Disclaimer: As per the previous part. Also, those as cool, or is it as geeky as I, will recognise a few familiar nods to cinematic moments. Please note, unfortunately, these do not belong to me either. Oh, and there are line by line spoilers for episode 1.

A/N: Yep, this is totally cheating. It isn't really the whole of Part 2, but well, I suppose it's more than nothing. I figure given that they honoured Bass by giving him a cliffhanger in the finale ;-), I should really do the same by posting each next entry individually. Because I am mean like that... sort of like the writers really.

In other news, this site doesn't do strikethrough font so I've had to put two words in brackets instead. Which totally ruins the joke. *sigh* So many things to fix when Bass ascends to power.

A Day of Different Revelations

At last I'm meeting this elusive Jane. Given all it takes is some harmless serial killer on the loose, I realise that to entice her to repeat this visit I'm probably going to have to (kill again) bring out the big guns.

As Maura's heels click down the stairs I lift my gaze to carry out a last minute inspection. Face – flawless, posture – faultless, smile – fulsome…

…yes, all in all, I'm looking pretty slick.

Tearing myself away from my reflection, I evaluate my human. Her polished shell is not on par with mine but it's passable: an elegant ruche blouse, sleeveless (I award her points for easy access); tight white designer jeans which really show off her a—h, okay, probably best that I don't go there. And no, not because I like her that way, Dr Phil, that's utterly preposterous. The reptile world would never stoop to such attraction—we are not amphibians.

Go time kicks in the minute that the door swings open—time to ascertain the disposition and intent of one Dt. Jane Rizzoli. FYI world, The L Word's pretty useless source material when in reality you have to dig your way through snow to hang out in a coffee shop and what was it—oh yes—you're gainfully employed. A low pitched, "Why do you always look like you're about to do a photo shoot?" interrupts my musing. Hmm, that's definitely verging on the maybe, even if on the scale of one to cheese it's somewhere around brie.

I catch my first sight of this vision as she crosses the threshold, needless to say recoiling stronger than a Smith and Wesson. Does she own make-up? Are those sneakers on her feet? She's wearing sweatpants? What are we - - a bloody pit stop on her way to Dunkin Donuts?

Strike one. There's nothing more deplorable than lack of effort… especially when one expects a welcome overnight.

She grabs the proffered glass of wine, swigging a mouthful before she's barely shucked off her jacket. Strike two. My God, it'll still be there when you hang your coat, you Neanderthal. I see as well as dressing you skipped Manners 101.

Appalled, I resign myself to the final disappointment. It takes precisely two more seconds—"GOD… What is THAT?" As if the affront itself is not enough her windmill arm swings to point her finger at me as if a two-bit barrister that would be better suited to barista.

Hello. My name is Bass Isles. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

Alright, she probably didn't really kill my father—although—as I eye her colossal lanky body and her great big gaping maw I think about how I never knew my father... and how—who would know better than a cop to leave no trace of evidence behind...

"Sshh, you'll scare him."

Not unless she threatens to sit on me.

"HE is alive?"

No, these new thirty pound paper weights are all the rage - - what do you think? I poke my head out in disbelieving confirmation.

"His name is Bass."

Her baffled expression is both laughable and pitiable.

"Geochelone sulcata, the African Spurred Tortoise, I've had him since he was," Maura indicates a puny size with her forefinger and thumb, "this big."

Wait—what—I am sure I was bigger; all the males in the world will swear to that fact.

"Partial to British strawberries."

They really aren't British, Maura, it's a great big myth; I don't know how many more times I have to tell you this. Just like this Awesome Jane, the place you purchase them sits on a throne of lies.

"Bass… what, like after an old boyfriend?"

William M. Bass, the famous forensic anthropologist "… that founded the Body Farm," Maura completes my thought, Jane looking even more befuddled.

"Right, yeah, that Bass…" Her mutter couldn't fool a child. This human specimen solves crime? Perhaps alongside Scooby and his gang...

Dismayed by Maura's taste, I'm left with only one option—a swift retreat. "It's okay," she dangles the strawberry in front of me enticingly. Hmm, I beg to differ—this is worse than any Peter, Steve or Brad.

"Yeah, he's a great pet. Really interactive, I'll bet."

Jane's final sarcastic comment really seals the deal. Maura's face value, "Uh-huh," is lost within my rising mist of rage.

So I am the pet? Not interactive enough for you, Jane? Well then, excuse me, I'll be back in just a moment—time to whip out a nice old Chianti and a tin of beans…