Business with Pleasure, Marua Isles/Jane Rizzoli, Rizzoli & Isles
Title: Business with Pleasure
Rating: PG-13 for hookers
Summary: How the night ends
Pairing: Maura/Jane, in a theoretical way
Disclaimer: Rizzoli&Isles, Season 3, Episode 6. Nothing belongs to me.
When Jane gets to the house, Maura is already on the couch. She’d been wrapping up the case, filing the appropriate paperwork and teasing Frost about his incredibly terrible dance moves. It didn’t occur to her that her best friend’s heart had been broken at some point between them solving the case and her signing her name at the bottom of the case file. The text she received twenty minutes before keying into the apartment also didn’t give away much. Chinese, my house. Whenever you get off. It was typical Maura, to the point, but never presumptive or demanding. Jane hadn’t thought anything of it.
She drops the food on the floor next to the sofa and pulls her best friend into a hug. They don’t hug, normally. Or they do, just only each other. It’s just another exception that has worked its way almost imperceptibly into their friendship. Jane doesn’t think about it, much, because if she does, she’s pretty sure it would take up too much of her mind, and she just doesn’t have the patience to figure out what any of it means. She knows that holding Maura when she cries is as natural to her as working a case to death until she’s solved it and proved the murderer guilty. She doesn’t really see the need to think about what that means.
It’s never easy, calming Maura down. She’s a logical human being and emotions tend to frighten and encompass her. Jane finds it funny that Maura always looks so well put together while she’s a fan of sweats and old academy t-shirts. But Jane’s practiced in the art of getting her best friend to smile. It only takes two boxes of tissues, a bit of confusion on her part, and a dose of jest to get Maura smiling again. It’s ten o’clock and they’re curled up next to each other on the couch, Maura’s knee up brushing up against Jane’s as the detective leans over the coffee table to grab their dinner.
“I don’t think I’d make a very good hooker,” Maura says, expertly wielding her chopsticks as she takes another bite of her steamed dumpling. It’s an abrupt change in the conversation, but Jane’s learned to expect those, over the years. Maura’s never been one to dwell on her emotions.
Jane swallows the egg roll she’s bitten off half of and tries not to choke as the chunk forces its way down her throat. She tries not to snort at the statement, fails miserably, and almost chokes again. “No?” she asks, smearing the oil from her lips across the back of her hand, “Why not?”
Maura smiles. It’s never quite a smirk and it’s never quite not a smirk, either. Jane thinks it would be a smirk, on someone else, but Maura just doesn’t have that level of irony. “I don’t think I’d want to be paid to have sex. That would make it more like a job, and less enjoyable.”
Jane chews the second half of her egg roll, thinking for a moment. As she sucks the grease off of her thumb she says, “You like being a medical examiner, and you get paid to do that.”
“I don’t have orgasms when I’m dissecting dead bodies,” Maura counters easily.
Jane shrugs, conspiratorially, “I don’t always have orgasms when I’m having sex.”
Maura laughs, her real laugh, the one that reaches her eyes and makes her lips quirk and her ears flush red. “Still,” she says, after a minute, “I feel as though it would be crossing some sort of boundary. Don’t you think it’s a bit taboo?”
“You don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure?” Jane asks, “Because I’m pretty sure Frost still wants you.”
“That’s disgusting, Jane,” Maura admonishes, “Barry and I are just friends.”
“Don’t remind him of that,” Jane says, trying, and failing, to use her chopsticks. She gives up after a minute and pulls a fork out of the brown paper bag.
Maura chews on her second dumpling, and Jane can tell she’s thinking about something. “But I never said I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure,” the blonde finally says, after swallowing the dumpling and patting her mouth clean with one of the napkins that’s probably just as dirty as the tins the food came in.
There’s a moment, because with them, there are always moments. There’s a moment where Maura’s green eyes meet Jane’s, and Jane could almost swear there’s something more in the words her friend has just laid out between them. There’s a moment where Jane wants to throw all the flirting and the touching and their inability to be away from each other for more than a few hours in her best friend’s face and say, “Here’s the evidence, Doctor, now tell me what it means!” There’s a moment where friendship could be set on fire, and it’s both terrifying and inevitable at the same time.
But then Maura drops her eyes and picks up another dumpling. “I just don’t think I’d enjoy being paid to have sex.” And if her voice is a bit quieter, a bit strained, Jane pretends not to notice.
It takes Jane another moment to bounce back. But she says, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a hooker. I’d have to have you arrested.”
“Oh, God,” Maura says, faking mortification, “I just got over the graffiti summons. Don’t threaten me with jailhouse orange again.”
“You’re right,” Jane answers, “It would clash terribly with your skin.”
And then they’re laughing again, and Jane’s drowning in the sound of her best friend’s giggles, and trying not to think about how beautiful Maura is when she smiles, and definitely trying not to think about Maura mixing business with pleasure.
Rating: PG-13 for hookers
Summary: How the night ends
Pairing: Maura/Jane, in a theoretical way
Disclaimer: Rizzoli&Isles, Season 3, Episode 6. Nothing belongs to me.
When Jane gets to the house, Maura is already on the couch. She’d been wrapping up the case, filing the appropriate paperwork and teasing Frost about his incredibly terrible dance moves. It didn’t occur to her that her best friend’s heart had been broken at some point between them solving the case and her signing her name at the bottom of the case file. The text she received twenty minutes before keying into the apartment also didn’t give away much. Chinese, my house. Whenever you get off. It was typical Maura, to the point, but never presumptive or demanding. Jane hadn’t thought anything of it.
She drops the food on the floor next to the sofa and pulls her best friend into a hug. They don’t hug, normally. Or they do, just only each other. It’s just another exception that has worked its way almost imperceptibly into their friendship. Jane doesn’t think about it, much, because if she does, she’s pretty sure it would take up too much of her mind, and she just doesn’t have the patience to figure out what any of it means. She knows that holding Maura when she cries is as natural to her as working a case to death until she’s solved it and proved the murderer guilty. She doesn’t really see the need to think about what that means.
It’s never easy, calming Maura down. She’s a logical human being and emotions tend to frighten and encompass her. Jane finds it funny that Maura always looks so well put together while she’s a fan of sweats and old academy t-shirts. But Jane’s practiced in the art of getting her best friend to smile. It only takes two boxes of tissues, a bit of confusion on her part, and a dose of jest to get Maura smiling again. It’s ten o’clock and they’re curled up next to each other on the couch, Maura’s knee up brushing up against Jane’s as the detective leans over the coffee table to grab their dinner.
“I don’t think I’d make a very good hooker,” Maura says, expertly wielding her chopsticks as she takes another bite of her steamed dumpling. It’s an abrupt change in the conversation, but Jane’s learned to expect those, over the years. Maura’s never been one to dwell on her emotions.
Jane swallows the egg roll she’s bitten off half of and tries not to choke as the chunk forces its way down her throat. She tries not to snort at the statement, fails miserably, and almost chokes again. “No?” she asks, smearing the oil from her lips across the back of her hand, “Why not?”
Maura smiles. It’s never quite a smirk and it’s never quite not a smirk, either. Jane thinks it would be a smirk, on someone else, but Maura just doesn’t have that level of irony. “I don’t think I’d want to be paid to have sex. That would make it more like a job, and less enjoyable.”
Jane chews the second half of her egg roll, thinking for a moment. As she sucks the grease off of her thumb she says, “You like being a medical examiner, and you get paid to do that.”
“I don’t have orgasms when I’m dissecting dead bodies,” Maura counters easily.
Jane shrugs, conspiratorially, “I don’t always have orgasms when I’m having sex.”
Maura laughs, her real laugh, the one that reaches her eyes and makes her lips quirk and her ears flush red. “Still,” she says, after a minute, “I feel as though it would be crossing some sort of boundary. Don’t you think it’s a bit taboo?”
“You don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure?” Jane asks, “Because I’m pretty sure Frost still wants you.”
“That’s disgusting, Jane,” Maura admonishes, “Barry and I are just friends.”
“Don’t remind him of that,” Jane says, trying, and failing, to use her chopsticks. She gives up after a minute and pulls a fork out of the brown paper bag.
Maura chews on her second dumpling, and Jane can tell she’s thinking about something. “But I never said I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure,” the blonde finally says, after swallowing the dumpling and patting her mouth clean with one of the napkins that’s probably just as dirty as the tins the food came in.
There’s a moment, because with them, there are always moments. There’s a moment where Maura’s green eyes meet Jane’s, and Jane could almost swear there’s something more in the words her friend has just laid out between them. There’s a moment where Jane wants to throw all the flirting and the touching and their inability to be away from each other for more than a few hours in her best friend’s face and say, “Here’s the evidence, Doctor, now tell me what it means!” There’s a moment where friendship could be set on fire, and it’s both terrifying and inevitable at the same time.
But then Maura drops her eyes and picks up another dumpling. “I just don’t think I’d enjoy being paid to have sex.” And if her voice is a bit quieter, a bit strained, Jane pretends not to notice.
It takes Jane another moment to bounce back. But she says, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a hooker. I’d have to have you arrested.”
“Oh, God,” Maura says, faking mortification, “I just got over the graffiti summons. Don’t threaten me with jailhouse orange again.”
“You’re right,” Jane answers, “It would clash terribly with your skin.”
And then they’re laughing again, and Jane’s drowning in the sound of her best friend’s giggles, and trying not to think about how beautiful Maura is when she smiles, and definitely trying not to think about Maura mixing business with pleasure.