A good heart

1.

It is the moment of utter defeat. The moment you realise that despite your most honest effort to just be the good person you are, to everyone, everything, it's because of exactly this trade that most people always just loved you, wanted you, or kept you - because of what you had to give, what you represented, and not of who you truly are. Were. Are.

And it hurts and still you manage to give some more. Even when the forced smile falls off your lips the moment she steps away from you, her own features alight with hope, with reason to again believe in a happy ending. For her. Her family.

What will become of you though, nobody seems to care about.

Not even the one person who has been the most adamant about the incredulity of your doubts that arose after you learned about your true heritage. Of course, when you finally allowed your anger to show and you snapped at Hope - like you never thought you could - she instantly supported you. Assured you that the ability to express your feelings, even the less cordial ones, does not mean that there is even a semblance of the evil buried somewhere inside you as you still so often feel convinced to believe.

But the preoccupation with her mind belies her words. They don't seem to hold the same significance they once did anymore. Not when Jane herself has changed, before your very eyes and frighteningly so, lately.

Once, she more than wholeheartedly agreed when you said you were women who just don't make men their priority. Now a man is everything she very nearly obsesses about. Every day. Well, you could probably break it down to every minute, every second even.

Part of it, you understand. This is the man she's probably been in love with for a long time. Or at the very least one she's never forgotten she'd loved, and it was the easiest thing to fall again. You imagine a Jane in high school, the chubby, sporty girl who was always trying, fighting to prove her worth. Where she didn't fit in with your average high school girl, she tried harder to fit in with the guys. God beware if the tomboy falls in love with one of those guys. Just when she's almost managed to be a bit of a 'buddy' to them. So, you are quite sure of that, she bit her tongue hard and just ignored the feeling until it seemingly went away. She grows up, grows tall and lanky, beautiful even, but toughened by experience and her own expectations about the life she wants to lead. An independent life. Being her own woman, standing her ground on every single step of the way of becoming a police officer and further along the path her career sent her on. Pushing through hostilities and being belittled. A true equal to all the men who still deem their line of work not exactly one cut out for women. And she exceeded all those expectations, also because she never truly showed any vulnerabilities. And that's just Jane for you, she keeps her turmoil hidden and her emotions securely guarded behind a brick wall of tough brashness and bravery and sarcasm and the sheer force of her iron will.

But knowing her, maybe better than anyone, you know she longs to be loved, to be accepted as a whole person, vulnerabilities included, just like every other human being does, too.

But you never took her for one to literally beg for it. Not when she usually hates being the centre of anyone's attention. Not when the more someone pines for her, the more she keeps her distance. When opening up to someone is not even on her list of things she is prepared to do very easily. Not with a man who can't even accept himself and the situation life has put him in. Not for someone who deems hiding from the one who loves him and pushing her away because he simply can't be the man he once was anymore a noble act. An act of love. When it is everything but. When all he had to do was see that though Jane can be insensitive at times, she would have loved him, taken him just the way he is. Whatever difficulties that would include. But not seeing this in the first place already made him unworthy of her love, her devotion , in your eyes.

So no, you don't get it, her sudden obsession with him, with love, with bringing him to just look at her, truly see her, at all.

And you feel yourself becoming angry all over again. Your life has been ripped off its hinges and it just dangles there now, precariously close to collapsing altogether, in a heap of disappointment and fear.

You'd like to slap Jane silly until she becomes the woman you've known her to be again. And at the same moment you wonder if it's for her good or much rather your own. When she, all problems aside, has been the one reliable person, the first constantly by your side, no fucking matter what, in all your life. She, and everyone you can consider family now without fearing to tremble from belying yourself, have taught you the full meaning of the word. And the full extent to which you are indeed capable to live among the living and not fall short to anyone's expectations. They are the ones who love you, unconditionally. Because of who you are. And when you look out for that Jane now, for her tendency to brush crisis off with humorous sarcasm, for her snark, her strength, her belief in the good in you, all you find is a bitchy, wrongfully hurt, pathetic shell of the woman she used to be.

So how could you not, especially on days like these, find it hard to believe in the sincerity of anyone's love for you.

When you still doubt yourself.

The next time you see her, after the whole ordeal, you don't tell her about your decision. And it is in passing anyway. She's busy with the aftermath of the building collapse, just as you are, the paperwork for all those autopsies too big a pile on your desk.

You order a green tea while she demands her usual coffee from a beaming Angela behind the counter, whose overjoyment at Tommy being released from hospital on the next day and Lydia stepping up and taking care of TJ like she had never doubted her ability to be a Mom can't be hidden and is proclaimed to both of you in true loud Italian (Grand-)Ma fashion. Jane just nods at you and smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes and you know that Casey has left another mark on her.

But you're too tired to ask and if you're being honest with yourself, you just don't wanna hear about it anymore. You have your own cross to bear (at this thought you cringe, because the old Jane would've raised an eyebrow in admiring amusement at your quip at her catholic upbringing) and so you just put a comforting hand on her forearm. Just like when you touched her shoulder behind the ambulance, she flinches, and you quickly let go, a feeling of deep disappointment lodging in your throat, making it impossible to not have your eyes water up, like this is rejection, like with the growing distance between you over the past week your touch is no longer as welcome as it was, no longer a comfort. So before you can be figured out, you just turn and make your escape through the door, not daring to look back, knowing the guilt and apology that will be written in her eyes.