A/N: For the guest reviewer who gave me some prompts in their review for 'Drown.' I wanted to try out Jane's POV, so here you go. Rated T for a tiny bit of language. Just some fun, I guess. More of a playful writing exercise than anything.

.

"And you said yes?"

"I... I did. Why? Do you think I should have turned him down?"

"What? Um... No, no. It's great. You should definitely go... with him... Yeah..."

"Okay, Jane."

You sit on your best friend's couch with a beer in hand and a crime procedural flickering across the screen. You've never seen this episode, but you already know the manager of the record store killed the girl. You are, after all, a detective.

Irritated by the confusion of the on-screen cops, you mute the TV and pick a character to glare at.

Why did you tell her to go?

Maura, of course. She's out with some random guy, who may or may not be a psycho killer, and you're here contributing to her power bill. You don't want to admit it, but you're worried. You've never met the man she's out with, and by now you've learned that Maura isn't the best judge of character when it comes to men.

Oh, but the way she talked about this one. That's what really got you. Everything was Jack this and Jack that. You're happy she's happy, you just wish Jack had nothing to do with it. You take another pull from your beer and try to think of what they could possibly be doing.

He could have taken her to a club, and you smile at the thought. Maura doesn't like clubs much. And judging by the outfit she left in, she would not approve of the unpredictability of a nightclub. Or maybe he took her to an art show. Or... Or a silent film!

Your grip tightens on the bottle in your hand. She loves silent films! You took her to one just last week. She absolutely loved it, wouldn't shut up about it until three days after.

Imagine if they're at one!

It wouldn't matter who the man was if he took her to a silent film... She's probably in love right now. In love with his choice of date venues.

You don't want to think about that at all.

Calm down. It's just a first date. She's not in love with him!

You relax back into the couch, deciding that you have nothing to worry about. Maura can handle herself.

But what if she can't?

What if he tries to pull something?

Maura's never been too good with people. What if he wants to try something she's not completely comfortable with, but she doesn't know how to say no? You slam the bottle down on the coffee table, but then sigh and place it on a coaster. Leaving the couch, you get to your feet and try your best not to pace. You are not your mother. You shouldn't be worrying so much. Like you, your friend is an adult. She's free to make her own decisions and mistakes.

Unless you can stop them!

No.

It's none of your business anyway. Maura's love life really isn't any concern of yours, so why does it feel like it is? Why do you wish she was here making fun on the inaccuracies of the TV show playing before you? Why do you miss her so much?

You glance at the clock and groan. It's ten thirty. She's been gone for two hours, it's probably going wonderfully. She's probably planning out their next five dates in that big brain of hers.

Either that or she's getting murdered.

And you're still here!

The sound of your phone buzzing on the coffee table barely registers in your mind as you stand there, contemplating asking Frost to track her phone.

Okay, now that's worse than your mother.

You pick up your phone, panicking a little when you see Maura's name on the readout. She's on a date. Why on earth is she calling you?

"Maur?"

"Um, yes... Jane." Her voice is small and so quiet you're not ever sure if you heard anything.

"Maura? Are you okay?"

There's a long pause on the other end of the line, "Jane, can you come get me?"

"What happened? I mean, yeah I'll pick you up, but are you alright? Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she says firmly, so much so, it catches you off-guard.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Where are you?"

She gives you the address and you're out the door pulling out of her drive before she even finishes. You've always driven fast, but tonight it's another thing entirely. You're just waiting for some rookie patrol cop to pull you over.

Yeah, that'd go over well.

For them.

You see her waiting under an awning. It's not raining or anything, she's just standing there, scanning the cars on the street for you. You park next to the curb and get out, waving her over. As she approaches, you circle around the car to open the door for her, but she doesn't wait for you. She opens the door and basically throws herself inside and slams it behind her.

O-kay. So it didn't go well.

For some reason, that makes you strangely happy.

Back behind the wheel, you glance over at your friend. She's staring out the window practically begging you to ask about what happened. You decide to play her game, partly because you want her to have someone to talk to, but mostly because you want to hear about how badly this Jack guy screwed up.

"How'd it go?"

She lets out a humorless laugh, "How'd it go? It was great. We went to dinner at my third favorite French restaurant, we shared dessert, then we went for a walk."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad."

"I know, that was the good part. Then he suggested we go dancing, and I thought to myself, 'Wow, what a great guy, Maura! Maybe you've found one that doesn't want to fucking kill you.'"

You flinch at her swear, and you wonder what the hell happened to piss her off so badly. It actually amazes you that some guy could screw up royally enough to make the ever-composed Maura Isles curse.

"What happened? Did he try to kill you?"

"No, worse," she huffs, gripping the center console. You feel her eyes burning into the side of your face. Eyes you didn't even know could hold so much fire. You've never been more attracted to your best friend.

Where did that come from?

"Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I gonna have to guess... And I know how much you like it when I guess."

She sighs again and starts to smooth imaginary wrinkles from her purple dress. She looks amazing, and you find that you want to tell her that.

"So we went dancing, and it was fun. There was this great band, and all these nice people," she shakes her head at the recent memory.

"But..."

"But just when things were getting really fun, he smiles at me and says, 'It's great that you're not embarrassed because of your dancing. It's actually refreshing to see a woman who doesn't care that her dancing's not that great.'" The voice she chooses to imitate him is as low as her vocal cords will allow her to go, and you try your hardest not to laugh. She's completely serious, so you should be too.

"That's it?"

She spins back to face you again, her jaw dropped, "That's it? That's it? Jane, were you listening to a word I just said? He basically told me I'm a terrible dancer."

A laugh escapes you, and you immediately regret it.

"Do you think I'm a terrible dancer?"

You swallow, knowing you're on thin ice. "Um, I wouldn't say terrible..."

"Then what would you say?"

"You look like... like you have fun."

You make the mistake of glancing over at her, and once her livid hazel-green eyes lock on yours, you know you're done for.

"Fun? I took classical ballet and ballroom dancing classes from the day I turned three until the day summer after I graduated from BCU, Jane Rizzoli. I am a good dancer."

"Hey, I never said you weren't."

"Then let's try this: What did you say?"

"I'm just saying that... that you're kinda goofy sometimes. Please don't hit me with your purse."

She lowers her purse back down into her lap and groans. You've never seen her so worked up, and you swear to god she's the most adorable thing you've ever seen in your life.

"Goofy," she repeats, slightly calmer than she was five seconds ago.

"That's not really a bad thing."

"It's embarrassing, Jane."

"Nah. You were just dancing with the wrong people."

She nods, then leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. You take this time to sneak glances at her. She really went all out getting ready for this date. You watched her try on about seventeen dresses before she chose the pretty purple one she's got on now, and you think it might be your new favorite. You've always loved that tight blue one you've seen her wear on just a handful of occasions, but this one... You really like this one. It must be new because you swear you've never seen it before. You think you would have remembered seeing a dress hug her body the way this one was doing so wonderfully. If only she wasn't wearing it for him.

Why are you thinking about that?

She's your friend...

"I'm sorry about your date."

"There are plenty of other people out there I can go on dates with, Jane."

"So... there won't be a second date?"

She shakes her head, "No, that was mortifying!"

"C'mon, it wasn't that bad."

Why are you defending this?

You don't want your friend to go out with Jack, but it sure sounds like you're encouraging a second date.

She simply smiles at you, "You know, Jane, I thought you of all people would have realized by now that he's not my type."

"You're welcome to stay over," she says when you pull into her drive.

Something tells you she's not done venting about this flop of a date. You unbuckle and circle around the car. This time, she lets you open it for her.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I was angry, I didn't mean to curse."

You chuckle, "Don't worry about it. It was... cute."

The hell...?

Where is this garbage coming from?

"Cute, huh?" she says, unlocking the door you somehow remembered to lock in your haste to go save her earlier.

"Um... Yeah, I mean, y-"

"Cute," she says again, and you wonder if she even knows you're right beside her. "He said that too. He called my dancing 'cute' and 'quirky.'"

"That's not bad, right?"

"Jane, I'm a grown woman. You're cute and quirky when you're ten. I don't want to dance like a ten-year-old."

"You don't."

"Apparently, I do." She takes your keys and drops them into the ceramic bowl in the entryway and leans against the wall to rid herself of those towering heels. In them, she was nearly as tall as you, but now she stands flat-footed, the top her head just above your shoulders.

"You don't have to be the best at everything, Maur."

"I know," she says, looking disappointed with herself, "but I grew up dancing, and nobody but you ever told me to my face that I look goofy."

"In a good way," you try.

Her face lights up, "Hey, you know how to dance, right?"

"Um... No... Who told you that?"

"Your mother, of course."

Jesus, that woman.

"Teach me."

You blink, stunned by her request. Yes, you know how to dance. You had to find some way to entertain yourself at the parade of weddings you've attended over the past five years. You have more cousins that you can keep track of and it seems that every other month you're flying off to celebrate yet another wedding. You can only take so many nosy aunts wondering when it's going to be you at the altar.

"Teach you?"

"Yes, teach me. I don't want to look goofy. Teach me, please."

You're standing in the middle of the entryway in your BPD t-shirt and a pair of sweats you know for a fact you haven't washed in over a week, but it doesn't look like she cares.

"Um, there's no music."

"Please, Jane?"

She's doing the thing!

That little thing with her eyes that's almost like she's silently pleading you. You have to look away. It's too much. She's too much.

"Never mind. Forget I asked," she says, rounding the corner into the living room.

"Wait, Maur!" Your words tumble out before you can stop them. "Fine, I'll show you."

She clasps her hands together and gives a slight wiggle of her shoulders, "Yes! Thank you."

Now why did you have to go and say that?

She puts on something slow and wordless. Just an instrumental, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think it was a little on the romantic side. But you do know better. She just wants to learn to dance, nothing more. Just dancing. Just dancing.

Maura smiles at you, a different smile. Less Googlemouth, more... something. You just don't know what. Maybe she's just happy you're helping her out.

She puts her hand on your shoulder and waits patiently for you to put your hand on her back. You've touched her before, so you don't understand why you're so hesitant now. She's your friend. She's not going to care if you touch her.

You place your hand high on her waist, earning a chuckle from the blond, "I know you're supposed to be the one teaching me, but you can put your hand a little lower."

"Nah, I think it's good there."

"Well, I don't like it there," she counters, and you slide your hand a little lower. "Much better."

Your free hands meet, fingers interlaced. You haven't done much of anything like this before, and there's a little part of you that wants to push away and retreat back into your comfort zone. Another part of you wants to teach her to dance, yet another wants to just stand here like this: close and...

And what? She's your best friend!

You just need to accept it. You're attracted to her. Maybe you have been since the day you met officially for the first time. Being this close to her makes your heart race, and you hope to god she's not checking your pulse like she's been known to in the past.

She takes the first step, breaking you from your thoughts.

"Woah, I thought I was leading."

"What if I want to lead?"

You shake your head, "No, I'm the leader. I've got my hand on your back for christ's sake."

"So?"

"So that means I'm person A and you're person B. Person A leads."

She shakes her hand free of yours, and drops both her hands to your waist, "Oh yeah? Now what person are you?"

"Um... I..."

"I want to lead," she whispers.

You shake your head again, still trying to process the fact that her hands just slid down your body like it was the most natural thing she's done all day.

"I'm leading," you manage to get out.

"Why do you get to?" she asks, taking another step towards you.

"B-because I'm person A."

"That's not a good enough reason," she tilts her head back to look you in the eye, and all the air leaves your body as you take in her flickering irises and full lips. Something like gravity threatens to pull you in closer.

It's a good eight seconds before you can answer. "Because I was born first..." It comes out like a question, and it seems to amuse her.

"Alright then. Lead me, Jane." She returns her hands to their original places, much to your dismay. You'd rather spend all night arguing about who's going to lead, just so long as she kept inching closer just like she was before.

She knows what to do. She follows your lead perfectly, even correcting you slightly with her body rather than her words. You wonder why on earth that Jack guy thought she was anything less than perfect. You've seen her dance before around friends, and yes, she looked like the little nerd you know she is, but right now? Right now she could probably convince a priest to break their vows with those eyes.

What is it? You've seen many sides of the woman in front of you. You've seen her livid, depressed, joyful, embarrassed, oblivious, but not this. What is this? Your only question is: Are those eyes for you?

Who else could they be for?

But why on earth would she be looking at you with such... desire?

A chill runs down your spine as the word flashes through your mind. Surely she's just a little too into the dancing, the graceful steps you're taking in perfect synchronization. It has nothing to do with you. Right? Maura likes men. You've never even seen her look at another woman like... like the way she's looking at you now. Maybe she doesn't even realize what look she's giving you.

It's nothing.

Still, you'd give anything to know what's going on in that big brain of hers.

The track comes to an end, and you go to release her, but she holds fast. You shoot her your best look of confusion, but your heart's not in it. Yes, you're confused, but you'd rather just stay the way you are: touching.

"M-" you start, but she seems to have an idea at the same time.

"Jane?"

"Wuh-yeah?"

"Why did you tell me to go on that date with Jack?"

This time, the confused look you shoot her is completely genuine, "You already said yes to him."

"I know, but if you would have said no, I wouldn't have gone. I blame this on you, Jane Clementine Rizzoli," she says, punctuating herself by poking your stomach.

"I thought you liked him. You talked about him all week."

"Yes, I know. But..." she trails off and traps her bottom lip beneath her teeth.

"But what?"

"I don't know... After seeing him on campus a little, I noticed that he talked to just about everyone the way he talked to me. I didn't feel so special anymore."

"No, Maur, you're special. Way too special for him."

What are you even saying?

"I was actually hoping," she says, moving in closer again, "that you would tell me not to go."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

"Oh," she says suddenly, "I thought that you... Well... Never mind then. Um, good night, Jane..." she says, then starts to walk off before you've even realized what the hell's going on.

Coming to your senses, you chase after her and catch her wrist, "Hey."

She turns and looks anywhere but at your face, "Um, hi."

"You mind telling me what that was back there?"

"What what was?"

You motion wildly around you, "All that. You know, the dancing, the eyes, the I-was-hoping-you'd-tell-me-not-to-go. All of that!"

"I... I... I thought that maybe... Never mind. Jane, I just want to go to bed."

"Don't never mind me, what's going on?"

"Obviously, I was completely wrong, Jane. Can't we leave it at that?"

"What were you wrong about?"

She sighs and meets your eyes, "Um, well I thought that maybe there was a small, small, small chance that maybe, hypothetically, or maybe even truly... or hypothetically, though truly would be nic-"

"Maura, some of us don't speak ramble."

"Ithoughtthatmaybeyouwantedme! There I said it!"

"I didn't understand a single word that just came out of your face."

She shakes her head as if she can't believe she's going to say what she's about to say, "I thought you wanted me. But I wrong. So wrong." She pulls her hand from yours and turns to retreat back to her bedroom.

She wants you?

She... wants you?

How is that possible?

"You're not wrong," you hear yourself calling after her. You wonder when you lost the connection between your brain and your mouth, or at the very least, your filter. If you had control of your mouth, you'd let your silence ruin everything.

She turns slowly, "What?"

"You're not wrong," you say quietly, now magically in charge of your mouth again. "I do want you."

Her face lights up, "Really?"

"Um, yes. Definitely, yes."

She gives you a look of wonder, but it melts away as quickly as it appeared. In its place is Maura. The Maura you've known for as long as you want to remember. The Maura who's always been there, working in the lab, attempting to play with her turtle... tortoise, or doing some kind of repeated downward dog-child pose in her yoga room.

Your Maura.

You advance towards her with more purpose than you've had for anything in a long time. It's not just you. You're not going crazy. Your beautiful best friend loves you too, only now you know just what fuels it.

Your hands find her waist in the dark hallway, and hers your shoulders, then slowly, the back of your neck. You lean in, but she shakes her head.

"I want to lead," she whispers again.

"Not a chance, goofy," you say, leaning in and finally pressing your lips to hers firmly, but all the same, wonderful. It feels like just how kissing your best friend ought to feel. Massively awkward, but you want to do it again and again... and again.

She breaks away from you, "Wait, I'm not really that goofy, am I?"

Oh but she is.

"Well," you say, resting your forehead against hers, "you kinda are."

"Don't be mean."

"I'm not. I love the way you dance."

"Why? Because it's cute?"

"No, because you have fun. Whatever Jack or anybody else thinks doesn't really matter much."

She drops her eyes for a moment as if taking your words to heart."Thank you, Jane. Really."

"Feel better now?"

She shakes her head, "No, I seem to have forgotten what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"This," she says, stretching up on her toes to meet your lips once more. You pull her tightly to your body as her soft lips claim yours. Nothing feels like reality. It's all so surreal and too good to be true, but here you are. Here you both are.

Her fingers anchor into your hair, and you feel yourself getting lost in her. You're just two women kissing in a dark hallway in sweatpants and couture. But it couldn't be more right.

Yeah, you could definitely get used to this.