Coffee Comfort

"It's broken."

"What do you mean?" she called.

"I mean it's broken."

A loud clatter chased by profuse swears had Maura trotting the last few yards to the kitchen. She rounded the corner and paused to survey the damage.

Metal and plastic on the floor. Coffee grounds everywhere. Brown on brown, like caramel snowfall. Jane slumped against the counter, finger in her mouth, shooting a death glare at the espresso maker. The red light on the machine glared back.

She curled her lips inward, briefly, to stifle an abrupt surge of humor. Now was not the time.

Right. Maura stooped and gathered the fallen lid and lever. Solve the easiest task first.

She felt the waves of sullen silence emanating from Jane. Wading through toward the sink, she placed the dropped pieces inside and began to lather the sponge.

As she washed, she watched Jane from the corner of her eye. After a few more moments of silent fuming, Jane shuffled to the pantry, movements sharp, and retrieved the hand brush and dustpan. She knelt and began to tame the powdered pool.

Maura glanced at the machine again. It had been a long struggle, an age-old battle between arch nemeses. A few notable skirmishes and almost casualties – there was that one time involving a curling iron – but still a decided stalemate. Neither party would budge. Perhaps it was time to end the infamous feud once and for all.

"Tell me what happened." Her fingers worked around the portafilter, finding a small dent in the rounded steel. Noticeable, but it wouldn't impede use.

"I just wanted coffee," Jane grumbled, the sound managing to skirt the rim of petulant. She gave a more violent scoop of the grounds, raising a fine dust and an irritated cough. "I don't see why it should be this hard to—"

"Maybe if I explain to you the process, it will—"

Jane rose, posture stiff. "I know how to make coffee."

Resting her forearms on the sink, Maura tilted her head and stared, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. Really?

A long moment of silent battling wills, and Jane's expression dropped into slight embarrassment. She closed her mouth and rocked back on her heels, face shifting too fast for Maura to read. The muscles of her forearms flexed, and Maura tried to imagine the multitude of emotions behind the harsh squeeze of those hands. Jane dipped her head, and dark curls curtained to hide her face as she knelt once more.

Stormy today. Maura's skin felt overly sensitive, as though aware of every shift in Jane's roiling emotions. Why would this bother Jane so much? Why now?

"Tell me what happened," Maura repeated, voice steady as she went back to cleaning.

A tap on her ankle, and Maura lifted her bare foot as Jane swept beneath.

"I got out the grounds, put them in the doohickey."

It took effort, but Maura refrained from correcting her.

"Turned the lever thing."

A tap on her other ankle and Maura switched feet. This time, Jane's hand remained, fingers wrapped around delicate skin, tight but not controlling. The warmth was surprising, and not unwelcome. She glanced down at the long expanse of back, noticed the muscle groups as they rolled beneath the cotton of Jane's BPD tee with every reach and pull. Jane kept her head down.

"Thought you might want some. Y'know, before shopping." The mutter was almost too low to hear.

Maura blinked, hands stilling. Jane wanted to make coffee for her? As a surprise? The thought buzzed along her skin in a pleasant way.

"Oh?" She tried to keep her voice casual, hoping to learn more.

Bristles swept along the bottom of her raised foot and Maura practically leaped in the air. She let out a strangled half-laugh, half-cry, almost losing her balance but for Jane's steadying hand on the small of her back. She glared.

"Had some on your foot." All innocence.

A long stretch of eye contact as Jane rose with the full dustpan in hand. Accusatory against guileless. Not a muscle twitched out of place. Except for the crinkle at the corner of brown eyes, Maura would've been fooled. She saw the mischief behind the poker face, saw the word ticklish run through Jane's mind as she headed for the wastebasket.

Maura's eyes narrowed. Stormy indeed.

"So I pushed the button to turn it on…"

Jane banged the pan on the trashcan for good measure.

"But then…" Jane turned and made an exaggerated motion with her hands that somehow managed to involve her entire body. An elaborate dance move gone wrong. It sent dark curls whisking over one shoulder and bright eyes searching for hers, asking for shared laughter.

Maura couldn't contain a chuckle, and she felt the intensity of Jane's gaze on her temple as she shook her head.

She shut off the water, and Jane was at her side with a towel. The atmosphere changed in the sudden quiet. Softer, more subdued. A scarred hand rested over hers, lingering a few moments before taking the portafilter. She heard I'm sorry in the soft squeeze, thanks in the light hip bump. When she glanced up, Jane remained focused on drying the portafilter, then the lid, even as their shoulders brushed.

Jane turned the items this way and that in her hands.

"So did I break it?" The words were low, quiet. Almost fragile.

Maura matched her tone. "No." She reached out to take the items, careful, and stepped away from the close press. The currents between them were strange, and she needed space to process. To breathe. Her lips quirked for her next words. "It will survive to brew another day."

That earned her crooked smile, and the tightness in Maura's chest relaxed.

"Why don't I show you how the espresso machine works?" She raised her eyebrows, all willing eagerness. Something about the past few minutes felt different, new, and though it was disconcerting, it was also…compelling. Maura was unwilling to let it go so easily.

Jane met and held her gaze as though weighing her words. The scrutiny seemed deeper than the decision warranted, and Maura resisted the urge to shift.

"Please?"

Jane sighed, brushing her hair out of her face, but stepped up to the machine. She glared down at it balefully, and Maura imagined the phrase, we meet again, running through her mind.

She selected a bag from the cabinet. "Dark roast?"

Jane made a noncommittal noise and raised a shoulder. Maura took that as a yes.

She indicated each item as she named it. "Portafilter. Tamper."

Jane nodded, a line of concentration between her brows.

"Scoop out the grounds into the portafilter, then scrap your pinky across the top to level the surface."

Jane did as told, raising an eyebrow when Maura mentioned the pinky. As she worked, Maura watched the corner of Jane's lips twitch up, noticed the way they trembled as she held in her humor, and then the smile line that formed, just there, when that humor was too much to contain.

Jane looked up, expectant, and Maura's eyes darted up to meet Jane's, briefly lost in dark brown, then down, flustered. She grabbed the tamper, pushing her excess energy into motion.

"Good. Now we use the tamper, like this." She demonstrated and handed it to Jane, who began to compress the grounds. Biceps grew rounded, and a toned forearm stood out as Jane leaned into the task.

"Thirty to forty pounds of pressure. That shouldn't be difficult for you."

Jane glanced up sharply, and Maura felt a blush color her face. Why did I say that? Better yet, why does it feel awkward?

Maura cleared her throat, keeping her eyes averted. "Press and turn."

Finished, Jane set the portafilter in her line of sight. Maybe it was Maura's imagination, but it seemed she stepped closer than necessary. Maura tried to ignore the shared heat. And the goosebumps that formed on her skin.

"I don't see why you go through all this for a cup of espresso. It's just coffee." There was genuine curiosity in the statement this time. And also a touch of…melancholy?

"Some things require patience." She tapped off the excess powder. "A little nurturing, some effort." Maura maneuvered the portafilter into place. "Twist and lock, see?" Jane nodded. Her next words were quiet. "I find it can go a long way."

Jane had gone still beside her, thoughtful, and Maura fought the urge to cover the scarred hand that had curled into a loose fist on the countertop. Instead she found Jane's favorite mug and slid it beneath the filter. It wasn't an espresso cup by any means, but somehow it seemed fitting.

"Next time I'll show you how to steam milk."

Jane hmmed and leaned a hip against the counter. "Sounds…" She ran a hand through her hair. "…complicated."

"Just because something's complicated, doesn't mean you should give up on it." Maura closed the bag of dark roast and put it to the side. "In fact, I think it makes the end result all the more special."

Maura couldn't pinpoint the moment it changed, but she knew they were no longer discussing coffee. She gathered her courage and met Jane's gaze.

Comfort. That was what she read in quiet, warm caramel. Hope in uplifted eyebrows, caution in the small crease between. Affection in the tilt of her chin, the slight lean forward. All of it swirled together like the finest caffé macchiato.

She swallowed. Friendship, Maura was finding, had a strange way of warming her from the inside out.

Jane pushed the button without prompting, and the machine whirred to life. Soon dark espresso dripped from both spouts into the waiting mug.

"And what if it breaks again?" Low, raspy. Adverted eyes. Scarred hands fiddled with nothing.

Maura heard the question behind the question.

She reached to shut off the machine before the light, bitter afterbrew stained the sweetness. She paused, weighing her words carefully, aware of the power to cradle or crush with vowels and consonants.

She kept her voice light, sincere. "I would say it was never broken in the first place. But regardless, I'll be here to put it back together. Like always."

Jane swallowed, the sound loud in the silence.

"Maura." The name was earnest, strained, and Maura suddenly couldn't breathe. "I—"

Maura panicked.

"Here." She grabbed the cup and urged it into Jane's hands with her best attempt at a smile. "Give it a try."

Jane cradled the mug, glancing down at it before back at Maura. Her chest spasmed at the mingled hurt and confusion. Quickly hidden, yes, but Maura saw it, saw the crumple .

Jane brought the mug to her lips. She took a sip. Her eyes widened over the rim in surprised delight. "It's sweet!"

Maura chuckled. "That's the crema."

"Crème?"

"Crema," she repeated, emphasizing the a. "The thin layer of foam at the top of an espresso."

"Oh." Jane leaned back and smiled at her, the usual crinkled eyes and warmth, and it felt good. It felt like, there's my Google mouth. It felt good, but…but it lacked that extra something from the past few minutes that sizzled across her skin. It was reserved. Just Jane.

Maura didn't understand the sudden disappointment that seized her heart.

They stood in silence, and Maura got the sense she was the only one uncomfortable. She shifted her weight, unable to stand still.

"So what do you think?" she asked, gesturing at the mug.

Jane swirled the cup and took another contemplative sip. She crossed one arm beneath the other holding the cup. Her words were slow but purposeful. "Maybe all these years, I've been drinking the wrong kind of coffee."

Maura blinked. What was that supposed to mean? Surely she was imagining…

She couldn't read Jane's expression. Brown eyes met hers evenly. Serene, calm. Resigned.

Jane took another, longer sip, and this time when she pulled the mug away, a bit of crema remained. Just above her upper lip, to the right.

Maura's mouth quirked. She gestured to her face. "You've got something…"

"Where?" Jane wiped at her mouth, but the wrong side.

Maura laughed. "No, here." She stepped forward and grasped Jane's wrist. Her other hand rose to cup Jane's jaw, holding her still. She brushed her thumb across the offending spot of crema, just grazing Jane's upper lip.

"There," she murmured once the splotch was gone, satisfied.

She watched the skin at the corner of Jane's mouth twitch, heard the loudness of her swallow. The muscles beneath her palm tensed and relaxed.

"Thanks," Jane replied, the warmth of the word caressing her face, and it was then Maura became aware of how close they stood.

How she could feel the heat of Jane's body even where she wasn't touching her. How soft the skin felt beneath her fingertips. How loud her heartbeat pulsed in her ears.

How Jane had yet to move.

And neither had she.

Nothing but loud breaths and pounding hearts as seconds ticked by. Panic clogged her throat, brief yet powerful, but she let it rage and pass. Left in its wake was cautious curiosity. Curiosity and the fragile bloom of potential. Jane still had not pulled away and that gave her the courage to act. She loosened her grip on a delicate wrist and slowly, so slowly, her fingers skated along the smooth skin of a forearm, skirted the dip of an elbow, rounded the curve of a shoulder and settled around the column of a long throat.

She looked into Jane's eyes, tried to read her. The connection burned, and her thoughts scattered. There was only dark mocha. Stormy. But patient, waiting. Watching.

"Jane?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

The skin beneath her fingers stretched with the word, as though wanting to smile, and her attention shifted. Maura brushed her thumb across the cheek, allowed it to stray and skirt the corner of Jane's lips. After a moment, Jane turned her head, and those lips pressed against the pad of her thumb. Tender, barely there.

Maura's breath caught in her throat.

A hand came to rest at the curve of her waist, light at first, hesitant. The warmth seeped through her shirt, and at her resultant shiver, the grip tightened, drawing her closer. The scent of lavender filled her nose, and Maura was dizzy with the sensation. Dizzy with the desire to lean closer and—

"Jane, I—" The words stuck in her throat.

To lean closer and—

The hand slipped fully around her waist. Yes.

She tilted her head up as her fingers tightened around Jane's neck, drawing Jane down. Her eyes closed and she felt the warmth of Jane's exhale.

Keys jingled in the door before it opened. Footsteps and rattling plastic shattered the silence.

It was pure instinct. She jumped away, heart pounding, and backed across the kitchen. One hand went to her throat, while the other crossed her middle, as though trying to hold herself together.

She glanced up, across the expanse of tile. Jane was left standing, one arm out – the one that fit so snugly around her waist – the other holding the coffee mug.

Angela entered the kitchen, all sunlight and motion. "Oh hi, girls."

If she felt the tension in the air, she didn't show it. She sat her bags on the counter and flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head. "The store was busy today. Maura, I got you a few things."

The response came automatic, without thinking. "Thank you, Angela." Her eyes stayed on Jane, watched as she placed the mug on the counter. Slow and careful. Oh so careful. As though it would… break.

Brown eyes flicked to hers, half-hidden behind loose curls, and Maura had to remind herself to breathe. She couldn't read that expression, couldn't read the tension in angular cheekbones or the question in a stormy gaze, now dulled. Muffled.

She didn't know what hers said in return.

"Can I get some help with the groceries?"

"Yeah, Ma." The raspy voice sounded no different than usual, but it still startled her. Jane's searching eyes darted away and she turned, headed for the door.

"I'll help," Maura heard herself saying. She felt like she was swimming, walking through water. Every movement slow and difficult, fighting against inertia.

"I got it," came the call from the hallway.

The words were like a push in the wrong direction, and Maura couldn't move at all. She stood, feeling lost in her own kitchen as Angela busied herself unpacking the crinkling plastic bags.

After a minute or so, her stasis seemed to register with Angela. She spared her a glance. "You okay, hon?"

"I—" Maura had no idea how to answer that question. She crossed to the forgotten mug and stared down at the cooling dregs of espresso.

"I…" She pushed the mug aside, safe, away from the unexpected commotion and pressed her hands to her thighs. "I'll help with the perishables."

...

...

A/N: Part 1 of 2. Calm down, y'all. This fic is based on two tumblr prompts, which I'll reveal at the end of part 2. Hope I don't disappoint.

Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about espresso makers, so any doo-hickeys, knobs, or levers were all made up for the purpose of the story. Well…I did do some research (okay, a lot of research). There are portafilters and tampers at least. The rest is my muse having fun. I would also like to thank wikipedia's ever helpful "List of coffee drinks." No joke.