If there was one thing Jane Rizzoli didn't like, it was to be pushed. Pushed into closing a case before it felt right, pushed into cleaning her apartment when her mother came around, pushed into eating healthy food and wearing nice dresses. Mostly though, she hated being pushed into dating, which was unfortunate because it seemed to be her mother's preferred pass-time, and the woman seemed to have an uncanny ability to get her into these situations without her knowing until it was too late. It had gotten to a point where she could no longer count the blind dates and set-ups on both hands. It had always been particularly irritating, but at the end of the night she'd been able to walk away and go home to her cluttered apartment and forget about it.

However this time, Angela Rizzoli had pushed a little too far.

It had sneaked up on her which frustrated Jane even more. She wasn't even aware her mother could turn on a computer, let alone set up a profile on an online dating site with an ancient photo of her daughter wearing a mid-thigh length dress and a begrudging smile. And worse – she hadn't known about it until she by chance checked the personal email address she rarely used and found a plethora of notifications from a site called 'Mingle'. She'd thought they were spam and had started deleting them until she accidentally opened one and was greeted with her profile picture and her name and a red bubble to the right of the screen letting her know she had 34 private messages. While the amount of interest she had drummed up unknowingly was a fine ego boost, it was quickly overrun with anger at having her life overrun by her mother yet again.

At first she'd considered calling her mother, because while she may not be computer literate, Jane had no doubt that this was her handy work. A quick glance at the time let her know it was too late, regardless of how furious she was. So she'd shimmied from her well-worn black slacks and removed her bra from under her shirt, tossing them in the general direction of the bedroom on her way to the fridge. Grabbing a beer, she made her way back to the sofa and sat guiltily in front of her laptop for a little self-indulgence. There was no harm in looking through the potential suitors that had obviously found some interest in her. As if somehow understanding what Jane was about to do, Jo-Friday let out a yelp and leaped around the sofa a few times.

"This is strictly between you and me," the brunette declared to the terrier as she hit 'forgotten password' on the site she'd been unwittingly signed up to. "We can't indulge or encourage Ma at all." Jo-Friday yelped again and jumped up onto the sofa, circling three times before curling up with her head on Jane's knee.

She was halfway through her beer by time she'd signed in and deleted the first five messages from obscenely boring men. She cocked a brow at the next message, her mouse hovering over the small square photo of a woman around her age, with blonde curled locks and almond shaped topaz eyes.

Obviously, Angela Rizzoli had, in her haste, forgotten to select gender preference when signing her daughter up.

Her mouse hovered for a second while she contemplated sending it to the trash with the others. The little display image was endearingly innocent and the woman was undoubtedly attractive, and it's not like she hadn't thought about it once or twice in her lifetime. Her finger lingered on the delete button for a moment before opting to open the message. Unlike the others she'd glanced over, this one was extremely short and consisted of very few words.

'That dress looks absolutely beautiful on you, is it a Valentino?'

For a moment, Jane sat confused. Was this meant to be more of an expression of interest at the dress or at Jane herself? Did this woman want to purchase the dress? Because Jane wasn't entirely sure she even still owned it. Mildly insulted that this message hadn't been another stereotypical essay full of compliments and blatant flattery, Jane hit reply. Her fingers moved over the keys of her laptop in determination, albeit a little slower than usual.

'I don't know what that is, but it sounds expensive, so probably not because I'm pretty sure that dress is from Target. Are you planning on taking back your last message due to my lack of fashion knowledge, or because the dress isn't a Valentini?'

She toyed with the wording for a little whole longer before accepting that regardless of what she wrote it was going to either feel awkward or be a lie. She hit send and grabbed her beer, wiping the condensation that had formed on the table with her sleeve. She took a swig, propping her feet up on the coffee table and tickled Jo-Friday behind the ears. There were countless hours of baseball footage saved on her DVR, and she planned on burning a decent hole through it tonight.

The television screen lit up and Jane leaned back with a sigh of contentment. She was so relaxed and so intrigued in the game flashing on her screen, she almost fell from the couch in horror when her computer buzzed an odd little jingle and the screen lit back up. The red bubble on her screen was flashing again, indicating a new message. Hesitantly she clicked on it and found another message from the woman earlier. Gulping down the rest of her beer, she opened the message and flickered her eyes over the words there.

'It's Valentino and they can be rather expensive I suppose – definitely not purchasable at Target. Valentino Garavani is an Italian born fashion designer who had his first major break through in Florence. He's famous for his R.E.D Valentino, a line of flawless red dresses, however I'm a fan of his underrated black garments. Elizabeth Taylor was a huge advocate for his work."

There was a pause after the message came up in her inbox and Jane frowned until the text down the bottom of the screen informed her that the other woman was still typing.

"Regardless of your lack of knowledge in fashion and the beauty that is hand craftsmanship, I'll retain my comment on how beautiful you look. Your profile says you're from Boston, did you attend BCU?"

Pursing her lips, Jane hit reply with a smirk. Unlike the previous message, this one had been long-winded and full of information she'd never had an interest in knowing. In parts it had been teetering on the edge of boring, but for some reason it made her stomach flutter with something strange that almost felt like excitement. There had even been a follow-up question, which indicated that she was expecting a reply. Jane began typing before she paused. In her haste, she'd not looked at this woman's profile, and wasn't even completely certain on her name.

Clicking on her username at the top of the message, Jane waited for the page to load. She was now on the edge of the sofa, game and beer long forgotten as her eyes glanced over the screen. Her name was Maura Isles, and she was the medical examiner of San Francisco.

Her mother had undoubtedly signed her up to this site in an effort to swing her away from her work life and into marriage and child bearing, and yet the only person she'd taken a remote interest in so far was a woman who just so happened to be in the same nightmarish field of work Jane was. The brunette wondered briefly if this was enough punishment for her Ma, or if she needed something a little more to make sure this sort of interference in her life was inflicted for once onto one of her brothers instead.

Flicking back to her message, she continued typing. It didn't seem entirely right, to know all about her just yet. It was too much like reading the end results of a game before watching it, which seemed to defeat the purpose.

Maura had asked about BCU, which was slowly becoming a bigger and bigger insecurity of Jane's, and was the only part of her reply that she hesitated on. It hadn't seemed like such a big deal when she was younger, and the decision to abandon College for a career in the police force had been purely for the benefit of her family – which now seemed moot, as her father had turned out to be a low life that perhaps should be drowning in her College debt.

After a moment of inner turmoil, she decided on honesty, and replied that while she had been accepted to the prestigious university; she had declined, as her family couldn't afford it. She finished by asking what College Maura had attended, and hit send.

It had taken her longer than she thought to reply to the message, and when she glanced at the clock she was surprised to find it past midnight. Closing her laptop under the presumption that the doctor would be asleep, Jane headed off to bed, the image of a smiling Maura with loose curls and bright eyes locked firmly in her mind.