Her eyes were dry, and she had to keep blinking over her morning autopsy with Korsak and Crowe. She heard Crowe joking to Korsak about the Queen of the Dead looking like death warmed over, and though Korsak hushed him, she knew that her lack of sleep was affecting her appearance. Her work would be next, if she wasn't careful. All part of the pattern, she knew. Maura knew she was the next best thing to family in Jane's life.
Maura sent Korsak and Crowe away with the information they needed, albeit not a full written report; that would come later in the day. In the meanwhile, she checked the silver-framed mirror in her office, noting the flaws in her appearance. Her mother would have been horrified; had, in fact, noticed during her brief recent visit.
She'd left her spare clothes at home, as well as her touch-up cosmetics, but at least there was something Maura could do about her eyes, after that tearful therapy session early that morning. She went to her office and grabbed the eye drops out of a drawer, then stood with her head tilted way back, trying to use them properly. It was frustrating, trying to hold her lids open while putting something into her eye, which always snapped closed at the last instant, but it gave her a new appreciation for her stellar eyesight. If and when her vision started to deteriorate with age, she silently vowed, she would wear good spectacles with fashionable frames rather than put up with contact lenses.
Still trying, she was momentarily distracted by Jane's familiar, hoarse voice. "Maura?" There was a pause, and the medical examiner thought she heard mumbling. "Maura, come on, I brought you a present!"
"In here," Maura called, her words distorted slightly by the facial contortions she was making. Her head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, upper lip drawn down over her teeth. It looked ridiculous, she knew, but it would eventually result in at least one drop landing in each eye. One hand held her eye open, while the other squeezed the bottle above it, still hopeful that this time it would work.
She heard Jane's approach and smelled the coffee, but still had to ask. In between doctoring one eye and the next, "What did you bring me?" Drip, drip. "Is it too big to fit in your locker at the gym? Could you have brought it to yoga this morning?" It was a dig. Jane hadn't made it to yoga in quite some time.
"Funny, but I already told you I wasn't going back there after the Jorge thing." Jane stepped closer and set the drinks down. "I brought your favorite coffee down, and I came for the Bowen report. Frost said you called up earlier." She was quiet, likely sipping her own coffee as Maura dab at her face to catch the stray liquid from the eye drops. "Maura, why are you using eye drops on a Friday morning? You have a late night or something?" She leaned against the desk, one arm crossed over her torso, the other holding her cup to her face. "You find another guy to help you keep away the common cold?" The detective chuckled. "I mean, you seem a little off this morning."
Maura glanced towards her best friend before turning her attention back to the eye drops. Once she had tossed the tissue away and finished speed-blinking to clear the extra moisture, she turned her full attention back towards Jane, taking in the tailored suit, shined boots, slightly more put-together hair, cheerful demeanor, and three cups of coffee in the carrier. "A late night, yes, but not with a guy," she retorted. It occurred to her that Jane could ask if Maura was with a woman, or simply assume that she had stayed awake reading. She almost did hope for some crack at her, some show of interest, but it did not come.
Clunky heels clicked dully as she walked past Jane to round her desk and take her seat. On the way, with one smooth movement, she took one cup from the carrier and dropped the little bottle into Jane's blazer pocket. "I'm using eye drops for the same reason you should," she added in curt explanation, deciding that it was time to broach the topic that had been festering within her. She hated confrontation, but Jane needed her to start one, and maybe Jane would care enough to at least stay and fight about it. An argument was better than no contact at all. "It stops people from thinking I'm hung over. By the way, I know I've told you this before, but I really like that scented spray you use. It works beautifully with your body chemistry."
"My eyes are not blood shot, Maura. They're fine. I checked them in the mirror this morning, and I… wait a minute," Jane followed the honey-brunette to the lounge area of the office and settled on her usual place on the sofa. "What do you mean 'for the same reason I should be using them'? What is that supposed to mean?" The detective narrowed her eyes, frowning as she sipped her coffee.
As the pathologist drew the little bottle of hand sanitizer from her drawer of the coffee table and rubbed a dollop into her hands, the she considered the question. "Well… do you want people to assume that you're hung over? I wouldn't like to be thought of in that way. Especially by people who depend on me to be mentally alert and physically fit in order to perform my job to the best of my ability. I'd want my partner and other coworkers to feel confident relying on me." She paused. "Or my friends and family."
In her typical slumped postured position, Jane scowled at the medical examiner. "I don't like what you're implying," she said, voice deathly quiet. "Do you have the Bowen report or not?" She stood, eyes glaring down at the smaller woman, attempting to look intimidating. For once, she failed. Maura didn't feel intimidated, just disappointed. "You know, never mind. Just send them up." With a cool air about her, the detective walked to the desk, picked up the coffee, and headed for the door. "I don't have to sit here and listen to this crap." She turned around, standing in the doorframe of the office. "I do my job just fine, thank you. Who was the one to bust that child molester? Who was the one to collar the perp in the last three cases? Who? Me. That's who."
The glare sharpened; this time Maura did feel just a little bit unnerved. If she had gone too far, too fast, Jane was perfectly capable of physically overpowering her. Had she progressed to the stage of alcohol dependency in which she was also emotionally capable of deciding to do so? "You have a lot of nerve saying anything about how well I do my job." Jane snapped, her hands beginning to visible shake, her complexion paling slightly. "You're supposed to be my friend, Maura, not someone else I have to prove… man, just… whatever. I'm out of here." In a huff, she turned and stomped toward the stairs.
Left to her Karim Rashid orange-red chair and her hand sanitizer, Maura considered all that she'd said, all that Jane had said. Her head tilted to one side as she ran over every word, every nuance of vocal inflection or posture, and the speed at which Jane had left her office.
As so often happened in her life, she found herself saying the right things, long past the window of meaningful opportunity. "But you admit having to check in the mirror to know they weren't bloodshot," she replied to a statement from minutes previously, followed by, "I never said you were hung over, only that people could assume it." Finally, the smaller woman closed the overdue commentary with one for herself instead of Jane. "That could have gone better. Or much worse."