It is on Maura's second day at the facility that Constance visits. Though she tried to be there on her daughter's first day, an ill-timed art history exam she was required to administer kept her away during visiting hours.
"She's resting," the nurse signing Constance in said softly. "She slept easy the first night, probably due to jetlag and the stress of intake. But last night she tossed and turned and spent most of the night in our conservatory. We offered her something to help her sleep but she refused."
"Thank you for updating me," Constance smiled as she accepted the visitor badge.
The older Isles woman walked through the large dayroom, watching as other families were reunited and huddled together with their loved one. She turned down a corridor and walked to the last room on the right where her daughter's door was propped open.
"I'm so tired," Maura admitted softly.
"They told me you refused a sleep aid," Constance said as she entered her daughter's room and sat on the bed near Maura's knees, reaching out to run a reassuring hand over the doctor's leg.
"I've never needed one before," Maura shrugged as sat up, pulling her legs away from her mother's touch as she hugged her knees to her chest.
Though the facility was considered top notch, Constance allowed her eyes to travel around her daughter's new room. The large bed in the middle was the biggest luxury, a high contrast to the simple dresser, desk, and bookcase and minimalist en-suite. While several others rooms she walked past to meet her daughter contained drawings, photos, or other personalisation Maura's remained plain.
"If you're struggling tonight, dear, please accept their offer. I never needed glasses before but I accepted them when the optician prescribed them."
"That's different and you know it," Maura countered.
"Not as different as you think," Constance noted. "How are you finding the treatment here thus far?" she asked tentatively.
"High intensity, as advertised," Maura replied. "We have general group and individual therapy sessions once a day and meet with the psychiatry team every other day. Then we have a rota of other sessions such as art or music therapy, yoga, medication management, and others. I can get the itinerary for you if-"
"No, thank you," Constance said quickly, stopping Maura from getting up. "I don't need an itinerary. I would like to know how you personally are finding it here."
Maura remained silent as she mulled over the question in her mind.
"I know our relationship has been fraught, but I hope you know I am on your side and am a trustworthy confidant," Constance said gently.
Maura looked up from where she had been staring at a loose thread on the comforter to smile at her mother.
"I know you are," Maura said. "It's just been exhausting and I've only been here a few days. The intake process is a whirlwind and most of yesterday I was constantly being swept up—I needed a physical with blood work, then started group but was immediately pulled out to meet with the psychiatrist, and on and on. Today was less hectic, but…" she trailed off. "It's exhausting. Having to constantly face the things you've kept tucked away. Unpacking it all is going to be a lot."
"Is there anything your father and I can do to support you in this?"
"Just be here."
Silence engulfed the women as they sat opposite each other, both with minds racing but unsure how to vocalise what was inside.
Constance yearned to soothe and provide hope to her daughter, but every single thought that crossed her mind felt cliché and more patronising than promising.
Maura desperately wished she could articulate exactly how she was feeling and why it felt impossible to accept the help being offered to her.
"I'm scared to go to sleep," Maura finally admitted. "I've spent months feeling like my head was under water and as if I could drown at any moment. The thought of letting my guard down enough to sleep, especially now, is terrifying."
"Oh, my darling," the older Isles breathed.
"I know I won't drown if I sleep, but I'm so scared of letting my guard down. What will happen if I stop fighting, even just long enough to fall asleep?"
Before Constance could reply, a nurse knocked at the door and brought a large canvas tote bag into the room.
"I thought I would bring you some things," Constance explained as she accepted the bag with a smile to the nurse. "They had to search it, of course, but I left the contraband at home," she said, the last part of the sentence said in a conspiratorial whisper with a wink.
Maura couldn't help but chuckle at her mother's comment, watching as her mother placed the bag on her bed and began to go through the contents.
"A selection of medical journals," she began as she pulled a stack from the bag. "And selection of fashion magazines. The large throw from the library you've always had an affinity for, several boxes of tea, and a variety of non-perishable snacks," she continued, pulling each item out as she spoke.
"Thank you," Maura whispered as she picked up the large knit blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"If you ever need anything more, please let me know and I will bring it to you," Constance said. "I believe your father knows where there is an American market if you're craving anything specific to home. He picked up a love for Milk Duds on his last trip."
"Really?" Maura asked with a smile.
"Honest to goodness, he goes through a box a day," her mother laughed. "I've tried to slow his consumption but now I think he eats them just to spite me."
"What is it with Isles women loving people who refuse to eat vegetables?" Maura laughed.
Realizing what she said, Maura's eyes widened as she looked at her mother.
"I may not have the strongest mother's intuition, but what you've said is of no surprise to me," the older woman smiled. "You and Jane are a team in every sense of the word. It was only a matter of time before romance decided to throw its hat into the ring."
"I've already ruined it before we could even really get started."
"I highly, highly doubt Detective Jane Rizzoli would give up on something so easily, let alone someone as important to her as you," Constance pointed out. "Why would you say you ruined it?"
"I kept my illness from her," Maura began. "I waited until she had already figured it out before opening up to her. I've been a shell of my usual self, snapping at her or just ignoring her while I hide in my ensuite after a hard day."
"All of which are perfectly understandable," Constance said.
"I kicked her out," Maura said softly. "We finally admitted what was between us. She kissed me and for the first time I felt her hands touching me with something more than friendship. And what did I do?"
Maura shook her head as she spoke, scoffing at herself.
"I'm not good enough for her—not at the moment anyways. And I need to be better for her. So I kicked her out and a week later I left the country."
"May I ask something?" Constance asked gently.
"Of course."
"When Jane was recovering from her gunshot wound after the siege on your headquarters, did she try to keep you away?"
"Yes," Maura replied, remembering the locked door she encountered the night of Jane's award banquet and the fight it took just for the detective to take the chain off the door.
"And…" Constance said.
"And what?"
"And did that stop you from caring? Did that stop you from wanting to continue with your friendship?"
"Of course not," Maura insisted.
"So, and correct me if I'm wrong, but if Jane quite literally locked you out of her life and was absolutely miserable when you two spoke but your friendship endured that, why would your romantic relationship not endure you doing the same thing?" Constance asked.
Maura remained silent.
"Just a little food for thought," Constance replied as she leaned forward and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "I'm afraid I can't stay the full length of today's visiting hour as a student has made an end of term appointment with me, no doubt to plead for extra credit."
"Of course," Maura nodded. "I'll walk you out."
"Before you do," Constance began as she reached into the tote bag and pulled out a brown envelope. "I thought it might be conducive to your treatment to have some photos. Personalise your space a bit. I save all the ones you send, so those are the ones I've had printed."
Maura smiled as she took the envelope from her mother and set it on her desk.
"I'll ask for some putty to stick them on my walls," the blonde smiled as she exited her room with her mother.
"The term has ended now, so either your father or I will be here every day. That it, unless you would prefer…" the older Isles said, trailing off.
"I would love for you both to visit, as long as it suits your diaries."
"We will make it suit our diaries," Constance replied as they made their way to back towards the nursing station. "Take care of yourself, darling. I love you so much."
Rather than reply, Maura pulled her mother into a tight embrace.
"I love you, too," she whispered.
"Don't forget to let me know if you'd like anything else."
"Doughnuts," Maura smiled. "Glazed, or frosted with sprinkles. I'm not picky."