Chapter Three

Collision

I am grateful to see Ryan. We haven't spoken since last week. I have not been down to O'Malley's since then, which would explain the lack of contact. I found O'Malley's a few weeks ago. I was looking for someplace to be alone, where none of the Jeffersonian crew or FBI agents would be congregating. O'Malley's seemed dark but cheerful, a whimsical rainbow swished over the top, ending in the golden "O" in O'Malley's. I went inside and there was whimsical music on as well, I believe the genre – from the middle 70's – is called disco. Appropriately enough, the song playing was called, "Staying Alive."

I was feeling awful. I'd just had a private session with Sweets that had made me question my entire partnership with Booth. We had discussed the differences in work partnership vs. friendship, vs. romantic partnerships. I saw, for the first time, how we had blurred the lines. Aside from the occasional office out gatherings for after-work drinks, work partners rarely meet for dinner if it doesn't involve work. They certainly don't go over to each others' homes to have drinks one-on-one. Friends might, a lover absolutely. However, work partners absolutely do not come over at midnight or later with Thai food just because you've had a bad day, or they're feeling lonely. Lovers do that. Sweets suggested that we had fallen into these patterns and that is why I was at times uncomfortable with Hannah - even though I was pleased for Booth. As an experiment, he thought I might want to practice being strictly Booth's work partner: no personal conversations, no shared meals or drinks that weren't work related, no late-night calls or visits unless it was a work emergency. Once I was comfortable with the new pattern, I could decide if I wanted to expand the relationship to friendship. While I normally hate psychology, this idea was simply about creating new patterns of behavior, and seemed logical, so I agreed to it. No sooner had I gotten back, Cam came by with Booth with some new information on a case I thought was closed. I must have looked dejected, because Cam suggested we all go out for drinks later. Booth immediately said he could only go for a while because he would be meeting Hannah for dinner. Remembering Sweets' advice I explained I just wanted to get this case closed. Booth cajoled me a bit to try and make me go, but I didn't acquiesce. Eventually they left. That's how I ended up at O'Malley's that night.

I hadn't had interest in pursuing sexual interaction in a while, way before Maluku. I had attempted it with Andrew, thinking that perhaps his interest in me could somehow lead to a mutual attraction. It never did. I found it difficult to try indulging in strictly physical pleasure laced with intellectual repartee, and in truth, I noticed that the idea of Andrew touching me made my stomach upset. Somehow Booth's ideas about making love…and of people leaving marks on each other, had sunk into my brain, and my behavior had shifted unknowingly. In Maluku I'd had no interest in sex at all. My mind had been caught up in chasing the origins of the strange remains, and with deciphering what my feelings were for Booth. However, it wasn't until coming back from Maluku that I discovered just how much I had changed sexually.

I made the discovery a couple of weeks after Booth returned. The case had been completed and I needed to blow off some energy. I'd hung out at After Hours, a place halfway between work and my apartment. Angela had introduced it to me years ago – before Hodgins was a factor in her life. It was, and still is, what is known as a pick-up bar. Angela and I had similar outlooks on sex. Angela believed that sex could be fun and hot without being in love – but that being in love made it even better. I didn't believe in love – at least not then – but I fully believed in sex being a fun, hot, pleasurable activity. I didn't indulge in it too often, because, if the sex was good, I found it far too easy to get entangled with the person – like with Peter. He was a complete jerk. Great sex though. He'd said I was cold and unfeeling, but in truth I just didn't like him, and didn't know how to extricate myself from the relationship. Granted, it helped that we both traveled often, so it took a while for my dislike of him to register into my awareness. Since then, I'd made sure that at least liked the person before having sex with them, thus hadn't been to After Hours in quite a long time. However, that evening I planned to locate a man I found physically appealing and engage with sexually that night. The only issue was I couldn't do it. When the man I had shown interest in came over to engage with me, it was fine. After a few minutes of mutually flirtatious and sexually suggestive conversation he tried to kiss me and I recoiled.

I had been shocked and dismayed – I believe even more than the man himself. After a few more attempts at what is known as "hooking up" I realized I no longer could do it. At least not sober. So, that night after my session with Sweets, I went looking for a place that wasn't near anything I was connected with. If I was going to get drunk, I didn't want anyone I knew becoming cognizant of my behavior.

Once inside O'Malley's, I sat down at the bar and started to order a tequila shot, but the memory was jarring. I ordered a Kamikaze instead. It was a drink I'd never ordered with Booth, and it was potent. Potent was what I was after. I needed to be highly inebriated in order to accomplish my goal - which was to engage in sexual intercourse. I needed to render the idea of it back into its proper place: a fun, lighthearted activity that felt amazing. After the first one I felt relaxed, after the second I actually was enjoying the music. A woman with short dark hair offered to buy me a drink. I informed her that I had plenty of money to get me through the evening, but thanked her for the offer. I ordered my third drink, downed it, had a fourth, and then felt absolutely prepared to go find a man and have sex.

When I stood up from the bar, everything seemed to swim for a moment. I felt a hand on my arm. "Take it easy, girl. You might want to just sit for a minute." I looked up at a set of pale blue eyes and thick straight hair. Ryan, only I didn't know that yet.

The details get a bit fuzzy after that. I remember dancing with him to something called "Dancing Queen", followed by a song whose lyric I found extremely appropriate, "It's not just intellectual. The way I feel is sexual…" I remember asking him if he'd like to go have sex. There was a cab ride, his apartment…I think we kissed. I do recall him taking off my shirt, but that's it.

The next morning I woke up naked in his bed. I had a very bad hangover; pounding headache, spinning room, nausea, the works. Ryan brought me a strange concoction, that he called his hangover cure. I told him I thought I was going to vomit, and he produced a bucket from his side of the bed for me to do so in. Afterward, he made me drink the concoction. It tasted awful, and he wouldn't tell me what was in it. Subsequently though, the room did stop spinning, the headache became less pounding, and I felt far less nauseous. I was too embarrassed to ask if we'd had intercourse. I assume we must have; why else would I have been naked in his bed?

"Dr. B?"

I blink back into the present. Ryan has pulled up outside the museum's fountain entrance and is watching me. He seems agitated, but he usually appears to be. He reminds me a little of Ms Wick that way, but also of Sweets, whom it seems is always eager to be helpful – wanted or not. I wonder what the sex with him was like. We haven't repeated that action, although I have met him for drinks several times since. He is an amusing companion, with many stories about criminal mishaps, as well as those of his own and his colleagues. He also likes opera, and last week surprised me with tickets to see Carmen at the Ford Center. I like him…although his calling me Dr. B. reminds me that I am eight years older than him.

"Sorry Ryan, I see that we're here."

"So, that was Booth."

"Excuse me?"

"The guy you when out and got plastered over, and thus facilitated our introduction."

"Why would you think – "

" - You cried about him in the cab ride back to my place… Kept saying you were sorry."

"I was crying?"

"Yeah."

"I don't remember…I don't even remember having sex with you."

At that, Ryan laughs. I am puzzled. "Ryan?"

"Honey, we didn't have sex. When we got to my place you threw up all over yourself, so I got you out of your clothes and threw them in the wash. You were passed out on the bed when I came back in."

"Oh…"

He laughs some more and then leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "You are so adorable."

"I don't know what that means. Why are you so nice to me if you don't want to be sexual?"

"I…I really like you, Dr. B. I guess I thought, hoped…"

He looks very uncomfortable, and I'm not clear why. "It's ok Ryan, if you're not attracted to me…it's –"

"I am, Dr. B. Just not as much as I'm attracted to…to guys."

I think my eyes must have widened, "Oh. You prefer the male of the species for sexual gratification?"

"Umm, yeah. I mean, I like women too, I like kissing and making out, and sex can be fun, but…"

I am now feeling extremely puzzled. "Why did you take me home with you?"

"Well, you're very pretty, and clearly had no idea what you'd walked into."

"What I'd walked into?"

"O'Malley's is a gay bar, Dr. B."

"Oh." Now certain things are making sense.

"I came in that night pretty much deciding I needed to just accept that I was gay and stop fighting the whole thing. Only I walked in and there you were, this pretty lady who was just completely sad and lost. I thought maybe it was a sign from God."

"I don't believe in God."

He laughs at that. Booth would have frowned and said something about me going to hell.

"Yeah I figured you wouldn't. Look, I enjoyed the kisses at O'Malley's. You're an excellent kisser –"

"I know."

" - but I had no problem waking up with you naked next to me in bed. If you'd been a guy I would have been –"

"Sexually stimulated to the point of erection."

"Exactly."

"So, why have you been continuing to go out with me?"

I'm surprised to see his face turning red, and his eyes shift to the floor.

"I like you, and I wanted to be sure, and…I wanted the guys at work to see me out with a woman."

It takes me a moment to comprehend. When I do, I am aware of the feeling that Booth has identified for me as being compassion. I know what it's like to be different and not liked for it, to be teased and ostracized by your peers. "You're afraid of what the alpha males whom prefer women would try to do to you if they knew your preference."

He pauses for a moment, and I watch him processing my words. "Yeah, the guys, they wouldn't see me as part of the team anymore. I'm a good cop Dr. B, but if your partner doesn't trust you, it all falls apart."

A sudden flood of tears well up in my eyes. Ryan's words so perfectly sums up what the problem is for me with Booth, and I wasn't expecting that. We'd been talking about him.

"Don't worry, Ryan. You can tell them we've had lots of sex and I've thoroughly enjoyed it."

He grins. "I wasn't thinking about anything so specific."

"But that is what alpha males do – exchange stories of sexual conquest in order to show their superiority and establish dominance. You'll need to claim some kind of sexual achievement in order to appear to be a heterosexual alpha male. You can tell them we have become 'friends with benefits.' " I am proud to have remembered the term from Angela. "You are helping me get over my…" What do I call Booth? He isn't my lover, or boyfriend…

"Your partner. I'm helping you get over your partner."

"Yes."

"He's a fool to let you go"

"No…I let him go, Ryan. I was too scared, and by the time I wasn't he –"

"Dr. B. – if I met the love of my life, I'd come out to the force and anyone who would listen. And if guy was afraid to come out, I'd wait. I'd be doing my damn best to convince them to come out, but I sure as hell wouldn't just give up. He's an idiot. You deserve better."

His words bring more tears up, and I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Ryan."

"You're welcome. Now, get into that lab and figure out who that messed up dead guy was."

I smile back at him, "I will."

I get out of the car, turn to wave, and see Booth's SUV parked across the street. Booth doesn't park in the street. I stare at it a moment. How long has he been parked there? Why would he be watching me? Talking with Ryan had temporarily blocked out the scene at the baseball field. I'd stomped off and left him there with his stupid girlfriend. I feel myself getting angry all over again. I didn't care so much that they were having sex and falling in love. However, having her show up at our crime scene and think she should get closer to the body because of whatever social contract they have arranged infuriates me. I don't want to hear any of his excuses for her. I turn away and walk briskly towards the Jeffersonian.