A/N: So...this is my first Rizzoli and Isles fanfiction, please be kind to me! It's been turning around in my head for about a month, and I always say that if that happens, that this is an idea that my muse is wanting me to write. This is a Frankie/OC story, so I hope you all like it! This has been in the works for longer than a month, so be patient with me!

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone in Rizzoli and Isles, everyone goes to their rightful owners. I own Isabella Zuko. No one else.

Summary: Isabella Zuko becomes newly-appointed Detective Frankie Rizzoli's partner and the no-fraternization rule of the department becomes a big issue as two detectives fight rising attraction.

Now I'm stronger than yesterday

Now it's nothing but my way

My loneliness ain't killing me no more

I'm, I'm stronger than I ever thought that I could be, baby

I used to go with the flow

Didn't really care about me

You might think that I can't take it

But you're wrong

Britney Spears — Stronger

Isabella Zuko's lip curled as she walked down the streets of Boston. From New York City originally, she was on Red Sox turf. She had been divorced from her FBI agent husband for two years now. It turned out that confidence was only attractive in theory, and a romance between an FBI agent and a CSI-turned-Homicide detective would have never worked out.

She straightened out her blue button-down work shirt over her jeans and tightened her ponytail. Isabella had long raven hair, always pulled back into a ponytail. Her bangs flopped into her face, partially shrouding her bright blue eyes. She was petite, there was no way she would be able to pass off as a tall person, but she thought of it as a good thing. She liked to stand out in the world. In New York, she had worked alongside people who were super-tall, super-thin and athletic, and super-attractive.

"Here you are, ma'am," a policeman said, holding the door open for her. She smiled in thanks and stepped over the threshold of the Boston Police Department. She was in.

"I'm Isabella Zuko," she said, her thick Queens accent making her stick out that much more. She pulled out her ID from her wallet, flashing it to the uniformed guard. He held out his hand and she unzipped her boots, setting them in a tub and pulling out her cellphone and keys. Anything that would set off the detector went into the tub.

"Alright, welcome to the Boston PD, Detective Zuko," the guard said, handing back her stuff. She nodded to him and pulled her boots back on, zipping them back up.

"Thank you," she replied, sliding her keys back into her pocket. Her wallet went back into her front pocket, the bulk of it sticking out. She tightened her ponytail again and pushed open the door to the bullpen. It was vastly different from the NYPD, it was more secure. People bustled about, carrying files and chatter filled the air. It was that first day of school feel as she muttered apologies to people as she bumped into them.

"Detective Zuko?" someone asked. Isabella looked up and met the eyes of a young man, around her age. He had dark hair and brown eyes.

"Yeah, that's me," she replied hesitantly. He held out his hand.

"I'm your new partner, Frankie Rizzoli," he introduced himself. She reached out and shook his hand firmly.

"Call me Isabella," she told him. He was good-looking, she noticed. Frankie had a boyish face and eyes that reminded her of a puppy.

"I was told to pick you up, we actually have a case," he said. She nodded to show her understanding.

"Uh, sure, let me grab my badge and I'll be ready to go," she replied with a soft smile. He pointed to her desk, the only clean desk in the entire bullpen.

Her smile widened. "Thanks." She found her way over and pulled open the drawer. A gold-plated badge shone back at her, along with a service weapon.

"You're not gonna give me a lecture about the hopes and safeties of the city, are you?" she asked, her voice warm with amusement. He shook his head.

"I just became a detective myself. They give you that talk when you graduate from the academy," he assured her. She clipped the holster to her belt and slid her gun in, hearing it click as it set itself. The badge came next, near her gun.

"Ready?" she asked. He led her out of the bullpen and to the car.

The crime scene was in the driveway of someone's home, the tape crossed from the tree to the mailbox and around the garage. The body of a young boy lay face-down, his limbs sprawled out. Isabella's heart sank as she ducked under the tape. The little African-American boy couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old.

"Guys, this is Detective Zuko, the new transfer from the NYPD," Frankie said. Isabella gave a slight wave and accept a pair of latex gloves from an officer. She slid them on and bent down next to the body. Prior to working Homicide, she had been a crime scene investigator.

"What's his name?" she asked gently. A pretty redhead looked up at her from her bent-down position as well.

"Henry Wallace, he's nine years old," she replied. The victim was the same age as Isabella's nephew, James. Isabella's gaze dropped to the victim's ear and her eyes widened.

"He's deaf," she commented, pointing to the hearing aid. "Or partially."

"How did you know?" the redhead asked. Isabella opened Henry's ear a bit, showing the hearing aid.

"My nephew James is deaf," she explained. "But the cool thing is about these are that they don't just convey sound, they record it, too."

"We might have a recording of this little boy's murder," another woman murmured. Isabella's eyes wandered to the yard, where a ball was perched on the grass.

"Who plays basketball in the grass?" she asked aloud, standing up.

"Good eye," someone else congratulated. Isabella walked onto the grass and picked up the ball.

"I worked Crime Scene before I transferred to Homicide. You'll get prints and epithelial DNA off of this, I'm sure," she informed a tech. She prodded the ball, feeling its firmness under her fingers before handing it to him.

It was thrilling, really. Her first case and it was about something she was familiar with: special-needs children. Her older sister's son James was deaf, and Eva was autistic. Eva was low-functioning autistic with OCD, so she could barely talk.

A little array of scarlet drops were on the sidewalk and Isabella bent down to look. It was high-velocity blood spatter.

"He was attacked here and Henry went to go inside to call 911 or get his mother," she said. There was a void and she tilted her head, her instincts as a CSU coming out to play.

"Where did you say you were from?" someone cracked a joke. Her head rose and she met the eyes of a middle-aged heavyset man.

"New York. You know, where the Yankees reside. The same Yankees that kicked the Red Sox's ass last night," she retorted.

"That game was fixed!" the man said. She chuckled and turned her attention back to the scene.

"I think we have a hate crime," she commented.