Jane walks down the hallway of an apartment complex, eyes gazing at his door. She knocks as she arrives. Slow, muffled movement sounds and she holds her badge to the peep hole. The detective adjusts herself as she hears the clicking of locks. The door opens and Casey appears, holding a cane in his visible hand.
"Jane," Casey says with a surprised grin.
"Casey," says Jane as she forces a smile.
He moves aside to let her enter. She takes in the familiar scent of the cozy space as she crosses the threshold.
"No clinic today?" Jane politely interrogates.
"This evening, yes. I have physical therapy on Thursday mornings. Always seem to come back in a bit of pain," Casey answers curiously while closing the door.
Jane looks at him, sadly. "I uh, see you're not using leg braces anymore. When did that happen?" she asks as she points at his cane.
"Um, a few days ago. My therapist has been trying to wean me off the crutches and leg braces for the past two weeks. He wanted me to come to this week's session with only a cane." He steps closer to Jane. "I love seeing you, Jane, but why did you come over, exactly?"
She sits herself on a couch armchair and says, "I…needed to talk to you about something."
"Okay," he says, worried about the detective. A lump forms in Jane's throat as she watches him determinedly shuffle to the couch and gently sit with an almost undetectable wince. He turns towards Jane. "What do you need to talk about?"
Jane slides onto the couch cushion next to Casey. "Do you know a Steven Parris?" she asks.
"Yeah, we were stationed together in Afghanistan. He was doing reconnaissance with me and a few other men when the bomb went off," he informs.
"When was the last time you saw him?" Jane questions.
He furrows his brow in confusion. "Two days ago...I heard he just got back to Boston," he answers. "What's wrong, Jane?"
"Parris was found dead two nights ago. His injuries were similar to those you got from the explosion, except in his case it wasn't from the bomb," she states rather roughly.
"What do you mean?" Casey asks.
"Your DNA was at the scene," Jane states with a cracked voice.
"What?" he says more baffled than ever. "Jane, you can't believe I did that.
Jane stares at the face of her lover, tears welling up in her eyes. "It doesn't look good, Case," she whispers.
Casey turns away from Jane and slowly stands. He turns back to the now standing detective when he hears the sound of handcuffs being pulled from their holster.
"I'm sorry," she quietly utters.
The detective moves towards the speechless wounded soldier, carefully takes the cane and rests it against the couch. She gently grabs both of Casey's hands, places them behind his back and locks the cuffs around his wrists. A tear rolls down her cheek as she escorts him from the apartment.