The first thing Frankie saw after he was shot was his kindergarten graduation. It wasn't really important, just cheesy.
The students were all lined up in alphabetical order. Frankie was towards the back, as his last name was Rizzoli. He waited and watched as his classmates went up to the microphone, said what they want to be when they grew up, and walked down to get their certificate.
When it was his turn, he walked up to the mic and said confidently, "When I grow up, I wanna be a police officer, so I can protect my mommy, daddy, sister, and brother from bad guys!" Everyone clapped as he got his certificate.
Pain shot through his body, he could feel it. It was agonizing. His mind was still in the past, though.
It was eighth grade. They were having a Career Day for kids who didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives, or for the kids that did know what they wanted to do, it was just a way for them to get information and hear first-hand experiences from professionals.
"What do you wanna be, Frankie?" Jessica Meyers asked him. She was already holding Performing Arts brochures; she wanted to act.
"A cop. I like that good always triumphs evil. And I wanna help make that happen." He replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And for him, it was.
He grabbed every police brochure they had that day and read all of them that night. He was sure it was the job for him.
The pain he felt was jarring. He couldn't move and it was getting harder to breathe. He didn't know what to do or think. More memories kept flooding his brain.
He was being interviewed for police college and was so nervous. This was his dream. He didn't want to screw it up in any way, shape or form.
"Why do you want to be an officer, son?" The Dean of the school asked him. He took a few moments, choosing his words carefully. He meant every single one.
"I want to do something worthwhile. I've wanted to be a cop for as long as I can remember. I don't like the idea of evil people getting away with doing evil things. I want to help prevent it from happening.
He needed to get help. If he didn't, he'd die. He heard his sister a few flights of stairs up. "Jane!" He yelled weakly. It didn't get to her. "JANE!" He tried again. That got her attention. She looked down at him before running to him, another officer in tow.
As they took him to autopsy, memories still flooded him quickly. College graduation. His job interview. His first time making an arrest. They all blurred past him at dizzying speed.
He didn't remember much else. He remembered searing pain. And Jane holding his hand and telling him it'll all be okay. He was going to make it. He remembered Maura trying to help him. He remembered her saying there was nothing more she could do.
It finally hit him that he could very quite possibly die. It was a scary thought. He wanted to live. He wanted to continue his job. He wanted to be able to see his mom, dad, and Jane again. He wanted everything to be okay.
He knew no matter what, though, that he'd never regret his decision to become a cop. That thought surprised him. It was totally different than the other thoughts he had been having. He guessed he'd had the thought because he knew if he lived. People would ask him if he regretted going into police work.
He wouldn't. Being a cop was all he'd ever wanted. He had helped a lot of people. Saved a lot of people. He'd regret none of the decisions he'd made over the course of his career or before it. How could he regret choosing a job that'd helped people? So, he'd regret nothing.
No matter what.
*trying to unsuccessfully blink back tears* I love Frankie SO much guys, and the possibility that he might DIE just kills me. Frankie is just like the most perfect thing ever.
Anyways, I wanna dedicate this to my best friend, Kristi. She loves Frankie almost as much as I do. And the scenes used in this FF were as painful for her to watch as they were for me.
I hope you all liked this. Please R&R.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rizzoli & Isles. If I did, Frankie wouldn't have got shot. Plain and simple.