Chapter Text
Jane led the way up the stairs to her apartment. Maura followed her, tripping a little in her heels, reaching out a hand to steady herself against Jane, her hand wrapping around Jane's forearm, Jane adjusting her stride to accommodate her friend's shorter stride. Jo greeted them at the door, Maura finishing her short verbal essay on fire door safety regulation history as it pertained to disability retrofits. They'd had a few drinks after work, and Maura had ended up in the cab with Jane as usual. It was usual, them going to one of their homes - usually Jane's because Jane's mother could feed Bass at Maura's and Jo Friday needed walking.
Jane let them into the apartment, Jo hustling around their heels. The dogwalker dropped in a few times a day, and a kid down the block fed her if Jane was delayed or at the station overnight, but small dogs had small bladders.
"I'll order," Maura called as Jane scooped Jo into her arms, grabbing her leash.
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Jane paid the delivery guy at the door, letting herself back in. Maura was pouring them a glass of the wine she kept at Jane's. Jane's breath caught at the sight of her. The kitchen light behind her made her hair halo, her skin glowed with the warmth Jane had always been able to see in it, and Maura's smile eclipsed them both. Jane exhaled quickly, looked away and let Jo down, deadbolting the door behind her. When she looked up again the trick of the light was gone, but Maura's smile hadn't dimmed at all.
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Jane's couch was old and lumpy and uncomfortable. Jane assumed that was why they always ended up in Jane's bed, the exhaustion from their day's work always slowing their sentences into silences that became more elongated, more comfortable as they drifted off. There was always a point of the night where Jane could say something. Something like:
"It's late, are you heading home, or would you like to stay over?"
There was always a point where Maura could say something. Something like:
"It's too late to head home, can I borrow something to sleep in?"
But somehow neither of them asked, or mentioned it, and they fell asleep next to each other, still dressed as though it had been an accident.
--
Maura had always taken a long time to fall asleep; it was the curse of an active mind. But somehow, despite the comfort of her own home, the luxury of her own bed, there was something that drew her to Jane's place, her flannel sheets and messy room. There was something about the lazy, comfortable conversations that lulled Maura's busy mind to sleep. She felt safe, even with the violence she hadn't expected in her job.
Of all the luxuries Maura could afford in her life, Jane Rizzoli was the only one that was priceless. The only good thing in her life she couldn't put a dollar value on.
Maura hadn't had many friends; the few friends she'd thought she had usually ended up teasing or deriding her for her social skills and hyperfocus on almost every scientific topic. But it was different when Jane did it. There was a fondness, a softness to her eyes, and in the next breath she'd express her admiration for Maura's skills. Maura felt safe with her. The things she said might be mean, at face value, and initially Maura had had to cover her hurt feelings often, but she'd learned that that was how Jane expressed affection. It made more sense when Jane started introducing her to the rest of the Rizzoli's, their causal affection melting parts of Maura she hadn't known were hardened. Jane was confusing and complex and casual, and her mannerisms were masculine, likely from her brothers tagging her in on their games. She was kind and sensitive to victims on the job, and rough and brutal with perps. Maura could study her forever, but instead she felt her eyes close as Jane talked over whatever had happened that day. Maura's place was larger, and more comfortable and had multiple spare rooms, but Maura usually managed to wile her way into going back to Jane's instead, the smaller older space giving her more reason to brush against Jane, giving her an excuse to fall asleep in Jane's bed.
To fall asleep next to Jane. Her best friend. Her only friend. The person she'd become used to waking up next to, the sunlight filtering in through the thin curtains Jane refused to replace. Jane was a physically affectionate person - she instigated incidental contact, and in the night, Jane crept closer into Maura's warmth, closer and closer until she was wrapped around Maura like a blanket. Maura always woke up with an armful of Jane, a face full of long hair and a heartful of warmth from the contact. Jane was always cranky in the morning, and Maura hated the instant coffee Jane insisted on using, so she had gifted Jane a French Press and some nice roasts to grind in the mornings. She always woke first, and she always thought she should get up and make the coffee before Jane woke so she could bring her coffee in bed, but each morning Jane had colonised her in her sleep, and any movement threatened to wake her, and Maura knew how Jane usually slept - poorly. She slept like a log - a heavy, human, soft warm log - on top of Maura when she was there, but Maura knew that on the nights Maura slept in her own bed, and Jane slept alone in hers, that Jane slept poorly, plagued with nightmares, and Maura didn't fare much better. Maura wondered how it wasn't obvious to the rest of the precinct, their synchronised fatigue and suboptimal moods. But Maura had always known that she was very observant, but surely the detectives at least would pick up on something so clear.
Jane woke slowly, and Maura had time to remove her hands from where they were rubbing up and down Jane's back as she slept. She always had time to pretend that she'd been asleep, time to watch Jane wake and roll over, away from her, time to pretend to wake up when Jane's weight gently jostled the bed as she put a fresh coffee on Maura's bedside table. Jane's hand would rest somewhere safe - Maura's shoulder or cheek - and then she'd wake Maura slowly and gently. Maura would open her eyes, and Jane would be smiling down at her like she was something precious. It always took her a moment to realise Maura was looking back at her, to school her face into something she felt was more on-brand. An embarrassed hand rubbed at her face and Jane drank her own coffee. Maura sat up and sipped at her own mug - Jane always had instant, but Maura woke up it was always to a fresh ground coffee. Jane was brash and impatient, and she wasn't a morning person, but she always had time to make Maura a proper coffee before waking her up.