Habits:
Today's denial was: 'I study Jane's habits because she is interesting and I am a natural observer.'
The truth was: 'I observe Jane's habits because I have feelings for her and want to please her.'
Maura was watching Jane as she walked briskly towards the coffeemaker, her brown eyes tired and strained, running her fingers through mussed but luxurious dark hair, Maura felt her stomach tie itself into slippery knots. She felt a little like Jane Goodall studying the primates, except her subject was much more attractive. For a moment, it even made her forget about her poor tortoise's condition. Unfortunately, Bass was refusing to eat and seemed to be moving even slower than usual. Although he was not an average house pet, Maura was very attached to him, and she was concerned that he might be ill.
Putting Bass out of her mind for the moment, Maura immersed herself in the familiar sight of Jane going about her day. She knew what Jane would probably do next: sigh, reach for a cup to pour her coffee in, and stare at the clock on the wall instead of checking her watch or her cell phone. Jane always looked at that clock. It was a comforting part of her work environment on days when she was not out on the streets fighting crime like some kind of real-life superhero. Afraid that she would be caught staring, Maura decided to interrupt Jane's thoughts before the detective noticed her. Making enough noise so that she did not startle Jane, she approached her friend and rested a hand on her shoulder. The detective flinched and Maura pulled away.
That was another of Jane's traits that she had noticed during her observations. She hated to be touched unless she was the one initiating the touching. Sometimes, her hot-and-cold, touch-me-don't-touch-me games exasperated Maura, but she knew that Jane was uncomfortable with her sexuality. Perhaps it was because she had been classified as a lesbian ever since her early teens, despite having visible relationships with men. Jane vehemently disliked all kinds of stereotypes. The fact that she had sex with women on a regular basis – or, at least, had sex with Maura on a regular basis – did not seem to make her any more comfortable with the label.
"Hello, Jane," she said, trying to reestablish a connection at a safer distance. Jane was more receptive the second time, and allowed Maura to join her at the coffee station.
"Heya."
The medical examiner sighed, reaching in to her purse for some money to put in the 'Weekend Coffee Fund: Don't Be A Jerk' jar. "What a Sunday."
Jane shook her head, touching Maura's hand to stop her from placing a bill in the can. The medical examiner felt a spark. Sometimes, when she and Jane were in the same room together, it was difficult to remember that there were other people nearby. The woman's presence was just so magnetizing...
"Nonono... $20 is – uh – overkill. You're only a jerk if you don't leave anything here."
Maura began preparing her own drink as detective took a deep draft from her cup, choking in disgust. "God, when was that made, November? He wants a cup of coffee, there's none upstairs..." Maura pressed her lips together, hiding a smile as Jane picked up the can of salt. "The guy's a wreck.
That distracted Maura for a moment as she remembered her latest patient – one who, fortunately, wasn't dead yet. However, if Bass did not improve by the end of the day, she would have to schedule an appointment with his veterinarian. "I've tried everything..." she mouthed to herself, "strawberries, fennel, bok choi..."
Jane gave her a strange look. "Are we in the same conversation?"
"Sorry." Maura shook her head to clear it. "I – I was talking about Bass." 'But I was thinking about you, Jane.'
"Ah, obsessing over your turtle again."
"Tortoise," she protested. Jane knew perfectly well that Bass was a tortoise and only called him a turtle to annoy her. Looking down, Maura realized that Jane was pouring salt into the cup she was preparing for Bobby, the partner of the dead undercover officer at the scene that they had worked earlier in the morning. "He likes salt in his coffee?"
Jane groaned, staring down at the shaker in her hand, pausing, and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Dammit!" During the entire exchange, Maura prepared her coffee automatically, focusing most of her concentration on the expressions that crossed Jane's face. It was a face Maura liked, very symmetrical and well-shaped, but right now, it was tight with concern. Something was bothering her, and she doubted it was the case that they were working on, although that was probably a contributing factor.
"You know, when people lock their keys in their car or sprain their ankle, it usually indicates that something significant is bothering them," she probed, hoping to give Jane an opening to discuss her feelings.'Come on,' she thought, wanting very badly to reach out and smooth out the worry line that creased Jane's forehead. 'You give me access to your body... why don't you try giving me access to your feelings for once? I just want to help...'
But those words remained unspoken.
Jane shrugged it off. "A cop was murdered."
"Yeah, but that's not why you're salting your coffee."
The detective took a deep breath. "It's my brother, Tommy..."
Maura nodded in understanding, pleased that Jane was willing to discuss what she was thinking and feeling, at least for the moment. Although she was not the best at interpreting social situations, Maura knew that this was important to Jane. She hoped that she wouldn't make a mistake and drive her lover – friend – whatever they were...farther away. "I always wondered about him."
"Well, Frankie and I became cops, and Tommy went to prison for hitting a priest in a crosswalk."
"Oh." Oh. There was nothing else to say, really.
"It was his third strike while driving under the influence."
Although she had no siblings, Maura could imagine the pain that Tommy's decisions had caused the Rizzoli family. "Your poor parents..."
Jane's eyes narrowed, her body movements growing larger as old, deep wounds were reopened and her simmering anger surfaced. "You know, and they keep saying, if the priest that he hit has forgiven him, then why can't we... but you know, this isn't about forgiveness. Tommy is really troubled, and the more he denies it, the more he screws up."
Denial.
That was a concept that Dr. Maura Isles was intimately familiar with. For a moment, she felt a brief connection to Tommy through Jane, although she was unsure of her feelings at the moment. There were too many for her to sort through. "You really care about him," she said, hoping – deeply hoping – that Jane might speak about her with such caring someday, although not with the same disappointment and pain.
'Maybe. Maybe someday.'
A minute later, as elevator doors separated the two women, Maura leaned her head back against the wall and sighed, enjoying the warmth that flowed through the cardboard coffee cup and over the skin of her palms. The worries and cares of her life were still present, of course, but she could set them aside for just a moment. Jane had trusted her. Talked about her feelings. Her fears. Made herself vulnerable.
Even though Maura had made sure to offer herself as a confidant and friend before they parted ways, but she doubted that Jane would take her up on it. The detective was probably grateful to have a difficult, important case to distract her and Bobby Marino to interview upstairs. She was afraid. Afraid that Jane would try and retreat from the moment they had shared and go back to shutting her out
The medical examiner had no idea that today would change everything.
. . .
That evening, Maura sat in a loud, brightly lit, and crowded hospital waiting room, wondering what the hell had happened.
Everything was a blur. Memories came and went in a jumble of confusing flashes, and her overworked brain could hardly make sense of all the incoming data.
Lights out. Trying to comfort Bass...
Jane.
Pressing the tube into Frankie's discolored chest...
The barrel of a gun...
Jane.
Marino's teeth and narrow eyes...
Outside in the harsh sunlight, Jane with that same gun pointed up into her throat...
Shots. Screaming. Her, but she was not the only one. Everyone was shouting and running... more shots...
Jane. Jane, falling.
Maura had to suppress a wave of nausea. They would not let her in to see Jane yet. She was still in surgery, they said. Critical condition, they said. Everything had happened so fast, Maura still had trouble believing that her best friend, her lover, her... Jane was something. Jane was her something. She could admit it now, in the face of death.
Maybe she wasn't so good at lying after all. The truth always had a way of resurfacing.
She had pestered the nurses, doctors, anyone she could find for details whether they were responsible for Jane or not. She had tried to use her clout as a medical examiner to convince them to give her the real story, but they just kept talking about internal bleeding and using general terms and guesswork that made Maura want to tear her hair out by the roots. Of course Jane was bleeding internally, she had shot herself! She wanted to know the points of entry and exit, which organs might have been damaged, whether any toxic bodily fluids had escaped, whether there was any damage to her cranial area, how much blood she had lost, whether Jane loved her or not, whether Jane had thought about how she would feel before pulling that trigger, whether Jane knew that Maura loved her –
'Oh no.'
Love? That couldn't be true, could it?
Maura Isles was a creature of logic. She was not swayed by human emotions – emotions that were, according to biology, simply the release of chemicals into the synapses between dendrites. But what she felt for Jane certainly did not remind her of chemicals or dendrites. It was something spiritual, something beyond the physical realm. For the first time in her life, Maura wondered if there was something more to being human than just neurology and instinct. Maybe love existed after all.
What a cruel joke for Fate to play on her, then. Jane was probably dying just when she was ready to start living outside of the tiny box she folded herself in to.
A large presence moved beside her, and Maura looked to her left. Korsak was staring at her with an empathetic expression on his face. 'No, sympathetic,' Maura corrected herself. 'Empathy requires deep understanding rooted in personal experience. He cannot understand this.' Jane was Korsak's friend and former partner, but at this moment, the medical examiner selfishly decided that no one else had ever loved Jane as dearly as she did. She knew that her thoughts were ridiculous, but she was past caring.
"Here," he said, handing her a cup of tea. "They didn't have raspberry, but they had green tea."
"Thank you." Although it was not the doctor's preferred flavor, a deviation from her routine, Maura was grateful. Maybe Korsak understood more than she thought he did. "I just..."
"Yeah."
Those were the only words needed between them. Whatever Korsak knew or thought he knew was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It paled in comparison to Jane, who was fighting for her life, who might have already bled out or stopped breathing... 'Oh God, would I even sense it? Would I even know when it happened?' A part of Maura was certain that she would. If Jane's body gave up, she was positive that her own body would respond. She would literally feel her heart break.
'Broken Heart Syndrome. Not recognized as medical fact by scientists and doctors.'
In the past few hours, Maura's own opinion had been reversed through personal experience. The heavy weight in her chest, the pain, could not be anything else.
Tears burned behind her eyes. Suddenly, she wished that Bass was with her to offer comfort. However, the scene was blocked off and no one was allowed access. She hoped that he was all right. Worrying about Bass only made her worry more about Jane instead of distracting her, and Maura began twisting her hands, lacing and unlacing her fingers, wishing that everything that had happened today would just fade away like the nightmare it was.
Everything had gone so horribly wrong, and there was nothing that she could do but sit back and wait.