Disclaimer: All recognizable The Bold Type characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners including, but not limited to Freeform. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fan fiction story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No financial gain is associated with the publishing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This explains the absence of Pinstripe in "The Deep End" (03x04) and takes liberty with canon and the timeline. I'm not sure where it is going yet, but it will be continued. -dkc

Definition

"Oh, Jane? Do you have a moment?" Jacqueline's voice caught the writer's attention as she was passing by the editor's office.

Entering the propped open glass door, Jane smiled at the sight of Jacqueline nearly buried in proofs on the couch.

"Yes?" she asked.

Looking around at the mess, she motioned for Jane to close the door and to pull up one of the chairs that sat opposite her desk. Doing as suggested, Jane took a seat while wondering what this was about. She'd finished her investigative piece on Pamela Dolan and responded to all additional edits. Clearly if the proofs were before the editor-in-chief they were beyond that point.

"I want to ask you something that is rather delicate," Jacqueline said this with a troubled look on her face. Jane couldn't recall seeing the older woman so conflicted.

"Okay?" the brunette's eyebrows rose as she crossed her legs. She noted the woman's eyes follow her legs and then her own forehead furrow in frustration. This wasn't new. In fact, they had both been guilty of that very thing. A slight glance, an obvious act of ogling. It was neither a symptom of their friendship nor an impediment to it. Their professional relationship really was as much a friendship as it was a mentorship anymore. Perhaps this had been the case as far back as Jane revealing her BRCA status to her boss. When the glances became obvious, they both denied it to themselves and clearly each other.

"About Pamela Dolan," Jacqueline glanced down at her own hands.

Jane prepared herself for news that legal had balked or a witness had reneged.

"The story has had me thinking," she began. "About professionalism in the workplace, abuse of relationships on the part of superiors. That women can be guilty of the same abuses as men."

Another raised eyebrow of confusion begged for the blonde to continue.

"Jane, have I ever made you feel uncomfortable?" she asked with trepidation.

"You...?" the writer was dumbfounded. "I don't understand."

"I have been known from time to time to reach out a hand, offer words of personal support...invite you to my home."

Jacqueline made it clear she was referring to h er behavior specifically with Jane, nobody else. The numerous times Jacqueline had touched her played out in Jane's mind. Never had it been unwanted. Never had Jane felt uncomfortable or threatened. Far from it.

"Jacqueline, you are not Pamela Dolan. Your concern for..." she wanted to say employees, but recognized this was solely about her and couldn't stomach the idea of pretending they were talking about someone else. "Your concern for me does not compare."

They both knew concern wasn't the appropriate descriptor.

"I have touched you," Jacqueline appeared contrite.

Jane gulped. She knew what was being referred to. It was innocuous. Yet the gulp said otherwise. What if she had touched her in a different way? It still wouldn't have been unwanted on Jane's part. However, it was apparent Jacqueline felt regret over even the innocuous. Jacqueline the editor-in-chief felt regret, but did Jacqueline the woman?

"I can repeat that you aren't Pamela Dolan. Is that what you need to hear?" Jane heard the edge in her voice and hadn't expected it. Why was she being defensive?

"Jane..."

"You have held out a hand of support in moments of existential crisis. You have supported me through tough articles and personal indecision. You invited me to your home because of my actions. I blew up at you. I accused you of sharing nothing of you with us while wanting everything from us splashed on the pages of Scarlet. That wasn't you. That was on me. We were not alone in your home. You did not come on to me."

Her words felt sad as they exited her mouth. She was sad. Jane felt a loss, a loss of something that hadn't been articulated by she or Jacqueline. She felt a loss of something that hadn't even happened. Her boss was not saying they could have no interaction going forward. But that's how this felt. Tears were threatening and this pissed her off. She would not cry about this. She definitely would not cry about this in front of Jacqueline. How would she explain it? Would she tell Jacqueline how much she needed their friendship? She would never tell her that her heart rate increased in those moments when a hand reached out to hold her own. What would she say?

"Physically coming on to someone is simpler, isn't it?" Jacqueline's voice sounded as conflicted as the battle raging within Jane felt.

"This is about prom," Jane stood and moved proofs from the other side of the couch so she could sit beside her editor. "I realize how ridiculous that sounded."

They were able to chuckle at the fact that they were grown women talking about prom. Kat's queer prom had been nothing like Jane's high school prom. There was still something innately ridiculous about grown women having attended a recent prom.

"It was unintentional," Jacqueline leaned back and looked at the ceiling as she said it.

"An inadvertent graze," Jane added.

"I haven't stopped thinking about it."

Jane's breath caught at what could be dual implications. What hadn't she stopped thinking about?

"And now you're worried because? The woman was abusing her models, Jacqueline. You accidentally grazed my boob. I do not see the correlation."

Finally taking her eyes from the ceiling of her office, Jacqueline glanced at the woman sitting next to her and she felt an unusual urge to stop censoring everything she said. Instead of being the woman who wore many hats, she wanted to be just Jacqueline. She wanted to talk about her feelings. She wanted to admit them aloud.

"You looked at me a certain way that night. I may not know what that particular look means on you, but after several decades of having men and women look at me that way, I thought I knew. Then the unfortunate incident happened," Jacqueline rolled her eyes.

"Boob graze," the writer helpfully pointed out.

"And then you were gone. You left early. Since then I have thought about it a fair amount, but this story has me reviewing everything I have ever done since I've been in a supervisory or managerial role and the only person I question my behavior with over the many years is you."

Jane reached out and placed a hand on an oddly bracelet-free wrist. She looked down at her hand after realizing how instinctual it was to reach out for Jacqueline like this. She would do the same with Kat and Sutton, but she was not the type to do so with others. Not with colleagues certainly. When she looked up, she caught Jacqueline's eyelids fluttering open; she, too, reacted to the touch.

"I had to leave early because I had begun hormone injections to harvest my eggs and that first round was scheduled for ten at night, if I remember correctly. Also, I couldn't drink. Dancing at a prom with my best friend and her boyfriend while sober was not as much fun as I thought it would be. My leaving had nothing to do with the things that happened between you and I that night," Jane refused to let go.

"Things?" Jacqueline's blue eyes held a tinge of mischief and something akin to hope.

Jane rolled her eyes and pulled back her hand so she could run all ten of her fingers through her hair as she weighed what to say.

"You can't have missed where my eyes were all night. You're far too perceptive for that," she shook her head as she remembered being unable to tear herself away from the tall blonde and her even taller date.

"Ah, yes," this brought a smile to the editor's face. "The kind of boob graze I was experiencing was from your eyes."

Jane groaned as she covered her face with her hands. She definitely caught herself multiple times that night trailing her eyes from the painted lips of her attractive boss down a splendidly long neck to the deep-V her shirt allowed, taking in the sight of the sides of two perfect breasts. Jacqueline had caught her as well. Hell, Sasha Velour probably noticed. She wasn't actively hiding it.

"You know that as your superior I should still be above the fray, right? You could entirely undress me with your eyes and it still would not be appropriate for me to do or say anything that might make you uncomfortable," the editor-in-chief hat was out of its box and nearly on Jacqueline's head when she reminded herself that she is but one person. It was okay to be herself. It was okay to be honest. "Jane."

Everything that had been said since Jacqueline had asked the writer into her office was boiled down into that single, weighted syllable.

"You have never and could never make me uncomfortable," Jane quietly spoke. "God, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but there is one thing I have liked about writing for Patrick. I miss the way you challenge me, yes. I miss the push-and-pull of writing for you. But what writing for Patrick has allowed me is interactions with you that aren't in the typical pattern of my pitching something, you following up, me writing, you editing and so on. Part of me thinks this is what it might have been like if I'd..."

Her thought trailed off. Jane was afraid she was saying too much and also afraid that this would make her boss the uncomfortable one.

"What, Jane?" this time it was Jacqueline's hand that reached for Jane's.

"If I'd met you in another time or place when I was just a woman interested in another woman who happened to be remarkable and captivating and—"

"Not your boss," Jacqueline finished the thought for her.

"Yes, though I suspect in that little world I'd be getting more time with you and in this one I am left missing you."

"This is not where I saw this conversation going," the editor smiled.

"Should I have shut up? You know me well enough by now to know sometimes you have to tell me to stop talking," Jane whined.

"No," Jacqueline clearly found Jane's self-doubt endearing. "Every word you speak to me is precious."

Jane's mind veered off for a moment, returning to the night of Kat's queer prom. Her nipples had definitely stiffened when Jacqueline touched her. Afterward she had convinced herself it was hormones, but she had actually been avoiding facing what she felt, what she had been feeling about the editor.

"What is it?" Jacqueline watched Jane in fascination. She loved seeing the wheels turning as her bright mind teased out the answers to any number of questions.

"Was my physical reaction obvious that night?" Jane wondered.

"If you mean your breath catching, yes. If you mean your hardened nipples, only after you stepped back and I saw them straining against your dress. I didn't, I mean, not with my..."

Jane smiled at a tongue-tied Jacqueline who couldn't seem to say aloud that her hand had not come in contact with the nipple of the breast she grazed.

"It's probably a good thing," Jane stopped Jacqueline.

Pursed lips and confounded eyes waited for Jane to explain herself. Professionalism resurfaced.

"You're right," the hat of editor-in-chief fell into place and Jane's eyes darted toward the profile of her boss. The subtle movement of a terribly tempting jawline revealed her clenching her teeth.

What could she say when Jacqueline was closing that door?

"How are the hormone treatments going?" Curveball.

Jane was unsure how to answer this question when it was obviously full of potholes. Jacqueline lost digital partially because of Jane's piece on Safford's healthcare policy hypocrisy. Not to mention Jane's egg freezing journey had appeared on the dot com under a shared byline with Ryan and at the direction of Patrick. It had been the first time Jane had written for Patrick and it was a shot across the bow that he would take whichever staff he wanted from Jacqueline's arsenal.

"Largely complete. Assuming I..." she had no idea how to say this without implying she was considering with Ryan or any man. "...have no desire to fertilize at this time."

"Oh." Jacqueline was genuinely stunned. When she and Jane has spoken about what needed to be done given her genetic disposition to cancer, Jane had never suggested she had any desire to get pregnant right now. Perhaps that had changed as she and Mr. Decker got closer. "I didn't realize the two of you wanted a child immediately."

Jane groaned.

"No, I would be doing it alone. I would have Sutton and Kat, of course. Ryan and I realized we weren't… I don't think I want to have a baby right now, but the option is there. Safford now covers all, well, you know," Jane left a lot unspoken. Having lost her digital editorship over it, Jacqueline needn't be reminded of what had been at stake. Not telling the blonde about she and Ryan realized they were better off being casual brought up the question of why. Jane didn't know the answer.

"Being a single parent is a huge undertaking," Jacqueline hummed, lost in thought. "I had a nanny and a husband and motherhood was still a juggling act in the early years. It still is, but I can share the responsibilities with Ian."

Jane wondered about Ian. She hadn't seen Mr. Jacqueline Carlyle around recently. He hadn't made an appearance in Paris or any of Scarlet's recent events. There had been a hit piece in the New York Post that said Jacqueline's fall would drag on—first digital, next print "and then her marriage?" Nobody around the office said anything about it, but they'd all seen it.

"I don't suppose discussing your ovaries is very professional of me, either," Jacqueline added.

"Not nearly as unprofessional as personally acquainting yourself with them would be," Jane spoke without thinking and her face turned crimson. "Oh my god, I do not know where that came from. I'm sorry, Jacq—"

She was cut off by a firm touch on her shoulder and an amused smile.

"Would it help if we set some boundaries? Topics that are to be avoided, information that shouldn't be shared?" Jacqueline felt Jane's discomfort and wanted to throw her a lifeline. However, she was amused and the comment itself caused a wave in her lower abdomen.

"Topic number one being my ovaries?" Jane rolled her eyes.

"I am interested in the steps you are taking with your health and, yes, even fertility," the twitch at the corner of Jacqueline's mouth as she mentioned fertility was suspicious but came with no explanation.

Jane disappeared into her thoughts, her sight line with Jacqueline gone, too.

"What are you thinking?" the editor wouldn't let her off the hook so easily.

Jacqueline wanted to reach out again and touch Jane, but she had been the one to suggest boundaries a mere moment ago. She would have to hold herself accountable.

"If you weren't editor-in-chief of one of the top women's magazines, if you weren't my editor, if you weren't married, if there weren't an age gap," Jane paused, "would you look twice at me?"

Resolute blue eyes attached themselves to Jane as her mind played catch up.

"You're speaking of attraction?" Jacqueline did not want to mistakenly assume and make a fool of herself answering.

Jane nodded.

"I wouldn't need to look twice. Once was plenty," the editor's voice was soft and she did not immediately regret the admission.

Of course, Jane picked up on the tense that the editor used. They dealt in words. And Jacqueline would not have used 'was' without careful choosing.

"Was," Jane whispered.

"Mmm."

The sound was in the affirmative. Jacqueline wondered how she had gone from knowing she needed to hold herself accountable to stating her attraction.

Jane said nothing and the silence felt bigger than the glass-enclosed room they sat in. She looked everywhere but at Jacqueline. She needed to process what was being said without the temptation of taking it too far. It was then that she looked at the framed photos on the wall behind her boss's desk. She had never given them much consideration despite the number of times she had faced them. In those moments she was fully enmeshed in Jacqueline rather than anything else in the room.

"Is that?" she looked at a particular framed image and her mouth went instantly dry.

The blonde hair, in a twist and off a bare neck, was familiar. Jane had seen a pair of those earrings before. She was certain she had seen them in the fashion closet once and definitely on a certain editor on more than one occasion. And that shoulder. Jacqueline was known for rocking an off-the-shoulder dress. Except the woman in the photograph wasn't wearing an off-the-shoulder dress. Without further context, it appeared as if she was wearing nothing at all. Jane wanted badly to see what else that happening in the moment that image was made. It could have been a nude for the way Jane's heart was beating. Her eyes were memorizing every bit of skin. Her entire body was warm.

Jacqueline had been taking in every change in facial expression, every muscle movement as Jane swallowed and every lick of her lips. She said nothing.

"It's striking."

The young woman was afraid to look at the woman herself. Even when she had seen every pixel of the photograph, she couldn't face Jacqueline.

"Jane?" the gentle, compassionate and unbearably kind voice questioned.

"If you say another word, Jacqueline, those proofs are going to end up on the floor," Jane's voice was low, breathy.

"Please look at me," the editor turned her body perpendicular to the brunette's, her legs now on top of some of the proof sheets that had been on the couch between them. She placed a hand on Jane's knee and waited.

When those dark, always curious, brown eyes finally met Jacqueline's, the older woman was left breathless. They had shared many heated looks, denied, of course, but never had Jane looked at her with this level of desire.

"How long has that picture been there?" Jane asked through near-clenched teeth.

"Umm…" she wasn't expecting the question and had to think about it. "I believe I had all the photos replaced three months ago."

Jane thought about how many times she must have stood before that desk in the last three months. Many a time she was worried about her job or contemplating articles, but more often than not she was lost in Jacqueline. She'd become skilled at provoking her boss's interest in a way that made the blonde sit forward, revealing delicious cleavage. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the photograph. It had to have appeared around the time she was nearing the breakup with Ben. After Paris. Her life anymore seemed to be delineated into life and life AP (after Paris).

"What is it?" Jacqueline could sense there was something holding Jane back and she wanted to know which thing it could be.

"Editor-in-chief, my editor, married, age gap," Jane repeated what she asked Jacqueline about taking a second look at her.

"Can I worry about those things?" the blonde's hand moved from the writer's knee to her elbow.

"Jacq, there are lines I won't cross," Jane shook her head, the darkness of desire was being replaced by regret.

"That have nothing to do with my being fifty or the editor-in-chief of Scarlet magazine?"

Closing her eyes, Jane didn't have to nod or answer audibly.

"I understand," Jacqueline exhaled, removing her hand from Jane's elbow.

Standing from the couch, Jane took a long, hard look at the photograph again. She stood motionless. The editor again watched her take it in. Unbeknownst to Jane, Jacqueline had a soft smile on her face and a lump in her throat.

"Goodnight, Jacqueline," the writer spoke and moved for the door without ever looking back at her boss.

Jacqueline did not speak.

To be continued…