She had never been good with people.

Or rather, she had never been good with living people.

At first, she had thought it was because of her intelligence levels. After all, scientific studies had long concluded that heightened mental prowess and advanced cognitive development often caused certain . . . sociological side effects.

Communication disparities, relationship establishment complexities, prolonged sensory processing requirements, emotional disconnection—

Maura stared down at her keyboard.

But that just seemed . . . insufficient.

So she had factored in the basic developmental ramifications of her upbringing; the psychological cumulative effects of the failure of her core familial social structure to provide her with the correct nurturing environment to develop proper relationships.

Yet, even that addition, if she was honest—and she was most certainly honest—even that addition could not be deemed enough. Not even with the added 'spins' of the realization of her own adoption with the increased psychological and emotional separation it brought—or the natural social stratification that came with the Isle's family wealth and rarified status.

And as the years passed, the sense of social isolation, of emotional withdrawal and heart-breaking loneliness, had merely increased.

Increased until she had felt as contained, controlled and hermetically sealed as her morgue's corpses.

So she had turned her self-analysis to the only other factor of possible consideration. Her career.

Success was a well documented contributor to social ostracism, particularly for a female in a profession predominated by males of notorious egos. Resentment, jealousy, even anger were unfortunate natural responses. Responses that often got worse when her familial wealth and social ranking were realized. The 'blue collar' and 'humble background' public servants she frequently worked beside were just as susceptible if not more to these same responses.

Then there were the repercussions of her career selection itself upon her social interactions. The mythos of Death held real power even in the modern era and she had become the embodiment of it to even the public at large. Boston's 'Queen of the Dead' carried with her the scent of corpses entwined with her fine Parisian perfumes and even the hardiest of souls shivered at the grim reminder of the 'mortal coil' and felt the subconscious primal urge of the psyche to flee.

And heard its dark whispers that something could not be right or good about a woman who chose such a life.

Maura sighed wearily and closed her laptop.

But this was still not enough to explain why she was so . . . lacking . . . when it came to dealing with the living. Even in gestalt, these factors did not hold sufficient power to so dominate her life.

So why was she still failing?

What am I still not seeing?

An unpleasant memory stirred and Maura lifted her chin defiantly at the monster that reared its head.

Hoyt. And his 'explanation' of her.

I am not like you!

Yet before she could lock the memory safely away, she felt again the terrible uncertainty uncoil in her mind and could not help but shiver as some traitorous part of her whispered—but what if you are?

She had her cell phone and was dialing Jane before she even realized it.

"Hey, Maura-"

"Tell me again why I'm not like him," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

There was absolute silence on the other end and Maura just cringed. Of all the things she could possibly remind Jane Rizzoli of—she picked the woman's own personal serial killer.

And now she understood why she wasn't good with the living. She talked to them. After all of her analyses, it was ironically simple.

And abjectly humiliating.

"Jane, I am so sorry, I wasn't thinking! I'm hanging up." She stabbed her phone off and set it down. Then she buried her face in her hands.

She had to work on her 'filter'. Perhaps there was a communications seminar or-

Her phone gave a soft chime and she looked hesitantly at the caller id.

Jane.

Maura winced but picked it up.

"Your heart," came the quiet rasp.

She blinked and then frowned, confused. "What?"

"You're not like him because of your heart."

"My heart?"

"It's good, Maura." Jane was silent for a long moment and then she chuckled once, breaking the seriousness like her normal behavioral style. "And goofy, remember?"

Maura made an outraged noise but found it hard not to break into a genuine smile. "I am not goofy!"

"Oh, you so are."

"I am not!"

"Says the woman who has a daycare provider for her turtle."

"Tortoise! I am going to get you book. And Bass is too sensitive to leave alone, he's an intelligent creature."

"Yeah," snorted Jane fondly, "like someone else I know."

Maura frowned. "Who?"

Jane sighed. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"Never mind, now I'm going to get you a book. Or a therapist. Want to go grab something to eat?"

She sat up. "Do I get to pick the place?"

"Only if I can pronounce something on the menu this time."

"Jane, I assure you, I am an excellent translator."

The detective groaned dramatically. "Maura!"

Maura couldn't help it, she laughed. "Oh, alright!"

"Okay then, I'll meet you in fifteen. And we're taking your car."

"Wait, what? My car? Why are we taking my car?"

"'Cause yours has those fancy heated seats for my butt."

Maybe she did not have to learn to be good with all the living. Maybe all she had to be good with was Jane.

She was beginning to have a theory that even she could do that.