Warning: Spoilers for The Bone That Blew

No surprises

You forgot how much she hated surprises. She still does, always did, even when she was a little girl, hardly higher than your knee. "No! I want to find out myself!" she would say, furrowing her forehead as she set to learning something. She was always curious, always determined to figure things out on her own. She didn't want you doing it for her, or telling her how it would come out before she'd neared the conclusion.

You, on the other hand, were so excited about and impatient to show her the end result, sometimes, that you forgot that the journey was its own reward. She loved the learning, the journey part, and she always got to the end faster than you thought she would, faster than you gave her credit for. Even then, she'd been smarter than you, and she resented your interfering with her process, even as she didn't mind using you as a reference.

It shouldn't surprise you, therefore, that what you'd hoped would be a nice surprise, your working near her in someplace she loved so much, wasn't nice at all, not to her. Of course, the nasty surprise of you and her mother disappearing, and then Russ? Another reason why she always stood back, off to the side, always observing, taking the long look to see what was coming. She didn't like surprises, still. She probably hated them worse than before, because of you. It was your fault, which shouldn't surprise you, though you'd let it.

Really, you only wanted to work with her, be near her, help her with something that was important to her. But even as you told that obnoxious little shit of a shrink (who was right, you were a sociopath, but a charming one, just like he said) that he was full of it for telling your pumpkin that she still had abandonment issues, you figured that it was probably something like that. It wasn't so much that she was afraid of letting you in, in case you abandoned her again, though that might be some of it— it was probably more that she was angry, insulted even, that you would think you could just worm your way in to her workplace and her life without asking her permission directly. You'd betrayed her by not letting her decide for herself whether she'd welcome your working there—re-appearing without warning, just like you'd disappeared, all those years ago. You'd surprised her, put her on the defensive, when really, you should be doing whatever she wanted you to, including staying away. After all, if it wasn't for her, you'd be doing hard time for a killing you had no regrets over, none whatsoever.

You should have been straightforward and honest with her about wanting to see her more. But you were worried that she would reject you, so you forgot how much she hated surprises. Forgot, too, that you had no right to try and make her accept you. She'd be well within her rights, now that she'd set you free, to also cut you loose. But oh, you hoped that she wouldn't.

You had so much to make up to her, and there was no good place to start. You should have just taken what she gave you, and run with it, or asked her where she wanted to go next. Bad enough to assume that just because you'd gotten her started in science, you could still lay claim to her intellectual haven—but you'd invaded her home, and the things she held sacred, as she made clear to you when you tried to surprise her with the help you were just trying to give the rest of her team. She still hated surprises, and now she might even hate you, maybe, for tainting the case.

You watched her stalk off in anger, realizing all over how you'd failed in the past, and failed again just now. You should have just listened to her, not tried to second guess her about the things that she really wanted and needed from you. You'd done okay with her when you were still in jail and she came to see you on her own terms—more than okay, since she put her neck on the line for you. Pushing back at her now that you were out was actually moving the both of you backwards. Now, she didn't even trust you to keep your word, and yes, you'd broken it, by both the letter and spirit. She thought the law was important, respected it, held it sacred, almost. Even as she found the loophole in it, for you, she did it in a forthright, honorable way. With his help.

Him. He took what she gave him, and ran with it. She gave him something to run with—different than you, and no wonder. He didn't rush her, not the way you did. He was like her, in a lot of ways—he needed to find things out for himself, and he didn't like it when other people got in his way. That they were looking to find the same things out, to the same end, on parallel tracks, made it easier for him than for you.

You'd looked into him, of course, when you found out she was working with him. He was a good man. Better than you, certainly. And he was there for her, didn't push her, didn't surprise her. Instead, he pointed things out she might otherwise miss and worked with her to decide how they fit in, let her decide what conclusions she would draw. You wouldn't be surprised if she talked to him a lot about you before and while you were in prison—certainly he'd made it clear to you and your Russell that he really would kill either one of you if either of you left her again. You didn't doubt it—he knew her well, cared about her, cared for her, tried to protect her, and did it all better than you.

But he understood you, too. You'd dug deep-- he knew what it meant to do whatever it took to protect the people you loved. He wasn't a sociopath, though-- he felt bad about the people he didn't hesitate to kill, unlike you.

So you asked him for help, in a roundabout way, and also told him that you approved of whatever role he had or might have in her life. As if he'd ever ask your permission. Hell, if you said no, he would probably laugh at you. Or shoot you. Or both. And the asking was awkward—you shouldn't have joked around with him like that, you really hadn't earned the right—and he looked actually pained after you asked him if he didn't think she was beautiful. This being straightforward thing after years on the run was going to be hard, and was going to take getting used to. But it was going to be the only way to salvage anything with her. You weren't just trying to make nice with him, either, though you knew that if he decided you were bad for her, he wouldn't hesitate to tell her or you so-- and then would do whatever it took to stop you from hurting her. He'd feel bad about it, but he'd do it anyway. If he told you to drop it, you would—he had better instincts about her than you did, anymore.

Of course, he was probably still trying to find out some things for himself, probably exactly where he stood with her—no surprise he might feel uneasy, she'd always refused to say what she thought until she was ready to announce her final conclusion. Your leaving made her even more reticent and reserved than she'd been even then, when she was a quiet, inquisitive, serious little girl. She'd always been solemn, and slow to smile or laugh—even then, she was always assessing. Your leaving her made her grave and lonely, instead, not prone at all to smile, or laugh, or be carefree in any way. She was care full, wary of anyone and everything that surrounded her, and you still weren't done digging up all the information on those foster homes to find out what else might have happened—as though your leaving wasn't enough. It would be hard for him to get her to let all of that go so he could tell where he stood, though by any measure, he'd succeeded where no one else had.

In any event, though, you were pretty sure he was in love with her, not just the best friend and protector she could ever possibly have. That was good. He was a good man, a good father, a good friend, and she was the best. She deserved someone who wouldn't betray her, and would watch out for her so she could do what she did best—find things out for herself, faster and quicker than anyone else. You were pretty sure that she loved him, too, though for whatever reason she was hiding it from herself as well as him. Maybe you'd find out more about why they were still only partners, if he could convince her to let you stick around.

He agreed to say something to her, though he gave you that look—the one that said he'd be watching you, and that he was reserving judgment for now. It was fair enough. He was the lawman, an old-fashioned kind, none of this new-fangled crap. He could and would be prosecutor, judge, jury, and executioner if the situation called for it. But so far, he'd granted you leniency, and intervened on your behalf. So you did what you could with the reprieve, and tried to make it up to her by doing something for him.

She was too old and you'd hurt her too much for you to be allowed to be there directly for her—she'd surpassed you in so many ways, and in any event, he'd taken a place with her that you'd never fill. But one thing you'd learned is that she would do anything for someone she called family, even you, on her terms. Her family, in turn was loyal to her. The pained looks and troubled countenances all through your trial were testament—maybe you could take care of her people, since she wouldn't let you take care of her. If she would let you be there for his son, because if no one else was family, then he and his son were, well, you'd let her keep you at arm's length—it was still within distance to see her, speak with her, hear how she was doing.

She knew what was coming with the "experiment" with the soda and candy, and the chemical interaction was no surprise to her. But the way her smile bloomed as she enjoyed his son's excitement and surprise was worth every bit of it. And the way her smile bloomed even more, and stayed in place, didn't fade right away, as the two of them talked overhead? That he made her smile when no else did, and that her smile bloomed brighter, lingered longer, re-appeared more often when he was around, rather than with anyone else? That didn't surprise you.