigated by other betrayals like shooting Maura's biological father. She'd wounded Maura in trying to protect her from the sharp edges she was, she is, each of those men little betrayals, leaving wounds deeper than she first understood.
"I'm sorry," Jane says. "I thought I was protecting you."
She touches Maura softly, always softly, always holding just a little bit back. "I think I was just scared," she adds. "It's never felt like this."
Maura sniffles, then laughs a little wet laugh, wipes at her face. "I should know better than to tease you. Somehow, you made it real. You just make it so easy to unintentionally reveal my feelings."
And now it's Jane that can't stop looking at Maura, at the way her mouth shapes around the words. Feelings. Feelings for her.
"Maura, I..."
"It's okay, Jane. I trust you," Maura says, nodding at the question in her expression.
Jane angles her chin, brushes fingers over Maura's bottom lip, then kisses an eyelid instead. She'd always wanted to kiss Maura's eyelids when she was makeup-less and vulnerable, exposed human and imperfect by the tiny little green veins under thin skin. She waits for Maura to open her eyes and find her mouth with them before kissing her, softly, tenderly, holding back the desperate, fierce part of her want. She can be gentle in more ways than one.
Maura drives it deeper, like she's searching for that part, like she isn't afraid of how destructively Jane wants her. Jane's always been scared that she could tear Maura to shreds, all of the great parts of her ribboned as if by claws. But Maura sighs into the roughness like it's mercy, like it's love. And maybe it is. Maybe for Jane, it is. A desperate sound escapes Jane when Maura slows that kiss to an end, pulls back in a motion every part of Jane wants to follow, to keep them connected and feeling. But she respects both Maura's choice and the desperate plea of her lungs demanding oxygen.
But Jane can't undo it, can't unsee Maura that way, gleeful in the fiercest parts of her want. The things she wants to do, the way she wants to touch her, the way she wants to live inside of her skin and love her, and say it, and often. Jane can't go back to before she'd had a taste. She just can't.
"Don't change your mind on me," Jane says instead. It's more honest than she intends to be, more vulnerable.
"That depends on you," Maura says. "Don't make me."
But somehow that statement's full of vulnerability too.
"You could probably do a lot better than me," Jane says. "You're pretty close to perfect."
"You hold me to quite a high standard," Maura says, looking at Jane with an expression weary and wary at once. "You know, when you put people on pedestals, there's a very long way to fall."
"But you couldn't."
"Then you're wearing rouge-coloured glasses," Maura says. "I'm not perfect. I... do things I shouldn't just like everybody else."
"With a pure heart," Jane insists.
"Jane, I don't know what you think you've hid, but I've seen your heart," Maura says. "It's a very generous, loving one."
Jane chuckles. "You just said I break hearts."
"Jane," Maura sighs. "Stop trying to talk me out of wanting you. Please."
"Oh," Jane says, realizing that's exactly what she's doing. And that she wants Maura to want her, to love her. "I love you so much it scares me."
"I'm scared too," Maura says. "I think we're supposed to be."
"Why?"
"Because if we weren't scared, then it wouldn't matter. You matter. This, it matters," Maura says.
"It does," Jane says. She leans into Maura, wraps her up. "Sorry.'
"For?"
"Trying to erase it before it ever really existed," Jane says.
"I'll forgive you," Maura says. "At cost," she adds, lifting a finger. "One more kiss."
Jane kisses her. And kisses her. And kisses her. How could she possibly stop at one?
And Maura lets her, moves with her. Slows their kisses to little smacks as she cups Jane's cheeks tenderly.
"Can I make a confession?" Maura asks, warm against Jane's chest as she leans her weight there, and slightly breathless. "I only wanted to go to that benefit after such a long day because I wanted to dance with you in your good suit."
Jane lets out a laugh, but only holds Maura closer. "Okay, then. I've got a dance or two in me since you so unfortunately missed out."
She brushes Maura's hair back from her temple and lets her fingers cup her scalp softly, an indulgence she hopes she can keep holding until her fingers wither with age.