Thursday

Jane watched the clock, ticking down to when she knew Doctor Isles would be in the gym, in her tight workout clothes, bare shoulders strong and soft. Jane had said she wouldn't read any of that research until they had a lead, but curiousity had hit her last night, and it surprised her that she'd been thinking of woman as a different, more mysterious gender than her own. But seeing Doctor Isles in workout clothes levelled the playing field; at least they were both athletes then. At least Jane wasn't wondering what she had in common with this composed, isolated woman.

Doctor Isles was at the boxing bag again. Jane watched her for a while, leaning against the doorframe, knowing Doctor Isles could see her in the mirror. She put her gloves on slowly and obviously, seeing a grudging quirk to Doctor Isles' mouth as she did so. She could see an improvement in Doctor Isles' form this week, could see how much better her posture was and she nodded to herself in satisfaction.

"Why boxing?" Jane asked as she walked over to the bag. "Wanna go pro?" Jane noticed Doctor Isles smile before hitting the bag with another volley.

She pulled away and smiled at Jane.

"I do a lot of different workouts, but I decided I needed some more self-defense in there."

"Well, you're not standing defensively." Jane came over and pushed gently at Doctor Isles' shoulder, making her lose her balance. "I could have had you on the floor if I wanted," Jane said, blushing as she heard how that sounded. She shook her head, noticing an arched eyebrow from Doctor Isles. "Because you're off balance. Plant your feet, turn to the side. Make yourself a smaller target, make sure your feet are planted." Jane demonstrated, standing in front of Doctor Isles in a typical boxing posture. "Why boxing though? Your hands are your livelihood. Why risk damaging them when you could do another martial art, one that evens the odds of your wingspan and height?"

"I know kempo and tai chi," Doctor Isles said. "I was looking for something to help with -"

"Frustration?" Jane asked, and Doctor Isles nodded reluctantly. "I get it. For months now I've wanted to lay into a bag." She got back into posture, dropped a shoulder. "You feel balanced?" Doctor Isles nodded again. "Good, try to hit me."

"You're not padded," Doctor Isles said, concerned. Jane smirked.

"I'm offering you a free hit, Doctor. Are you really going to turn that down?"

Doctor Isles aimed a punch that Jane easily ducked. Jane swung, and let Doctor Isles move away.

"See? Smaller target, easy to move out of the way. Now go work the bag, I got weights to lift." Jane headed to the weights, noting that Doctor Isles was watching her walk away.

"What are you doing on Sunday evening?" Jane asked, shaking her hands, choosing a smaller weight than the one she'd initially picked up.

"I have a commitment that afternoon that may run late. There's a fundraising event at the museum. Why do you ask?"

"My Ma has been on my case to ask you around for Sunday dinner. It's all those fancy dresses of yours. When she found out you don't have family here she said you might be lonely. We're one sibling down - Tommy's in jail - and she's always trying to get me to bring friends around. But if you're busy, I can hold her off for another week. You don't have to come anyway." Jane trailed off, mumbling as she switched down to a lower weight again. Doctor Isles hadn't heard anything about Jane having a criminal brother, and she was surprised. If she had a family member in jail, she'd be very selective - especially within the confines of the precinct - who she told. Yet Jane said it casually, without even a glance up to gauge Doctor Isles' reaction to this bit of personal information. She wondered if it was in exchange for her own information, if Jane was offering it in exchange for Doctor Isles telling Jane she'd been adopted. But then, what would Doctor Isles do with a family of Rizzolis'? They'd be like Jane, all open, readable faces - open enough even for Doctor Isles to read - and they'd expect something from her that she wouldn't know how to offer. Conversation. Friendship.

"Well, please tell her it was kind of her to offer, but I'm a donor for the SPCA and I've been asked to deliver a speech."

"You don't know my Ma. It's a standing offer, if you're ever free on a Sunday evening you might as well get it over with," Jane sounded casual, but Doctor Isles had been working out of the Boston office for a year, and no one from work had invited her anywhere. Some of them had brought up strange non-sequiturs, but Doctor Isles had dismissed those as irrelevant. Doctor Isles had tried to be friendly and approachable in a professional capacity, and still she heard the lab knocking off for the weekend, talking together about getting drinks while she stood alone in the morgue - alone except for her corpses. Jane seemed to believe that she was asking on behalf of her mother, but she'd extended the offer anyway.

Jane Rizzoli was a lot of things - brash, impatient, sharp, focused, quick to anger, fierce and determined. But she was also compassionate, so much so that she'd attended an autopsy that had clearly made her nervous and uncomfortable for the sake of children that were already dead. She was clever in a way Doctor Isles would never be, able to extrapolate from missing data. She was soft in a way Doctor Isles hadn't expected, the hand that rested on Doctor Isles' shoulder a few days before, the hand on her back the next day. She was persistent, as shown with the coffee, with her awkward attempts at friendship. She was brave, coming back to a job that had nearly killed her, had nearly cost her the use of her hands. She was compassionate, her worry over Doctor Isles' allergic reaction rather sweet. The combination was odd, always had Doctor Isles off-kilter, but somehow it worked to endear her to Doctor Isles.

"I'll check my calendar," Doctor Isles said, and Jane nodded.

"So you've made progress." Harold said. "And attended two difficult autopsies?"

Jane nodded. "She told me... something personal. I think we're on good terms - it's hard to tell with her. She was abrupt on Wednesday, but she softened up with coffee and conversation."

"Wednesday's are terrible," Harold pointed out, and Jane nodded. "If you're able to attend another autopsy next week, I think we can dial back to fortnightly meetings."

"I really like her," Jane said. "She's so completely different to anyone I know, even the other ME's I've worked with. What I took for disinterest, I think she sees as professionalism. I don't know that I could watch another doctor in person. Or even through the window. But she's... With these bodies, she's so... compassionate." Jane looked down at her hands. "I watched the feed. She was... compensating. For my fear. I hadn't said anything, but she was... So aware of how scared I was. And she was accommodating my fear. Maybe because she didn't want to be alone with those bodies, but maybe because..."

"Because she might like you too?" Harold sighed. "It seems like you both know it was a silly understanding. She seems quite reserved, but from what you've said she clearly doesn't hate you."

Jane smiled ruefully. "I hope not. I told her I'm bad with communicating with women, and she asked something weird."

"Weird?"

"If I identify as a woman, or not."

"And do you?"

"She used the word 'spectrum', and she's like, way far on the 'woman' end, and I feel like I'm closer to Frankie and Tommy, if that's a scale we would use? But not all the way over there," Jane gestured at somewhere on her imaginary scale. "But not all the way over there either."

"And you're ok with that?" Harold asked. Jane shrugged.

"I mean, it makes sense but I never really thought about it. It certainly makes sense, the way I struggle to communicate with women. Not homicide victims' partners or anything, but within BPD and at school. We never had much in common." Jane shrugged again. "It might help me... relate to people better." Harold nodded.

"Do you think she asked because she's confused by you?"

"Confused?"

"She's a scientist. She's obviously invested enough in you to try to figure you out."

"Huh, maybe. Anyway, one more autopsy and we go to fortnights, huh?"