"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Drop me at the lab, please," I say, exhausted. My head rests upon the head board of the black SUV and I'm thankful we're not riding around the Los Angeles area in the Corvette - it had no head rests.
I can feel his eyes on me, the heat coursing through my skin, "Temperance, go home. You can barely keep your eyes open; you need sleep - in your bed." He used my first name, and I'm now more reluctant to go to the lab and drown myself in work. "The jet lag will hit you like a brick in a few hours and you'll thank me when it does."
"I suppose you're right," I put my guard down. I'm too tired to argue with him over trivial matters. "I'll go into work early tomorrow."
I start thinking about the case and about the trip, in general. We stop at a red light. I turn to Booth, who's lightly drumming his fingers on the wheel, "those women at the sky bar and on the beach," I start. "I can understand, from an anthropological standpoint, why they would change themselves to fit into a certain subculture - but that was extreme." I take a breathe straightening out my thoughts.
Booth lightly touches my forearm, I look down, hesitantly, before bringing my eyes to meet his. "Of course you don't get it."
I wait for him to continue, but he closes his mouth, satisfied almost. "What? Why?"
He takes a slow breath in and out, before answering. "Because when you look the way that you look, you don't have to change; you just have to be yourself," he withdraws his hand and places it back on the wheel.
The red light changes to green and the SUV is in motion again. I lean my head back, contemplating his response. The only rational reason I can come up with is: beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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