It’s one of those moments where she notices that Jane looks worn and thin and...older. It’s not like it’s been 20 years, but sometimes when Maura sees an old photo of them together, she notices that Jane doesn’t look exactly like that anymore. This case is eating away at her, but then, every case has taken its own little piece. It’s the stress, not the years. Long days where she forgets to eat, long nights where she forgets to sleep. Fear. Frustration. Danger.
How long have they both been kidding themselves, and how long is left to continue?
Maura doesn’t look the same as in those photos, either.
Maybe intentionally, she says it rather quietly, and when Jane is just far enough down the hall that she might not have heard. But when she gets up and follows around the corner, Jane has stopped ten paces down the hallway, looking back. Tired, but never too tired to have a moment left for her.
Maura hasn’t found the words in six years, so she certainly doesn’t in the six seconds it takes her to get in front of Jane. This doesn’t really require words, anyway. She just steps close and hugs her. It’s good, but it’s not right. She needed a specific hug, so she tries again, turning her face inward and tucking it maybe more snugly against Jane’s neck than their friendship holds a precedent for, and hugging her again longer.
Jane hugs back automatically, facial muscles barely mustering her affectionate smile. Too tired to even look around and wonder if there are any evidence techs still on the floor who might walk by and see. It’s nothing to see, anyway.
“I love you,” Maura says, and finds herself grasping both of Jane’s shoulders, letting her hands grip in a couple of places as they slide down Jane’s arms and off her hands, mindfully feeling her height and shape as if she might not see her again. As if this case and the status quo might totally dissolve her soon.
That wasn’t the I love you she’s been trying to say. That’s just a face value I love you. An I recognized your face just then and it made me happy I love you. A you’re so you I love you. An I hope you’ll call me in the middle of the night if you’re sad, I know you won’t but I wish you would I love you.
“Goodnight. Drive safe.” And then Maura goes back in her office. Tidying her desk, draping her coat over her arm and turning off the light.
She turns, already knowing she will see a lanky, messy-haired silhouette in her doorway.
Jane steps in and does the same thing, and again, the first hug she tries on is not enough. Nor is the second, in which her arms wrap lower, nor is the third, where she pushes her nose into Maura’s hair somewhere around her ear. Nor is the fourth, where she takes Maura’s coat away from her and drops it on her desk and hugs her again the same only much harder.
The one that works is the one where she nestles her lips against Maura’s.
It's not the kiss of two people who have never even gotten up the courage to discuss being anything other than friends. They’re both too weary for that one right now. Right now what they both needed is to reach into the alternate universe where they’ve been building a life together for five or six years already instead of being indecisive cowards, and pull out this one particular kiss to calm and ground them.
It’s one that puts warmth in Maura’s chest, not like electrifying excitement, but like a comforting blanket. A kiss with all the familiarity of a long time couple who have weathered a hundred storms. Because, really, aren’t they?
“I love you too,” she says finally, and Maura wonders how along ago the kiss ended. The light in the hallway hurts when she opens her eyes. “Can we just...” she sighs. “Skip... everything. Just for right now.”
“The part where we haven’t been together all this time.” Her voice is scratchy, disappearing in spots. Too weary to pretend to be clueless and flustered. “I’m so tired, Maura. I just want us to go home together and fall asleep on each other like it’s old hat. Can we just be years into it already?”
This would mean skipping about four dozen crucial conversations. It would mean skipping some of the firsts that Maura’s been fantasizing about for years. She wanted to swoon from holding Jane’s hand, see Jane blush and ask her on a date, learn how to make nervous but adoring love together for the first time. Could those things be done out of order?
Her heart screams yes, say yes, ask zero questions and just say yes. But her brain won’t allow her to let this go as wordlessly as Jane would like it to.
“Is that from now on? Or just pretending for tonight?”
It’s possible that all Jane wants is enough companionship to get her through this case. Not meaningless, but temporary. Maura wonders if she'll settle for that if Jane says yes. If she'll take Jane to her bed and let her sleep, or let her take comfort from her body and her senses in any way she wants. It wouldn’t be fake, and that’s why it would hurt. She hopes she's strong enough to say no if Jane says yes.
The tall silhouette shakes its head.
“I’m too tired to pretend I’m pretending.” She isn’t trying to whisper, that’s just how little of her voice is left. “Too tired to talk. Too tired for first time stuff. I just wanna go home and fall asleep with you." She pauses, and Maura can see her head tilt. “Well. What I’d like is to come home and have boring, comfy, married-ninety-years sex with you every night until this case is over, and then go back and start at the beginning,” she adds quickly and quietly, like a footnote. “But yeah, I’d love just sleeping next to you.”
Maura stands tall, judging where her lips must be, and kisses her again. Short and familiar.
“Happy ninetieth, dear. Drive safe.”
