A/N: This was inspired by Jane and Maura's Twitter conversation about nacho cheese, stains, and the fact that a certain detective was down one vital article of clothing for a short period of time. Enjoy, my lovelies!

The blinds were closed. The lights were dimmed. The doors were locked. Though the air was unusually warm, a shiver ran down Jane's spine. I can't believe this is happening, she thought as she ran her hand slowly over a tense, bare stomach. I can't freaking believe this.

Never, in her wildest dreams, did she imagine she would find herself in a situation like this. So vulnerable. So exposed. Halfway through the work day, Jane Rizzoli was standing in the middle of Maura Isles' office. Shirtless.

And completely alone.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall and swore silently to herself. It had been ten minutes and the ME still wasn't back. With a huff, Jane faced the door leading to the autopsy room and leaned forward a little bit. "Maura?"

No answer. Jane crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her bare skin gently. She didn't want to yell much louder than that, lest one of the lab techs heard her and came to investigate. Inching towards the door, Jane ducked her head to see through the blinds.

"Maur?"

Again, nothing. A low growl sounded in the detective's throat. God dammit. Using her fingers, she pushed the plastic slats over the window apart and peered into the autopsy room. Where the hell are you?

Maura came into view, walking out of one of the labs with a piece of paper in her hand. Jane let the blinds snap shut again with a frustrated sigh and took a step backwards, folding her arms angrily. When the blonde doctor finally unlocked the door and came inside, she found herself face-to-face with an incredibly put out Jane.

"Well?"

Maybe it was because she ignored most of Jane's sarcasm, and was oblivious to the rest. Maybe there was a serious flaw on her emotional radar today. Either way, for some reason, the detective's annoyance didn't register with Maura. She raised her eyebrows and gestured towards the paper. "Results of the test on the cheese stain."

Jane watched her friend move to sit behind the desk and fumed silently. She waited for the doctor to say more, but Maura seemed to be busy checking things off on the paper. Angrily, the detective barked out, "And?"

"Partially hydrogenated soybean oil, sodium phosphate, salt, monosodium glutamate, vinegar, and sodium stearoyl lactylate are the most prominent ingredients." Maura glanced up and grinned mildly at her friend. "Less than fifty percent cheddar cheese."

"Fantastic," Jane bit sarcastically. "Wonderful. That's absolutely amazing to know. But, Maura"—she ducked her head again in an attempt to meet the ME's eyes—"aren't you forgetting something?"

The shorter woman didn't look up from the test results. "Am I?"

Jane spread her arms wide. "Oh, I don't know, Maura. Let me stand here, half-naked, and ponder this. What could you have possibly forgotten in the lab? Wait, I know!" She clapped her hands loudly together and yelled, "My shirt!"

The ME jumped violently at the outburst. She looked her best friend up and down, and her eyes went wide. "Oh! Oh." Maura dropped the paper, stood, and made her way around the desk. "I'm sorry, I guess it just escaped my notice."

Jane's eyes widened. I don't freaking believe this. "And you didn't remember when you saw me in my bra? Just my bra?"

Maura bit her lip and glanced down at Jane's bare stomach. "I suppose it just didn't register as unusual to me."

"Oh yeah, because you see me shirtless all the time," the detective quipped, self-consciously crossing her arms again.

Maura tilted her head to the side and gave her friend her best you-know-what-I-mean look. "Jane. We do yoga, we work out, we run together…" She gestured vaguely at Jane's torso. "You've a tendency to wear less clothing the more physical an activity is. I'm used to seeing you in a sports bra."

Thoroughly irritated now, the taller woman smacked a hand to her forehead. "Yes, Maura. A sports bra. In case this also"—she exaggerated air quotes—"'escaped your notice', this is my regular bra, and I've been stationary in your office for fifteen minutes!"

Maura sighed. A brief silence fell before she threw her hands up in surrender and turned around. "You're right, I apologize. I will go get your shirt."

"Oh, no. Nope. It's your turn now."

En route to the door, Maura was suddenly spun around by her shoulders. She squeaked as Jane yanked her scrub top off and pulled it over her own head in one fluid motion. Maura's hands automatically flew to her now messy hair and she gaped at her friend indignantly. "Jane!"

The detective was too busy pulling at the shirt's hemline to acknowledge the exclaimation. "Dammit, this thing is too short!"

Maura smoothed her hair heatedly. "My hair is ruined. At least you have an impressive midriff."

"Shut up."

Giving up on her attempts to stretch the top, Jane stormed out of the office and slammed the door behind her. She crossed the autopsy room in a fury, paying no mind to Maura's shouts of protest as the ME followed several steps behind. With a bang, Jane entered the crime lab, spotted her shirt on a chair across the room, and made a beeline for it, ignoring the disbelieving stares of the techs on either side of her. She snatched it up, spun on her heel, and ran straight into her best friend.

"Oh, come on!"

The shorter woman opened her mouth to reply, but Jane seized her wrist and quite literally dragged her out of the crime lab. "I'm never letting you test my shirt stains again."

As they were crossing the hall, Vince Korsak came around the corner, and stopped dead at the sight of the two women. "Rizzoli?"

Both Jane and Maura froze, and turned slowly towards the elder detective. Damn. The pair and Korsak stared at each other for several tense seconds before Jane finally found her voice.

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."

With a breath of relief, Korsak shut his eyes and held up a hand in agreement. "Sounds good to me."

Safely inside the office once again, Maura watched Jane remove the scrub top with mild interest. "You've read Oliver Goldsmith?"

"I hate you, Maura Isles."