This story takes place after the flashback in 3x01, where an undercover Jane Rizzoli runs across this well-dressed woman who offers her money, only to get swiftly rebuffed: "Not every hooker has a heart of gold, sistah!" This is my take on how our ladies met in an official capacity.
This was a quick-and-dirty I dashed off (without even my usual beta reader) so I apologize for that.
The nerve of that Vanderbilt bitch! Jane fumed as she stormed out of the cafe, very much lacking coffee and donut, leaving behind the well-dressed woman who had offered her twenty dollars (first putting on rubber gloves, which really steamed Jane's broccoli) and suggested Jane eat plain yogurt and leafy greens "for all your 'night work.' Just 'cause I'm dressed like a hooker doesn't mean she gets to treat me like something she scraped off of her $300 shoes!
Storming through the front door of Boston PD, Jane headed into yet another case she was working for the Drug Unit, that most likely was going up go nowhere. Like my career.
As it happened, Jane Rizzoli was wrong on both counts. The "minor drug buy" she headed into that day turned into the largest busts the DCU has done in years, breaking the back of Boston's biggest distribution network. There were hints that this case could lead to the Doyle Family. Consequently, Jane's star was rising fast within the department.
Just how fast, even she did not know until a couple of days after the last major bust. She had wanted to change out of her hooker get-up before heading upstairs into Brass Territory, but the summons to the Chief of Detectives office had said now.
Getting the nod from the Chief of D's assistant, Jane tapped on the door, opened the door and stuck her head in. "Rizzoli, reporting as ordered, sir," she announced diffidently.
The Chief waved her in, introducing her to the other man in the office, an older man with sapphire eyes in a concrete face. "Rizzoli...Lt. Cavanaugh, homicide division."
Cavanaugh gave her outfit a disdainful glance. "Rizzoli, that is not appropriate attire..."
"Uh, sir," Jane broke in, a little nettled that she should have to explain herself to some suit that she just met, "it's for my undercover-"
"It is not appropriate attire," Cavanaugh continued over her protest, his steely gaze mirroring the Chief's "for a Homicide detective." From his blazer pocket, he withdrew a small leather folder and handed it to Jane.
She opened it to reveal a gold-Plated badge. It took all of Jane's self-control not to queal like she had not done since she was thirteen.
"You did great work on that drug case, Rizzoli," the Chief was saying, though Jane could barely register the words through the noisy parade running through her head. "We're gonna see if you have what it takes to work in Homocide."
Cavanaugh held out his hand. "Congratulations...Detective."
"Thank you, sir," Jane said, trying not to pump Cavanaugh's hand off.
"There's some paperwork you need to complete back at DCU," said the Chief, "then you can take the rest of the day. You are the youngest officer ever promoted to Homicide Division, Rizzoli. Don't make us regret this."
"No, sir – I mean, yes, sir –" Ms. Tongue and Mrs. Lips, Janey. "You'll get my best work, sir."
Cavanaugh nodded, the Easter-Island-statue expression on his face not quite hiding the bemused twinkle in his eye. "Report to Homicide tomorrow, 8 a.m.," intoned Cavanaugh. "Sharp."
Jane managed to say her thanks and goodbyes, walk out of the Chief of D's suite and get into an elevator before starting her manic crowing.
Jane could have drawn up a chart detailing her family's reactions to the good news before she arrived at the house in Revere; they were nothing if not lovably predictable. Frank Rizzoli put his arm around her shoulder and said, "That's my girl." Angela shook her head, muttered something about going after murderers now instead of drug dealers, before getting on the phone as fast as her fingers could fly to spread the news, along with her pride, amongst numerous relatives and friends.
Frank Rizzoli, Jr. did his best to sneer at the older sister he idolized. "Reverse discrimination strikes again!" he grated, before finally relented and capturing Jane in a hug. The badinage continued through the family dinner; an hour afterwards, Frankie managed to corner her for a private word.
"So, why are you depressed?"
Jane stared at him incredulously. "Depressed? I'm excited, nervous, I'm…yeah, how'd you know?" Frankie just gave her one of his what-are-you-kidding-me looks. She sighed. "It's just, I tell you, Dad, Mom, she takes care of informing every relative in three states, I write a letter to Tommy in the slam…and that's it. There's nobody else to tell."
Frankie nodded. "And whose fault is that?"
Who's fault is it? Jane wondered the next morning as she pulled into BPD, dressed in black slacks, matching blazer and blue work shirt. The stinging realization that she had no real friends blunted the edge of her enthusiasm for her new assignment. She had never been Miss Popularity in school, but she had been prized for her loyalty by those few who had recognized it. Jane was only one of three women in her policy academy class; the other two had washed out, leaving Jane to score at the top of the cadet ranks. She had gone out for beers with other patrolmen and Drug Unit plainclothes, but nothing ever came of that…not counting the intimate liaisons that really didn't lead anywhere past a night of sweaty sheets.
Over the past couple of days, Jane had reluctantly come to realize that she could be needlessly abrasive, especially on first acquaintance. I could have handled that whole business at the café better, Jane thought as she trudged up the steps to the main doors. I could have politely refused, or just accepted the money in the spirit it was intended. But nooooo…!
She detoured through the café, idly looking for the well-dressed woman on the odd chance that she was here again. No such luck. She sure as hell wasn't a cop, Jane mused as she got coffee from the urn. She perused the pastry selection and picked out a bear claw that didn't look too far gone. With my luck, she's some high-priced defense attorney, and she'll be out to shred me in court. With a smirk, Jane moved her purchases to the counter. Ha. Let her try.
"Moving up in the world, are ya, Rizzoli?" Stanley sneered as he rang her up.
Giving him her best Death Glare, Jane intoned, "It's Detective Rizzoli, Stanley." She flashed the gold shield in his face, gratified to see him pale slightly. "And have a nice day," she added cheekily, gathering her goodies and heading to the elevators.
Jane figured she would be in for a bit of hazing as the New Kid in the Homicide Squad, and the Ol' Boy Network did not disappoint. The scratched desk and chair they assigned her looked as if they had been through the Afghanistan incursion. A stack of files nearly a foot high sat in her In box. "The hell is this?" she muttered to no one in particular.
"Cold cases," answered an older man, sporting a salt-and-pepper goatee and a spare tire around his torso. His loud necktie came down to an inch above his beltline. The Danish in his left hand had already suffered serious wounds; the senior detective snagged another bite before continuing. "It's kinda tradition here, to give new detectives our Unsolveds."
Jane nodded. "Yeah, I figured. Besides, fresh pair of eyes, and all that… Rizzoli," she added, standing up and extending her hand.
"Korsak," he replied, shaking her hand and managing to get not very much food on it. "I'll be showing you the ropes, at least to start out."
What raffle did you lose? was Jane's first thought, on which she clamped down so hard her teeth ached. Korsak seemed nice enough, but he was probably short-timing it until his full pension kicked in…although he seemed old enough to have retired with full benefits anyway.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Lt. Cavanaugh. "Rizzoli…good! Hi, Vince," he added.
Korsak smiled. "Hey, Sean."
"Rizzoli, I'm sticking you with Korsak for the time being. You're learning from the best, so pay attention."
"Yes, sir," Jane replied.
Cavanaugh turned to Korsak. "I'm going to borrow her for a little while, introduce her to the doc."
Korsak grinned, shedding twenty years off of his face. "That ought to be a train wreck."
Jane was started to get a little concerned at this point. "What 'doc'? You mean…the medical examiner?"
Cavanaugh nodded. "Of course." He peered at her intently. "You get squeamish easily, Rizzoli?"
"Not so far."
"Great. You're with me…see ya, Vince." Cavanaugh strode to the elevator with Jane in tow. On the ride down to the basement, to which Jane had never been, Cavanaugh asked, "You haven't met the new M.E., have you?"
Jane shook her head. "I never met the old M.E., for that matter, sir."
"Ennh, just as well; he was a dickhead. This new one, she's really sharp, but a bit of an oddball. All the same, she's in charge in that department, morgue and crime lab both. You watch your P's and Q's with her, read me?"
"Yes, sir," Jane replied. She had heard the new medical examiner was a woman, but that was the extent of it. Probably seventy-five years old, face like a saddle, thirty years' service in the WACs…do they still have WACs? Never mind. A mental picture formed that was a close cousin of the dreaded Sister Winifred Callahan, Jane's second-grade Catholic school teacher, dragon of her childhood.
Stepping off the elevator, Jane followed Cavanaugh through the corridors, past the morgue and the crime lab, to an office that was still in the stages of being unpacked. Some rather odd knick-knacks peeked out of boxes, looking to escape to the shelves that were already being inhabited by a plethora of books. A cloisonné screen in the back of the room partially hid a figure, fussing about with some esoterica, as Cavanaugh and Jane came up to the desk.
"Dr. Isles?" At Cavanaugh's call, the figure stepped out from behind the screen. Jane took her first good look at the new Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachussetts…and felt every drop of blood drain out of her face and settle into a cold pit in her stomach.
Jane tried to keep a polite smile on her face as Cavanaugh made introductions between her and the stunning young woman in the blue Elie Tahari ensemble…the same woman who, days earlier, Jane had rudely refused the offer of money in the café. No no no no, this is not HAPPENING, it's HER, I managed to diss the new Chief Medical Examiner, I'm dead, this is it, my career in Homicide is over before it's begun!
Any hope Jane might have had that recognition was one-sided was dashed by the doctor's narrowing hazel eyes. Clearly, despite Jane no longer wearing the hooker outfit, Dr. Isles knew damn well when they had last met.
Cavanaugh was saying how he wanted them to meet, since they would be working together quite a lot. Dr. Isles took this as her cue to speak up: "Actually, I…"
Jane's smile felt frozen on her face, whereas her eyes had the classic cornered-mouse look from a Tom and Jerry cartoon. She prepared to say good-bye to her career in law enforcement…
…when Dr. Isles paused, looking intently into Jane's eyes. Exactly what was going through her mind, Jane couldn't guess…
"…I, I've heard a great deal about Detective…Rizzoli," the medical examiner continued, only slightly stumbling on Jane's last name. She came forward and extended her right hand; by reflex Jane took it, absently noting through her anxiety and shock that Dr. Isles had a very firm handshake for a woman.
"Really?" Cavanaugh replied, looking between the two of them. He had the feeling he was missing something but couldn't quite figure out just what that was. "I guess your reputation precedes you, Rizzoli." Jane didn't trust herself to speak at that moment, so she settled for a diffident shrug and a smile so cheesy you could serve it in a deli.
"You can leave Detective Rizzoli to me, Lieutenant," Dr. Isles responded in pleasant tones, never quite taking her gaze from the brunette standing stock still next to her. "I'll teach her all the protocols for observing an autopsy."
Cavanaugh nodded, then turned to Jane. "And you will be an avid student, Detective."
"Yes, sir," Jane responded eagerly. She tiptoed over to the door, making sure The lieutenant had gotten onto the elevator. She turned back to see Dr. Isles standing two paces behind her, arms crossed, the toe of one expensive shoes tappinf expectantly.
Angela Rizzoli having raised no dummies, Jane knew she had to set phasers to Grovel. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Dr. Isles, thank you, you just saved my ass from being...busted down to meter maid!"
The caramel-blonde smiled, just a hint of smugness marring her otherwise flawless features. "Yes, I thought that might be the case. But that seems a bit extreme of a punishment...especially for such a minor...transgression."
"Yeah, about that….I am so, so sorry about that," said Jane, stepping a bit more into Dr. Isles' personal space than was her wont. "I'd been having kinda bad day, I was tired, Stanley was being an ass—" Some subtle shift of expression on the M.E.'s face made her stop. "Y'know, that's just making excuses. Never mind that. I'm just…sorry," she finished, cringing internally about how lame that sounded.
After a beat, Dr. Isles smiled and said, "Apology accepted." Strangley, it didn't seem to Jane that she was being condescending or sarcastic. This woman was an intriguing enigma. Jane found herself smiling back without being really sure why.
The doctor shrugged off her blazer, laid it on one of the odd-shaped chairs arranged before her desk, and made a half-turn away from Jane. "Unzip me," she instructed.
"Excuse me?"
"Well, I'm not going to perform an autopsy in this," she replied, indicating her outfit. Jane nodded and unzipped the back of her dress. Dr. Isles walked behind the screen to change.
Jane took the opportunity to inspect some of the artifacts and photographs that were in the process of being installed in the office. "You've been to a lot of places," she commented. "Europe and…stuff," she finished as her geographic knowledge failed her. "You from Boston? Usually I can tell easily, but you…sort of…not." Man, can I sound more like a doofus?
"I actually just moved back to Boston, from San Francisco," Dr. Isles replied, voice ringing from behind the screen. "I went to boarding school in Zurich, came back here to go to Boston Cambridge, then did a tour with Medecins Sans Frontieres –"
"Is that a rock group?"
Dr. Isles let out a full-throated laugh as she came out from behind the screen, dressed in black scrubs, flat shoes having replaced the stilettos. She tied her hair back in a loose tail as she crossed over to Jane. "No, you might know the group under its English name: Doctors Without Borders."
"Oh! Right, I've heard of them. You did that? That is so cool, and kinda dangerous, isn't it?" Standing in scrubs and flats, the medical examiner seemed much smaller to Jane, so vulnerable. The thought of her being exposed to unsavoury elements out in the hell-and-gone awoke Jane's protective instincts.
Dr. Isles shrugged modestly, then looked away for a second. After a pause, she looked directly at Jane again. "Actually, Detective, I may owe you an apology. I shouldn't have assumed you were a prostitute, merely because of the way you were dressed…"
"Well, that was the point, really," Jane countered gently. "I was undercover, for the Drug Control Unit. See, when you're a female, alone, buying drugs, you have to go under as a hooker."
"Oh." Dr. Isles seemed to berate herself. "Well, I should have picked up on the signs that you weren't actually a prostitute." At Jane's puzzled expression, she went on: "You lacked the characteristic signs of malnutrition and chronic drug use; in fact, you seemed – and still seem – in very good health. Your legs have excellent muscle tone." She grabbed Jane's hand, briefly inspected her fingernails. "I do think you need to ingest more vegetables…"
"You sound like my mother," Jane replied, shortly but not as unkindly as she might.
"Smart lady. Now, let me get you a surgical gown you can wear over your clothes, and you can enter into the fascinating world of forensic medicine!" One would have thought the medical examiner had been invited to her high school prom, she was so delightfully giddy.
The phrasing Dr. Isles had used rang a bell in Jane's mind. "You aren't going to do that 'Quincy' thing on me, are ya?"
Dr. Isles turned, startled and confused. "I don't know who that is."
"Aw, c'mon!" scoffed Jane. "That show that was on, when we were kids – you're about the same age as me, I think – he drags this horribly-rotted body out of storage to make some rookies either faint or puke…you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"Why would I want to do something like that to you?" asked the medical examiner, her expression so guileless Jane could not entertain the thought that she was trying to put one over on the detective.
"…Never mind, Dr. Isles. Shall we?"
Dr. Isles nodded. "Yes, Detective Rizzoli," she said as she started to walk towards the morgue, then stopped. Jane wondered what the hell she had done wrong now. "Actually…it's 'Maura.'" Her hesitant smile was almost heartbreaking.
"Wha—Oh! Yeah, 'Maura'. Kinda pretty, really."
"It is an Anglicisation of 'Máire', the Irish form of 'Mary'," the caramel-blonde said, flawlessly reeling off factoids as if reading them out of a book. "In the U.S., it's been among the one thousand most popular names for girls until the millennium…"
Jane stared at this encyclopedia that walked in human form. "No kidding," she deadpanned.
"Now your name, 'Jane', has always alternated with its alternative, 'Joan', which are both ultimately derived from the old Hebrew 'Yochannon', which means 'Yahweh is merciful."
May Yahweh have mercy on me, Jane thought. "Right. So, body, forensic medicine…?" Dr Isles – Maura – nodded and led the way towards the morgue. "And it's 'Jane,' okay?"
"Very."
Once Maura had fitted a surgical gown over Jane's clothing, the detective decided on one more try: "You sure you never saw Quincy, M.E.? It starred, uh, Jack Klugman…"
"Oh, I remember him, from that show The Odd Couple!" Maura said with a smile. "Mind you, I identified more with Felix Unger."
"What a shock," Jane murmured. She followed Maura into the morgue with a light step. Somehow, without intending to and with no idea how it happened, she had made a friend.
Edit: Yes, I will be writing more ficlets, "missing scenes" and so forth. I might even take requests...