Twelve Times – Chapter Two

Jane Rizzoli forced her stubbornness aside and arrived at her second session.

"I hope you've had some time to think carefully about what is bothering you and how important it is for you to talk about it. Pushing the anger and fear down until all you can feel is a blunt edge will not resolve anything. That isn't healthy. Let's see if we can't get off on the right foot today. If you bullshit me, I will not see you again. You'll have to find another doctor to convince that you are ready to return to work."

Jane Rizzoli had never been called out for being, well, Jane. She had always been able to say the right things and deny her feelings. Even with her own family she could get away with basic lies. He was not about to let her this time.

"You were right," she hadn't settled into her chair before the words were out of her mouth. "I have always dealt with things on my own terms in my own time."

"It isn't unusual for someone with your strength and character to do so," as he spoke the words, she chuckled at this.

"I am not strong," she refused the word as if it was a tangible object being handed her.

"You don't think you're strong?" he seemed surprised.

"Physically? Sure."

What Jane didn't say was very much implied—emotional strength was not her strong suit. The thought of how broken she felt emotionally began the now automatic response of rubbing the centers of her palms.

"You've survived what most of us can't even begin to imagine. The fact that you are able to leave your house is remarkable," he seemed serious and she found the remark uncomfortable. She had never been able to sit with compliments.

"Doc, I'm not sleeping. I can barely do a desk job right now. The only person I have been able to talk to is a colleague who has no people skills and hardly knew me before the incident. The nightmares are..." Jane didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Of the flashback variety?" he spoke calmly, casually.

"I guess you could say that. I mean sometimes the details have changed, but it's all, you know, there."

"There?" he asked. "Do you mean in the cellar?"

"Well I certainly don't mean on the moon!" she snapped and then tried to walk it back. "Yes, in the cellar."

The color on the office walls was a soft green with a hint of gold. For some reason in that moment, staring at the wall in an effort to calm her own heart rate and fear responses, she was reminded of the color she had seen that morning in the gentle, compassionate eyes of her colleague, the head medical examiner.

There was something quite soothing about that color.

"I'm glad you met me for coffee," her colleague was genuine.

Jane smiled before dropping eye contact to examine a slight crack in the table. She had missed Maura as much as or more than she had missed her job. That was an admission she wasn't prepared to voice aloud. Her job had been her life, but this budding friendship had sustained her over the last month as she recovered from her encounter with Charles Hoyt and attempted to cope without the job to throw herself into.

"Any interesting cases?" Jane asked after an extended silence.

"Two suicides, an accidental death and an otherwise healthy young man who seems to have gone unconscious prior to crashing his car into barrier at a T-intersection."

The way the M.E. spoke so casually about death was unique to her affect. She was never disrespectful to the dead, however detached it might seem.

"Jane?" her voice was now sincere and concerned.

"Hmm?" the detective paid close attention to the way the subtle lines around Maura's eyes furrowed as she spoke questioningly.

"Today is your second session, is it not?" the doctor asked gently.

"Yes."

"How is it going?"

"I…" Jane fiddled with the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup. "I don't think I was very open the first time. Guess I'll gave to try again today."

"You have been through a lot, Jane." Maura reached across the small table and placed a hand over the scarred yet soft hand that she had offered comfort a few times before. "Be honest with yourself about that."

She realized the doctor had continued by explaining how a person can control their dreams. He was talking about creating safe spaces and allowing oneself to fully wake from a nightmare to appreciate that they are in a safe place. He was explaining this to her and while it made logical sense, she couldn't imagine ever again waking from a nightmare and not wanting to pull her gun from beneath her pillow, much less being able to go back to sleep immediately.

While they made progress in that second session, both could feel the ground beneath them shifting. Jane was getting ready to pronounce herself healed. Therapy was not for Jane Rizzoli.

To be continued…