Nina's fingers trace the hard plastic amalgamated plastic. She furrows her brow trying to understand the significance of the chip that has come to rest in her palm.
"I don't understand," Nina exhales, admittedly.
"Nina, I have a whole drawer full of them."
"What is the significance of a one year chip to you? That is what I fail to understand," Nina clarifies.
"Cameron is… was more conservative than I am. One evening after a tough case he stopped by with a pizza. When I asked him if he wanted a beer he stood in front of me as if he had suddenly transformed into a gargoyle he was so still."
Jane places the unopened bottle of beer on the counter of her apartment. The silence surrounds them for what seems like an eternity. Cameron's brow furrows as he lowers the pizza onto the coffee table. Eventually he takes a step closer to her. His eyes lock on hers, and he gently squeezes her hand.
"Do you apply alcohol to all of your wounds?"
"What are you suggesting?"
"I am asking you a straightforward question, Jane."
"Most of them," she grits her teeth as she shamefully offers an honest answer.
"How long do you plan on doing that?"
Her jaw clenches, and her cheeks burn with anger, "Where do you get off suggesting that the way I am dealing with whatever grotesque trauma of the day requires judgement? What the hell do you do?"
His hands wrap around her biceps, "I am not judging you. I am simply making an observation. If you're feeling judged you should consult the figure in the mirror. To answer your question I go to therapy regularly to cope with my exposure to trauma, among other things."
Nina's eyes shift from the chip that lies on the surface of the table between them to Jane's dark eyes.
"They're your chips? I guess I never considered you an alcoholic."
"I didn't consider myself one either. He also suggested that I started recycling."
"I fail to see the correlation."
"The recycling only runs once a week. The bin was overflowing by the end of the week with empty bottles. I hadn't realized how much of a crutch alcohol had become in my life. After a few you stop counting, and surrender to the fact that it numbs the pain you don't want to feel."
"This is all very moving, but sobriety does not alleviate my concerns about you. I heard through the grapevine that Agent Davies was killed in the line of duty while on an undercover operation."
"Nina, you should go home."
"Jane, what the hell happened?"
"My entire world was tipped upside down in the matter of minutes, and I would prefer not to rehash it right now. I can offer you a place to crash for the night if that would offer you any sense of relief in the matter."
"I can settle for that answer," Nina agrees.
"Then I'll show you to the guest room."
Angela enters the nursery, and finds Maura passed out in the rocking chair beneath a copy of Goodnight, Moon. She gently nudges the new mom awake, as she squats next to the rocking chair.
"Maura?"
Maura's eyes snap open in a panic. As she stares at Angela her blood pressure begins to fall.
"You don't have to check in on me every night, Angela. I'll be okay."
"You're exhausted. You've taken on the whole world, and no one expects you to be okay. Maura you need more help."
"I thought I could do all of this on my own," Maura argues.
"Just because you can doesn't mean you have to. Just because you chose this doesn't mean you have to choose to go it alone. How are you going to take care of them when you aren't even taking care of yourself? What did you have for dinner?"
"Lunch," Maura answers in an effort to avoid hives.
"It isn't healthy. I know that the two of them are your entire world, and that you want to do everything the right way, but you have resources."
"I can see why Jane finds herself so irritated with you," Maura responds.
Angela furrows her brow as she momentarily peers into the crib at the pair of sleeping babies.
"Am I smothering you?" Angela queries as she turns towards Maura once again.
Maura's greasy hair is secured into a haphazard bun, and she is still clad in a pair of navy yoga pants, and an oversized green t-shirt.
"I find that quite unlikely. It isn't as if I had a secure attachment to my mother as a child, so the deep seated issues tend to push me towards the feeling that I am never connected enough to other people."
"What did you mean?"
"You are correct on an array of subjects alarmingly more than is statistically likely."
"I'm not always right, you know."
"I did not say always," Maura counters.
"You should get to bed. We can finish this discussion in the morning."
"I find it highly improbable that I will initiate restful sleep until we go further into the depths of this conversation."
"I have no trouble finding a slumber, so I suggest you spit it out, Maura."
"I'm pregnant," she responds as the tears start to fall.
Angela hugs her to her side, as Maura sits in the chair. She gently kisses the top of her hair, "I know."
"Why is it that as a society we spend so much time contemplating when a glass is half full, or half empty? I require knowledge on the appropriate interventions to take when the proverbial glass starts overflowing."
