Just a one shot that struck me in the night. Jane’s thoughts are in bold and italic to mimic animated, rambling thought.

Read, enjoy, comment.

Rated: PG-13


“Hey remember that time we…” I make a vague sexual gesture with my hands between us. “Could we do that again?”

It’s not until I say it aloud that I realize how it sounds. Maura is partially to blame for asking me what I’m thinking when I’m three beers in. I’m off tomorrow, I plan on using my free time as efficiently as possible.

“Jane,” she warns. She’s using that tone she reserves for when one of the snotty women at spa she drags me to gets cute. It’s that, “please don’t embarrass me,” tone.

“I told you I hate that question.”

She sighs replying, “I’m sorry I asked.”

“Yes. Just like you’re sorry we slept together.”

I’m getting angry now. No tone will stop me. But come on! Who gives you several mind-blowing orgasms then pretends it never happened? Several!

Okay, so it happened under not so great circumstances. Maura was pining for one of her many nameless suitors. I was pining over Casey. We were drunk, and horny, and as cliché as it sounds, it really did just happen. The thing is, the problem I should say, is Maura opened my world to sexual pleasures I’d never even imagined. I guess it’s her being a doctor and knowing anatomy. Whatever it is, it works! That’s on top of the fact that we’re, you know, perfect for each other!

Thinking back to that fateful night, a night all too similar to this one, I’m struck by a realization.

“That wasn’t you’re first time with a woman.”

Her annoyance face turns into her, “I’ve been caught,” face.

“Is that a question?”

“It’s a statement that I’d like confirmed.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m pissed and waiting.”

“Why does that matter?”

“It’s rude to answer a question with a question.” My tone is mocking and admittedly childish, but I’m well on my way to salubrious. I’ll worry about the consequences tomorrow.

“You didn’t ask a question, you made a statement.”

“Maura.”

She knows my patience is wearing thin.

“Fine.” Maura goes to the kitchen to refill her wine glass and probably put some space between us.

She leaves the bottle in the kitchen even though she always has at least two glasses. It’s one of Maura’s many idiosyncrasies that I’ve come to love. I’m less thrilled about her twisting the ring on her left middle finger. That means she’s nervous, apprehended. What’s bothering me is not knowing if it’s me or the topic of conversation. They’re both too closely related for me be relieved by either.

“You know what, forget it.”

I’m giving her an out that she doesn’t necessarily deserve, but the deer in headlights look in her eyes touches someplace deep. Someplace beyond my hurt and confusion.

“Wait. It’s just–no that wasn’t the first I’ve slept with a woman,” she says in a rush.

“Jesus Christ, Maura! We may not know every single detail of each other’s lives, but I thought you had at least hit me with the high notes by now.”

I shake my head as I pace the space between the kitchen and living room. This space feels very much like where Maura and I are right now. We can either move on to something new or go back to where we came from. I know ending this, ending us, is not an option. I would never allow that.

“I don’t consider that a high note. Not to say I’m ashamed. Sexuality is fluid.”

“So you’re bi?”

How could I have not known?

“On the Kinsey scale I think I hover someplace between bi and straight, but closer to bi. I think queer would be a better descriptor.”

My head spins from the sudden barrage of homosexual jargon.

“Maur, I don’t care about labels. I care that in the six plus years we’ve known each other you never thought to say, ‘I hate lima beans, love shoes, and sleep with women from time to time!'”

“Because it hasn’t happened since I’ve met you. I honestly just…forgot.”

“Forgot? You forgot that you’re attracted to women? Really?”

“I haven’t met any woman that I’m attracted to as much as I am to…”

Her sentence dies on her lips and I allow her the reprieve of a sip of wine. I want to grab my beer, lets the carbonation soothe away the roughness in my throat, but it’s too far away now. I’m not moving back.

“This makes absolutely no sense.”

“Me being queer?”

“You treating me like a leaper. You couldn’t get away from me fast enough. After so many orgasms–you made me squirt! Is that it? You were grossed out by the squirting?”

I’d never done that before. Even I was a little disgusted. You know, when I came to.

“What? No! There’s nothing gross about female ejaculation. That’s the pinnacle of the female orgasm. I’d sooner pass out cigars like I was expecting than be grossed out by that. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The image of Maura with a box of Cohibas strutting around the station passing them out to all the men who ever asked me out comes to mind. In an instant our giggles turn into all out, side splitting laughter. Tears spill from our eyes as we attempt to get a hold of ourselves.

“That was hands down your all time best joke ever.”

“I’m afraid I may have just peaked.”

Her pun sends us into another fit of laughter. The moment of levity, however, isn’t enough to totally tamp out the reality of our situation. Our friendship has been fractured and the only way to make it fully functional again is to repurpose it into something new and, I’m sure, better. It could work as is, but the ugly imperfection would tarnish something really beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” she begins tentatively. “Making you feel unwanted was the last thing I wanted to do. As a matter of fact wanting you is why I reacted the way I did.”

I’m confused again, she can tell.

“After the lust filled haze cleared enough for me to think properly I realized that we could have done irreparable damage to our relationship. Intellectually it’s easy so say we’ll always be friends after entering into a failed sexual relationship, but emotionally that’s just not the case. I want you in my life…forever. I won’t risk that over sex.”

“Really good sex,” I can’t help but correct.

“Even for really good sex.”

“Why do you assume we’d fail?”

Her look is incredulous when she says, “Jane, look at your love life.”

I’ve looked, it’s pretty bleak.

“You mean my lack of love life? You go on twice as many dates as I do.”

“And how long do those relationships last?”

She’s trying to be tactful about something that’s probably been on her mind for some time. I have zero patience for her reticence at the moment.

“Maura, get to the point!”

She sets her glass down with a precarious thud before rounding the island and joining me in the middle of nowhere. It gives me a spot of hope.

“You have a reoccurring cast of suitors, Dean, Casey, Grant. You cycle through the same men. Statistically, it’s only a matter of time before you pick one. You have real, life long prospects that you could build a life with at any given moment. As a matter of fact you almost did.”

Now I’m beginning to understand. I guess us hooking up after one of many Casey break-ups hasn’t really instilled Maura with a lot of hope for a future between us.

“Yet, I’m here with you. A marriage proposal, almost a baby, and here I am.”

I take a chance in closing the space between us just a fraction.

“You’re way too smart to not have picked up on the fact that every single time I come back to you–we come back to each other. You’re my constant, my touchstone. I’ve known Casey the better part of my life, yet he doesn’t understand me half as well as the friend I made six years ago. You get me. You allow me to be me.”

I can’t fault her for being scared. I’m a detective and it took her being inside me, her lips on mine, the warmth of her skin, the feel of her weight on top of me to get it.

Closing the space between us, I wipe away the tears slowly tracking down her cheek.

“I guess we should have talked after,” she finally admits.

I tried. I won’t point that out now.

“I’m so sorry, Jane. All I could envision was not having you in my life and I panicked. I thought if I just ignored it we’d be okay.”

“We will be okay.”

Maura wraps her arms around my shoulders. “More than.”

We still need to talk, still need to hash out what this means for us moving into the future. All of that will have to wait.

“So um…remember that time we–” I make the lewd hand gesture again.

“Right!” She snaps her fingers as if just now remembering we can have sex again. “Come on.”

Maura takes my hand and we move forward together.


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