Chapter 8
The days have grown colder, and as November deepens, a brisk chill clings to the air, settling in the city and casting a quiet edge over everything. Jane feels it keenly, the bite of the wind still lingering on her skin as she steps into the hospital, jaw set, eyes narrowed. She's just here for a minor cut—a small gash above her eyebrow from a scuffle gone sideways. It's nothing, really, nothing she wouldn't normally brush off. But the steady trickle of blood reminded her she'd need stitches, no matter how much she wishes she could ignore it.
The waiting room's familiar, sterile scent fills her nose, mingling with the distant hum of machines and muffled voices. The fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting an unnatural brightness over everything, and she can feel it already—the slow, creeping tension hospitals always seem to bring her.
Jane rubs a thumb against her palm, the motion stiff and deliberate, feeling the raised scars there—a tactile reminder of her reasons for hating places like this. The cold always worsened it, making her hands ache, the stiffness settling deep into the joints and tendons that had never fully healed. Her breath comes shallow, her fingers twitching to reach for something solid, something grounding, but the discomfort lingers, a dull throb that she shoves to the back of her mind.
She's only been waiting a few minutes, but it feels longer—too long. She moves to the counter, trying to keep her voice calm. "I need to see Dr. Isles," she says, words measured, steady. Just saying the name brings a small relief, a grounding point in the midst of the sterile tension.
The nurse barely glances up from her screen, her fingers tapping briskly over the keys. "You'll have to wait like everyone else," she replies, tone curt. "No one gets to choose their doctor in the ER."
Jane's jaw tightens. Her hand reflexively rubs her palm again, the familiar tension building in her chest, making her pulse thrum against her temples. The nurse returns to her work, dismissing Jane as if she's a minor inconvenience, just another face in a crowded room. Jane shifts her weight, gaze darting to the double doors that lead back to the exam rooms, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows along the walls.
"Look," she tries again, fighting to keep the edge out of her voice, "I need Dr. Isles. Just go let her know, alright?"
The nurse sighs, still not looking up. "I've already told you, we're busy. You'll have to wait."
Jane's fingers dig into her palm, the pain grounding her, but the frustration tightens like a knot in her chest. She casts a quick glance around the waiting area—the distant monitors, the indifferent staff, the antiseptic smell thick in the air—all of it winding her up further, memories pressing in at the edges, reminding her of every reason she wants to be anywhere but here. The sterile walls, the forced calm—they set her on edge, amplifying the growing tension thrumming through her veins.
"Please," she manages, her voice lower now, words coming rougher as she leans slightly closer to the counter. "It's important."
The nurse's tone sharpens, barely glancing her way. "No one gets special treatment here."
That's it. The last straw. She digs into her pocket, pulling out her badge and slamming it onto the counter, the metal hitting the surface with a solid, echoing thunk. Her hand trembles, but she keeps her gaze level, hoping the desperation churning inside her doesn't bleed through her expression.
"I'm asking for her one last time," she says, voice steady but laced with something raw. Beneath her anger, there's a flicker of something she doesn't want to name—fear, maybe, or just the memory of it. "Get. Dr. Isles. Now."
The nurse hesitates, taken aback by the force in Jane's voice and the solid weight of the badge on the counter. She glances up, her eyes finally meeting Jane's, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as she takes in the intensity simmering beneath Jane's controlled exterior. For a moment, there's a tense silence, stretching between them, before the nurse nods briskly, muttering something about "difficult patients" under her breath as she turns and disappears through the double doors.
Jane lets out a shaky breath, feeling her pulse begin to slow as she unclenches her jaw. She focuses on her breathing, willing herself to stay calm, even as the memories and emotions churn just below the surface, waiting for Maura to walk through those doors.
A few moments later, Maura appears in the waiting area, her presence like a balm that eases Jane's fraying nerves the instant their eyes meet. Just the sight of her—steady, familiar, a quiet calm—seems to unravel the tension in Jane's body, and she feels her shoulders drop, the tightness in her chest easing as Maura approaches.
"Detective, please follow me," Maura says gently, her voice soft yet warm as she gestures for her to follow. She leads Jane down the hall to a private examination room, her steps unhurried, every movement calm and grounded. Once they're inside, Maura closes the door with a quiet finality, and the noise of the bustling ER fades, leaving a silence that feels almost intimate.
She looks at Jane, her gaze filled with a tender concern that Jane can't quite name. "Let's take a look, shall we?" Maura murmurs, her voice low, almost coaxing. She steps closer, her hand reaching up to tilt Jane's chin, guiding her face toward the light with a careful, gentle touch.
As her fingers trace the area around Jane's wound, she starts talking softly, her words carrying a gentle distraction. "What happened?" she asks, glancing at Jane with a small, reassuring smile as she inspects the gash above her brow. Her hand is steady, but her eyes hold a warmth, a softness that lingers a moment longer than necessary.
"Just a scuffle," Jane mutters, shrugging, though there's a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth as she glances at Maura. "You should see the other guy."
Maura lets out a quiet chuckle, nodding as she begins cleaning the wound with a deft, steady hand. "Of course." She meets Jane's gaze briefly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, before she shifts her focus back to her work. "How are your ribs, by the way?" Her tone is light but attentive, subtly encouraging Jane to stay engaged.
"Almost back to normal," Jane replies, the words coming easier than she'd expected. She watches Maura's face as she works, the calm precision of her touch, the steady focus in her gaze. There's something grounding in it, something that makes her feel like she doesn't have to hold herself quite so tightly.
Maura continues, narrating her movements as she preps the sutures, her voice a low murmur as she explains, "This might sting a little, but it should heal cleanly." The gentle sound of her voice, the way she describes each step, seems to ease the tension inch by inch, soothing Jane's frayed nerves without her even realizing it.
And then, as Maura leans in to start the sutures, Jane catches herself massaging her palm with her thumb, the motion both a distraction from the sharp sting of the needle and a way to calm her nerves. The familiar ache in her hands nags at her, a dull reminder of old wounds that never quite faded. She starts to pull her hand away instinctively, embarrassed by the unconscious habit, but Maura notices.
Her gaze flickers to Jane's hand, softening with understanding, and she reaches out, placing her own hand lightly over Jane's. Her touch is warm and steady, grounding Jane in a way that words never could. For a moment, the room seems to still, the hum of fluorescent lights and muffled voices fading into the background. Jane feels the warmth of Maura's palm settle into her cold skin, easing the tension she hadn't even realized she was holding.
"Are they hurting?" Maura asks gently, her voice soft but probing. Her gaze lingers on Jane's hand, her expression a mix of curiosity and quiet concern.
Jane shakes her head quickly, her voice clipped. "It's nothing." She flexes her fingers deliberately, as if to prove her point, though the stiffness and subtle wince that accompanies the movement betray her. As she begins to withdraw, Maura's hand tightens ever so slightly, holding her in place—not forceful, but firm enough to stop her. Jane glances at her, startled by the persistence, but Maura's eyes remain calm, unwavering.
"You're safe here, with me, I promise," Maura whispers, her voice so gentle, so steady, that it settles around Jane like a warmth she hadn't known she needed. The words are a quiet reassurance, each syllable laced with something that feels deeply comforting, deeply real. Jane meets Maura's eyes, and for a moment, they hold each other's gaze, the silence stretching into something tender and unspoken.
The simple gesture catches Jane off-guard, but she doesn't pull away. For a moment, they just stay like that, Jane's hand resting beneath Maura's, feeling the warmth and calm of her touch seeping into her cold skin. Maura's thumb moves in a small, comforting circle, and Jane feels something release within her, a weight she's carried for so long that she almost hadn't noticed it until now. The words linger, anchoring her in the moment, the soft promise settling into her bones.
As Maura finishes the last suture and steps back, she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a small card, pressing it into Jane's hand with a soft smile. "For next time," she says, a hint of humor in her tone but an underlying earnestness in her gaze. "Just call me directly. No need to threathen my staff."
Jane laughs, the sound soft and a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that," she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck, though there's a spark of humor in her eyes. "Guess I didn't make the best impression."
Maura shakes her head, her expression gentle as she watches Jane. "It's alright," she replies softly, her voice laced with warmth. "Just don't do it again, please."
As Jane pockets the card, she glances back at Maura, her eyes holding a depth of something unspoken, a warmth that hovers just beneath her steady gaze. She takes a small breath, feeling the words catch, her voice quieter than usual. "Thanks, Maura," she says, and though the words are simple, the weight behind them is anything but. The gratitude in her voice lingers, as if acknowledging not just the care Maura provided but the comfort she hadn't expected to find in her presence.
Maura's smile softens, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them that says far more than any words could. She dips her head slightly, her voice gentle. "Of course, Jane. Anytime."
Jane clears her throat, as if steadying herself, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She fidgets briefly, her fingers brushing the edge of her pocket again. For a moment, she glances down, her gaze dropping to the floor, as if debating whether to say what's on her mind. Her hand grazes over the business card Maura just gave her, and she shifts her weight, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face.
When she finally looks up, there's an almost hesitant smile playing at her lips. "Listen… I know I'm probably pushing my luck here," she begins, pausing as if rethinking, her eyes darting away again before she manages to meet Maura's gaze. Her voice drops just slightly, softened by the vulnerability she can't quite hide. "But… would you maybe want to grab a coffee sometime?"
The words hang between them, unspoken doubts and hope mingling in her expression, as if she's already bracing for whatever answer might come next.
Maura's eyes widen just slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. She hesitates, the invitation hanging between them, and then her lips curve into a tentative, genuine smile. "Actually," she says thoughtfully, "I'm off duty tomorrow, and with that…" she gestures lightly to Jane's bandaged head, "you're probably not supposed to be running. But you could come over to my place instead. I make a pretty decent cup of coffee."
Jane's face breaks into a grin, her eyes brightening with a warmth that's hard to ignore. "Yeah, I'd like that," she replies, her voice softening. "Nine work for you?"
"Nine's perfect," Maura says, her voice warm, the arrangement now feeling as steady as a promise. They share a lingering glance, the quiet anticipation stretching between them.
Finally, Jane takes a step back, as if preparing to leave, but her movement is unhurried, almost reluctant. "So… I'll see you tomorrow," she says, the words holding a quiet promise, a hint of something that feels both uncharted and deeply anticipated.
Maura nods, her heart fluttering with an unexpected mix of anticipation and nervousness. "Tomorrow," she replies, her voice steady but tinged with something unguarded, something vulnerable. She watches Jane as she turns to go, catching the slight turn of her head, the briefest flicker of a smile before she disappears down the hall.
As the door closes softly behind her, Maura remains standing there, her fingers absently brushing over her own hand where Jane's warmth had lingered moments before. She takes a slow breath, a strange, quiet excitement welling up inside her, mingling with the gentle ache of uncertainty. She finds herself wondering what, exactly, compelled her to make the invitation, why Jane's presence has a way of lingering, drawing her in with an intensity she hadn't anticipated. It's a pull that feels unsettling yet undeniably comforting, as though Jane has somehow woven herself into the fabric of her day without Maura fully realizing it.
Moving through her rounds, Maura feels her usual focus elude her, slipping through her grasp like sand. Each time she catches herself drifting, her thoughts return to Jane—her steady gaze, the unexpected vulnerability in her voice, the way her hand had felt resting under Maura's. The memory of Jane's fingers brushing those faint scars is something Maura can't quite shake, a moment so brief yet filled with an intimacy that left an indelible mark.
And, in the quiet spaces between her tasks, Maura wonders why Jane seems to stay on her mind so easily, why the softness in her gaze feels as though it's unlocking something within her that's been carefully tucked away. There's a part of her—a sensible, cautious part—that thinks of Ian, that recalls his absence and the understanding they've built over time. Yet, in contrast to the sturdy familiarity of her life with Ian, the presence of Jane brings a sense of discovery, something new and untested, drawing her into an unknown that feels as thrilling as it does unsettling.
As the afternoon light begins to fade, she finds herself distracted by these subtle contradictions. She's struck by the warmth Jane had left in her hands, a memory that resurfaces each time she catches her own fingers drifting back, replaying that simple touch. And the moment when Jane had hesitated, her voice softened with something unspoken—it plays through her mind, a quiet invitation, as though inviting Maura to see beyond the guarded exterior Jane holds so tightly.
By the time she leaves the hospital that evening, her mind is already on tomorrow. The hazy distraction fills her with a mix of anticipation and apprehension, a quiet possibility that unsettles her even as it intrigues her. And as she steps into the evening air, Maura realizes that, for all the answers she's spent her life seeking, there are some questions she may be ready to let herself explore—ones that linger, just like Jane, in the spaces she hadn't known were waiting to be filled.