Set after "We Don't Need Another Hero." Maura didn't plan to get involved with the trauma surgeon, but does she have regrets about the way it ended? Just a fun between shows musing. Reviews are love.
She never meant to get involved with Byron. It wasn't a conscious choice, at least not one that she could pinpoint at any one certain time.
Certainly, it hadn't been post-surgery. He had exited the O.R., thankfully sans the gloves and gown, which had, no doubt, been soiled during surgery. Maura had nearly fallen asleep on the most uncomfortable couch, adrenalin long-since faded. Only Angela's restlessness had kept her awake, rousing her each time Jane's mother began to pace or tried to re-settle.
Frankie's doctor had come through a while ago, assuring them that things looked good and that Maura's intervention had certainly saved Frankie's life. It had been a relief, but only partial relief. For one, Maura hated to think of herself like that. Usually she dealt with the shell of what life left behind. It had been terrifying to feel so personally responsible for keeping a life in tact. She had second-guessed herself time and again while waiting. And then she had been the interpreter, translating blood pressure readings and a whole host of medical terms.
And then Byron had stepped in, calmly given answers in what Jane would call normal English, and had then pulled her aside for the lengthy doctor-to-doctor discussion and then a peek into the recovery room. That first night he had offered her a bed in the on-call room. She had taken him up on it.
Her third night at the hospital, he had offered a cup of coffee and let her perform an ultrasound on Jane to peek into the recovery process. He hadn't pressed for anything more until Jane had woken—briefly she had come out of the medical induced coma, unable to talk with the tube down her throat, but conscious—and that night he had given her time to peruse Jane's chart before offering her a ride home.
On the way home, he had pressed her to stop and eat something, which had led to the compromise to pick up some take out and return to her place. Byron had stayed the night, and if Maura was being honest, it had been more stress relief than anything. Later she had spent at least half an hour feeling guilty as he fell asleep and she got up to feed Bass.
Sitting on her kitchen floor in a silk robe as she fed British strawberries to her favorite pet, she had finally allowed herself to cry. By the time she had stopped, the cool from the tile had seeped into her, the hardness of the floor making her leg ache. She finally pushed herself up, washed her face and crawled into the warmth Byron offered. He hadn't budged, and she felt no need to cuddle. Just having someone present was enough.
As Jane's recovery progressed and complicated, so did her relationship with Byron. She found him to be an insufferable know-it-all, often irking her as he stood there, listening to her recommendations to Jane or the Rizzolis and promptly "corrected" them. It confused Frank, Sr. Maura could tell it was starting to irritate Angela. Jane was merely frustrated by the doctor altogether. It got to the point where Jane and Byron couldn't be in the same room together.
It had been a relief when Jane had finally graduated to recovery with a physical therapist and at-home care. And that had complicated things further. Of course she was going to stay with Jane, although that meant spending little time with Byron. Maura could never decide if it had been freeing that Byron hadn't seemed to care, or if she had been hurt.
Jane once said that sometimes Maura didn't know when things hurt her. Maybe it was because it was so similar to her childhood—periods away, and she simply had been so involved in the away that she hadn't had much time to miss Byron? He had asked her, once, if it bothered her. He asked in a way that made her think, perhaps, it bothered him.
When it all came down to it, Byron had wanted someone with whom he could feel superior. The comments had been subtle at first, but the merely a pathologist, in her own kitchen, no less! Her conclusion had been clear: Dr. Slucky had outworn his welcome. Although, now that she considered it, perhaps her implementation of said conclusion was a bit… rash. It had, she had to admit, felt good.
"Wait," Jane did a double take, fork pausing as she worked through the marsala. "You hit him where with your briefcase?"
The medical examiner gave a sly smile. "You heard me perfectly the first time. He got a briefcase to his briefs. I'm not sorry, either." With a sigh, Maura took a sip of wine. "There has to be nice one out there."
Jane shrugged. "You always say 'yes' to the wrong ones."
Maura gestured with her glass. "And you say 'no' to the right ones." For a moment she wondered if this was one of those moments where she had gone too far—spoken without really stopping to think about how it sounded.
But Jane merely nodded and took another forkful of food. "We're a pair, aren't we."