I don't own anything.

Karma Police - Radiohead

"A nickel isn't worth a dime today."

Yogi Berra

Floater. Harbor. Jane Rizzoli stepped into the car, uncharacteristically quiet. It wasn't her car, and she found her legs begin to cramp as she squeezed herself into the passenger seat. The acidic smell of ketchup began to waft towards her, and she scrunched her nose as she looked over to the driver's seat.

"Got two hwot dwags, here if you want one of 'em. You know there ain't a damn ounce of sauerkraut in this whole goddamn city?"

"Uh, no."

"You want a dwag?"

"I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

The car sped down the streets, barreling down as if the whole thing was some scene out of Starsky and Hutch. Jane wrapped her fingers around one of the handles jutting out of the interior, steadying herself. The man beside her took another bite out of the hot dog, carefully assuring that not a single drop of the ketchup dropped down on his suit.

"This how they drive in New York?"

"This is how I drive in New York. It's only me and those damn cabbies down there."

"Great," mumbled Jane.

"Listen, I heard about what you did."

"Don't you start on that too. I didn't do anything heroic."

"That wasn't what I was gonna say," he growled, in response. "I was gonna say that that was a pretty shitty ass thing you did. If this happened in the city, hell you'd be locked up for a lot longer. And no way would they give you your badge back."

"I'm glad we agree on something."

"However." He stuffed the end of ketchup soaked bun into his mouth, savoring the taste. "I get why you did it. I heard all the details. You did something shitty. But I get why."

"Great. All my dreams have come true," muttered Jane, sarcastically.

Her mind floated back to the conversation she had with Cavanaugh just that morning…

"Here's a badge. No gun. But a badge. It's an auxiliary badge, but it'll have to do."

"You know how I feel about this, Lieutenant."

"And you know how I feel about this too. Let me tell you something else, Rizzoli. I'm not saying you're off the hook. What you've been saying, it's absolutely right. If you were a civilian, and you were put in the same circumstances, I'd say a minimum sentence would've been fair enough. But you, Rizzoli, are a cop. And you're right. It doesn't place you above the law. You're held to a higher standard. That's the rule. So do not take any of this to mean that you are off the hook."

"Then why am I getting this badge?"

"Because we got a job to do. Because you're a good cop, and our detectives are starting to see just as many cases as they did back in the eighties. We need more cops. But we need good cops. You're it. It wasn't a black and white decision, Rizzoli. But it was a decision. My decision. Whatever you think… Whatever you think should've happened to you… Throw that outta your mind. I'm sticking my neck out for you, Rizzoli. Don't let me down. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Your new partner's waiting outside. I told him everything already. You two don't have to get into it. The two of you need to get down on to the harbor. A couple uniforms picked up a floater. The cordoned the area, but we need detectives on the scene."

Jane nodded, taking the information in. The badge was deceivingly light in her hands. It reminded her of the day she graduated from the Police Academy, a similar light-weight badge pinned to her, and a gun strapped to her belt, weighing the pressed trousers down.

The day she had killed him… The badge felt heavy.

"Well we're here. Jesus, it smells like shit."

"You smell like shit, Mahardy."

"Aw well fuck you. I smell like roses."

Jane internally smiled to herself as she climbed out of the car. As much as she hated to admit, she did like Mahardy. Cocky. Sarcastic. Pissed off. A New Yorker, born and bred. Experienced, too. She crinkled her nose, already able to smell the putrid smell of decomp rippling from the floater. She hated floaters.

A uniform walked up to the detectives and offered them a dip from the little jar of cream he held, the kind that made all the smell waft right away from the nostrils. Most of the detectives had usually taken him up on the offer. Especially with a body as nasty as this one.

Both detectives refused, preferring not to compromise what their noses could tell them.

"Could be worse," Mahardy said. "Try getting a floater on the goddamn Hudson. The damn river smells bad enough on its own."

"But you smell like roses."

"'Course I do."

Jane turned to one of the uniforms. They all knew her. They all respected her. Mahardy on the other hand. They only knew him as the new guy who came up from New York to take the homicide slot. Probably a damn Yankees fan too.

"Where's the first responder?"

"She's over there, detective. Filling out some of the papers. She marked the area off on land. Managed to keep some of them boats away too."

"Alright. Tell me something about the vic."

The uniform paused before speaking; "He dead."

Jane cracked a smile. The humor. It always rubbed the edge off a little. It was the one thing that all cops were sure as hell damn good at. Being funny over a dead body. More of 'em ought to become comedians. Hell, she'd pay to see that.

"Very funny, kid," growled Jane, though the smile twitched evidently on her lips. "Tell me something real."

"Checked for pockets. He doesn't have any. No ID, no nothing. No fingerprints either."

"Alright. Take someone with you and start questioning these people here."

Jane gestured at the gathering crowd. The uniform's eyes bulged.

"All of them?"

"Yeah, all of them. Go on, now. Shoo."

The uniform scuttled away, and Mahardy looked up from the body laughing to himself. He caught Jane's eye.

"The kid's right. No fingerprints, no ID."

"Damn it."

"But, uh, I think I know this guy. His face looks like some fuck took a shit on it and rubbed it in good, so I can't be sure. But I got a guess."

"Well what's your guess?"

"He looks a lot like a guy I questioned down in New York. Started off building bombs for the Latin Kings. Then he graduated to the big leagues."

"Al Qaeda?"

"Naw. Nothing like that. Worse."

"Worse?"

"I'm thinking home-grown."

"Shit. And now he's here in Boston."

"I'm guessing he's making some sorta sale. Could already have made the deal."

"Alright. We gotta call this in to HQ. We gotta put this one down fast."

"Think we should wait for the ME?"

Jane froze at the thought of Maura Isles. She thought of the conversation they had had. After the "welcome home" party her Ma thought would be a good idea to throw. She thought about how she had found her in the morgue. And then she thought, bitterly, just how much she had missed her. And how much she had hurt her.

Maura.

That was all Jane Rizzoli could think about. Her mind didn't stray once from those five letters. All she could think about was how the name dripped out from her lips. All she could think about was how the name tasted on her tongue. Sweet. Round. Viscous, but soft. Thick molasses.

"Jane," said the doctor, carefully.

"Maura? Would you look at me? Maura!"

"Jane."

"I know… I know what I did was fucked up. I know it. I know I should still be locked away right now. If they let me have my way, I'd still be in there. Believe me. I tried. But that doesn't do us any good now. Please, Maura. Just… please could you look at me?"

"Jane…"

"Don't do this to me, Maura. C'mon. Please."

Maura felt something in her snap, and she felt the words leave her faster than she could think about them; "Don't do this to you? Do what to you, Jane? What? I'm sorry that I'm not warming up to you. I'm sorry. I really am. But what you're doing right now isn't going to fix anything. It isn't going to fix what you did."

"I know that… Maura, I do."

"Then why did you do it, Jane? You keep saying you know what this is about, but do you? Do you know what this is about?"

"You're right. I guess I don't. I don't know a lot of things. But I know that I'm sorry. I… You don't have to forgive me. I just… Please look at me, Maura. I've missed you."

Despite her better instincts, Maura felt her heart clench at Jane's words. Her honest words. But she shook her head, waving away the thoughts that were starting to wash over her. She ignored them for the stronger emotion that had taken hold.

"I need answers, Jane."

"Then ask me the questions."

"Did you know who he was?"

Jane looked down at her hands, as she considered the question. She looked up at Maura, the bitter honesty burning through her eyes; "Yes," she said, quietly.

"You knew that he was my brother?"

"Yes," she said again, quietly.

"And you killed him."

"I'm not denying that I did."

Maura's next question was more tentative. Not as quick. Quieter.

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes," said Jane.

Her voice was hoarse, as if razors jutted out of the word and ripped her throat to shreds as it left her tongue. She watched as Maura looked away, and she watched as Maura choked back a sob. She felt her heart clench. She wanted nothing more than to close the gap and hold Maura, tell her that she wasn't alone. Tell her that she'd kick the ass of whoever made the stupid decision to hurt her.

But she couldn't.

It had been her – Jane – who had hurt Maura.

And so had Jane relinquished the privilege of knowing she could stand by Maura's side. Of knowing that she could help her. Comfort her. Protect her. Because she couldn't do any of those things any more.

She needs protecting from me, Jane thought bitterly.

Maura felt the question that had been eating away at her for three years leave her mouth; "Why, Jane? Why?"

"That… I…" Jane looked down at her hands again, considering the question. When she looked up, the determined honesty that had before filled her eyes had begun to dissipate. No, Jane couldn't tell her the truth. Better that Maura hated Jane rather than the memory of her own flesh and blood. "I can't answer that one, Maura."

"And why not?" Maura's voice was frantic.

"I just… I can't. I'm sorry, Maura. Please know that. I'm so sorry."

"I just want you to tell me why."

"It won't erase anything." Jane watched as Maura fiddled with a ring. "Nothing I do… I can't fix this, can I? Our friendship?"

"I don't think so, Jane."

Jane Rizzoli felt her heart break.

She did an about face and left the autopsy room through the double doors, her heart continuing to shatter. And it didn't stop breaking. It never did. Every fragment would break into fractions, only to have each new fraction break into even more. Again and again and again. And Jane was really left with nothing with a pile of what used to be her heart, constantly breaking into finer and finer particles.

As she walked away from Maura Isles, Jane could only think of the first moment when she had realized that she had fallen in love with the other woman.

That she would do anything to protect her.

And Jane's only solace was the knowledge that she had, despite the painful consequences that had come with it.

Jack Mahardy's voice, laden with the distinctive New York accent, tore through Jane's thoughts. He looked up at her inquisitively, and she wondered if she had been standing there for long. She looked down at him and the body again.

"So are we waiting for the ME, or what?"

"No," said Jane. "We're not."

Sorry this took so long to post. Just a quick thing about Mahardy's accent. Hard to write in a New York accent. So some of his words are converted. The rest you'll just have to imagine. ;)