She finds herself in her hometown and a new house on a frigid January evening. The sun has kissed the horizon, and the snow has cozied up against the window. The simple ranch style home is at the end of a quiet street. Jane Rizzoli sits in the living room surrounded by boxes. The silence echoes around her.
For so many years she was content with the fulfillment her job offered her. All meaningful work has the distinct quality to burn anyone out. She chews her cuticle as her knees a drawn to her chest. An old BPD t-shirt, and a pair of loose grey sweatpants join her in her despair. She's closed herself off to the world. She hasn't whispered the first hint of her return to her family, or dearest friend. A piece that made her part of a whole has ripped a gaping hole in her heart. Unpacked boxes surround her.
As she suffers in her own stew of pain, and self-loathing she wonders if she should just wash her hands of all of them. Knowing that she is circling the drain she vacates her seat on the couch, and meanders down the hallway of her new home. She breezes past her bedroom, and bathroom. At the end of the hall she pushes open a wooden door, and steps inside. As her hand taps the light switch the scent of freshly lain carpet, and newly painted walls catches up with her. As she lowers herself into a chair her eyes fall upon a single piece of furniture in the room.
An empty piece of furniture. She exhales heavily fighting off the urge to cry. Her mind wanders to another time. Not every transition has found her softly. Once upon time two pink lines ended very abruptly. She gulps away the sadness that lumps into her throat as she surveys the nursery. The searing pain that accompanies the event of two pink lines turning into nothing more than empty arms never fully dissipates, she realizes. The raw, gritty, gut-wrenching pain is like a box that gets stuffed into a closet. With the door closed the box quickly gets shoved to the back. One day the closet gets opened, and it is the only thing that can be seen.
The phone vibrating in her pocket catches her attention. Maura's number glows on the screen as she pulls it from her pocket. She has pushed them all out as long as she can. The heaviness of it all cannot be avoided much longer. She gently presses the phone to her ear.
"Rizzoli," she answers out of habit. Her voice offers a hint of vulnerability.
"You've been dodging our phone calls."
"I'm sorry Maura. I've had a lot on my plate."
"You missed Christmas."
"I know."
"I am worried about you."
"Where is my mother?"
"Reading to a couple of babies who have been soundly sleeping for the last twenty minutes. She calls it sleep training, but I am fairly certain she is simply being a baby creep."
"Perhaps you should go for a drive."
"Why?"
"I am ready to unpack the boxes."
"Moving boxes?"
"You can help with that too."
Maura furrows her brow, "What are you talking about?"
"I will text you the address. Don't come empty handed," Jane hangs up abruptly.
Maura pulls into a driveway three blocks from her own home. She furrows her brow as she studies the charming brick house in front of her.
"This has to be a mistake," she insists. Against her better judgement she evacuates the vehicle. Painted letters on the mailbox insist that the house belongs to a Rizzoli. She knocks on the door with her free hand.
"It's open," Jane calls from the couch.
Maura enters the house, closing the door behind her. Off the entry way she hangs a right into the living room. It is packed with miscellaneous boxes. Jane sits on the couch beneath a fleece throw. Maura places the ice cream on the coffee table, and peels off her winter apparel. Jane nearly snickers when she sees Maura's cliché flannel pajamas that read Mama Bear.
"No doubt my mother bought those for you," Jane grins offers Maura a plastic spoon from a box on the coffee table.
"Of course. I feel like I have missed a couple chapters in this story, so I am going to need caught up."
Jane scrutinizes the carton of ice cream, "Is this going to be a game of twenty questions? I don't think there is enough ice cream in here for that."
"You could start by telling me what you feel comfortable sharing," Maura suggests.
"I moved back to Boston two weeks ago."
"Jane!"
"I didn't want my mother crawling all over me. I am not ready for that level of scrutiny. I have undergone countless hours of therapy to be able to invite you over here."
"You don't believe in therapy," Maura counters.
"Initially it was mandatory therapy."
"From the FBI?"
"Yes," she nods in confirmation.
Maura furrows her brow as she glances at the nearby dining room.
"You have been here before," Jane confirms.
"I didn't say anything."
"An elderly woman was murdered here three years ago by her son's drug dealer. The house was foreclosed on."
"In this neighborhood even a house where someone has been murdered sells pretty quickly."
"The contractor who bought the house to flip it died under suspicious circumstances on the driveway a week after he bought the place," Jane continues.
"Wow!"
"You didn't really come here to talk about the seedy history of the house, though, did you?"
"No. I am deeply concerned about you," Maura admits.
"Nothing I have to say is going to offer much to dissuade you from your concern."
"I would like to hear it anyway."
"Have you talked to Nina?"
"Nina has more security up around the information that she has than the Department of Homeland Security."
"Agent Davies was killed in the line of fire on an undercover mission that we were on that went south."
"I don't know what to say. I can't even imagine how horrible that must have been to lose your partner."
"Maura, he wasn't just my partner."
"Oh!"
"When I left D.C. I realized I couldn't do what I've always done. I was tired of having exactly what I have always had. Enter Cameron. He pushed me to be better, and…" she trails off.
"The two of you were involved."
Jane subtly nods, and she lifts a chain with a pair of wedding bands from her t-shirt. She carefully unclasps the necklace from around her neck, and hands it to her best friend.
"You were married?!"
"It happened so fast, and in the blink of an eye I was living a totally different life. Before I knew it we were being pulled for an undercover assignment in Texas."
