Author's note: The book series the characters discuss is made up, because I realized the author of the real science fiction series I intended to allude to is against fan fiction and although their work is merely mentioned in this story, I felt it might be safer and more professional to change the names. Also, Oliver Wells is not an option in the character drop-down menu – that is the only reason he isn't tagged as a character.

The sun was up, there was a brand new victim in the lab, and Dr. Oliver Wells had plenty of string cheese in his lunch bag. There was nothing, not a single thing, that could throw him off his A-game that day. At least that was what he thought, until the gears of his unperturbed morning came to a grinding halt. Almost in slow motion, he saw her for the first time, reading a list of the victim's found belongings to Dr. Brennan off of a clipboard. Her silky hair fell into her eyes, and she pushed it back behind her ear, only for it to fall again. Dr. Brennan said something (he was momentarily unable to hear anything but his own pulsing heartbeat, or he would have thought something of it), and she smiled, handing over the clipboard. The beautiful angel in the oversized Jeffersonian shirt disappeared into another room.

"Oliver? Ollllliverrrrrrr…."

Once she was out of sight, he came to his senses abruptly on the forensic platform. "What?"

"You okay, dude?" asked Hodgins.

Angela smirked behind the large camera lens as she photographed everything meticulously. "She's cute, isn't she?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," said Oliver. He bent his head over the bones.

"Her name is Georgia," said Angela, continuing as if he hadn't spoken. "She's sort of like an extra intern, but with a lot more fetching of lattes and a lot less examination of corpses."

"Why would Dr. Brennan need another intern?" Oliver shot back. "I'm more than sufficient."

"There's plenty of stuff she can do that won't injure your pride." Angela snapped a few more photos of the remains.

"Booth says he wants all of us to take a break so he and his people can go over all the remains with special spectrographic equipment," said Cam, dropping her cell phone back into her pocket.

"How long is that gonna take?" Hodgins protested. "What if there's no live evidence by the time they're done?"

"I highly doubt that their equipment is better than our equipment," objected Dr. Brennan.

"It's a request from the FBI," said Cam. "I don't like it either. Here they come."

A team of FBI personnel marched into the Jeffersonian with briefcases of equipment. Everyone on the platform went elsewhere.

Oliver pulled off his non-latex gloves and escaped into the room he had watched the new girl enter. At first it looked like the room was empty, but then he heard someone turn a page of a book. He peeked over the bone examination table, bare for now and with the magnification equipment shut off. In the back corner of the bones room sat Georgia, cross-legged with a book in her hand. "You shouldn't read that," he said.

She jumped and hit her head on the wall behind her. "Ow, holy shit," she moaned. "Who are you and what is your problem?"

"I'm Dr. Oliver Wells and you have to read Song of the Children first, or else The Shadow doesn't make any sense," he said, crossing his arms.

"I'm re-reading the series for the fourth time," she said sharply, rubbing the back of her head. "I can practically recite Song of the Children."

"Do it," he said. "Unless you were being hyperbolic." She raised her head slowly and fixed him with a look of utter disbelief.

"Hyperbolic," she said, tucking her book under one arm and brushing past him on her way out of the room.

Oliver stared at the corner, now empty, for several seconds. The thought that the exchange could have gone worse was followed by a mental image of a burning airplane wreck.

The next morning at five o'clock, Georgia balanced two trays of to-go coffee cups as she attempted to push the door open with her shoulder. She was really tempted to go out and buy a rolling cart.

"Thanks," she said to the man who held the door open for her.

"Do you need help?"

The voice was familiar. She looked around; it was the douche from the bone room the day before. "Not from you," she said.

"It's not my fault you don't say what you mean," he said.

"We both know my meaning was never an issue for you," she retorted. "I know your type; you just enjoy the rush of being smarter than everyone else. It's an adrenaline high."

One of the trays slipped and, just as she opened her mouth in a dismayed O, he lunged forward to catch it.

"Hand it over," he said. After their shared moment of panic, they were suddenly standing very close together. Again, his heartbeat was like a drum in his chest. Logically, he knew she couldn't hear it, but he felt vulnerable, like everyone in the whole building was listening to the sound of his blood circulating.

She looked up at his flushed face, and he looked down into her big green eyes, and slowly without taking her eyes away, she relinquished her grasp on the tray. Her lips were slightly parted, as if they didn't know what to say. It seemed to take her immense focus to eke out the words, "Be… careful… with that."

"I will," he said, lost in a fog, staring at her lips, not even paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth.

Then, she looked away, and the fog lifted. He was carrying a tray of to-go coffee cups. How peculiar.

"Coffee, anyone?" Georgia called out to the people milling around the forensic platform. A grateful team of Jeffersonian forensic scientists emerged from the crowd of FBI forensic squad members.

"You're a life-saver."

"I'm so glad we hired you…"

"Actually," said Oliver. "I carried one of the trays about one sixth of the way and held the door open, so technically, I brought about one eighth of your coffee."

"Give it a rest," said Georgia. "Literally no one cares."

Oliver rounded on her, arms crossed. "What about me? I injured your pride yesterday so now I don't count as a person anymore?"

"No," she sighed. "If you had been paying attention, you'd have noticed that you regularly injure your own pride and fail to notice." Angela looked like she was holding back a peal of laughter.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Oliver. "No wonder you don't have any credentials."

"Talk to me again before 11am and you'll fit in one of those evidence bags," said Georgia.

"If you could get away with murder inside the Jeffersonian, I'd be interested to see."

Cam looked on with a mixture of amusement and sheer horror as she sipped her coffee. It had been two days. TWO DAYS. Not even Oliver could make an enemy in two days, right? …. Right? She sincerely hoped they would get over whatever their problem was, if only to eliminate the mountains of paperwork necessitated by the murder of an intern on the Jeffersonian premises.

"Can I ask you something?" said Georgia, putting down her sandwich momentarily.

"Fire away," said Angela.

"Who's the incredible douchebag in the white lab coat?"

"Oliver Wells," said Angela and Hodgins in unison.

"Wow," said Georgia, picking at her sandwich crust. "Sounds like he's got a track record."

Hodgins said, "He's rude, he's selfish, he - OW!"

Angela elbowed him. "Oliver just doesn't know how to talk to people," she said, ignoring Hodgins trying to communicate confusion via facial expression.

Georgia bit back a laugh. Married. Definitely married, and if not, they should have been. "So he has no social skills. Is that why he won't stop staring at me?"

"No, that's because he thinks you're hot," said Angela.

Georgia blushed a tiny bit. "Oh." She flashed back to the miraculous lack of coffee spillage that morning while she and Oliver were busy staring into each other's eyes. Nobody needed to know about the beat her heart had skipped that morning. "I hate him," she declared, and took a big bite of the sandwich in her hand. Angela and Hodgins exchanged a look.

"Those two are a bomb waiting to explode," said Angela, peering at Georgia and Oliver through Dr. Brennan's blinds.

"I assume that the bomb and resulting explosion are metaphors for something," said Dr. Brennan.

"Look at them," Angela pressed, pointing at Georgia and Oliver through the blinds. "They drive each other crazy."

Dr. Brennan squinted. "They appear to be arguing."

"They're always arguing." Angela rolled her eyes. "That's the point. Who needs to argue that much?"

"Perhaps they dislike each other."

"Or they really like each other," said Angela. "Who knows? We could be going to their wedding next." Or, at the very least, they'd have wild sex in the Egyptian artifact storage room.

"That is illogical," said Dr. Brennan. "Why would two people who argue all the time fall in love?"

"What about you and Booth?"

"Booth and I eventually came to a mutual understanding of the necessity of both of our jobs," said Dr. Brennan. "We never argued like that."

"That's probably because neither one of you is Oliver Wells," said Angela.

Meanwhile, by the railing leading up to the forensic platform, the conversation had taken a nasty, if literary, turn. If they had known they were being watched, they might have picked a different topic to yell at each other about. Georgia might have, in any case. It was pretty well documented that Oliver had no shame.

"If you think Jordan Beckett was the ultimate super-soldier, I've got news for you," said Oliver. "He cracked under pressure in command training."

"Yeah," said Georgia. "Because he was nine years old!"

"Fitting, since the task at hand was child's play." What was everyone's deal with the age ranges? There was nothing shocking about a small child piloting a spaceship. He knew he was smart enough to command an alien-hunting space fleet at the age of seven.

"You're kidding, right? The whole point of that book was that he never should have been piloting that fleet," she retorted.

"Yeah, because Donald would have done it better," he said.

"Donald was just a really smart little kid," said Georgia. "Not a natural leader."

"So you're saying you have to be a natural leader to function as a leader in any capacity?" he said.

"No," she argued. "I'm talking about this context specifically and the comparison between two specific characters"-

"But you think Jordan would have beaten him if they were both in command school at the same time, just because he was charismatic?" said Oliver.

"Yes!" she cried. "Jordan beats Donald for commander any day of the week because he inherently understands team dynamics, knows how to recognize other people's strengths, and"-

"He's better because he has a specific set of social skills," Oliver interrupted. "Not because he's smart. That's what you're saying."

"Wow, maybe if you stopped interrupting me, you'd hear what I'm actually trying to say," said Georgia.

"You think social skills trump intelligence," accused Oliver. Okay, maybe he was starting to take it personally.

"What, you mean outside the context of a fictional work by Jana Marie Sayer?" she said, confused.

"Yeah, like what about the lab?" he said. "Dr. Saroyan is in charge even though Dr. Brennan is clearly more intelligent, and also me. Why? I don't get it."

"Dr. Saroyan is in charge because she has leadership skills," said Georgia. "Anyone can see that. Man, I'd hate to be in your book club."

"Intelligence counts for nothing with you?" said Oliver incredulously.

"Intelligence is worth nothing if you don't know what to do with it in the big picture."

"What about me, then?" pressed Oliver.

"Oh, you don't want to go there," said Georgia.

"Maybe I do."

"You're really close to my face," said Georgia softly.

It was true. Somehow, while they argued, they had managed to inch closer to each other until their noses were mere centimeters from each other. His brow was furrowed, like he was staring at a problem he didn't understand, and her eyes were wide and confused, like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh," breathed Oliver, but forgot what she'd said.

"Maybe… we should... back up," whispered Georgia.

"Sorry, what?" murmured Oliver.

"I said… I said get out of my face," Georgia snapped suddenly, pushing him away from her and running off, leaving Oliver standing alone at the base of the forensic platform, still trying to figure out what had happened.

"See?" said Angela. "They fit better than they realize."

Dr. Brennan pursed her lips. "I don't know about that."

Angela kept an eye on the Egyptian artifact storage room for the rest of the day. You never knew when people were going to drop all semblance of professionalism at the Jeffersonian, especially in terms of mixing work with personal affairs.

"Have you ever had an inappropriate work romance before?" Oliver tugged on a pair of sterile gloves. It was an odd feeling. There was so much tension, and body heat, and brain fog, and -

"Yeah," said Hodgins. "Don't know if you've noticed, but my wife works ten feet away. Why?" He eyed Oliver, who was bent over the remains, although he didn't appear to actually be looking at them.

"No reason."

Hodgins laughed. He could practically see Georgia's name written on Oliver's forehead. "You two are a disaster waiting to happen."

Oliver twirled a magnifying glass between his fingers absentmindedly. Georgia was proving to be an incredible distraction. He was hypnotized by the memory of the scent of her hair. It smelled like vanilla. He imagined his hand running through that hair, how soft it would be, how she'd roll over in his bed and look at him with those big green eyes. He dropped the magnifying glass with a loud clatter on the forensic platform but the thought of retrieving it was eclipsed by another daydream. Perhaps she was having similar thoughts.

"Dr. Wells, please pick up that magnifying glass before someone trips on it," said Cam.

As he did so, he cast an eye towards Hodgins. He was going to need some advice… tomorrow. First, he had to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he couldn't handle this himself.

Georgia was sorting some of Angela's computer files. Angela was adept with technology, but for some reason, her desktop was a random mishmash of murder-related content and pictures of her kid. How the woman got anything done on this machine, Georgia couldn't fathom..

"Hey."

Georgia jumped.

"Sorry," said Oliver, standing right behind her as she turned around. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm just here because I have something I need to ask you."

"What?" she said, through gritted teeth.

"We should have sex," he said bluntly.

"First of all, that's not a question," she said. "And second of all, no, we shouldn't!"

"Why not?" he probed.

"Third of all," she said, and then she said something else that was profane and descriptive and sent Oliver out of the office with his tail between his legs.

He'd ask Hodgins tomorrow.

"There's this great hiking trail Angela and I went to a while ago," said Hodgins. "It's pretty romantic around this time of year. The colors are amazing, there are lots of great birds, and I got a ton of interesting samples while we were out there."

"Do you think I should take her hiking?" said Oliver.

"I think it's worth a shot. The place is great; I'll email you directions!"

"Okay," said Oliver.

On his way out of Hodgins's office, lost in thought about Georgia, he bumped into her forcefully. She fell to the floor and dropped the plastic bag she was holding.

"Watch out, Oliver," she shouted, shoving him away when he tried to help her up. "This is evidence, for crying out loud! You're lucky it's in a plastic bag!"

While she was retrieving the victim's (thankfully insulated and intact) wallet, he said, "Do you want to go hiking with me this weekend?"

"Not in a million years," she said, smoothing off her dress and picking up her dropped cell phone. She pushed past him to deliver the wallet to Hodgins.

Oliver returned to the forensic platform. They had a lot of bones to examine.

He and Dr. Brennan were comparing bone and tissue damage when Georgia happened to walk by the platform. Oliver set down the human remains and leaned over the rail of the platform. "Georgia! Hey, Georgia!"

"What?" She sounded about as enthused as a funeral attendee.

"Why don't you want to go hiking with me?" he called.

"Dr. Wells, your focus should be on these human remains," said Dr. Brennan sternly.

"Just drop it, Oliver," said Georgia. "You should be working. As much as I'd love to watch them fire you."

"You like me," he said loudly. "Everyone else in this building knows it, so why can't you just admit it? You like me! Go find your hiking boots, because we're going hiking together, because you like me!"

"There is not one true clause in that statement," Georgia deadpanned.

"Dr. Wells," called Dr. Brennan. "I have two other interns who are also available today if your divided focus is a problem."

He looked back at Dr. Brennan, and when he turned back around, Georgia was gone. The mental footage of the airplane wreck was playing again.

The next morning, at exactly eight o'clock, Oliver popped into Angela's office.

"Hi Oliver," she said, warily. "What do you need?" She had just arrived at work, like she always did at that exact time.

"Advice," he said. "Non-work-related."

"Okay, shoot," she said, knowing exactly what this conversation was going to be.

"Georgia doesn't like me."

"Georgia is her own person," said Angela. "If she doesn't like you, then she doesn't like you."

"But I think she does," he protested. "I've been talking to Dr. Sweets, and he says she might admit that she likes me if I picked the right first date."

"Sweets is pretty good at profiling murderers, Oliver," said Angela. "But his working knowledge of women leaves a lot of room for improvement."

"Look, I just need a push in the right direction," he said. "People keep saying you have a vast but approximate knowledge of human behavior and, as little as you know about actual science, I find that you are usually the one to dispense practical knowledge of emotional affairs."

Angela, ignoring the backhanded compliment, looked him up and down. "You've never been on a date before," she concluded out loud.

"You don't know that," said Oliver, looking around to make sure nobody heard. "How can you know that?" he said in a strained whisper.

"There's nothing wrong with that," said Angela, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Can you help me or not?"

Angela sighed. "Ask her for a drink or something. Something casual. No pressure. Tell her she looks nice, let the conversation flow, and you're probably good to go."

"Thanks." Oliver walked out of the room.

"You're welcome," said Angela to the empty space. She returned to the bright screen of the missing persons' database.