I've been working on this story for an absurdly long time. And by working on it, I mean this chapter has been done for a very long time and I simply haven't wanted to post it. This will be a two or three-shot.
Shoulders back, eyes forward. She raises a fist to the door. One, two, three times she goes to knock but she stops herself and eventually she lets her arms hang at her sides. Being here is wrong. She knows it. There is still time to turn around, get in her Prius, drive back to her house and forget that she ever even entertained the idea of standing in this very spot.
But she doesn't.
Because she can't.
So she knocks.
He answers.
"Maura?"
Her throat is dry. "Hello, Casey." She tries to sound cool, even brave. As if dropping by Casey's apartment is entirely normal, as if her insides aren't twisted and her heart isn't in sync with the pounding at her temples. Maybe it works and he doesn't notice how utterly "scared shitless" (as Jane would put it) she is.
"Not that it isn't nice to see you, but," he clears his throat, readjusts his crutch. Almost like he's trying to hide it. Not from Maura, but from himself. "What are you doing here? Did Jane send you? I told her, I'm not reconsidering the surgery, I'm not - "
Maura has to stop herself from laughing. "You know Jane wouldn't send me."
"Maybe I don't know Jane all that well anymore."
"Maybe. May I come in?"
His apartment is messy. She pictures Jane standing amongst it all. Her mess amid his mess. Their mess. A mess they've created. Jane isn't tidy. She never has been. It drives Maura crazy. Maybe Jane needs someone like Casey, someone who isn't afraid to have a mess. Someone who doesn't care.
"Sorry it's such a mess," says Casey from behind her. He must have noticed her staring. His hands are full of a few pieces of laundry that he throws down into a laundry basket sitting in his bedroom doorway. "It's not usually like this."
This makes her feel better.
"Do you love Jane?" It's blunt. Maura knows that. But there is no use for dallying around the conversation or why she came here. There's no need to make polite small chat. She's not sure what that look is on his face - is it confusion? Annoyance? Is he offended?
All three. "I don't really think that's any of your business."
"Jane is my business."
"Why are you here?"
"Because she's hurting." Her voice is shaking. She can feel it. Can he see her arms shaking, too? "Don't you get it, Casey? You're not the only one feeling the brunt of emotional pain. You have strung Jane along for months now and you come back and instead of just being honest with someone that you allegedly care for, you toss her around like a rag doll without any consideration for her feelings, all because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself."
"You have no right."
He's saying things Maura already knows. She knows she has no right to be here, no right to so callously say these things to Casey. Who is she? Who is she other than a coworker?
"She adores you." says Maura quietly. Her throat is on fire. The words burn her tongue. "She cares about you, deeply. And she is willing to stand by your side and you are too proud to let her. Do you realize what you have? Are you that blinded that you don't see what she's offering you?"
"I don't need - "
"Everyone needs someone. You're not immune to human nature, Casey. Nobody is, even when we wish that we were." And Maura knows she has never spoken a greater truth than in that moment. How she wishes that she doesn't need anyone.
How she wishes that she doesn't crave Jane.
"I don't want her pity. I want her."
Maura shakes her head. "She's not pitying you. She never has. You're not her charity case. If you can't see that, you don't see her. You don't deserve her."
There is nothing more to say. She brushes past Casey. His muscles are tight, she can almost hear the hot, angry blood rushing through his veins. He will tell Jane that Maura came. Jane will never understand why Maura had to, and Maura will never be able to explain why.
"She'll never love you the way you want her to." His voice carries out to her as she reaches the door. Maura doesn't turn around; no, she doesn't need to, nor does she want to, so her head tilts to the side just enough that Casey can see half her face. He didn't sound angry. He didn't sound cruel. It was a statement. A fact.
Something Maura has known for a long time.
"She's all yours, Casey."
The door shuts.