Chapter 4
It turns out that the rookie earlier on today was not the only one to swoon at your detective's presence. Frost also seemingly turned as white as a sheet, which was hard for him considering. Korsak looked agape. Even Crowe himself rubbed his eyes several times after having picked his jaw up from the ground. The only one who didn't seem to even blink was Cavanaugh.
As it turns out, the moment Doyle was sentenced, the moment the gavel struck, the moment she left their protection and made her way home was also the moment Sean Cavanaugh got to know that his best detective had been under their protection all this time as compared to lying six feet underground. He's not surprised though at how long it took her to turn up.
He understands.
.
.
.
Angela takes it just as they expected. Well…except maybe for the fainting part.
The moment the two of you walk into the Division One Café, you see the Rizzoli matriarch standing off to one side, pulling an officer by his ear, yelling at him about making up stories, how ghosts don't come back from the dead, how the tale he'd told about how he'd just seen her daughter downstairs as clear as day was a tall one and how he should let her rest in peace god bless her soul, because she was the best daughter any person could have and how she was proud to have known her in all the years she was alive.
But then heads swivel.
And everyone's face turns ashen grey.
They can't believe.
She.
Can't.
Believe.
It.
The blood drains.
She literally turns white.
And the hard grasp she's had on the poor cop's ear goes slack.
It has turned bright red and he's rubbing it gently, feeling sorry for himself, his gaze on the floor.
There's the whisper of her name before she too befalls the same fate as that rookie cop earlier on. Ironically, it's the poor man who's just had his ear mauled off who catches her as she swoons. And at that moment, Frankie rushes in. Because he's heard it on the grapevine too. Fortunately for him, he doesn't hit the floor. He'd never have lived it down if he had. But it doesn't stop the tears that threaten to overwhelm and fall down his face.
"Janie?" His voice is small, uncertain, but most of all vulnerable; much like it had been when he'd been a little boy and knew he was in trouble.
She smiles, taking him in. "Hey, Brother."
He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between them before wrapping the brunette in a bone crushing hug, one that she returns with equal fervor. No more words are needed between the siblings.
Their eyes say enough.
.
.
.
When Angela finally comes to, she does it with a hovering brunette above her face and she blinks.
Once.
Twice.
And then she pokes her. And it's the half-hearted mock of a furious "ow" and the subsequent hand the detective raises in response in order to capture her mother's that makes Angela realize she isn't seeing ghosts; that the woman before her is real after all.
The Rizzoli matriarch's eyes fall on you; you're right by your detective's side. And they narrow as she takes in the fact that you don't seem as surprised as everyone else. In fact, you appear to be surprisingly calm; there's an air of absolute serenity, a glow that gives the impression that you've been basking in it for days, or rather in her. You squirm under her gaze as a definite tinge of red makes its way up your neck and to your cheeks.
"You owe me…Both of you."
And you flush, deeper this time.
Because you know it's true.
But you don't care.
You would do it all over again.
You'd go countless days owing her if it meant having Jane back by your side.
That's all you want.
That's all you've ever wanted...
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