IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER, PLEASE READ: The pacing of this story is a very slow burn by design. If that does not appeal to you, don't start this story. If initial non-Rizzles relationships don't at all appeal to you even if a story will ultimately end with Rizzles, then please don't start this story. It's going to be long. It's slow. It's a methodical exploration. And also if you are hoping for a graphic payoff, I don't generally write those things, so maybe look for another story!

There are so many wonderful stories out there which get to Rizzles quicker, which have no outer drama, no other love interests, and plenty o' smut. Please go find them if what I've described doesn't interest you. Otherwise you won't be satisfied with this - which is totally fine! I'm just trying to save you some time.

If you're still interested, I hope you enjoy.

She's back.

Two simple words, on repeat all week, and yet there was no sign of her that Dr. Isles could see.

Rizzoli's back!

Detective Frost looked relieved. Detective Crowe seemed sour, for once. The Sergeant was somber. Things were often tense at Boston Homicide as it were, but there was a noticeable change in the energy this week—or so it appeared to Maura Isles. People were nervous, flustered. They weren't sure what to do with themselves. Get rid of the papers, she won't want those. Do we put flowers on her desk? Don't make direct eye contact. Make sure the café is stocked with whatever she likes. No more cards. She doesn't like cards.

Maura's first day on the job felt like an eternity ago.

"Korsak!"

"Lieutenant?"

"Where the hell's Rizzoli?"

"Lunch break. Had to catch a Skype date with the hubby, you know Jane! Or y'know Casey, at any rate. Jane wouldn't dare miss another call after… well, anyhow!" He smiled and extended a hand for the woman at Cavanaugh's side. "You must be our new medical examiner. Dr. Isles?"

"Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant."

"Likewise! You and me'll probably be spending a lot of time together. Frost's a bit of a wuss when it comes to autopsies," he said, clapping the shoulder of a nearby seated detective. "And Jane's usually not too hot on them herself. You'll like her, though, she's a fine gal."

Jane didn't come back in that day. She hadn't been in since.

As she was wont to do, Maura had done as much research as possible on her future coworkers when she got the job in Boston. Two stories stood out about Jane Rizzoli: three years ago, she had been the recipient of BPD's Medal of Honor. The other story was far more frightening. She had been the target of a serial killer who was obsessed with her. After brutally attacking and almost raping her, he'd been put in jail, only to escape and go after her again. That time, using a flare and then his own gun, Jane had killed him.

Both news stories carried the same photo of Jane, wearing her uniform and looking rather glamorous in Maura's opinion. She had one of the broadest smiles Maura had ever seen.

None of that was on display today.

At first, Maura didn't recognize her.

She had ducked into the restroom on the main floor, and there was a woman standing over one of the sinks, clutching either side of it. Her eyes were closed, her face was pale, and her knuckles were white. A small, dry sob sounded as though it had been wrenched from this woman's throat, and Maura's first instinct was to back out of the room. She felt as though she'd just invaded someone's privacy in their own home, but the sound of her heeled shoe stepping back grabbed the attention of the woman at the sink and their eyes met in the mirror.

Maura's breath felt stolen.

"Are you all right?" she asked, sounding winded as she took a step forward. The moment the words escaped her, she realized who she was talking to. She realized what an imbecilic question it was.

Jane Rizzoli was in a sleeveless black dress, not a police uniform. Her bun was scraggly, not hidden beneath a formal hat. The dazzling smile Maura had found so endearing was nowhere in sight. The grief in her face was overtaken by confusion, as if she was wondering who Maura was and where she got off asking a question like that.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Maura whispered, stepping closer though she really wasn't sure what her next course of action should be. "I'm… you're Detective Rizzoli, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Jane said, staring back down at the sink. She half-heartedly turned one of the knobs, as if she could pretend this woman had just walked in on her about to wash her hands. "That's me." There was silence as she waited for the stranger to introduce herself, but the woman just stood there awkwardly as Jane turned off the sink and grabbed a paper towel. "And you are…?" she prompted.

"Oh. Oh! I'm sorry. I'm Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner."

Jane raised her eyebrows, tossing the paper towel into the garbage bin over her shoulder. "You're pulling my leg."

Maura, whose hands were nowhere near Jane's leg, looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

There was just a hint of a smile. "You're the new M.E.?"

By now, "new" was a relative term, but not for Jane. "Yes."

"Huh. I was expecting some old, British lady for some reason."

Maura felt like she ought to take offense at that, but Jane appeared as though she was trying to be funny. Still, how did one respond to such a remark? "Well, I'm sure it's possible there is at least one old British woman out there with my name, but I can't say for certain she is a medical examiner."

Jane sniffed, using her thumb to wipe away a tear that was falling from the corner of her eye. Her tone remained determinedly casual. "Is Maura a family name, or something?"

"I don't think so," Maura replied, having never asked why it was given to her. "It's an Anglicized variation on the name Maire."

"Mary?"

"No, Maire."

"Never heard it."

Maura sighed, starting to fidget. "Well, it's an Irish variation on Mary. It means 'bitter.'"

"Oh. Well, uh… I'm sure your parents didn't know that when they named you."

"I suppose not," Maura said with a shrug. "It does sound a bit old-fashioned now, doesn't it?"

"Ah, well. If it makes you feel any better, my middle name is Clementine. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Why not? It's a lovely name."

Jane allowed herself a weak laugh, leaning against the sink, and Maura smiled hesitantly back. "Sure doc, okay," she said.

Silence hung over them again, and Jane wondered if Dr. Isles was going to actually use the restroom or wash or hands or do whatever it was she'd come in here to do. Why was she just standing there like a scared rabbit? Because you were crying when she came in, and she knows who you are. She knows what happened. She doesn't know how to bring it up, or if she should. That was when Jane noticed that Dr. Isles' gaze had lowered to Jane's hand—her left hand. There was no ring.

Jane lifted her hand, and Maura immediately tried to look away, embarrassed to have been caught. "I never wore it on the job," she said. "Ever been married, Dr. Isles?"

"I haven't."

"Mm. Kinda weird getting used to a ring," Jane said. "I was chasing a perp once—I know I had it on when we left headquarters, and by the time I got back, I'd lost it somehow. Worst part of it is, he wound up getting away." She rubbed her ring finger. "Got a new one later, but I always kept it off at work just in case I lost it again."

This was exactly the kind of interaction Maura dreaded. She knew she lacked the ability to say anything comforting, and to make things worse, she was nowhere near as comfortable talking to people she'd just met as Jane seemed to be. When did she get so sweaty? Why couldn't she think of a thing to say, and did Jane expect her to reply?

"Hey, I'm sorry," Jane muttered.

And now a recently widowed detective was apologizing to her. Maura, you idiot, say something.

"I'm gonna be tons of fun to be around, aren't I?" Jane asked dryly, and this time when she laughed, it was sour, as if she'd lost all hope.

"Don't say that," Maura whispered, and the quiet conviction in her tone got Jane to look at her. "Ever since I arrived here, I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you. Your team thinks you are the top in your field. Lieutenant Cavanaugh said you're one of the best he's seen. Your brother worships you."

There returned that tremulous smile, like a scared kid peeking out from under the covers. "You know Frankie?"

"I've met him a few times now, yes," Maura said with an encouraging smile. "He idolizes you, detective. I'm very much looking forward to working with you."

Jane's chin was quivering; she folded her arms to give herself some semblance of control and strength. "Thank you, doctor. Likewise. I'm, uh…" She gestured to her dress and flats. "Not starting today, not yet. I just have an appointment to speak with Cavanaugh. Make sure we're on the same page, and all that."

"Of course."

"So… I'll be seeing you around, doc." Jane cleared her throat and glanced in the mirror. Her eyes were still tinged with red, which she had hoped to avoid. She didn't want the boys upstairs to see she'd been crying, even though part of her knew nobody would blame her. It still made her uncomfortable …but not as uncomfortable as staying in here with a woman who was so tense in her presence. "Think I look okay?" she asked, turning to look at Maura.

I think you look like a woman who's just lost her husband. You look appropriately sad. That's not 'okay.' You don't look as though you're doing okay.

"No," Maura said softly.

Jane had meant in terms of her appearance, and was taken aback by Maura's answer. "Huh," she said, looking in the mirror again. She straightened up, trying her best to look unruffled. Stepping past Maura for the door, she said, "Guess it'll have to do."

A/N: Hi, guys. So it occurred to me that I've never tried to do a slow burn in the canon setting, and I've also never shown Jane and Maura meeting for the first time in this setting. I'm curious to see how this goes. "Lonesome" will remain my updating priority, but I will try to regularly update this as well.