"I would be very interested in being with somebody like you, just not you specifically."
Temperance Brennan looked up at me over her computer monitor with her big blue eyes, and I wondered briefly if she was deliberately trying to pull my strings, but I fell for it anyway. I know she doesn't do it intentionally. She is just incredibly direct.
I didn't realize what I was getting into when I decided to stop by her office on my way home. Or did I? I told myself that I was just going to make sure she was going to pick up her files and then go home, like she had promised. Truthfully, I knew what happened at the diner was still weighing on both of our minds, and this is where she goes when she needs to mull things over. I was still standing in the doorway to her office, holding the door knob in my hand.
"What is that supposed to mean, specifically?" I braced myself for one of those answers you get when you are stupid enough to ask a question you know better than asking.
"I simply mean that I find you sexually attractive, as I am sure, most members of the opposite sex do. I am no different. It is our roles in the workplace, and our friendship, or more specifically, the fear of losing it, that keeps us from exploring other options."
I was genuinely floored, and stunned speechless at this point. It took me several minutes to process what she was saying, translate it, and marvel at how she said it like she was ordering a salad and a milkshake.
"Are you coming on to me, Bones?" There was another one of those questions. Apparently I haven't learned my lesson. It didn't help that I intended to deliver the question with sarcasm, but it came out as more of a strangled whisper. I finally remembered to keep walking into her office. I pried my fingers off the door knob, and tried to look nonchalant as I seated myself on the sofa.
"Not at all. I just don't want you feeling inferior, you know, after what that guy said."
"You are aware that he was insulting you, not me, right?" I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, concerned that I had to explain this to her. "He was insinuating that you are easy, Bones, that you sleep around with whoever..." She interrupted me with a look that told me to get to the point. "He only questioned my abilities because you told him that we didn't..." I had to close my eyes and count to ten. "That is why I punched him, not because. . . I am not feeling. . . I am not inferior, OK?"
"That is exactly what I am saying, that you shouldn't. Just because I made a conscious decision to not explore that particular avenue, that doesn't mean that you are not capable of providing a fulfilling sexual experience with whomever you choose."
I needed her to quit analyzing my appeal to the opposite sex, so of course, I did the most logical thing, I urged her on further. I was starting to invision an impending train wreck at the end of this discussion. "If you find me so sexually attractive, why shouldn't we just do it then?" In a million years, I never imagined myself uttering those words, at least out loud, and while sober.
"I already told you. We can't become sexual partners, because I care about you too much. Losing you is not a risk I am willing to take."
"But you are willing to think about it. You can't just say things like that, like it doesn't mean anything just because you are saying it hypothetically."
"Hypothetically speaking, what is the risk in thinking about it?"
I found myself on my feet and in front of her desk, leaning across it to look at her face to face. "I think both of us know that the more you think about it, the more you want it. That is where the risk comes into play. You find yourself wondering if it would be worth the risk."
She looked away, and then back down at her computer. I finally had her attention. I heard a voice in my head that told me I might have gone too far, but I ignored it.
"Parading random guys into your bedroom is not an acceptable risk either. You can't even think it is an acceptable substitution. If you do, Bones, than I think you are missing the point."
"Substitution? For you?"
She looked at me again, daring me to take it further than I already have. At this point, I consider it permission, and I accept her challenge.
"You are trying to substitute something fake for the real thing. Having a sexual partner..." I felt I needed to put air quotes around this to emphasize my disapproval in her choice of terms. "...that gathers up their clothes and leaves before your heart rate has returned to normal and the sweat has had time to dry off your body is not an acceptable substitute for the real thing. The real thing is making love with somebody you have feelings for, that you want to fall asleep with when you are exhausted after making love, and wake up to in the morning wrapped in their arms. Somebody that thinks it is OK if sometimes that is all you want, somebody to hold you, or for you to hold."
"I am pretty sure I don't know anybody like that, but you can bet I am going to start looking."
She flashed me a smile then, and I was pretty sure we understood each other. Just to make sure, I had to clarify one last thing. I raised my eyebrows and pasted on one of my best charm smiles. "I just want you to know that I would be very interested in being that person with somebody like you, just not you specifically."