You love me. Real or not real?
I tell him: Real.

Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins

Swaying slightly, Maura moves to the edge of the sidewalk with her phone clasped in her hand. The toes of her feet hang over the edge slightly and she maintains her balance despite her heels, a moment of dexterity she knows she wouldn't be capable of with three glasses of wine less in her bloodstream. She finds her eyes drifting closed without her permission, tilting back slightly.

As a group of young women emerge from the bar behind her, Maura shakes herself from the drunken stupor, blinking rapidly. She turns to watch the three of them as they, arm in arm, drunkenly stumble their way down the street, the tail end of their laughter suspending in the air by Maura. It only strengthens the feeling of the chilly evening air, making goosebumps erupt across her exposed arms. She'd dressed for summer. She hadn't been planning on staying out so late. One drink with one of the new technicians working in the morgue had turned into two. Three once the technician had left and she had decided to wait for a cab. Four once she cancelled the cab after deciding she hadn't been out enough recently. The glass in front of her seemed to have no bottom, the bartender filling it for her without a word after that. She's sure she's made a sizeable dent in her bank account from this one night.

Maura bites her lower lip, studying the street around her. Through her blurred vision, it almost seems beautiful. The fairy lights strung across the windows of the cafe across the street are hazy; the music from the bar behind her soft and calming; the cars driving through the street few in number and slow as they go, like the people here are without a care in the world. But of course it's just the wine romanticising the view. Nothing here is beautiful. Nothing about Boston has been beautiful for five months. She sighs and checks the time on her phone again, pursing her lips.

When she next looks up, a familiar car is turning the corner onto the street. Maura exhales and pats her cheeks slightly, willing herself to sober up. Frankie had called and offered her a lift, she reminds herself, she isn't an inconvenience. He's just like a brother looking out for her. She is not a hindrance.

Frankie pulls over and Maura swallows past the lump of unexpected emotion that swells in her throat. She's not going to cry on the ride home. She's an adult. She's independent. She can go out for a drink by herself and accept a ride home from a friend and not read too much into it. It's how she'd always expected her life to go, anyway. Well. Even better, really. She has a friend. As a child, she hadn't pictured that.

Maura pulls the car door open, falling into the seat a little less gracefully than she had been aiming for. Cheeks filling with warmth at the action, she closes the door, carefully avoiding Frankie's eyes as she buckles herself in.

"Good night?"

Maura nods, glancing at Frankie out of the corner of her eye. He's already turned his attention away from her, glancing at his rearview mirror before pulling away from the sidewalk and back onto the road. He doesn't question her further than that and Maura sinks into her seat, relaxing slightly.

"Ma called me when I was on my way out, said you hadn't come home. She was worried," Frankie tells her before patting the digital clock on the dashboard briefly. It reads half eleven at night. "Don't remember the last time she ever stayed up so late."

Maura gasps. "We were meant to have tea."

Frankie takes a left at the end of the street. Part of her thinks this is wrong, but she attributes it to the alcohol.

"You missed plans with my ma?"

"No. Yes," Maura groans. "We have tea at ten most nights before she retires for bed. It's a habit."

Frankie laughs as she worries the fabric of her dress. Tea with Angela has become a fixture in her life. A permanence which replaced the stillness of her evenings. She thinks of it briefly as her eyes close, fleeting pictures: the warmth of her mug, the clink of the china, the motherly hug Angela always wraps around her.

"Ma won't care. She's just glad you're alright," Frankie says, and Maura reopens her eyes. She's just got to appear sober for the ride home. That's all. "It's not like you to just take off, you know?"

Maura acknowledges him with a soft hum and he doesn't push. That's something she's gotten used to over these past five months. Handing out half-truths. Not quite lies. Existing in the space between indifference and apathy. She wakes solely to get to work in the morning and goes to work just to get back home, making noncommittal conversation with those around her, if she makes any conversation at all. It's as though the portion of her life where she was constantly badgered into revealing the human parts of herself had never existed in the first place.

They fall back into silence as Frankie focuses his attention on the road once more. Maura rests her head back against the seat, turning her eyes to the window and tuning out her own thoughts, until the only things that exist are the guitar riffs emitting from Frankie's radio and the dryness of her mouth. Maybe all that wine hadn't been such a good idea after all.

After what feels like years, Frankie speaks again.

"Maura?"

She shifts slightly to look at him. He glances at her.

"I didn't want to ambush you. It's just how it worked out."

Maura frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"I didn't just offer to pick you up case - not that I wouldn't pick you up anyways - you know I would, Maura - I mean, I hope you do - and anyways, Ma would kill me if I didn't - "

Maura finds herself laughing lightly. The tips of her fingertips buzz with the traces of alcohol in her system.

"Frankie, I know you look out for me," she assures him with a smile. He grins in return with a relieved laugh. "Now, what are you talking about? An ambush?"

"Well, you see, we knew she was coming back to visit. We just thought she was coming back tomorrow. She caught a red eye though, so I'm going to the airport to pick her up, and that's why I offered to get you. It was kinda on the way."

If it were scientifically possible, her heart would stop beating in her chest. All of the sound vacuums from the car, until it's just the harsh sound of her breathing before she speaks.

"Who?"

Frankie frowns. "Jane. Obviously."

Maura's eyes slam closed and she rubs her hands over her face, surely smearing her makeup.

"Maura?"

Social etiquette weighing on her shoulders, Maura drops her hands and forces a smile.

"That's fine, Frankie."

He peers at her. "You sure? Cos I can drive you home first."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine. Really. She's my friend."

The words taste wrong on her tongue. But wine stifles any hives that might rise from the statement, and Frankie, satisfied, nods, taking the next turn onto the freeway. Maura leans back into her seat and counts back from ten.

It's been exactly one hundred and fifty three days since Jane left for Washington after their trip to Paris, heading to the FBI. It's also been exactly seventy-two days and eight hours since she last spoke to her. Their last conversation just five words. More incomplete than it ought to be.

I miss you.

I know.

Maura grips her phone tightly. Closes her eyes. She tries not to think about the smell of Jane's leather jacket as she had held her one last time that morning in Paris. But then the way it had felt when Jane's hands had fisted her shirt at the small of her back fills her mind, making her skin warm as her eyes fill with tears. She frowns, fighting against it, trying not to focus on the flash of Jane's smile before she had picked up her worn rucksack and headed towards the gate, leaving Maura with the end of their time in Paris in her still open hands.

It still stings. Even now, after weeks of telling herself that she is fine, that she had a life before Jane and would continue to exist after losing her in a way she had never imagined. She would never have asked her friend to choose her over a job. But so much of her had wanted to. Even now, it bubbles inside of her, despite the fact the choice has already been made. Pick me.

Maura sighs, glancing out the window, to the few other cars on the freeway with them at this hour. She never wants this road to end. Doesn't want to be trapped in such a small space with the woman that was once her everything. If they stay on this road forever, maybe she'll learn how to curl in on herself until she is no longer visible.

But Frankie pulls off the freeway all too soon, and they're pulling up towards the collection point as she forgets how to keep her lungs working. She can see her. Jane. Real. Standing on the sidewalk, leaning against a bollard with a knapsack hanging off one shoulder, hands in her pockets with her face turned towards the night sky.

Frankie hops out and Maura, paralysed, listens to the sound of the siblings bickering over Frankie helping Jane get her stuff in the trunk. The raspy sound of Jane's voice sobers her instantly.

There's a gust of chilly air, then the sound of a slamming door, and the smell of lavender permeates the air. She doesn't have to look to know that Jane is in the back seat.

"Maura?"

She almost sounds surprised. Maura turns without thinking, meeting Jane's eyes. Her lungs compress then and there.

Jane looks almost exactly the same. The bags beneath her eyes are a little darker, but she attributes it to the FBI training - the late flight back to Boston. There's still those dimples in her cheeks as she half-smiles, the curls still wild and untamed around her face. She leans forward slightly when Maura turns to her, as though it's instinct. Maura wills herself to look away but she can't. Jane eclipses everything.

"I didn't know you were coming too," Jane confesses in a rush. Maura finds herself noting the redness of her cheeks from the cold air. Cataloguing every difference.

"I didn't know you were coming back."

Jane's eyes dart away.

"I was gonna tell you."

Maura doesn't say a word, waiting.

Jane looks back to her, slightly more collected.

"If you didn't know I was coming back, why were you with Frankie?"

The car door opens again before she can answer, Frankie plopping down into his seat. Maura twists back to the front and glances at Jane in the rearview mirror. But Jane has leaned back into her seat and is hidden in the shadows. She cannot gauge her expression.

"I'll drop you home first, Maura," Frankie says, pulling away from the collection point.

"Where are you staying, Jane?" Maura asks, but she looks out the window as she does so, feigning interest in the streetlights.

"She's gonna stay at mine," Frankie answers.

Jane laughs in the backseat. Maura can't help the way she smiles in response. It's automatic.

"No way. I had enough of living with you when we were kids. Just drop me at a hotel."

"Aw c'mon, Jane. Be reasonable."

"I am. I'll probably wake up to find a bunch of cockroaches in the bed at your place."

"Like you're any tidier than I am!"

"Rats too, probably. You always left your empty cereal bowls on the floor."

"I did not."

"Yeah, you did! In fact, you've probably got a whole family of rats and cockroaches living in your walls, breeding horrible mutant pests to eat your mouldy bowls."

Frankie groans. "Gross, Jane."

"You know," Maura says, "you can stay at mine."

Jane and Frankie both fall silent. She can feel the heat of their gazes on her but refuses to look away from the window in case they see the way her lips tremble. She just needs to wait until she gets back to the safety of her room. Then she can break down.

"Maura, I couldn't ask - "

"You're not. I'm telling you. Besides, Angela would like it if you were there in the morning. She's missed you."

Her throat clogs after she says it and she has to take a long, deep breath to clear it. Not long now. It's a twenty minute drive at the speed limit in mild traffic. The road ahead of them is empty. She'll be home soon, and lay awake knowing Jane's under the same roof. Even now, her skin is buzzing with the knowledge that Jane is so close to her, even with her brother sharing the same space.

"Okay," Jane says eventually. "I'll stay."

It's exactly what she's wanted to hear five months too late.

They're silent for the rest of the ride home. Frankie doesn't attempt to make conversation, and she's grateful for it. When he drops them off she gives him a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek as Jane watches them before heading inside, not waiting to see Jane get her things from the trunk. She leaves the door open behind her and heads straight for the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of coffee. God knows she needs it. Sobering up while still awake gives her enough of a headache. Dealing with Jane when she hadn't expected her is going to leave her with a migraine.

She pours two mugs out of habit as Jane walks into the house, kicking the door closed with her foot. Pushes one across the counter as Jane dumps her bags at her feet, reaching for it instantly.

"The guest bedroom isn't made up, but you know where everything is," Maura tells her, picking up her mug.

"I thought you were going to redecorate. You said you would."

"I haven't had the time."

Maura begins towards the stairs, but Jane side steps towards her.

"You've been busy, then?"

Maura glances at her. Jane almost looks intimidating. Her brows furrowed, feet planted in a wide stance on the ground, making her shoulders appear broader than usual. What on earth has she got to feel angry about? It's her that should be angry. The one that should be scowling. Yelling. Throwing things. Instead of just feeling it all on the inside while she remains quiet.

"I have," Maura replies, measured.

Jane takes a step towards her.

"With Frankie?"

Maura splutters.

"Excuse me?"

Jane shrugs. "You were with him earlier. And you were pretty handsy when you said goodbye."

"Are you jealous?"

It's the wrong thing to say. Jane visibly recoils, as though Maura has hurt her. Maura sighs, slipping her heels off as Jane recollects herself, leaning down to pick them up until they're dangling from her fingers.

"Jane. I'm not seeing your brother. He picked me up on your mother's orders. Do you really think so little of me?"

Jane's eyes flash.

"Of course not."

It doesn't feel like the truth, though. Maura turns away without saying anything more, heading up the stairs as the alcohol makes her mind swim.

"Maura?"

Maura turns when she reaches the top of the stairs, looking back down at Jane. She almost seems small from this angle. Strange.

"Yes?"

The light in Jane's eyes dissipates. She shakes her head.

"Nothing. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jane."

When the door to her room finally closes behind her, Maura lets the tears that had been building inside of her slip down her cheeks. She places her mug of coffee on her bedside table as she gets ready for bed while crying, not bothering to wipe away the tears, knowing that only more will come. It's oddly cathartic.

She slips beneath her silk sheets as the tears begin to dry on her cheeks, leaving her coffee to go cold, staring up at the ceiling. Around now, she thinks, Jane will be in the guest room. The lights will be off. She knows her way around. She'll slip off that hoodie she was wearing, trade it for a vest top to sleep in, before removing her jeans for a pair of sweatpants. Maura closes her eyes. She can see it. The hints of Jane's bare skin in the dark. Like Paris. This time however, she is a room away, and they will not be sharing the same bed.

Maura turns to lay on her side. How little she had appreciated Paris at the time. All of those memories she had made with Jane had been so happy. Now they just hurt.

Of course Jane had always been destined for greater things than the BPD. Jane had always been the kind of person who could do anything as long as she wanted to. She had always admired that in her. It didn't make it hurt less when she had left. Even now, she's still almost in denial that this is how they've ended up. Barely exchanging words with one another. She had always thought Jane had been content at the BPD. Not just content - happy. With her. Hadn't she? Had she not given her enough?

Maura sighs, turning her face into her pillow. She has been left with so many unanswered questions. They burn brightly inside her chest, spilling over her ribs.

There's a knock at her door.

Maura sits upright instantly.

"Yes?"

The door creaks open slowly to reveal Jane standing in the doorway. She hesitates there when Maura says nothing before stepping in and closing the door behind her.

Maura's heart beats twice as fast. She listens to the soft pad of Jane's feet across her floor, until she reaches the other side of the bed. She holds her breath as Jane reaches for the lamp and switches it on, revealing the two of them.

Jane grins, but it is hesitant.

"Hey."

Maura simply stares at her.

Jane sighs, slipping onto the bed and sitting cross-legged, facing her.

"You know, I told my family that I only get a week off at the end of my training. But I lied. I get two."

Maura finds herself drawn into Jane's confession in spite of the way every logical part of her screams for Jane to leave.

"Why did you lie?"

Jane shrugs.

"Decided to spend the first week just… by myself. Went to Oregon. It's nice. Lousy weather, but the trees are pretty. Lots of small towns with a ton of history to 'em. Diners that don't charge half an arm and a leg for a simple cup of coffee. It was… good. Being there."

She can see it in her mind. Jane walking among those tall, endless trees. Jane tucked into the corner of a family-run diner with orange ambient light spilling through the room. Jane without her.

"I've never been to Oregon," she tells her. She doesn't know what else to say.

Jane nods. She looks down. Maura's not quite sure she's ever seen Jane so… nervous.

"It's no Paris."

Maura inhales sharply. Neither of them have mentioned it. Or, rather, Jane hasn't let her talk about it. She's tried. She'd tried to talk about Paris as much as she's tried to forget it after Jane left. Just the mention of it brings the memories tumbling forward, occupying her subconscious without her permission, filling her mind with the way the morning light hit Jane's curls, the way it crest along her toned stomach.

"Jane," she lets out. A warning.

Jane looks up at her. Maura frowns when she notices her eyes are bloodshot.

"I miss you, Maura."

"I know."

Her chest squeezes uncomfortably tight when Jane takes a deep breath, reaching out to take her hand. Maura lets her clutch it as she keeps her grip limp, refusing to give herself away anymore. She's just tired of it. After five months, she is exhausted. She had gone around in the same circles with Jane for the first three months she had been gone, the same messages and sentiments repeating themselves through their messages until they had imprinted themselves onto the backs of her eyelids to see when she went to sleep. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore. She doesn't even want to think about it anymore. She just wants to be left alone.

"I didn't know it was possible to miss a person this much," Jane confesses quietly.

Maura shakes her hand free of Jane's grip, trying to ignore the way her friend's face falls.

"You'll move on. I did."

Jane's head flashes up towards her.

"You don't mean that. You can't."

"Why can't I, Jane?"

She studies the way Jane swallows. It has always confused her, the conundrum that are Jane's emotions. The woman has shot herself and lived to tell the tale, combed through burning buildings, confronted a serial killer who was obsessed with her and yet, the bravery that comes with expressing the way she is feeling seems to be a bravery Jane does not possess.

It used to make her feel special. That Jane would only open up to her. It would make her stomach warm, have her falling asleep with a smile on her face with the knowledge that she was trusted, that she was an exception. Staring at Jane now, watching the way she hesitates, it only hurts.

"I… handled it all wrong. This whole situation. I know I did."

Jane stares at her. She laughs.

"Seriously, Jane? That's it?"

"No. I just - you know what I mean."

"That's the problem, Jane," she says softly. "I don't know what you mean anymore."

Jane purses her lips, nodding. She pulls her hand away from its outstretched position to tug it through her hair. Ever since Paris, they have been on different pages, and it hurts, but she has learned how to live with it. Not out of her own choice, but out of necessity. The basic human instinct to survive. It seems now that Jane is exactly where she had been five months ago. When Maura had been punch drunk on the atmosphere of the city as they walked arm in arm through the streets for a whole month of bliss. When those cursed words had ever made it out of her mouth. When she had mistaken Jane's platonic love for what she had felt for so many years.

"I'm sorry I left. I didn't want to," Jane murmurs, staring at her own hands.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to join the FBI."

"That was before…"

"Jane," Maura sighs. "I didn't tell you I loved you to stop you from leaving."

Jane jerks slightly at the words and Maura swallows past the disappointment. Still the same reaction. She still remembers. The morning they were due to leave Paris, Jane for her flight to Washington and her back to Boston. When Jane had been clingy with her, a sorrow hanging onto her frame at the thought of leaving. When she had held her hand in the cab ride to the airport. When she had said I love you and Jane had still left.

"I told you because it's true. Because I was tired of keeping it a secret."

Jane peers up at her. Almost shy.

"I didn't want to leave you."

Maura sighs. This time, when Jane reaches her hand out, she takes it. It still feels the same. Like the rumble of the vehicle is still beneath them, like Paris is still around them. Like she's still safe.

"I just want you to be happy," she whispers. "I'm sorry I told you."

Jane grips her hand tighter and shifts closer.

"Don't," Jane grits out. When she looks up, there are tears glittering in Jane's eyes. "Don't ever say that."

"I'm not sorry I love you."

Jane nods. The way she looks at her still leaves her breathless. Still has her falling endlessly into her honey trap, bound to get hurt.

"I'm not either."

Maura frowns as the weight of Jane's words settle on her shoulders. But Jane doesn't look away, keeps giving her that hard and blazing look as she reaches out to lay a hand against Maura's cheek.

"Jane?"

"I'm sorry," Jane gets out, and it's choked. She finds her free hand reaching out to grip Jane's waist. "I love you. I know it now. I don't know how I didn't know before. I'm sorry, and I love you."

Maura blinks as her ears begin to ring. It feels like it echoes through the whole room. She begins to pull away, overwhelmed, but Jane holds her in place, almost desperate, a soft please escaping from her lips. So she stays in place, skin hyper aware of Jane's presence now, buzzing at the feeling of her touch.

She swallows. She has hoped, dreamed, for this moment so many times. She had always known what she was going to say. Now, she is speechless, enraptured with the way Jane stares at like she means it.

"Ask me to stay," Jane murmurs. "Ask me to stay and I'll stay, Maura."

"I could never ask you to give the your life up," she murmurs.

Jane's eyes meet hers.

"I'm asking you to."

Maura nods. Jane's hair slips away from her cheek and sinks into her hair. She forms a fist at Jane's waist, scrunching up the material there. She can feel Jane's breath wash over her lips. She blinks, expecting to see the airport lights above them, the tannoy announcing the gate opening, Jane walking away. But Jane stays stuck to the spot, watching her.

Maura nods.

"Okay, Jane," she murmurs. She pulls her closer. "Stay. Please."

Jane sighs, and when she pulls her closer, until their chests are touching, until her face is tucked into her neck, she can feel her shaking.

"All you had to do was ask," she whispers.

end