Maura stepped out of her Prius to find a modest crowd already beginning to gather at the burial site just outside Boston. When her cigarette heels hit pavement, she shut the car door behind her and checked her watch; it was nine-thirty. With the service slated to begin at ten that morning, she sighed in relief that she wasn't late. She had awoken much later than she intended; the combination of the emotionally trying conclusion to her night and falling asleep on the couch – instead of in her bed – served to give her a restless night. The break in her routine made her forget to set her alarm. It was by the providence of sheer force of habit that she woke up with adequate time to shower and dress for the funeral.
As she approached the gathering, she scanned for familiar faces – the faces of those with whom she would most like to stand next to during the formalities preceding Frost's body's subterranean descent. She glanced over Korsak and Cavanagh until her eyes found Jane, in full uniform, standing at the side of the coffin that was furthest from Maura. Coffee-colored eyes were downcast, fixated on an indistinct point in the grass at her feet. Dark circles – periorbital discoloration – crouched beneath them.
Maura was disheartened – but not surprised – to see her beloved friend so utterly dejected and sleep-deprived. So many times, Jane had been her strength when she felt she had so little of her own. Consequently, when the detective's dynamic personality became lackluster with defeat, Maura feared there was precious little hope for herself. It frightened her.
Jane shifted her weight slightly, and the movement was enough to render Casey visible from Maura's vantage point. He stood just behind Jane, face grim, jaw set. He reached for Jane when she appeared to shudder, but to Maura's surprise, the detective shrugged her husband off. He hesitated a moment, lingering at her shoulder and uncertain. Jane inclined her head slightly and murmured something to him over her shoulder, to which he replied only by turning slowly on his heel and striding over to wait beneath the shade of a live oak tree.
Maura felt her shoulders slump as she watched the silent drama unfold before her. Jane had begun to push, to alienate those closest to her. The medical examiner knew from firsthand experience that her best friend would, in the coming weeks and months, proceed to draw her stoicism around herself like a chainmail straightjacket – at once trying to shore up her crumbling defenses, protect her raw and wounded heart, and suppress her deepest emotions in an effort to become numb.
It wouldn't work. It never did.
Those who loved Jane most – who loved her best – would suffer the greatest hurt from her rejection. Maura found herself dreading the foreseeable future, apprehension gnawing at her insides even as she drew up beside Jane just in time for the service to begin. She risked a glance into that heartbreakingly beautiful face and found tears standing in her eyes, perching precariously on long, dark lashes. Jane hardly seemed to notice she was there. She was shutting down already, hands balled into fists so tight that the knuckles and scar tissue stood out in stark relief against the pale olive of her skin.
Seeing Jane like this, knowing how hard she was trying to "stay strong" and hold it together, to keep it all in, Maura ached all the more. She longed all the more deeply to reach out to Jane. She found herself empathizing with Casey, of all people, understanding his desire to give comfort as it came in direct conflict with Jane's determination to isolate herself.
Coping with this internal struggle on top of the renewed grief she felt at Frost's loss proved exhausting for Maura. She was afraid the stress of such intense cognitive dissonance would induce a bout of hives, but she found a strange relief when it came time for Jane to step up to the podium and say a few words.