Chapter Nine
Delicate.
She took in a steady breath and let it out, felt the sharp burn of air in her lungs.
That was the new defining word for her life. It was different. Different in a way that shaped those small moments which divide life between living and surviving.
She tilted her face to the sky, felt the swirl of city life flow and ebb around her. The rushers and the strollers. Suits and jeans, fashionable fall colors mixed with greys and blacks and whites. A newspaper salesman caught her eye, pushing his wares, and she smiled her decline, continuing her slow path amidst the rush of routine.
The autumn chill was invigorating, and she focused on the sensation, took the time to soak in the moment. Each strike of her heels against sun-drenched sidewalk was both empowering and limiting. The new dichotomy set her off balance, a slight tilt to her mental axis. Different. But not, she thought, necessarily bad. She loved this time of year. Street maples blushed their deference to the season, their fallen leaves painting patterns under foot. For all its simplicity, moments like this deserved savoring like a fine wine.
The hum of an engine registered in her awareness, loud and sharp. She tensed. A cab passed just a bit too close to the curb. The wind buffeted her and Maura veered, the action too trigger-quick to constitute natural reflex. She stood, back to a building and pulse pounding, until panic began to mingle with aggravated embarrassment.
Passerby shot her curious glances, one or two with the softness of genuine concern. Pushing away their attention, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to will her heart to slow. She felt reason return after a few more moments, and her muscles unlocked enough to allow movement. Then she shrugged her coat tighter, like settling serenity about her shoulders, as she merged into sidewalk traffic once more, gait more subdued.
Delicate.
She had never considered herself delicate before. Feminine, yes. She enjoyed fashion and appreciated the art of aesthetic appeal to best compliment her mood and body shape. Her hand smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her pants. But femininity did not constitute weakness.
Her gaze traced cars on the street, noted clothing and advertisements, skittered past the eyes of passerby. She felt herself tumbling, that downward spiral to short breaths and shaking hands. And she searched for distraction, a rope to pull her on firm ground once more. Turning her head, she could make out those cars behind her in her periphery. She saw…
Her back straightened and she lengthened her stride, breaths deep. Even.
No, femininity did not constitute weakness. But adding a world of ifs and over-shoulder glances had a disturbing tendency to rattle one's foundation. It picked away at confidence and resolve. Turned everyday nothings into small mountains to traverse.
It also sharpened senses to the point of painful awareness. Not for the first time, Maura wondered whether this was how Jane felt while Hoyt was on the loose. The sizzle of frantic anticipation, a constant simmering just beneath the skin. The itch of watchful eyes between the shoulder blades.
Reaching the street corner, she paused to rummage in her purse. At vision's edge, she caught the black sedan down the street as it idled to a stop. Closer than usual. Waiting.
The third time in as many days.
Delicate did not mean weak.
An idea teased her thoughts, and the sudden urge to act, to do something, curled in her chest and throbbed like an impetus, impossible to ignore.
Mind racing, she shifted her purse higher on her shoulder, staring straight ahead and keeping her posture casual. As she calculated, she watched the crosswalk sign turn from a hand to the walking man, and when the crowd surged forward, she made a decision.
She stepped out with the crowd, mingling amidst tan and grey for several seconds before ducking to the left, cutting back to the adjoining street. The deception would give her precious seconds for a head start. Resisting the temptation to glance behind, she kept her pace brisk without appearing rushed. All part of the ruse.
A small thrill sizzled through her as she walked. It flowered in her chest and tingled down her limbs. She felt…alive. The beginnings of a smirk played at the corners of her mouth. Let the cat realize the mouse wasn't so easily tailed.
Her best friend wasn't a detective for nothing—
Maura blinked. That thought, combined with memories of warm brown eyes and familiar smiles, twisted her stomach in unexpected ways. It wasn't unpleasant, just unusual. She tucked the realization aside to dissect at a later date.
As she rounded another corner, gait strong and sure, she could see the appeal of a chase. The endorphin high not unlike that of a runner's, but more intense, compacted. The new tingling in her veins distracted from the constant buzz of anxiety, channeled it into something bigger. Something hers.
A map of Boston in her mind's eye, she sifted through streets and allies, choosing and dismissing potential routes as she walked, taking traffic and construction into consideration before finally settling on one. She chose a circuitous path, twisting through the city like the metaphorical labyrinth.
Halfway through her personal maze, however, she caught sight of her tail once more, and even altering her route did little but prolong the inevitable. It was a decent fight. But finally Café Mingo – her destination – loomed a block away, the green awning bright under the cool glare of a November sun. Slightly winded, feet beginning to throb, she stopped. Enough was enough.
She stepped up to the curb, toes playing tightrope with the edge. With a sigh, she found and locked eyes on the indistinct form of the sedan's driver. She beckoned with a raised hand, finger curling, then let the hand drift to her side. Seconds ticked by, the black car idling along the curb, until Maura began to wonder if she would have to take things into her own hands.
Finally, the unmarked merged into traffic and Maura watched its progress until it slowed to a stop before her. Black hair and a familiar profile met her as the tinted window rolled down.
"Knew it was me back at 3rd, didn't ya?" he began without preamble, not bothering to look her way.
"Yes." Suppressing a smile, she neglected to mention she'd known it was Frankie – and Barry, sometimes Vince – three days ago when all the nonsense began. Or maybe it started even before then, and she hadn't been paying attention.
Frankie appeared abashed and chagrined. "Made by a medical examiner," he muttered, hands tightening on the wheel before dropping into his lap with a sigh.
Maura raised an eyebrow. "There are worse things in life." The adrenaline began to recede, but remnants tingled through her limbs, urged her to move. She glanced towards the distant awning, trying to work through the jumble of emotions knotting her gut. "Did Jane put you up to this?"
She didn't anticipate his affront as he turned to meet her with familiar-but-not deep brown eyes. Expressive. Compassionate. The comparison jarred her briefly, but the voice accompanying that gaze wasn't the one she expected. It dragged her back to the present.
"We all care about you, Maura."
The sincerity of the confession, the solemnity of his tone, caught her off guard. She blinked at the unexpected surge of warmth in her chest. Tears pricked her eyes and she cursed this newfound delicacy that meant losing one's composure in the middle of a busy Boston street.
She felt his searching gaze as she dipped her head, fought to settle her face. Moments passed in silence, Maura struggling with her internal conflict. Words of chastisement, defense of her independence, died before they even formed. Not because they weren't true, but because they would ruin a moment that meant more to her than Frankie could know.
Frankie made a small sound of satisfaction, as though aware his meaning had been heard, and she glanced up as his hand came up to brush the back of his neck.
"But yeah," he mumbled. "It was Jane's idea."
It made her want to laugh, for more reasons than it should. She curled her lips in to keep the mirth at bay and snuck another glance down the street. Squinting, she thought she could make out Jane's figure in the distance. Pacing. Maura frowned.
"Don't tell Jane," Frankie half-asked, more apprehension in the words than not. This drew her attention. Maura wondered what Jane had threatened should the cat get out of the bag, as the saying went. Images of Frankie walking Jo Friday and running errands, or worse, flashed through her mind.
Maura chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me." She patted the roof of the car before stepping away.
He raised an eyebrow – a familiar gesture – and nodded his head in thanks.
"Speaking of, you meeting her?"
She checked her watch and realized she was 20 minutes late. Add to that her usual 15-minute-early punctuality, and she was extremely late. That may explain the pacing. She was surprised Jane hadn't called—
The buzz of her cell phone from her purse answered that thought. She knew who it was without looking.
"Yes. I'd better go. Before Jane sends a search party." She said it half in jest, but considering their recent predicament, it skirted the lines of probable more than Maura wanted to admit. She took a step in the direction of the café and glanced down the street once more.
Frankie nodded and gave her a smile in parting. She waved over her shoulder and hurried down the block.
The hovering should bother her. It did, to an extent. She was an independent woman, capable of caring for herself, even in situations such as this. Distance and solitude were necessary for her to recharge. But for some reason, the constant vigilance didn't bother her as much as it would. She found a certain solace in the knowledge that someone who cared was never far away.
Not when other, more sinister beings may also be near.
Maura took a deep breath to calm the rising tension, gripped her purse tighter to her body as though she could wrangle confidence into place by will power alone. She had yet to tell anyone about her new…delicacy.
She'd considered fragile, but that word held connotations that didn't settle well.
Just a glimpse of that particular shade of blue, and her heart pounded. Breath became an elusive bird she couldn't catch. It had happened more than once, and though her mind knew the meaning of psychological association, her body refused to listen to logic.
License plates held a whole new meaning, and she averted her eyes from them.
It was nothing out of the ordinary, considering her predicament. Natural, for the mind to translate stress and fear into pervasive anxiety. She would tell someone, maybe see someone. If it got too bad.
Not now, though. She could manage it.
The green awning loomed. The sight under it eased the tension from her muscles, allowed the first easy breath in too long. She never realized how difficult such a simple task became until the pressure released. It made her lightheaded.
Jane stood, hands in pockets and shoulders slightly slouched in her typical relaxed pose. She appeared nonchalant to someone who didn't know her. But her long body was tense, coiled in concern. She faced the other direction, where Maura would be approaching had she taken her usual route. Sunlight slanted across her figure, highlighting the almost purple tinge to her black curls.
As she watched, Jane took out her phone. Thumbs moved over the screen as she turned to scan the street. Frown in place, she tossed dark curls over her shoulder as she brought the phone to her ear.
Maura increased her pace and Jane turned before she had a chance to call out. A quick spin, enough to fan her hair with the motion. As though she recognized the sound of Maura's footfalls, the cadence of her gait. For a brief moment, Maura wondered if that were true, but then dark eyes were searching her face and her mind focused on more pressing concerns.
Like how personal space acquired a different definition with Jane.
"Hey." Jane took a step towards her, crossed arms dropping in relief. "Everything okay?" Dark eyes danced over Maura's face, down her body, back to her face. Concerned. A hand grazed her elbow, as though needing reassurance she was real. "Where were you?"
Maura made an effort not to acknowledge the gesture. Drawing attention might shy her away. Where such small touches were once commonplace, the new hot-cold nature of Jane's attention left Maura cautious.
Still, she felt warm from the proximity, although her mind told her that, logically, there was nothing whatsoever of physical thermodynamics in this type of warmth. This type of heat conduction was entirely – she shivered as Jane's hand dropped from her elbow – entirely different.
Maura nodded, slightly out of breath but exhilarated. "I decided to take the scenic route today."
Jane cocked an eyebrow, head tilted. "Scenic route." Her eyes dipped down and returned. "In those shoes?"
Mingled amusement and doubt danced in crinkled eyes, the up-turn of lips.
Tread carefully. Maura took a moment to allow her heart to calm its frantic beat. Carefully. There's a trap lurking in that humor, beguiling and innocent as it seemed.
She stayed silent, afraid her voice would betray her, so she let a slight shrug of her shoulders speak for itself. She met Jane's smile with her own, surprised to find it wasn't forced. Not now.
She took another deep breath, easy and light, just because she could. It felt good.
They gazed at each other, letting the moment stretch. Maura was in no hurry, though she wondered what made Jane linger in the small space of togetherness.
"Let's go in. It's chilly," Maura finally said.
As Jane held the door open, the happy chime of the bell was almost lost amidst the clatter and conversation of the packed café. Patrons bustled about. Most seats were already taken. The stuffy-warm air vibrated with animated humanity. Something tensed inside of her. Maura scanned the room, willing the tightness out of her throat as she joined the back of the line.
As though their previous moment had not occurred, Jane maintained her distance. A polite two feet between them, as though now afraid of an errant touch under watchful gazes. Her eyes darted to Maura, once and away, and Maura felt the distance.
Hot-cold.
She turned to Jane. "Why don't you get us a seat," she suggested, keeping her expression calm. Her eyes scanned the tables, skipping over a few empty ones in the crowded middle—she shuddered internally, her breathing already becoming uneven—and finally landed on a free two-seater on the patio.
"There," she said, pointing and hoping her voice wasn't as desperate as she felt. "How about one outside? A bit more privacy." And room to breathe.
Jane swiveled, eyes landing on the selected table before turning back to Maura. "You sure?"
Maura nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Please."
Jane gazed at her a moment—just long enough to make her wonder what Jane saw. But then: "Okay. My usual?"
Maura smiled in agreement and watched Jane disappear through the crowd toward the doors once more.
She faced forward again and clutched her purse tighter, resisting the urge to fidget. Alone. She took a shaky, shallow breath. Now she had space to fall apart and pull herself back together. Now she could—
Someone knocked into her shoulder and she tensed as she caught herself from stumbling. Panic creeped into her chest, clenching iron fingers around her lungs and cutting off air.
"Sorry, ma'am!" the man exclaimed, reaching a hand out in apology. She shied away from the touch and he continued on his way.
"That's okay," Maura said, more to herself. She struggled to stand still, keep her place in line. She glanced around other customers, counted the ones in front of her. Estimated wait time.
It didn't help.
A seated woman to her left was eyeing her curiously. Maura kept her face forward and impassive.
Her chest rose and fell, and she knew her breathing was too shallow to maintain adequate oxygen supply to the brain. In fact, it was supplying too much, which disrupted the oxygen to carbon dioxide ratio in the bloodstream, which served as a pH signal to central chemoreceptors in the brain. Decreasing carbon dioxide ventilation effectively tricked her body into respiratory alkalosis, and now her body had begun to compensate. All she had to do was breathe normally, and the tingles in her hands and feet, the sweat on her palms, the dizziness…it would all dissipate into a bad memory.
That's all. Breathe normally.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head.
Through the wall-length window, Jane gave her a half-smile and a wave through the glass. Maura tried to smile back. It felt pained. She saw Jane's confused frown and faced forward again.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus her racing thoughts. Calm. She repeated it to herself and attempted to grasp her elusive yoga meditation breathing techniques.
Calm.
Frustration sizzled her veins when calm refused to come, and she felt the cycle starting all over again. It wasn't working. Tears pricked her eyes, and she felt herself starting to crumble.
A presence loomed to her right. She tensed and started to pull away just as she opened her eyes.
Unruly curls and dark caramel gazed down at her. She didn't know if her dizziness was from overwhelming relief or continued oxygen deprivation.
"Jane!" It was more breathless exclamation than a name. A frown creased her forehead. "What are you…"
"Can't have you ordering me all that healthy crap, now can I?" She shot her a lopsided grin and leaned into her shoulder, arm brushing against Maura's.
Jane let the pressure remain, and Maura countered it with some of her own. It felt like an invitation. Like reassurance. Silent and solid. A physical force to shove a mental one into gear. It grounded her enough to push back. Just a bit. But that small measure of confidence was all the footing she needed.
"I—" She struggled to find words amidst the tumult raging inside.
Such a simple action, sinking into the supportive weight of another. Yet it served as some form of siphon. The chaos of the surrounding café began to recede.
"I suppose not," Maura said, finally catching her breath. She focused on the faint scent of lavender, an errant black curl that tickled her cheek.
Jane merely hmmed her agreement, eyes to the front, scanning the menu overhead. Her hand, wedged between their leaning bodies, brushed against Maura's hip. An offering. Past the point of caring – the room was faintly starting to spin – Maura reached across her body, grasped Jane's forearm, and held it tight. Like an anchor. Like trust.
If Jane found her behavior odd, she didn't show it. Maura chose not to question it. Because somewhere amidst the press of lavender and the clutch of offered closeness, clarity and poise began to return. By the time they were halfway to the register, she felt restored.
"I thought you were saving our seat?" Assertive, teasing. Back to her usual self.
Jane chuckled, the quiet shake of shoulders jostling Maura's in kind. "No one will steal it from us." She turned her head so her raspy voice hovered close to Maura's ear. "Trust me."
I do.
Maura didn't know why her heart hammered so at the almost confession. She swallowed and chose instead to focus on her recovered composure.
She studied Jane out of the corner of her eye. Stance wide. Relaxed. Hands clasped behind her back. Maura was familiar with this pose. Confident Jane. Patient. In control.
As they stepped to the register, she squeezed Jane's arm once before letting go. A silent thank you.
A twitch of lips was her only acknowledgement.
...
A/N: Back on track with where I was originally heading with this, y'all. I hope the new developments are not boring or burdensome. I thought it'd be more realistic to see actual, emotional and physical repercussions of Maura's situation. And now both our ladies are fighting their own inner battle. Had to cut this chapter in half; it was getting too long. Expect another update in a few days.
