Author's Note: Hello! I'm SLWF aka Nanny! This is my first venture into the Rizzoli & Isles fandom, but not my first in fanfiction. I've been lurking around and reading your fics, and I thought I would try my hand at writing one myself. It's probably not good because I just don't think I can get their voices right (yet), and this chapter is really short. I hope you'll read it anyway though! And review! I love reviews! :)

XOXO,

SLWF

PS. This is completely unedited. In fact, I just finished writing it five minutes ago.

Jane Rizzoli prided herself on being tough. As the only woman in Boston's homicide unit, she had to be. She went above and beyond the line of duty to prove to herself and everyone else that she was one of the guys. She was strong, and she could take on the biggest, toughest, and scariest of criminals. She had, in fact, survived attacks from Charles Hoyt and two of his apprentices. She was just that good, that awesome. She was Detective Jane Rizzoli, and she faced death on a daily basis.

All her life, her mother had insisted that she be more feminine, but Jane had always fought her off. She didn't need to be girly. She didn't want to be girly. She was fine how she was. Not every girl wore dresses. Nothing her mother ever suggested was okay with Jane. No, she wouldn't wear a dress. No, she wouldn't date that nice young man down the street. No, she wouldn't read that stupid chick novel her mom said was just so amazing. No, she would not do any of that stuff, because it just wasn't her.

That was why the image of her curled up in bed, reading The Notebook was such a strange sight. That was why her mother was currently laughing at her. That was why Jane was currently blushing and trying to hide all evidence of the book underneath her comforter.

"Ma!" she yelled, shoving the book further and further from sight. "What are you doing here? How many times do I have to tell you that that key is for emergencies only?"

Angela Rizzoli laughed a moment more before composing herself. "Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to laugh. It's just that, well, I mean, I'm not used to seeing you like this."

"I know, Ma!" Jane got up from the bed and walked over to her mother, who was still standing in the doorway. "It's nothing. I was just reading."

But Angela knew better. This was unlike her daughter. Pleasantly so, she would admit, but still unlike her Janie. As the two made their way to the living room and the couch, she said as much, "I could see that, Janie, but why were you reading The Notebook? I thought you didn't like to read those books. In fact, I tried to get you to read The Notebook years ago, way back when it came out, and you told me you were uninterested. Why the sudden change?"

Jane, now seated comfortably on the couch, looked up at her mother. She could not believe she had been caught. Surprisingly, this felt worse than the time her mother had walked in on her and Chris Stevenson when she was sixteen. "Just 'cause," she said, hoping her mother would drop it. "Why are you here anyway?"

"Oh," her mother waved her hand as if dismissing the reason she had barged into Jane's home, "never mind that. Tell me why you started reading that book, Jane. Come on. I won't laugh. I promise."

Jane rolled her eyes. Angela would never let her live this down, and she also wouldn't stop until she got an answer. Defeated, she mumbled, "I was reading it for Maura."

"Excuse me?" Angela asked. "For Maura? Why for Maura?"

Jane shrugged. She didn't actually know why, not really. A few weeks ago, she had caught Maura reading The Notebook, much like her mother had caught her. Maura had tried to stow the book away, but Jane wouldn't let it go. Maura had explained that it was a guilty pleasure of hers, something she read to get her mind off of all of the stress of work and life in general, an escape. While Nicholas Sparks wasn't the most brilliant writer in the world, he was talented at telling captivating love stories. Maura enjoyed them. Jane had laughed it off at the time. She had a reputation to protect, after all, but later that afternoon she had stopped by a used book store and bought several novels authored by Sparks, including The Notebook.

She explained this to her mother, as best she could. Angela, for her part, listened attentively to Jane.

"So you're reading these books because Maura is?" she asked once Jane was done. "Like a book club? Why wasn't I invited? I am living in Maura's guest house now, after all!"

"No, Ma," Jane grumbled. "Not a book club. It's more like I'm reading these books because it makes Maura happy that I'm reading them, you know? We have stuff to talk about, stuff besides work. Besides, these books are a lot easier to read than Gray's Anatomy or something. I tried reading that one once, and it was not fun."

As if coming to an understanding, her mother smiled. "Jane, how many books have you bought because you thought Maura would like it if you bought them? So you guys could talk about them?"

"I don't know. I didn't count them," Jane answered sarcastically, but she got up and went to her room, beckoning for her mother to follow her.

Angela did and soon they were standing in front of Jane's dresser. Jane sat down on the floor, motioning for Angela to do the same, and opened the bottom drawer.

"Let's see here," she began taking items out of the drawer. "You've already seen The Notebook. Well, here's that movie. I watched it before I started the book, just so I knew what was happening. Here's A Walk to Remember, Dear John, The Last Song, and their movie counterparts. Gray's Anatomy, which was boring. A dictionary, because I had to look up some of those medical terms and Maura always looks impressed when I use a word she doesn't think I know. And here are some documentaries she sometimes talks about that I've watched. I don't know what she sees in them though. I guess they could be interesting, but they're not my thing."

"Just as I thought," Angela said with a smug look on her face.

"What?" Jane asked, oblivious to her mother's facial expression. She carefully put the items back into the drawer. "What did you think?"

"You like Maura Isles," her mother said simply.

"Of course I like Maura, Ma," Jane said. "She's my friend."

Angela just shook her head. How could her daughter, the detective, not see what she saw? What was so clear to her?

"No, dear," she said after a moment, "I mean you like Maura Isles. You like like her, you know?"

"Like like, really? What are you, in fifth grade?" Jane asked before the weight of her mother's words hit her. "Wait, ma, what are you talking about? I don't like Maura in that way!"

"Yes, you do," Angela said. "You like her. You like her enough to want to impress her by reading and watching things you know she likes, even when she's not here to see you do it, even when you yourself don't like what you're reading or watching. You've never tried to impress anyone before."

"Yeah, well," Jane began, getting defensive, "Maura's different. I mean, we come from different worlds. I'm just trying to get to know her, you know?"

"I do know," Angela said, patting her daughter's arm as they both got up from the floor. "I seem to know better than you do. But, no matter. I just want you to know that you have my full support. Maura is a lovely girl, and you two would look great together! Just remember, I still want grandbabies."

"Oh, ma," Jane rolled her eyes. "We're not even together and you already have us married with kids."

"It's legal in Boston," her mom pointed out. "Anyway, I'm gonna go. Let you get back to your reading."

And with that, Angela Rizzoli was gone. She had disappeared as fast as she had appeared. The only difference was that now Jane wasn't comfortable. She was confused. Could she be in love with Maura?