A/N: I'm not the best at updating, but I try and do what I can. It may be a while for another update, but it's never forgotten. This is an ongoing story. Standard disclaimer: I own nothing.
Sessions.
The Homicide Department at the Boston Police Department was nearly deserted save the lone detective who sat hunched over paperwork. A small desk lamp illuminated the spot, directionally casting its beam in an otherwise dark room. There, Detective Jane Rizzoli sat, a pen in one hand hovering over the files. Her other hand cradled her head, elbow resting firmly on the desk, with her fingers playing idly in the thick copse of dark curls that fell aimlessly about.
Rizzoli glanced up at the sound of Lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh walking purposefully into the room, oblivious to her presence. "What are you doing here, Lieu?" she asked, reclining in her chair and dropping her hand to her lap.
"I should ask you the same thing, Rizzoli," Cavanaugh responded, looking up. He didn't stop walking, but changed his direction toward the detective. "It's Friday night. Get outta here," he said, his head tilting to the door as if driving home the point.
Jane scoffed lightly, a slight smile forming on her lips. She glanced over her desk. "Just finishing up some paperwork."
Cavanaugh acknowledged her answer with a slight nod of his head. "Forgot my coat," he said, turning toward his office.
Jane watched as the Lieutenant disappeared into his office, then returned to her paperwork.
Cavanaugh flicked on the light to his office. His blazer still hung over the coat rack, dismissed in the early morning hours. Plucking it off the rack, he tossed it over his arm, pausing to look at a manila file on his desk. With a slight raise of his head, he watched Jane for a moment. Sighing, he flicked off the light and exited his office.
"You know Jane," he said, coming up beside her. He sat at the edge of a nearby desk, his jacket cradled in his arms. When she glanced up at him, he continued. "I was gonna wait until Monday morning, but," he said, glancing away, fidgeting. "Maybe having the weekend to think about it is a better idea." He turned his gaze back to Jane.
"Think about what?" Jane asked, leaning back in her chair.
The Lieutenant paused and looked at his hands.
"Lieu?" she asked, impatiently.
Cavanaugh swallowed noticeably and looked back at Jane. "I'm getting pressure from the top," he said, almost quietly.
"About?" It wasn't like the Lieutenant to be evasive, and Jane couldn't help the slight worry that started creeping into her mind.
Again, Cavanaugh looked at his hands. When he glanced back up at her, he held her gaze. "You," he said finally.
Jane exasperatedly motioned for him to continue. "What about me?"
Cavanaugh glanced away, knowing she wouldn't like what he was about to say. Finally, he met her eyes again. "They want you to see the department therapist."
"What?" Jane said, a slight smile of disbelief flashing across her face. "Why?"
"This last shooting," Cavanaugh began, but Jane interrupted him.
"Was clean, you know that. I was cleared."
Cavanaugh nodded. "But the report also said that it might have been overkill."
"Might have been," Jane retorted, raising her voice to make a point. "You weren't there. None of them were except Frost and Korsak, and I know you didn't hear that from them."
"Maybe so," Cavanaugh acquiesced with a shrug. "But like I said, I'm getting pressure from the top."
"What," Jane started, "they think I'm unstable?"
Cavanaugh looked at Jane, meeting her eyes. "They think you're a liability, Jane," he said truthfully.
"I don't believe this!" Jane hollered, breaking eye contact and tossing her pen on her desk. "You don't believe this," she said, glancing back at the Lieutenant.
"Jane," Cavanaugh said, trying to calm the wary detective. "It doesn't matter what I think. But," he continued, "with everything that's happened, I don't think it's a bad idea."
Cavanaugh didn't need to count all the trauma Jane had been through in recent years. He knew she was ordered to see the therapist after Hoyt, but he also knew she didn't really give it the time and attention it deserved. The same thing could be said about Dominic. He also knew that after each shooting, any cop was required to see the department therapist as a formality. But, it was always a formality, and nothing ever came of those sessions for anyone. Cumulatively, in his mind, they all added up, and the potential was there for her to be a ticking time bomb. No, Cavanaugh mused, it wasn't a bad idea at all.
Jane ran her hands through her already disheveled hair, finally glancing back up at the older man. "And if I don't?"
Cavanaugh sighed. "Then I have no choice but to suspend you without pay until further notice."
"Great," Jane said sarcastically, dropping her head into her hands and rubbing her eyes. "Just great. You're not really giving me a choice here, Lieu," she said, glancing back up at him.
"There's always a choice, Detective Rizzoli," he said standing from the edge of the desk he'd been sitting on. He readjusted his jacket over his arm and glanced at Jane. "I have a meeting Monday afternoon with the brass. I'll need your answer before then." He paused slightly, making sure the detective understood him. "Goodnight, Jane," he said, satisfied she had. He turned to leave.
Jane watched as her superior walked out of the room. Her eyes flicked about wildly: at her paperwork, back at the door, at the empty desks around her. She had always counted on this as the one place she could go to let the rest of the world fall away, the one place she could go that demanded all her attention and focus, and the one place she could go to willingly and easily give it. It gave her purpose and escape, a piece of mind. She was good at it and respected for it. And now, even that was unraveling.
Cursing under her breath, Jane roughly switched off the desk lamp, grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, and stormed out of the room.