Wednesday

Jane headed down to the basement. She'd seen an article about DNA testing on mummified remains that had made her think of Doctor Isles. She'd clipped it out of the paper and put a post-it on it with the paper, the date and a '- Jane' on it, and then left it in her drawer all morning, shaking her hands because holding a pen was the worst. She changed her mind three seperate times before pulling it out and heading for the stairs. She was doing all the work in this relationship, but she was the one who needed the relationship; Doctor Isles had made it clear that she only interacted with people at work for professional reasons.

Doctor Isles' office was deserted and Jane felt a little relieved as she slipped in to place it on her desk.

"You're back," Doctor Isles said, walking through the morgue doorway. "What do you want?"

"Uh..." Jane pointed at the desk. Doctor Isles walked over and picked up the paper, skimming the article.

"Very light on detail," Doctor Isles complained. "But they mention the medical team doing the research. I'm familiar with one of them and it will be a good excuse to get in touch." She looked up from the paper at Jane and scrutinised her. "Thank you," she said after a long pause. Something close to a smile spread across Doctor Isles' lips for a short moment, and Jane felt her heart lift. She could do it. She could fix this.

"I'll... Uh... I'll see you later?" Jane squeaked, rubbing the back of her neck, all but rubbing the toe of her boot on the carpet. She left quickly, too quickly to see Doctor Isles remove the post-it note and tuck it into her laptop sleeve.

"Another day, another murder," Frost said. "Korsak, you coming?"

"Where's your partner," Korsak asked.

"Getting her gun recertification, hopefully," Frost said. "Booked in, don't want to make her put it off."

"Ok," Korsak said, starting to get up. Jane sauntered in. "Never mind."

"Nice piece," Frost said, nodding at the gun on Jane's belt. Jane slapped her certificate on Korsak's desk.

"Whaddaya waiting for, we got a body," Jane said, grabbing her jacket.

Doctor Isles was getting used to how this team operated. Jane would reluctantly come forward, eyeing Frost with concern. She was protective of her younger colleague, yet she resented Korsak doing the same for her. The uneven terrain of the alley was probably due to soil washout, and she navigated her way to the body with some measure of unease.

"I can see his brain," Jane commented. "Whoever hit him must have a hell of a swing."

"A wound like this couldn't have been caused by a bare hand," Doctor Isles said, correcting her habitually.

"So we're looking for what? A two-by-four?"

"Most of the trees indigenous to the area wouldn't be hard enough to do this kind of damage, and the construction grade hardwood used in Massachusetts is similarly too soft to shatter a skull like this."

"Metal?"

"It would be consistent with the amount of damage we can see here. I'll need to check the wound for any particles to determine the type."

"We're looking for a pipe, a baseball bat - anything metal someone could swing," Jane called back to Frost, who nodded and started organising the uniformed officers into a hunt. Jane turned back to the body, waved the camera crew over. "I don't know how you do this in those heels," Jane grumbled, moving debris from the dumpster away from Doctor Isles once it had been photographed in situ. Doctor Isles looked up, and Jane was struck again by the way Doctor Isles' hair danced in the light, the sharp line of her mouth, the furrowed brow as she focused. Those eyes - a colour Jane was never certain of, since it changed with each colour palette Doctor Isles wore - narrowed at the perceived dig, and Jane took an unsteady step back.

"I have business meetings during the day," Doctor Isles replied. "And I'd rather discuss our victim."

"Jeez, sorry." Jane looked the body over; she suspected he hadn't been there in the alley long, maybe overnight, but she knew she'd have to wait until the autopsy was completed. She waved the morgue tech over, and stepped around him to stand next to Doctor Isles, holding her arm out stiffly, her intent obvious. Doctor Isles' hand wrapped around Jane's forearm and Jane braced herself as Doctor Isles stood, deliberately not looking at Jane as she directed the morgue techs. Doctor Isles released her grip and strode back to her car, and Jane shook her head. "Stubborn..." Jane's high whine cut off as Doctor Isles came back to supervise the removal of the remains; she'd gone for more evidence bags, as brain matter had been spread across the concrete.

"I don't suppose you'd understand," Doctor Isles said, and she sounded condescending as she collected the splatter into evidence bags, "but I'm not just an ME. I'm a spokesperson for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

"I wasn't complaining. I just... you should be comfortable, you know?"

The harsh stare broke over Jane again, and Doctor Isles looked away, remembering the arm extended out of concern for her comfort and personal safety, remembered that she'd taken it gratefully and resentfully at the same time.

"Everything comes at a price," Doctor Isles said cryptically, signing off the coroner's transfer forms from her squatting position as they prepared to take the body.

"This is a crime scene, not a court room. I don't think anyone minds if you wear flats. Well, my Ma might," Jane contradicted herself. "She always comments on your outfits when you make the news. She's your biggest fan: 'Aw Janie, why couldn't you be a doctor instead, Janie can't you dress like that' - I gotta run down perps, couldn't do it in heels."

"I'm in the public eye as a representative of my office," Doctor Isles said. "And my job requirement doesn't include 'run down perps'."

"I know, I didn't meant to give you a hard time or anything." Jane sighed. "It's just... Ma hates my job, and she loves your dresses."

"You mother failing to grasp the disparity between our occupations isn't of concern to me," Doctor Isles said. "But it's nice to get feedback on my outfits from a member of the public." Doctor Isles handed the brain matter bags to Jane, and Jane extended her hand this time, palm out, scar clearly visible. Doctor Isles looked at it briefly, memorising the measurements and projected depth of the scar and the auxiliary scarring from subsequent operations, the thickness of the tissue, before she looked away from the tender, reddened skin, removed her gloves and took Jane's hand gently, getting her balance on the uneven ground before standing, making sure her grip on the hand she held wasn't too firm, wasn't too tight, wasn't exerting too much pressure. Jane was patient, waiting until Doctor Isles recalculated her equilibrium before withdrawing her hand from Doctor Isles', who looked past Jane, aware they'd both experienced a moment of vulnerability.

Doctor Isles in being too prideful to dress safely for the environment, and Jane, exposing the most wounded part of herself to Doctor Isles; not just exposing, but sacrificing it to help her. The softness of that skin, so warm and alive, the gentleness of that touch - bare hand to bare hand - Doctor Isles had shaken hands at work, but not once had anyone thought to help her to her feet on dangerous terrain, not once had anyone offered their hand to her. And such a broken, weakened hand - Doctor Isles could feel the muscle wastage, could feel how even the light pressure she used had compressed the hand at the knuckles, the movement of the bones expected but still surprising. And Jane had known, and yet she'd extended it anyway, knowing Maura was a doctor, knowing Maura was going to be able to tell at a single touch just how bad the damage had been.

Doctor Isles strode away, angrily brushing at her face. Jane stared after her, surprised at the sudden withdrawal. She saw the way Doctor Isles swiped at her face, wasn't able to see any cause for it; no cobwebs hung from the nearby walls, and it wasn't raining. She shrugged and checked the scene again as the coroner supervised the removal of the body, handing off the brain bags and digging in the uneven ground under the body, calling over the crime tech to take a soil sample. She stared at Doctor Isles' car, still parked at the scene, and shrugged again, pushing her her back from her face with the side of her hand.