Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Bones and am not making a profit. Seriously.
A/N: Honestly, I'm not even sure I ship it, but I really wanted to know why? So, I came up with an answer. I apologize for any mistakes/typos. This has not been beta'd.
Inappropriate did not even begin to cover it. It was unprofessional, improper, and would doubtlessly become messy. It was all the things that Cam tried to avoid in her personal life, not to mention her work. And this had infected both. It was all consuming. Every time she closed her eyes, every time she paused to take a breath, it was there at front of her mind. In a way, it reminded her of the early days of her first relationship with Seeley. The way her private life and her professional world meshed and then tangled together. She felt the same relief at being understood and recognized the way she could never seem to completely separate herself and focus as she knew she should. Not that it was having a negative effect on her work. If anything, she felt more driven, more invested in cases than before. That was like Seeley, too. It made her better, and she was shocked to need that burst from an outside source at this point in her career.
"Dr. Sayoran?" She hears a quiet voice behind her, just beyond the edge her world which was currently confined the microscope in front of her. "Dr. Sayoran?" There it is again, buzzing by her ear. She can't spare the attention to identify the source. They couldn't locate the murder site until she got this sample to Hodgins. Just another moment and she will have what she needs isolated…"Camille." This time the noise cuts through the haze, along with a soft, firm pressure on her shoulder. "It's past midnight. You should go home. You can give it to Dr. Hodgins in the morning." She shakes her head and mumbles something about "almost." She hears a sigh and the sound of feet shuffling away. A few hours later, she's got it. She looks up to find a cup of tea suspended over a Bunsen burner and an intern nodding off in the corner.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? She hadn't been able to consider him as something external to herself in some time. When she was at her most rational, in her top "Cam the Boss" mode, it almost made her angry to think about the way he snuck past her defenses. He maneuvered past newly erected walls and ancient ruins with startling ease. Aside from the obvious issues with him specifically, she really had been planning on taking a break from dating. Cam didn't like failing, and the bizarre ending to her relationship with Paul felt remarkably like a failure. She simply couldn't get over the fact that he was her daughter's gynecologist. That's what she told people, anyway. She certainly couldn't tell them that she was bored or that she just didn't want to go through the motions anymore.
"There's someone, isn't there? Come on, Cam. Don't lie, it doesn't suit you," Paul whines as he paces angrily in front of her. She insists that this isn't the reason. It's almost the truth. It's not the only reason, anyway. She tries not to think about that. She focuses on why she and Paul don't work anymore and haven't worked for a long time. She tells him about those reasons, and not about the pull of poets' hands and the lure the eyes of an exile.
This wasn't boring. She definitely wasn't going through the motions because she never knew what was coming next. A few lines of poetry hidden on her desk, a spirited debate over a candle lit dinner, or even just a significant glance over some paperwork were all enough to send her spinning. In a way she was grateful for her lack of control over the situation, which only further served to show how insane the situation actually was. Camille Sayoran was always in charge. Of everything. Sure, she would sometimes let her people bend the rules, and of course she gave Brennan her free passes. The important part was that it was her choice to allow these things, and no one in the lab questioned her authority any longer.
"May I?" She pauses, flabbergasted. The old-fashioned feeling seemed to fit the old-fashioned question. She wants to say "duh" or "of course" to bring them back to this decade, or even this century. She thinks about saying "no" just because she can, to see what it would feel like. Most of the men she's kissed never gave her the option. In the end, looking into in his eyes and taking a deep breath, she says "Yes, please."
It felt like it would be unfair somehow if she maintained that position of power outside of the lab. Not that she in anyway wanted to be submissive. That would go against everything in her. Instead, she had been searching for something more akin to equality, where control could shift back and forth without causing irreparable harm. That was probably the biggest difference from Seeley. Even if he hadn't been so completely in love with Brennan, any shifting of power between the two of them always resulted in significant damage. The kind that they both eventually realized they couldn't keep recovering from. The absolute, irrational trust in her belief that this was different, that it was not something she would need to recover from sometimes shook her to her bones.
He never simply agrees with her. Ever. He analyzes everything and comes up with his own conclusion. Even if it is something as loaded as what color her eyes are or as innocuous as who makes the best pizza in D.C. And he doesn't argue like all the men she's dated before. He doesn't stomp or yell or condescend. He debates. He listens. He reasons. Most importantly, he doesn't keep score. Therefore, neither does she. So, she was shocked to discover that her eyes are the color of his mother famous chocolate dessert and not the basic brown she had always believed them to be. And he was finally convinced that it was Comet Ping Pong, and not Matchbox, that served the best pizza in the district
So that's why. That's why she was engaged in an entirely unsuitable affair with an intern. Because she wanted to be understood, to be motivated. Because she didn't want to be bored. Because she wanted to be able to give up control sometimes. Because she wanted to feel safe. Alert the media. Camille Sayoran, the women in control, wanted something. Someone. Arastoo. And she was going to have it. When the time came, she would pay the consequences. Gladly. But this once, just this once…she was going to have what she wanted. Inappropriate or not.