Author's note: here comes the "From Punta Cana With Love" sequel, daily updates as usual. Reviews more than appreciated.

Chapter one - Welcome Back To Boston

And breathe.

Palms resting on the counter top of the bathroom, Jane looked up at her reflection in the mirror and swallowed hard. She hadn't slept well at all. Endless wonders had stolen away her dreams to plunge her in an ocean of insecurities and doubts; a whole series of what-ifs. Good thing she had come back to her own place on Sunday or else her insomnia would have got Maura worried which was definitely not part of her plans for the upcoming weeks, months and years if she had to be honest.

Everyone knew. And so what? It's your life, Riz'. You love her, for Christ's sake. Stop torturing yourself with what the others might think. It's not worth it. Smile. Since when her inner voice was going wise? Nod to encourage herself. A determined one. So now you're going to move your lovely ass out of this bathroom and go back to your desk. You can't stay here for the rest of the day. Say what you want, it will become suspicious after a while.

Trying to ignore the way her hands were shaking – how her mouth was dry – the brunette turned on her heels and passed the door with the odd feeling to throw herself to starving lions. Ridiculous, though.

As a matter of fact, nobody had said anything yet.

But they don't need to. They know. They. Know.

A young officer nodded at her politely – coffee in hand – but as her own insecure gaze became a bit too much insistent, his kindness melted into uncertainty. And fear. Great, you're scaring him. Stop it. Right now.

Too late. The new recruit sped up and left without a word but obviously relieved to get some distance from her.

Without a word, Jane sat back at her desk and dared a brief glance around. Frost and Korsak hadn't arrived yet. The BPD was rather quiet in the early hours of the morning, the smell of coffee floating insidiously in the air while the constant beep of the various machines brought up an odd melody to the whole place.

She had missed it. As much as she would pack in a heartbeat if she were offered to go back to Punta Cana right away, she had to recognize that a part of her was glad to be home again. Her references were slowing kicking in - as if waking up after a very long sleep – and everything made sense, there.

She made sense.

Yet the circumstances were such that she was apprehensive. No, scratch that. Anxious. Nope, not that either. Scared to death. You are scared to death, Rizzoli. Admit it.

Reluctantly, Jane grabbed the file on top of the atrocious pile that was waiting for her and opened it. She still had to type her report about her Dominican Republic mission. The case wasn't closed yet – Lisa still had to get interviewed and Mabel Smith charged properly – but she still had to write a very detailed report about her assignment in Punta Cana. A three-week investigation.

Ugh. An administrative nightmare.

"Hey Rizzoli. Where's your wife?"

Mahoney. Of course. She should have known that the first remark would come from him. A good cop but the guy didn't give into subtlety much. Sadly enough. Focused on the file she was reading, Jane shook her head.

"Maura and I aren't married yet." Silence. Embarrassment. Yet? You aren't married yet? The hell? Do you really think it's the right time for a Freudian slip? Well done. Awesome. Perfect. "I mean err... The assignment is over so we're back to normal. Maura... The medical chief examiner is not my wife." Yet you sleep with her and everyone knows about it. And don't even think you can blame technologies. It is your fault. You didn't turn the computer off. One more time, your stupidity paid off.

But was it an issue in itself? Was it supposed to be one? Her colleagues were nice – and open-minded – so it would be alright. Most of them probably assumed that they had been dating for a while already anyway. She had heard the rumor.

Even her very own mother hadn't alluded to it on Saturday when she had come back to Maura's and shared dinner with them. Nothing. Not a single comment regarding their relationship.

This wasn't how Jane had imagined things going on. Of all the scenarios she had elaborated in her head, none of them had taken the path of the way reality had turned into. It wasn't that her mother had pretended that nothing was happening – no – but she hadn't alluded to it. It was as simple as that.

As if the whole thing were pure logic. As if it had always been like that.

They had shared stories – given her some presents – and then the matriarch had left, wishing them good night in the process. Yet she knew that Jane would stay at Maura's. She knew that they would share the same bed, that they were not just friends. Then on Sunday Jane had gone back to her own place to properly unpack and get ready for her imminent comeback to the BPD.

Odd weekend. Nice but strange.

"Then what about the ring you're wearing?"

Ah. Good point. She loved Maura's gesture but something told her that she would hear about it over and over. "It's just a ring. I'm not engaged, and even less married. The wedding band is back in its box, waiting for Cavanaugh to take it back."

Why did she feel the urge to justify herself anyway? And where was Maura? Fair question from her colleague. They had a meeting with Cavanaugh within fifteen minutes and the honey blonde still had to appear.

It was odd to not have her around anymore, all the time. For three weeks, they had lived together – in a secluded place – and all of a sudden they were thrown in the immensity of Boston, back to their respective homes. More or less far from each other.

She had barely spent twenty-four hours without Maura, Jane nonetheless missed her.

Sound of high heels hitting the floor, a peaceful – yet determined – walk. Jane straightened up, a smile lighting up her lips in anticipation. Calm down, Riz'. You're going to sound clingy. You texted each other an hour and a half ago. It's barely been sixteen hours since you saw her. Sixteen hours and... Forty-one minutes. Spare yourself the seconds, it's already embarrassing enough in itself.

"Good morn-..." Pause. Desperate attempt to not burst out laughing. Frown. "Why have you Jackson Five-d your hair, Maur'?"

Eye roll. Pursed lips. Obviously, everyone wasn't amused by the situation; starting with the first person concerned by it. "Are you really eager to listen to a lecture about the incidence of the weather forecast on my hair?"

And snap. Knowing better than to insist, Jane shook her head and tried to focus on something else than on her partner's voluminous hair tied in a very approximate bun. The humidity of Boston was unexpectedly having some disastrous effect on Maura's blond curls to say the least.

"Come here." Sweet tone of voice followed by a hand up in the air motioning the medical examiner to approach. "I'll show you tonight how to deal with unruly hair. If there's someone who knows about it then it has to be me."

And then the kiss – furtive but nonetheless determined – on Maura's temple. Sweet, discreet.

Unexpected. Jane would have never assumed that she would be the first one to show signs of affection at the BPD, in public. She wasn't good at it – had never had been – but the urge to comfort her partner had won over the rest. Vital contact. She had needed the touch, the intimate moment even though it had been ephemeral.

A good morning kiss in disguise, highlighted by Maura's bright smile.

"Rizzoli... Dr. Isles... In my office, now." The ghost of a nod accompanied Cavanaugh's words as the man walked into the open space with a dozen of files in hand.

Recess time over. Goodbye to cocktails on the beach, sunsets and merengue. If the last two days had left them in a state of somewhere in between – halfway between Punta Cana and Massachusetts – it was now officially over.

Back to work.

Abruptly.