Rizzoli and Isles do not belong to me!

Angela Rizzoli cried softly and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her hot tears mixing with the cold rain falling from the gray Boston sky. A beefy hand belonging to Vince Korsak rested on her shoulders, moving once in a while to pat her reassuringly. Jane wished she was courageous enough to hold her own mother in her arms, but the body between them and her pride prevented her from doing so.

Frankie Rizzoli's angelic, boyish face gazed up at them from inside the coffin. Whoever had trussed him up for his funeral had done a damn fine job, making him look as alive as he had been just a few days before, but that fact made Jane's hands curl into fists. Her little brother was dead, and no amount of make up could change that, and nothing could ever hide the bullet hole in his head that had gone in execution style.

"Janie." Her mother's voice rang her out of her reverie, and she looked up to gaze into Angela's puffy, red eyes, lined with hours worth of grief and denial.

"Yeah ma?"

"You find out who did this, you get me?" She spoke harshly, her small, dainty fingers tightening their grip on her gloves, anger swallowing the sadness. Besides her, Korsak tensed, the arm comforting her mother falling to limply to his side. "You get out there and you find my baby's murderer, and you bring 'em back to me, understood?"

Jane merely nodded.

"It's that damn Irish gang. I'm sure of it." Her ma shook her head. "You find that bastard. And you save him for me." Her aging mother turned back to Frankie, tears once again starting to fall almost rhythmically down her face. Korsak shot Jane a pleading look, one asking for peace and quiet for the grieving lady. She gave it willingly.

Her boots punched holes in the wet earth as she walked away from her brother's early grave. Her mind raced at a hundred a minute over the blur that had been the last few days, the week Frankie had died. He had been fine Monday, alive and kicking and drinking shots with her at their speakeasy, and dead on Tuesday, his body already cold to the touch when her boys had found him by the Boston shore, a hole in his head, his eyes dead blue with a look of pure terror and astonishment. She felt responsible. She'd left him that night to go see a friend of hers, and hadn't seen him home, instead had let him waltz away, a dame underneath his arm, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He had looked happy enough. Are you happy where you are now?

She glanced up to spy Barry Frost leaning against a tree, a cigarette lit between his brown lips. He picked it and threw it down on the ground, his heel coming on it to make sure it tapped out, and he fell into step with her.

"Ya think it's them?" His tenor voice played around the fog that was her mind, and she shrugged, unsure of what to say. He played with the lapel of his suit."Ma does." He added.

She relished the way he said it so casually. Ma. That was her name to their little band of misfits. She wasn't known as Mrs Rizzoli or Angela, just as ma, to everyone, even the cops. They didn't dare call her anything else, it was both a nickname and a title. Mess with her kids and you'd end up at the bottom of the harbor, that's what it screamed. And someone had dared to mess with Frankie, going as far as ending his short, little life. Whoever had done it, though, wouldn't be swimming with the fish. No, whoever the culprit was would be in for a very unpleasant few nights, depending on how long Angela carried on the fun. And Jane knew that she'd help, however gruesome the torture ended up being.

"I miss him." Frost sighed, cutting her musings short. "Is that weird, one fella sayin' that 'bout another fella?" He asked, gazing at her from beneath his fedora.

"No." She shook her head. "It means you got a heart of gold."

He smiled at that, the first real smile he'd pulled since the news, and a blush crept up his dark skin. "Ah, you messing with me."

"Only a bit." She admitted.

"She really wants us to find his killer."

"If your only son had just died, wouldn't you want to?" She asked him.

He smirked. "Only son, good one Rizzoli."

"I don't count Tommy. He ain't half a man. And it's been a year since we saw him. He don't mean shit to me."

Frost paused to think, his brown eyes searching hers. "Do you think he knows?"

She snorted. "My brother ain't smart, I'll give you that. But he ain't stupid to the point where he can't read the newspaper." She folded her arms in front of her chest. "Believe me, he knows."

"That ain't right, not showing up for a funeral." He grimaced. He looked down, fiddling with his hands. "That was nice, by the way. The memorial you and Korsak gave, I mean."

"I promise you right now, if you're next, I'll do your eulogy."

"Aw, shit Rizzoli. Don't go there." Barry's face scrunched up.

She punched his arm playfully. "I didn't mean it, buddy. I'll take the bullet first. I did last time, 'member?"

"Yeah yeah." He grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

They fell into an uneasy silence. Jane Rizzoli and Barry Frost had been friends and partners for years. They knew everything about each other, down to where they got their socks. But never before had a tragedy so close to home and heart struck, and thus Jane didn't know what to say or do, and neither did the African American. He played with the Nurburg 460 pullman keys in his coat pockets, the jingle echoing through the damp cemetery. She took a deep breath.

"Well, you heard ma. She thinks the Irish done Frankie." He nodded wordlessly. She paused. "You think it got anything to do with, you know..."

"Paddy?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably. That was a nasty number we pulled on him last summer, and I'll wager both my arms he hasn't forgiven you for that. That was one hell of a hole and a drop you gave him."

"He pulled a gun on me, what did he expect me to do?" She replied, frowning.

"Give up."

They shared a look.

"I don't think he'd kill someone so close to ma for a bullet in his side." She retorted. "Even if he did fall twenty feet."

"Them Irish crazy, you don't know what they'd pull."

She gazed at him, chocolate brown eyes boring into his soul, but he did not pull back or look away. He was sure of his last statement.

"I wonder if our druggie boy's doing anything tonight." She commented. "He has to know something. He works for us and them." His eyes shone in excitement.

"We shaking up a Rondo?"

"Hell yeah. We'll drop ma off at the bar first, and then you and me?" She smiled. "We're going out on the town tonight."