"The accentuated periorbital darkness underneath your eyes indicates difficulty entering the REM cycle," Maura mutters, glancing toward Jane lying listlessly on her couch, her legs swung over the arm rest at the end.
Maura sits on a stool by the counter, tapping her fingers gently against the granite top.
"English, please," Jane mutters, irritated, but her words aren't as biting as usual. She's tired.
They're both tired.
Maura opens her mouth to state that she has not spoken in a different language, but she promptly closes her mouth, instead letting out a heavy sigh. "You haven't been sleeping," the tone of her voice dropping on the last word, unable to hide her own emotions.
"Yeah, well..." Jane mumbles, trailing off, not bothering to say anything further. Because Jane did kill Maura's "father" after all. It's becoming harder and harder for Maura to know when the use of air quotes is appropriate when referring to her parents, just as it has become difficult for her to analyze the onslaught of unfamiliar emotions that Patrick Doyle's death has brought upon her.
At first, she couldn't speak to Jane, couldn't even look her in the eye. Because all reason disintegrates when emotion takes over, and its hard not to find someone to blame.
But Jane was merely doing her job, and Maura knows that she cannot look upon that with scorn. How many victims has Maura watched Jane shoot, not even battering an eyelash as her best friend takes the life from another with one fatal blow of a gun? To Maura, death is just like all the other facts and figures she knows about the world around her.
But watching Patrick Doyle die-watching her father die. She wonders when the pain will stop.
"How's Agent Dean?" Maura mutters suddenly, examining her fingernails intently because she does not expect the sudden influx of emotion at the mere mention of his name.
"Fine, he's doing fine," Jane answers a bit gruffly. "Bruising is already fading," she adds. Dean's bullet proof vest was the only thing that saved him from a serious injury. "He's in DC for the week on business that I'm too low on the totem pole to know about."
"I mean," Maura pauses for a moment, finding Jane's tired eyes once again, "how is Gabriel?"
"Oh," Jane mutters, beginning to pick a stray thread poking out from the couch cushion. "He's good-we're good. You know, haven't had a lot of time to focus on us recently. Miss him, though, I guess," she says a bit gruffly, and Maura can tell she's sifting through a mess of emotions herself.
Maura nods slowly, not sure how she was expecting her to answer, and not quite sure if there was a certain way she was hoping for her to respond. Silence engulfs the next few minutes before Maura stands from the stool, walking over to the fridge. "Want to give Bass his lunch?" Maura asks Jane as she pulls a tray of neatly shredded lettuce and strawberry tops from the top shelf.
"What gives you the impression that I'd be interested in feeding your turtle?" Jane huffs, a bit irritably, but she's already beginning to inch off the couch.
"Tortoise," Maura automatically corrects. "And don't be so hostile. You know he likes you."
"And how in God's name can you tell that?" Jane mutters in an annoyed manner as she takes the plate from Maura.
"He's never very social when I entertain most visitors, but he's always out of his shell when you're around, no pun intended," she laughs a little at her own joke, but Jane merely rolls her eyes.
Maura's glad to have a little bit of their familiarity back.
Jane places the plate carefully down on the floor for the giant tortoise, and as he ambles slowly toward the dish, Maura leans back against the kitchen wall, continuing to watch him. "Sometimes," she says softly, "I just like to sit here and watch him eat." She begins to slide her back down the wall, looking at Jane to join her.
"You're so weird, you know that, right?" Jane smirks a little a Maura, but she soon joins Maura as she plants herself on the floor.
"There's something just so methodical about it. Comforting, in a way," she adds as Bass begins to chew thoroughly on a lettuce leaf. It's familiar; it's safe, watching Bass slowly consume his meal. It's the same routine, day after day, year after year. Bass, with his solid shell and ever loyal demeanor, has become Maura's rock, and she takes solace in that fact as everything else seems to be shifting so rapidly around her.
"You know, Maur, this is kind of relaxing," Jane admits with a chuckle, her head falling gently against Maura's shoulder.
Maura smiles as well, reaching for Jane's hand, and for a moment, she believes that everything might just turn out right.