Disclaimer: Don't own Bones. I'm just borrowing the characters for a few minutes to entertain myself and hopefully a few others for non-profit reasons.
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Somewhere between arguing about the drug war and trying to explain why you're supposed to want to visit your mother's grave, I realize the barrier between me and Bones has mysteriously gone down. All sense of her space, my space—poof! Gone. Her head is resting against my shoulder, both of us scrunched down in our seats so far that my knees are crammed up painfully under the dash, her fingers playing with the collar of my coat. Sure, she's doing it to be annoying, and we're waiting for some punkass dealer to try and push heroin in the alley across the street, but we could just be two kids at a drive-in movie, as comfortably intimate as we are. Except that she's Temperance Brennan, and the idea of being any sort of intimate with a woman who struggles so hard to understand something as basically human as love is…well, frightening.
Also, she steals my French fries.