"It's been three days, Janie. Three days."
I ignored Tommy the same way I had been ignoring him for the three days he'd been speaking about and curled up tighter on the couch, facing the back so I didn't have to look at him. During that time Lydia had come to pick up TJ, Ma had come by to scream at me, Frankie had come by to plead with me, and Maura had stopped calling Tommy's phone.
"Could you at least get up and take a shower?" he asked, and I continued to ignore him.
"Or eat something, please?" I still didn't move.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. Maybe it had been lunch on Friday. I no longer cared. I'd gotten delightfully weak, and it made it much easier for me to slip in and out of sleep. At least when I was asleep, I wasn't thinking.
"Look, I gotta go to work. If I don't go to work, I'm not going to make my rent. I don't make my rent, I lose my apartment. I lose my apartment, I lose joint custody of TJ. Do you understand where I'm going with this?" he asked me finally.
"Just go, Tommy," I rasped out from the couch, where, apparently, I'd taken up permanent residence.
"You're not gonna…" Tommy trailed off.
"I'm not going to what, Tommy?" I asked, my voice muffled by the back of the couch.
"Um… You're not gonna do anythin' stupid, are you? I mean, you're not gonna hurt yourself, right?" he asked quietly.
"No," I said. Even to my own ears I didn't sound too convincing, but I really had no plans to do anything other than try and make myself part of Tommy's living room decor.
"You're scaring me Janie," Tommy said quietly. "You can stay here as long as you want, but you gotta do something. Get up. Eat. Shower and change. You fuckin' stink."
I uncurled long enough to hold my middle finger up to him, and then curled back up into the fetal position. Tommy sighed.
"Look, if you do anything, do you think you could maybe shower and change today? I left a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt for you. Just throw your clothes in the washer. Nobody's gonna be here to bother you while I'm gone."
"I doubt it," I mumbled.
"Dammit, Janie! Enough of this!" I heard Tommy yell from behind me, and then stomp up to the couch. "I gave you the chance to do this yourself," he muttered, before he grabbed me and carried me, kicking and screaming, into the bathroom. I was so weak from not eating or drinking at that point that I couldn't fight him off.
He then dropped me, unceremoniously, into the bathtub he'd filled before he'd come over to talk to me. I screamed in pain when my hip and back slammed into the side and bottom of the tub as I landed. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub and instantly soaked the bathroom rug.
"You can wash that rug when you wash your clothes," Tommy said as he turned to leave. "And make sure you clean up your mess. I got somebody coming over tonight."
And with that, he walked out of the bathroom and out of the apartment to go to work.
I think it took me a solid five minutes to get my head together enough to get out of the tub and take my sopping clothes off. My head was spinning and my back screamed in pain from the way I'd landed in the tub. At one point I wound up on my hands and knees on the wet bathroom rug, so dizzy I didn't know if I was going to be able to get up and get back into the tub. I wasn't even sure if it was a good idea at that point. Finally the dizziness passed enough for me to get back in, and I made quick business of washing up. I dunked my head under the water to wet my hair, and used the cheap, store-brand shampoo Tommy had to wash it. He didn't even have conditioner. My hair would be a frizzy mess, but at least it wouldn't be greasy anymore. Not like any of that even mattered.
I stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around me that Tommy had left. I looked around his bathroom for something to use to brush my teeth, but all that was there were his toothbrush and TJ's. Instead I just grabbed some mouthwash and rinsed out my mouth. It wasn't really enough, but it was better than nothing.
I bent over to pick up my clothes and my head swam.
Food. I needed food.
I left the wet clothes and the wet rug on the wet floor and walked out into the kitchen still wrapped in the towel.
There was a sandwich on a plate waiting on the counter, and a note from Tommy:
EAT.
The note was in his usual sloppy scrawl, all capital letters and underlined. I picked up the sandwich and looked at it. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. My stomach growled, and I took a huge bite. I stood there in nothing but a towel, dripping on Tommy's kitchen floor, and inhaled the sandwich. And when it was done, I found an unexpired half gallon of milk in Tommy's fridge and drank a tall glass.
Feeling better than I had in days, I made a second sandwich and also stood there to eat it. I drank down another entire glass of milk, and then made a third sandwich.
I sat down on the floor of Tommy's kitchen, naked except for the towel, pulled my knees up to my chest, and leaned back against his cabinets. I ate the third peanut butter and fluff sandwich more slowly, feeling far fuller than I had been minutes earlier. I leaned my head back so it rested against the cabinets, and wondered, not for the first time since I'd arrived by Tommy, what the hell I was going to do with my life. I couldn't spend it on Tommy's floor, I realized.
I stood up, cleaned up the kitchen and found the sweatpants and t-shirt Tommy had left out for me. The sweatpants were too short, but they'd have to do. I realized that I didn't have a change of underwear with me, so I just wore the sweatpants without any, and I also went braless.
If you're going to drop me fully clothed into the bathtub, you're going to have to deal with me walking around in your sweatpants commando, little brother.
I walked back into the bathroom, picked up my dirty clothes and the wet rug, and then used my towel to dry off the bathroom floor. Then I threw everything into the washing machine and turned it on.
Figuring I'd done enough for the day, I curled back up on the couch and promptly went back to sleep.
I woke up just once, when the buzzer on the washing machine went off. I got up, used the bathroom, tossed the clothes into the dryer, and went back to sleep.
Hours later I heard the front door open and Tommy speaking to someone.
"Yeah, like I said, she's not really herself. I don't know what to do. Maybe you can explain everything to her. She won't listen to anyone else."
I heard two sets of footsteps walk up next to the couch.
"At least she bathed," Tommy remarked. "I'll leave you guys, okay? I'll just… I'll go wait outside."
"Okay."
Oh god, I thought. It was Cavanaugh.
"Rizzoli," he said from behind me.
I tried to curl up tighter on myself, in an effort to just disappear.
"Rizzoli," he said a bit louder.
"Please, leave me alone," I rasped.
"Is that how you talk to your lieutenant? I expect you to turn around and face me, and address me as you would any superior."
"You're not my lieutenant," I mumbled.
I heard Cavanaugh settle on Tommy's coffee table, the cheap wood creaking slightly as he sat down across from my back.
"Yeah, I am, Jane," he said quietly. "I never stopped."
I rolled over to look at him, but didn't sit up. "Look, I know you're dating my mother and you make her happy, but you don't have to do this whole dad thing with me, okay?"
"I'm not," he shrugged. "I'm here in a purely professional capacity. So could you sit up? And listen to me?"
I rolled my eyes and sat up.
"I didn't plan on you meeting Klatsky like that," he started slowly. When I started to protest, he raised a hand, silencing me. "He told you he was brought in to replace some woman, right? Is that what set this whole episode off?"
"Episode?" I growled.
"Well, what would you prefer to call it?" Cavanaugh asked.
"Whatever. You could have told me. One of you could have told me. I've been working so hard to come back and work for you, and one of you could have let me know that wasn't possible anymore." I was fighting off tears, ashamed that I was about to cry in front of Cavanaugh.
"It's not impossible," Cavanaugh barked back. "Klatsky was brought in to replace a woman that left. He was brought in to replace Detective Cooper. Shortly after you left for New York, we brought her back into Homicide to work with Detective Crowe. That was a huge mistake. He treated her like garbage and she wound up filing a sexual harassment suit against him. She took a position up in New Hampshire with another department. So I brought Klatsky in to replace her. To replace Riley. Not you. Your partners are still waiting for you to come back, Rizzoli."
I gaped at him.
"Now, I was going to come over and talk to you about this on Sunday at dinner, but you were too busy playing possum over here for us to even have dinner yesterday."
He shifted slightly on the coffee table and looked down at his hands for a moment.
"I really thought you were going to go to New York, hate it there, and then ask to come back. I never imagined you'd spend six months there," he said quietly. "Janie, I never imagined you'd get hurt coming back to testify for us, and I want you to know that I am so sorry for what happened to you. I feel terrible. I feel so guilty for making you come back on that day. I know how much your work meant to you, and I can't imagine what you're going through right now."
"You couldn't know," I whispered. "No one could have known what would happen."
He paused, looking thoughtful. "I worked out that deal with your lieutenant in New York for you to be able to come back and testify when we needed you, because it gave me a way to keep you on our books. Not on our payroll, mind you, but on our books."
I cocked my head at him, listening intently now.
"Thing is, you're still on our books, Rizzoli. I had you placed on secondment leave instead of having you formally terminated so you could come back and testify for us when we needed you. In the eyes of the BPD, you're still one of ours. But here's my problem. For the last several months, I've taken a lot of guff from the mayor to staff up. I'm running my staff ragged, and we have a budget for four new detectives. I brought Klatsky in to get the mayor off my back, but I've got to get you back at your desk too, even if it's just on desk duty."
"Oh," I said, so shocked I couldn't say anything more. In the eyes of the BPD, I still worked there. I let the realization wash over me for a moment, before I focused back on what Cavanaugh was saying.
"That's why I ask you constantly when you're coming back. I'm running out of excuses to give to the mayor." He stopped and looked at me.
"I heard you're cleared for desk duty a couple of days a week. But emotionally, I'm not sure if you're ready to take that step," he said quietly.
"I'm ready," I rasped, still in utter disbelief.
Cavanaugh shook his head, then fished something out of his pocket. He placed it on the table next to where he was sitting, but pushed it forward toward me. It was my badge. My original gold badge, V-825 proudly emblazoned under my name.
"I'm not so sure. I'm hoping that, like so many times before this, you'll prove me wrong. This whole overreacting thing though? You really need to work on it."
He gave me a weak smile and I grinned back at him.
"You start on Thursday morning, eight o'clock, sharp. You'll work with Frost and Korsak on paperwork. You're gonna hate it, but I need a body, and you need to get out of this funk you've been in. You're goddamn Jane Rizzoli."
"Really?" I asked, still unsure of everything.
"Really. Paperwork. That's it. No interrogations. No field work. No service weapon. Two days a week, four hours a day, until the doctors and the shrinks clear you for more. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
I picked up my badge and fingered it, running my thumb over my name.
"You saved this?" I asked him, holding the badge back out to him.
"Of course. You don't just throw away the badge of your most decorated detective. Of course I held on to it," he said sharply, staring at me like I'd suddenly grown a second head.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"Come on. I've got to get back to BRIC, and you have reactivation paperwork to fill out. Apparently it takes more paperwork than an Act of Congress to come off of secondment leave and reactivate for limited desk duty." He smiled at me, then suddenly frowned. "Oh, and your girlfriend hasn't left the morgue in days. So when you're done with your paperwork, you can go down there and apologize to her, and then try to convince her to go home."
I threw on my sneakers and followed Cavanaugh out of the apartment. Tommy was waiting on the front steps.
"Uh, sir?"
He read my mind. "Go ahead. I'm parked over there. Don't take too long." He gave Tommy a tight smile and walked over to his car.
I turned to face Tommy.
"You're really an ass sometimes, you know," Tommy said matter-of-factly, smiling at me. I hugged him.
"Most of the time, actually. I don't know how to thank you," I whispered as I hugged him.
"Remember all those times you let me sober up on your couch? Put up with the drunken outbursts and let me sleep off my hangovers at your place so Ma and Pop wouldn't see?"
"Yeah." Those had been horrible times.
"I was just returning the favor," he said with a grin.
"You're a good guy, Tommy. I'm proud of who you've become."
He ducked his head. "Yeah, well. Took me long enough, but my big sister was a great example to learn from."
It was my turn to blush.
"I'll bring your clothes over on Sunday when I come by for dinner," he said by way of changing the subject.
"Yeah, thanks. Um, I'll wash these and give them back to you when I see you."
"You got it," he said, and turned to walk back inside.
"Tommy?" I asked suddenly.
"Yeah, Janie?"
"Have any expert advice on what I should say to Maura when I see her?" I asked.
"Yeah, the words 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again," he said with a grin and walked back inside.
A/N: Extra special thanks to Charlie, who not only got this week's edits done super early, but also put up with what is becoming an ever-increasing problem with Google Docs not saving comments. Seriously, she redid the edits on this chapter and the next one more than once because Google refused to save them. So, this week, she gets a standing ovation from me, in addition to my never-ending gratitude.