A/N: A little bit of a preface for this story before you read, just so you have a basic grasp of what I'm planning to do with this. It's a little AUish, in the sense that Jane and Maura are in their mid-twenties, so they're less established in their careers than on the show. Maura has just finished medical school and has landed herself a job as a medical examiner at the BPD, where Jane also works. Jane has been dating Casey since high school, and he returned from Afghanistan a year ago after being deployed (and please don't let Casey scare you away - I promise this will be devoted to Rizzles.) The rest shall be up for you discover as this story unfolds. I hope you enjoy! :)

Also me starting a new story doesn't mean that I'm not going to finish Find Me Here. That is a promise. I'm already working on the next chapter of that.

She thinks back to her first memory.

She thinks past musty books with flimsy pages, decorated with words she longed to know. She thinks past ruffled dresses scratching her throat, past Miss Vonnie's French lullabies.

She is two.

She knows this not because her parents have told her, but because of the framed photo on the edge of the mantle that has the date inscribed on the back.

The fair, wide-eyed child does not smile, clothed in white next to a glowing bride.

If she closes her eyes, she can feel the pinch of the shoe buckles, digging past her lacy tights. It is so hot she can smell the heat in the air. She tugs at the elastic string under her chin, keeping her wide brimmed hat fixed to her head. The stairs behind the church are empty, the silence pulsating frantically around her. She touches the remaining flower petals in her basket, blush pink, brittle between her sticky fingers.

"Don't leave the steps, Maura, darling. We'll be right back."

She stands until her legs ache. She watches the sun creep to its apex, searing and blinding.

She is too bewildered to cry.

XXX

"Excuse me, can I help you, ma'am?"

She hovers in the doorway of the morgue, the air chilly and stale. A small, but sturdy Asian woman stands in front of her with a clipboard, bangs swooped across her wide forehead, her magenta eyeglasses decorated with rhinestones.

She feels strangely intimidated. "I'm Maura Isles." She waits for the woman's expression to contort into one of recognition, but it only becomes more territorial. "Dr. Pike's new assistant."

The woman raises an eyebrow, her eyes sweeping the front page of her clipboard.

"I was supposed to meet him this morning at eight to begin my training," Maura further offers, feeling frustrated and a little warm, despite the icy air.

"Dr. Pike doesn't have you listed on his schedule," the woman states, her voice flat, but it inflects with a hint of superiority. "He doesn't even come in until nine today."

Maura draws her lips into a thin line. Her throat closes, her stomach burns. She doesn't know what to say; her extensive schooling has not taught her how to handle stubborn lab technicians. The mountains of required reading have not taught her how to deal with people at all. She supposes twenty-six years of life should have been adequate preparation for this, but she struggles to make connections, struggles to make lasting impressions. Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to not be forgotten.

The woman looks mildly apologetic for a moment. "If you'd like to return in an hour, I'm sure Dr. Pike will see you."

Maura nods in appreciation, feeling the knots in her stomach untangle one by one.

XXX

She breathes in the fresh air as she steps out of the elevator on the ground floor, bustling with the hum of a busy Monday morning. She steps up to the counter at the station cafe, earning a wide smile from the woman behind the register.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" she speaks with a drawling accent. She has shoulder length hair, peppered with sporadic strands of gray. She gives off a motherly vibe that meshes with the homey cafe. It's the perfect remedy for her flustered state. More at ease, Maura's eyes scan the menu; she's not much of a coffee drinker, preferring home-brewed tea, but a latte seems like the perfect way to pass the impending hour.

With her warm beverage curled between her fingers, she scans the cafe area for an empty table, a corner for her to hide for a moment and gather her thoughts. Perhaps Dr. Pike's unintentional delay will provide her with the peace of mind to tackle this job with confidence and finesse. After all, she has promised herself to make the best of this.

She has lost herself in her chain of thoughts, because as soon as she turns, she barrels straight into a uniformed officer, her coffee sloshing all over her perfectly pressed blouse.

"Ma'am, I apologize," he stutters helplessly. His voice cracks a little over the words. Her eyes dart wildly to his face, which is small and boyish, looking more like it belongs to an adolescent than a man. He runs his hand through his mop of dark hair, looking just as flustered as she is.

"It's fine," her voice is an octave too high. She stumbles away from him, forcing a smile, before she ducks into the nearby bathroom.

She bites her tongue until she's certain she won't cry.

Collecting herself, she reaches for the paper towel dispenser, immersing a sheet in water as she dabs at her blouse. Luckily the color blends in well with the beige hue of her shirt. The toilet flushes a couple stalls down, and Maura's neck snaps upright, her hand tightening around the soggy paper towel.

She had not realized she was not alone. She hears a sharp thud as the woman strides out of the stall, the door swinging against the frame.

Maura notices her legs first, long, muscular, strikingly bare. Her dress is a small, black, sequined thing, hardly covering the curvature of her gluteus maximus. The muscles of her calves are taut as she balances precariously on an impressive pair of stilettos, in which her feet hardly look at home. The fraying fur that lines her once white coat is noticeably faux, and she has left it unzipped, exposing a plunging neckline. Her breasts are small, but nicely formed, a thought that leaves Maura blushing. Her face is surprisingly plain, a great contrast to get gaudy get up. Her eyes lack the dark, smoky makeup Maura would have associated with such attire, but they hold a natural beauty that Maura can't help but to admire.

The woman pulls a small bag of makeup out of her purse, looking a bit anxious as she sorts through the contents. She starts with a tube of ruby lipstick, applying it hesitantly to her lips. Maura continues to dab at the stain, though she can't help but to glance up sporadically. She has already made hasty judgments, unsure what spurs her fascination, though something tells her she still would have noticed this woman if she had donned a turtle neck.

"Shit," the woman mutters, her voice a warm, a surprising baritone. Maura steals another glance; the woman's hand shakes terribly, her eye pencil quivering in her grasp.

She stares for too long, and when the woman catches her, Maura quickly becomes consumed in her stain once again.

"Sorry," the woman mutters, offering Maura an embarrassed smile, which she catches through the reflection of the broad mirror. She dares to peek at the woman again. "I'm already bad enough at this, but having an audience makes me even more anxious…stupid undercover assignment," she adds with an aggravated huff of breath.

Maura's face widens, painted in curiosity. "Undercover assignment?"

"Yeah, kind of sucks being the only woman in narcotics – I was the one to get stuck with this god-awful get up." She rolls her eyes, exaggerating her expressions to keep their tedious small talk engaging.

"I didn't realize you worked here," Maura mutters, seemingly full of dumb remarks today. Spontaneous conversation does not suit her.

The woman laughs sharply. "Guess I should be glad my outfit is convincing. It's not every day you're thankful you look like a successful whore."

Maura's stomach bounces, full of hasty regret. "Oh, no! That's not what I meant. I was only -"

"Don't sweat it," the woman cuts her off. Her smile is big, perhaps a little large for her narrow face, but it's warm and natural. It makes Maura smile too, all the way up to the blush in her ears. Her stomach now quivers for other reasons. "So I take it you're new here?"

"Yes," she confirms, finding her voice, willing her cheeks to cool to their natural color. "I'm Dr. Pike's new assistant." Hopefully, she adds silently, if my paperwork isn't crumpled off in some corner, wedged beneath an unwashed coffee mug.

The woman snorts. "Good ol' Pike. Have fun with that. Maybe with an assistant, the homicide unit will get test results back this generation."

Is he really that terrible? She supposes this morning can attribute to that. She nods. She smiles awkwardly. She wracks her brain, attempting to fuel the small talk.

"Damn eyeliner," the other woman huffs instead, filling the silence. Her hand wobbles again.

Maura hovers over the sink. The stain has faded significantly, now just a wet patch. In the dim lighting of the morgue, it won't even be noticeable. She should leave now; her presence is now forced and awkward.

But her feet are glued to the floor.

"Would you like some help with that?" Are these words even hers? Her lips are so dry she has to wonder how she has even managed to speak.

The woman turns, a mildly confused expression creasing her face.

"I won't claim to be an expert, but I am adept enough at applying makeup." Is she really that desperate to hold her attention? And further, she has practically insulted the one person who has given her the time of day. She has extracted herself so far out of her element and embarrassed herself so greatly today that she considers walking down to Dr. Pike's office and merely quitting. After all, this job is more of a safety net than anything.

But the woman's wide, pleading look of gratitude startles her. "Would you really? I suck so bad at this shit, and I'm probably gonna blow my cover if I try to pull this off myself."

"Of course." The words roll off the brim of Maura's lips. She steps up toward the woman, who towers over her. Maura shrinks back slightly, reaching for the discarded eye pencil.

"Here," the woman mutters, squatting down. The dress creeps further up her thighs.

Maura forgets to breathe. She's suddenly afraid her hand might be shaking too violently to complete the task herself. But she holds the eye pencil firmly in her grasp, admiring the natural bronze tint in the woman's soft skin, now close enough to see every pore. She paints a generous black line around the woman's eyes, feeling the woman's warm breath splash against her neck as she works in silence.

"There," she murmurs, stepping back, assessing her handy work. "Is that satisfactory?"

The woman's legs quiver, the muscles tensing as she stands. "Damn," she draws out the word, leaning up against the sink. "I don't even recognize myself."

Maura swallows. She chews timidly on her lip.

"Thanks a ton, I owe ya, okay?" The woman pushes herself back from the sink, wobbling again. "I'm Jane Rizzoli, by the way."

She offers Maura her hand; it's warm and electrifying, calloused and strong. She forgets that she owes her a response for a moment. "I'm Maura," she clears her throat, clenching her empty fingers together as Jane pulls away. "Maura Isles."

"Nice to meet you." Jane's mesmerizing smile is back. "I hate to run, but I got a deal to bust."

Her heels clamor noisily toward the door, leaving Maura with her stomach tumbling and an unexpected smile on her face.