Rizzoli & Isles – I certainly don't own them. I give a lot of credit to the people that do and thank them for letting me mess about with them for a bit. I own the few characters that my muddled head came up with but trust me, TNT et all is okay with that.

Tongue-in-cheek warning – I love the idea of creative writing, however I haven't tried since college and well, let's just say that Xena was on TV and it wasn't reruns. Potential reviewers…I am not under any sort of writing genius illusions. I'm playing the part of my own editor, I'm doing my best but I'll have to catch mistakes as I can.

Less tongue-in-cheek warning – I believe in the power of the Rizzles. Pretty much if it wasn't for the Rizzles I wouldn't be watching the show and I certainly wouldn't attempt to sweep the cobwebs out of my head and play with the leading ladies. Now usually I'm a PWP type of reader. Give me fluff or give me death. Preferably M rated fluff.

This little offering will get to the Rizzles. Slowly.

But this won't qualify as fluffy. It does involve some situations with our characters that well, would piss me off if someone didn't put the warning ahead. So should you choose to go on this little journey with me, suffice it to say there might be moments when you wish you could slap me on the back of the head. Out of respect I've waited until I resolved the worst of it before I started publishing. Just to make sure I could get the story there.

So to summarize, Rizzoli & Isles will embrace the rizzles M style, some readers might want to hit me over the head, the story takes its time getting to the "enjoyable" but I waited to share until I knew the people wouldn't be left hanging.

She'd forgotten so much.

Part of Maura remembered the collision of sound and smell but maybe time had dulled the overall effect. Standing at the side of the dirt airstrip every sense felt assaulted and overwhelmed.

She could trace designs in the powder-fine dust on her arms that had mingled with the constant light perspiration. The layers collected and dried causing a hazy camouflage pattern. Rubbing lightly did nothing but turn the splotches into streaks.

It was like this before, she had distinct memories of the hedonistic pleasure of a camp shower and watching the dirty rivulets run down her legs before disappearing under the wood pallet. But she couldn't remember the sensation irritating her before. In abstract she knew the dust hadn't changed. She knew the noises and smells had always been part of the landscape. Yet everything seemed different, altered from what she remembered. She didn't know what she had been expecting. That this land and these people had frozen in time? More than a decade had passed. Of yes there were changes, lots of changes.

The shanty outskirts of the main city yesterday seemed larger, bordering on infinite and the contrast to the modernized business center downtown garish. Two new upscale resorts and countless buildings coupled with paved streets would lead her to believe that at least here was proof that overall life was more stable, more conventional, than a war- torn existence. But she couldn't be sure. There were secrets to this region of Africa that the media was not privy to, by design or by choice, and what felt like a lifetime away had retuned Maura to an outsider.

Thankfully there were certain things that stayed the same. Knowing the right people could open the right doors. Requests that took some years to attain could be bought on a whim if you knew the price. Frankly, Maura felt it was no different stateside but at least here there was nearly a sense of honesty to the transaction. Illegal or legal, the distinction was vague. It just was the way it was.

So a few well placed handshakes later Maura waited for the sound of a single engine Cessna with her bags and the boxes of supplies for company, perspiring under a late afternoon sun and rubbing her left forearm aimlessly.