A/N: I have returned! This idea came to me while rewatching 2x09 and listening to some particularly salacious music. Fair warning: this is a love triangle story between Tommy, Maura, and Jane. It is 100% eventual rizzles, but there are love scenes between Tommy and Maura, so if that isn't your thing, this story isn't for you. But there are also love scenes between Maura and Jane, so if you're on the fence, let that sustain you. LOL. Overall, this story is mess, and you gotta be along for the ride. So without further ado, here's chapter 1 of 15!

"Oh c'mon, Janie, you know a couple of inches goes a long way in this game," Tommy Rizzoli taunted his big sister after swatting away her shot attempt as she drove the basketball to the rim.

"Agh," Jane waved him off with disgust, wiping profuse sweat from her brow. "You're lucky I made a mental error," she said. She turned her back to him and walked over to the baseline where her water bottle waited in the broiling sun. More water went over her nose, her cheeks, her eyes, than in her mouth, and that was by design.

They played all out in a Boston scorcher.

She had taken her t-shirt off long ago, and now she was in a black Nike sports bra and Celtics green running shorts. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail before leaving the house, of course, but now she wished she'd gone a little easier on the sunblock. It burned her eyes when it mingled with her sweat and dripped in with no hair to catch it.

"Yeah, the mental error of comin' into my kitchen,'' Tommy continued, out of breath but his voice full of his smile. He had no shirt on, either, and perspiration glistened against the 617 tattoo just above his left nipple, its Red Sox font block strong against his taut, developed pectoral muscle. Rivulets of sweat trickled down his abdominal muscles and disappeared at the waistband of his black basketball shorts.

The two of them, physical specimens based on musculature alone, also turned the most brilliant bronze in the early New England summer. They played one-on-one in their old stomping grounds, Langone Park right on the waterfront in the North End, and they looked the Italian part: lithe bodies colliding, pulling, dashing across the court with athleticism.

"We'll see, brother," Jane finally replied, after she was done gulping water and air. "You're up by one basket. And you're forgetting how often I break your fuckin' ankles."

Tommy moved the ball from against his side to between his hands as Jane waited for him to check. He rolled his eyes. "Says the girl with the tape," he griped, sore spot officially hit. He shoved the ball in her direction and she caught it.

"Check," she said hoarsely, shoving the ball back at him. She did indeed have taped ankles: the white adhesive was hidden under her black crew socks and New Balance Omnis highs, which already came with ankle supports. She'd had trouble with them her whole life and needed the extra rigidity. But when she got it, her footwork rivaled, sometimes surpassed, his own, even when he had played competitive high school ball.

She trotted in, and he threw the ball at her quickly. She had him flustered, she could tell. He immediately dropped into position to guard her, swiping at her extra-zealously, sweating dripping from his forehead to the concrete below them. She bounded across the half-court, traveling the three-point line with speed, stepping back, then charging forward when she saw Tommy lunge at her.

He adjusted, turned to her side so that he wasn't running backwards as she ran forwards, and it was a good defensive move. Or, it would have been, except that she stopped on a dime, halting her progress, then sinking a pullup jumper just outside the paint. He faltered, almost tripped, and she jogged backwards. Tommy was upset, but also pleased. "These glass ankles still got some game left," Jane teased as he walked past her to the baseline so that he could take out his ball.

"Maura, c'mon," Jane begged, coming down the stairs in her shorts and t-shirt, with a duffle bag over her shoulder and her hair tied back. She looked ready to go, except that her feet were bare.

Maura Isles had tried to spend the last hour or so relaxing on her sofa, the latest Architectural Digest in her lap and an organic, home-brewed iced passionfruit tea in front of her on the coffee table. She and Jane spent their Saturday morning wrapping up the forensics report on their recently solved case, and she just wanted to relax inside her air-conditioned home as the heat raged on outside.

Jane made it especially hard as she banged around upstairs, leaving a trail of work clothes and wet towels all over the guest room in which she showered and readied herself. Now, she found her friend in Poetry linen shorts and a sleeveless blouse on the couch, and immediately commenced with the whining.

Maura huffed. She shut the magazine theatrically. "But wouldn't that be giving you an unfair advantage?"

"No!" Jane said guilitly, in a way that indicated that yeah, maybe it would be. "Think of it like evening up the playing field," she reasoned. "My ankles are trash, Maura. I've rolled 'em getting outta bed in the morning. Please, would you just tape 'em, please?"

Jane jutted out her lower lip and Maura glared, but eventually the display made her cave. "Fine," she assented. "But only if you let me drive you."

"No, I'm good. I'd rather break both my feet," Jane deadpanned.

Maura scoffed. "I do not want you driving after you inevitably exhaust yourself in ninety-three degree weather. If you let me drive you instead, I will give you the best ankle wrap you've ever had. Guaranteed."

Now it was Jane's turn to consider. "A'right," she said after a few moments of hard-fought thinking. "But I don't want any comments from the peanut gallery about shot-probability or wrist mechanics or any of that, ok? In fact, you can go get an ice cream or somethin', walk along the water til we finish."

"Deal. Well, deal regarding the commentary. I can't guarantee I won't want to watch," Maura said with a smirk, and there was an undercurrent of heat to it. Jane blushed. "You know where my Jane-bag is? The hall closet? Bring it to me," Maura ordered.

It gave Jane something to do, let her gather herself. "Is this a long bones thing?" she called over her shoulder, and yanked open the hall closet door. She grabbed the bag Maura had named for her, because it held all manner of first aid and sports medicine supplies, compiled after several years of broken noses, black eyes, and scrapes.

"It might be. We've discussed how they run in your family. And Tommy does have quite nice ones," Maura said.

"Blegh," said Jane in response. She stuck her tongue out in a gagging motion. "Please just do this."

Maura motioned to the coffee table in front of her. "Come here, sit down," she said kindly. Jane sat on the lip of the table and put her left foot in Maura's lap when Maura tapped her knee. Rummaging through the contents of the bag next to her, Maura pulled out white tape. "How much to do you need?" she asked. "Basic, or closed basket weave?"

"Better give me the full close. I meant it when I said they were trash," Jane breathed out. She relaxed a little when Maura ran an affectionate thumb over the top of her foot, brushing toes before moving down with her palm. It wasn't palpation, scientific. It was soothing.

"Do you roll this one more often?" Maura continued her inquiry, but she spoke softly as she looked at the appendage.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I think you have one leg that's longer than the other. Makes you more prone to ankle injuries. Closed basket weave was a good choice."

After about twenty minutes, both of Jane's feet from heel to high ankle were covered in tape, and then she put on her socks and shoes. They made their way toward the car, making small talk about work and that evening's family dinner, being held at Maura's home.

With the score at nineteen apiece and the ball in Tommy's possession, stakes and emotions were high. "Whatever the fuck happens, you're a hell of a lot better than Frankie," he said. Jane acknowledged him with little more than a nod.

Each was a true competitor in their own way. Tommy fed off the energy, it sustained him and boosted his mood. He got cocky and he got happy. Jane played with a chip on her shoulder - athletics made her mean, and dark. It gave her a proper outlet to be ruthless. She played with no mercy, no goodwill.

Maura, who had just returned with a small cardboard box containing three Italian ices, likened it to the opera. Grandiose egos clashed, light and dark battled for dominance, and Jane had been half-right: Tommy's body made her light-headed in the summer air. But, maybe even more than that, what drew her to their contests was their passion. So different, but so contagious, so alluring. She smelled it in the air as she stood watching them just beyond the chain link fence behind the baseline.

Tommy attempted a shot closer to the rim, but Jane had a longer wingspan, and the ball floated over without glancing the aluminum. He was quick, though, and he exploded past her to get his own rebound, and then he was backing up towards half court.

Taunting again.

Jane lunged, and he laughed, and then she darted to his right and he danced toward her left. It was his fatal mistake: in his arrogance, he exposed the ball to her dominant hand, and in one swipe, she stole it and drove uncontested to the basket for an easy layup. 21. "Let's go!" she shouted, one foot planted firmly on the court, the other bent at the knee and in the air. Her fists were clenched at her sides and the veins in her neck popped with exertion and victory.

And she stood inches from Maura, which she realized when she opened her eyes again. The lenses of RayBans Wayfarers stared back at her. When Tommy ran back over to her side, gassed, bent over his knees and sucking up air, those sunglasses were accompanied by a dropped-open jaw. "Uh," Jane started, unsure where to go when she rubbed her brow with the back of her forearm. Maura followed the sweat that got stuck in her arm hairs with a hawk-like scrutiny. "Sorry for screamin' in your ear," Jane apologized finally. She was sheepish.

Tommy was not. "God dammit, Janie!" he cursed, but he was smiling widely. "That was sneaky."

"She definitely outwitted you," Maura noted. She sniffed loudly when he stood to his full height and his torso elongated.

Tommy looked at his sister as if to ask is she serious?, and Jane just shrugged. They both decided it was funny enough to guffaw. "I guess she did," he said after wiping his eyes. "I'll get her next time."

"I'm sure you will," Maura said, still not looking at his face, but instead the middle of his body.

Jane rolled her eyes. "What you got, Maura?"

Maura was the one looking sheepish this time. "Oh! I bought us Italian ice. I thought it might be a nice treat after your… exertions."

Jane's face lit up. "You were right," she said. Both she and her brother jogged through the opening in the fence about fifteen feet away and then ended up by Maura's side. "You get me lemon?"

Maura had a glint in her eye. "Of course I did. You're very stereotypically Sicilian, you know. I like that about you," she said. Then she turned to Tommy. She couldn't resist the hand that found its way to his slick bicep. He caught her eye knowingly and gave her a smile that had lit up most of South Boston before he went to prison. Now he saved it for special occasions. "I wasn't quite sure what you'd prefer, Tommy, so I got you strawberry."

He rubbed his lips together and took the cup offered to him. "Strawberry'll do just fine, Maura. Thanks," he said. He wanted to linger with her there, on the walkway just at the water's edge, but Jane was already walking to a shaded area on the other side of the park, and he could tell that Maura was itching to follow. "Let's go relax in the shade for a bit, yeah?" he said quietly.

Maura blushed and dipped her head. "Yeah," she said demurely. "Let's."

"Gimme that!" Jane, now in joggers and a t-shirt and freshly bathed, reached over the table at Tommy, who held the bread basket hostage.

"Ah ah, you gotta ask nicely, Janie," he teased. He was dressed, too, in black cargo shorts and a gray/black baseball tee. They both wore black Nike socks.

Frankie Rizzoli sat at the table too, and sighed loudly over his plate of bucatini. "I can tell you knuckleheads played today."

Maura chuckled and fiddled with her necklace. "How?"

"Didn't they?" he asked.

"They did," she replied.

"Because after they do they become ten times more childish," Angela chimed in from the head of the table. She pointed at her youngest severely. "Tommy, give your sister the damn bread. You're holdin' up the line."

Tommy put his hand up and then gave Jane the basket. "Yeah, Ma."

"Who won?" Frankie asked Maura as he put a mouthful of pasta in his mouth.

"I did," Jane answered. She draped her napkin over her lap and ran her hand through her long, curly hair, now unfurled down her back. She smirked privately.

"So what's that make it?"

"139-121," Tommy supplied. "She may have had the W today, but I'm catchin' up."

Frankie laughed, impressed. "Damn, you are. It is so twisted that you guys even have a record."

Maura gasped. "You two have kept track of your wins? For how long?"

"For as long as we can all remember," Angela lamented. "Now can we talk about something else? I hardly ever see you all together, I want to conversate about something nice."

"Oh, conversate isn't a-"

Before Maura could assert her linguistic pet peeves, Frankie shook his head at her vigorously. "Sure, Ma," he said. "How was work this week?"

Maura bit down on her bottom lip, happy to have been saved. She still wore her shorts and sleeveless shirt, but she had taken her bun down and now her hair framed her face in golden waves. It softened Jane's heart for her. "We got one for chess matches, too," Jane said, leaning in and whispering in Maura's ear. She winked when Maura looked at her and shook her head.

With dinner and dessert long finished and Angela and Frankie retiring to the guest house, Maura's Beacon Hill home fell into a tenuous sort of quiet.

Jane and Tommy sat on either side of her on the sofa, and Sportscenter droned on in the background. She didn't dare change it to something that interested her, because as soon as she did, they were certain to rouse themselves and complain, even if they weren't paying attention to it now. Jane may even have been asleep. So, she let it happen, content to sip her sleepytime tea and listen to Jane's even breathing. Jane had her feet on the coffee table, long legs spread, crossed at the ankle, and her arms crossed over her belly.

Tommy was much closer, and his eyes were open. Maura felt the heat of his body, of his muscles burning at rest, and the blaze was pleasant along her side. His arms were crossed, too, but his feet were planted firmly on the floor and his knees were spread wide. His head cocked toward her and he surveyed her. Their eyes met, and she couldn't help the gaze that ran from his shirt, stretched tight against his toned abdomen, to between his legs. A primitive part of her brain told her to reach out and touch. She quieted it, at least for the moment. He leaned in, saying nothing, bringing his lips close to hers.

"Oh shit," Jane said first, after several long minutes, jolting awake either by some dream or some sensation, and jolting Maura and Tommy too. She rubbed at her eyes, stretched her arms, and yawned. "It's late. I better go home," she said, rising gingerly. Tommy licked his lips at the missed opportunity, and his subsequent good luck.

Maura, however, saw the twinge of pain in Jane's back, always there when she exerted herself. Sometimes it took hours to surface, sometimes it was instant, but it was always the price paid for tackling high-as-a-kite suspects, cuffing murderers, and high levels of athletic play off the clock. It was the price she paid for both worlds, for having her cake and eating it, too, and this time, Maura did not even try to resist the urge to touch. She rose with Jane and placed sinfully good pressure right on the lumbar vertebrae that needed it most. Jane groaned. "Are you good to drive home?"

"I'm sore, Maura, not an invalid," Jane countered to hide her pleasure. "I'll be fine," she added quietly, kindly. Then she turned to her brother. "Hey, Tommy. You need a ride?"

He locked eyes with Maura again and smirked. "Nah, I'm gonna stay back for a bit. I'm supposed to be staying the night at Ma's anyway."

Jane scrutinized the both of them. There were long seconds of silence that passed, heavy, and then she nodded. "A'right," she said, and there was sadness in it, "I'll see you two when I see you, then." She slipped her shoes on at the door, waiting for Maura to follow, but she was disappointed.

"Bye, and drive safely, please," Maura had taken a seat back on the couch instead and turned the TV off.

Jane walked out into the courtyard on her own.

P.S. Extended italics in this story are meant to convey events in the recent past. Like the same day or just a handful of days before.