A/N: This season has been so gay, I couldn't hold off on writing fic any longer.
It's two in the morning and Jane decides that analyzing a dusty Red Sox game on her DVR is a better way to occupy her time than sleep, despite the heavy metronome throbbing behind her eyes. A pair of empty glass beer bottles keep her feet company on the low coffee table, socks half off and one leg of her grey sweatpants bunched partway up her calf. She's leaned so far down that her body is almost horizontal, only her neck propped up by the back of the couch, when a poised knock at her door disrupts her third rewind of a flawless homerun.
The rap of knuckles is too precise to be her mother, who would rather pummel the door with impatient fists and a shrieked "Janey!," but she plays dumb and miscalculates, anyway.
"Ma, it's the middle of the night. Somebody better be dead," she hollers, dragging her feet across the hardwood floor. The slump in her posture straightens once she's unlatched the locks and sees half of what she expected.
It's Maura, of course. Jane knew that. But she's sporting spandex shorts, a tank top, and running shoes while jogging in place. Her hair is pulled back and a dazzling smile greets Jane like it's sunrise and not the dead of night. The commas in Maura's cheeks are distracting and Jane does pause to breathe, but it has more to do with someone's dimples than punctuation.
"I didn't make a house call," Jane deadpans. "Also, did you know a great man by the name of Henry Ford invented these wonderful things called cars? They're particularly useful for attractive doctors who have a tendency to travel to equally attractive detective's apartments in the middle of the night. Highly effective against getting mugged or assaulted during your journey."
"Actually," Maura chimes in without missing a beat, still jogging in place. "The first modern automobile was invented by Karl Benz in 1886. Henry Ford was simply the founder of the Ford Motor company, as well as a sponsor of the development of the assembly line technique used for mass production. However, if we're considering less refined forms of travel, long before Benz there were -"
Jane interrupts her, fishing her phone out of her baggy pockets and pressing the screen, which displays the time in large digits, against Maura's nose. Her jogging comes to an abrupt halt and her hazel eyes cross in an attempt to read what is presented to her. "It's 2 A.M. and I haven't slept enough for Google Translate to read me an entire Wiki page on the history of automobiles."
Daintily nudging the phone out of her face with a finger, Maura looks mildly insulted. "I'd like to think I'm more reliable than Wikipedia. Anyone with internet access can corrupt that information."
"You're corrupting my downtime with big words and other icky stuff. Don't you know past midnight you shouldn't use more than six syllables in a sentence?"
"Says who?" one eyebrow dips and the other lifts, her lips sloping into a smile.
"Says me. And I am the overlord of this apartment, therefore any and all occupants must obey my rules," Jane declares, raising her outstretched arms as though the heavens are splitting the ceiling and blessing the creaky floor she stands upon.
"Technically I'm outside of your apartment," Maura points to the location of her feet, safely out of the perimeter of the doorway.
"One of my most fundamental rules is that technicalities mean nothing here," Jane bats her eyes innocently, posing her fist underneath her chin. A moment later, she grabs the inside of Maura's elbow and tugs her in past the door, closing and locking it. Her hands itch, but she doesn't relieve them and her scars flare up in her palms. "But seriously, what struck you with the brilliant idea to run a few miles to my apartment in the dark? Has working with BPD not taught you enough about circumstances for murder or do I need to put a leash on you?"
"Jane," Maura says lowly, her eyes hazel and coy. "If you wanted to explore the world of BDSM all you had to do was ask. No need for the subtle set up." This time Maura flutters her eyelashes and Jane's eyes grow.
"That's not what I meant and you know it!" she smacks Maura's shoulder. The vivid horrors of her career were enough, she was not about to actively invite them into her bedroom. She knew she color red better than her own sheets.
"Typically the shoulder isn't a sexual hotspot for erotic violence," Maura lays one hand on the flat of Jane's stomach over her white tank top. "But I can follow your lead."
"Erotic viol- what? There's nothing erotic about hitting you. Was I not just lecturing you about avoiding getting assaulted because you were out at night, by yourself, in a city, wearing this?" Her arms wildly gesture up and down. The itch in her palms sparks again and she rubs her thumbs over the scars."Not that I'm not happy to see you, especially in one piece and almost properly dressed, but what are you doing here?"
Maura shrugs, removing the elastic from her ponytail and shaking her hair out. Weaving her fingers through the dark blonde waves to comb out any tangles, she replies casually, "Couldn't sleep."
"That's odd. According to data I've collected in the past and by the frequency in which you appear at my doorstep well into the night, that would mean you haven't slept for, oh...seven hundred-thousand-billion days."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jane. I'd be dead," Maura corrects her, abandoning her shoes at the entrance and disappearing into the hallway.
"My point exactly!" Jane calls after her, throwing her hands up into the air.
Not entirely inspired to follow her, Jane settles down onto the couch again with arms crossed. The Sox game is paused on a player of her team sliding home, dust kicking up under his cleats like a dirty fog. She's in the process of deciphering the wrinkled number on his jersey when Maura calls from Jane's bedroom.
"Which drawer has your Sox jersey in it?"
"My wha..." Jane clears her throat and raises her voice. "Um, second one from the top if it's not in the hamper, I think. Am I allowed to ask why?"
Maura doesn't answer, but Jane figures she's located it by the satisfied "aha!" and she's further confused by the rustle of clothing. Kicking up her feet on her coffee table again, she's about to abandon trying to decode the situation when Maura unveils herself from the dark hallway. Jane's three-quarter sleeve jersey drowns Maura a bit considering their height difference; the hem ends mid-thigh on her and once Jane realizes that's where all clothing ends on her, she sits up a little straighter.
"Who are you and what did you do with my silk pajama wearing girlfriend?" she asks, eyebrows elevated as Maura makes her way into the living room.
Maura laughs and leans over the back of the couch, tipping Jane's head back to kiss her upside down. She catches Jane's top lip in her teeth before pulling away only enough for the two of them to breathe one another's air, her hands cradling the base of Jane's skull.
"The smell of you on cotton is much better than silk."