A/N: Originally posted to tumblr. This started as one thing, but turned into something else. It feels good to write again. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, not making money yadda yadda.

…

Some nights are good.

Some nights aren't.

Jane does her best to hide the bad ones. She goes to bed late. Or she doesn't go to bed at all. There are times that Maura has found her asleep on the couch, head strewn back, fingers clenched in a tight fist and jaw so tight Maura can see the muscles twitching just underneath her skin.

They don't talk about it.

They don't talk about much.

Like the fact that Jane has basically moved in.

Like the fact that they've both stopped dating.

(Like the fact that Maura wants to add other people to the end of that sentence, because this - whatever this is - feels like a relationship. It feels like something that could be romantic. Under the right light. With the right microscope.)

Maura likes it. Not the not talking bit, but she can't deny that she likes it when Jane slinks into her bedroom and crawls underneath the covers. She likes the way it feels when that lean arm drapes over her waist and how the lithe body curls around her own. How Jane sighs when she settles, a little tuft of air blowing against her neck as Jane's body fully relaxes.

She could get used to that.

She has gotten used to that.

She worries that there will become a day when Jane fully realizes what she's doing. When the full weight of this comes crashing down over her detective (because yes, Jane is hers and heaven forgive her if someone comes along to try to prove otherwise.)

She doesn't know what Jane will do.

It scares her.

It scares her in a way that makes her lean closer, makes her wrap her own arm around a taut abdomen, rest her head underneath Jane's chin. And when she does they both sigh. They both melt into the touch.

Maura wants to hold onto this forever, but she doesn't know if that means holding tighter or letting go. The lines have gotten so blurry over the years.

…

It's a bad night.

A case involving a murdered couple brings up too many memories.

Maura knows with just one look at Jane that there are not enough words for the feelings stewing inside those troubled eyes.

The entire department is on edge. Even the new people who don't truly know the scope, who haven't lived the horror and the tragedy of it all. Everyone.

Maura has her own doubts and feelings. So much so, that she brings in a colleague to help with the autopsies. For fresh eyes.

For weeks they live in a tension filled world. For weeks Jane doesn't come home. (And Maura knows that home has a new meaning because her house no longer feels like that word unless Jane is there.) Jane will not subject her to the nightmares she pretends to not have. (Maura wishes she would. Wishes she could say that she has them too. That she's terrified she's going to wake up and find that Hoyt is no longer dead. That her best friend is in danger, again. She wants so badly to tell her that she needs to see Jane's face. Needs to know that she is okay and not dying. That every bad situation she has been a part of has been okay because she's been with Jane. Because if she has faith in anything it's her. But she doesn't.

They don't talk about this.

They don't talk about anything.)

For weeks it's like this. Until finally.

It's not Hoyt. The suspect - the murderer - is a scorned lover of one half of the couple. Angry because he couldn't get what he wanted.

They have a confession. They can rest easy.

…

Maura waits for Jane to come home the night after the arrest. She so very badly needs to see her. Needs to put eyes on her. Needs to check her over and over to make sure that she's here and real and alive.

She waits.

The grandfather clock strikes at midnight. Perhaps, Jane needs more time. Maura closes her eyes as the thought passes through her mind, willing the hot tears to stay at bay.

Why is Jane like this? Why doesn't she understand that she doesn't have to carry the burden of it all on her own? That Maura will gladly take the weight and together they can trudge on? That Jane is it for her? That this and her and themis all Maura ever needs? Why does she have to be so goddamn stubborn?

As the last question rips through her mind, the doorknob to her front door jiggles as the lock slides. Maura waits with baited breath until finally she sees unruly curls. A tsunami of warmth spreads through Maura's chest all the way down to her toes.

Jane.

Her heart catches, stuttering in the moment.

Home.

Jane doesn't say anything as she walks in measured steps to the couch. She sinks into the cushions slowly as if her whole body aches. (Which, it probably does, Maura muses, given the amount of times she had caught Jane asleep at her desk over the last few weeks.)

They don't talk.

But the silence is not uncomfortable.

It's them. And Jane is here. And she is okay. And she is alive.

Maura turns her head. She knows she needs to say something, but for all of the language that she has nothing comes to mind. To her surprise, it's Jane that speaks first.

"I'm so tired." Her voice is barely above a whisper, gravelly and dark. Jane turns toward her blinking slowly. There's so much in those eyes at this moment - exhaustion, pain, anger, fear, heartache. Her jaw is set, and there are more crinkles around her eyes than laugh lines around her mouth.

"I know."

"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this," she continues, "but I know in a few days after a good night's rest and some real food I'll be ready for the next one." She laughs dryly.

Maura aches to reach across the cushions and brush an errant curl away from Jane's face. "It's who you are."

"Sometimes, I wish it wasn't."

The curl falls away all on its own when Jane's head falls backwards against the couch. Maura sits on her hands. Jane stares at the ceiling. The silence stretches on endlessly. Maura tries to keep her eyes open, but having Jane here with her makes it damn near impossible. She can finally rest having eyes on her, knowing that she's not dying. Maura uncurls her legs from underneath her and stands in front of Jane, hand out, "come with me."

"Maura."

"Please."

"I won't be good company."

Somehow this feels like a test that Maura intends to pass with flying colors. "You're the best company."

"Maura."

"Please."

They stare at each other for a long moment. Maura holds her position in front of Jane, hand out, until finally Jane acquiesces and reaches for her.

It feels like a victory.

…

They lay side by side in Maura's big bed not touching. Every moment that has been too big fits into this room, onto this bed and tonight is no exception. Maura remembers the first night Jane came over - she tried to play it cool, but had confessed that she was afraid. Maura could remember feeling elated that of all the people the woman beside her could turn to, she chose her. She still feels elated that she is Jane's first choice of comfort.

Beside her, Jane gives a heavy sigh, bringing her back into the moment.

"Sometimes," the low voice beside her is barely a whisper, "when Casey and I were together I would wake up next to him and freak out because there was a man with sandy colored hair and blue eyes staring back at me." She laughs, "I don't know what I saw in him." There's a pause. "It's not what I see in you."

Maura's whole body freezes, her eyes go wide as she stares at the ceiling.

Jane reaches across the comforter, across the few inches of space separating them. Her fingers are warm against the inside of Maura's cool wrist. They slide down until she intertwines their fingers hesitatingly.

Maura squeezes the hand in hers. She wants so desperately to roll over and bury herself in Jane's chest, to cling to her because she is real and here and in her bed. But she can feel that Jane has more to say, so she waits.

"I - I don't freak out when I wake up next to you. You're everything to me, Maura. And I'm afraid…I'm afraid I'm too rough around the edges, that I have too many jagged parts, that I'm going to hurt you in some way by being here. You've already been - "

Maura squeezes the hand in hers as she rolls over on her side facing the woman next to her. With her free hand she brushes the hair away from Jane's face, letting her fingers gently fall onto warm skin and trace down her neck over the small scar that sits at the base. She has a matching one on her own. "I'm here because of you. You put so much joy and light into my life. I was alone, well and truly, for a very long time before you came along. You've saved me in so many ways, I wish you would let me return the favor."

Jane leans into her touch, eyes closing as she breathes in slowly. She turns on her side so they're facing each other. "You have." She brings their intertwined fingers up and gently kisses Maura's knuckles.

Maura leans forward, toward their intertwined hands as well, and places a soft kiss on the raised scar in the center of Jane's hand. Jane's eyes fall closed at the touch. "Then stay with me." She says softly. "You're fire and I'm ice, Jane, both of us are capable of burning the other."

Jane stares at her for a long moment. There are novels in the things they refuse to say, and in this moment in the space between the silence, a book of understanding is written. The tension across Jane's shoulders melts. "Okay."

"Stay." Maura says once more.

"Okay."

They meet in the middle, mumbling those two words to each other over and over. By the time their eyes drift shut toward sleep, Maura is tucked safely into Jane's arms. Maura's nose is pressed into Jane's neck. Lavender and Jane is what surrounds her. Lavender and Jane and warmth.