Jane spent the rest of the morning vacuuming, her own version of active meditation. Frost was right, she knew he was right. Maura was everything to her, what more did she want? What more could she expect from her? Maura had never lied to her, had never been anything but completely direct about this, as with all things. Maura's frank openness was one of the things Jane liked most about her. Jane fought back a blush as she remembered the graphic, yet painfully scientifically accurate descriptions that passed as "pillow talk" for Maura. At the memory, Jane felt the pressure of tears forming and tilted her head back to suppress them.

"God. How can I live without her?" she wondered for the hundredth time that day.

The sound of the vacuum cleaner muffled the shy knocks on the door. Maura felt silly to be knocking. This was her home too. But she was unsure of her place in it now, unsure of the fate of her shared life with Jane. And she suddenly felt foolish about having walked all the way here from her parents' hotel with no way to return and not even her phone or wallet with her. Would Jane want to see her? Would she be able to say what Jane was hoping to hear her say? All she knew is that if there were a chance that things could work out with Jane, she would take that chance.

She was not a risk-seeker naturally, not fearless like Jane. She was not a gambler. She had carefully constructed her life for a particular effect, as she did each day with her clothing ensembles. From her choice in French boarding schools to her decision to attend medical school, she had chosen a path that was most likely to lead to a life of quiet joy, or at least evenly rationed suffering.

Her inability to maintain a monogamous relationship was the biggest threat to a normal life, but she was certain that a degree of satisfaction and contentment could be had through other means. She had often wondered, how full could a life be with just one person to love anyway?

But being in so many relationships takes its toll as well. Every time she invested in a relationship she gave up a part of herself, and in her mid twenties she realized that she was not a renewable resource. There were only so many times she could survive a break up and bounce back to what she was. Break ups took their toll. And as full as she felt having many people to love, she also wondered if she might not feel as full if she were to have children. Jane's children, maybe. No, she was not sure if things would work out, and yes, there were a number of reasons why she might think they wouldn't. But when Maura thought about the "couldn't"s—the things she felt like she absolutely could not do even if pressed—at the top of the list was "break up with Jane." So she knocked, and knocked gently, tentatively, her cautious nature directing her in even this, her boldest decision.

Luckily Jane had been peeking out the window every 5 minutes or so, hoping to see Maura's car parked in the driveway like a child hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa. The difference was that Santa always came, and there was no guarantee of Maura's return. So when Jane looked out the window and saw Maura, her relief and gratitude were overwhelming. It felt miraculous and undeserved, the stuff of weepy black and white Christmas movies.

Jane rushed to the door and swung it open, catching Maura in mid knock.

"Jane," Maura whispered, startled. A beat passed, and Jane swept Maura into her arms, digging her head into Maura's neck. The emotions that Jane had denied herself from acknowledging overcame her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Jane murmured through her tears. "I love you so much." Jane's voice echoed her words from last night and for a moment Maura questioned her decision again. It was not that she doubted Jane's sincerity. When she wasn't being overtly sarcastic, Jane was truthful almost to a fault, at least with those with whom she felt safe. But it was also true that nothing had changed between last night and this morning, at least nothing that would warrant the complete reversal that Maura was about to make.

"Yes, Jane."

Jane was so caught up in her own sobbing that she didn't hear Maura. Maura was struck with how this small action was a microcosm for some of her broader frustrations with the relationship and Jane's ability to truly hear her.

"I said yes, Jane." More tears. But Maura didn't have tears, she had no more tears left to cry that day. And in that emotionally exhausted state, she couldn't help but reflect, somewhat detachedly, that people were funny when they cried. Especially small children, but even adults. Once they got started crying, they often forgot the reason why they had started crying in the first place. Your lollypop fell into the dirt? Here's another one. But that didn't stop the tears. People could rarely stop crying as quickly as they started, even when they got whatever it was that they had prompted the jag. Was it because the catharsis of emotional release was more valuable to them in that moment than even the thing that they had previously been denied, then granted?

Maura was willing to be patient, but Jane's crying was not running out of steam on its own. If anything it was becoming more hysterical. Maura tried gently tracing circles on her back, but that only renewed Jane's efforts. Jane, who had been despairing all morning that she would never feel Maura's touch, was drowning in sensations. She couldn't catch her breath.

Worried that Jane might start hyperventilating, Maura grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back.

"Jane, honey. Stop it. Stop crying."

Jane hated herself for it, but Maura's sudden hardness caused her to cry harder. Maybe Maura hadn't come back to her after all. Jane was in despair. How could she have allowed herself to become so vulnerable? So weak? Jane was having a sudden crisis of identity, which only fed her despair.

"Jane," Maura said softly, but Jane didn't respond. "Jane," she said firmer. "Jane!" a gently shake for emphasis until Jane finally looked up into her eyes. "Let's go find you a seat on the couch. I'm going to make you some tea." Maura directed Jane to sit, or rather collapse, into the overstuffed sofa.

Maura stayed in the kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil. She knew she could have gone back to the sitting room. She knew from experience that she could hear the kettle's whistle from any place in their home. But she just needed a moment to think.

She had said yes, but Jane hadn't heard her. She could still change her mind. Did she want to change her mind? How did it feel when she said yes? Relief? Defeat? Anxiety? Maura was no better at identifying her own emotions as she was the emotions of others. It was one of the reasons why she chose to work with dead people rather than the living. Consequently, when faced with a big decision or momentous occasion, she often found herself probing her emotional reactions like a diagnostician, like one might probe a sore tooth, looking for the source and nature of the pain.

And because even then her emotions were often difficult to decode, her rational brain often filled in the gaps. So when she could not identify the particular spectrum of emotions she was experiencing at the thought of marrying Jane, her mind quickly ran through the practical pros and cons of her decision: it was such a small change. She already lived with her. Wasn't this just formalizing their current arrangement? Making it easier to put Jane on her health insurance? Lowering her taxes? Simplifying inheritance and life insurance issues? Allowing her to bypass "family only" restrictions at the hospital? At that thought, Maura felt a wave of nausea remembering the last few times Jane had been seriously hurt. Maura still had nightmares about Jane being shot in front of the police precinct. She had started running towards her even before she had heard the gun discharge. Maura was the first to each her, cradling Jane's head in her lap while applying pressure to the entry wound. Jane's blood had been so hot, so different from the corpses that Maura typically worked with. But Jane's lips had been just as pale, the look of death already revealing itself in Jane's face.

Stop, Maura thought to herself. Stop torturing yourself. But it was too late. She was lightheaded and felt like she would be sick. Maura squatted, putting her head between her knees so she wouldn't pass out. So this was how she felt about Jane. At least that much was clear. Wasn't the rest just details?

When Maura finally made it back out with the tea, Jane was draped over the arm of the couch with her head resting on her forearm, silent. The truth was that Jane was exhausted. She had not spent such a fitful night since the days of being the target of a serial killer, since… since before meeting Maura. Jane's chest ached with overexertion and a deep sense of loss.

"Jane, sweetheart, I made you tea." Maura was reluctant to talk substantively with Jane until she was sure that Jane had calmed down. Maura reached over and stroked Jane's hair, remembering how her mother's fingers had done the same to her not more than an hour ago. Maura suddenly froze. "My mother was stroking my hair," she suddenly realized.

Jane sucked in the spit threatening to pool itself on her sleeve. "What did you say?"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize I said that audibly," Maura shook her head, caught up in the memory. Did her mother initiate the contact? She tried to remember. Even if it was Maura who started the embrace, her mother had definitely reciprocated. Maura had craved her mother's affection growing up, but there had been only a handful of equally intimate embraces. Of course they had grown closer recently. All because of…

"Jane," she whispered. She said it so gently that Jane ears strained to hear. She tilted her head up and towards Maura so she could read her lips.

But Maura didn't speak. She was caught up in a thought. Her mother had been a very cold person for years, decades really. Then Jane confronted her about it and Constance changed. She became a better mother. Constance became more of what Maura had always wanted, who Maura had needed. Her mother had changed for Maura—had sacrificed part of her identity for Maura. Maura felt gratitude both for her mother's love and a deeper appreciation for the advice that Constance had been trying to share that morning. Of course her mother knew about the difference between compromise and sacrifice because she had lived both with Maura. And they were in a better place now than ever. If her mother had changed so drastically to fix a relationship, why couldn't Maura?

"Jane, I would love to marry you."