Written for the Live Journal smallfandomfest prompt 'hard to find a moment alone.'

POV: OC Lucja Kaczmarek and Alan Grant.

Disclaimer: I don't own JP3 or it's characters.

There were precious few constants in the universe: there were eight slices in a medium Pizza Hut pizza, the gravitational constant was 6.67x10^-11, and Professor Brennan was hopelessly in love with Dr. Alan Grant.

Lucja had always suspected a little when she was an undergrad in his Palaeontology 300 class, just by the way Dr. Brennan talked about him sometimes or the casual way Grant ended up in some of the photos in the Montana Badlands Power Points. She really hadn't believed it back then; it had always whispered about in an offhand not quite serious way that people gossip about professors, so she had supposed she was only seeing what she wanted to see. Now she was his graduate T.A. and sat in the back wondering why she hadn't seen it before like a flashing arrow. Maybe it was just more obvious now, or maybe she'd just needed a few more years of perspective.

Maybe it was just more obvious, because it seemed like more people knew about it now too. Hell, the art students in the catering company she worked for knew about it. The undergrad girls that sat in the 300 class giggled and whispered and thought it was adorable, but Lucja, who knew about the shared lunches, the Friday nights cataloguing fossils together, and the way Prof. Brennan's face lit up whenever Dr. Grant was around, thought it was the saddest thing she'd ever seen.

It just figured that the guy who could have had anyone wanted the one person who didn't care.

****

At the beginning of the year when she'd been working in Dr. Brennan's office and still trying to get used to this teaching assistant thing, someone had knocked on the door and Alan Grant the reluctant campus celebrity, poked his head in. "Billy, ready to go? Who's this?"

So they had been introduced and she'd discovered Brennan and Grant habitually hung out together on the weekends. They had taken her out to dinner once at the beginning of the year when all three of them had been stuck working late on Friday night. She didn't know too much about Dr. Grant, except that he was one of the foremost experts in hadrosaur and raptor theory, and all the students were afraid of him. Surprisingly, she'd found him interesting and straightforward to a fault with a dry put-upon sense of humour that only made Dr. Brennan tease him a lot. From the story he told them later that evening about the Murphy kids and the electric fence, she suspected he'd once had Dr. Brennan's lighter sillier sense of humour before Jurassic Park had happened to him. Had happened to them.

They both loved their work- it was obvious from the way they interrupted each other's stories about past digs and talked about the most ridiculous presentations at their academic conferences. They had published some fascinating papers over the years, and she'd dug out the oldest, the earliest, and still found the same fresh-faced enthusiasm and dedication to the field now when they were 'old and decrepit' as Grant said. "Speak for yourself," Brennan had replied and stolen some of his fries.

That. That was the more obvious thing. How they sat close together, comfortably ordered their food in unison, and made stupid jokes in the cute and really kind of gross way her parents acted around each other. They had been friends for years, that was certain.

But then Dr. Brennan would remember she was there and smile guilelessly over and that clinched it, because his expression was slightly shy and Dr. Brennan was never shy about anything.

She was still thinking about it the next day during office hours, tapping her pencil and not paying too much attention. Dr. Brennan was sitting on his desk talking to her about her thesis, and she looked into his face and wondered how he could pull it off, how he could just keep this thing with Dr. Grant on the backburner like it wasn't a big deal.

She dropped her pencil when Grant barged in two minutes later and pointed. "You!" he shouted.

Speak of the devil.

Brennan looked surprised. "Me?"

"You've been holding out on me."

"What're you talking about, Alan? If you're talking about that movie York gave me, I was going to bring it over this weekend-"

"You got this year's Distinguished Teacher Award."

She whipped around and stared at Dr. Brennan, because really? Brennan looked incriminatingly embarrassed. "I uh, got the letter this morning."

"And?"

"And…" he shrugged. "I was going to tell you at lunch."

"At lunch?" Grant crossed his arms. "Judith Thompson knew before I did."

He rolled his eyes. "The selection committee is full of chatty old women, and Judith is pen pals with all of them." He grinned in what Lucja recognised was the preamble for the flirty tone he only used around Grant. "So are you taking me somewhere special for lunch?"

"Mhm. I was thinking we could go to Quiznos."

"Fancy."

It was pathetic that she knew they were both being somewhat serious. Some of that must have shown on her face because Dr. Brennan gave her a small distracted smile.

"So I'll pick you up around twelve." In the rickety bucket of bolts truck that looked like Grant had excavated it out of somewhere. The only time she had ridden in it, she had been in squished in the middle between Grant and Brennan with just enough elbow space to turn on the radio.

Brennan nodded. "Sure. Thanks. You'll be at the Award Reception, right?"

"Yeah, I will. Um." He looked at the tops of his shoes and then back to Brennan. "Proud of you."

He smiled widely, the rare goofy one that showed a lot of his teeth. "Thanks, Alan."

Grant nodded mutely and shut the door behind him.

Lucja let a few seconds go past. "Dr. Brennan?" she said finally, not wanting to pop his afterglow bubble.

"Hmm?" He snapped back, but he was still smiling. "Sorry, I was…" He waved his hand. "Thinking about something. Go on."

She shook her head. "Just congratulations. And I'll see you at the awards reception too. I think the place I work for is catering the event. The Faculty and Staff Awards Reception, right? End of April?"

He grinned. "You got it. Sounds great!"

The phone at his desk rang, and he managed some kind of gymnastic manoeuvre to answer it. "Dr. Brennan speaking. Hm? Oh, hey. No, I'm not- well thanks, it's nice of you to call." Lucja rose and made a motion towards her watch and then the door. He smiled and waved her out. "Yeah, it's going to be in April. Funny you should say that- Alan was just here."

****

Grant was working late in his office the day before the awards reception when the phone rang. He pinned the phone to his ear with one of his shoulders and kept on working. Maybe it was Ellie calling back from this afternoon. She'd called to ask Billy about his acceptance speech and knew there were only three places he ever was: on campus, at home, or somewhere with Alan. It was her own weird way of playing 'Where's Waldo.'

"Hello?"

"Yo, Alan."

Grant put down his work and slid the phone from his shoulder. No, he wouldn't get anything productive done. Of course Ian called, because where Ellie went, Ian wasn't far behind. He didn't know how she could stand him, much less talk to him on a fairly regular basis. It helped that he was far far away in Boston to work more on his chaos theory and raid the college libraries ostensibly for research material, but it didn't hurt that all the female mathematics grads thought he was some sort of dark Libchaberian god. Creep.

"Billy's gone home," he said a little less politely than he'd been with her.

"Didn't call for Billy," Ian said. "Actually, called to see how you were doing."

"Why?" he asked suspiciously because Ian Malcolm, egotist and self-proclaimed bastard, didn't just call to ask after your health unless he wanted something out of it.

"Come on, Alan, can't a guy-"

"-No."

Ian sighed and wondered if Grant would ever get the concept of small talk. "How's the kid?"

Grant frowned and drained his coffee cup in one move. It was cold. "Why don't you just ask him?"

"Why do you think Ellie called?"

"Then why don't you ask Ellie?"

Ian scoffed. "He would just say he was fine, and she would leave it at that."

Grant had to admit he was right. Ellie took everything at face value. He envied that sometimes. "He seems alright to me. Why do you ask?"

"Dunno, he's been sounding kind of down every time I call. Today was the worst, and here I thought he was getting an award."

"The worst?" Grant wheeled around in his chair and leaned back. "If you're saying he's depressed, this is the first time I'm hearing about it."

"Come on, Alan." Ian's voice sounded disparaging. "He's breaking into his forties, and he doesn't even have a girlfriend yet."

"So?"

"So? Doesn't that mean something to you?"

He couldn't figure that one out. "If you're trying to say he's lonely, he has a lot of friends. And his job, his students."

"That's not the same."

"Hey, I don't have a girlfriend either, and I'm perfectly happy."

"Yeah, you're doing pretty well." Ian sounded strangely like he was trying not to snort. Grant wondered if there was a way to punch people through the phone. "Just...look out for him, okay?"

"I do."

Ian laughed softly at that. "I know you do. Just pay attention to what he's not saying too." He sighed gustily. "Alright, talk to you later. Tell him I'm sorry I can't fly down. Oh and hey, make sure you watch out for the dedications in his acceptance speech."

Grant frowned. "Why? I'm sure Billy will thank people in our department and-"

"-Oh please. The only people that ever get award dedications are your family and the people you've got a serious jones for."

"That's ridiculous."

"No!" Ian said. "I've done enough speeches to know. Pay attention tonight- let me know who the lucky winner is."

"His family?"

"His secret pa-ra-mour."

Of course, the only answer to that was to hang up. It felt like he always hung up at least once whenever he had phone conversations with Ian. And paramour? Please.

He checked his watch and started packing up his things to head out, because there was fashionably late and then there was 'where the hell have you been?' and he'd been at both ends of the spectrum. Thank god Billy was already out the door when he pulled up in the driveway. They were cutting it pretty close.

Grant stared at him for a moment as he slid into the passenger seat, because he looked so different in his good coat and tie with his hair brushed back neatly. "Looking sharp."

"I look like a dork," Billy grumbled and worried the knot of his tie. He eyed Grant critically. "And you're not doing so hot yourself."

"Thanks a lot." But he grinned and put the truck in reverse. "Herbert back in anthropology told me once that palaeontologists should have at least two layers of dirt on them at all times."

"Job requirement. Makes us look better," Billy agreed and then looked at the digital display. "Geez, we're already late."

"Next time," Grant sniped. "I'll just slow down and you can jump in."

"Cool," Billy said approvingly and Grant wondered if they could wheedle Dr. Li's Die Hard collection out of him for a weekend. Billy grinned at him widely when he mentioned it, and Grant swore he didn't know where Ian was getting all this depression crap from.

****

He already ran on the assumption that Billy knew everybody, but didn't know the extent of it until professors from other departments stopped them to say hello at the reception. Billy of course knew their first names, how many children they had, and what classes they were teaching this semester. He even waved enthusiastically at one of the caterers, and Grant realised it was the T.A they had taken out once for dinner.

These were Grant's uncertain moments when Billy would peel off with someone else and leave him standing awkwardly by himself at the mercy of his colleagues, who wanted to know entirely too much about where he was going for the summer and what he had published recently. Thankfully, Billy stuck with him and just shouted out some hurried goodbyes, even when Mortimer over in the mathematics department hung around for almost four minutes wanting to talk about some book Billy had borrowed.

Billy wanted to sit up front, but Grant finally got him to sit in the back in the semi-darkness so they could whisper jokes back and forth during the presentation and try to smother their laughter with poorly orchestrated coughing. The Distinguished Scholar was up first and then the Graduate Student Teaching Award. Billy clapped especially loudly for that one, because of course he knew all the science department grad students, who thought he was totally cool and came to him with their problems. Grant didn't even notice Billy was up next until they heard words like 'fine educator' and 'making a difference in students' lives.'

"Well great. Here we go," Billy muttered and the shoved himself out of his seat and up to the stage as the clapping started. The proctor shook his hand firmly and gave him a small engraved glass plaque. Billy accepted it carefully and beamed a little the way he did when they found a new fossil at the dig or Grant invited him out for pool and drinks on the weekend. Grant knew that feeling and suddenly remembered a similar glass plate hanging on the back wall of his own office. He hadn't thought about it in some time. Maybe it was time to take it down and clean off all the dust.

"Oh, geez, um." Billy bent his head and adjusted the mike. "This is...an honour." He looked at the plaque. "My students should be getting this award for putting up with me." Grant felt that was more down his alley. "No, but really, my students are what's behind this award. They work so hard, they ask all the right questions, they keep the sleeping in class to a minimum..." Some of the teachers in the audience snorted knowingly. "I couldn't ask for better people to work with, and ultimately this plaque isn't what shows I'm- what is it?" He looked at the proctor. "Distinguished Teacher of the Year? No, whatever my students accomplish, whatever they become- that shows I taught something worthwhile." Some of the audience clapped approvingly. Billy carefully raised the little glass plaque. "But this is for my little cousin Arlo Manchini, who wants to be a palaeontologist when he grows up." He grinned. "Apparently I'm a bad influence, so I must be doing something right."

That sparked laughter in the room, and Grant wondered if there was anyone Billy couldn't charm the hell out of.

"And this is for Alan Grant-"

Grant quietly sucked in a breath.

"-who was my academic advisor and mentor. And he's tolerated me for a respectable number of years, which I think makes us sort of friends. I don't think I'd be where I am today without him." He smiled. "Thanks, Alan."

Grant just sat numbly in his chair as the loud hollow applause washed over him. Billy grinned down at him from the stage and then shuffled around awkwardly for a few seconds till he was allowed to leave.

Of course Billy had thanked his family and people in the department. He was…god damn Ian, because he was not thinking about this. Not at all. And where was Billy anyway? He should have been back in his seat by now. The next winner for Distinguished Administrative Service was already up at the lectern thanking his family and his wife. And why would he thank his wife? Shit. Where the hell was Billy?

He turned back in his chair but all he could see were rows of muted faces and the caterers running around in their white smocks setting up for later. He didn't realise he was staring till one of the caterers waved. After a moment, he recognised Billy's T.A and waved back. He gestured to the empty seat beside him and held up his hands in a universal 'beats the hell out of me' gesture. The T.A looked like she was trying not to laugh and pointed to the door that led to the kitchens. But why would she-

Oh no. The sneaky bastard wouldn't. He'd pulled this on Billy once at the symposium in Helena. Maybe this was revenge.

Grant grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and started making his way out of the row of seats.

****

He slammed through the swinging double doors and spotted him right away. "Billy Brennan!"

Billy turned around and pasted on a smile. "Hey, Alan, I was just…" He deflated. "Okay, so I was going to sneak out through catering, but come on, who wants to sit through a whole lecture about 'fund-raising,' and the 'youth of tomorrow' crap they always end with every year? I have papers to grade. I was going to call you from the parking lot so you had an excuse to get the hell out too."

"I see why you got the award," Grant said dryly.

Billy ducked his head, too modest to be pleased with himself and too embarrassed to tease him back. "Um." He smiled tentatively. "You should get the credit."

"Well." Grant clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You dedicated your award to me."

Billy opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Well, yeah. You and Arlo, who's probably going to freak when he finds out-"

Grant put his free hand on Billy's other shoulder, boxing him in. This was a bad idea. This had been a bad idea for years and years. He couldn't believe he was actually trusting Ian on this. "You dedicated your award to me."

Billy stopped talking abruptly. "Uh…yeah. I guess I did." A nervous smile. "Should…should I not have?"

Grant shrugged, keeping his a grip on Billy's shoulders. "I never thought you would. I'm flattered."

"Of course I would. Who else would I-" The blood suddenly drained out of his face and then surged back hotly. His voice was low and shaky. "You talked to Ian, didn't you?" He attempted to break away, perhaps to go straight to Boston that very instant. "Dammit, I'm going to kill him! I am going to kill him."

"Hey hey, slow down." Grant held him fast, knowing that if he let him go now, he would be fracturing whatever had been leading up to this. This slow decades long joke that had been set into motion like a Newton's cradle the moment a terribly young Billy Brennan had stepped into his office to interview for the dig assistant position. Carefully, deliberately, he said again, "I never thought you would."

Billy stopped and looked at him. His eyes were round and panicky, and suddenly he looked twenty seven again. He was clutching the award between them like a shield. "Uh…"

****

The awards ceremony was almost over and the proctor would be starting in on his closing remarks any minute now. Predictably, catering was going through their organised chaos, all frantic whispers and running around with potholders.

Henry showed up looking stressed out as usual. The streak of soy sauce on his face was new. "Oy, Luc. We forgot the cheesecake bites in the back. Get them for me, huh? And make it quick."

"Huh?" She finished setting out all the tongs. "Hey, Henry. Yeah, sure."

She ran, hoping she could get back before Henry stroked out. The guy was intense about everything and really took his job way too seriously. She could see the trays of cheesecake through the round windows in the swinging doors. Perfect. All she had to do was-

Wait a minute. Dr. Brennan's glass plaque was leaning against the desserts on the top tray, which was smeared with white and yellow icing. And she stepped closer, because that was just weird. Why would Dr. Brennan leave it there? Then she pushed open the door, saw the two pairs of feet standing close together next to the cart, and felt the weird urge to swear, because people could have just waited until the event was over and-

Dr. Brennan had his hands fisted in some guy's shirt and was kissing him slowly like they had all the time in the world and the awards ceremony wasn't ending in two minutes. She froze where she was with the door a quarter of the way open and thought if he saw her now she would die of sudden palsying shame right there. Her feet wouldn't move. Numbly she wondered if this kind of thing happened a lot at faculty events, if the awards and the sweater vests were just a cover for some huge secret speed dating underground for lonely PhDs. She was at once impressed with Dr. Brennan's audacity and disappointed that he was finally giving up this sweetly futile thing with Grant at last, not that it had ever done him any good.

She wondered who the lucky fish was. One of the calculus professors had been talking enthusiastically to Dr. Brennan before the awards ceremony, but then again it seemed Brennan knew everybody so she didn't want to assume anything. She couldn't see the other guy's face, but now that she was looking, the faded colour of that coat looked familiar-

Oh Dear God. That was Alan Grant, and she was officially scarred for life because there were people you should never have to see being romantic with each other and professors were right up on the list with grandparents. She was caught between shouting something encouraging and sitting down on the floor to laugh and laugh. It was Grant. It had always been Grant with his half-formed smiles and the quiet watchful silences she had mistaken for neutral indifference. Everything Dr. Brennan had wanted to hear was in the soft clink clink of the beer cans rolling against each other on the floor of Grant's truck and between the slices of toasted wheat sandwiches they shared for lunch every day.

She slid backwards stealthily, guiding the door closed without making it squeak through sheer force of will. The dry shuffle of her sneakers on the tile sounded too loud and out of place but they still didn't notice her. Grant had Dr. Brennan in a death grip and was kissing him back like this was the last plane out of Casablanca.

"Alan," Brennan said breathily, and yup, she was out of there. The door shut in her face.

She stumbled back and tried to move casually to one of the unloaded trays. She didn't know what she was going to tell Henry, but there was no force on earth that would make her go in there. Hazily, she picked up one of the boxes and started arranging it on a plate, not even registering what it was.

Henry popped up at her shoulder three seconds later, and she wondered when life would give her a break. "Luc, where's the cheesecake? We might need it."

She shrugged. "The icing is all smeared. Someone must have forgotten we had cheesecake under there and stacked the trays on top."

Henry cursed quietly. "Really? God, Luc. When did that happen?"

"I don't know- I just noticed it. We have..." she looked down. "Sushi. Will that be enough?"

"Y-eah. Yeah, that's great." Yup, Henry was going to be leaving on a gurney. "Finish that, and we'll put it in place of the cheesecake. I'll go clean up the cake."

"No," she said a little too quickly. Her face felt warm. "Uh, I mean I can take care of it later. I'm staying late anyway. You have other things you need to do."

"Oh." He shrugged, a jerky twitching motion as if being casual was a muscle movement he hadn't learned yet. "Thanks."

"Sure." She carefully fanned out the slices of ginger and tried not to think about her two professors making out in the kitchen next to the tiers of cheesecake bites she had prepared an hour ago.

She was happy for Dr. Brennan. But a little sad at the same time.

After all, Avogadro's number was 6.022x10^23 and McNamara's office hours were Monday and Wednesday from 2 to 3.

There were precious few constants in the universe.

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