RIZZOLI & ISLES

Under Covers Champion

art_and_lies84

Title: Under Covers Champion

Author: art_and_lies84

Pairing: Jane/Maura

Rating: T

Summary: Jane finds herself in the back seat of Maura’s car after a night of debauchery.

Warnings: Discussed dubcon

A/N: Inspired by the infamous tweets between @JaneRizzoli and @MauraIsles on August 14, 2010. If you haven’t read them… Well, you’re missing out. Rizzoli & Isles are not mine.

Under Covers Champion

art_and_lies84

It was a singular experience, Jane thought, to wake up in the backseat of Maura’s car. She was positive that’s where she was. She cracked one eye. Yes. Who else would have copies of Grey’s Anatomy and Tortoise Today filling the seatback pockets?

God, what happened last night? Friday. She had insisted that Maura try a variety of beers, inevitably meaning that Jane herself must also try the same fare. Where was Maura? Where was she, for that matter? Though the interior of the S6 was more spacious than that of Jane’s own car – which, she’d never admit this to a soul, she’d woken up in on more than one occasion – she was disconcerted by how warm she was, despite her nudity.

Jane’s eyes snapped open. Where the fuck were her clothes? She was, indeed, completely and utterly without a speck of covering on her long torso. Before Jane could work herself into a panic, though, she was overtaken by a wave of nausea. She laid very still, face pressed against the warm leather (oh, seat warmers, vaguely remembered), unable to escape the haze of alcohol that surrounded her. She waited for it to pass before pushing herself up slowly on wobbly elbows.

Had Jane been a tad less of a pessimist she could have found some humor in her situation. She began her assessment at her toes. Her right foot rested respectably on the floor of the car, where it belonged. Her left leg, however, dangled lackadaisically out the rear driver’s side window, leaving her… well, exposed. Jane scowled at the offending limb. Spread–eagle drunk. Shit. She pulled the leg in and sat up straight. Her abdomen, slightly purpled in an angry horizontal line that ran from hip to hip, protested the movement.

Smaller bruises peppered her chest; one was dangerously close to… no, that was definitely touching the nipple. Jane sighed. This was looking worse by the second. Her arms seemed to have escaped the evening unscathed, barring the scribbles down the left bicep. In one hand she clutched a “Tsai’s Karaoke” pen; the other, Jane noted with some confusion, was twisted in a bright orange “Don’t mess with Texas!” t–shirt.

What. The. Fuck.

The throbbing in Jane’s temples increased as she leaned forward to pull on the Texas tee. It was obviously intended to be worn by someone with something closer to Maura’s bust line; on Jane, it was snug across broad shoulders and hung limply over her chest. Pants? Jane thought mournfully, resisting the urge to call for them aloud.

She spotted the slacks wadded up beneath a pizza box on the dash. Jane could not imagine a situation in which her pants would be removed before ordering and consuming pizza. Oh, God. God. Why do you let me do these things?

She tugged the garment, unleashing an explosion of beer caps in her flabbergasted face. “Dammit! Dammit!” she yelled and emptied the remainder of the caps onto the passenger seat. There was an astonishing quantity, too many for two people to have consumed without poisoning themselves. Bud Light seemed to have won the evening, Jane thought, and pulled the slacks into the back seat with her. She unballed one pant leg, disappointed to see no sign of her underwear there. She shoved her leg through, then repeated the action with the other leg… until her knee rammed into the little white plastic pizza table that had taken up residence in the pant. Jane released a very un–Jane–like squeal, fished the table out, and forcefully tossed into the front half of the car. It caught in the lace something that hung from the rear view.

Unable to button the pants – the button having mysteriously vacated the slacks sometime the night before – Jane settled for pulling them up to rest on her hips. The orange monstrosity on her top left her mid–drift exposed. She was really going to be screwed if Maura didn’t have something to lend her to get home, Jane thought as she surveyed the rest of the car.

The keys were still in the ignition, which explained the warm seats. A Gucci boot balanced precariously on the steering wheel. The lace something turned out to be a bra, both too generous and too elaborate to be Jane’s. Maura’s beloved black satin Dolce and Gabanna pencil skirt, of which Maura had extolled the virtues on a particularly laborious afternoon in the crime lab while Jane was waiting for test results, lay neatly folded in the driver’s seat.

Jane moaned and shook her head against the overwhelming evidence piling up before her. She supposed that waking up in the car alone worked to her favor: had she woken up in Maura’s bed, her suspicions about how the previous evening had progressed would be absolutely confirmed. This way, at least, Jane could blame her lack of clothes on the heat emanating from the seats. Or zealous drunkenness. Or anything, anything at all besides her attractive, brainy, straight friend.

Speaking of… Jane watched Maura saunter into the garage, mug in one hand and a large glass of water in the other, clad in what appeared to be Jane’s button up work shirt from yesterday and little else. Jane chose to ignore that last bit and opened the door for the M.E.

“Be careful. There are bottle caps everywhere,” Jane warned as she scooted over. Maura handed her the water and climbed in. “Where did they all come from? We can’t possibly have finished off that many,” Jane waved at the incriminating passenger seat.

Maura smiled serenely at her. “You did finish off quite a few,” – Jane looked at her pointedly – “but then you took up a collection. The other patrons were more than happy to donate.” Maura thought for a moment, then added, “Especially after you began using your shirt for a collection basket.”

Jane gaped at her and said, “Maura, please tell me you didn’t really let me do that. You did! Oh my God…”

“You can be quite persuasive, Jane.”

A pensive silence descended over the car. Jane clenched and unclenched her fists, unsure of how much more she wanted to know about the previous evening. Her stomach hurt. Her everything hurt.

“I see that I got to you as well.” Maura trailed a cool finger over the pen marks on Jane’s arm. “I have tasting notes written on both of my forearms.”

“What the hell does Under Covers Champion mean?” Jane asked, paling at the connotation. “Maura, did we…” Jane spread her palms questioningly over her slacks, careful not to touch Maura’s thigh, which rested tight against her left leg.

“Did we what, Jane?” Maura responded, ever the picture of seriousness. Seriousness and naivetè.

“You know…” Jane blushed.

“Did we sing karaoke? Yes. Though I can’t say I’ll ever return to that place in Chinatown. I am positive that had I been less inebriated I would have noticed signs of acute Periplaneta americana infestation.”

“English?”

“No, American.”

Jane sucked in a breath through grating teeth and ire. “What kind of infestation, Maura? In layman’s terms.”

“Oh. American cockroach.”

Jane cringed. Who knows how many of the pests she could have eaten while belting her heart out to arena rock. “Were we any good? At Karaoke, I mean.”

“Absolutely not, no. You know, most of the lyrics to the songs that you chose make little sense. For example, what exactly does it mean to ‘Hold onto that feeling’? What feeling? What are we supposed to continue to ‘believe in’?”

Jane chose to ignore the question and trudge on, eager to get the discomfort over as soon as possible. “How did we get here?”

“I took East Berkeley to Tremont, then–” Jane rolled her eyes and clapped her hand over Maura’s mouth.

“Maura, I am going to ask you a set of very specific questions,” Jane said, slowly removing her hand from Maura’s face. She tipped her head forward, catching Maura’s eye, hoping to communicate how serious she was. Maura nodded, and Jane continued. “I need you to put aside the Wikipedia Mouth* for a moment and give me an outline of what happened last night. First, what happened when we left the Karaoke place? Did I have clothes on, then?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Jane said, exasperated already. “How did I come to own this nightmare?”

She plucked at the t–shirt to emphasize her point.

“You purchased it at the Exxon on Milford and Tremont. I told you to stay in the car while I pumped the gas, but you figured out the child locks.” Maura looked at Jane balefully. “I tried to get you to put this back on but you wouldn’t hear of it. You said I looked ‘far too scrumptious’ to justify returning it to you. You did have a bra on, though.”

Jane dropped her head into her hands. This was a nightmare. She had spent half the night half–naked, probably in front of half of Boston. And here she was, half–awake and half–positive that she had slept with her best friend.

“Did we stop for pizza before or after the Exxon?”

“Afterwards. You insisted. Your recommendation, by the way was superb. I’ve never had a quattro formaggi with extra olives.”

Jane offered a small smile. At least one of them was taking this all in stride. Still, if what she suspected was true, how would their friendship change? Sleeping with women was nothing new to Jane. Sleeping with a friend, however – that had never ended well for her before. And Maura had never given even the slightest indication that she was attracted to women. Had Jane come on to her?

“The beer was also delightful. I tried quite a few, if my notes are to be believed. There is one, however, that I am not entirely sure how to interpret…” Maura trailed off, suddenly lost in thought.

“Were you sober enough to be on the road?” Jane asked cautiously.

“Jane!” Maura said, clearly affronted. “Of course I was.” She leaned between the front seats to open the glove compartment and before Jane had time to register surprise at her own underwear adorning Maura’s shapely ass, Maura produced a breathalyzer kit.

Jane snorted. Maura looked hurt.

“It is irresponsible to travel without one if you know your alcohol intake will exceed one beverage,” Maura offered before placing the kit back in the glove compartment. Yup, definitely my underwear, Jane thought before Maura returned with a bottle of aspirin and a handful of alcohol wipes.

Maura handed the aspirin to Jane. She removed a wipe from its packaging and began to dutifully wipe the suspect phrase “Under Covers Champion” from Jane’s arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have written on you. If it makes you feel any better, you reciprocated.”

“I am not going to ask why you wrote ‘Under Covers Champion’ on me. But why were you writing on skin in the first place? I find it hard to believe that Dr. Maura Isles would document her findings on her arm,” Jane snickered. “I mean, don’t you take notes on your iPhone out in the field?”

Maura looked away, lips slightly downturned. Jane knew that look. It graced Maura’s face infrequently, but when it did, it signified hurt. Maura did not always recognize when she was being teased by the other detectives, but she was acutely aware when it came to Jane’s comments.

“How did I reciprocate?” Jane said gently.

As Jane looked on in mingled horror and fascination, Maura unbuttoned the next two buttons on her straining shirt. She pulled the cotton aside. On her right breast, in what was clearly Jane’s sprawling script, was written “Omnomnom.”

Some small, wicked part of the back of Jane’s brain cackled wildly at this. The rest of her realized that another proverbial nail had been driven into the coffin that she had been constructing around herself all morning. Sure, she was attracted to Maura. Maura was… well, Maura was fucking hot. Also, despite the woman’s staunch ignorance of how to deal with living people, Jane understood that Maura cared about her, insomuch as Maura could.

She had explained to Jane once that she believed the success of their friendship rested in how transparent Jane made her emotions. Jane had never been able to fully deconstruct the comment and Maura was reluctant to elaborate at the time, but Jane was positive that this would in some way make or break her today. If she was careful, she might be able to steer the morning in such a way that Maura would understand it would be best if they forgot all about the previous evening. They could talk about it, laugh about it, and then move on.

“You know how I got this?” Jane leaned back to indicate her bruised abdomen.

Obviously relieved by the opportunity for distraction, Maura bowed closer to examine the bruise, touching it lightly. “Some subcutaneous contusions, but it should heal quickly. The pain should ebb within a few days, when the capillaries knit,” she noted. She looked up at Jane. “Does it hurt much?”

“How did I get it?” Jane repeated.

Maura sat up and looked away again. Something was wrong here. Why was Maura so reluctant to talk to her?

“Maura? Maura, sweetheart,” Jane touched her knee, hoping to elicit some response. Maura looked at her with tears in her eyes.

“Did I uh… Did I hit on you last night? I mean, did we, uh…” Jane asked quietly, trying and failing to keep her eyes locked on Maura’s.

And then the infallible, unshakeable Dr. Maura Isles had a complete meltdown. “Jane, it’s just that, it’s just that you were so charming. You kept flirting and it seemed like you wanted me, but sometimes I just don’t know how to read people. You don’t act that way when you’re sober–”

Maura was positively blubbering at this point. Jane stared at her in shock.

“– and Jane… Jane, I don’t know what I would do if I’ve ruined our friendship. I don’t know if I took advantage of you. I don’t understand signals like that. You never said no.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Jane that Maura had been sober while she herself had been totally fucked up during their encounter. Could she have consented? Would she have allowed it to happen if she had been sober? Yes to the first. Probably not to the latter.

Would Maura, in all of her oblivious glory, have been able to determine a variance between the two? Almost certainly no.

But Jane did not believe that her friend would take advantage of her. Maura must have truly believed that Jane had wanted her. Besides, Jane did not know for sure exactly what had happened. Maura may be overreacting to a sloppy post–pizza kiss. A naked, post–pizza kiss. One that resulted in missing buttons, traded clothes, and bruised breasts.

Maura had been woefully silent for longer than was comfortable. Jane watched her fiddle with the hem of the cotton shirt, tap her thigh, run a hand through her hair, all before returning her gaze to Jane. Jane looked into her wide, frightened eyes, willing her to continue.

“You told me that you had had sex with women before,” Maura said, trepidation dripping from every word. “I asked what it was like, and explained that studies have shown that 83 percent of women who sleep with other women are sexually fulfilled – a full 30 percent above women who sleep with men. You told me I should try it sometime. So I kissed you.”

“Is that all?” Jane asked, momentarily overjoyed by the prospect that perhaps she could salvage this after all.

“No,” Maura whispered.

“Oh. What… What else, Maura?”

“Do you want me to recount the entire evening?”

“I’m not sure,” Jane answered truthfully.

“Let me at least answer the first question for you, then. The contusion was likely the result of you throwing yourself over that seat–” Maura pointed to the headrest of the passenger side seat, “– spreading your legs, and explaining in explicit detail how I might go about performing cunninglingus. You give excellent directions, Jane.”

Chapter 2

“Why Maura Isles, I do believe you are trying to sweep me off my feet,” Jane slurred in a none–too–accurate Scarlet O’Hara. She stumbled and leaned precariously against Maura.

Maura sighed. Jane’s ataxia was inconvenient and slightly irritating. She should have put a cap – pun intended – on Jane’s alcohol intake hours ago, but she had been having such an uncharacteristically good time watching the woman proposition the bar patrons. Jane was happy. Knowing what Jane felt, unequivocally and without question, made Maura happy.

And now Jane, though happy, was shivering against her in the Boston night. Maura hesitated, weighing the merits of walking Jane to the car, or driving the car to Jane; the odds of successfully escorting Jane without one or both of them getting hurt were phenomenally low, but in the time that it would take her to get to the car and back, Jane could spend another three hundred dollars on “Don’t Mess With Texas!” memorabilia. Maura had no idea what such fan fare was doing at an Exxon station in Boston, but she sometimes found that it was best to ignore details such as this and focus on the major tasks at hand. Such as how to convince Jane to put her shirt back on.

“Jane, come on, hold your arms out,” Maura prodded.

Jane did not comply. Instead, she wrapped a gangly arm around Maura’s shoulders and pressed her mostly–naked upper half flush against Maura’s right side. In her most lighthearted husk, she said, “I like this shirt on you, Doc! Why do you keep trying to give it back to me? You’re absolutely scrumptious in it!”

Why was Jane grinning at her like that? Scrumptious? Jane was never going to believe this in the morning. Suddenly the hand that had been conspicuously creeping down her back ripped away, along with the rest of Jane. The detective walked with surprising speed and precision to the black Audi across the lot, pulled the orange monstrosity over her head – Maura observed with no small amount of glee that it barely covered Jane’s rib cage – and threw herself into the car.

Well, the major tasks were complete. What were all of the “Don’t Mess With Texas!” shirts, mugs, caps, and Big Gulp cups doing in Boston?

Jane rolled down the passenger window and gracelessly stuck half her body out. She gestured wildly with both arms and called, “Maura! What are you doing? Come on! I want pizza.” Apparently satisfied when Maura began to move her way, Jane sucked her body back in through the window, hitting her head on the way back in. Thank God for the analgesic effects of alcohol.

Maura dutifully ordered, paid for, and returned to the car with the pizza that Jane demanded. The idea of extra olives made her a bit queasy, but Jane had been true to her word when she be resolved that the four cheese and kalamata blend would be right up Maura’s alley. Also up Maura’s alley was the expanse of bare leg draped out the – no, no. Jane was Maura’s friend. She couldn’t allow Jane to continue to discard clothing as if she were allergic to it.

She knew for certain that Jane was not allergic to poly cotton blends. She had run the tests herself.

Maura rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat. She set the pizza box on top of Jane’s crumpled slacks on the dash. “Jane, why have you removed your pants?”

Jane squinted at Maura intently, her dark eyebrows knit together in deep concentration. Maura had no idea what she could possibly be scrutinizing. Jane wasn’t hyperopic. Jane stared through her long eyelashes for what felt like hours before sitting back and declaring, “You’re very beautiful, you know?”

Then, as if the declaration was nothing more than a comment on the weather, Jane snagged a piece of pizza and tucked in. After polishing off her first piece, she reached back into the box, but pulled her hand up short: Maura watched in befuddlement as Jane picked up the little white pizza table, examined it in the dome light, then whispered conspiratorially, “I gotta keep this for later. Never know when you might need one.” She lifted the pizza box and shoved the item deep into her slacks.

It was all too much for Maura Isles. What was Jane thinking? What was she feeling? Not knowing how else to respond to a barely–clad Jane Rizzoli picking olives off of the pizza and popping them into her mouth with hedonistic moans, Maura put the key into the ignition and turned onto Tremont.

Things continued to spiral out of control from there. Bored with the pizza, Jane returned to her previous fascination and began to tick off on her fingers all of the things that she found “scrumptious” about Maura. The most noteworthy on the list, in Maura’s opinion, were as follows: Jane loved Maura’s nose for its “sculpted, Romanesque quality;” she loved her large eyes that tried so hard to see the world around her and failed so obviously; she especially loved the full–blown smiles that Maura gave so infrequently, most notably those that resulted from a compliment that Jane had given.

When Jane turned her attention to anatomy south of Maura’s neck, the doctor blushed and stopped her with a polite finger to Jane’s still–moving lips. “Enough, Jane. Thank you. That is very flattering, but enough for –”

Maura stopped talking when her index finger disappeared between perfect lips. Later, she praised her luck that it had been late enough that the thoroughfare was mostly devoid of other traffic. Her attention was undeniably fixed on the woman next to her. She stared at Jane’s lips, her own mouth forming a surprised ‘O.’

Was Jane attracted to her? All of this – the compliments, the overindulgent touching, the innuendo that sailed strait over Maura’s blonde curls until she had a moment to sort through the implications – was Jane telling her something? Maura was terrible at things like this. It was just so difficult sorting through all of this with Jane sitting there like that, small black panties and orange mid–drift tee leaving very little to the imagination. Perhaps she would test the waters a bit. She would wait for Jane to give a clear indication, something that even she couldn’t misinterpret, then she would make a move.

So, as Jane swirled her tongue around the digit one last time before removing it from her mouth and kissing it, Maura decided to allow the infraction in her otherwise platonic relationship with the detective.

“I sleep with chicks,” Jane said, still casually unaware of the Hiroshima–sized havoc she was wreaking on Maura’s underdeveloped interpersonal skills. “I just thought you should know.”

“Oh,” Maura said. Was that enough of a signpost for Maura? She had to be sure. She feared her voice hadn’t come off as steady as she hoped. She searched for a fact to compensate. Facts always filled the void. Maura could do facts. She seized upon a statistic, sure that it would enthrall Jane and rescue her from the finger blunder. “Did you know that 83 percent of women who sleep with other women report sexual satisfaction?”

Jane groaned and placed a hand over her eyes.

Maura frowned and rifled through her mental catalogue of appropriate social reactions. Statistics weren’t what Jane wanted. What did Jane want? This was exceedingly difficult. No wonder she never did this with other people. Conversation was overrated.

“I, uh…” Maura began, then shook her head. She tried again. “Female rats exhibit homosexual behavior in… I mean, lesbianism is an animal instinct in many species. I… Jane, I don’t know what to say.”

Jane’s face yielded a small smile. She turned fully in her seat so that her knee rested against Maura’s leg. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said solemnly.

“Tell me what it’s like,” Maura said. She knew that she was treading dangerous waters. The wise thing to do would be to change the subject entirely, but Jane had brought it up, and now Maura’s curiosity was eating away at her.

“Soft,” Jane whispered so fast, Maura was unsure whether she was answering the question or making a private observation. “It’s soft.” She gently placed a hand on Maura’s shoulder. “It certainly isn’t anything like being with a man. With a man, it’s all about power, and pushing, and proving something. With a woman, it’s still about power – an exchange of power. Nothing to prove. Just softness and light and heat and wet…”

Maura chanced a quick glance at Jane. Dark brown eyes stared back at her. The hand on her shoulder shifted up to her hair and wound into the curls there. Maura’s breath caught and she almost missed the turn onto her street. Was this the sign?

“You should try it sometime. With a woman, I mean.”

There it was. Even Maura couldn’t misinterpret that, could she?

“I’ll keep that in mind, Jane,” Maura said breathlessly. She had never been more grateful to see her driveway. She fumbled with the garage door opener once, twice, then hit the button and pulled in carefully. Jane’s fingers were dancing up and down the back of her neck. Maura carefully applied the brakes, put the car into par, turned the key to kill the engine but leave the auxiliary components running, and grabbed a fist full of Jane’s wild, dark hair.

She pulled the other woman’s face to hers, cognizant of the hitch in Jane’s respiration, the tightening of the fingers behind her neck. Maura had never been so frightened in her entire life. Jane’s breath washed over her face, a question in every exhalation, questions that Maura wasn’t sure she had answers for and even if she did, she was not sure she would answer them willingly. The nearness allowed Maura to see the rapid dilation of Jane’s pupils. The physiological evidence suggested that Jane was in a state of arousal.

Still, the body’s faculties could shine through inebriation, and Maura knew Jane would never have acted as she had that evening had she been sober. Her inhibitions seemed to have packed up and deserted her altogether. Would Jane remember this in the morning? If Maura kissed her now, would she be able to stop? What would Jane think of her – that she had taken liberties with an incapacitated woman, or that she had acted on true feelings and desires that had heretofore remained a secret from Maura herself? Jane’s friendship was invaluable to her: Maura, having never been able to cultivate a relationship before, found herself reveling in all that was Jane. She worked hard to understand Jane, and though she usually failed utterly, Jane kept coming back. She couldn’t bear it if she ruined all of that just to satisfy a night of tension and impulse. Humans, unlike animals, were able to negotiate their sexual desires.

But then Jane’s tongue snaked out between her lips to wet them, and Dr. Maura Isles gave up the negotiation and pressed her lips to Jane’s.

Chapter 3

“I spread my legs and what?” Jane said and dropped the empty water glass to the floorboard with a clink. Then, thinking the better of her question, she added, “Don’t repeat it, Maura! Oh God…”

She sagged into the seat. No wonder Maura thought she had some “unfavorable” traits. Who gave directions for going down on a woman?

Maura sat next to her, silently gazing at the mug on her lap. Jane was sure she had never seen the M.E. look more downtrodden. Well, maybe that time Jane spilled wine on her vintage white suede boots. Or that time when Maura had learned that the fluff in Fluffernutters was simply reconstituted marshmallow. Jane looked over at her again. No, this was definitely the worst. She hated when Maura made that face. Oh, not tears. Anything but tears.

“I need to know what I didn’t ‘say no’ to, Maura,” Jane said. She grabbed the other woman’s hand as an afterthought. Maura obviously needed some reassurance and, as usual, didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe if she willed it away, and if Maura was able, they could move beyond sleeping together and just be regular friends again. Not that she would complain about something more than friendship… ah, that would be such a mess! An even bigger fucking mess than this. She only dated men (while sleeping with women) for a reason: women were complicated. Women had all kinds of expectations and needs beyond the bedroom. Men were happy with an homage–a–Jane’s–body four or five times a week.

Jane let her mind wander. What would it be like to have an homage–a–Maura’s–body four or five times a week? Or every day? Down in the M.E.’s office, that would be hot. Or creeptastic if there were still bodies lying around. She suppressed a shudder and squeezed Maura’s hand to nudge her along.

Huge watery eyes met hers. “Are you that bothered by what happened?”

Jane did not understand why Maura was so dense about things like this. Women. Complicated. Maura was absolutely the most fucking complicated person in the universe. Couldn’t she tell that Jane was worried for them? Couldn’t she tell that Jane wasn’t angry that they had had sex – she just needed to know the facts? She was a detective, after all. She told Maura as much.

“We didn’t have sex,” Maura replied, pulling back with a start. Jane would have laughed at her panicked face had she been positive that the same look wasn’t gracing her own.

“What happened to ‘you give excellent directions’?” Jane screeched. “All morning I’ve been worried that we slept together!”

“We did sleep together. I slept right there,” Maura said and gestured to Jane’s breast.

“Goddammit, Maura! You know what I mean! We didn’t fuck?” Jane ground out. The other woman’s panicked face quickly shifted to hurt, then disgust. Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. She knew Maura hated that word. She carefully considered her next words. “So when I gave you those directions…”

“The directions were detailed and covered many aspects of female sexuality that I have not yet investigated. I said you gave the directions – I never said I followed them,” Maura pointed out.

Jane blinked. Was this woman for real? Could she be more matter–of–fact? Also – yet?

As much as she cared for Maura, she was beginning to think that there was something seriously wrong with Maura’s perception of the world. It was more than just a neurotic inability to guess. Maura was off–the–charts brilliant; Jane hadn’t missed the fucking MENSA placard placed in an unobtrusive corner of her home office. But Maura couldn’t make an intuitive leap even if the smoke monster from Lost – Maura’s guilty pleasure show – was chasing her off the proverbial cliff.

Jane huffed. She was peeved. More than peeved. She was really close to really pissed.

“So, we didn’t sleep together. How the hell did I get all of these hickeys, then?” She rubbed her neck in emphasis.

“Those I will take the blame for.”

“And you’re wearing my clothes. My underwear. I woke up naked.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere, detective?”

Jane shook her head. Fucking impossible. “Why are you wearing my underwear, Maura? What happened to the button on my pants?”

“You must have removed the button yourself. I was not present when you took your pants off, if you recall–”

“–I don’t recall!”

“–oh, right. As far as the underwear go… You tore my skirt and I needed something to wear into the house. I do not like to go into the kitchen without covering all areas prone to infection.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Maura,” Jane threw her hands up in the air. Maura almost looked embarrassed. Could Maura be embarrassed? This was new. “Does everything have to be just so with you? Does everything have to be sacred?”

That did it. Maura’s face lit up in a smile bright enough to power the Hoover Dam – though Jane would never say something so fanciful out loud for fear that Maura would negate her with something equal parts inane and boring as hell. Maura said through her smile, “I am able to better understand my life if I enforce fastidious order upon it. But continue. I’ll try not to interrupt.”

“Alright, let me get this straight,” Jane said.

“Not quite straight!” Maura piped in, earning a level 10 Rizzoli death glare that shut her right up. Jane had carefully cultivated the look in her mirror over a number of years. She had used the infamous Captain Janeway as her guide (from her own guilty pleasure show, in fact). The look seemed to produce the same results at every use: absolute silence and, she liked to think, a tightening of a certain sphincter. Maura probably knew exactly what that involuntary reaction was called.

Jane shut her eyes and breathed deeply. When she felt sufficiently calmed, she opened her eyes and said, “We went to karaoke. I started removing clothes and causing general chaos. We got pizza. So far, so good?” Maura nodded, apparently wise enough to continue her silence. “I became an uncontrollable flirt and revealed one of my most closely held secrets. Then you kissed me. Yes?”

“Yes,” Maura nodded vigorously. Jane nearly expected her to begin clapping, she looked that damn thrilled with Jane’s extremely abridged version of events.

“After you kissed me, Maura. What then? Please be… succinct.”

Maura nodded again and placed the now–empty coffee mug on the floorboard, standing the water glass up in the process. She sat back and appeared to think through it. And think. And think. Jane felt her irritation climb. She really did not need to be this irate. It was just Maura. Maura was always like this. The words had to be just right, especially after Jane had reacted so violently to an extra connotation that Maura could not pick up on herself. She hated to think that Maura would tiptoe her way through their conversations like this forevermore; she genuinely enjoyed decrypting some of what the woman said on her own. Innuendo was secretly Jane Rizzoli’s best friend. What was different now?

The answer careened at her through the silence of the moment: she was mad because she hadn’t slept with Maura. That “you’re not my type” comment still stung; Jane had been so ready and willing, and dammit, wasn’t she attractive enough to seduce Maura?

Maura broke the silence, having apparently found the perfect words. “It did not end with one kiss, as I am sure you’ve surmised. There were several, ranging from here,” she touched her lips, “to here.” She laid a hand on her adorned breast. “You removed your t–shirt and bra before I could stop you, then reached over to remove your work shirt from me.”

Her just–the–facts face cracked into sheepishness for a moment. “I thought you just wanted your shirt back, though I did find it surprising that you would remove both bras as well. I quickly discovered that reclaiming the shirt was not your intention. You threw it out the door and dragged us both into the back seat.”

God, Jane wished she remembered that! She did a mental recount of the clothing situation. Maura would still have had the skirt on, and Jane herself would have still had underwear. It all seemed right on track with… well, fucking.

“We were in the back seat, I tossed away clothes like they were on fire…” Jane said.

“Allergic to them, perhaps,” Maura replied with a smile. “We continued kissing. I gave you these.” She gently brushed her fingers over a bruise on Jane’s neck, sending a shock through the other woman. “You are extremely susceptible to contusions, Jane. I was not so enthusiastic as to incur all of that.”

Jane pulled a face. Really, just dig the knife in a little further. Turn it, why don’t you?

“I know that you are not on any blood thinners, have no major diseases or disorders, and you have not recently been seriously injured. You are likely experiencing a deficiency in vitamins C, K, or B12. I’ll give you the appropriate supplements to take with you later.”

“Thanks, Maur,” Jane whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Maura said. “I believe it was right around that time that you found the pen. You wrote on my chest. I had no idea you loved breasts so much!”

In a wet dream moment inappropriate for network television, Maura bounced on the seat to stress her point. Jane stared. Of course she stared. Maura, seemingly pleased with her ogling, sat back and continued her story. She explained that she had then written on Jane’s arm in response to a brief conversation over who would be the “top” under the covers. They agreed that it would be Jane, but Maura added, “Not because you would ‘be the guy.’ That is a ridiculous stereotype. You were pleased with what I wrote, all the same.”

“In what appeared to be a natural progression of events, you put your hands under the hem of my skirt. When I told you that I’d never…” She paused for a moment and tilted her head in recall. A faint blush crept up the woman’s neck and she said, “You softly whispered ‘That’s alright.’ You were very insistent – you ripped the skirt when you couldn’t figure the zipper out. I told you I did not know what to do, so you removed your own underwear and… the seat… I just watched and listened.” Had she been so bold?

Jane watched confusion wash over Maura’s face a moment later. She looked so beautiful that way – unsure and eager and full of hope.

“I didn’t, uh… put on a demonstration or anything, did I?” Jane asked.

“No, no. Just instructions. I did not know what to do. I couldn’t do it.”

Jane’s insecurities bounded out full force and danced around her. Maura really had not wanted her. She had been draped over a car seat with her naked sex on full display, asking, begging for Maura to do something, and Maura wouldn’t. Even Maura wasn’t that dense. Jane hadn’t given her puny little road signs. She had given her Vegas–style flashing billboards. Jane blinked back tears. That really fucking hurt.

“We didn’t have sex. I ripped your skirt, made a fool of myself, and then what?” she said in a wavering voice.

“I didn’t want it to be that way, Jane. In the back seat of a car, with you possibly not even remembering the next morning,” Maura said. This time she looked Jane straight in the eye. No questions. No variations. Just honesty, plain and simple. “After the seat display, you pulled my skirt the rest of the way down and asked… You asked if you could make love with me. No one has ever asked me before. I did not know that we were supposed to. I said no.”

A hot tear slid down Jane’s face. She hastily wiped it away. “Why are you so goddamned guilty this morning, then?”

“You were in no state to consent to any physical interaction, Jane. I’m sorry. I should not have initiated the contact, and I should not have allowed it to continue.”

“We just fell asleep out here?”

“After a bit of rearranging, yes. It was nice. You wrapped your legs around me, hugged me to you, and asked if I would stay like that forever.”

Jane couldn’t believe it. She would never say something like that aloud. Drunk Jane had definitely had a come–to–Jesus moment. Or hour. Or entire evening. Or maybe the entire past couple of months she had spent getting to know Maura.

“I woke up not long ago and went to start the coffee up. You need more water first, though.”

“Listen, Maura, I should go. Do you have a shirt I can borrow? I can’t go out in this thing.”

“Oh, you can have this back,” Maura said, and before Jane could protest, she had whipped the button–up off her shoulders.

Nope, nothin’ on underneath that shirt. Holy shit. What the fuck was Maura trying to do to her? She wished she remembered last night. Arousal burned brightly through Jane’s hurt as she stared for four seconds longer than was polite. Then, in a pitifully cartoon–y pantomime, she covered her eyes with both hands. It was so ridiculous that even the inviolable Dr. Isles laughed.

Jane was determined to sit that way all day if it meant that Maura would cover up. She couldn’t just look at that. Too much temptation. Maura had already made it quite clear that she didn’t want her.

She felt the car shift and heard a rustle, and then the warmth beside her was gone. Good. A small hand wrapped around her left one and tugged it away from her face. No, not good! She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, but allowed herself to be pulled from the car to stand in the spacious garage. Her unbuttoned pants threatened to slide off her slim hips. She missed the seat warmers already.

“Jane, I am reasonably sure that I cannot lead you into the house like this. You will fall. I don’t want you to be hurt. Open your eyes.”

Jane did.

“Maura, God! What the hell?” She did her best to avert her eyes, but she knew it was too late. The image of Maura, one hand wrapped in her own, now completely naked in all her glory before her – and it was glory, Jane thought – would be indelibly carved into her mind’s eye. “What happened to the underwear?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Jane,” Maura reminded her.

“I haven’t seen yours! I mean, I don’t remember!” Jane barked at the ceiling.

“Your not remembering does not eliminate the experience. Come on,” Maura tugged her hand again. “I’ll let you have coffee.”

Jane grabbed the other woman’s arm to stop her. “Maura, wait. One more thing. Why were you wearing my underwear? You never told me where I ended up chucking yours.”

Maura kept walking with Jane in tow. “Oh. I don’t wear underwear. It goes without saying that you could not have removed them and subsequently discarded them. You seemed quite pleased with the idea last night – you said that you ‘would forever think of me going commando down in that cold box, with cool skin under my skirt just waiting for you to come warm it up.’ I did not know that you were so poetic, Jane.” The last was said with obvious delight.

Jane stumbled on the step leading into the house, unceremoniously fell to the ground, and stared up at her naked friend in wonder.

Oh my God.