Dr Maura Isles, recently promoted to Head Trauma Surgeon at St. Thomas' Hospital aged just 35, had been collecting accolades since kindergarten. Pinning her freshly engraved ID tag onto her dress, she avoided eye contact with the smiling HR manager. It was far from their first interaction, and Maura couldn't visit the HR office without remembering the arguments she'd had about keeping her title after becoming a surgical consultant. In the UK, it was, apparently, considered a sign of respect to address surgeons as 'Mr', 'Mrs', or 'Ms' rather than 'Dr'. However, Maura found this gendered and nonsensical, and had made it a condition of her acceptance of the post that she would continue to be addressed as 'Dr' - not least because of the similarity the name 'Ms Isles' bore to deadly weaponry.
Maura wondered, not for the first time that day, what her life would have been like if she'd pursued forensic pathology instead of trauma surgery. She'd probably still be in Boston, for one thing, rather than on the other side of the Atlantic. Not that there was anything much for her in Boston, not any more.
She sighed as she walked upstairs to her office. Thinking about Boston made her think about college, and thinking about college made her think about-
"CONGRATULATIONS!"
At least it was only Dr Chang, the most promising higher trainee doctor on the trauma team, currently wielding a party popper that Maura suspected was a leftover from the New Year party a month ago. Maura brushed the well aimed confetti out of her hair.
"Thank you, Dr Chang," she said.
"I'm preparing you, on a small scale, for what's waiting for you in the break room."
Maura frowned. "I don't suppose I can avoid it?"
As she spoke, the pager on her belt bleeped the emergency signal. She picked up her office phone and dialled the relevant code.
"Incoming code blue, adult male, vehicular collision, 2 minutes out."
Maura was kicking off her designer heels and shimmying out of her dress at the first syllable. Dr Chang, known to everyone but Maura as Susie, passed her a set of black scrubs from the row neatly folded on the shelf. Maura threw them on, slid her feet into crocs, and sprinted to the bathroom. She had mastered the art of peeing in 30 seconds or fewer.
Maura and Susie reached the ambulance bay 10 seconds before the ambulance itself. They were joined by a junior doctor, who cheerfully told them his name was Dr Foster, and it was his first day on the surgical rotation.
"Don't kill anyone," Maura advised. He, inadvisably, laughed. Her cold stare sent a shiver down his spine, and the arrival of the ambulance was a welcome interruption.
Two paramedics leapt out, already giving the pertinants in medical shorthand. The stretcher rolled, Trauma 2 was free, Maura stopped bleeding, Susie wheeled over the crash cart, and within seconds Maura was intubating, then shocking the man's heart into action.
"Rhythm," said Dr Foster, who had been, as instructed, staying out of the way and watching the monitor.
Maura allowed herself a breath. The patient was male, approximately 40, and had been driving without a seat belt. He had contusions all over his body. Most concerning were a significant anterior head trauma, and signs of internal abdominal bleeding.
"CT, head, chest, and abdomen, stat. Take bloods on the way. Do not let him out of your sight," Maura told Dr Foster.
Paramedics had told her there was no ID, so she registered him as John Smith while Susie called the lab to rush the blood work. The nurses station was busy, as usual, and she was about to give a 5 minute consult when she felt an angry tap on her shoulder.
"Hey, Doc, what've you done with my suspect?"
Maura felt her heart rate accelerate dangerously. It couldn't be. But she'd know that Boston drawl anywhere.
"Jane?"
"Jesus Christ, Maura?"
"What are you doing in London, Officer Rizzoli?"
"It's Detective Rizzoli, actually. And I'm on secondment. I had no idea you were, that you'd still be… I mean, it's not like I forgot you moved here but I thought you'd be off saving the world somewhere or something by now."
Maura felt her cheeks redden. "I will have you know I recently became the youngest Head Trauma Surgeon in the country."
Jane held up her hands. "Hey, I didn't mean you're not doing great. I'm sure you are. And you look great, too. You've aged way better than me."
Maura felt her blush fade into a smile she hadn't smiled since she was last in Boston. In fact, Jane looked exactly as she remembered, her long dark hair cascading wildly around her angular, gorgeous-
Before Maura tumbled any further down memory lane, she brought the conversation back to the present.
"You said something about a suspect?"
Jane hid her embarrassment at the realisation that the sight of Maura had put him completely out of her mind.
"Right, yeah. White male, 40, crashed his car as we were chasing him. Probably because everyone drives on the wrong side of the road here."
"Actually, driving on the left has a very logical basis."
"Really?"
"Yes, in Mediaeval Britain it was common to ride on horseback, and since eighty-five to ninety percent of people are right handed, and sword fighting was the primary mode of defence, riding on the left allowed-"
"Why don't you tell me after I've got this guy in cuffs, Maur?"
Maura felt something stir inside her as Jane returned to the familiar nickname.
"I'll take you to him, I sent him for a CT."
They walked down the hospital hallway, Jane with her usual purposeful stride, quickly picking up on the hospital signage system so she didn't need Maura for directions. Maura kept up, but her shorter legs made it harder to exude her usual confidence. She adjusted her ponytail self consciously, and frowned at a reddish-brown stain on her scrubs. This was not the outfit she would have chosen for their first meeting in eight years.
Jane watched Maura as she took charge of the room, finding her patient, organising, advising. All the hospital staff seemed to treat her with a kind of deferential respect. Jane knew the different coloured scrubs had meaning. There was another doctor in black, and a young man in blue who seemed terrified of her. Then there were people in grey who showed Maura images on their computers. Everyone seemed to know her, and she nodded in greeting. Jane thought she remembered Maura smiling more, but hospitals were serious places, and Maura was at work.
"He needs surgery," Maura told her. "I've paged neurosurgery, they'll meet me for a consultation, and if my analysis is correct, they'll agree to relieve the cranial pressure under anaesthetic, then remain on standby while I address the internal bleeding."
"Is he gonna make it?" Jane asked.
"It's impossible to accurately predict medical outcomes, even with far more information than what is currently available."
Jane resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Best guess?"
"I do not guess."
Jane touched her arm with something like affection.
"What about you," she said, turning to the other doctor in black. "Do you guess?"
Susie looked between the two women in front of her, realising she might be meeting someone from Maura's personal life for the first time in the five years she'd known her. She held out her hand to shake the brunette's.
"Dr Susie Chang, it's a pleasure to meet you. But if you know Dr Isles, you know how foolish it would be to contradict her."
"Detective Jane Rizzoli. And I do know her, but that was before she was Head Trauma Surgeon."
Maura wondered if she should have introduced them, but the moment had passed, and the porter was pushing her patient into the elevator. Dr Chang and Dr Foster followed, and just as the door was closing, Jane jumped in too.
"What? I'm obviously coming."
"He's heavily sedated, he's not going anywhere. You should wait in the waiting room." Maura knew as she said it that Jane would not comply.
"You're not coming into surgery."
"I know that. But I'll be standing right outside the door. Or watching through those window thingies like on TV."
"Our operating theatres do not have 'those window thingies'. I suppose you can wait in the hall."
"Can I have a chair?"
They exited the elevator.
"Dr Foster, would you escort Detective Rizzoli somewhere she won't be in the way?"
Dr Foster looked between Dr Isles and Detective Rizzoli, not sure who to be more scared of. He erred on the side of Dr Isles, and motioned awkwardly for the detective to follow him.
Jane found that after she'd typed up the report of the chase on her phone, time passed remarkably quickly. Perhaps this was down to her mind being pleasantly occupied by the image of Maura dressed in neat black scrubs, hair pulled back in a scruffy ponytail, a face clear of make-up, and those piercing hazel eyes…
"Your suspect is in recovery. I've contacted my chief of staff, and provided you can show me some valid UK law enforcement ID, you may make your arrest."
Maura had come from the operating theatre, and was still dressed in a long blue gown with a cap over her hair.
Jane complied with the request for ID, showing her Metropolitan Police badge.
"Do you miss your gun?"
Jane quirked an eyebrow. "Are you teasing me, Dr Isles?"
There was the smile again, the one she had once loved to elicit.
"I'm merely curious."
Jane shrugged. "I guess. But I've learnt a lot, being a cop here. And I'll get it back when I go back to Boston."
Maura led her to the recovery room, where she cuffed her suspect to his bed. She called in for a uniformed officer to guard his room, and once this was squared with hospital administration, her work for the night was done. She checked the time - after 10pm.
"What time do you get off?" she asked Maura.
"Now."
There was a pause.
"Wanna grab a drink or something?" Jane asked, trying not to display any outward sign of nervousness.
"I would need to take a shower first."
"Is that a yes?"
Maura let Jane wait in her office without further elaboration. As she washed off all traces of the day, she tried to wash away the myriad of feelings she had no idea how to deal with.
Maura had fully believed they would never see each other again, and she'd spent months, even years, trying to convince herself that was for the best. So what was Jane doing here? Why had she come to London?
You could ask her, said a small voice in Maura's head.
But what if it was nothing to do with me? another voice countered. Or what if it was something to do with me?
Maura didn't know which would be worse. She dried herself, braided her hair in place of her usual routine, and put on the dress and heels she'd worn in the morning. She considered applying make-up, but reminded herself Jane had seen her without it many times before, and what did it matter, anyway? It wasn't as if she was trying to impress her. Was it?
She dropped her used scrubs in the designated bin in the women's bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The fitted blue dress accentuated her features, and the designer heels meant at least Jane wouldn't be looking down on her any more.
She met Susie on the way back to the office.
"So? Who was that?"
Maura flicked her eyes towards the door. "She's waiting for me, we're going to go for a drink. Would you like to join us?"
Susie chuckled. "Maybe next time, Dr Isles. I'll leave you two to catch up."
Maura opened the door and Jane quickly sat up in her chair and swung her feet off the desk.
"Quite the transformation, Dr Isles," she said, looking Maura up and down.
Maura unhooked her jacket from the door, and picked up her purse.
"Did you have somewhere in mind?" she asked.
"This is your neck of the woods, Maur. Where do you usually go?"
Home, was the honest answer. But Maura knew there was a wine bar a few streets away which her colleagues frequented after evening shifts, so this was the place she named.
Again, Jane noticed the deferential way people looked at Maura as they walked out of the hospital. It was becoming more and more apparent that professionally, Maura was a big deal here.
It was a Tuesday, and the bar was fairly quiet. They took a corner booth, Jane sprawling comfortably while Maura went to the bar. She returned with a large glass of red for herself, and a cold pint of beer for Jane, then perched primly on her seat.
"Cheers," Jane said, raising the beer, then taking a long drink. "Shit, Maura, this is good."
"It's Neck Oil, an IPA brewed in London. Americans often complain about British beer, but I don't think it's any worse than American beer."
"I've been ordering the wrong thing for the last three months," Jane said with a sigh.
"You've been here three months?" Maura blurted out.
Jane took another drink. "I actually thought about looking you up. But it's been so long, and you said you didn't want to stay in touch…" She trailed off, wondering how long they might have lived in the same city again without knowing it if chance hadn't brought them together.
"I was… I needed a clean break. With Boston, I mean," Maura said awkwardly. "But I'm… I'm very glad to see you." She made direct eye contact for the first time since sitting down, and felt Jane's gaze boring into her, sending a tingle down her spine.
They spent the next several minutes looking, looking and drinking, drinking each other in. When the glasses were empty, Jane ordered another round. They said very little, but got more and more used to each other's company. Jane watched as Maura gradually relaxed into her seat, leaning back a little more, taking her hair out of the braid and letting it fall in waves around her face.
Maura took in Jane's tailored grey suit and white button down, no longer a uniform, but badge still clipped to her hip. Maura had always admired the comfort Jane had in her own skin, the quiet confidence, with no fear of taking up space.
"You live far from here?" Jane asked, noticing too late that her question sounded a lot like a proposition.
"In Kensington," Maura replied.
"Of course you live in Kensington. In one of the houses with the white pillars out front?"
Maura wished she could deny it, but it was indeed one of those houses.
"What about you?" she redirected.
"I share a flat in Brixton," Jane said. "With someone who had a spare room, I found them online," she added quickly, realising how her initial answer could be interpreted. She chose not to dwell on why Maura knowing her flat share wasn't of a romantic nature was so important.
"Have you been to the Tate yet?" Maura asked.
"I don't ever plan on going," Jane said, her eyes twinkling.
"That would be like going to Paris without going to the Louvre."
"If I ever go to Paris, that's exactly what I'll do."
"You're impossible!"
"Would it make you feel better if I said I'd go with you?"
"To the Tate or the Louvre?"
Jane rolled her eyes. "The Tate."
"What would it cost me?" Maura asked, knowing Jane too well.
"You'd have to come on a river boat ride with me."
"Done," Maura said.
"Damn it, I should've asked for more!"
Maura grinned. "You've always underestimated my negotiating skills."
Jane might have answered if she hadn't been so caught up in Maura's smile, which lit up her face all the way to her eyes. She felt a warmth in her chest as a rush of memories flooded her heart, and all she could do was grin back.