"I'm going to ask her."
Maura isn't listening. She can't see anything but the glittering platinum band, a princess-cut solitaire how original, between Casey's calloused fingers. Can't see anything but broken promises and being left alone. Again. Everything starts to blur and she thinks she might be dizzy, and sick. So sick that she almost forgets to be gracious.
"It's beautiful, Casey. I'm sure," she pauses, waits until she can no longer taste bile. "You'll both be very happy together."
Casey's smile falters for a moment and Maura realizes she's been caught, but Casey knows. Casey has always known. And Maura isn't sure if she's angry or relieved. "I don't want to take her away from you."
Maura almost laughs. "Don't be silly."
You couldn't. You aren't. You might be.
"I wanted you to know first. I wanted your blessing."
Maura nods. If she opens her mouth, there's no going back. She nods and sits down at her desk, because what else is there to do. She's behind on her paperwork, she's never behind on her paperwork. And Casey is still standing in the middle of her office with a diamond ring in his hand and if he doesn't leave soon, Jane will be gone. Really gone. Further away than a war zone in Afghanistan, the wife of a general. Further away than she has been since Casey and Denis and Martinez.
He's asking for her blessing. Her blessing. As if she could give it so freely, so simply. Because if only it were so simple. She can feel her stomach churning and her chest tightens even more with every breath, and Casey is staring. She can feel the back of her neck burning and her chest is starting to itch. She will not give in, not while he's still here, in her sanctuary. So she grips the edge of her desk tightly, her eyes scanning the papers strewn in front of her laptop.
"Was there anything else, Casey?"
"Just one thing," he puts the ring in the pocket of his leather jacket. (Really?) And scuffs one foot against the floor. "When she tells you, at least pretend to be happy for her. Like a friend would."
"She knows I can't lie. Even better than you do, Casey."
"Ah, right." He nods, heads for the door. "She cares for you Maura, can't that be enough."
"Not like it used to, not anymore," Maura shakes her head and wills herself to swallow down whatever else is trying to creep up and out of her. She watches Casey, through the half drawn blinds over her window, and remembers a time when Jane belonged to no one. When Jane reveled in belonging to no one. When Jane Rizzoli was as free as the autumn wind and smiled at Maura like love, like happiness, and when Maura smiled back.
She leans back against her chair and tries not to think about white dresses and cake tastings and luncheons. And the way Angela Rizzoli will hold onto her elbow and cry and cry. And how Maura will not cry. Not at the wedding, not the night before the wedding, and not after. No, Maura will cry tonight. After the house has been cleaned and her teacup sits in the sink. She will not cry until the guest house lights have been turned off for the night, and the house is still and quiet. She won't cry for herself either, how selfish, she'll cry for Jane. Her Jane. Jane, who belonged to no one but looked at Maura like she just might belong to her. Because this Jane, the future Mrs. Jones, the general's wife, is a stranger.