A/N: This is my first Rizzoli and Isles fanfic so bear with me here hah. (I'm not really sure I kept them in character, but I tried lol and I think the flow is kind of a little off. But like I said, first fanfic and all.) ANYWAYS. This is set somewhere in season two.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rizzoli and Isles. They belong to TNT, Tess Gerritsen, and Janet Tamaro and all of those other people that work on it and stuff. I am not making money off this or anything (ha!) and it's just for entertainment purposes (because I'm a bored college student.) I think that covers it, yeah?

Detective Jane Rizzoli sighed locking her apartment door. Her biological clock was so screwed up from working crazy long hours and being sleep deprived for various reasons she couldn't tell if the hand pointing to the nine on her watch meant am or pm. She threw her keys onto her kitchen table. It had been a long, long day.

She walked to her freezer pulling out an icepack and slowly made her way into her bedroom. She tossed her already unbuttoned navy blue top to the ground and kicked off her work boots as she made her way to the bathroom. Looking at the bruise already forming on her left cheek and eye area her detective mask fell a little bit. She narrowed her eyes at herself in the mirror before pulling open her medical cabinet and grabbing an ace bandage from a shelf. Then, slowly, almost agonizingly so, she pulled her tank top up and over her head letting it too fall to the floor. She clenched her jaw tight as a wave of pain passed through her body. She looked down. Her ribs had already started to tinge a faint purple-blue color in certain spots with a few angry red areas thrown in for good measure. Her lieutenant made her go to the hospital for the records. They said she was lucky coming away from the scrap with just a few bruised ribs. She shook her head, lucky. They had actually said lucky. How many times had she heard the word "lucky" in a hospital? Lucky Hoyt didn't hit this nerve with his scalpel. Lucky the bullet didn't puncture your liver. Lucky you don't have a concussion. No. Luck had nothing to do with any of those things.

She picked up the now moist bag and gently placed it against her side. Hissing through clenched teeth at the sudden cold she wrapped the ace bandage around the ice pack and her abdomen. Slowly she made her way back into the living room where she carefully sat on her couch thinking of the events that led to her current predicament.

They had gotten a lead from one of their Confidential Informants that their lead suspect for a robbery turned homicide was hanging out at one of the local bars in downtown Boston where he was playing a very important game of pool. Frost, Korsak and herself moved to the location. Naturally when their guy saw the cops he ran. Frost and Korsak took the front to see if they could cut him off somewhere while Jane took the more direct approach and followed after him out the back. She had followed him to a dark alley when he suddenly disappeared. Jane had her gun drawn ready for anything but a force from her right knocked into her like a bus. She fell into the brick wall of the building dropping her gun in the process. While she was trying to recover the man grabbed her by the shoulders tossing her head first onto a nearby parked car. When she finally came to a landing her head was spinning, she was incredibly disoriented. When she tried to stand the man kicked her in the left side of her ribs. The force of his work boot on her abdomen knocked all the air out of her lungs and caused her arms to collapse under her own weight. Before she could even think about fighting again she heard her partner slap the cuffs on their suspect. She heard Korsak asking if she was okay. She heard herself respond that of course she was okay. But now, in her living room, with ice over her bruised ribs and nursing a broken ego she was most definitely not okay.

Her gun, shield, and now dead phone were all still attached to her belt. She hadn't bothered with any of that. Her hair was in a high pony tail and the maybe concussion made a terrible pounding in her head. Their guy had had a hunting knife in his front pant pocket, she remembered. The thought hadn't occurred to her until that moment. It was a long six inch serrated hunting knife, like something you would use on a deer. He could have easily taken it out of his pocket after pushing her against the wall or into the car. He could have pulled it out and stabbed her. The blazer and button up she was wearing would have done nothing to stop the dirty blade from penetrating skin. It would have been easy, like a warm knife through butter. She would have fallen and he would have gotten away. Her partners would have been too busy staring at her bloodied body to catch him. She would die from the knife wound because there's only so many times your body can take almost dying and she didn't have the strength to fight it anymore. They would have gotten him eventually if he didn't leave Boston; they always got their cop killers off the streets. He probably would have gotten killed in the process. She would have gotten the proper, heroic funeral that cops got when they died. Her mother would get the folded flag. Frankie would replace her in homicide, Detective Rizzoli version two-point-oh. Homicide would be a boys club again besides Maura. What would happen to Maura? Stop, she told herself, you're getting carried away. What if's lead to alcohol. Drinking alone leads to alcoholism. Alcoholism leads to no badge. No badge means no job. So stop. It always happened to her like this, when the danger was gone and she was bruised but safe her thoughts ran wild. Before Jane could think any further there was a soft knock on her door. "God, Ma give it a rest! I said I'm fine!" The detective grumbled closing her eyes burying herself deeper in the couch. If she had been paying any attention to the world outside of her own dark thoughts she would have noticed the knock was soft and she would have realized her mother would have probably just walked into her apartment without knocking in the first place. But she was in pain and her thoughts were running rampant in her head, so she didn't notice. The locked clicked out of place and the door opened alerting Jane that someone had just walked into her home.

"I thought we had a deal." Jane cracked her left eye open at the curt voice of one Dr. Maura Isles. The good doctor was dressed in a form hugging, flattering dark blue dress, a coat over it, and heels that probably cost more than a month's worth of her detective's paycheck.

"You were on a date." Jane said trying to reason with the Medical Examiner. She shut her eyes again trying to ignore the fact that she was half clothed.

"You promised, Jane." Maura said the sadness seeping into her voice. "You're my best friend. I want to know when you're hurt."

Great. She had inadvertently hurt Maura's feelings again. "First off," Jane started opening her eyes and looking up at her best friend. "I promised you I would tell you if I wound up in the hospital overnight, which didn't happen so my promise still stands. Second, you were on a date. You've been talking about this play or opera or symphony or whatever it is all week. I didn't want you to miss it just because I went and got myself hurt." Maura had been talking about it. How amazing it was going to be and how she's wanted to see this play ever since she found out they were coming to Boston. They would only be in town for the weekend so it was a time sensitive issue. Jane didn't want to be the cause of why she missed it. As for going on a date with some guy she just met? Well, Jane was just glad she found someone who would enjoy it with her. But if she was being honest she'd rather be the one sitting at Maura's side and not some stranger.

Maura stood for a moment longer surveying the detective – her detective. (She didn't know when she began thinking of Jane as hers but she had and now the thought was irreversible.) If she was being honest with herself – like she always tried to be – the only thing that was exciting about the date had been the play they were seeing. The man she had left at the theater during the opening sequence was actually very boring. Or maybe she was just used to having Jane with her at all times with a sarcastic comment or a question that other people seemed to pale in comparison to the experience with Jane. She would have rather gone with the detective. "Jane," She said softly taking a seat next to the brunette. "You mean more to me than some play or some guy." She placed a soft hand over the other woman's left knee.

"Maura, I'm fine." And she was. She was always fine. She was fine when the other girls laughed at her in those forced ballet classes. She was fine when her basketball coach benched her for the big game because of a bad ankle. She was fine when her high school softball team lost the state championship her senior year by one run. She was fine when Tommy went to jail. She was fine when Hoyt happened and kept happening. She was always fine until she wasn't, fine until she was alone where she could break with no one watching. Never show weakness. Her father,coaches and training officers had drilled that into her head from an early age and early in her career. You show weakness, they had said, and they will eat you alive. No matter how many times she tried to tell herself that this was Maura, she could put that wall down because Maura was her best friend, she still couldn't force herself to do it. That's not to say Maura hadn't seen her close to breaking, close to 'not fine.' Maura Isles had gotten closer to that hidden part of her than anyone else in her life. But still she found she couldn't let that wall down all the way. It was hard enough just admitting that she was scared when Hoyt came back that first time. Maura was going to have to climb over the lowered fence like a burglar in designer clothes. She sighed leaning back into the couch. All of this thinking was just making her head hurt worse. Why had she refused the pain meds the doctors offered?

Dr. Isles stared at her best friend. She was unsure what to say. Social situations outside of the high society she was brought up in always fuddled her brain. She learned at an early age how to handle the socialites at her parents' dinner parties. But growing up she had learned there was a different kind of etiquette between those situations and a situation that one might find themselves in on any other given day. She was never good at making or keeping friends. Until Jane. Jane, for some reason unbeknownst to her, had stuck with her for better and worse despite all of her quirky habits and fun facts as Jane likes to call them. Jane had stayed with her, given her another family and because of that Maura wanted to repay the good detective. She just didn't know how. She could clearly see that Jane was not fine. The muscles in her shoulders were tense. Her body was rigid. Her breaths were short and uneven like she was purposefully trying not to breathe too deep. Her hands were clutching the fabric of her slacks so hard her knuckles were white. Jane was clearly not fine, but Maura didn't know if she should call her on it or not. Before she could think about the next course of action Jane finally opened her mouth again disturbing Maura's thoughts.

"Fine." The detective said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears. Silence always did her in. She needed noise, the TV, her mother's nagging even, just something other than strained silence. Otherwise the thoughts – the bad ones – would run like stampeding elephants killing all the good ones in her head until they were clouded in bad judgment calls and stupid decisions. "It hurts. This thing isn't cold anymore and some Advil would be great." Jane finished biting her bottom lip. She hoped Maura got the message.

Maura let out a breath at having something concrete to do. She slipped off her heels and coat before standing up from the couch. "Of course!" As she made her way to Jane's "good" side the detective tried to stand without help. The bruises combined with little sleep made the job nearly impossible. Jane was about to try again when she felt Maura's arm wrap around the right side of her waist. Maura helped Jane stand and then suddenly they were both very aware of Jane being shirtless.

When they made it to Jane's bedroom Maura immediately started digging around in her drawers and the closet for night clothes for the both of them. Jane grinned, of course Maura was staying. How could she have possibly thought she wasn't? Jane hobbled to her side of the bed displacing her gun, badge, and phone from her belt and into the drawer. She wasn't on call all weekend, strict orders from the lieutenant. Maura had walked into her bathroom with some of Jane's clothes to change into. Jane looked on her bed noticing her favorite boxer shorts and a worn BPD t-shirt laid out for her. She undid her belt and put the shorts on while Maura was gone. Maura came back out, her dress (on a hanger) in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She gave the water and pills to the detective and then hung her dress in the closet. When she turned around Jane was trying to get the ace bandage off by herself but was failing. The doctor stepped up behind Jane. She was so close Jane could feel her body heat radiating from her smooth skin. "Let me." Maura breathed into Jane's ear.

As Maura worked the ace bandage around she admired Jane's back. Jane had a strong back, both literally and metaphorically. Jane was overprotective and always stood her ground, stuck to her guns. Maura had never known Jane to back down from anything, that's what made her such a good cop. The muscles in her shoulder blades and under the black bra Jane was wearing were tight and strained. Maura wanted to run her hands over the muscles and ease the tension there. But there was a time and a place for that and a detective with bruised ribs, she reasoned, is probably not the time for a massage.

Once the ace bandage and ice pack were gone Maura actually saw the damage. It had only been a few hours but bruises were already starting to mar the detective's back and side. The medical examiner ran her hands over the area gently making goosbumps appear on Jane's skin and the fine hair on her neck stand up. She hated that people did this to Jane just for doing her job. Luckily getting injured on the job wasn't a regular occurrence or an everyday thing but that didn't mean it wasn't hard when the brunette did come home bruised and busted. What if there came a time when Jane didn't come home at all? Jane cleared her throat and for the third time Maura was jeered from her thoughts. Maura helped Jane into her shirt.

"So, tell me about this play." Jane asked tiredly. They were both lying in bed having done their nightly rituals; Maura's of course lasting longer than Jane's.

Maura grinned at her best friend through the dark and then launched into the story and background of the play she almost saw. Jane wasn't really paying attention to what the honey-blonde was talking about, just how she was talking about it. Jane could hear the excitement, fascination and admiration in the medical examiner's voice. That's when it finally hit Jane that Maura had given up the chance to see this exciting play on opening night for her. She didn't know what she did to deserve a friend like Maura Isles but lying in that bed listening to her best friend talk excitedly she was glad for whatever it was. "If you're up for it, it's open tomorrow. We could go together." Jane nodded her head yawning with a grin on her face.

In the morning Maura would drag her all across town to find the perfect outfit. They would spend all day getting ready and then they would go to the play. Jane would sit beside Maura and split the paly between the stage and the doctor's eyes (because really, watching Maura was probably her favorite thing about going to the places she dragged her to.) And Jane would let all of this happen. She would do anything for the woman next to her on the bed and she wanted to make sure Maura knew that.