A/N Just a short dribble. I referenced this moment in an earlier chapter, and thought it needed to be written out. This is set before chapter 1. In my head, its right after Jane transfers to Homicide, after the mistaken hooker incident, that she faces Hoyt for the first time.
We had only worked together on a few cases before it happened; before the Surgeon happened. I barely knew her. Her reputation proceeded her, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind, that she'd do well in Homicide. Our first few cases were closed quickly, but it wasn't long till the serial killer, who'd come to be known as the Surgeon, started to trip us up. She threw herself into the case, nights, weekends, till that evening when she followed a lead on her own.
I didn't hear much of the specifics till I found out she was being hospitalized for serious wounds to her hands. Scalpels. Right through the hands and into the wooden slab she was lying on; pinned to the floor. The thought is absolutely horrifying, and the pictures were even worse. Detective Jane Rizzoli disappeared for nine weeks. She was in the hospital for a few weeks, then was put through serious physical and emotional therapy. When she was finally cleared for desk duty, she was stuck in the bullpen with paperwork and and the occasional errand. Which meant that she visited the morgue and labs often throughout the day, delivering and retrieving case files.
It was one morning, a week after she had been brought back, that I caught her in the lobby. She was standing near the cafe, fingers working desperately on the zipper of her jacket. It was a cold October day, cold enough for a jacket, and cold enough to irritate her still-healing hands. As I waited for the elevator to take me to my morgue, I watched her struggle with her zipper. Her face contorted in frustration and anger, prompting me to finally step forward.
"Detective?" I called
She slowly turned towards me and I saw the sadness and torment in her eyes. She winced slightly, as though I was about to hit her.
"May I talk to you a moment?"
She sighed and gave up on the jacket, throwing her arms to her side, wincing a little again at jostling her sore hands.
Leading us to the elevator, I pushed the button, and she followed quietly. One the doors shut, I pulled the emergency stop button.
Spinning, Jane looked at the control panel "What the hell?" she mumbled
"May I help you with your jacket zipper?"
Jane was quite taken aback at the question, "Excuse me?"
"You seemed a little frustrated when you were trying to zip it up, and I was wondering if I could lend some assistance."
She seemed to be in a tense, almost fight-or-flight like stance. Jane searched my eyes, looking for something. Maybe she was looking for mockery or pity, of which I had none. Just sincerity and I tried my best to show it.
When there was no response except for Jane's arms staying at her side, I reached forward and fixed what turned out to be a stuck zipper; some cloth having wedged itself between the teeth.
The elevator was too quiet as I worked, "I don't know much about you Detective Rizzoli." I spoke quietly, "But from what I've heard, you're a hell of a detective and you've been through a lot. In most cases, that can cause someone to be a bit prideful and feel as though they're unable to ask for help with simple tasks." I slid the now-fixed zipper up to just below her chin, "Especially if you're frustrated while also in a state of constant vulnerability." Green eyes met slightly tearing brown as I straightened her collar as well, "You should know that you don't have to be the big bad Detective Jane Rizzoli all the time. You can be human. You can ask for help. No one is going to mock you; kick you while you're down."
She looked down at her shoes.
"That is because they know you'll kick their ass when you're all better."
That brought forth a snicker, causing my heart to soar.
"Don't let this injury bring you down, Jane. You are coming to that point in recovery where you're starting to get bogged down in the constant therapy and it seems like you're not getting anywhere. Don't let it get to you. Push, fight. Ask for help when you need it. It will make the healing process go faster, both physically and mentally."
Jane seemed to be ignoring me, since her eyes were still downcast, but I knew she was listening.
"You can and will get better. I promise you." I hesitated a moment, "Would you like to know how I know that?"
Brown eyes met green for just a moment before I went on.
"Because you're Jane fucking Rizzoli. You don't go down without a fight."
Jane looked down at her bruised hands, a smirk riding her lips, but still unsure of what to say.
"I wish I had something to say that would make you feel better, honestly. I don't even know why, we barely know each other. But, if there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask." We stood in silence a moment. I let her gather herself mentally, and when Jane finally looked up, the tears gone, I pushed the emergency button again. The elevator resumed its trip back down to the morgue.
When the doors opened, I stepped off and turned back to Jane with a small smile, "Afternoon Detective."
Before the doors shut, Jane stuck her hand out and stopped them, "Hey, uh…thanks for…" Jane started, but couldn't voice the words. Instead she gestured slightly towards the elevator she was still standing in. Pulling me aside and not making me look weak in front of everyone, but also making me feel better. It was a lot to say in just a look, but I knew what she meant.
I only nodded with a smile, catching a faint smile on thin lips before the doors shut again.
