Six minutes and one second.
I'd blown my chances of going back to work by one second.
One. Second.
I collapsed onto my knees, unable to catch my breath, and desperately trying to fight off the tears I felt welling up. I would not do this there. I would not let them see me cry.
One second. I missed out by one second.
More than a year of recovery.
Just over twelve months of pushing myself beyond the boundaries my physical limitations had imposed on me.
Slightly more than three hundred and sixty-five days of pain, helplessness, hope, setbacks, and effort, and all it took was one second to ruin my chances.
One second.
I thought about all the people I had disappointed. Maura first. How could I tell her? How could I let her know that I wouldn't be going back to work? She believed in me, and I had let her down. What was she going to do now? What was I going to do now, to support myself? To help support both of us? She would tell me that it would be all right, that she made more than enough money for the both of us. And that would kill me even more than that one second of time was killing me. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make Maura our sole breadwinner.
And Cavanaugh? How could I face the man and tell him he needed to let someone else take my spot in the homicide unit? We both knew he couldn't put the governor off any longer than he already had. How could I look him in the eye and tell him that I wanted to come back off of desk duty so badly, but I'd missed out by one lousy second? I could picture his face falling in disappointment. I could imagine the regret on his face when he put me out to pasture and handed me my walking papers. There wouldn't even be desk duty for me anymore. That desk needed to be occupied by someone more able-bodied than me.
I could picture the expressions on Korsak's and Frost's faces too. How they'd try to be encouraging anyway, even though I had let them down. I let them down over one second. They'd tell me to keep trying, but we all knew that this was it. This had been my only chance, and I'd blown it.
What about Ma and Frankie and Tommy? How would Ma feel to know we wouldn't all be back together at the precinct again? And Frankie? How would it feel for him to have to defend his sister because she couldn't requalify for duty over one lousy second of time? I knew he was already trying to defend me to other detectives who thought I couldn't hack it anymore. He tried to hide it, but I knew he was taking flack for my physical limitations.
The sad part was, those detectives were right. Clearly, I couldn't hack it anymore.
Another thought hit me like a ton of bricks. How could I face any of these people anymore? I was no longer one of them. I had blown my chance to make my way back in, to be the person I had been before I got hurt. How could we all sit down to Sunday dinner together now? How could I sit there with all of them and watch them talk about their work days? How would I be able to relive this humiliation over and over again, every time I had to see them? How could I do that now?
I groaned. I knew I should get up off of my knees, and take this failure gracefully. I needed to get up and walk off that field and get out of there. I needed to stop showing these people that I was still broken.
I really just needed to get out of there. Staying on my knees, watching the digital clock with it's blinking six minutes and one second wasn't going to help me catch my breath or figure out what to do.
I began pushing myself up, off the ground onto shaky legs. Once I was up, I looked over to the table where the two instructors with the clipboards were sitting. The instructor that had the stopwatch was over there with them, and the instructor that had spoken to me while we waited was over there too.
The guy with the stopwatch was gesturing wildly. Finally, I could hear him over the sound of my heart pounding.
"My stopwatch said five fifty-nine!" he yelled, and my heart jumped into my throat.
"You know the digital clock isn't official!" The other instructor added.
One of the men behind the table said something quietly, and I didn't make out what he said, but it seemed to inflame the other two instructors.
"It's not up to you! He is the timekeeper!" the friendly instructor pointed to the guy with the stopwatch. "His watch said five fifty-nine!" Again my heart fluttered. Five fifty-nine meant under six minutes. Five fifty-nine meant passing.
Again there was an exchange with the men sitting at the table, and again the instructor with the stopwatch reacted angrily.
"Don't you dare accuse me of a false start. I hit the watch as soon as I heard the starting pistol. Maybe you were too quick on the digital clock!"
Finally, I got up the nerve and walked over to them. I stood there expectantly.
"Stopwatch says five fifty-nine?" I asked, still trying to catch my breath, trying not to look like the panicky mess that I felt I was, and trying not to get my hopes up. They were up though. They were way up.
The instructor held it out to me. It did, in fact, say five minutes and fifty-nine seconds. It took everything in me to not jump for joy.
"Two seconds is too big of a discrepancy. He paused after the pistol was shot," one of the seated instructors argued, his tone bordering on arrogant.
None of these men knew how much I had riding on passing this test. None of them knew that passing meant getting my career back with the Boston Police Department and failing meant watching someone else do the job I'd wanted back since the day I'd opened my eyes a year ago. They had no idea how much of my self-worth was tied to this test. They had no idea that my career was what made me who I am. All they saw was an injured detective trying to requalify for duty, and some numbers on a digital clock.
"The stopwatch is the official timepiece though, right?" I asked forcefully.
"Well, yes, but in instances like this-"
The instructor I had been speaking to prior to the test interrupted him. "In instances like this, the rules clearly say the stopwatch is the ruling timepiece. The digital clock is just here for the test taker to use for guidance. You know that."
I was never so thankful to anybody for coming to my defense.
"Two seconds out in the field could mean the difference between shooting or getting shot," one of the seated instructors remarked.
"It doesn't matter," I argued. "The official timepiece says five minutes, fifty-nine seconds. I passed. You can't take that away from me."
"I absolutely could, Cadet."
"Detective," I growled. "I am Detective Jane Rizzoli. And I just requalified for duty. I am not some scared cadet you can push around. I've been to Hell and back, and I'll be damned if I let some cop who hasn't seen two seconds in the field in over ten years take that away from me!"
The instructor sat there, stunned. The quieter instructor seated next to him looked at the stopwatch.
"I'm constrained to agree. The official timepiece says five minutes and fifty-nine seconds." He signed off on a sheet and handed it to me over the protestations of his seated partner.
"Welcome back, Detective Rizzoli."
"Thank you." I growled, ripping the paper from his hands and bolting back to the gym. I didn't even stop to thank the two instructors who had been arguing on my behalf. I wasn't going to stick around and let anybody change their mind.
I found my car keys and raced out to my car. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was flying back toward downtown, heading straight for the precinct.
I left the car parked in the red zone right out front. Mentally, I dared Big Mo to show up to tow it. I made my way in, ignoring the protests of Cadet Walters that I didn't have a visitor's sticker.
I waved the signed paper from the academy as I continued toward the elevators.
"Not a visitor anymore, buddy!" I yelled over my shoulder. Cadet Walters gave a cheer behind me, but it didn't even register until later that he'd done that. I needed to see Maura.
I pounded the down button on the elevator bank, intending to go see Maura before I went up to go see Cavanaugh. When the elevator doors didn't instantly open, I ran to the stairs instead, and flew down them to the morgue, taking them two at a time. I didn't even have time to think that a year ago, I never would have been able to do that. Barely three quarters of a year ago, I was stopping halfway down the stairs in Maura's house because I was too unsteady to take them all in one go. All I could think about in that moment was Maura, and nothing was going to stop me from sharing this news with her.
I ran into the morgue from the emergency staircase, scaring Susie Chang and almost making her drop a tray of instruments that she was carrying. I didn't see Maura at any of the autopsy tables. I raced into her office, throwing the door open.
She was seated at her desk, staring blankly at a file folder in front of her and twisting a ring on her finger. She looked up as soon as she heard her office door fly open and suddenly it was no longer the day I had passed my physical requalifications. Instead, I felt like it was the day I was going down there to tell her I was leaving Boston.
She had been seated exactly the same way that day, starting at a file folder. Only last time, she was looking for a way to tell me she was pregnant, and I was looking for a way to tell her I was leaving her.
Over the course of more than eighteen months since I told her I was leaving Boston, so much had happened to the both of us, and we'd survived it. In doing so, we'd found one another again.
Her expression when she looked up at me was a mix of emotions, and I realized that she too was suddenly reliving the day I told her I was going to New York. I could see it playing across her face as clearly as it must have been playing across mine. We were both having the same flashback.
When I arrived down there the day of my physical requalification, the expression on her face perfectly mirrored the expression she'd had when I'd arrived down there to tell her I was leaving. She hadn't been expecting me then, and she wasn't expecting me now, but she was happy to see me. Then she looked harder and her breath caught. Just like she had originally too. Slowly, the smile fell from her face.
The thought of that day took my breath away. How could I have done that to Maura? To myself? To all of us?
It didn't matter. None of it mattered in that moment, yet it was still making its presence known to both of us.
I was out of breath from my mad dash down to the morgue and I was shaking. My hand flew to my chest, as if it could somehow slow down the beating of my heart. I felt like I was going to collapse, and bent forward slightly at the waist.
It seemed like life was about to pick back up where it had left off. The last year and a half had happened. I would never forget a single second of any of the days I spent recovering from my injuries and building a life with Maura. But life really started again right then. Right at that moment, I was officially back among the living, and I had the paperwork in my hand to prove it.
Maura watched me, her expression slipping into apprehension. Why was I there? She had been expecting me to call her. Was this excitement? Or was it traumatic disappointment? I watched her try to reconcile my physical appearance with my emotional appearance, as these thoughts flew through my head.
"Jane?" she questioned quietly, getting up and crossing over to me quickly.
I tried to catch my breath, so I could answer her, but watching her get up from that desk and walk toward me, the smile falling from her face, was too much. It was too much like the last time. I needed to tell her it was okay. That we were okay, but I was frozen. I was pinned in place by the past. I needed to tell her that the future started now. She needed to hear it, and I needed to say it.
I knew I wasn't reliving the day I told her I was leaving, but it hit me right then that I almost came close to doing it again. I almost came close enough to having to tell her I couldn't come back. That I'd tried, but I'd failed. I had almost failed her. I came so close to failing her once more. It was too much to handle.
"Jane, are you okay?" Maura watched me watching her. I stood up a little straighter, trying to take control of everything flying through my head all at once.
"Please, Jane. Say something. What happened?" She looked terrified, and it was her terror that brought me back to the here and now. No more fear. No more hurt. No more uncertainty. It was me and Maura, together again, in more ways than one. It was time to leave the almosts, the missed opportunities, and the pain in the past.
She came closer still, and she started to cry. She reached out for me, just a mere foot from me, and finally, I found my voice.
"I passed, Maura." I said it quietly, solemnly. It was too much for me to believe, and as excited as I was, I was also still recovering from the idea that I almost hadn't passed. I'd had to fight for my paperwork. It wasn't the instructor's signature that had made me Detective Jane Rizzoli again. It was me fighting for my title. Using my title. Asserting my authority. At that moment I'd become a detective again, and not when I'd finished some test in five minutes and fifty-nine seconds.
It was that realization that sent me into motion.
I lifted Maura up and spun her around, pulling her to me as tightly as I could. "I passed!" I said again, loudly and jubilantly, before I put her back down and kissed her. "I passed. I did it! We're back, Maura! We're a team again!"
She grinned at me, relief washing over all of her features. Her tears had gone from sadness to joy.
"Oh, Jane!"
I kissed away her tears as they fell, and we just stood there for a moment, clinging to each other.
I whispered to her once more, my lips pressed to her forehead. "I passed."
"Welcome back, Jane!" Maura cried as she stood up on tiptoes and kissed me. "Welcome back."
A/N: And that, my friends, is the final chapter of the story, minus the epilogue. The epilogue will post on Sunday night, at which point I'll probably have an even longer-winded thank you note to leave at the end. I just wanted to put this here though, because I felt like something should be said for the last chapter of the story.
Heartfelt thanks go out to CharlietheCAG for her beta work. I cannot thank her enough times for the time and effort she put into this story. She's amazingly patient, wonderfully knowledgable, and a great friend to boot. Thank you, Charlie. Thank you a million and one times.
It's been quite an honor to share this story with so many of you. When I started writing this, I never thought it would be as popular as it has become. Thank you so much for taking a chance on me and this story, and for coming along for the journey. I know it took us a long time to get here, but that's the nature of Jane's injuries and the time they took to heal. It was quite a challenge to break the indomitable Jane Rizzoli down to rock bottom, and then build her back up again. Thank you for coming along for the ride.
I've gotten to know so many of you through this story, and in the fandom in general. You've encouraged me, prodded me along, and even praised me. You've all done wonders for my ego. :) I cannot thank you enough.
I would absolutely love it if you could please leave a review. I'm eager to hear from you all, and would love to wake up tomorrow to an inbox full of reviews. Think of the reviews as a birthday present for me. My birthday was yesterday. I became an even older fart than I was already. ;)
See you on Sunday for the epilogue!