A/N: I've wanted to write 'It's in the Water' with a Rizzles twist for a while now and after re-watching it again recently this is what developed. It's such a gloriously cheesy movie with some genuinely sweet moments and I thought it lent itself well to R&I.

I've taken a lot of liberties in adapting the movie plot here in order to make it fit the R&I universe and vice versa, so maybe you'd call it AU, I dunno. You decide.

I've also nicked the first homicide case from Scott & Bailey because I felt it fit well in this context.

This starts off T-rated for swearing and changes to M-rated later on. Feel free to let me know what you think as we go along and thanks in advance for reading it.

CHAPTER ONE

The floor surrounding Jane Rizzoli's full length mirror was cluttered with various pairs of shoes. Each pair had been tried on for a minute, deemed unsuitable, and discarded. The pair she had on now weren't ideal but they were the best of a bad bunch and she was quickly running out of time.

She inspected her feet from every feasible angle before turning her attention to the whole outfit. Huffing audibly, she resigned herself to leaving her apartment in what she was now wearing. Stroking her palms down her body to smooth out the fabric, she mumbled, "That's as good as it's gonna get."

The lanky brunette tucked a lock of wavy hair behind her ear and turned to leave but froze as she surveyed yet more mess. On the bed lay an impressive pile of clothes. Dresses, blouses, and trousers in various fabrics were strewn haphazardly, all quickly succumbing to creases. The material mountain taunted her, whispering ingrained insults about what a terrible housekeeper she was; terrible wife, terrible daughter. Just terrible.

She never had been the tidiest person in the world, and admittedly there had been times of illness or injury where she had been absolutely disinterested in any form of housework, but Casey would understandably throw a fit if he came home and discovered their bedroom looked like somebody had thrown a grenade into Kohl's.

It was her mother's voice, that guilt, and it was formidable even without her presence. Jane's shoulders slumped and she breathed a deep, weary sigh before striding out of the room, making sure to close the door firmly, putting the seal on her personal disaster zone.

oOo

The church sign had been changed since the last time Jane had attended Sunday mass. Where it's previous message of 'Come join our flock' had offered a friendly invitation, its current greeting was a decidedly more judgemental 'Let Jesus save you from your sins'.

To Jane's fairly liberal mind it was the kind of thing that pushed good people away; the focus was always on what you did wrong and how bad you were, no matter how much you wanted to save the world. Good intentions were damned.

Father Crowley was already speaking and Jane tried to push her way silently into the pew, but heavy wood creaked and groaned, drawing very unwanted attention, as several people stood to let her pass. She hunched over, trying to make herself look smaller, grumbling thanks and then apologies to every person who scowled in her direction.

Finally perched next to her mother, she leaned in and whispered, "Sorry I'm late."

Angela Rizzoli's undivided attention was on the priest and so her response was a barely turned head and an angry, scolding "Shhh!"

Jane tutted and folded her arms in a huff, wishing she'd gone with Casey, or to the gym, or even stayed at home and buried herself under Mount Material. Anything was better than being simultaneously ignored and chastised by her own mother.

This week's sermon seemed focused on giving; giving to charity, giving your free time, giving back to the community. Father Crowley asked everyone to care for those in need; a very fine and humbling notion indeed. But Jane bristled when, at his mention of the local care home - a facility for the elderly that used lots of volunteers – she noticed Carla Talucci preening, further down the pew in front, looking far too fucking pleased with herself.

The insufferable woman's comments weren't subtle or hard to hear, "Oh yes, we take the time to go twice a week. It's the least we can do."

Jane wanted to yank her gaudy, gold hoop earrings from either side of her smug face.

Then the Talucci's daughter piped up, rubbing the point in further and earning a cynical sneer from the detective, "It's a family affair. We spend quality time together as we care for those who don't have a family." Her tone was condescending and her smile was sweet enough to make Jane throw up a little in her mouth.

Angela sniffed and Jane turned to look at her in horror.

"Ma, don't -"

She gestured at the pair, watery-eyed, "Why can't we do that, Janie? Look at them -"

Jane cut in as quietly as she could, "They're full of shit, that's why!"

Angela gasped and smacked Jane firmly across the shoulder.

"You know fine well the Talucci's only care about appearances," despite their hideous wardrobe choices offering evidence to the contrary, she added mentally. "And we're not that shallow." She prodded her mother's arm with a pointed finger, "You're not that shallow." There might have been a barely concealed, somewhat pleading question in there, too.

It was Angela's turn to huff and fold her arms.

Jane growled under her breath, knowing her argument wouldn't suffice. Why her Ma wanted to be just like those posers she had no idea. Angela would no doubt hold onto this for a while. It would be ammunition to fire at Jane when she was least prepared, a stink bomb to surreptitiously let off during family dinner, anything to leave a bad taste in her mouth and let her know, once again, what a terrible daughter she was.

oOo

It was just after noon when Frank Rizzoli ambled into the living room holding two frosty beer bottles. Popping both caps and discarding them on the coffee table, he passed one bottle to Casey before falling lazily into his beaten recliner.

He glanced only momentarily away from the television as he explained, "Might as well, son. It's five o'clock somewhere, right."

Casey just smiled and tipped the neck of his bottle in thanks.

Frank gulped from his bottle and let out an almighty belch, making Casey chuckle.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just reminded me of Jane, that's all."

Frank scoffed. "Never could get her to act like a lady. Gave up on that a long time ago."

Sipping from his own bottle, Casey had to agree, "Mmm." She'd always been a tomboy, even when they were at school together. But where most girls mellowed after puberty, Jane had remained stubbornly independent. She was strong and tough and to a soldier it was a turn on to know she could give as good as she got. But there were times he yearned for a softer version of the woman he married; someone more amenable to changing her last name to Jones, someone needing a little protection, someone occasionally vulnerable, delicate and more… feminine.

Something occurred to Frank and he snorted, "You're lucky she's not more like her mother, I suppose." Lofting his almost empty bottle for emphasis, "It'll take a few more of these to shift the headache Angela gave me before she left."

"The waitressing worked out though, didn't it?"

"Oh, sure, that was a great idea," Frank conceded, though that was obviously not the end of it from the look on his face. He was clearly irritated, "But she's here all the rest of the time, evenings and weekends, getting on my last nerve and trying to tell me what to do."

"Thank God for the church, eh?" Casey was proud of his little pun and they both laughed.

Frank shrugged then spoke as if he was just processing thoughts out loud. "Three hours alone. Long enough to watch some sports, not long enough for some real fun."

Intrigued but happy to let it pass for the time being, Casey said, "Yeah, well, my problem is not seeing Jane enough. It feels like all she does is work."

Frank seemed to snap out of his little daydream in order to repeat the same advice he'd given Casey on numerous previous occasions, "Just like Angela, she's got this funny idea that she's in charge. I'm telling you, you gotta tell her how it is. Angela puts on a good show, but she's all bark and no bite, trust me."

It was no good, Casey couldn't contain his curiosity, "And when does the real fun start?"

Grinning smugly, Frank leaned in conspiratorially, "Let's just say, there are advantages to being self-employed and keeping your own hours. You never know when an emergency call out to tend a beautiful blonde's clogged pipes might pop up."

Casey's mouth hung open a little, a hint of a smile present, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You wouldn't believe the trouble Lydia has with her plumbing." With a wink, Frank rose from his chair as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just transformed before Casey's very eyes, and as if he was concretely confident that his secret was safe. Sweeping up Casey's empty bottle as well as his own, he turned toward the kitchen, "I'll get you another."

oOo

Detective Barry Frost was deliberating which donut to select from the box being offered by Vince Korsak when Jane strolled into the homicide department of BPD on Monday morning.

"We're that quiet you've got time for breakfast now?" she snorted.

Frost couldn't respond through a mouthful of chocolate ring but he still gave her a look that said How dare you!

She smirked as Korsak set the white cardboard box back on his desk and picked up a manila folder.

Eyeing the extra large coffee Jane was cradling in one hand and stirring with the other, Korsak raised one eyebrow accusingly, "Actually, we just picked up a case. We were waiting for you."

The brunette took a step back and feigned a look of hurt, before smiling at the grey-haired Sergeant Detective and conceding, "Touché." She took a seat at her desk opposite Frost, put down her coffee and rapped her palms on the surface. She was ready to go to work. "Okay, what have we got?"

Frost swallowed the last of his donut and mumbled through the napkin that he used to wipe his mouth. "Someone's killing old folks at the Beechgrove Retirement Home." He smiled widely at Jane, revealing a blob of chocolate on one front tooth, making her snort with laughter and almost spray coffee all over her desk.

She cupped a hand under her chin to catch any drips, mumbling, "Asshole. Tryin'a kill me, too, huh."

Korsak took over outlining the case. He enjoyed the joke but his Sergeant cap was firmly in place. He sat down, donned his glasses and read from the file, "There are suspicions of neglect towards the residents. A relative came in this morning to say they think it's the reason for their father's death. A background check…" He pointed at Frost who grinned proudly, "… shows there have been several deaths there in the last two months, four others in addition to this one, that were unexpected but nothing suspicious came up at the time. There was nothing untoward recorded in the cause of deaths." He removed his glasses and looked up at Jane. "But Sean spoke to the doctor on staff there this morning and he has agreed the death rate is unusually high and they're happy to have us investigate."

"That's quite a concession," Jane chipped in. She had one foot raised up on the opposite knee, her usual laidback posture, tapping a fingernail on the side of her coffee cup. "To have found nothing suspicious but agree to a police investigation right off the bat."

Frost agreed. "Yeah, usually we come up against snotty doctors who don't like us implying they made a mistake."

Korsak tipped his head. They were correct, of course. "All I know is he was fit and well until he was found dead in his room last night. It looks like a heart attack but his medical records say there was nothing wrong with his heart. CSRU are on their way there along with the new Medical Examiner."

Eyebrows shooting up into her hairline, Jane spun in her chair and asked, "New… what happened to Pike?"

"There's a rumor…" Frost whispered, leaning over his desk to get closer to Jane. "…that he met someone on vacation in Ft. Lauderdale, a male someone, quit his position last week and got married in New York."

"But he's only been gone for three weeks!" she squeaked, her nose scrunched up in disbelief.

"Yep, and he's not coming back. Apparently this guy's got a beach front condo somewhere."

Always the voice of sense and reason, Korsak added, "And let's be honest, they're never short of dead bodies in Florida."

Jane's lips turned down at that and she nodded, he had a point. And the beach front condo sounded pretty nice, too. She'd flip for dugout seats at the Red Sox; it was only a hop, skip and a jump to the ocean.

Korsak got up and started pinning photos and information on the board behind Jane's desk. She and Frost hadn't moved from their seats, contemplating the case and other details.

Frost seemed to read something in Jane's expression, a sadness maybe, longing, jealousy.

Her brows were scrunched together as her eyes met his and her shoulders rose up to her ears in astonishment, "Not that I'm not glad he's gone… but, how -?"

She didn't need to voice the question; he'd been wondering the same thing. After a pause he spoke softly and seriously, "I guess when it happens you just know, y'know."