AN: Thanks to BBAddict for reviewing!
2.
It's…ironic. It's something I don't exactly know how to handle. I like it. I despise it. I'm involved with a love-hate relationship with these new feelings. And it's ironic because the love-hate what-cha-ma-call-it was originally how I felt about my partnership. Only recently I've realized that the hate section has dropped off the face of the planet. In my opinion, this was bound to happen. It was a only matter of time before I fell. And I'll tell you what, I didn't just fall, I completely wiped out.
I just wish I had some kind of hint that she was floored with me.
Looking back, I don't know when exactly I crossed that line, the line (which I may add, is ironic in itself due to the fact that I'm the one who made it!) that kept work relationships separate from romantic ones. By the time I was blown up by her Kenmore, I started truly caring for her because she was my friend. I respected her before, but unlike then, the thought of her getting hurt or killed actually makes me physically sick.…but I digress.
After she discovered her father was alive, that was about the time we developed a deeper friendship, a kind of unspoken connection. Things got muddled not long after that, and I suspect that's when I started unconsciously feeling that I loved her…and another score for irony, that feeling drove me to start up a relationship with Cam and sleep with Rebecca. Christ, that was awkward. And when Sully came along…it kinda hit for me.
I was in love with my best friend.
According to Jack Hodgins, there was a running bet, one that has been going on for 2 years.
Anyway, I'll be honest--I about choked on my coffee when Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt said that we were fighting because we both thought that the reason why she didn't sail off into the sunset with Sully was because of her ties to me. God, I wished he was wrong.
But I deal. I deal with the insane urges to just kiss her without warning when we're alone, our faces inches apart when we're bickering. I deal with my overactive imagination, especially when I'm thinking about how we were left at the alter, or what she looks like under the little black dress in Vegas. But I also imagine what would happen if she ever left, or caught that bullet in the skull, and God forbid, if she was left in that stinking car in the ground. It terrifies me.
And it terrifies me thinking she'll never know how I feel.
Which is why I'm about to do the unthinkable.
God I tried. I tried so hard to keep going on as same old me. Bones' best friend, partner, family. Even if I'm dejected (because to her, love does not exist. Just biological urges and a release of endorphins or whatever) but at least now, I won't lie awake in bed wondering if something tragic would happen and I passed away, and she'd never know…yeah, it's morbid. But it's the truth. I'm a field agent. Anything can happen.
I see her sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen, and I inhale shakily. This is it. I forget the risks--the ones that say I'm endangering our partnership, the ones that remind me that her trust and our friendship was at stake, and I'm as blunt as possible.
"I--Bones, I need to talk--I'd like to talk to you about something."
Okay. So maybe not that blunt.
She leaned back further, and a flicker of suspicion crosses her eyes. "Is something wrong?"
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. "You know that line, the one I said that can't be crossed?"
She frowned and disappointment filled her face. I felt like I was kicked in the guts. But then she asked, "Are you trying to tell me that you're back with Cam?"
I laughed, an almost choking sputtering, because I was not expecting that. Traces of anger formed on her mouth and I quickly replied, "No. I didn't cross that line with her."
She got still, and I could barely hear her ask, "Well, who's the girl?"
I stepped up to her, knowing this was the introduction I needed. My voice softens, and I can't bear to look directly in her eyes yet. I whisper, "Well…I was kinda hoping it would be you."
There, I said it. A thousand scenarios had run through my head. I could have told her over dinner. On a date. On a beach. After we escaped the clutches of some serial killer. Never, though, spontaneously in her office. I wait for her reaction, search her face finally. She looks shocked, completely derailed, and I feel as if I've blown it. Stuttering, I turn to leave when her hand reaches out and holds back my arm.
"Wait…" she trails off.
It's all she needs to say. She smiles slowly, and I just know that I did the right thing. I know the questions will come. I know she'll be cautious and I know there will be a few rough patches…but I know it'll be for the better.
And I know now, we're not the same old us anymore.