A/N: So I accidentally started writing this story. It is going to be about three chapters, so just a brief little multi-chapter fic. I am still writing Break My Fall. I have half of the next chapter written. I just needed to write something a little bit less heavy, and I was dying to try something from Jane's POV.

Jane and Maura are both about 22 in this story. I think the rest of it really ends up being self-explanatory. I hope you enjoy! :)

The best part about living alone is blasting Van Halen at three in the morning and dancing wildly in my underwear. It's just one of the many perks of finally having my own place, along with not having to share a bathroom with my gross brothers, leaving my socks wherever I goddamn please, and freedom from my mother's tyranny.

Well, number three is debatable. She's already been here four times this week, bearing trays of lasagna and the likes, and it's only my first week in my new apartment. That is why, when I hear the familiar shrill of the doorbell, I'm tempted to barricade myself under my bed.

I am less than pleased to take the bag of Oreos off my stomach, leaving my supine position as I roll off the couch. My bare feet stick to the floor as I trudge toward the door. One of my greatest talents is my superb eye rolling skills. I do so now, even though there is no one to witness my masterpiece. "Jesus, Ma, can't a girl have – Maura!"

She stands in the doorway, her cheeks a little flushed. "Surprise!"

"Maura," I say again, this time with the proper affection. She nuzzles herself into my arms. I let out a tiny little sigh as I rest my nose in her hair. "I didn't think your spring break was until next week."

"It's not. My mother's having a dinner party tonight. I figured I'd leave a bit early and pay a visit to your new place." I'm not sure what the length of a proper hug is, but I'm pretty sure we push the limits every time.

I never know how to tell her just how much I've missed her without being sappy, so I just hug her for a bit longer. She finally pulls away, finding my face. "You know, this is the shirt you were wearing when we first met." She wiggles her finger into a hole by my stomach, and my insides turn sloshy as she touches my skin.

I'm embarrassed that I still own my Martinez jersey. In fact, it looks more like a dust rag than a shirt anymore.

"I should probably get rid of it."

"You've been saying that for about ten years now. That statement hardly has any credibility. Besides, it finally fits you."

I met Maura completely by accident.

When I was little, I was always begging Pops to take me along when he had a plumbing job, because when you're five, anything your dad does it the coolest. I got my wish quite unexpectedly, when Ma had a doctor's appointment on account of being pregnant with what would eventually be my brother, Frankie, and my babysitter had called her last minute, sick as a dog.

"You got enough stuff in your bag to keep quiet while I work?" Pops asked me as we pulled into the driveway of the biggest house I'd ever seen.

"But, Pops, I want to help. I can plunge real good. 'Member last week, when I plunged that big old sock?" I looked up at him earnestly. (I still claimed innocence on how that sock had gotten into the toilet in the first place.)

He grumbled something, too quiet for me to hear, but the house now consumed my attention as we went up the way. It had too many windows to count and a balcony supported by four large pillars. It was fancy enough to be a castle.

"Jane!" Pops called to me, as my feet had become planted to the driveway in awe.

I padded up behind him quickly, my filthy jelly sandals slapping against the pavement. I held my large Red Sox cap against my head so it wouldn't flop off.

"You wait out here while I fix this sink, you hear me?" Pops patted the carpet right by the bathroom door.

"But Pops…"

"No buts. I know you want to help, Janie, but this job isn't for little girls."

I glowered, sinking to the floor in a heap of frustration. I dug through my bag that my mother had packed for me. My grimace softened a bit when I pulled out The Trumpet of the Swan. I'd made Ma read through it twice to me in just the past few months, chapter upon chapter each night before bed. I couldn't really read many of the words yet, but I still paged through the story, retelling it to myself.

"What are you reading?"

I looked up. Standing in front of me was a tiny little girl, probably just my age. She had sandy blonde curls tied back into a barrette with a big white bow fastened to it. Her dress was much too nice to be just for everyday wear, and her sandals were embroidered with delicate daisies. She was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I wanted to tell her so, but my tongue stuck to my throat.

"What are you all dressed up for?" said my mouth when my words finally decided to work.

She frowned a little. "These are my play clothes."

I didn't really understand. I wore the same clothes for just about everything, with the exception of church.

"I like your dress," she told me, her voice thoughtful, when I didn't speak.

I stood up, a little indignant. "This is not a dress, you hear?" I pulled my jersey up from my knees to my belly button, revealing a pair of cut off shorts. "This is a Pedro Martinez Jersey. He's the best, you know."

"The best what?" She looked at me innocently.

"The best baseball player. Maybe ever. I saw him play in real life at Fenway Park. Don't you know anything?" I was a bit exasperated.

"I know a lot of things," she told me softly. "Right now, I am reading a book about the Periodic Table of Elements."

It was my turn to stare blankly. I deflected, "Do you live here?"

"Yes."

"Do you got a lot of brothers and sisters?"

"No, it's just me," she answered.

"You mean that this big place is just for you?!"

"Well, my mother and my father live here, too," she explained, kindly. She was far more patient than most children my age. "Do you want to come see my room?"

I peeked into the bathroom. Pops was elbow deep under the sink. "Okay."

She led me down the hallway, pushing open the door to an enormous room, covered in a soft white carpet. I looked down at my feet, fully aware of my filth for the first time.

"Come on in," she called eagerly, hopping up onto the canopied queen sized bed in the center of her room. I felt a momentarily shy as I climbed up behind her.

"Is that your favorite book?"

I realized I was still clinging to my tattered copy of The Trumpet of the Swan. "Yes. And I can read it, you know." The words slipped out faster than I could reign in. Perhaps I felt the need to upstage her, after her comment about reading that book with those fancy words. "I'll show you."

Perhaps I was merely trying to impress her.

I picked up the book, slowly paging back to the beginning. She looked at me, her eyes wide and eager. I cleared my throat, looking at all the printed symbols swimming across the page. "Sam was walking back from the woods to find his father," I said a bit haltingly. "He had just seen a trumpeter swan's nest with the mother sitting on top of the eggs, and she was about to lay another one."

I continued on like this through the first two chapters of the book, using the sporadic pictures and my keen memory of the story for clues, my voice becoming more and more confident as I fabricated my version of the story. I know now that she must have known immediately that I was not reading, but she never said a word, never once tried to correct me. She listened intently without interrupting once, as if she were hanging onto my every word.

"Jane! There you are!" Pops pushed open the door to the little girl's room. "Now come on and get out of there."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, scrambling from the bed.

"Wait, you needn't hurry out." A woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a pair of old jeans and a painter's smock, but her eyes were intense and commanding. "Perhaps we should arrange a play date for the girls? They certainly seem to have enjoyed their time together."

"Ma'am, you don't need to do that," Pops scratched the back of his head. I tugged at his belt loop. He swatted my hand away. "We'll get outta your hair. Thanks for helping me find my kid."

"No, no, I insist. Maura goes to private school, and many of her classmates live too far away to make for easy friendships. I wouldn't like to push away this opportunity for interaction with same age peers," the woman explained to him.

He shrugged. "Alright, here's our number," Pops scribbled it down at the bottom of her receipt. "I got another job out this way on Friday – I can drop her off then?"

"That would be most lovely," the woman smiled. I caught Maura's eyes and I felt something I had never felt before.

I still feel that same way when I look at her. I must've looked at her millions of times over the years, catching a thousand phases of her smile. I'm looking at her like that right now, as she continues to twist her finger inside the hole of my shirt.

We never talk about these things.

"So how about a grand tour of the place?" She pulls away, leaving my bones a little achy. I'm not a touchy person, not really, but with Maura I can never seem to get enough.

"Well, uh," I gesture to the disaster zone around me - stacked boxes, piles of unfolded clothes, more snack wrappers than I remember eating. "This is really it. Sorry it's a shit hole. I wasn't expecting anyone."

She steps up beside the bed, holding up my holster and badge. "Impressive, Officer."

I hook my thumbs into my belt loops, biting back a grin. "Thanks. I like it – working at the station. And one step closer to becoming a detective, you know."

She hops up onto my bed, curling herself amongst the unmade sheets without a second thought. As I join her, I realize just how lonely I've been.

"Stay," I beg her. I scoot closer. Our legs brush.

"Come to dinner at my mother's. You know she adores you."

I can't fathom what Constance Isles sees in me – I'm practically a nobody, a natural born klutz, and not nearly cultured to her standards. I suppose I can be glad that she's so open-minded, but I always feel like I'm walking on eggshells. One day she'll be sure to look at me and say, what in the hell was I even thinking?

"I'm hardly dressed for the occasion." I find another hole in the armpit of my jersey. "I gotta finish unpacking this dump anyway. But you're coming here the minute you're on spring break, right?"

"Promise." She presses a kiss to my cheek before rising from the bed. It's brief. It's unintentional.

I lie achingly still until my stomach settles.