After being released from the hospital three days earlier, Jane was standing in the park in the middle of the night, alone. The rain was pouring down around her, soaking her hair and clothes, hiding her tears.
It had been two months since Hoyt had ambushed her in that basement. Two months since she had foolishly rushed down those dark steps, without backup, to save that woman. Two months since she had had her hands impaled, stuck through with scalpels, pinned to the ground.
Jane looked down at her bandaged hands, useless. She looked off to the right, there was the baseball diamond she used to play at when she was a kid. Her father had taught her how to throw a fastball here, how to hold a bat, how to choke up on it just enough to send the ball flying over the fence.
More tears fell from her eyes as the memories of her past, of memories she held dear, flashed through her mind.
Jane turned her head to the left to see the basketball court she used to play games on. Even now when there was a rare weekend off she would come down here and teach the kids how to throw the perfect freethrow. Well, not lately. Lately she had been sitting in a hospital bed, having surgery after surgery, to repair her damaged hands. All because Hoyt had knocked her out and tortured her. That madman stole her hands from her.
Jane fell to her knees, sobbing into the already wet bandages.
"God, please...please fix my hands." she chokes out. "I know I haven't spoken to you in a long time, but I really need your help. I need my hands back." she squeaks, "I need my hands back, so I can do my job. I need them to work so I can help Ma, you know how much she counts on me. I just need you to heal my hands. You are God...can't you do that? Please?" she pleads, holding her hands in front of her face, staring into the sky.
"I can't take the pain anymore," she whispers. "It's too much. I just need a sign that things will be ok."
"Jane?" a voice calls from the parking lot.
"Maura?" Jane mutters, looking up at the figure coming toward her.
"Why are you out here? Oh my! Your bandages are all wet! Come on, let's get you inside." Maura bends over and gently lifts Jane to her feet and leads her to her car.
The weeks pass, physical therapy is excruciating.
Jane sits on the floor in the living room of her apartment. She is staring at nothing, all she feels is pain. Pain in her hands, the scars are red and angry, it burns when she moves her hands even a little. But there is also pain in her heart. Because she feels like everyone is avoiding her now. They come over and talk for a little while, but they never look her in the eye. They always stare at her hands! At her broken, useless hands.
The tears fall silently as she sits there. She doesn't even realize she's crying, she always cries when she's alone.
Slowly her eyes come back into focus. Jane reaches up and gently wipes the tears from her eyes with her bandaged hand. She gingerly lifts herself up and walks to her bedroom. She sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the drawer. The drawer that holds her gun. If she just had the strength in her fingers, it would be so easy. It would end the pain. She reaches for the drawer and tries to open it, only getting it half open, not enough to pull the gun out, before she pulls her hand back in pain.
Defeated, Jane curls into a ball and falls into a restless sleep. Her dreams, or rather nightmares, filled with Hoyt.
An hour later, there is a knock on the door. Jane settles deeper under the covers, she doesn't want to deal with whoever is at the door. The knocking continues for a few moments then stops. Jane rolls over, thankful that whoever it was got the message and left. She closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep when she hears the door open and someone enter her apartment.
The intruder silently walks to Jane's bedroom and peeks in, and with a look of concern watches her chest rise and fall as she breathes. They start towards the bed when they see that the drawer is open. They know what Jane keeps in that drawer. They stop and stand beside the bed.
"Jane?" There was no answer. "Jane, I know you're awake. Just answer this one question and I'll leave." The intruder says. "Were you planning on killing yourself?"
Jane lays quiet for a moment before she speaks. "I couldn't open the drawer, Maura. I was thinking about it though. I'm sick of everyone looking at me with pity, it's like I don't know them anymore. I don't know myself anymore." she sobs.
A few days later, Jane is in her kitchen trying to pour some cereal, when the carton of milk slips from her bandaged hands. She catches it and is surprised there is very little pain. Slowly she unwraps her hands. The scars are still an angry red, still healing, but the pain isn't nearly as bad as it was. She gently curls her fingers shut and smiles. This is the first time since before Hoyt, she has been able to make a fist. Jane is ecstatic.
She grabs the instructions the physical therapist gave her for her home exercises and begins with dogged determination. Seeing the results of the therapy so far has lit a fire in Jane, a fire she thought had been extinguished. She is going to work her hands until they are better. She is going to make her hands better than they were. She feels the throbbing in the muscles as she works her hands, strengthening them, healing them.
Jane finally realizes that she will always have the scars, that people will always look at her differently. She accepts that, it's her new life, the new Jane.