They stood in the doorframe for a bit longer, not wanting to pull away and not sure where they'd go if they did. Finally, after the silence settled into something less stressed, Jane commented in an almost offhanded way, "You're really not going to say anything about me talking to God? You normally at least make a face when I start blaming Him for my complicated life." She lightly teased as she finally let the doctor go and headed toward the kitchen. "While you're thinking of a comeback, let's go warm up the leftovers." She winked before walking away.

Unsupported and slightly disoriented, Maura swayed in place. "Leftovers," she murmured in a slightly dazed voice. It wasn't until Jane had already punched START on the microwave that Maura blinked owlishly, rested her flat-spread hands on the countertop to steady her stance, and came back with a response. "I don't know all of what you said to God," she said, sounding a little more put together than just moments before, "but I knew the conversation wasn't meant for me to overhear, so I don't need to ask. Just as I wasn't meant to overhear what you said to Frankie."

Jane stopped moving around the kitchen and turned to the other woman. "But you did hear it? Maura," she moved to the counter where the honey brunette was steadying herself, "did you hear that whole thing? God, I'm so sorry. Frankie wanted to know happened, and I figured that, with you asleep, it'd be okay to tell him. I never meant for you to hear that and have to relive it all over again." She crossed her arms, frowning at the thought that she'd forced her friend to once again relive the night before. "Are you okay with me telling him?"

"I'm glad you told him," came the response after a long moment's thought as Maura, still facing the countertop and away from Jane, straightened her spine, then let it relax again. "Frankie deserves to know as a police officer and as your brother. This was your experience, and you're allowed to share whatever you need to share if it helps you process. I would do the same thing." One fingernail picked idly at a speck on the countertop.

She got the bit loose and flicked it into the sink, then was still for a moment before turning around. "Hearing it from your viewpoint is… helpful. That is to say, I know in my mind what happened, and what all the alternatives are, but I don't feel it yet. It still feels like I failed to save all the lives that I should have saved, that I should have tried harder, thought faster, acted faster. But knowing that you saw it the way you did may help me feel a little better, a little sooner than I otherwise might."

"Listen," Jane walked to the sink to run the water and wash the speck down the drain, "things are going to be hard for a while, but it'll get better." She turned back around with a wet dishcloth in her hand. "Honestly, I'm still trying to deal with Hoyt, and that bastard terrorized me and everyone I loved for years. You'd think I'd be okay with what I did, but," she shrugged and walked back to the counter to reach around Maura and wiped at it again. "When I say I get it, I really do get it, and I want you to know," she stepped back to toss the cloth back into the sink, "that I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'll figure out a way to give it to you. Whatever you want, okay? Even if that means you want to spend a few nights here or you want me to spend some time in your guest room." She gave a weak smirk. "You know I mean it if I'm willing to deal with Ma for longer than a day."

Accepting the humor for what it was, Maura offered a diluted smile back. "May I stay today with you? Tonight maybe I should try to sleep on my own. I'll have to do it eventually, and goodness knows I've had enough practice to be good at it. Usually. And, and, and I can't just keep wearing your clothes," she plucked at the shoulder of the Batman t-shirt for emphasis. "I'll stretch them all out and then you won't have anything to wear."

"I don't know," the detective said with a small measure of consideration in her voice as she began to plate the leftovers, "I think you look better in that getup than I do, honestly." She was focused on the food more than the other woman, and the smile that graced her lips as she made the comment happened without her realizing it was there. "But, I get what you're saying. I'm sure you miss your hundred dollar PJs anyway." She brought the plates to her counter, setting them down, and then going for glasses. "But, if you need me, call me. I mean it," she filled the glasses with ice and water. "Any time, day or night, and I'll be there." Setting the glasses down, she made a motion with her head for Maura to sit down and join her. "I don't want you to feel like you're alone in this. You're not. I'm here, okay?"

With a wistful backward glance at the sofa, Maura accepted both the water and the nonverbal suggestion and seated herself at the counter with Jane instead. "I know you are, and I'm so grateful. Knowing now what you must have been going through, I wish I'd been even more there for you after Hoyt. I am now, though. Such as I am. I guess," she paused, looking rueful, "I guess this is something else we share now. I'd rather share your love of baseball, to be honest, but at least I have you, and you have me, and we can help each other better for it."

Jane gave a snort. "What don't we share these days?" She poked at the food on her plate as she thought about it. "Ma's practically adopted you, and I think you've pretty much adopted my family. We work at the same place. We have most of the same friends. We like the same kind of latte," she glanced over to the doctor. "Thank you for that, by the way. As if I don't have enough calories I crave, I think the pumpkin spice latte pretty much covers whatever I might be missing." She smiled to show that she was teasing, and went back to poking at her food. "We even share the same days off, and," she frowned, her free hand going to rub at her neck, "the same scars in some spots. You know," she set her fork down and looked up at the honey brunette, "I'm with you. I think I'd rather share your love of shopping than this, and, before you ask me and get all excited, I still refuse to voluntarily go shopping. I don't know what you get out of running around to a hundred different stores just to find one pair of shoes." She shook her head as she glanced back to her plate. "I don't think I'm really hungry."

"Neither am I," Maura admitted as she picked up the fork to cut a bite of toad-in-a-hole, the name of which had once caused her to make a face as if she were actually being offered toad, instead of an egg fried inside a piece of toast. "But we both have to eat, or we'll feel worse than we need to feel. I'd rather just feel bad about the things that matter than have to spare some bad feelings for my stomach." She took the bite, then another, never even noticing that it completely lacked the salt and pepper she usually insisted were necessary for any egg product. When the food was half gone, she sighed and pushed the plate away. "Damn it," she swore, annoyance clearly in her voice, and the very sound of word coming out of her mouth was more obscene than any construction workers' catcalls.

"What?" Jane's head whipped up to look at the other woman. "Did you just swear?"

"It was surprisingly satisfying," Maura admitted guiltily, "but it didn't help the situation."

Clearly confused, the detective stopped eating and just stared at her friend. "I don't know whether to be shocked you just said 'damn it' or worried that you did, and," she raised an eyebrow, "what situation? If you mean the thing we've been talking about, that's just going to take time. Food doesn't help with that, trust me. If you mean the fact you're still wearing my Batman stuff, I could call Ma to bring you something to wear. I mean, it is100% cotton, so I figured it'd be okay."

Maura's head was shaking, dismissing all of the above. "No, none of that. I mean, the situation is part of it…" She paused, started to speak, stopped again, then huffed in frustration. "It's just going to be uncomfortable. It happens every time I'm terrified, and I think I know what causes it, and I'll just deal with it until it goes away." Moving less listlessly and with a certain amount of irritation evident in her posture and deportment, the shorter woman stood and picked up her plate, gestured towards Jane's to see if it was ready to be cleared, and started in with the washing up. "Every time," she muttered again for good measure, gritting her teeth. Only once she'd plunged her soapy plate under the warm running water did she take a moment for one of those deep, cleansing breaths that their yoga instructor loved so much. "It's fine," she said with determination: it wasn't, but it would be. "At any rate, it's not something you should worry about."

"Too late," Jane said as she stepped to rinse and dry. "You're going to have to tell me now, or I'm just going to keep bugging you until you do." She pulled out a towel to dry the dishes. "You know how this works. Spill it."

Again the other woman made a face as she handed over the plate. "Do I have to? It's really nothing I can't live with. I have before. It's irritating, embarrassing, but not dangerous or worthy of medical concern. It's just a… thing. It's just what happens when someone faces something that frightens them. Right?" She glanced up, looking faintly pinker around the edges, almost but not quite shy. "You probably have the same thing. You're just better at handling it, because in your life it happens so much more often. Or maybe you're completely inured to it by now. That would make sense, since adrenalin and the other hormonal reactions to fear are-"

"Maura," with a roll of her eyes, Jane plucked the last clean dish from the other woman's hands, rinsed, and dried it. "Really? Just tell me. You know I'm not going to judge you. Besides, if it's something you're having issues with and it's something you think I deal with better, maybe I can help?" She put away the final dish and tossed the towel onto the counter by the sink. "Well? What is it?"