TV installation complete, everyone clears out of the living room, leaving Maura and Jane in semi-privacy. Maura eyes Jane's hand, but refrains from pointing out the sexual tension implied by her hair-twirling.

Jane hears Maura's tacit analysis anyway, lets go of her hair, and rests her arm in the pillows. Her hand falls to Maura's back naturally, eliciting the tiniest smile at the corners of Maura's lips.

Jane smiles slyly when she breaks the silence, "I love that shirt." Maura looks down, confused—it's nothing special, no great example of couture.

"It reminds me of me," Jane explains, sitting up and leaning in slightly. Her voice becomes deeper, and hushed, needing only to travel the few inches from Jane's lips to Maura's ear. "Straining to keep you to itself, but doing a terrible job of it."