Waking up the next morning was just as hard as it had been my first morning back in rehab. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was reaching over to find Maura and snuggle with her. The disappointment I felt when I realized she wasn't there was going to stick with me for the entire day. I rolled over and sighed, thinking about Maura.
How was it possible for one person to be so snuggly? She was a walking paradox. When I first met Maura, I never pictured her as the warm, cuddly type. But underneath all that couture, beyond the designer labels and the expertly-applied makeup and the perfect hair was the Maura I'd come to know and love. It didn't take me long to realize that Maura's frosty exterior was a cover for her sometimes awkward but always kind and generous interior. Once I got to know Maura, I loved her. She was one of the few people outside of my biological family that I vowed to protect at all costs, and despite everything that had gone on between us, that never changed. If anything, that feeling had only grown with time.
I had aqua therapy that morning, and Derrick made me work especially hard. There were never any breaks with Derrick. He didn't cut me any slack, not that I ever asked him to. I always gave him one hundred and ten percent of my effort, but there were days when, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to make the progress he was looking for from me. That Tuesday morning was one of those days.
"Detective, did you get lazy on your weekend off?" he growled.
"What do you mean, Derrick?" I asked, bewildered.
"You're forgetting things we worked on the first week you were here. Heel-toe walk, left foot first. Don't swivel your right hip," he said, trying, and failing to keep his tone in check.
I tried again, concentrating even harder on what I was doing.
"Dammit Detective, I said not to swivel your hip!"
"Jesus Derrick, I don't even realize I'm doing it," I explained, starting to get upset that he was so angry with me.
"Well pay attention!"
"I am paying attention!" I yelled back.
Derrick moved me in the shallow end of the pool, the water not quite up to my knees. "Again," he bellowed.
I started walking the length of the pool, the water creating a lot of resistance, but the shallower depth removing a lot of the buoyancy I had in deeper water. I put my left foot forward, heel first, following the natural flow of my gait. I moved my right foot forward, making a conscious effort to make the same step I had with my left foot. Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. I repeated that mantra in my head over and over again. I made it across the pool without limping. We turned around, and I walked back. Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. I repeated that over and over with every step I took.
"Good," Derrick finally grunted. "We're done. I expect this level of performance from you tomorrow, Detective. And every day from this point forward."
I was really insulted. Did he actually think I wasn't making an effort? Did he have any idea how hard this was? When was the last time he had to consciously think about every step he took? Did he know what it was like to think 'Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward,' every time he wanted to move?
Man, it was going to be exhausting if I had to think that way for the rest of my life.
Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. All day, I kept repeating it to myself. By the time I had eaten lunch and made my way up to see Dr. Gilfried, my right hip was killing me and my patience was waning. Of all the things to have stuck in my head, having the words Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward. Don't swivel your hip. Don't swing your foot outward, play on repeat was not my idea of a good soundtrack for life.
Dr. Gilfried looked excited to see me. I often wondered if she had the same reaction to all of her patients, or if I was some kind of pet project that she enjoyed toying with. Not that she was really toying with me. She was doing her job, after all. I just wondered about people who went into the business of feelings.
"So?" she asked, interrupting my thoughts, "how was your weekend at home?"
"Good. It was good," I said as I sat down heavily on the couch, my hip aching more with each passing minute.
"Only good?" she asked, looking genuinely disappointed.
"It was great up until the surprise party my mother threw for me. Then it temporarily changed to awful, then after everyone left and it was just Maura and I again, it got better. So if I average it out, it was good."
"What happened at the surprise party?"
"Well, it happened. The party, I mean. I've always hated parties and surprises, and yet somehow my mother thought this would be a good idea. My mother invited nearly everyone I know, and they all saw me like this. It was horrible. I got really angry at my mother for doing that, even though I'd told her before I didn't want people seeing me in this condition, and then I got mad at Maura for letting my mother go through with the plans for the party. I lashed out and told Maura it was like she didn't even know me, which was completely the wrong thing to say. I also upset my mother a great deal, and that made her ask Maura and my brother Frankie if my head injury was causing me to lash out and be gay. As if the two were somehow connected to one another."
"Wow," Dr. Gilfried said, her eyebrows raised so high in surprise I thought they'd get lost in her hair.
"Yeah, I know. I did apologize to my mother and to Maura, and Maura set my mother straight on the whole head injury thing, but I spent the better part of Sunday afternoon resenting my mother and wishing I could find a rock to crawl under."
"Why did you feel that way to begin with though?"
"I don't like people seeing me like this," I said shakily. "I feel weak, and vulnerable. And I feel like people who see me are comparing me to the person I was before my accident."
"Are they comparing you?" Dr. Gilfried asked gently.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully.
"Do you truly think they are?"
I thought about it for a moment. "No."
"Then why did you think that, Jane?"
I gritted my teeth. This was going to be a difficult session, I could tell. I took a deep breath and responded. "Because most of the people in my life have relied on me for one reason or another, and seeing me in this condition makes them think that they can't rely on me anymore."
"Has anyone actually told you that?" Dr. Gilfried asked.
"No."
"The people who know you best, don't you think they know they can still rely on you?"
"But they can't, that's the problem. I can't protect them. I can't help them if they need me. I found out that Maura has essentially been supporting both my mother and I since my accident. I should be supporting my mother, not Maura, but I can't because I can't work. And I can't help my partners with their overwhelming caseloads because I can't work. And they may never trust me to protect them again, even if I do go back to work, because they've seen me like this."
"Jane, don't you think you're putting too much stock in what other people think of you?" Dr. Gilfried asked softly. She was trying really hard to keep me from closing up on her, I could tell.
"No. I used to be the best at what I did, and people's opinion of me mattered a lot. I had to fight really hard to get to where I was professionally, and showing people my weaknesses was never an option. Now it seems like no matter what I do, my weaknesses are on display for everyone to see."
"That can be disconcerting, but don't you think the people who know you best know that this is only temporary?"
"Is it though? Is it temporary? There's a chance I will never be physically capable of being a detective again. Everyone seems to gloss right over that. I have the brains. I'm thankful that my head injury didn't take that from me. But physically, I can't walk without telling myself not to limp. I have to be able to run, jump, climb, and defend myself. I need to be able to walk into an interrogation room and look intimidating. I'm frustrating my physical therapist and my doctor, because despite their best efforts, I'm still limping. What if I never get to the point where I can run again? What if I never get to the point where I can physically requalify for duty? What then?" I asked, fighting not to cry.
"What then, Jane?" Dr. Gilfried repeated. "What happens then is completely up to you. You have your whole life ahead of you, and instead of trying to plan everyone else's perception of your life, worry about just yourself. Who cares what anyone else thinks? If you genuinely think that you might not qualify for duty again, what is your contingency plan? And don't tell me that there's nothing out there for you."
"I don't know," I answered quietly.
"I think you should concentrate primarily on your therapies, and working toward your qualification for duty physicals. But if it bothers you that much, maybe you should take some time to think about what else could make you happy in life. Life is not all work, Jane." Dr. Gilfried looked at me pointedly. She knew we were skirting a very sensitive topic, and she was watching my reactions closely. I resented being studied like that, even if I knew, deep down, it was her job to do just that.
"My life was all work, before this injury," I argued.
"No, your life was work punctuated with Maura and family. When your precinct was attacked, and you shot yourself to protect Maura and Frankie, did you stop to think what you would do if you injured yourself so badly that you couldn't work again?"
"I didn't have time to think about it," I answered sharply.
"If you did have time to think about it, would you have acted in any other way?"
"No," I answered quickly. "There's no way I was going to let Frankie die on that table or let Marino get back into that precinct near Maura."
"You were sure of yourself, even if you were not sure of what the outcome of your actions was going to be," Dr. Gilfried suggested.
"Yes," I said warily.
"How is this situation different, then?"
"I don't understand."
"Yes, you do. When you shot yourself to protect Maura and Frankie, you were sure of yourself. You knew that you were putting yourself in grave danger and, somewhere in the back of your mind, you surely knew that there was a chance that your actions could possibly result in your death, or in you being so badly injured that you would never work again. Yet you went through it anyway. You did not hesitate to do what you had to do to protect the people you loved. Now you've been severely injured and you're not sure you're going to recover. So why are you not driving forward with the same determinism you had after you shot yourself? Where is the confidence you had that day at the precinct? Why are you not plowing ahead and ignoring the doubts, like you did back then?"
"I don't know."
"I think you do know, Jane. I think you're afraid, and you don't want to admit it," Dr. Gilfried said, sitting forward, looking me straight in the eye. If she was looking to challenge me, the challenge was accepted.
"What am I afraid of then?" I asked, facing her down.
"Failure."
"What?! No."
"Yes, Jane. You're afraid of failing. You're afraid of disappointing everyone, so you won't even try. You won't gather your confidence and give this your best shot, because you're afraid it won't be good enough. What you don't seem to understand though, is that you're set to fail if you don't try. If you don't try, you're automatically going to fail. People are more likely to be disappointed in you if you don't try, than if you do try and fail."
"I am trying though! I work so hard in physical therapy! Even Derrick was on my back about that today. It's like he doesn't know what I've been through or how hard I have to try to just get up and move around," I yelled.
"Physically you are exceeding everyone's expectations, Jane. Your limp aside, which, I'd like to remind you, is a perfectly normal result of the type of injury you had, you have surpassed every goal that Dr. Grossberg and Derrick have set for you." Dr. Gilfried sat back, taking a sip of her coffee. She looked like she was giving me a moment to absorb what she just said before she continued.
"But emotionally, you're still hiding. Emotionally you're only willing to put so much of yourself out there before you shrink away, and that's where the problem is. I've read up on you, Jane. I've read BPD personnel files on you. I've read the few psychological notes that were made on you following your shooting and following incidents with Charles Hoyt. I've read the internal affairs dossier they developed on you after the incident with Paddy Doyle. You never took no for an answer. You got your way- every time. You worked your way up, fending off sexism and personal issues, and you were the best at what you did. No one could argue that," Dr. Gilfried expounded.
"So," she continued, "why would badass Detective Rizzoli let something like a pelvis and hip injury stand in her way?"
I had no idea how to answer her. If I had, I wouldn't be in the position I was in right then, would I have been?
"Jane?" I'd been silent for too long.
"I don't know. And that's the god's honest truth, Dr. Gilfried. I don't know."
"Do you want to know what I think?" She had quieted her tone, no longer accusatory.
"I'm almost afraid to find out," I whispered.
"Well, I'm going to tell you. And I think you might be a little surprised to hear it. I think that your injury isn't the sole cause of this fear you have. I think this stems back to losing Maura to her fiancé. I think that broke you more than any physical injury ever could."
"Oh," I said, surprised. "Maybe." I was willing to acknowledge that. It seemed plausible.
"So if you have Maura now, and she's all yours and you're as happy together as you seem to be, what's holding you back?" Dr. Gilfried asked, interrupting my thoughts.
"Me. I'm holding me back," I answered, finally sure of my response.
"Why?"
"I don't know!" I buried my head in my hands. I was dangerously close to crying, and I refused to do that.
"Jane."
"You think I'm being obstinate. You think I don't want to answer you. But I don't know, Dr. Gilfried," I stopped. Despite my best efforts, I had started crying. I hated myself for crying in that moment because it seemed to validate everything that Dr. Gilfried had just said. "I spent this entire weekend trying to figure out why I am like this. I spent the entire weekend wondering why I can't feel good about myself, and the only answer I could come up with is because I'm broken. I don't want to be broken anymore," I sobbed.
Dr. Gilfried looked at me sympathetically, then looked at my chart and and up at the clock. We still had about fifteen minutes before my session was up.
"Jane, why are you seeing a gynecologist on Thursday?" The question seemed innocent, a non-sequitur that changed the subject, but I knew Dr. Gilfried, and there were no non-sequiturs with her.
"I need a follow up. From my hysterectomy," I clarified.
"And it's just a coincidence that you need this follow up as soon as you got back from your weekend at home, with your girlfriend?"
"You missed your calling. You should have been a detective," I said with a sly smile.
"And you're deflecting. Answer the question," she countered, completely serious.
"No, it's not a coincidence," I admitted.
"It says in your chart that Dr. Grossberg gave you clearance to resume sexual activity."
"She did."
"But…?" Dr. Gilfried waited.
"But what?" I asked.
"You tell me, and stop avoiding."
I sighed.
"Jane what else happened this weekend?" Dr. Gilfried tried another tactic.
"Maura and I came out to my mother, brothers, and my two partners from work."
"And did they take it well?"
"Everyone except my mother did. She was really shocked, but even she had come around by the end of the weekend. I think she's going to need time to get used to the shift in my relationship with Maura, but she's supportive of it."
"Where did you sleep this weekend? Did you sleep in your own room?"
"No. I slept with Maura."
Dr. Gilfried raised an eyebrow at me.
"Not like that," I was quick to argue.
"And why not?" She smiled, and I realized I'd fallen right into her trap.
"Because we're taking it slowly, remember?"
"I do recall you saying that. But clearly you felt comfortable enough to sleep in her bed with her," Dr. Gilfried remarked.
"Yes."
"And that was something you hadn't planned to do originally," she continued.
"Yes, but by the time we were ready for bed on Friday night, her bed was where I wanted to be."
"And you two were completely behaved and didn't touch each other at all," Dr. Gilfried said, a bit of snark in her tone, but her smile reassuring me she meant me no harm.
"No, we… did things," I admitted, smiling at the memory.
"Such as?"
"Really?" I asked, the smile from the memory gone and the irritation I was trying to subdue coming right through in my tone.
"Jane, why are you going to see the gynecologist on Thursday?"
"For the same reason that Maura and I didn't really consummate our relationship this weekend." There. I'd answered her, sort of.
"And that reason is?"
"We're taking things slowly."
"And?" Dr. Gilfried pressed.
"And that's it," I said, shaking my head.
"Don't you dare lie to me, Jane Rizzoli."
How did she do that? Was that something they taught in medical school? Was it some shared connection that everyone with a post-doctoral degree had? Maura could do exactly the same thing.
"Because I'm not ready," I sighed.
"Are you afraid of being intimate with another woman?"
"No, actually, I was able to please Maura with little effort," I said proudly.
"I thought you said you didn't consummate things this weekend," Dr. Gilfried asked, confused.
"Well, I did with her, I guess. She didn't with me."
"So it was her that didn't want to have sex?" Dr. Gilfried's confusion was growing.
"No…"
"Jane, use your words, please."
"I… brought Maura… to orgasm… butwouldn'tlethertouchme."
I shuddered, spitting the last of my words out in a rush. I think the only thing worse than not letting Maura touch me over the weekend was having to talk about it with someone other than Maura.
"In other words you wouldn't let her reciprocate," Dr. Gilfried said gently.
"Yes." I had my head buried in my hands.
"Why?"
"Because I look like a freak, Dr. Gilfried," I whispered.
"Pardon me?" she said, incredulous.
"I look terrible. I don't feel attractive. I don't want people to see me with my clothes on, let alone with them off!"
"Forgive me for the intrusion into your sexual proclivities, but how many people, exactly, were you having sex in front of?"
"What?!" I exclaimed.
"You said you didn't want people to see you with your clothes off," Dr. Gilfried said, hiding her smile as she looked down into my chart.
"No, I really mean just Maura. I'm covered in scars, I'm pale, I've lost most of my muscle mass. My hair is too short, and isn't growing back in fast enough for my liking. I don't feel attractive at all."
"And you don't think Maura finds you attractive?"
"I know she does. She tells me as much everyday, and goes out of her way to show me, too. I just don't feel attractive, at all."
"How did Maura react to you not allowing her to reciprocate?"
"She was surprised. And a little hurt, I think."
"Did the two of you talk about it?"
"Yeah, we talked about it a lot, actually. We talked about a lot of things this weekend. She understands where I'm coming from, but she wouldn't let me touch her intimately again. She told me until I was ready to make this a mutual thing, she could wait," I recounted sadly. I'd wanted so much to make love to Maura once more before I came back to rehab.
"How did that make you feel?"
"I felt bad. I feel bad. I feel like I should just let her do all the things to me that I want to do to her. I know it'll be wonderful when it happens, but I just don't feel ready. I'm thankful she understands that, but I feel like her needs are going to go unsatisfied while I get my act together, and that makes me feel really guilty," I complained.
"Jane, she loves you, do you really think she's thinking of things in terms of her needs versus your own?"
"I don't think so, no." It would have been unlike Maura to do that.
"Don't you think she's worried about you?" Dr. Gilfried pressed on.
"I know she is. She told me as much this weekend. She even said I was depressed," I scoffed.
"You are. You are clinically depressed, Jane. That's why you're here," Dr. Gilfried said, shocking me a bit. For some reason, it seemed more official than when it came from Maura.
"Great," I said dejectedly. Another diagnosis to add to my growing list of diagnoses. Just what I needed.
"Jane, first of all, there's no shame in being clinically depressed. Secondly, a physical injury like yours almost always goes hand in hand with a diagnosis of depression. That's why we concentrate so hard on both your physical and your mental well-being here." Dr. Gilfried leaned over and actually squeezed my hand before she sat back and continued speaking quietly. "I'd like to prescribe you an antidepressant. Nothing major, but something that, once it has time to build up in your system, will help you with your mood."
I scowled at her. "I've never exactly been chipper, Doctor."
"I know. And I'm not prescribing something that will make you chipper. But maybe it will help you to restore some of your confidence. Why don't you give it a try? If you don't start seeing some improvement in a few weeks, we can always take you off of it."
I shook my head. "I don't know. I don't like the idea of it."
Dr. Gilfried tilted her head, studying me closely. "Jane, what have you got to lose by giving it a try?"
"Nothing. But that doesn't make me feel any better about it. What if it makes me tired or apathetic or fat? People can get fat on those things."
Now it was Dr. Gilfried's turn to scowl at me. "The pill doesn't make you fat, what you put in your mouth has the potential to make you fat. The rate at which you are exercising every day is pretty much a guarantee against that."
"You're not going to let me leave until I agree to try them, are you," I accused.
"No, you can leave when your appointment is over, but I am going to continue to strongly recommend that you try a course of them."
"I don't want them," I growled.
"Fine," Dr. Gilfried said, almost sweetly, unwilling to take up the challenge I just laid down.
"That's it? No words of wisdom or some sarcasm about how by not taking pills I'm sabotaging my own recovery and that all traces back to how I'm afraid to fail?"
"Why would I say any of those things? I'd just be repeating the point you just made yourself," Dr. Gilfried answered, and I groaned.
A/N: My job is sending me on a business trip this week. I'll be away for the Wednesday update, and just getting home for the Sunday update. If the updates are a little later than the usual 8pm posting times, please forgive me. I don't know what my evenings are going to be like this week. When I did this trip last year, my evenings were pretty busy and I was out late most nights. I'm just giving everyone a heads up, so that way if the updates are late you understand why. If I know I'm going to be late and I'm able to, I'll post a message to Tumblr/Twitter letting everyone know. I still plan to post on Wednesday and Sunday like usual, but there's no 8pm NY time guarantee this week. ;) Thanks for your patience.
A/N #2: Also, if any of you have Twitter and want to join us, we're turning Twitter orange in solidarity with Maura, and using the hashtag FreeMaura to try and get it trending in time for Tuesday's Killer in High Heels episode. There's a link to more details at the very top of my profile page, if you're interested in joining us. We've been "endorsed" by Twitter Jane (i.e. she retweeted our plea), and it seems to be taking off! Have some fun and join us, if you'd like. :)