Author's Note: Hello readers. Here I am in a new fandom. It's odd for me, but the fanfic itch appeared and I decided to scratch.

I'm posting this against my better judgement. I would prefer to have more of it written before I started posting, but I can't resist. I really like how this story is turning out and I'm excited to share it.

So let's get started, shall we?

I often wonder if the purveyors of murder realize just how much pain they cause. This may sound like an easy question with an obvious answer, but hear me out. First of all, you have a victim—a life ended far too soon. I think it's safe to assume that murderers know they have harmed the people they murder. And then there's the family and friends of the victim. Again, I think a large number of murderers know they've hurt these people as well.

But what about the family doctor who has years of medical records for a patient who will never need to visit them again? What about the beautician who cut the victim's hair every month for the last five years? What about the school registrar who has to strike a name from their attendance logs because the dead can't attend chemistry class?

And what about the police who investigate the murder? The police who have to live with the fact that they couldn't protect the victim, and, in the event of a cold case like Charlotte's, are unable to even offer the family a resolution about what happened?

No, somehow I doubt most murderers think of those people at all.

-An excerpt from To Charlotte, With Love – S1E1: "Charlotte"

Jane threw open the door to Maura's house and waltzed right in as if she owned the place. Almost instantaneously, she was irritated. There was a distinct lack of the scent of coffee in the air. "Maura?" she called as she walked further in to the house. Her best friend was nowhere to be seen and there was no response to her call, so she continued on towards Maura's bedroom and tried again. "Maur?"

As she passed the guest room, she heard Maura reply: "In here." Stopping dead in her tracks and leaning backwards to look through the doorway she'd just passed, Jane spotted Maura standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the guest room. Backtracking, Jane went in the room. Before she could say anything, Maura said, "Oh shoot, I forgot to make coffee. I'm sorry."

And just like that, the irritation was gone. "Don't worry about it. What are you doing in here?"

"The sink in my bathroom is leaking so I had to shut the water line."

"You want me to take a look at it?" offered Jane, leaning against the doorway to the bathroom and watching Maura finish her makeup.

"That'd be great, thanks," said Maura with a winning smile. "I looked for myself already, but I couldn't ascertain the root of the problem. Admittedly I didn't do a thorough assessment because it was threatening the punctuality of my morning routine, but it makes more sense for you to look at it anyway. I have no doubt you'll be able to figure it out faster than I would."

"Wow," said Jane, raising her eyebrows. "You saying I'm better at fixing pipes than you? I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

Maura laughed, meeting Jane's eyes in the reflection of her mirror. "I assure you, I intended it to be complimentary."

A warm and fuzzy feeling settled in Jane's stomach and she returned Maura's smile. "In that case, thank you." She pushed away from the door jam and began walking backwards towards the kitchen. "The sink's gonna have to wait though. I need to go engage in mortal combat with your coffee machine." She pounded her right fist against her open left palm in a threatening gesture. "Two will enter, but only one will leave. And if you're looking to place a bet, just know that I carry a freakin' gun." The sound of Maura's laughter followed her out to the hallway and a grin split Jane's face despite her caffeine deprivation. She loved to make Maura laugh.

In the kitchen Jane hesitantly approached the complicated machine that stood between Jane and her ability to be a functioning human being. She pushed up her sleeves and placed her hands flat on the countertop on either side of the machine, glaring at it as though it was a suspect she was trying to coax in to making a confession. "Okay, coffee machine," she muttered. "I don't like you, and you don't like me. But we're both property of Dr. Maura Isles and that means we need to develop a semi-functional working relationship. So let's do this together, shall we?"

It didn't occur to her until several minutes later that she'd just described herself as Maura's property. She wasn't sure where it had come from. It had just sort of slipped out. But the words had the ringing taste of truth, and years of experience had taught her it was pointless to overthink or question all the things she said and did where Maura was concerned.

With a hiss and a shudder, the coffee machine released a stream of hot liquid in to the mug that sat ready to catch it—Maura's favorite mug. As Jane stood there grinning at it triumphantly, the sound of clapping came from the direction of the bedrooms. She turned to see Maura looking genuinely proud. "Great job, Jane! I knew you could do it."

"Thank you, thank you," replied Jane, giving an exaggerated, fancy bow. Then she straightened and handed Maura her steaming mug of fresh coffee. "Will you do the honors? Tell me how it is, and be honest."

"When am I ever not honest?" Maura raised the cup to her lips and took a dainty sip, but said nothing afterwards.

Rocking back and forth nervously, Jane prodded: "Well?"

For reply, Maura spit the coffee back in to the mug.

"Oh my god," said Jane, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Really, Maura? It's so bad you couldn't even swallow it?"

Maura burst in to laughter. "I'm kidding, Jane. It's perfect."

"You sure?" Jane eyed her skeptically.

"I'm sure. Taste for yourself."

It turned out to be true, and Jane leaned against the counter sipping her coffee and watching as Maura rifled through the morning paper. Jane realized she spent a lot of time watching Maura go about her business. She liked the way Maura was always so focused on whatever she was doing, even something as banal as reading the paper. But she liked it much more when that focus was trained on her. Therefore, she did the natural thing and set about annoying Maura's attention away from the newspaper. She reached across the kitchen island and began rummaging clumsily through the corners of the pages, making it difficult for Maura to read.

"Stop that," said Maura irritably, slapping Jane's hand away. "What section do you want?"

"Sports, please," said Jane, the very picture of innocence.

"You don't have to assault my newspaper. You can use your words like a normal adult." Maura fished the sports section out and separated it from the rest of the newspaper. "Here."

"Thanks." Jane took it but made no move to read it. "Anything good in there?"

"Climate scientists are saying that if we continue emitting carbon dioxide at our current rate then we'll have fewer than ten years before we reach the point of no return in climate change," replied Maura, her eyes still scanning the article. "The human race is headed for a mass extinction event."

"I think we have drastically different definitions of 'good,'" deadpanned Jane.

"We should really stop eating meat, Jane," continued Maura as though she hadn't heard her. "Did you know that factory farming animals for human consumption is the single greatest contributor of greenhouse gasses?"

Jane couldn't help but feel charmed at the implication that any dietary change on Maura's part would constitute one on Jane's part as well. And she had to admit, it probably would. "Let's do it, then," said Jane.

That got Maura's attention. "Really?"

"Sure," said Jane, shrugging. "If you think it will help prevent the mass extinction of the human race."

"I think you refraining from meat would most certainly help," said Maura, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "At least 5% of the carbine dioxide in our atmosphere comes from all your meat lover's pizzas."

"Rude, Maur. So rude. Fine, I won't order them anymore. But I draw the line at putting mushrooms on the pizza. That's just sick and wrong. I'm only interested in eating mushrooms if they're gonna make me grow twice as big like Mario."

Maura squinted at her, an expression that Jane knew meant she was trying to understand her reference. "The little Italian plumber from the video games?" she ventured.

"Yes!" exclaimed Jane, pumping her fist in the air victoriously. "Well done, Dr. Isles."

"Thank you, thank you," said Maura, repeating the same fancy bow that Jane had done earlier, except she remained seated on her stool. "Although I haven't the foggiest idea what that little plumber has to do with mushrooms."

Sighing and shaking her head, Jane said, "It's not right, all the stuff you missed out on in your childhood." She watched as Maura finished her coffee and then took the empty mug from her and brought both it and her own to the sink and began washing them with dish soap and hot water.

Maura put her chin in her hand and watched affectionately. It had taken the better part of two years to make Jane do that unprompted. At first Jane would simply leave her mug in the sink, then as time went on she started to fill it with water to "let it soak," then she had graduated to actively rinsing, and finally to the more meticulous cleaning she was doing now. And what was more, she hadn't even complained about the task in well over a year. In fact, if the little smile on Jane's face was any indication, she was happy to do it. "You're smiling while doing dishes, Jane. You'd better hope your mother doesn't walk in right now or you'll be forever regulated to the role of dish-washer at Sunday dinner."

"Your mouth to God's ears," replied Jane drolly. "I only like washing your dishes."

There was surely a medical explanation for the feeling of butterflies made out of sunshine tickling Maura's heart inside her chest, but she found she couldn't think of it. "Technically they're all my dishes. This is my house."

"Yeah, you keep trying to believe that and let me know how that works out for ya."

Twenty minutes later they pulled up to the precinct and headed towards the elevators. As usual, Jane waited with Maura until a down elevator arrived. They were discussing lunch plans when a voice from one of the up elevators that Jane skipped to wait with Maura said: "Rizzoli! My office, now." Cavanaugh didn't look upset, so Jane understood "now" to mean "when you're done with Maura."

"Sounds like a game is afoot," said Maura with an air of excitement.

"It does indeed," agreed Jane. A downward bound elevator arrived and she waved at Maura as she got on and hit the button. "I'll text you once I've heard the rules."

"Please do." Then the door closed and Maura was gone.

Jane stared at the metallic door for a few seconds, missing Maura already and feeling ridiculous about it. Shaking her head, she pushed the up button at last.

Frost and Korsak were already waiting in Cavanaugh's office. "Morning, gentleman," she said as she dropped down in an empty chair. "What do we got?"

"Any of you guys heard of this podcast called To Charlotte, With Love?" asked Cavanaugh.

Jane and Korsak shook their heads, but Frost said: "Yeah. Cold case podcast about the disappearance of Charlotte Turner."

"Why does that name sound so familiar?" mused Jane.

Cavanaugh handed a file to the detectives and they put their heads together to look through it. "Charlotte Turner, age 15 at the time of her disappearance," he said. "She vanished after softball practice one afternoon ten years ago and nobody's seen her since. Her body has never been found, and no suspects have ever been arrested in connection with her disappearance. There was a huge manhunt after she vanished. The whole city was looking for her."

That was why Jane remembered the name. She'd still been in vice at the time, but she remembered hearing about the case on the news, on the streets, and in the precinct. Everyone had been talking about it. Until they weren't. Eventually the fervor had died down, as these things tended to do, and the case had since gone cold.

"If we don't have a body then how do we know it's a murder?" asked Jane absently as she looked at the picture of the pretty young blonde girl in the file. It always made her heart ache when the victims were young. What if this girl was going to be the first female President of the United States? Or the first person to walk on Mars? There was so much wasted potential.

"I don't have to tell you three the likelihood of this being a homicide case," said Cavanaugh grimly. "I hope I'm wrong about it, but we all know the odds when a kid goes missing."

"What's the podcast got to do with it?" said Frost, taking the picture from Jane to study it.

"The creators of the podcast have been looking in to the case. Apparently it's all the rage right now for journalists to pick a cold case and run their own investigations. Some of them do good work and get great results," said Cavanaugh. "Apparently this is one of them, because we were contacted by the producers and they think they know where the body is."

Korsak looked up from his own review of the photograph and raised his eyebrows. "You're kidding. A couple of nerdy journalists solved a cold case?"

"I wouldn't say they've solved it, but we've looked at their findings and we think they're solid. So we want you to check it out." He paused and cleared his throat. "And, uh, we want you to bring the podcasters along with you."

"What?" said Jane, her jaw dropping. "You want the nerds to tag along?"

"The brass thinks it will be good publicity. It looks good for the department to be supportive of solving crimes in any way possible, and that includes independent sleuths."

"But, uh…" Frost glanced nervously at Jane. "You really want us on this one? Talking to the reporters? They're going to be recording right? So we'll probably end up in the podcast."

"Yes," said Cavanaugh. "I imagine you will."

Jane said, "I think what Frost means is: You seriously want someone following me around and recording everything I say?"

"Yeah, I do." Cavanaugh's tone indicated complete finality, and the three detectives knew there would be no more discussion on the topic of the assignment of the case. "This afternoon the podcasters will meet you at the vic's high school to check out the location where they think the body is. You're to be hospitable, alright? I don't want to listen to the show later and hear you calling anyone a nerd." He pointed accusatorily at Jane, who waved her hand dismissively.

"I'll be civil," she assured him. In truth Jane had grown to have a hearty appreciation for nerds thanks to a certain doctor she was quite fond of. Speaking of... "Should we bring Maura?"

"Call her in if you find the body," answered Cavanaugh. "No point interrupting her work for a wild goose chase."

At lunch time, Jane poked her head in to Maura's office and waved the bag of food from the deli across the street she'd brought. "I hope you're hungry, because I've got to go on a little field trip in an hour so this is probably my only window of opportunity for lunch."

"Starving," Maura replied, closing her laptop. Jane came in to the office, shutting the door behind her. She sat on the opposite side of Maura's desk and distributed the food, and Maura was shocked to see what Jane had brought. "Salads. You brought us salads?"

Shrugging, Jane was a little bashful as she said, "We're not eating meat, right? Isn't that the deal?"

For a long moment, Maura just sat there smiling at her. Then she chuckled and started to dig in to her salad. "You've been so accommodating recently. I'm honestly not sure what to make of it."

"Maybe I decided that I'd rather have you looking like this," she waved her biodegradable plastic fork in front of Maura's face as though circling it on a sheet of paper, "than being annoyed with me all the time."

"Well, I've noticed, and it's appreciated." She reached over and squeezed Jane's hand where it lay on the desk, lightly rubbing the back of her palm with her thumb.

The contact was electric. The hairs on the back of Jane's neck stood up. That's interesting, she thought, blinking at Maura. And nice. Interesting and nice. Experimentally, she turned her hand and intertwined her fingers with Maura's. "Perfect fit," she said without thinking.

"I've often thought so, yes," agreed Maura breathlessly, her heart hammering in her ears. She squeezed Jane's hand again and then reluctantly pulled her hand away to eat. As she chewed on her kale she catalogued the moment in her memory and filed it away for careful examination later. With that finished, she felt capable of conversation again. "So tell me about this assignment you were supposed to text me about earlier," she teased.

"Sorry about that," said Jane. "I had a witness interview and it went longer than I was expecting."

Waving her apology away, Maura said, "No problem. I've got four bodies right now so I wasn't exactly sitting by the phone for you." This was a slight misrepresentation of the truth. In fact she had been diligently keeping an eye on her phone while performing her autopsies, but she had been standing the whole time. A twinkle of mirth in Jane's eye let Maura know she was not believed, but she was relieved when Jane let it drop instead of teasing. Yet another example of Jane's growing softness towards Maura.

"You ever heard of this podcast To Charlotte, With Love?" Jane asked.

"Yes!" said Maura enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up with delight. "It's wonderful! You'd be shocked at what some of these amateur podcasters can discover about cold cases. Some of them immerse themselves in the victim's lives for months until they can get the people close to the case to open up to them. I think in some cold cases that might be the only way to solve the crime because of the degradation of evidence and memory over time. In that way podcasters have a huge advantage over the authorities—they simply have more time to devote to the subject."

"Yeah, well, Cavanaugh seems to agree, because he said the producers of this podcast think they know where the girl's body is hidden."

Maura gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. "No!"

"Yes," replied Jane. "He wants Frost and me to go check it out."

"Can I come?" asked Maura eagerly, and Jane grinned.

"Look at you," she said, amused. "You're so excited."

"Honestly, Jane, you should listen to the podcast. You would like it. The host is a fantastic journalist. She asks the perfect questions, and she really gets people to trust her. That's how she must have generated whatever lead she's got. It's very emotional at times, hearing from people who knew the victim so well and are suffering because they don't know what's happened to her."

Leaning back in her chair, Jane imagined herself in to the situation in the manner of a good detective. She pictured what it would feel like to have a loved one go missing, and then tried to imagine how that feeling might change and evolve over the course of a decade. Eventually the grief, though still present, might fade and turn in to something else—anger, and frustration, and above all a painful hope that your loved one might be found alive. In that hope there would be the sting of uncertainty, the inability to say a clean goodbye, and the shame that would follow at wishing for that goodbye to be finished. "Yeah," she said slowly as she thought through this.

Maura could practically see the wheels turning in Jane's head as her eyes grew unfocused and distant, no doubt considering the implications of the case. Unbidden, the thought came to Maura that Jane was easily the most beautiful person Maura had ever known, both inside and out. No one could possibly question Jane's motivations in her police work. She did it because it was her right and her privilege to bring some modicum of peace to the living left behind in the wake of unspeakable horrors, just as Maura considered it her right and her privilege to speak for the dead who could no longer speak for themselves. They were two sides to the same coin, both equally important to the overall function and utility of the currency.

"I hope these podcasters are right," Jane commented finally. "I hope we find the girl. She needs our help. Wherever she is, I think she's waited long enough."

"Me too, Jane."

After they were finished, Jane rose and began clearing away their trash, and Maura walked her to the door. "You'll call me if you find her?" she asked.

"You bet." Unexpectedly, Jane reached out and pulled Maura in to a loose, one-armed hug. It lasted only a second, and then she was striding off down the hallway, her steps jaunty and cheerful.

Maura walked on shaky legs over to her couch and collapsed on to it ungracefully, her whole body tingling. Something was definitely happening here, and she felt warm excitement and glee bubbling in her stomach. There had always been lines drawn in the sand between Maura and Jane, and as the years passed they had been gradually eroded by the winds and tides. Maura had always hoped that one day they would be completely erased, and now it seemed to finally be happening.

Resisting the urge to dance around her office, she set her shoulders and returned her focus to the four dead people in the conjoining room. As soon as she left her office a lab tech approached her with some test results, and just like that she was swept back up in to the familiar rhythm of her day.