The phone on your desk rings, startling you awake from your day dream to a harsh reality. You blink once, twice, three times before it finally registers in your foggy brain. Yes, the phone is ringing. I should answer it. You think.

With your hand poised atop the receiver, you wait, staring patiently down at the black plastic that will connect you to another homicide; another death; another tragedy. For a moment, you tell yourself not to be stupid. Answer the phone, Rizzoli. This is your job. But then the day dreamy part of your brain kicks in, and your transported to a job as a florist, or as a make-up artist, or a chef; all things that that are so far from your personality that they almost seem inviting; safe. Lately, it's all you think about.

What if

What if

What if.

What if you had gone to BCU.

What if you had listened to your mother when she begged you not to become a cop.

All these what if's, and not very many answers- no satisfying ones, at least.

The heavy bark of your superior shocks you awake. "Answer your phone, Rizzoli." he demands. And you almost feel bad, but you kind of don't.

"Sorry, sir." Comes your half-assed response.

You pick up the cold black plastic and place it to your ear, waiting for him to click you through, and when he does, the voice on the other end of the phone is one you haven't heard in months.

"Is this Detective Jane Rizzoli?"

You nod, and wait for a response. When it doesn't come, you remember that the man on the other end of the phone can't hear you.

You clear your throat. "Yeah, it's Rizzoli." Good. You think to yourself. Play it off cool.

"This is agent Gabriel Dean, and I have something you might want to take a look at."

The sound of his voice momentarily makes you stop, but not in a nostalgic, loving kind of way. It makes you stop in that I-hoped-I'd-never-have-to-hear-your-voice-again-bu t-that-was-apparently-too-much-to-ask-for kind of way. And you hate it.

But then he says something that throws you off guard.

Something that has been in the back of your brain for the last 8 months.

He says "I found them."

And suddenly, it's the best phone call you've ever received.

You're walking as fast as your long legs can take you, and you think that if it hadn't been for gravity, you'd be flying so high that you could touch the stars. This is it. You think. We finally found them. It's over.

This raid is important; one of the most important ones you've ever been on- and if anything goes wrong, you'll never be able to live it down.

"Careful, Rizzoli. The building could be guarded." Gabriel whispers.

You ignore him.

As you round the corner, enormous warehouses rise up in front of you, split down the middle by a cobblestone road. You tread carefully, trying hard to be weightless. Don't fuck it up, Rizzoli. You think. Don't make a sound.

Finally, you come upon a big brown building that looks ancient and weathered, and for a moment, you wonder if you're about to open fire on a historical monument. But the thought is pushed quickly from your brain as Gabriel pokes you in the back with his shoulder.

"On my count?" he asks.

You roll your eyes. "No. Mine."

You drop your left hand to your side, signaling one, two, three on your fingers, and the second the third finger raises, you unlock the door and swing it open.

You can hear your blood as it races through your veins.

Your heart beat is in your throat.

The insides of your palms sweat.

But you love this.

You love the thrill.

Each step forward marks one step closer to victory over a crime family that had been running around under the nose of the law for way too long.

One small step for Jane Rizzoli, One huge leap for the Boston PD.

You press your back against a wall, sliding along it, and something inside of you is telling you that just behind that door coming up, is your golden ticket.

And you were right.

Gabriel comes up beside you, lifts his leg, and on his own count of three, kicks it in.

You hustle in after him, screaming at the four men who turn around with wide eyes to put their hands up and drop their guns.

Smugly, they comply.

And you can tell by the look on their faces and their willingness to agree that they have a trick up their sleeve.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" You shout, not because you need to, but because suddenly you realize that this is so much bigger than you'd anticipated.

"All you had to say was please, detective." The leader answers.

"I don't exchange pleasantries with scum." You spit back.

A grin breaks out on his face as he tilts his head back in laughter.

You open your mouth to hurl more insults at him, but the next thing you know, the door behind you slams open one more time to reveal a blonde woman.

The most beautiful blonde woman you'd ever seen.

And with a quick wink of her green eye, she pulls the pin from the heart of a bomb and throws it into the corner.

You try to keep your eyes on her as white hot panic rises in your throat. You run after her through the door, reaching out your fingers to try and close them around the hem of her shirt, but she's too quick.

From behind you, Gabriel sprints forward, locking his hand around your arm to pull you forward through the front door and down the steps as the building behind you explodes, leaving you with nothing but the smell of smoke and a fleeting glance of her blonde hair disappearing into the night.