A/N: This is not in the same universe as my previous story, 'I Want To Be In Love.' It started out as an attempt to write PWP, but ended up being a very different take from 'I Want To Be In Love' on the 'How they got together' storyline. It's about Maura taking the initiative in the wake of the Zombie Boner Dude fiasco. That, and smut. Specifically, smut written by Maura. More specifically, smut about Jane, written by Maura.

(Also, is there a Rizzoli & Isles fic prompt or challenge community? If there is, can someone PM with the location. I've got a rabid plot bunny bouncing around my brain I'd like to put up for adoption).

This is set roughly three weeks after Melt My Heart To Stone (3x10), and contains spoilers through that episode.

Finally, Season 3 has gone to some fairly dark places, and this story follows Maura's reactions to the events in the series. Those reactions may not be comfortable for some people, and it may trigger for some people.

Update: I'd like to thank bekahbabe for providing a belated, but much needed beta for this story.

Jane

I sighed in relief as I opened the front door of Maura's Beacon Hill townhouse. It had been a shitty day, and I was glad to be home. I honestly wasn't sure which was the worst part; the miserable August heat, the foot chase down by the harbor where the humidity was smothering, or that it had happened so close to quitting time that after badgering the confession out of him, booking him and doing the paperwork, I'd gotten out of the office three hours late. I know having to put up with Pike's lame ass attempts to flirt with me in the café and Crowe's constant cracks about needing a Midol hadn't helped.

All I wanted was curl up under a blanket on the couch with Maura and a beer and talk about... stuff. I didn't give a fuck what stuff, as long as it was completely meaningless, unimportant stuff. And there were graham crackers. And frosting.

Except, Maura was in D.C.. She'd flown out of Logan around one o'clock that afternoon, and would be gone for the next two days, which pretty much meant my weekend was reduced to changing diapers, baby talk, and meals with Ma.

It was fucking pathetic. It really was. My free weekends used to be filled with nose bleed seats at the Sox game, or entire days spent watching shit blow up at the movie theater, trips to the batting cages, or, even though I'd never admit it to anyone, hours spent wandering through one of the art museums in the city. Back in the day, Saturday nights would always end up at this little Southie Jazz club, where the band knew me well enough to let me sit in on the piano.

Somewhere along the way that had changed. The Jazz club had disappeared from my life in the basement of a farm house in western Massachusetts, but the hell if I knew when the rest had slipped away. Somewhere along the line, it was no longer 'things I did on my weekend off', it was 'things Maura and I did on our weekend off'. No more nose bleeds at the Sox games. Instead, we sat behind home plate when we went, which wasn't as often, because some of those weekends had to be set aside for trips to Newberry Street boutiques to keep Maura from going into shopping withdrawal. I also didn't go to the movies at eleven in the morning and buy tickets for four different movies anymore. I spent the morning jogging through the Commons with Maura, before we ate next to the frog pond, then spent the day curled up on her couch watching whatever was available from On Demand. Trips to the batting cages were mixed with training for the Massachusetts Marathon. Trips to the art museums had grown more frequent, and been joined by nights at the symphony, or the theater, or the Opera.

Bitch of it was, despite all the griping and the complaining, I'd been happy. Sure, I stopped having time to date, but so what? My dates always ended up with me sitting on my or Maura's couch, eating junk food and talking about work, or family or plans for the weekend, or nothing at all. Why not cut out the awkward dinner and all the time it took to figure out why the guy I was with wasn't going to work, and spend what little free time I had with someone whose company I actually enjoyed?

Then, three weeks ago Lydia had left a baby on the front porch.

It took me days to realize how thoroughly we'd all been played by that bitch. We'd all taken her for an idiot, but damn, she was good. She'd waited just long enough for Angela to get attached to the baby before she told her the truth. She'd made sure Tommy and Frankie and Angela were there when the kid was born. But her real master stroke had been the way she left little Tony on Maura's doorstep.

Even if he hadn't been a Rizzoli, there was no way a child left on Maura Isles' doorstep would ever end up a ward of the state. Lydia had hit below the belt with that one, and it still pissed me off. Probably the only thing that had stopped Lydia from meeting a painful, but not life threatening, accident was that Korsak knew a friendly judge in family court who'd been able to grease the wheels on the custody paperwork.

Somehow, I'd ended up the little runt's legal guardian. By the end of the first week, even I'd stopped pretending I wasn't going to adopt the little snot monster once I got all the paperwork squared away. I'd have to find a new apartment, because there was no way mine would would pass the home inspection.

God, it was like Jo Friday all over again. The kid's parents were out of the picture for five minutes, and suddenly I was a mother.

On the plus side, he didn't need flea baths.

I shut the door and turned around. I'd been planning to head out to the guest house to pick Tony up from Ma, but there was Jo. She looked up at me and barked an unenthusiastic greeting.

Pathetic. Even my dog was bummed that Maura was out of town.

"Come on," I said, grabbing Jo's leash. The dog stood up and walked over, staring at the door and whimpering in disappointment that Maura was nowhere in sight. "I know, girl. I'm right there with you." I bent down, rubbing Jo's sides. "Stupid FBI. They should get their own Medical Examiner. Yes they should. Yes they should." Jo tilted her head back and licked my nose as I attached her leash. Then I grabbed a couple of plastic bags, and we headed out into the night.

Fifteen minutes later, we walked back into the house. Jo had her head and tail held up high, like a conquering hero. I just glared at her.

"That poor squirrel wasn't doing anything to you."

Jo wagged her tail proudly.

"Seriously, how am I supposed to be a cop when my own dog is out there committing assault and battery on the local wild life?"

Jo barked as I bent down to unhook her leash.

"Don't give me that. I saw the whole thing." I stood up and put Jo's leash back on the hook. "I ought to turn you in."

Jo walked over to her doggie bed and curled up into a little ball with a huff.

"Yeah, well, Maura would be very disappointed, so you better watch it. She might not let you come over anymore if she decides you're a bad influence on Bass."

Jo let out a small whimper.

I smiled. Victory. "That's more like it."

I flipped the lock on the front door and headed out the back to the guest house, knocking softly, just in case. It didn't take very long for the door to open a crack, and Ma to peek out, pressing her fingers to her lips, shushing me.

"He's asleep."

I sighed. "Of course he is." If I woke him up, it would be hours before I got him back to bed.

"I can take him for the night, if you want," Angela whispered.

I smiled, wanting to hug my mother. "Thanks, ma."

"No problem, honey. I'll bring him over in the morning, say ten o'clock?"

I nodded. "That'd be great. Goodnight, Ma."

"Oh, hold on a minute." She turned away from the door for a minute to pick something up, then turned back and held out a Manila envelope. "Maura asked me to make sure you got this. She said to tell you to make sure you open it tonight. It sounded important."

I looked down at the envelope. It was unmarked except for my name printed on the front in Maura's neat, flowing hand writing.

"Well?" Angela prompted.

I looked up, not surprised to find an expectant look on my mother's face. "Well, what?"

"Open it," she whispered in an excited tone.

I raised an eyebrow. "Really?" I shook my head. "I'll see you in the morning, Ma."

"But-"

"Goodnight." I headed back into the main house and dropped down on the couch, wondering for a moment if I'd ever actually see my crummy little apartment again. Oh, we'd gone through all the arguments a dozen times. Maura's house was bigger, the guest bedroom could be converted into a nursery, Maura and Angela both got home before me most days, so it cut down on the babysitter's hours. Beacon Hill was a safer neighborhood than South Boston. It was August, and Maura had central air, while I didn't even have a window unit. And those were just the highlights.

God, it wasn't like I even missed the place. Some days, I kind of hated it. It wasn't exactly full of the best memories. It just felt like I should miss it, and it bothered me a little that I didn't.

I looked down at the manila envelope, trying to figure out why Maura hadn't given it to me before I left for work. Of course, there was only one way to find out.

I turned it over, bent back the wings of the clasp and flipped open the flap. There were only two things inside. The first was a black leather journal I'd occasionally seen Maura writing in over the last few months, and the second was another envelope. An unsealed parchment number 10 envelope with the flap tucked in.

I dumped it out on the coffee table, and started to reach for the journal, but then I noticed the writing on the parchment envelope.

To Jane, with all my love, Maura

(Read this first)

I picked it up and opened it. There was a single sheet of folded parchment inside. A hand written letter from Maura.

My Beloved Jane,

If you're reading this, then I must be braver than I feel as I write these words. It's currently Wednesday night. A few hours ago, I received a call from the FBI, asking me to fly down to Washington D.C. to consult on a case. By the time you read this, you will, of course, already know my schedule, but in light of recent events, I've come to the decision to leave you this letter, and the journal I began keeping several months ago.

I suppose that must seem strange, and after you read this and the journal, you might also decide it was a bit cowardly. I admit, I did formulate the plan largely due to a deficiency of bravery. I have something I want to say to you, something I've wanted to say for months, but for reasons I hope will become clear, I had decided withhold. A decision I now deeply regret because of the pain it might have saved both of us.

For the past three weeks, I have tried to work up my courage, yet no matter how often I decided to talk to you about this, I never actually manage to speak the words. Every time I look into your eyes my courage fails me.

I think this is the only option left to me, because I can only seem to be brave when you're not there to remind me of exactly how much I stand to lose if I speak. I can only be brave when my need for your presence in my life doesn't rise up to muffle my voice.

The journal you'll find enclosed is the one you've seen me writing in in the months since we fought. I began it, as you'll see, a few days after the incident at the reservoir. I do not know what you have planned for the weekend, but I am asking you, as my best, closest and dearest friend, to take the time to read the journal, to hear what I have to say in the only way I can bring myself to say it, and to please, not judge me too harshly for my fear, or for the words you find within those pages.

When I return, you have my word, I will abide by whatever decision you make, but please know that no matter what happens, you will always hold the most special and central place in my heart.

With all my love,

Maura

P. S. Dinner is in the refrigerator. Heat the large dish for twenty minutes on three-fifty. The sauces in the small dish are best served cold. The dish is Greek, and would go best paired it with the Retsina I've left chilling in the refrigerator. If you prefer, there is, of course, Miller 64 in the refrigerator as well.

I looked over at the journal, feeling a little like it was a snake, getting ready to bite me. I had eight years as a detective and thirteen years on the force, and didn't need a single bit of that experience to know that whatever was in that journal was big.

Life changing.

For one selfish moment, I resented Maura for it.

Jesus, how fair is that? She just drops something huge in my lap on her way out of town and says 'Here, deal with this while I'm gone.' Like I don't have enough shit to deal with already. What the fuck?

I threw the letter down on the coffee table and dug the thumb of my right hand into the scar in the palm of my left, trying to sooth the sudden ache I felt there. I stared at the letter as I tried to work out the pain, but I didn't want to read it again. I wanted to pretend it didn't exist, but I couldn't help myself.

I focused on the post script. It wasn't much, but it gave me a way out. Dinner. I'd do dinner first. That would make things easier. Give me time to get up the nerve to face whatever bomb Maura was dropping on me.