*Throws self down a flight of stairs for writing this*

Also, I should probably get a beta..

- MT

It's 6 am on a Tuesday morning when you finally drag yourself out of your bedroom. Your hair resembles Scary Spice and you don't even care. You flick the switch to boil the kettle and wait impatiently for your morning coffee; the first of fifty for the day - the only thing you've voluntarily consumed over the past two months.

Today's the day you decided to face the world and go back to work. Today's the day you hold your head high and ignore the fact that every damn person in the precinct has been gossiping about you for months. Today's the day you face your colleagues, you face your friends; you face yourself.

You pour your coffee and greet Jo good morning before walking to the bathroom with your liquid addiction in hand. You place the mug by the shower, strip off, and step into the steaming hot shower. Gasping in shock at the temperature of the water; even though you purposely didn't add much cold water. You needed something to wake you up, you needed new pain to try and take your mind off the other pain.

It takes you forever to wash your hair and brush all the knots out, but you finally do it before you step out onto the mat. The first thing you reach for isn't even your towel, it's the coffee, the one thing that's always been there for you. Caffeine. You roll your eyes at your realisation that the one good thing in your life is coffee. But it's true. No one else is there, not forever.

You bid your loyal pup goodbye and stop as you reach your front door. You're about to leave your home for the first time in eight weeks and it's the most daunting thing you've ever had to do. But you have to, because you're Jane Rizzoli, and people expect you to be strong. She expects you to be strong. You open the door and swagger on out. Do it for you, and do it for her. Be strong, Janie.

Depressing songs play on the radio as you get stuck in the Boston morning traffic, and you wish that you could pull the head unit out and throw it at the car next to you; because simply switching the radio off wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as throwing and breaking something. But instead, you listen to the music, every word hitting you right in the heart. At least you're not crying. Maybe you had cried every tear possible and now there was nothing left of you, in more ways than one.

I go back, back, back and every memory you're there.

But the clock ticks over every minute we share.

On my knees begging for it not to be true,

but it was you...it was you...it was you.

You growl and hit the steering wheel in front of you and your horn beeps just as the traffic begins to move, and the asshole in front of you has the audacity to stick his finger out the window and direct it at you - and you don't even have the patience to try and tell him the horn wasn't for him, so you respond by copying his gesture and allowing swear words to slip from your mouth. You're angry with him, you're angry with the world and everyone in it, and most importantly - you're angry at yourself.

They told me who was in trouble, I couldn't breathe on the other side of the world.

And there was nothing I could do to help you.

The words hit you hard and you discover you do have more tears left and you quickly pull over and you cry and you cry and you cry. You sob, you break down once again, the 700th time this month. You so desperately want to reach out and call her, but the words your mother repeated to you surrounded your mind and you clutch the steering wheel until your knuckles become white. Do it for you, and do it for her.

Can you see the beauty from a new beginning somewhere?

'Cause I feel like I wont repair with time.

You begin to punch the steering wheel, you elbow the window and you kick your feet around. Your breathing gets frantic and you begin to panic and you want to go home, you want to go home to your dog and to your bed and to the damn turtle that doesn't seem to grow. You want to go home and you never want to leave again.

Because who can be strong at a time like this? Who has the strength to "carry on" and be happy ever again? Your best friend was shot dead right in front of you and there was nothing you could do. And you remember it all every time you close your damn eyes, you remember running to her side as she fell to the floor, you remember your hands shaking as they covered her wound as she began to bleed out. You held her close as she cried in pain, you placed your head to her lips as she whispered that she loved you and you screamed in agony as she took her last final breath right in front of you. And you held onto her, sobbing, swaying, clinging to her lifeless body, refusing anyone and everyone the right to touch her. Because she was yours and she was gone and it was your fault because you're the one who took her with you to the crime scene. It was your fault Maura was gone.

You shake your head and wait for clearance in the traffic before pulling off the side of the road making your way to BPD. You park your car in her spot, so that no one else could ever take it. You wipe your eyes and you steady your breathing. You open the door and look over to see your beautiful brother Frankie waiting for you, and you fall into his arms for the loving support that you needed. He looks you in the eye and tells you that you can do it.

And you know you can. You know it will hurt. You know it will never be the same again - you know your whole life will never be the same again. You know you will never not blame yourself for losing her. And you also know that she'd be looking down on you extremely pissed off if you didn't get off your ass and return to the job you love so much.

You take a deep breath and enter the station with your head held high. Because you are strong, Jane Rizzoli. And even though she isn't physically here with you. You know she is right above you, watching your every move. You feel her in your heart - and you smile.

Do it for her.

And you do.

The End.

(sorry?)

I miss writing on a regular basis. But between self doubt when it comes to my writing, and preparing our house and life for our daughter to join us (16 weeks to go...what the?) - I just struggle to find time!

I hope you're all doing well. xXx