CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Maura's fingers sift soothingly through her hair as she lies on the couch, her head in Maura's lap. The television is on low, but she couldn't care less as her eyes hold Maura's warm, smiling gaze.
This is what she'd needed. Not fucking or making love. Just this; the tingling warmth that every pass of Maura's fingertips sends down her spine. Just being in each other's space. That feeling of safety. That all is right with the world, if only for a moment.
She wonders, not for the first time, how she came to deserve this second version of her life. It can't be a reward, surely. Or a punishment. A bit of both? Certainly, any silver linings have become deathly overshadowed by a dark gray cloud, but they still exist.
A stray thought escapes and she murmurs, "Do you believe in miracles?"
Embarrassment heats her face as Maura's eyebrows contract and she breaks eye contact to glance at fingers that begin to fidget. Because she hears how it sounds, like a question of faith - a faith to which she doesn't herself much prescribe - and so she wonders how odd it must sound to a woman made purely of science.
There's a long pause, then, with one elbow planted on the arm of the couch, Maura's head tilts a little more against the hand that props it up.
"Yes and no," she says slowly with a smile. Her tone is as gentle as the fingers that still play lovingly in Jane's hair. "I believe almost everything has a scientific explanation if we look hard enough. But I also know, sometimes, no matter how hard we try, the answers will elude us. It doesn't mean they're not there, just that the science and our understanding of it perhaps doesn't yet exist. Unknowns can be difficult to live with. You and I both know that. So, if the idea of a miracle, being able to explain the unexplainable, makes a person feel better, then… who am I to argue with that?"
It's an answer that takes her breath away. It's so… perfect, and so perfectly Maura. What was she expecting exactly? She's not sure, but, she supposes, she should always expect this woman to keep on surprising her. To say precisely the right thing when she needs it most.
"What's wrong?" Maura asks, jolts Jane back from where she's still frowning down at her hands.
She picks lightly at a fingernail. "I just - I keep thinking about Kelsey Mills. That case really got under my skin."
"You saved her, Jane," Maura praises, leans down and kisses the words onto her forehead. "And it was weeks ago," she adds, sits back up. "Not a lot of cases bother you for this long. Is everything okay?"
"It feels like yesterday," she mutters to herself, because it was, to her, but this Maura doesn't know that. "And what if I hadn't, saved her, I mean? I can't help but think about all the things that could have gone wrong. What I might have been responsible for if things hadn't gone my way. I've cut corners, Maura, put too many people at risk and I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself."
She feels Maura shift a little, feels the hand in her hair still, and shifts her eyes upward to find Maura looking away in contemplation.
"I think," the doctor begins, tilts her head again as she apparently tries to follow Jane's broken thoughts. "Miracles shouldn't ever be a factor in how you – we - solve our cases. We follow a proven process. We do our jobs. Sometimes we get lucky and sometimes we don't. We take risks, yes, but calculated ones, risks based on evidence and professional instinct. The entire team takes those same risks with you, willingly, on each and every case, and if there's something you wish you'd done differently, all you can do is learn from it." Maura shrugs gently, smiles as she turns her face back down to meet Jane's eyes once more. "Do it differently next time."
Jane sighs, lets the words settle in her chest. Do it differently next time. They are heavier than she knows Maura intended, were supposed to be encouraging and uplifting, but cause a pain not unlike grief all the same.
She grieves for the girl saved twice, rescued from death but orphaned each time. She grieves for her almost-brother who is lost and found to her all at once. For the relationship she craves, which means everything in the whole world, but isn't real. Only an imitation.
She has taken advantage of a shortcut to happiness and found it much too costly. Cheated the system and paid the fine.
She was always taught to work hard for what she wanted. Good morals; the one thing for which she's grateful to her wayward father, despite his less than shining example later on in life.
"And there'll be no cutting corners," Maura chides, grins as she pokes Jane in the ribs. "Not on my watch!"
"Never again," she says, means it with every fiber of her being.
"Good girl," Maura smirks, leans down to kiss her again. Catches her lips instead of her forehead this time and Jane's mind is granted a short reprieve, lets Maura's lips block out everything in the world except for the two of them in this moment.
She lifts a hand and cups the back of Maura's head, just closes her eyes as she sinks into the feeling of Maura's mouth and tongue as the kiss deepens.
"Bed?" Maura asks when they part, her voice low and eyes dark.
She nods. Leans up and allows Maura to stand. Lets herself be led by the hand all the way to the bedroom. Holds on like it's the last time.
They don't have sex.
She wants to and, then… she doesn't, she can't. Can't do it under these circumstances, can't continue to use Maura like that. Instead, she makes excuses about why she - why they shouldn't, not tonight.
It's another lie, to add to the one she used to explain away her injuries. Again. To add to the small ones about the case, about how recent it was, to the ones where she has assured Maura there is nothing wrong. Adds more and more to the pile. A mountain of dishonesty.
Maura provides comfort and reassurance, holds her tight in bed until slumber arrives to slacken her embrace. She tries not to squirm with self-loathing, tries to block out what Maura, the real Maura, would think of her actions, of her weakness, if she knew.
Thoughts swirling, she lies awake in the dark, guts twisted with shame and guilt as this Maura sleeps beside her. It makes her sick to realize that, despite being initially hurt and deeply disappointed, the real Maura would forgive her far sooner than she would ever forgive herself.
No one should lie to the person they love, nor should they run from their deserved punishment, like a coward, but she had done that, too. Headed straight for the doorway as soon as her nightmare day on the Mills case was over. She'd let everyone down, and fled the instant the coast was clear.
What is she doing here? Apart from utter, utter selfishness. Frost is gone and she's estranged from her own mother. Yes, Frankie might be a detective here, but she can go home and work hard to help him change that. Frankie can retake a test, but she can't bring Frost back. And Maura… well, Maura is a rare patch of light in this life, in both lives.
She knows she can't stay, can't keep lying to everyone, to herself. Can't deny what she's done any more than she can ignore the puckered bullet scar on her abdomen or the white marks on her hands; her mistakes, her choices, will stay with her forever. A brand on her conscience.
But she can make different choices. Can choose to be stronger, smarter. Can admit she was a fool for ever thinking this was a good idea in the first place, starting now, as she makes a quick and resolute decision; She'll accept her penance and make it right. She'll give 100% to all of her cases, no more shortcuts, no more life or death mistakes. She'll go home and never come back, give up her Maura to the one who is happy with Jack.
It's time to say goodbye.