There is nothing in the entire world which can smash Maura's heart to pieces like the view of one sobbing, retching Jane Rizzoli. Because she knows that there is nothing she can do. The detective only lets go like this when she's under the impression that she's alone, with no one to hear or witness her completely thorough breakdown.
Maura shifts her weight in the hallway from one foot to another and Jane stiffens in the next room at the slight creak from the floorboard.
"Maur?" She asks softly, not moving a single muscle.
Maura swallows thickly through the lump forming in her throat and walks over to sit cross-legged beside Jane. She takes a scarred hand into her dexterous fingers and and squeezes softly. "I'm right here, Jane, and I'm not going anywhere."
The words only seem to make Jane cry with more vigour, convulse more harshly upon the wooden floor, but she still manages to choke out an, "I know," in the smallest voice Maura's ever heard her use. On instinct, Maura places her other hand upon Jane's thigh and faintly starts to rub, hoping to soothe the detective with the contact.
Jane's reaction is immediate, like a dam bursting with an earthquake. Her arms fling themselves around Maura's neck, dragging the doctor closer despite the awkward entanglement of knees and limbs. Automatically, Maura's arms wrap around Jane's back, her hands unconsciously moving in soothing circles on her back as her sweater catches a fresh cascade of Jane's tears.
She can feel the connection between her own lacrimal gland and amygdala getting out of hand.
They don't move from the other's embrace for at least an hour. When Jane's tears finally trickle to an end, Maura places the softest of kisses on her temple, a mere sigh against moist skin. She clasps Jane's hands in her own, and gently leads her to bed.