This week was three days longer than it should have been. My first weekend off in over a month just wasn't meant to be. We caught a case Friday evening, and that case lasted all weekend. So now its Monday and Korsak, Frost and I are beat. Chased down a perp, caught the bastard, and none of us got hurt. He wasn't fast, and Frost got him by the shoulders before he got too far. The suspect didn't confess, but there was enough evidence to hold him on the charges. Dummy didn't ditch the gun, and was busted while on a shopping spree with the victim's credit card. Am I getting old or are these guy's just dense? A little bit from column A, a little bit from column B. The perp didn't put up a fight in interrogation. He had the decency to ask for his lawyer upfront instead of letting us waste time trying to get a confession that wasn't coming. He's the DA's problem now, and all Frost and I had for the remainder of the day was paperwork. I didn't even break a sweat.

Something about this case bothered me. I mean they all do, but this one just seemed too simple. Our victim didn't leave behind a family, he was a young professional. No wife, no kids, not even a pet. Just a somewhat messy bachelor pad, a sedan, and briefcase full of work the guy was taking home with him. Two full days went by without identifying him, no missing persons report matching his description. Dr. Isles, the new Medical Examiner did a thorough autopsy. There wasn't a fight, nothing interesting on his clothes or under his fingernails, nothing. The chump who robbed him might not have even said anything. Of course Dr. Isles said there's no way to prove or disprove that, but my gut says this was a blitz attack. No warning, no "give me your wallet," nothing. Just a shot to the belly.

"A small caliber bullet through the transverse colon and pancreas. Victim likely shifted his body in response to the sound of the assailant approaching, which resulted in the projectile severing the hepatic artery. Victim bled profusely from the injury and expired on scene no more than 2 hours from the time of the incident. The body was not disturbed or moved, and was discovered in the position the victim died in."

I think the new ME hates us. Or she hates me, or she hates detectives in her morgue. I'm still not totally sure if she was even looking at me. I mean she was looking in the general direction of my face, but she didn't really hold eye contact. I think she was looking at the spot between my eyes more than anything. She was totally clinical when she was talking about our vic, and she looked at me like I was crazy when I appeared in the doorway of the morgue. Then she started speaking Latin or Greek or something. I must have looked confused because she dismissed me with, "nothing remarkable found on autopsy. Our John Doe died of wounds that occurred during the robbery. It is indeed a homicide. My report will be filed by close of business. Excuse me while I close the Y incision." She didn't notice that I watched her from outside. She doesn't know that I saw her gloved hand stoke through his hair, like she was comforting him. She doesn't know that I saw the sorrow on her face.

I hadn't seen Dr. Isles in the two days since she performed the autopsy on Franklin Roberts. We learned his name when we caught our perp today with a pocket full of credit cards that belonged to our vic. We won't know for sure until our suspect talks, but it looks like a straight up random mugging and murder. He even started his weekend spree near the scene of the shooting. Bastard treated himself to breakfast at a diner 3 blocks from where he shot Mr. Roberts. He was eating steak and eggs while our vic bled out.

Mr. Roberts wasn't reported missing for two days, being single and and not having a very active social life, so his cards were still ripe for the picking all weekend. Luckily for us Mr. Franklin had a coworker who thought to call BPD when he didn't show for work this morning. She was right, the body she heard about was Franklin, and nobody noticed his absence all weekend because he usually stayed home and worked instead of going out with friends or spending time with family. Poor guy. Frost and I went to his studio apartment. We didn't see many personal items, no mementos or knick knacks. Just a few pictures on a cluttered desk, a messy couch that was obviously slept on, a coffee table with empty beer bottles on it, a TV, and a neatly made bed on the opposite wall. I guess Mr. Roberts crashed on his sofa after working all day, and then woke up to work some more.

Even though I think she might not like me I knew that Dr. Isles would want to know that we identified our victim. I saw that look. I knew she would appreciate knowing his name. She's kind of strange but she's nothing if not professional, and professionals in law enforcement want to know names.

"Hey Doc, you got a minute?"

"Yes, Detective. How can I help you?"

"Just wanted to let you know that we identified our John Doe from the other day. Franklin Roberts, 33.

He was single, no family nearby, so nobody missed him until he didn't show up for work this morning."

"Oh dear. That is unfortunate. Thank you for informing me." Her voice wavered, and then the professional coldness returned. " At least he has a name now. I will amend my file with his vital information upon receipt of that data from you." She dismissed me again, and turned toward her desk, telling me without words that the conversation was over.

"Allllright... I'll get that to you ASAP." I lingered for a few seconds waiting for Dr. Isles to look up from her computer. She didn't spare me another glance, so I left.

"So I sat at my desk, finishing up the paperwork related to Mr. Roberts's murder, and I couldn't shake how cold Dr. Isles seemed to be. The brief glimmers of emotion I observed are making me flustered. I haven't been able to get a handle on her yet. Its been a few weeks and all I've been able to get from the ME is that she's wicked smart, stylish, and completely professional. She dresses like a model to deal with rude cops and cut into dead bodies, and she does it with decorum and a polite smile. But she's intentionally closed off, and detached. And she's fucking gorgeous and has a body that's something else. Between the leftover adrenalin from the short chase earlier, and the frustration that seems to follow every interaction with Dr. Isles, I have some energy I need to burn off. I forwarded my report to the ME and set off for the BPD gym.


I changed into the gear I keep in my locker and grabbed my hand wraps before heading straight for the heavy bag. Daniels from Vice was slugging away at the heavy bag, and another guy whose name I forget was on the speed bag. Goddamn it. So I decided on the treadmill until the meatheads cleared out and put my headphones on. I guess I lost track of time because 7 miles later I looked up and the gym was empty. When did it get so late? It was nearly 9pm and everyone seemed to be gone. That meant that the heavy bag was all mine! I wrapped my hands and got into a rhythm on the bag, one-two, and then one-two-three. Jab, jab, straight left. After a few minutes I started beating the shit outta that heavy bag. I was already warmed up but running on the treadmill didn't give me the release I needed. I thought about the direction my life was headed. I have family that's close and would miss me within hours of a disappearance. Between my constantly hovering mother and totally dedicated kid brother there's no way I could go missing for two whole days. Not to mention Korsak and Frost, who would give me a bit more time to myself, until a case called all three of us to some gruesome scene. But Franklin's apartment felt familiar; empty beer bottles, files from work, no significant other, messy. My place looks just as slept and worked in as his. And only a little bit more lived in. I felt unpleasant emotions gathering momentum and punched the heavy bag with more force and a faster cadence. I didn't hear anyone enter the gym. Didn't notice anyone coming toward me.

"Detective Rizzoli!"

"I jumped, shocked. Who the hell is screaming? "Shit. Dr. Isles. You really shouldn't sneak up on people who are beating up punching bags. I coulda hit you!"

"I-I didn't mean to sneak up on you, Detective. I w-was hoping to speak with you before you left for the day and was told that I could find you here. I'm sorry. I'll leave you to your workout." She stuttered. She seemed like she didn't know how to approach me. She looked nervous, and it was so damn cute.

"No, doc, you're fine. You just surprised me. What did you want to talk about?" I was breathing hard, and my hair was a mess, moreso than usual. She must have thought I looked terrible. Who told her I was in here?

"I think I should apologize for my behavior. I didn't mean to be rude to you, Detective. Please forgive any transgressions or offenses on my behalf. I think that as women in a male dominated field we should attempt to coexist in the workplace, even perhaps as a united front in the face of chauvinistic colleagues. I must seem a bit odd to a woman like you. I know many of your fellow officers and detectives think that I am rather cold and strange and I see that you are not only dedicated but also well liked and respected amongst your peers, and I want you to know that I likewise respect you." She rambled. She was flustered, and talking fast, and it was adorable.

"Whoa, Doc. You're alright with me." I smiled to show her that I'm being honest. She was a bit odd, but I think its because she's so damn smart. "Its ok, Dr. Isles. Its-"

"Maura. Please, my first name is Maura. We needn't be so formal. It is after hours, we aren't working right now." She smiled back at me.

"You gotta call me Jane then, Maura." I smiled again. Then her smile seemed to widen just a bit. And her eyes softened a little. "You wanna get a drink, Maura? I could use a drink."

"We sat at a booth at the Dirty Robber. There were only two wine selections on the menu; red or white. She, Maura, ordered the red. I ordered a beer. It was a Monday night so the bar was kinda slow, but I didn't really want to go home. Maura took a sip of the generic red wine and tried to keep a straight face while she choked it down. I stifled a chuckle and asked her if she'd ever been to a place like this.

"I can't say that I have, but there was a little bistro in France that I used to frequent that was a bit like this bar. The menu was very different, but the atmosphere was similar. That bistro, however, had excellent wine." She smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back at her. Then her mood seemed to shift.

"Did your suspect implicate himself in Mr. Roberts's murder?" she asked.

"No, he didn't. Didn't say anything actually. He didn't seem to care that we apprehended him with Franklin's credit cards on him. He even had the gun in his car." I said, shaking my head.

"Yes I read that in your report… I'm sorry about how I spoke to you in my office. I didn't mean to be short with you, I'm just not adept at social interaction. I generally like to keep conversations to a minimum in order to avoid instances of miscommunication." She looked down and rotated the ring she wore when she said that.

"I get it, Maura. But it doesn't have to be like that. We're talking now, its been a few minutes of conversation. I understand what you're saying. We haven't miscommunicated yet, and if we do we'll clarify before moving on with the conversation. Okay?"

She smiled again, and this one was genuine. Her genuine smile reached her eyes and made them shine. Her entire face looked different when she smiled like that. What did I have to do to see it again?

"Det… Jane, sorry. Jane, when was the last time you slept?" She stopped smiling. "Dark circles under the eyes, somewhat gaunt appearance. What did you eat today?"

"I…" I couldn't lie to her. Her eye's wouldn't let me. They're green and gold and wide, and were trapping me. "I honestly haven't slept much since last Thursday. I was looking forward to catching up on sleep over the weekend, but we caught the Roberts case on Friday evening. And we worked it all weekend. and then we got our perp today. So yeah…"

She squinted at me, almost as if she were deciding how much grief she felt comfortable giving me about my lack of sleep.

"Where do you live?" She asked me.

"Charlestown." I answered without pause.

"Is there food in your refrigerator?" She asked as if she knew the answer.

"Umm… define 'food.'" I knew she would be less than impressed by the contents of my kitchen. There might have been a hot pocket in the freezer.

"Come home with me." She must have realized how that sounded, because she blushed furiously. "Oh no. I didn't mean to say that in a manner that would add an uncomfortable innuendo to the rapport we were beginning to establish. I just meant that I have nutritious food and fresh ingredients at my house. And that perhaps you're hungry and I would like to ensure that you eat a healthy meal and then rest so that you don't develop any nutrient or mineral deficiency." Goddamn she's adorable. I had to stop her before she started to hyperventilate.

"Maura, relax, its fine. I know what you meant. I would like to go to your house and eat a healthy and nutrient rich meal. But maybe we should save that for when I'm not a gross sweaty mess, and when I'm not so tired. I wouldn't want to fall asleep on a meal you prepare."

I thought about sharing a meal with her. I could only imagine the kind of food she must keep in her kitchen. Probably a bunch of leaves and other plants and whole grains. I wondered what kind of plates she has. Are they a solid color or a pattern? Was her table wood or glass? Where did she live?

"Where do you live?" I didn't realize I had actually asked until i heard her reply.

"Beacon Hill."

Of course she lived in Beacon Hill. She looked like the Beacon Hill type. But after talking a bit with her, she didn't really seem like that type. She seemed a bit too awkward to truly belong to that caste. Like they wouldn't really get her. Even her profession. Not a physician at a hospital or a private practice, but a medical examiner. The Chief Medical Examiner would be exempt from their scrutiny though, right? How old is she anyway? Chief already, impressive.

I must have been too quiet for too long because she cleared her throat.

"Sorry. I have a few days off since this case snatched my weekend. How about a healthy meal after a good night's rest and a much needed shower?" She looked surprised.

"Oh well that sounds like a great idea! Tomorrow then?"

"Sure, tomorrow."

"Excellent. What time will you get up?"

"I really have no idea. I was gonna just sleep until I woke up."

"I normally would advise against that and recommend a structured sleeping schedule. As you are probably severely sleep deprived, however, that may be just what you need. Call me when you start your day then, detective, and we can set a time and place for brunch." She smiled again, and it reached her eyes, and had to restrain myself from stroking that dimple with my thumb.

"Sounds good, doc. I'll give you a call when I get up."

"We left the bar, her wine glass still mostly full, my beer long empty. My hand found its way to the small of her back when we walked through the parking lot. I escorted Maura to her car. She got in and locked the doors before I started toward my own car.

"Detective… Nice jab by the way." She said before driving off. She was smiling again, and I saw that light in her eyes. I just knew she was someone special.