A/N: So, this is quite literally the first story I have ever written. I'm not very confident as a writer but I really wish their were more Cam/Arastoo stories around so I thought I'd post one of my own. But I'm mainly just writing for fun you could say. I don't plan on this being 'chapters' so much as a series of one-shots that takes place at different times during the course of the series. I'll give you something of a timeline for when each chapter is supposed to be taking place.

Set in Season 7, Post-The Don't In The Do


'He really is quite dedicated' Dr. Camille Saroyan thinks as she notices intern Arastoo Vaziri sitting in the Jeffersonian's break area, working late into the evening yet again. As much as learning that the forensics journal wasn't going to publish his article had clearly upset him, she found it admirable that he didn't really let it set him back. Rather, the rejection seemed to encourage him to work even harder to contribute to the field of forensic anthropology. 'Although' Cam thinks as she walks her way to where he is seated, 'I really hope that he remembers to take a night off to relax every so often.'

"Mr. Vaziri" she says, giving him a gentle smile, "It's past midnight, you should go home."

"Dr. Saroyan" Arastoo replies, nodding his head at her in greeting, "Oh, I didn't even realize it was already so..." he continues glancing at his watch.

"Yes, so unless you would like to keep the security guards company overnight, I would suggest you call it a day." she tells him.

"Of course, Dr. Saroyan. This is nothing I can't work on at home anyways." Arastoo says with a slight smile as he gathers his belongings.

"...Or you could take a break and get some rest tonight, Mr. Vaziri. This is the third time this week I've seen you up here working after Dr. Brennan has gone home. You're going to exhaust yourself at this rate." she responds, giving him a pointed look.

Arastoo laughs at that, giving her a grin. "I could say the same to you if you've really been around to notice how often I've been staying late."

Cam falters at that and he laughs again at her momentary speechlessness. "Yes, well, I'm the boss so it's part of my job description."

"To exhaust yourself?"

"What? No, to...I'm not the one who should be on the defensive here." she asserts as Arastoo chuckles and shoots her a teasing grin.

He stands up, bag in hand and together they head downstairs towards the building entrance. "My sincerest apologies, Dr. Saroyan. I'm always just a little caught off guard when any conversation with you involves any kind of personal matter. But if it will help you to rest easier at night, I've actually been doing something I find to be quite relaxing on the nights I stay late." he says with a flourish as they walk.

The expression on her face must say what she's thinking and so he elaborates. "Some people choose to watch TV and be lazy or go to a bar to relax. But myself, well, I prefer to write."

Cam fails to keep the tone of surprise out of her voice. "Wait, write? Like Dr. Brennan does? I had no idea you were a writer."

"Not quite, my writing has absolutely nothing to do with my career field."

"Well thank goodness for that, I don't know how she can choose to willingly bring this work home with her."

"I'd have to agree with you about that, Dr. Saroyan. I love the field of forensic sciences, but I would much rather read something that brings beauty to this world than a murder mystery." Arastoo tells her as they slowly walk towards the parking garage.

She gives him a pleasant smile before trying to persist with her earlier question, "Okay, nothing homicidal."

"Nothing homicidal." he comments and Cam waits for him to continue...which he doesn't.

"Soooooo..." she starts, gesturing for him to elaborate.

"So?" he asks in feigned ignorance that tells her he knows exactly what she's asking.

She shoots him a look of 'really? you're playing that card?' before giving in. "What do you write about?"

Arastoo smiles as she asks this and looks down shyly, hesitant to answer before looking her straight in the eyes and stating bluntly: "I write about sex."

She stops walking does a double take at that, speechless in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I write about sex." he repeats shooting her another teasing grin and Cam is suddenly picturing some modern version of The Kama Sutra before he continues. "And democracy. And love."

She tilts her head in confusion as they continue walking again and he gives her an honest smile before finally saying: "I write poetry Dr. Saroyan. I'm a poet."

"Oh! Oh, really?"

Arastoo nods his head in the affirmative and she finds herself less surprised than she had expected at this revelation. 'A poet makes much more sense than an underground sex journalist.' She shoots him a gentle smile. 'And somehow Mr. Vaziri does seem the type to have quite the romantic side to him.'

"Have you been writing long?' Cam inquires out of pure interest about the man walking at her side. 'I know I don't usually let myself get involved in the personal matter of my co-workers, but...whatever, this doesn't count, we're not at work anymore.'

"You could say that, mostly just recreationally, for fun..." he trails off and hesitates.

"Only mostly?" she asks, picking up of something he's not saying.

"Well...I published some of it in an underground press once..."

"So, you're a published poet?" she asks, impressed.

"...I suppose, technically." Arastoo paused before continuing. "Although, I was exiled from Iran as a result."

Cam feels her jaw drop at that. "Wh- Oh, wow."

"Yeah, I was a crazy, naive 18-year-old kid, who foolishly believed that it was a good idea and so I had to flee the country or be arrested." he explained with a slight laugh.

"That's...incredible, awful that you can never go home to Iran, but incredible." she says in astonishment.

"Yeah, well, I mostly just write for my own enjoyment now. My brother's been trying to convince me I should try publishing something here in America, but..."

"Oh! Yes, yes! You should!" she tells him, feeling more than a little excited at the prospect.

Arastoo laughs at her unexpected enthusiasm. "I'm not sure if anything I write is really good enough for publication but, I'll think about."

"Good! I'd love to read it myself." Cam tells him earnestly as they reach where she parked her car.

Arastoo reach into his bag to pull out what appears to be a small, well-used journal before turning to look her in the eyes.

"Tell you what, if you can promise me you won't open it before you return home, I'll leave my journal with you, and you can read as much as you like."

She nods her head quickly in agreement. "Deal." she says giving him a wide smile.

He hands her the journal and with a nod and a wave, turns around to walk back down the way they came. Cam furrows her brow.

"Mr. Vaziri? Don't you need your car to get home?"

"Yes, of course. But we walked right by it a while back now." Arastoo replies with a wink at her and she finds herself moved by the subtle expression of kindness he's shown, walking her to her car.

She tries and fails to hold back a smile. "Have a good night, Mr. Vaziri."

"You as well, Dr. Saroyan. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

And with than he turns back around towards where his own car is parked. Cam gets into her own car, setting Arastoo's journal on the passenger side seat, and starts the engine. The clock on the mantle flashed 1:34 AM and she wonders how she actually just spent over an hour in a non-work related discussion with Arastoo Vaziri.


It is not until breakfast the next morning, after she has a decent amount of caffeine in her system that she decides to open Mr. Vaziri's journal. She slams it shut a moment later and reaches for her cell phone.

Your poetry is in Farsi, Mr. Vaziri. I can't read this, Cam tells him via text.

She's slightly annoyed and rather amused that he pulled this on her, because she really should have known that an Iranian poet turned political exile for his poetry, would write poetry in Farsi. Then he replies and Cam doesn't think he heart has ever pounded so hard from a simple text message.

I know. But even so, I imagine you will appreciate the beauty in the calligraphy of Farsi. It will be my pleasure to read it for you the next time we both find ourselves working a little too late at the Jeffersonian. Have a wonderful day, Dr. Saroyan.

Her hand drops to lay on top of his journal and she tries not to panic about what the hell she may of just gotten herself into.