And now it's clear as this promise,
That we're making
Two reflections into one.
'Cause it's like you're my mirror,
My mirror staring back at me, staring back at me.
Justin Timberlake, Mirrors
She always knew when Jane was smiling.
No, sometimes people called her 'robot' or 'android'. Yes, she had less empathic than the crowd around, but she always felt Jane. Sweet, gorgeous, and always polite Maura Isles had a little anti-social disorder, but she always could handle it.
But it meant that Maura hadn't had a friendship or stable relationships with anyone. It was painful, but she managed it with grace - she just learned by heart that she's meant to be alone. Yes, she had some romance with men, who were really bright and well-mannered, but everything was ruined when they tried to cross the line where true Maura Isles started. The thing was that she was afraid of true Maura. She never wanted to know what are all these things in her head meaning, what's the turning point of her desire to cut dead people. Yes, she wanted the job with meaning. Yes, the dead can't bother her or mock her or say something disgusting to her. But to be honest - why?
She turned the page of Journal of Neuropathology and rubbed her eyes. It was 11 p.m. and Maura was tired as hell. An autopsy of the burned Jane Doe has started at 10 a.m in the morning and took all her day. Jane showed in her office couple times but disappeared quickly seeing that Maura is busy with her awkwardly decomposing cadaver. She checked her phone. Nothing. Maura has started to type the text to Jane but stopped and threw the phone on the table.
No. Not this time. I'm not going to write to her - a thought was flashy, but bittersweet. For the last two weeks Maura had initiated the conversations and it was strange. Jane went down to her office only to ask her if she discovered something new on her cases. And nothing personal. Jane hid her eyes and fled away before Maura had the chance to open her mouth to speak with her. The last few days Jane's texts were dry and Maura didn't understand why.
She didn't want to analyze such things. She felt that something is really wrong, her brain told her that she should process this stuff and find what's broken. But to do it means to find the answers that can raise more questions, deep and scary questions. What's going on between them? For how long? What is she supposed to do? Why?
Stop. Maura wrapped her arms around her head. Stop asking, stop thinking, just stop. She asked herself these questions so many times and couldn't find a courage to find the answer. Maura knew, to admit is to face and fight it. But what's the purpose of fighting when it's the one person on the field destined for two?
The moon was shining. It was a rare silent Boston night with clear sky and sheer air. In her bed Maura couldn't find a comfortable position and fall to sleep. Thoughts in her head were so loud and honestly that made her to panic. She can't sleep because she doesn't know where Jane is. Who does she hug? Who can kiss her right now? She didn't feel the warm body besides her so she couldn't relax. She was addicted. Welcome to the world of insomnia, Maura.
It felt like a hangover, or, to be precise, withdrawal symptoms. Her body was sore, her eyes were heavy, and her head seemed to be a huge stone. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it was going to tear through her chest. Everything around was blurred and sometimes Maura thought that she was falling asleep, but it was an illusion. For a moment the furniture, mirrors, lamps took the sharp outlines but then everything has blurred again.
Maura touched the space on the other side of bed. Fabric was cool under her fingers. The dark shadow of her own hands hugged an empty and cold side of her bed. She sighed and took the phone. "I can't sleep without you" typed Maura barely concious, but in the last moment she didn't hit "Send". She turned on an alarm clock instead and, nervously clenching her fists, closed her eyes.
- Tomorrow is going to be a hard day.