They were both distracted during the ride back from lunch.

Maura dropped off Jane at the crime scene and went back to the lab. She started doing the registration work on her body swabs, handing them over to Susie's team in batches once they were entered into the case database. Susie was doing the parallel work of registering clothing, found objects from the crime scene and other sundries that her team had been responsible for gathering. They were sitting at adjacent desks, almost shoulder to shoulder. Maura did her job on autopilot, spending the time mainly thinking through what she and Jane had talked about during the crime scene visit and subsequent lunch. She was making lists of facts and examining highlights from their conversation like it was any other case except with a huge emotional investment on her own part.

Susie kept glancing at her boss. Dr Isles was a bit machine-like at the best of times when focused on her work, but this was extraordinary. She was obviously only present in the physical sense, but as far as Susie could tell she was doing a perfect job on evidence entry. Apparently Dr Isles' autonomic nerve system was smart enough on its own to do complex work without involving her actual brain, or maybe evidence entry had evolved into an extension of her breathing reflex. This could be the basis of a career-changing scientific article, but the sample size – one person – was a tad small.

Susie worried that something was going to go wrong between Dr Isles and Detective Rizzoli. Their relationship was a delicate balancing act, and the last 24 hours had apparently introduced a rogue planet into their celestial harmony. Susie swore for the umpteenth time to do whatever it took to help them along. She had been shipping her boss since day two of her employment, and now the brakes had finally come off and the Isles-Rizzoli drama train was picking up speed. She just had to make sure it didn't jump the rails before it reached the destination. Her own feelings about these ladies were firmly on the back burner. She loved them both, but would rather see them have each other than come between them. The drama train was indeed a train. A careless person might get crushed and the train might never notice.

- R&I -

Jane was checking the alleys around the crime scene and talking to the street locals, which meant junkies, homeless people and dealers. She left interviews with shop owners and tenants to the uniforms, since she looked closer to "thug" than "detective" today. On the other hand, she got much better contact with the outdoors- and sporting types than usual. Maybe not wearing a blazer was a useful thing now and then. She was handing out coffee- and soup vouchers to the homeless as she interacted with them. She bought these at bulk discount from the Wired Puppy, where she had an agreement with a very nice barista who had a medium sized Jane-crush. She paid three dollars per five dollar voucher, the Wired Puppy was proud to help improve life for people in need (good marketing!) and the homeless could always sell them on for the printed value if they decided to focus on other beverages.

After half an hour of interviews Jane followed directions into an alley looking for a street person known only as "Holter" who had apparently seen the beat-down happen, and found him arguing loudly with himself behind a dumpster. No-one had warned her that Holter might be coming down off something. She took one look at his eyes and began to back-pedal but not fast enough. He hit her in the chest below the right shoulder, and she dropped on her back in the street rubble. Holter lost focus when she vanished in thin air from his point of view, so Jane got a precious second to gather herself, and then she sprang into action. She came up off the asphalt screaming with rage and launched herself up and forward toward him. Unfortunately for him, Holter took half a step forward at the same time so Jane connected solidly with her forehead on his nose. It started spraying blood everywhere while he stood swaying for a few seconds. Then the hit registered through his drug haze and he fell like a tree, out cold. Jane leaned on the dumpster, waiting for her head to stop spinning and her mouth to stop swearing.

The uniforms and subjects heard her before they could see her, and for the third time that day Jane stopped all work at the crime scene. She came out of the alley with her face and tank top covered in blood spatter, dragging a limp body behind her with one hand and growling a non-stop rant to herself and anyone within earshot. "...son of a bitch I'm gonna fucking STOMP you when we get back to the department and if you think I won't press charges you have another thing..." She hauled Holter by the collar a full block down the street, across the edge of the parking lot and over to the uniform still guarding the crime tape.

"You, Ass-man! Do you have a notepad?" She dropped Holter and rolled him over on his side so he wouldn't choke. She kept her foot on him to keep him from rolling onto his back, and stood there looking like a city hunter posing with a dead trophy.

"Me? Yes!" he pulled it out and Jane started issuing orders.

"Take this down. Date: now. Place: that alley up there, fill in the name 'cause I have no idea. This scumfuck, alias Holter real name unknown, is charged with assaulting an officer, name Jane Rizzoli, det... hell, you know who I am. Take him to mass general for a full check up including quick drug screens so we know what he's on. They have to check his nose, which I busted, and document any other marks so no-one tries to argue police brutality later when we interrogate him. You pick one of these crime techs to go with you with a bunch of evidence bags and a tyvek footsie and you'll let the tech bag everything Holter has on him and enter it as evidence. Let the tech do that so it gets done right. It's not that I don't trust you, I just know how fucking hard it is to do properly and they are trained to. Goddamn my back hurts! When hospital has signed off on him, you take him to the station and book him as my collar with you as assisting. Oh, by the way, get him a pair of crocs because the tyveks are fucking hopeless to walk in without shoes and get one of the techs to collect all of his stuff from the alley so it doesn't get ripped off. Got this?" She unconsciously wiped her hand across her mouth, turning the spatter into a solid red mess, then looked down at her sticky palm. "Shit! Read it back to me."

"Time, place. Get a tech, go to hospital, drug panel plus full body check, evidence-bag all his things, bring teletubby to work in crocs. Your collar, me assisting, tech to archive his stuff from here, shit. Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Why me?"

"Good vibe from my owner." Jane flicked the brass sign with a nail, trying not to smear blood on it.

"Why?"

"Apparently you two appreciate the same things." Jane gave him a big grin, all perfect teeth in a face smeared with blood and eyes full of adrenaline. He flinched as old herd instincts told him to get the hell out of there.

"Why don't you do this yourself? Why give me part credit for your arrest?"

"Because now I'm covered in evidence and I don't have time! I need to check in at the crime lab and get his blood tested for infectious stuff and have my own bruises documented. She would go ape if I took it elsewhere. Go book this guy, Assman. Take whatever credit you can for it. I'll even do you one better: I promise I won't yell at you when you look at me this time. That's a one-time offer, courtesy of Dr Isles." She raised an eyebrow, stepped off Holter and stalked off toward another uniform to demand a ride. Dozens of eyes followed her as she moved, one pair was glued to her ass so hard she could feel them.

Chapter note:

The barista (and the rest of the Wired Puppy) is pilfered from ArcadiaArden's "Synergy & Symbiosis". Sorry, AA. I tried to treat her well.