Disclaimer: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles

Chapter 1

The homicide department was empty when Dr. Maura Isles walked in. She headed straight for the file cabinet against the west wall, relieved that she could retrieve the materials she needed without the presence of the detectives who usually occupied the office.

Her relief was short lived, however; as soon as she pulled open the drawer she heard voices and laughter coming down the hall and within seconds three detectives had entered the workspace, bringing with them the unmistakable smell of garlic and mozzarella. Detective Frost was carrying a pizza box, which he placed on his desk, and he was followed by detective Korsak, who was in the middle of telling some sort of anecdote that seemed to require a lot of gesturing. Behind him came detective Jane Rizzoli, who was the first to notice Maura rifling through the file cabinet.

"Hey, Dr. Isles." Jane smiled at her colleague, the department's chief medical examiner. "Can we help you find something?"

"Oh, I'm just looking for the files on the Hansen case, I got some of the lab work back just a few minutes ago and I needed to make some comparisons . . . and here it is. Sorry to interrupt your story, detective Korsak."

"No problem, Dr. Isles," said Korsak, who then looked as though he would launch into his story again immediately, but Jane interrupted.

"You're welcome up here any time, Maura, it's not your fault we keep all of the files in here."

Maura wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she just nodded and muttered, "Well, thank you, in any case." She quickly exited the office and headed back down to the solitude of the morgue.

As soon as the sound of her heels clicking on the tile died away, Jane sat at her desk, groaned, and said, "Wow, that was awkward."

"What do you mean?" said Korsak, gruffly, and then continued in what might pass for a whisper, "You have a problem with Dr. Isles or something?"

"No, it's just we've never asked her to lunch and she's worked here what, half a year now? We really should be nicer to her."

"Actually, we did go to lunch with her that first week she was here," interjected Frost, "She didn't seem to enjoy it much."

Korsak agreed with Frost. "Yeah, and she didn't really . . . fit in. She's not a cop, she's a doctor, and she's always wearing those fancy dresses."

"So? What's that got to do with anything?" Jane gave Korsak a look.

"Do you really think she would want to hang out with us at Rocco's Pizza, getting grease on her clothes listening to a bunch of cops telling dirty jokes?"

Jane looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just feel bad for her, stuck down in the morgue all day. I don't know if I've ever seen her even eat anything for lunch."

"I have. Those little packets of tuna salad with crackers," said Frost from behind his computer.

Korsak snorted with derision. "You'd think someone like her would eat snobby, stuck up food, like caviar or sushi or something, not cat food."

"Gross, Korsak!" Jane gave her former partner another look, but she laughed all the same. It did seem strange that someone as sophisticated as Maura Isles spent her lunch hours alone eating tuna fish, but then a lot about the M.E. seemed a bit strange. Jane Rizzoli could usually read people fairly easily, but Dr. Isles was proving to be a tough nut to crack.

Back in the morgue, Maura made quick work of examining the file and making notes on the new test results. Then, despite the fact that she had a mountain of work to do, she sat down at her desk for lunch. Maura was a creature of habit, and she was easily irritated when her usual routines were upset. As it was she was eating lunch an hour later than usual, but she still followed the routine—tuna salad, diet coke, and fifteen minutes of online window shopping. It was the one break that she allowed herself each day.

Maura Isles had a love/hate relationship with her job. She loved the science of the human body, and she loved the fact that her work allowed her to speak for the dead. Solving puzzles gave her the mental exercise she needed, while at the same time the routine work of lab tests and autopsies was regular and comforting, in a way.

But medical examiners also have to work closely with detectives, and Maura knew that she had difficulty working with people—live ones, anyway. She just felt so different from the detectives. She came from a privileged background and had many more years of education than any of her colleagues yet they distrusted her simply because she hadn't grown up "on the streets," as many of the cops put it. It also didn't help that she was a woman in an overwhelmingly male profession. A woman who wore heels and designer dresses.

At least, that's what she thought. She didn't really know, and she certainly wasn't going to ask. She just knew that she had never been able to develop any sort of relationship with previous or current colleagues. Most of the time she was fine with that fact—she had her work to keep her busy—but there were still those awkward moments when she was reminded of her outsider status.

It's not like she really wanted to go to lunch with her colleagues. She didn't know them well, and they didn't have much in common other than work, which meant the conversation would be forced and awkward. And she could only imagine the kind of food that the detectives preferred. But standing there in the office listening to the easy conversation and laughter between the three detectives was still embarrassing, because she knew she would never be a part of it.

And then there was Jane Rizzoli. Maura wouldn't admit it to herself, but she found the woman mesmerizing. She was so at home in her profession, and with her colleagues. She made fitting in as "one of the guys" look like the easiest thing in the world. Totally dedicated to her job, she was one of the top detectives, even if she didn't always do things by the book.

And to top it all off, she was gorgeous. Not the kind of beauty that needs to be dressed up—the kind that Maura thought maybe she herself had, on a good day—but beauty that shone through plain t-shirts and boxy blazers.

It seemed like Jane had everything, and this made Maura irritated, jealous, and awe-struck, all at the same time.

Jane worked at her desk until nearly 6:30 pm, trying to catch up on paperwork. Her boss had yelled at her earlier in the day for getting so behind so she was grumpy about it. When she felt her stomach growling, she had a sudden thought—an idea for an excuse to put the files away and get out of the office. She headed downstairs, hoping that the M.E. was still at work too.

What she found as she opened the glass doors that led into the morgue startled her. With her back to the door so that she couldn't see Jane as she walked in, Maura picked up what looked like a container of food, threw it forcibly into a nearby trashcan, and yelled "Shit!" just as the container hit the bottom of the can.

Jane froze. For a split second she wondered if she could somehow back out of the morgue without being seen, but then the glass door closed behind her with a click that seemed nearly as loud as the echo from the M.E.'s cursing.

Maura spun around, red faced.

"Oh, detective Rizzoli," she sputtered, and then paused briefly to compose herself, "I didn't hear you come in. Is there something I can do for you?"

Jane ignored the question. "Maura, is everything okay? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's fine, you didn't startle me, I was just—" Maura sighed, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Detective, it's been a long day. A long week, actually. I thought I had some leftovers in the fridge that I was going to eat for dinner, but it turns out they were last week's leftovers and thus inedible today. And, I'm out of diet coke. I'm sure it seems silly to you, but I always look forward to a diet coke with my dinner."

It did, in fact, seem strange to Jane that the lack of a diet coke could make the normally unflappable Dr. Isles scream out a curse word at the top of her lungs, but also just a little bit funny. She smothered a giggle.

"Hey, it's okay, just ask Korsak about what he's heard coming out of my mouth when I don't get a cup of coffee in the morning."

Maura looked relieved, gave a weak smile, and repeated her previous question. "So, is there something I can do for you, detective?"

"First of all, you can call me Jane. Second, I actually came down here to see if you might want to get some dinner with me. Since we're the only two women in the department, it seems like we should, you know, do stuff together—outside of a crime scene."

Jane studied Maura's reaction to her offer carefully. She looked at Jane cautiously, with her head slightly cocked to one side, as though she weren't sure what to make of the invitation. Then, almost as though some sort of primitive instinct had kicked in, she shook her head and looked away.

"That's very nice of you to offer, detective—I mean, Jane—but I really don't have time for dinner tonight. I have to finish a couple of reports for tomorrow, and like I said, it's already been a long day."

"You sure? The reports can't wait?"

"I'm sure, but thank you."

"Okay, well, maybe some other time. Have fun with your reports . . . I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, have a good evening, detective."

"Jane."

"Sorry, yes, Jane." Maura smiled weakly again.

Jane walked out of the morgue feeling strangely disappointed, and not just because she felt guilty for abandoning her own paperwork upstairs on her desk. There was just something about the M.E. that puzzled her, and Jane loved a puzzle.

She returned to the morgue thirty minutes later, with a bag of takeout, a cup of coffee, and a giant plastic cup filled with diet coke and ice. She handed the cup to Maura, who took it with a stunned look on her face.

"I got turkey sandwiches from the deli over on Baker—I figure everyone likes turkey?" Jane smiled hopefully at the blond M.E., who was staring at her blankly.

Then a slow grin spread across her face. Her whole demeanor changed, and almost instantly she seemed comfortable and relaxed. Jane felt a strange flutter in her stomach as Maura's eyes caught hers.

"You . . . you brought me dinner? And diet coke?"

"You have to eat, right? And you'll probably need the caffeine if you're going to finish those reports."

"Jane, thank you, that's so sweet of you. I don't know what to say."

"No big deal. C'mon, let's eat."