Detective Frankie Rizzoli Jr

She caught him moving fast from the coffee cart. She smiled at him. “Hi, Rizzoli!” She yelled as she raced to catch up. She tilted her head at him as she slowed her pace to match his out of reflex. “You look like Boxer beat you up. I know what that feels like, Wanna go grab a cup of coffee?”

“I uh... I guess I could do coffee?” His stomach protested the idea of more caffeine without some sort of food as well, and he added, “Do you know someplace with good muffins? I’m new to the city and haven’t been here long enough to really know what’s good and what’s not.”

Instead, she glanced up. Seeing that look on his face. She reached over and patted his arm. “It’s ok, little brother.” The words slipped before she had control. She swallowed. “We are alone up here. You can a, slip up on words.” 

“Jane,” he breathed, tears stinging his tightly shut eyes.

She nodded her head and looked down. “Witsec.” She said softly. “Those guyse, they wouldn’t stop. They, the threatened you guys. SO when I got put in the hospialt he FBI gave me an out for you guys. A way to keep you all safe. 

His stomach flipped, reminding him that all he’d had was coffee that morning. “I don’t...” I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can keep myself from hugging you much longer. I don’t think I should work here. I don’t think I can go back to Boston, knowing you’re here. So many things he could say but everything caught in his throat.

Frankie shoved a hand into his pocket, the other running through his hair. “So, uh…” What was he supposed to say? Sorry I froze up for a second, you look a lot like my dead sister? Yeah, no way.

She didn’t want to lie to him and pretend like she didn’t know him. She couldn’t do that. Not to Frankie. She swallowed. “A, so, long story.” she said looking towards the ground. 

What would it mean? If Jane was alive, standing in front of him on the roof of a San Francisco Police station... “Witsec? Or, or... Deep cover? Really fuckin’ deep cover?” The words spilled out of him, because she’d said his name and he couldn’t say hers back without wanting to do something really stupid.

She moved putting a hand behind his back to push him towards the stairs. She hoped she got him to the roof before his vocal cords started working. Saying Rizzoli again stung in a part of her she didn’t know still hurt that bad. It felt like her chest was pressed tightly by some huge force. She didn’t let it stop her from moving to the stairs, though.  

Frankie shoved a hand into his pocket, the other running through his hair. “So, uh...” What was he supposed to say? Sorry I froze up for a second, you look a lot like my dead sister? Yeah, no way.

She looked up when she heard footsteps. She looked up to see Cindy and smiled. But got pale when she saw Frankie. She quickly looked at the name from the papers not hearing Cindy’s. “Inspector Boxer, this guy was here to meet you.” 

His stomach dropped out, insides suddenly cold. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut, air knocked from his lungs, because that was Jane’s face. She had Jane’s face. But she couldn’t, because Jane was dead, they’d had a funeral. A dark fog crept in from the edges of his vision, and Frankie was sure that he was having a bad reaction to something; maybe he hadn’t actually left Boston and was just in his apartment in a drunken stupor or something and was imagining this whole thing. 

Please like and/or reblog if you use!