A/N: Hey, Guys! I decided to start writing another multi-chapter fic! It's about Jane in a mental hospital. Maura will be introduced into later chapters and it will be Rizzles eventually. I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and stuff.

"Hey J, you coming to interpretive art this afternoon?" My 'friend' asks me. In here no one actually has friends. Well, maybe some people do. But I don't. I don't really see the appeal in becoming friends with people that are all mentally unstable. And that's exactly what everyone in here is. Including me, technically. But I'm different. I'm not here because I'm sick. I'm here because apparently the doctor and my parents believe that someone who tried to kill herself and is 'not showing any signs of regret' is a danger to herself and should therefore be under supervision at all times.

"No, man. I have therapy. Apparently doctor Buckley finally has a spot or something." I mumble between bites of my rather tasteless breakfast. Johnny snickers a bit. I smirk and raise an eyebrow.

"That took them pretty long. Then again, after speaking to the other therapists that 'treated' you" He forms quotation marks with his fingers. "…I wouldn't be too keen on being your therapist either." Johnny finishes his sentence. I smirk again and punch his shoulder before standing up.

"Well, I should get going. Wouldn't want to be late for my first appointment."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had trained myself to see every little detail a room had to offer the second I entered it. It was a form of self-protection, preparing myself for anything that could happen. So when I walk into the room of my therapist, I see everything. The room is quite small. There are bookshelves on both sides of the room, filled with books of which I can't read the titles. A big oak-wood desk stands in the middle of the room, my shrink sitting behind it. On the other side there's a comfortable-looking armchair, which I assume is where I am supposed to sit. My eyes sweep over the desk to examine the pictures and papers that are lying on top of it. After the room was completely explored, I sit down in the arm-chair and stare at my therapist for a while. After a little while a little smile breaks through my features. It is filled with confidence. I had found what I was searching for.

"Hello, I am doctor Buckley. You are Jane, aren't you?" Doctor Buckley asks with a friendly voice. It makes me feel like a child. I raise an eyebrow at her before nodding. Inside I snicker at the similarity to my first three therapists.

"Okay, why are you here, Jane?" Doctor Buckley questions sweetly. My smirk doesn't falter. I know exactly how to handle this. I am experienced, confident, I know what I'm doing.

"I don't really want to talk about that." I say. Of course I don't. But the key is to make it sound just a little bit uncomfortable, even though I'm not. And of course, it works. It always does.

"What do you want to talk about, then?" My smile widens almost imperceptibly. I can't believe that the other therapists hadn't told her about the way I work. They could have prepared her for me, but they chose not to. Their own desire to be better than others had stopped them from protecting this innocent woman.

"To be honest there's not a lot that I want to talk about." I still play the vulnerable little girl, which can't be that convincing since I'm a 5"9 35-year old woman. But then again, I've seen plenty of woman that were crying like babies when they came out of this very room or one of the others in the hallway this door was linked to.

"Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you to talk?" Doctor Buckley asks me calmly. God, this is so easy.

"Well, I just really don't like to be the patient. Or you know, to not be on equal levels." I mumble, looking down at my hands. I am thankful for the long, brown curls that fall past my face and successfully hide the huge smirk that plays around my lips. Doctor Buckley just looks at me and nods thoughtfully.

"What do you suggest can be done about that?" Doctor Buckley asks. I pretend to look thoughtful for about 30 seconds. After this I force an excited look onto my face.

"I could diagnose you!" I near-yell. Doctor Buckley smiles like she is looking at a child which is exactly what all the other therapists had done.

"What do you mean?" Doctor Buckley says with an amused tone. It's funny how they always think they have the upper hand until I show them that they don't.

"I ask you 3 questions which you have to answer. Afterwards, I will tell you who I think you are and what is going on in your life!" I say with the same childlike excitement I had before.

"Okay." She says softly. I could hear the amusement in her voice and my smile widens a bit. They always fall for it. But now comes the hard part. Of course there is quite a chance that doctor Buckley will no longer want to be my therapist after this session, but I can't take the risk. So I don't.

"You don't think I can do it, do you?" I say. Doctor Buckley smiles that amused smirk again.

"I just think that it would be quite impressive. 3 questions isn't a lot, you know."

"I know. But I'm really good."

"I bet you are."

"stop treating me like a child." I make it sound mildly angry, but not so much as to make her suspect that I am, in fact, dangerous.

"I'm not treating you like a child."

"Wanna bet?"

"Bet that I'm not treating you like a child?"

"No, I bet that I would be able to diagnose you." I say, looking confident, but not as confident as I am. Doctor Buckley looks at me and nods for me to continue.

"If you win, if my diagnose is wrong, I will answer any question you have. If I win, there will be no more sessions with you." I say. Doctor Buckley is quite surprised from this change in behaviour, I can tell. But I know she's not going to back down now. I'm too interesting. Too interesting of a case to pass up.

"Ask away." She says. And it starts.

"When did you move here?"

"Right after I got married, about 7 years ago." I nod and think for a second. Of course I notice that she fidgets with her wedding ring.

"Okay. Since when have you been working here?"

"Since two months." I nod. That explains her not knowing of me. I know for a fact that none of the other therapists had put anything in my file. All of them only put that I was unwilling to talk. I point towards one of three pictures on doctor Buckley's desk.

"That woman on the picture. When was the last time you saw her?" I can see that this question throws doctor Buckley off. I knew it would.

"about two months ago." Her voice wavers almost imperceptibly. I close my eyes for a few seconds, open them and look around for a couple more and then nod again.

"Okay." I say. Doctor Buckley looks confused.

"Okay what?" She asks confusedly. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. People can be so stupid.

"Okay I have a diagnosis." I can tell that she hadn't expected this. Of course she didn't. But she recovers and says:

"Shoot." I waggle my eyebrows once before starting. First, I gesture at the three framed pictures on the desk.

"I assume those are your children?" I say, pointing at a picture of two kids who look perfectly alike and about 6 years old.

"And that's your husband." There is no question in this since the next picture is of her and a guy sitting very close, his arm slung around her waist and her head rested on his shoulder while the guy gazes lovingly at her.

"Now let's get to the real stuff. You moved here about 7 years ago. You found a job and that is exactly where you met her." I point at the last picture, doctor Buckley together with another woman. The one I had asked about earlier. They are sitting next to each other, both of them smiling up at the camera. Buckley seems a bit taken aback by this theory.

"I know that you met her there, since you are both in what are obviously your work clothes. That was easy." I state nonchalantly. Buckley calms down a bit and nods. I smirk. The bad part is yet to come.

"You guys became friends. Best friends even. You even became so close that you were one of the first people she came out to. It took her a couple of months, maybe even years of friendship. But eventually she told you that she was gay. And you're tolerant, so why wouldn't you be okay with it? Or at least, that's what she thought. But you got angry. You got angry because you are a married woman and if she would never have told you that she was gay you would have never had to acknowledge all of these things that she made you feel. You could always just say that no matter how much you were attracted to her, in love with her even, she was straight anyway. There was never a chance for you so you didn't have to think about taking one. But she wasn't straight, was she? She was gay. And she told you. But you didn't tell her that you were in love with her, you just told her that you were disgusted by it. That she would go to hell even though to you, she was heaven. You drove her away so that you wouldn't have to deal with being close to her. And now you're left all alone with your husband who you probably realized you don't love as much as you do her and your kids who you don't want to grow up in a broken marriage. But you can't really fix something that's shattered and so you're torn. Because even if you would leave him, you wouldn't get her because you were terrible to her. So what's the point then, anyway? If you can't have her, wouldn't it be okay to just be with him for a little longer? But on the other hand, you want him to be with someone who loves him as much as he loves her. You want to be selfless and let him go so that he can be happy, but you can't just let him leave you because you're afraid that you would never survive. And if someone were to really, honestly ask you how you felt? You would say 'I don't know.' You would say 'I don't know how I feel.' Because if you were completely honest with yourself, all you really feel is longing for her. And this emptiness in the place where your heart used to be before she ripped it out of your chest with her bare hands." I end my little speech just as casually as I begun it. Like I hadn't just told my psychiatrist that I know of her love towards her best friend or her desire to leave her husband.

"How?" Is the only word doctor Buckley is able to choke out in between small sobs.

"It's easy, really. The gay thing? She looks gay. Anyone with even a little bit of a gaydar would be able to see that. But she does do some things to try to hide it on that picture, which was probably taken about 6 months ago, based on aging and stuff like that. So I assumed that she hadn't told a lot of people. The love thing? Come on, sweetie. Your eyes flit to that picture about every 3 seconds. And after you look at her, you always glance apologetically towards the picture with your husband. That wasn't that hard, either. How I knew that you drew her away? You haven't slept well. In fact, you haven't slept well in a couple of weeks. I would say about two months, if I am not mistaken. Which is coincidentally exactly how long you've been without her and also just a little longer than the time you have been working here, if I'm not mistaken. Now, why would you leave a job where you were able to work so close to your best friend for a job where you make less money and which you clearly like a lot less than your first job? To run away from something. Based on the longing look in your eyes each time you look at her picture, I think it's quite safe to say that you haven't seen her in a little while, which is weird since she's your best friend and you're both living in the same city. So you're fighting. And you ran away. Not her, but you. So I assume that you feel guilty and didn't want to have to face her. But she didn't come after you. She didn't try to contact you because you would definitely have given in. This leaves only a couple more options. You either got hurt by her, changed your and all your family's names so she couldn't find you and moved to another place in Salem or you drove her away by doing or saying something that would make her feel like you didn't want to be around her. I went with the most logical thing." Doctor Buckley now has large streams of tears running down her face and is busy pulling her legs up onto the chair and wrapping her arms around them.

"The part about you and your husband was also confirmed when you looked at the pictures so much. You may have looked a little guilty at watching her picture so much, but the expression towards the picture of your husband was definitely not regret. It was guilt and apology. But you don't regret the feelings you have for her, which you would if you would have loved him the same way you love her." Doctor Buckley doesn't answer, but is quietly whispering to herself.

"I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry" It's like a mantra. I smile sadly at her. But then I get up, look around and nod, putting on a confident smile.

"So, I guess we're done here?" I say softly. When I get no reply, I simply walk out of the door. Another psychiatrist broken. Another session in which I didn't break.

A/N: I hope you liked it. Next chapter will be posted after the holidays!