The park was cool, caught between the seasons. Shadows danced on paved walkways, shaded from the pale morning sun by limbs of trees that still clung to the growth of late summer as autumn approached, spreading over Maura's path as she completed her circuit. A light wind stirred the leaves and lawn, causing the glisten of dew on blades of grass to ripple in waves of color.
She made her goal in good time, but thought that if Jane were with her, the workout would be more effective. With her long legs and athletic build, Maura was hard put to keep up with the detective, pushing her body to new limits again and again over the course of their training. That is, once Jane finally woke up and committed to an early run, usually after several miles. It was invigorating, yet peaceful. She cherished any time spent with Jane that lacked the nervous energy of a case, any urgency or stress.
Maura finished her solitary route through the empty park, appreciating the opportunity to lose herself in the motion of running, of air passing through her lungs, muscles burning as her feet pounded lightly on the pavement. For a brief time, she was able to still her thoughts, and escape a little from anxieties and pressures that beset her conscious mind.
The moment passed as she entered her home. In the shower, reality crashed back into her like the water cascading down her back.
Death awaited her at the station. Maura faced it every day, that inevitable force, the culmination of humanity's greatest fear.
Teaching at U.C. San Francisco, and the past months spent practicing as Chief Medical Examiner couldn't be more different. The people given into her care were not cadavers, purposed for research, but real victims, testaments to the stark violence that colored the criminal underworld of Boston, ganglands she had only been aware of as a tangential blur on the evening news growing up, ever in the periphery of her life until now.
Dr. Ashford Tierney, her predecessor, once told her that his career, in its entirety, "has been a constant affirmation of the fragile good in men, and the ease with which it is broken." With a soft smile that didn't reach his steel grey eyes, he had shook her hand, wished her well, and left for Logan International to catch a direct flight to his home of Atlanta, Georgia. It was indeed a humbling experience, to stand before a victim and know that through some conflict of circumstance, another person was responsible for every cut and gash, every contusion, every fractured piece of bone she measured, recorded, and added into her report.
Jane referred to their killers as monsters, and she tended to agree.
It was a trying job, one that she excelled at to an extent that her coworkers found disconcerting, earning her the dark moniker, Queen of the Dead, and the morgue was her domain. She was of two minds herself concerning her career as of late.
After she had called off her engagement to Garrett Fairfield, Maura found herself at odds with certain prominent members of her class, including her parents. He was a fine man, a tender lover, but was mired in a class system to which she no longer adhered, one of power, money, and family, in that order. He enjoyed it, thrived in it, and probably didn't know any different. Truly, the thought of sacrificing her individual agency to become his wife, resigned at playing ancient elite games of intrigue and deception, choked her. She had thought the decision to end the relationship had been a mutual agreement. She had been a naive fool.
The resulting debacle had fueled her flight across the country, shamed and humiliated, in search of purpose. In San Francisco, she created meaning and self worth for herself. She had become a doctor out of a passion to help people, and she found her affirmation that year teaching at the university. But even there Maura didn't feel at peace. She needed to believe her work was worthwhile.
The opportunities afforded her had led her back to Boston, and to a punishing mindset surrounded by death. The detectives thought her overly clinical and cold. Maura figured that persona for a coping mechanism.
Only Jane knew better. Jane, with her own darkness and relentless drive, didn't hesitate to seek out her help, wasn't afraid to call her out when she was distant, and always made an effort to include her, helping her through a social structure she wasn't yet accustomed to, accepting her many quirks along the way. Their friendship was invaluable.
Maura felt heat rising in her face at the memory of stealing a kiss after a night of drinking at the Robber. Perhaps she needed more than friendship at this stage in her life, but she wouldn't sacrifice a single weekend with Jane for a date.
The doorbell sounded as Maura was applying makeup, going about her normal morning routine before work. Barefoot, she entered the hall in a black silk robe, stepping past the great monolith of her pet tortoise, Bass, to peek out at her unexpected visitor.
Constance Isles stood on the step, in all her immaculate splendor. Maura hurried to the open the door, shocked by her mother's unprompted appearance. Several weeks had passed since they last spoke via telephone, much less in person.
"My God, darling, do you often greet your guests fresh from the bath?" Stunned speechless, Maura moved aside to let her through, drawing the edges of her robe tight together.
"Hello, mother," she said softly, following behind, "I'm afraid you caught me in the middle of getting ready for work." She didn't quite apologize.
"Of course," Constance swept through the hall, owning any space she set foot in without any effort, "Don't let me keep you from that," her gaze passed over Maura with disapproval as she took a seat for herself at the island counter of the kitchen.
With as much dignity as she could muster in a bathrobe, Maura rounded the counter to start a carafe of coffee before calmly returning to her bedroom, even though everything in her wanted to dart out of sight. Embarrassed, she dressed quickly. Maura wasn't used to feeling vulnerable in her own home.
Upon reentering the kitchen, Constance gave her a proper greeting with kisses to both cheeks, "Much better."
Maura smiled politely, and moved to retrieve two cups to serve the coffee that steamed on the counter, the scent filling the room. "I take it you're on your way to the airport?" she said softly, unable to think of another reason her mother might be visiting so early.
"Indeed," Constance hummed, taking a delicate sip, all grace and perfect poise, "I'll be in Paris for a few days, and thought I would pop in for a minute." Maura highly doubted it was that simple.
"Everyone missed you at Diana's dinner party last week. It's terribly impolite to refuse her, especially if you want to get past last year's…absence," her tone never changed, a decorous lilt touched with the slightest of accents.
Maura met her gaze evenly, wrapping her fingers around her cup, appreciating its warmth. "I wasn't invited," she said coolly.
The older woman's only reaction was a soft pursing of her lips, "Then this is more serious than I thought." Honestly, Maura didn't care one way or the other. She didn't belong, and she wasn't offended in the least.
"You should know," Constance continued, "that I was made aware of a certain rumor that's apparently been floating around for some time, concerning Garrett's and your falling out."
Maura fought the urge to roll her eyes, "And?"
"Is it true that Ian was visiting, here, the week prior to the announcement?" Her expression was soft as ever, but her eyes were hard, boring into Maura.
"Yes," she answered without thinking, suppressing an indignant gasp when the insinuation became clear. She stood slowly, drawing herself up to her full height, and shook off her intimidation. "I did not cheat."
Constance considered her daughter for a long moment, as if weighing her words when she knew Maura would never lie to her. "Okay," she set her cup down and reached for her purse, "My apologies, dear, but I wanted to hear it from you."
Warring between anger and gratitude to her mother for actually believing her, Maura tried to imagine how Jane, always quick with her temper, would have reacted to such an accusation. Instead, she showed Constance out, wishing her a lovely trip, exchanging small pleasantries and smiles, giving her what she expected. There were other ways to be strong.
Thanks for reading. Any and all comments/feedback, both positive and negative, are always appreciated. Cheers, -Picc.