A/N: I've been kicking this idea around for a while- 2 "straight" friends on a lesbian cruise and all the opportunities for discomfort and humor that may arise from the situation. I'm aiming for a short fluffy piece around 10 chapters without murder or too much angst, but I'm never quite sure exactly what will happen until it does. There will be a happy ending and Rizzles without a doubt. Thanks for reading.

"January 19th is on average the coldest day of the year and today is January 19th. Although the coldest recorded temperature in Boston was on February 9, 1934 when the actual temperature hit –9° F, –18° with the wind chill factored in. The Harbor froze over, stranding hundreds of vessels in six inches of ice, and people went skating right off of Dorchester Pier. Of course deaths from influenza, pneumonia, hypothermia, and various respiratory illnesses rose during that winter, and a temporary morgue was erected in the old Armory to house bodies until the ground thawed sufficiently for burial." The doctor's eyes were bright and happy as she recited statistics from under the warmth of her anorak.

"Fascinating, Maura." Jane would have rolled her own eyes, but she feared they would crack and shatter. "How much longer is this going to take? What a fucking idiot I was to volunteer for this."

"You were being a good friend to Barry. Exhumations are not his strong point." The two women paced among snow covered tombstones as workers chipped away at the frozen ground, making slow progress toward the casket. Eventually the foreman arrived with a ground-warming machine hitched to the back of a Boston General Services pickup truck and the work pace increased from glacial to merely snail-like.

"Aren't you cold? No, forget I asked; cyborgs don't feel the cold."

The M.E. smirked. "I'm comfortable, Jane, because I've dressed appropriately in layers beginning with thermal undergarments from the ski shop, quality gloves and a parka rated for temperatures below freezing. You're wearing a coat of questionable provenance and gloves you bought at the dollar store."

"Can't we wait in the car?"

"No. The statute clearly states that the Medical Examiner and a detective assigned to the case must be present during the entire process."

"Maura, we can be just as present if…" Jane was interrupted by "Mambo Italiano" sounding from her hip pocket, Rosemary Clooney's voice rang clear and clarion through the lined fabric of her work pants and the heavier down of her jacket.

"Grrr, my mother." She fumbled with cold-stiffened fingers under her coat for her phone and just managed to pull it out when it stopped ringing. "Shit."

Maura's phone immediately began blaring the same tune. She pulled it from her purse and moving aside one ear muff, held it to her ear. "Angela? Is something wrong?"

"I won! I won! I won! I've never won anything in my entire life; not a scratch off or a game of Bingo, but now I've won!"

"Slow down. What did you win?"

"A dream vacation. I am going to take my Janie on a ladies cruise to the Caribbean! Can you believe it? Is Jane with you? Put her on the phone."

Maura handed the phone to the detective who was hunched over and blowing into her cupped hands.

"What, Ma?"

"I wrote an essay, Jane, and they loved it."

"Who?"

"The cruise people."

"What cruise people?"

"I don't know, the paper is here someplace. But you and I are going to the warm, sunny Caribbean."

"If it's Carnival, I'm not going. Those ships are floating leper colonies. I'm not spending my vacation vomiting over the railing and shitting in red plastic baggies. I'd rather freeze in Boston."

"It's not Carnival, Jane. I watch the news, I wouldn't go on one of those either. It was a woman's name…Ida? No. Alicia?"

Maura had moved in close to listen and Jane had instinctively pulled the smaller woman against her, huddling close to capture her body heat.

"Olivia?" The doctor suggested.

"Yes. That's it!"

Maura chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing, Jane."

A metallic groan alerted them that the backhoe had reached the casket, and Jane quickly ended the conversation, promising to join her mother for a celebratory dinner that evening. A moment later the heavy, robotic arm of the earth mover emerged from the now open grave, a rose-colored metal coffin lying across its yellow steel palm.

Jane happily bounded on cold-numbed legs toward her old, dented Crown Vic. "C'mon, Maur. I'll buy you a soy latte on the way to the morgue. I need coffee. I'm cold from the inside out."

"No, I'm going to ride with the body. I can't legally let it out of my sight once it's out of the earth."

"Maura! No one's gonna steal your smelly old twelve-years-buried corpse. Even the sickest necrophiliac wouldn't hit that shit. Come on."

The M.E. looked wistfully over her shoulder as the grounds crew slid the casket into the back of a waiting morgue van and slammed the doors. She bit her lip and took a step towards Jane, then thought better of it and climbed into the front passenger seat of the van. "Get me one to go and a hot chocolate for Susie Chang."

"Dork." Jane muttered as she slid behind the wheel. She cranked up the heat and flipped on the ancient stereo, pushing a battered Springsteen cassette into the dashboard. She began to croon along to "Atlantic City" as the car slowly warmed up. "…put on your stockings baby 'cause the night's gettin' cold." Unbidden the image of Maura pulling a silky thermal undergarment up her shapely leg came into Jane's mind. She closed her eyes and allowed herself 15 seconds of fantasy before slamming the car into gear and pulling out behind the rapidly disappearing morgue van. Being in love with her best friend was an exercise in exquisite torture, but Jane had been torturing herself for so long, she couldn't imagine living any other way.

Angela Rizzoli was happily shucking clams in her warm kitchen when Jane arrived with a squirming Jo Friday tucked into her jacket, a small brown nose just sticking out above the zipper.

"Janie, I bought her a beautiful coat for Christmas. Why don't you let her wear it?"

"She hates it, Ma." She stamped her heavy boots on a festive winter doormat, knocking off wet snow and mud.

"Take them off, Jane. I just mopped the floor in here after Tommy left. Where's Maura?"

"On a date." She scowled and stomped in sock-clad feet toward the refrigerator. "Beer?"

"We're celebrating tonight. Open the prosecco."

Jane didn't feel like celebrating, but she did as she was told pouring two glasses and handing one to her mother. She looked through the kitchen window over Angela's shoulder where a clear view of Maura's front door beckoned, the porch light lit and welcoming. Jane would be able to see the doctor's date walk her to the door and kiss her good night. She hoped he would leave after that kiss, but she knew there was a good chance he would go inside for more. She imagined some polished douche in an expensive suit putting his manicured hands on Maura and it was almost too much, the thought was painful, or maybe it was the way the image made her clench her stiff hands and tighten the muscles of her jaw that caused the pain. She shook her head and turned back toward her mother who was looking at her warily.

"What?"

"Is something bothering you, baby?"

"Nah. It's just work."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Can't."

"Sure you can. I heard all about it in the café; some bus driver in Revere poisoned his wife with anti-freeze. Can you imagine? Vince said he was mixing it into her diet breakfast shakes for months."

"Korsak has a big mouth."

"He knows I'm not going to call the Globe or go on Oprah. I can keep a secret. So you and Maura dug up the body of the first wife?"

"Yeah, the daughter thinks her mother may have been poisoned too."

"Was she?"

"Dunno. Gotta wait for lab results."

Jane put aside her untouched prosecco and headed toward the fridge for a beer. "I had to watch Maura do a really nasty autopsy today; the woman's been in the ground since 2002…"

"And yet…" Angela dropped a handful of chopped parsley into the simmering sauce. "…Maura has put it out of her mind and is out enjoying herself and you're here brooding."

Jane sighed and reached into the fridge for her beer, thought better of it and pulled out a can of Dr. Pepper. She knew she was being difficult. Angela was clearly bursting to talk about their upcoming vacation.

"So tell me about this cruise. First of all, when is it? I may not be able to get the time off from work."

"We're leaving this Sunday and I've already cleared it with Sean. You have 116 unused vacation days." The older woman reached a hand up and laid it on Jane's cool cheek. "Baby, you look like you really could use a vacation."

"Right."

"Jane, you don't look very happy. Don't you want to go someplace warm and lie in the sun?"

"Of course I do."

Angela looked into her daughter's dark eyes for a long minute and then turned away, not quite convinced. "Do you want linguine or shells?"

"Shells; they hold the clam pieces better."

Angela crossed to the closet and pulled out a box of Ronzoni medium shells, dumping half of it into a pot of salted water boiling on the stove. "Maura says I can't buy Barilla anymore; they're homophobic."

Jane grunted. Her lack of enthusiasm was catching, and the excitement Angela felt since receiving her winner's notice began to seep out of her like air from a wilting balloon. She felt her eyes growing moist.

Jane crossed to her mother and kissed her on top of her head. "I'm sorry, Ma. I am excited for you, um, for us. I'm just tired. You're right…" She looked again at Maura's front door. "…a week out of Boston is exactly what I need."

She dropped into a kitchen chair and popped the top of her soda. "Where'd you hear about this contest?"

Angela's enthusiasm returned as quickly as it had left. "I found an advertisement in Maura's garbage; one of those glossy postcard things."

Jane raised a hand. "Wait a minute; you went through Maura's garbage?"

"Just her recycling. I occasionally take magazines and catalogues."

"Why don't you just ask her to pass them on to you when she's done with them? You don't have to go dumpster diving in her trash."

"I don't want to bother her, Jane. She's already done so much for me…"

"You're asking her for a used Vogue magazine, not a kidney. Jesus, Ma. But back to the contest; you found an ad in Maura's garbage can and then?"

"It said that there was a contest and all you had to do was email them why you really needed a cruise this winter. So I wrote out my essay and typed it into an email on the ipad that Maura gave me for my birthday. Those things are a bitch to type on, by the way. This morning I got a call from the cruise company and I didn't really believe I'd won until the official documents came by registered mail. I had to sign for them and everything."

"Good for you, Ma! This wasn't random luck. You earned this vacation. I'm proud of you."

"The woman said they got thousands of entries and my essay was the best. Can you believe it? Pinch me, Jane, because I can't."

Jane reached out and squeezed her hand. "I'd love to read it."

"Yeah? I saved the copy that I wrote by hand." She quickly stood and left the kitchen, returning a moment later with a folded sheet of paper which she passed to Jane.

The essay was written on yellow legal paper in Angela's own neat round cursive, "Catholic school" handwriting she called it, though Jane had gone to Catholic school for a dozen years and her own writing was small and cramped and barely legible.

Jane cleared her throat and began to read.

My name is Angela Rizzoli and I just turned 60. I can't believe it myself. In my mind I am still 18 and slim with an unlined face and knees that don't hurt.

"Janie, don't read it out loud. It embarrasses me."

"Okay, Mom." She continued in silence.

I live in Boston where I was born and where I raised my three children. I'm a newly divorced woman and just beginning to feel confident again to go out in the world without a man at my side. I don't miss my husband; I was more lonely living with Frank than I am living alone. He finally left me, but in truth I was left alone long before he walked out the door with a woman younger than our daughter.

Jane felt a vein begin to throb in her temple; thoughts of Frank elevated her blood pressure.

I want to win this vacation very badly. Not for myself, but for my daughter Jane.

She looked up over the page, quirked an eyebrow at her mother and continued reading.

She's a homicide detective here in Boston and hasn't had a real vacation in years. In fact I checked with her lieutenant and found out that she has 116 vacation days saved. I don't know what she's saving them for because all she does is work. The only time Jane isn't working is when she is recovering from being shot or stabbed in the line of duty (see attached). She's a hero, my Janie.

"What did you attach?"

"A couple of articles from the newspaper. I didn't want the cruise people to think I was exaggerating."

Jane groaned, but kept reading.

Jane recently turned 40 and is still single.

She groaned again and shot her mother a sour look.

She's a beautiful girl; tall, dark and handsome like her father, but under her bravado I'm certain she has my heart. When I saw the ad for your cruise with all the beautiful, happy women laughing together in the pool and on the beach I thought, 'Janie could be there, laughing in her bikini with an arm around a friend and a Corona in her hand.'" She should be there and if she is unwilling to book an Olivia Cruise for herself, I hope that I can win one for her and use all of my motherly guilt to make her go with me.

Jane laughed at her mother's honesty.

In my heart I hope that she will find true love onboard, but I'd be happy if she were only to find a circle of friends like herself that she could keep in touch with back in Boston. Maybe then she wouldn't spend all of her free time with a bunch of guys in a cop bar. A mother's dearest wish is to see her child happy, and I hope that going on this cruise will be a step toward happiness for my daughter, whom I love more than I can put into words.

Jane wiped at her eye and hoped her mother didn't notice.

"Did you like my essay?"

Jane bit back a sarcastic retort and said only, "Yeah. Thanks, Mom. It will be nice to get out of the cold for a week."

On her second bowl of shells and clam sauce, a bit of the old Rizzoli sarcasm had returned. "So what's the catch? There's no such thing as a free lunch. Do we have to spend a day letting some pompous dickweed try to sell us a timeshare?"

"No, no timeshares, Jane."

"Do we have to wash dishes or wait tables in the first class dining room?"

"No, nothing like that."

"But there is something?"

Angela looked uncomfortable. She fidgeted with her fork and stood to refill her bowl.

"Out with it, Ma."

"We have to agree to let Olivia use our images for future advertisements. They may take some pictures during the course of the cruise and they would own the rights to those images. We both have to sign a release in order to validate our boarding tickets. I sent in a picture of you in your dress blues and in your softball uniform, and the cruise people seemed to think you were very photogenic."

Jane frowned; she knew there was a catch, but this one didn't seem too onerous. She imagined posing with her mother and the ship's captain, who in her mind looked exactly like Captain Stubing from the Love Boat or with a group of octogenarians pushing shuffleboard markers from their wheelchairs or grinning through their dentures holding tropical drinks. Really, who else went on cruises but old people?

"Fine. Where do I sign?" She skimmed the first few paragraphs of the release and scratched her signature with a flourish.

"Think you can survive a week without me?" Jane dropped a greasy paper bag on her desk knowing Vince Korsak would be on it in a minute.

"Definitely not. No one better die in Boston while your gone. Jelly doughnuts?"

"Yup."

"Can I have two?"

"You can have four. Just save one for me and one for Frost."

"Where is he?" She gestured across at her partner's empty desk. It was a rare day that Jane beat either man to work.

"Morgue." Vince mumbled around his doughnut, raspberry jam dripping from one corner of his mouth onto his greying goatee.

"Why?"

"Someone has to stay on top of the anti-freeze case while you're baking your buns in Barbados."

"We're not stopping in Barbados and why would you send Barry to the morgue? He hates dead things."

"I was eating."

"Ugh." Jane stood and took a final swig of her coffee before heading toward the elevator.

She was dreading the sight of Maura this morning, afraid that her friend would be glowing and chipper; signs of a successful date, though Maura was often glowing and chipper or worse, yawning and chipper; signs of a successful date and then some. What if she was wearing the same outfit as yesterday? Jane had stayed with her mother until the older woman was struggling to keep her eyes open during Jay Leno's monologue and Maura had still not returned. This morning Jane drove past the M.E.'s townhouse as usual to clear the overnight snow off of the doctor's car, but her Prius was not there. Had she already left for work, or did she not come home the night before? She struggled to remember what her friend was wearing yesterday; a dark green sweater that snugged tightly across her breasts and dark pants. No, maybe that was Wednesday. A silky red blouse? That pewter-colored wrap dress? We were walking around the cemetery; definitely pants. Shit. She had no idea.

The elevator doors slid open and Jane composed her face into a look of blasé nonchalance. Maura was in scrubs and a white lab coat; no help there, leaning over a stack of photos splayed across a steel autopsy table. Frost stood rigidly beside her, his face tight, never glancing at the photos between them as he listened to the M.E. describe the previous day's autopsy.

"People assume that the embalming process and an air-tight coffin will preserve them for eternity, but anaerobic bacteria actually does greater damage and will lead more rapidly to putrefaction, as you can see here."

"How interesting." Frost badly faked enthusiasm, but the M.E. didn't notice.

"It is!" Maura's eyes shone the lightest golden green behind a pair of black framed glasses.

Jane frowned. Maura never wore her glasses to work. Had she lost a contact sleeping out?

"Imagine putting an uncooked hamburger into a tupperware container and sealing it. The meat will suppurate and liquify rather quickly…oh, good morning, Jane."

"Jane!" Frost looked ready to cry, little beads of sweat were standing along his hair line although the morgue air was cool, bordering on cold.

"I got this, Frosty. There's a jelly doughnut on your desk for after you barf in the men's room."

"Thanks, partner." He was out the door, wiping at his face with a wadded paper towel.

"Uncooked hamburger? Really, Maura, spare Barry the details when you can."

"But he seemed so interested."

"He's very polite. What's with the four eyes?" Jane gestured at Maura's glasses. She hadn't meant to say that. Maura's eyes were greatly magnified behind thick lenses, giving her the innocent appearance of a child or a cartoon puppy. Maura in glasses made Jane feel protective and mushy all at once.

"Oh, I woke up with sore eyes. It's a winter problem. I think it's the artificial heat; it just dries me out."

"And…did you wake up at home?" Jane could have punched herself for asking, but she had to know.

"Of course."

"How was your date?"

Jane grimaced. Damn Rizzoli, leave well enough alone.

"He was…" Maura bit her lip and shook her head, trying to find the right word. "…selfish." She finally finished.

"Selfish? What does that even mean? Like he finished your dinner when you weren't looking or he hogged the TV remote?"

"No." Maura raised an eyebrow. "It means he was unreciprocating. I won't be seeing him again."

"Oh….kay." Jane inwardly cursed her nosiness, now she'd have to live with the image of Maura with some guy's junk in her mouth. Blech. Why did she ask? More disturbing than the actual image was the idea that someone could spend an evening with the beautiful and kind doctor and not want to please her.

"Jane, you're blushing."

"I'm not. It's hot in here."

"We're in the morgue. It's barely 60 degrees."

Jane turned toward the door, eager to change the subject. "Let's go get the first Mrs. DeVivo back in the ground."

"All right, just let me change. After the re-interment I have strict orders from your mother to take you shopping and not to bring you home without a full week's worth of cruise-worthy outfits."

Jane's shoulders sagged. "I have an entire closet of summer clothes. I don't need anything."

"I've seen your summer clothes, Jane. Cut off jean shorts and a Barry Manilow T-shirt are not appropriate cruise wear."

Jane spun around. "Barry Manilow! I don't own anything Barry Manilow."

Maura waved a dismissive hand. "I just said the first rockstar name that came into my head."

"Barry Manilow is not a rockstar. Besides, who cares what I wear on a ladies cruise. We all know that's code for a thousand octogenarian women knocking each other out of the way to get to the three single men who managed to outlive their wives."

Maura stared blankly at the tall detective. Could Jane really not know what kind of cruise she was going on? Impossible. This was just her friend's sarcastic humor. If she responded, she'd be met with a snarky, "Duh" or worse, she'd make her friend uncomfortable. Jane never openly discussed her sexuality, but it was pretty clear to Maura that she wasn't particularly attracted to men.

"Two nice outfits, Jane, and a new bathing suit. You can sit in a chair and play games on your phone and I'll do all the shopping. You'll have complete veto power."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes and prepared to be miserable.