"Jane, did you just urinate?" Maura stalked from the bathroom gloriously naked, holding her Sonic toothbrush.

"Um, yeah."

Although the sight of her girlfriend au naturel was an everyday occurrence, Jane was still left breathless and slack jawed by the curvy form, backlight by the bright light spilling from the bathroom.

"Jane!"

Dark eyes reluctantly moved from their contemplation of a peerless ivory breast to meet the concerned gaze a foot above it.

"Yeah, I peed, but I flushed. I swear it. You have me trained good, babe."

"Well. I have you trained well. But that's not the point. There's a peculiar odor around the toilet. I distinctly smell a ketonic monosaccharide with perhaps a hint of cassia."

"Oh…kay."

"That's not good, Jane."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault. A strong smell of fructose in one's urine could point to myriad health disorders. While I don't believe it is possible that you have branched-chain ketoaciduria, more commonly known as maple syrup urine disease, you could be pre-diabetic. That does run in your family."

Jane snorted. "I don't have brunching kettle-whosis. I sprayed some air freshener in there. You'll find it under the sink. I think the scent is called 'Cinnabon Roll.'"

Maura narrowed her eyes, observing her lover for any sign of prevarication before returning to the bathroom. Jane heard the telltale squeak of the cabinet opening and the double pump of aerosol hitting the air. A moment later Maura reentered the bedroom.

"Well?"

"It's actually called 'Cinnamon Sugar Roll.'"

"And?"

"It matches the scent profile I detected in the vicinity of the toilet."

Jane reached out and placed her hands on Maura's hips, pulling her closer until she could rest her cool cheek against a warm belly.

"So I'll live to fight another day? I'm not suffering from some icky piss disease?"

"Apparently not."

"That's good." Jane kissed her way up Maura's abdomen to the underside of one heavy breast. "I think I'll have to toss that air freshener and buy one that smells like roses."

"Urine that smells of roses could be a sign of turpentine poisoning."

"Really?"

"In fact…" Maura drew back and raised her arm, pointer finger aloft. "In ancient Rome, patrician ladies would drink turpentine to scent their urine for the pleasure of their lovers."

"That's pretty freaky. I bet some of them died."

"I'm certain they did."

Jane flopped back on the mattress, leaning on her elbows. Some of Maura's lectures were more interesting than others and this was shaping up to be one of them.

"What else did they do, my noble ancestors?"

"Well…" Maura searched through the library of her giant brain for a juicy tidbit of classical esoterica. "The Romans were known to make deadly creatures called Veneficiae."

"Mmm?"

"Rome was a turbulent cesspit of intrigue…"

"Like the Boston PD." Jane interrupted.

"Worse."

"The noble families fought for influence ruthlessly; murder was commonplace. It was a practice to feed small doses of poison to one's slaves from infancy on until they developed a tolerance to it. The doses could then be increased until by adulthood, small amounts of poison were secreted in the body fluids of the slaves; in saliva, sweat, semen, and vaginal secretions."

Maura paused to look at her girlfriend, who often zoned out during one of her intellectual tangents, but Jane's eyes were riveted to her, alert and interested.

"Go on, Maur."

The doctor licked her lips and continued. "The nobleman might then make a gift of this slave to an enemy in the hopes that he would take him or her to his bed and the exchange of fluids during coitus would slowly poison the man."

"Wow. Could that actually work?"

Maura waggled her hand. "Probably not. The small amount of poison actually excreted through sweat or by the prostate, vestibular, periurethral and paraurethral glands would hardly be enough to cause illness and death, but it's a wonderful story."

"Yeah, it is. When I retire, I'm gonna write detective novels and I'll use that as the mode of murder in one of them. You'll have to remind me, babe, in about fifteen years."

Maura beamed at the thought of them, still very much in love, a decade and a half in the future. "Will you base your protagonist on yourself?"

"Of course. My novels will feature badass homicide detective Mane Mizzoli and her sidekick Dr. Nora Niles."

"Sidekick?"

"Don't worry. Nora will be smoking hot and brilliant with enormous breasts."

Maura swatted at her in mock anger. "Go load my suitcases in the car. I'm going to take a shower."

"I'm on it, Dr. Niles."

The trunk was already crammed full with the eclectic hodgepodge of a working vacation; snorkeling equipment and a medical bag, a box of purple latex gloves peeping out from among the dozen boxes of high end shoes, a stereo compound microscope enveloped in bubble wrap resting next to a Donna Karan knapsack full of sex toys and board games. Jane sighed and slammed the trunk closed.

"How are you going to get all of this stuff onto Fire Island?"

"The ferry. I may have to make a second trip to the car."

"You may have to make a twenty-second trip to the car. Are you sure you don't want to leave a few bags for me to bring? You couldn't possible need five suitcases full of clothes for two days."

"I would have to repack everything, Jane. The items in my luggage are not sorted by outfit. It would take all day."

Jane sighed. "How are you going manage once you're on the island? You can't just call a taxi to take you to the house."

Maura grinned. "They have the cutest little red wagons on Cherry Grove. I read online that residents use them to go grocery shopping."

"Little red wagon?" Jane raised an eyebrow. "This stuff barely fits in your little blue Toyota." She opened the trunk again and shuffled aside a canvas tote full of beach towels and a box cryptically labeled 'chemical and pharmaceutical agents, various.'" She shook her head and closed the trunk again.

"I think I saw a pair of skis in there, Maura. What the hell are you going to do with skis in August?" She grunted under the weight of the largest in a set of five matching Louis Vuitton bags as she jammed it into the cramped backseat of Maura's Prius.

"Water skis, love. Fire Island is…"

"Famous for water skiing?"

"No, I don't think so." Maura bit her lip thoughtfully. "I was going to say that it is an island and therefore surrounded by water, but that seemed obvious. I just thought we might like to enjoy some of the activities that an island affords; water skiing and snorkeling. I would especially like to explore the wreck of the Glückauf. And of course there is the added benefit of vacationing in a gay town."

"I still don't get why we have to travel all the way to New York to be gay. We can be gay as geese right here in Massachusetts."

"Anser anserinae?"

"What?" Jane swiped at a sweaty tendril of hair swinging in front of her eyes.

"Geese, Jane, although the type we are most likely to come across in Boston or in New York are actually Brantae Canadensis. I'm not an ornithologist, but I'm fairly certain that geese are not among the waterfowl known to form homosexual pair bonds. Sphenisciformes, penguins of all species, however…" Maura raised her lecture finger, but was cut off midsentence by a pair of warm lips pressing urgently against her own.

Jane released her lips, but the pair remained entwined, leaning against the rear bumper of the small car, foreheads pressed together.

"I'll be your rainbow-spangled love penguin any day, babe."

"Jane, you're much too tall to be a penguin. You're more of an ostrich or an emu. Besides, we're not traveling to New York to be gay. I'm going to be the town doctor in Cherry Grove, which happens to be a gay town." Maura added another bag to the pile on the curb.

"Provincetown is gay and it's only a two-hour ride."

"Yes, but Provincetown doesn't need a town doctor. I need to put in my hours treating the living to keep up my license. You've become very used to me writing you a script for your eczema or Azithromycin when you have strep throat. You wouldn't want to waste a day waiting to see a dermatologist and otolaryngologist would you?"

Jane shrugged. "Maybe. I'm sure another doctor wouldn't be as stingy with antibiotics as you are."

Maura pursed her lips in displeasure. "Antibiotic abuse is rampant in our society…"

"Sure it is, Maur. Everyday I'm busting a dirtbag pushing Zpak and Penicillin in Roxbury."

"That's not what I meant. You don't need an antibiotic every time you have a sniffle. Overuse of antibiotics has led to a worldwide epidemic of drug-resistant pathogens, MRSA infections and increased death rates from sepsis and other illnesses that have been previously contained like tuberculosis, pertussis and diphtheria. Just yesterday I read an article in the Journal of Infections, Viruses, Viroids, Prions, Microorganisms, Bacteria, Nematodes, Arthropods, Fungi and Macroparasites about a newly identified enzyme conveying bacterial resistance to a broad range of beta-lactam antibacterials…"

Jane's eyes had glassed over midway through her girlfriend's discourse. Instead of listening she concentrated on the movement of Maura's lips and the way her breasts pushed against the gossamer material of her blouse. She swallowed audibly. "This is the first time we'll be sleeping apart in six months."

Maura's face softened. "I know, love, but it's only for two nights. I…I'm nervous. I want to get there early and meet with Dr. Argentina before she leaves for her vacation, get up to date on her regular patients and their needs, familiarize myself with her examining room and instruments; an internist's office is very different from a morgue."

"Right…no dead people fridge. Where will you store your lunch?"

Maura elbowed her gently in the ribs. "I'll have to use the urine sample fridge."

"Ewww. I don't know which is worse, but I do think you're developing a sense of humor, Dr. Isles. I must be rubbing off on you while I'm rubbing off on you."

Maura smiled at the double entendre and leaned in for another soft kiss. "I'll be waiting for you on the ferry dock on Monday."

"Wear something sexy."

"Scrubs and Crocs?"

"Sure, as long as you're braless and wearing crotchless panties underneath." Jane whispered into her hair.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine, babe. I'm going to lie on the couch in my underpants eating Doritos dipped in Nutella and watching enough Red Sox baseball to carry me through two weeks of the Yankees."

Maura wrinkled her nose and then smiled. Jane deserved a weekend of baseball and junk food. She'd been happily eating kale and salmon for months, well maybe not happily, but she ate it nonetheless. She'd attended the opera, the ballet, driven to New York and back on her one day off the previous month so Maura could see the Metropolitan Museum's new exhibit of Tudor-era codpieces and even turned down Sox tickets behind home plate to cheer on Susie Chang, who was competing in a crossword puzzle championship. Yes, Jane deserved to spend her weekend however she saw fit.

Maura stood on her toes and planted one quick kiss on a dimpled chin then slipped behind the wheel and turned her key in the ignition. She poked her head out of the window and shouted above the engine noise. "Skype me, Jane. We can have virtual intercourse via simultaneous masturbation."

Jane whipped her head around, the flush staining her cheeks equal parts embarrassment and desire, but there was no one on the street. She met the eyes of the woman she loved and smiled. "Will do, Maur. Drive carefully."

Maura blew her a kiss and pulled out of the driveway. She stopped the car and once again leaned out of the window, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Jane? Must one purchase crotchless panties or would excising the crotch panel with a surgical scalpel be sufficient?"

"Ma, I'm trying to relax. Can you go do that someplace else?"

"Do what? I'm fluffing the pillows. Maura's out of the house one day and you've turned this into a pigsty."

"Yeah, 'cause everyone knows that pigs love flat pillows."

"Flat pillows, cheese doodles on the floor, ice cream dripping all over the counter, your boots kicked off in the hall where I nearly tripped over them and broke my neck. How would you feel if I broke my neck, Janie?"

"Bad."

"That's right, so you'd better clean this place up."

"Bad because you'd move right in here for months to recover." Jane muttered to herself.

"I heard that, Jane Clementine."

Jane grunted in reply and shifted her long body on the sofa, flattening the pillows Angela had just fluffed. She wondered for the thousandth time how she had managed to live with her mother well into her thirties without killing the woman or at least telling her off. Their relationship had always been like this; Angela would pick at her and Jane would withdraw, mumbling inaudible acquiescences and muffled curses until her mother gave up and left her alone. She turned up the volume on the television, hoping her mother would take the hint and shuffle off next door to the guest house for the balance of the evening.

Angela sighed loudly and padded into the kitchen. She returned in a moment holding an open bottle of Sam Adams Summer Ale, a peace offering.

"Ma! I'm on call all weekend. I can't drink."

The older Rizzoli sighed again and took a deep swig from the chilled bottle, grimacing as the liquid hit her tongue. "I don't know how you drink this slop."

She placed the bottle on an empty bag of Fritos resting on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa, pulling Jane's feet onto her lap. "What are we watching?"

"True Blood."

"Maybe there's a nice movie on Lifetime." Angela reached for the remote, but Jane was quicker, swiping it up in one fast motion and holding it over her head.

"I'd rather watch a documentary about the intestinal flora of aardvarks than some lame-ass Lifetime movie."

She had in fact watched just such a documentary the week before with Maura, or at least she had started watching it. Fifteen minutes in and she was asleep, her head nestled in the doctor's soft lap, lulled by the scent of lavender and vanilla fabric softener wafting off of Maura's yoga pants and the gentle pull of her girlfriend's fingers through her snarled tresses.

Thoughts of Maura's fingers brought to mind her own hand and she began worrying at the platinum promise ring on her finger, spinning it lazily so the flush-set diamonds caught the bluish light coming off of the television screen.

Angela caught the gesture. "You should buy a ring for Maura."

"Yeah, one of these days." Jane reached for the beer and put it back. She dug into the sofa cushions and came up with a half empty bottle of water. She frowned and took a sip.

"I could go shopping with you. You have to go to New York anyway. We could leave extra early and take a detour to the diamond district. Mrs. Katz's nephew's in-laws have a business on West 47th Street. She gave me their card, said they'd give us a good deal."

"Us?"

"Sure. Then we could celebrate with a nice brunch at some fancy place with mimosas in real crystal glasses and you could drop me at Penn Station before you go to the ferry, or maybe I could spend a few days with Carla Tallucci's sister Gina in Queens."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Now we're going to Queens too."

"You have to drive through Queens to get to your ferry. I looked it up on the google."

"I'm not buying Maura a diamond in New York."

"Fine." Angela pouted in silence for a long enough that Jane felt safe hitting play on the remote. The still image on the television burst to life with a loud roar, blood and falling bodies filled the screen. Jo Friday stirred from her sleep and raised her shaggy beige head above Jane's hip, her alert eyes scanned the room once before closing. There was nothing worthy of her interest; the Fritos bag was empty.

Angela lifted the remote and muted the television.

"Ma! I'm watching that."

"I have another idea."

"What?"

She reached into her pocket and withdrew an embroidered handkerchief. "You could give Maura my ring."

Jane switched the set off and sat up, scooting in close to her mother. "Is that really…?"

"Yeah. Your father gave me this on our three-month dating anniversary. He was going into the Navy and he wanted to make sure I'd be waiting for him when he got out. Turns out he left me with more than just the ring. We had to get married during his first shore leave, and we told everyone you were born premature…at nine and a half pounds." Angela chuckled at the memory.

The diamond was small, barely more than a chip, and dull, but Jane remembered it resting proudly on her mother's hand throughout her childhood.

"I know it's not much and Maura deserves something a whole lot better, but maybe you could give this to her as a placeholder until you find something you both like."

Jane rested her head on her mother's shoulder as she turned the ring over and over in her hands. Finally she slipped it on her right ring finger where it fit snuggly.

"I can barely get it on my pinkie these days." Angela laughed. "Middle aged spread."

"It wouldn't fit Maura either. Her hands are actually bigger than mine…not longer, but…meatier."

"You have such elegant fingers, Janie. You should have played the violin or the cello."

Jane snorted. "Yeah, I can see it now, 'Yo-Yo Rizzoli plays Carnegie Hall.'"

"You coulda done anything if you put your mind to it. You're my smart, beautiful girl." Angela rested her lips against her daughter's temple. "I love you and I love Maura. The ring is yours, hers, if you want it."

"Thank you, Ma. I actually already have a ring."

"I knew it!" Angela jumped from the couch. "Lemme see."

Jane jogged up the stairs to the large bedroom she shared with Maura and returned bearing a blue velvet box.

Angela opened it and gasped. "Oh, baby, this is…it's gorgeous. Is it real?"

"Is it real!" Jane snatched the box away from her mother. "Do you think I would buy Maura a piece of shit from QVC?"

"Of course not, but this looks like a lot more than two months' salary. Did you hit the lottery and not tell me about it?"

Jane bristled then relaxed. Angela was just being Angela.

"I'm not a pauper, Ma. I have some savings and I just sold my condo."

"Yeah, for less then you paid for it."

"Frankie drives a hard bargain, but it's not like I have a lavish lifestyle to support."

"True. You certainly don't spend your money on clothes. Gimme that ring again. I didn't even get a chance to look at it before you grabbed it away from me."

Angela slipped the ring on her own finger and walked into the kitchen to admire it under the fluorescent lights. "It's…big, Janie, and really, really beautiful. What do you call this style?"

"Art deco. It's made by Tiffany, but it's vintage…from the 1920s. I wanted to get something that had a history. Maura loves history."

Jane joined her, hands thrust deep into her pockets. Angela looked up at her tall daughter who suddenly looked very young and uncertain.

"Think she'll like it, Ma?"

"She'll love it. It's classy and timeless, just like Maura, but mostly she'll love it because she loves you."

"Thanks, Ma." Jane kissed the part of her mother's hair.

"You gonna give it to her for her birthday?"

"Nah, I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I want it to be natural, casual, like when she gave me my ring…she just slipped it on my finger one night while she was massaging my hands. I'll think of something."

"Maybe you could tie it to Jo Friday's collar and let her discover it."

"That's lame, Ma."

"I think it's cute. You should involve Jo."

Jane snorted. "Yeah, maybe I'll drop it in her poop and say, 'Hey, Maur, look what Jo crapped out.'"

Angela swatted her daughter with a nearby dishtowel. "I'm sure you'll think of something perfect, baby, and it won't involve dog shit."

Hearing her name, the little dog jumped from the sofa and trotted into the kitchen, her tiny nails clicking crisply on the tiled floor.

"You have to make a cocky doody, Josephine?" Angela smiled at the dog and she wagged her tail in answer. "You want Nona to take you for a walk?"

"I'll take her, Ma. It's late."

"No. I'm gonna miss her for the two weeks you're gone. She's the closest thing I have to a grandchild from you."

Jane groaned. "I was waiting for that."

"What? It's true. Put that ring on Maura's finger already so I can start planning your wedding. I've been dreaming of your wedding day since Massachusetts passed the gay marriage act in 2005."

Jane gaped at her mother. "I wasn't out in 2005."

"But I knew. I've known since you were seven and you asked for shoulder pads and a football helmet for your Holy Communion. Since that day I waited for the right girl to come along and I knew as soon as I met Maura…"

Jane pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. She inhaled, counted to ten and released her breath through clenched teeth. Angela had taken Jo's leash from the hook next to the door and stuffed a plastic grocery bag into her pocket.

"Maura wants us to use the biodegradable poop-bags. They're in the drawer."

"She trained you good, Janie. Marry her already."

"It's only been six months, Ma."

"Bullshit. The two of you have been in love since the day you met. Promise me you'll give her the ring this week and call me as soon as you do."

"I promise."

Angela clapped her hands. "Wedding plans. I have so many ideas."

Jane pushed her mother and Jo out the door. "If you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming to look for you with my Glock."

"My big, brave girl." Angela managed to land one more kiss on her daughter's cheek before the door closed in her face.

Maura dropped into the flamingo-colored Adirondack chair on the front porch of Belly Acres, the bungalow on Doctor's Walk that had housed the town's physician since it was built for that purpose in 1955. She took a long sip from a snifter of Grand Marnier, enjoying the sweet burn of the cognac on her tongue and then the back of her throat as she swallowed. She opened the Macbook resting on her knees and noted the absence of a green checkmark next to Jane's scowling profile photo. Her girlfriend was offline. She closed the laptop and sighed.

The magnitude of her responsibility weighed heavily on her. Dr. Argentina was thrilled that she had arrived two days early. She was already packed and eager to return to the mainland. She gushed about a trip to St. Lucia and having the weekend free to visit with friends before her flight. With only a cursory tour of the office and assurances that "nothing big ever happens here; a jellyfish sting or a sunburn," she was out the door and on the next ferry before Maura had even unpacked a single vial of cobra antivenom or her frostbite detection kit.

Maura had hoped to watch Andrea Argentina in action; to observe not only her technique, but her demeanor with patients. She would have liked two full days working alongside the internist before taking the reins herself. She thought back to her morning exchange with Jane and her overzealous diagnosis of scented air freshener as a chronic metabolic disease. This was a hazard of her profession; as a forensic pathologist, she looked for causes of death.

She took another small sip of her cognac, rolling it around her tongue. The living were much more troublesome. How much doctoring was called for in an average office visit? If someone came in with a broken arm, should she also check for melanoma and heart disease? Was she obligated to inform a patient that according to the PDR height/weight standards, they were technically obese, or was that impolite and unnecessary for a visit stemming from a routine head cold? What would Jane do? She imagined her dark detective rolling those beautiful chocolate eyes. "Gee, Dr. Isles, I had no idea. Thank you for noticing. Fat people know they're fat, Maur. Let it go." She smiled at the thought of Jane; it would be easier when she was here. She had no medical training, of course, but she had an excellent bedside manner.

Thinking of Jane and bed made her blush. She finished off her drink, poking her tongue into the glass to secure the last stubborn drop and opened her Macbook. Jane was still offline. Her thoughts quickly turned back to her profession.

She closed her eyes and imagined a typical day in her new office. A woman comes in with… an insect bite. What if it was a brown recluse spider? A mosquito carrying West Nile virus? A tick bearing Lyme disease? Even with all the equipment she had brought with her, she was not prepared to perform complex blood tests. She placed two fingers against her carotid artery; her pulse was racing. She should never have agreed to this placement. She should have continued volunteering at the women's shelter once a month writing scrips for birth control pills and doling out flu shots in the fall.

Panicked, she closed the laptop and pulled out her iphone. Scrolling quickly through her contact list she touched a name.

"Faye? It's Maura Isles. How would you like to lend a hand on Fire Island?"

The older physician chuckled. "You can have both my hands, Maura, Kaye's too, but what exactly will we be doing?"