Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.
Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rated T for language/sexual situations. Rating may change. TB/VN-M
~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~
Stranger Things Have Happened
Chapter 3: Sugar Push
Ultimately, she had decided that it was unnecessary for her to change into more formal clothing after returning to her apartment, but Temperance did opt to put on fresh slacks and a new blouse, reasoning that her work outfit might still retain some of the aromas from the lab, which some people found displeasing. I suppose Mr. Nigel-Murray would not be distracted by that, she thought, given his familiarity with human remains, but it is better to be hygienic.
She glanced at the clock. 6:27 PM. Scanning the room, she noted that her apartment was tidy without being sparse. Should I clear space on the floor? Temperance wondered. The bed will be a more comfortable location, but it's possible we could need more room. I'm not sure I have enough pillows . . . Her head tilted. Maybe it's better to wait, and see what level of creativity Mr. Nigel-Murray brings to the task.
There was a muted, rapid knock at the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clock flip from 6:29 PM to 6:30 PM. She smiled as she stepped forward to open the door. "You're very punctual, Mr. Nigel-Murray. Please come in."
Bobbing his head, he grinned at her and crossed the threshold clutching a brown paper bag. "Yes, thank you, I try to be." His eyes darted around the room as she closed the door. "You've got quite a lovely place here, Dr. Brennan. It's actually warm and inviting."
"Why wouldn't it be? A home should be warm and inviting."
"It – yes, I ah . . . sorry. I suppose I wasn't quite sure what to expect as most of the time I'm only seeing you at the lab, a much more . . . sterile environment." He turned, scanning the room, the messenger bag slung over his light jacket resting against his back.
"Well, it would have to be. It wouldn't be much of a lab without appropriate sanitary regulations in place."
"True." Mr. Nigel-Murray's eyes flitted away from hers and then back. "Did you know –"
"What's in the bag?" she interrupted, hoping to belay his compulsive reciting of facts.
"The, um – oh!" He lifted the paper bag to eye level, grinning. "Yes. I brought what you asked of me, Dr. Brennan . . ."
"That seems like it holds much more than I requested, Mr. Nigel-Murray. How many condoms did you buy?"
Her intern flushed red. "I . . . I . . . just one box. It's . . . If I could just – do you mind if I just unload it for you?"
"It would certainly be more expedient if you do so. Here," she gestured toward the livingroom, "I'll clear the magazines off the table."
"Cheers, that's, er, that's great." He followed her to the coffee table, fidgeting slightly as she moved the scientific journals and trade magazines.
"There. That should be enough room."
"Thank you. Right." Mr. Nigel-Murray took a deep breath. "First of all . . ." Reaching in, the bag rustling, he pulled out something large and set it on the table.
"Why did you bring a pineapple?" Temperance's brow crimped. "I did not request one."
"Did you know that the pineapple is a symbol of hospitality and welcoming in multiple cultures?"
"Yes, actually, I did know that, although it is more typical of the host to display a pineapple as a symbol of welcome to guests, rather than a guest presenting one to a host. It seems you got it backwards."
"Yes, yes, it does seem that way, but . . . I thought, since you were already welcoming me into your home, I would show reciprocal welcome-ness by bringing this to you. As a gift. Of welcome." His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"Well, I appreciate your gift. Thank you."
Mr. Nigel-Murray took a quick breath and smiled. "You're very welcome. So to speak."
"I had wondered if you had another reason for bringing pineapple. As you may know, given your penchant for absorbing trivia, the consumption of fruit, particularly pineapple, can reduce the taste of bitterness in semen by increasing the level of fructose produced by the seminal vesicles, though it is not my intention to test that this evening."
Her intern remained silent, though his open-mouthed expression seemed to indicate that he wanted to say something.
"What else is in the bag?" she prompted.
"I, um – well, it . . . it is often appropriate to present a host with a bottle of something, usually wine or champagne, when one is invited to said host's home. However, I do not trust myself to purchase wine or champagne, for reasons with which you are already familiar, even as a gift for someone else, so . . ." He lifted a green bottle by the neck, angling the label toward her. "It's a sparkling ginger beverage, more similar to ginger beer than ginger ale, but a bit smoother. I've found I quite like it, and I hope you do as well." He handed her the bottle.
"I'm sure I will. Thank you." She turned the bottle in her hands as he reached into the bag again. "I've noticed that you seem especially fond of South Asian and Middle Eastern spices."
Hunched over the bag, a tub of lemon-scented handy-wipes clutched in his long fingers, he peered up at her. "You have?"
"Yes. In addition to enjoying this beverage, you wear a perfume that has notes of cardamom, clove, and ginger in it."
"I, er, heh," Mr. Nigel-Murray chuckled as he straightened up. "I don't wear perfume. There's a soap I use, and an aftershave, with that sort of scent. One of my uncles sent it to me from India."
"Oh. Well, an aftershave is essentially a perfume."
"Not . . . quite."
"I disagree. The primary purpose of aftershave is the same as perfume – it's to anoint a person with a pleasing scent."
"Actually, the primary purpose of an aftershave is to cool the skin and close the pores immediately after shaving, hence the term, after . . . shave." Bending to set the tub of wipes on the table, he rummaged in the bag again. "The lingering scent is just a bonus, and really ought not have the potency of an actual perfume."
"Ah. That makes sense. I stand corrected."
Eyebrows raised, her intern gripped a box of condoms in long fingers that were even whiter than usual. "I . . . would say that perfume and cologne are very nearly the same thing, however, being as the only distinction between them is the gender intended for their use."
"Agreed." Temperance looked pointedly at the box in his hand. "Trojans are a good brand, though I am surprised you didn't choose Sheik, considering your spice preferences." She grinned at her own joke.
"I . . . don't believe they make spiced condoms. That might be quite uncomfortable, depending on the spices used . . ."
"Ha! Yes!" She laughed, considering the possibilities. "A cayenne condom would be especially uncomfortable, for one or both partners, depending on which sides were coated . . ." Her eyes widened, and she pointed at him. "I believe using such a thing would be quite the practical joke! Or at least it fits the definition of prank as I understand it."
"That's . . ."
"Don't you think?" She reached across and poked his shoulder, wondering why he wasn't laughing.
Mr. Nigel-Murray's eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest, arms hanging limply at his sides as he let the box of condoms fall to the table, fingers twitching slightly.
"I fail to see what is making you so upset, Mr. Nigel-Murray." Temperance frowned.
"Is this . . . Are you pulling a prank on me?"
"Of course not. I was merely talking about a prank hypothetically. I believe pulling a prank on you now would be counterproductive to my re-evaluation of my assessment of you. And you know how I dislike wasting time."
"I . . . I . . ." He sighed, meeting her eyes briefly and looking away. "I really don't want to lose my internship, Dr. Brennan."
"Oh! Well, your internship is not in jeopardy, Mr. Nigel-Murray. This is more of a personal experiment."
"It – what?" He frowned. "Personal . . . I don't understand."
"Yes, I see that." She placed a hand on her hip. "Essentially, I am just making a request of you. I cannot require you to participate in this experiment – even suggesting it is potentially inappropriate, but I had hoped that you would be amenable to my request."
"Ah. Well. You need only ask . . ." Eyes lifting, he offered a watery smile.
"I want to be very clear with you that this has no bearing on your continued performance as my intern, whether you agree to comply or not. I am not compelling you to participate."
"Yes, right, got that part, um . . ." He swallowed, fidgeting, fingers entwined. "But, the bit I'm still unclear on is . . . what exactly this experiment entails?"
"You agree that you aren't required to do any of this, and that you can leave at any time?"
"I – yes, I agree! Now –"
"I want to have sex with you."
"I –" Mr. Nigel-Murray blinked, mouth open again.
"Is that acceptable to you?"
~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~
His ears were deceiving him, he was sure of it. Or perhaps he was dreaming, his stress nightmares melding with his erotic dreams as they sometimes did. She was still staring at him, so he thought he'd better speak up. "Would . . . would you mind terribly repeating that?"
"I want to have sex with you. The personal experiment I would like to conduct involves our having sexual intercourse with one another." She cocked her head, expression bland as if she was not saying what she was saying.
"That's . . ." Vincent swallowed. "Right. It's just . . . why would you want that?"
"You did say that you've been told you're an excellent lover."
"I – yes, I did, and I have, but . . ." He felt himself flinch and wanted to kick himself. "It's just – you laughed at me. I got the distinct impression that you would never consider . . ." He gestured, his hands acting independently of him as if trying to catch or dispel his own thoughts. "I mean, you didn't seem even slightly interested."
"I wasn't. I do apologize for laughing at you – that was insensitive. It has come to my attention that there are occasions when I do not consider all of the options and unconsciously dismiss certain conclusions before I have all the criteria. I indicated to you that I would sooner rule that a chupacabra was the cause of a man's death than I would state that a sexual relationship between us was even possible!"
"Yes, I recall." Vincent stared down at the items on the table.
"And it occurred to me how completely illogical my saying that was! So, I am re-assessing my prior assessment as well as re-assessing you based on what you claimed."
"So, essentially, you are testing your own conclusions about me by way of this personal experiment. Which is us. Having sex." His mind was still spinning. He really wished it would stop.
"Yes! I expect that, regardless of whether you may have embellished the level of skill you possess during our conversation, you are likely to know a great deal of information regarding different sexual practices and techniques."
". . . I do possess a rather complete knowledge of the Kama Sutra."
"See? Exactly. Are you willing to proceed with this experiment?"
Clasping his hands low in front of himself, willing them to stop twisting, Vincent hesitated. If this were a dream, he thought, I'd have said yes already and we'd likely be at it, possibly while in a gem-encrusted howdah on the back of a giant eagle in flight above a carnival on fire. But . . . I'm fairly certain this is not a dream. And this is a test. Is she testing whether I'll say yes or no? Or is she really testing my . . . skill as a lover? Can I even pass such a thing – Dr. Brennan is very worldly, after all . . .
"Mr. Nigel-Murray, I need your answer."
"Right. Of course." He consciously straightened his spine, fingertips pressing together in front of his chest. I should err on the side of caution, he thought, tell her no. But . . . sometimes, it has to be worth going for the brass ring. He swallowed, hands dropping to his sides. "Then yes. I accept." He braced himself for laughter, for rejection and ridicule.
"Excellent." Dr. Brennan nodded her head, seeming relaxed yet distracted. "Then we should get started right away." She sat on the couch. "Perhaps we should start here, Mr. Nigel-Murray."
"Er, yes. Alright." This is happening, this is actually happening, his thoughts pointlessly informed him. Something was bothering him, however. Although if he was being honest, a great many things were bothering him, or trying to bother him, and so he only had enough brain space to deal with one thing at a time. "Um, something I would like to suggest, with a view toward easing the . . . transition to the experiment itself, is . . . our mode of address."
"Mode of address? Are you suggesting we devise pet names for each other as a way of establishing interpersonal intimacy? I'm familiar with the approach, but I'm not convinced of its necessity." She was staring at him.
A chuckle escaped him as he imagined what sort of pet names his mentor might come up with. "That's – no, I don't think pet names are strictly necessary, but . . . I think it would be helpful if we referred to one another by our given names." He circumnavigated the coffee table to reach the couch, taking a seat next to her. "There is cultural precedent."
"That is true. Very well, Mr. – I mean, Vincent."
"Thank you, er, Temperance." He quite liked her name, but it felt strange to say it. His hands remained perched on his knees, as if awaiting instructions. He was dismayed to discover he had none.
"Are you uncomfortable?"
"Am I . . ." Shakily, Vincent began to laugh, leaning forward and then tilting back, one hand reaching up to cover his mouth. Dr. Brennan was looking at him quizzically, which only made him laugh harder. Eyes watering, gasping for breath, he waved his hand at his face, attempting to cool himself down. "Why on earth would I be uncomfortable? My mentor, in whose hands my future rests, has invited me to have carnal knowledge of her as a part of an experiment, the focus of which is an evaluation of my sexual prowess – which, even if it does not directly affect the status of my internship, will no doubt affect personal evaluations of me on the job." He shook his head and stared at his now upturned palms. "I must be barking mad."
Her head reared back slightly. "I don't find you to have any canine attributes, M— Vincent. Loyalty perhaps. But as I said, this will not affect your internship, and you are wrong about the focus here – the focus is on whether I am a good judge of character and skill."
"That's . . . still quite a bit of pressure on me to perform." Why did I say THAT out loud? Vincent chided himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"On the contrary – the pressure is entirely on me." A short bark of a laugh escaped Dr. Brennan's mouth. "Ha! Pressure! Get it? Because of the sex!" As ever, her eyes seemed to pierce right through him, even when her manner was not at all stern.
Caught between the impulse to laugh and the desire to be swallowed up by the floor, Vincent felt his face twist into a bad compromise between grin and grimace. He had no idea what to say.
"I have been told that my sense of humor is strange." Dr. Brennan's tone was muted.
"The term 'strange' merely indicates a deviation from the norm – there isn't anything strictly negative about it." His eyes flicked to hers and away.
"Some people use the term as a pejorative, but I do agree that variation from the norm should not be viewed negatively. Everything must be evaluated on its own merits."
"Absolutely." He nodded, perhaps a bit too rapidly.
She was staring at him again. "Was there something else on your mind?"
Vincent felt an eruption building, but not the sexual kind. Facts. Always facts. He tried to resist, but felt an internal dam breaking. "Did you know that a single ounce of garam masala, depending on the blend contains approximately 215 milligrams of calcium? Also, cloves are actually the dried buds of an aromatic flower produced by an evergreen originally grown in Indonesia, and the oil, when extracted, can be used as a pain killer in an emergency. Bromelain, an enzyme extracted from pineapple, can be used to reduce swelling after an injury, as well as break down proteins. The reading of tea leaves as a means of fortune-telling evolved in the seventeenth century after Dutch merchants introduced tea to Europe after beginning trade with China. Turmeric spice, which is made from the horizontal roots or rhizomes of the turmeric plant, can be used as a preservative. Elephantiasis is typically caused by parasitic worms that enter the lymphatic system and obstruct the vessels, yet the disease can be cured with antibiotics which kill the symbiotic bacteria within the worms. Caparisons were once draped over pack animals and mounts used during battle to protect them but largely came to be used as decoration and indications of status. Starting in the mid-nineteenth century, howdah pistols were crafted to defend against attacks by tigers and lions, and eventually robbers, and could have up to four barrels. Dung beetles were revered by – "
"Mr. Nigel-Murray!"
He winced. "I . . ."
"I realize that reciting facts helps you calm yourself, but if you keep doing that, we won't have time for anything else!" Dr. Brennan looked incredulous. "Are you certain that you're willing to continue?"
He passed a hand over his eyes, relieved that his brow wasn't drenched in sweat. "I . . . am. And I apologize, for going on so long." Sighing, he stared at his hands resting upturned on his knees. "But you must recognize that this is an unusual situation."
"Yes." She nodded, hair swinging toward him. "But you did agree that variation from the norm is not strictly negative. Are you unable to evaluate this situation on its own merits?"
He felt his mouth pulling into a smile. "Touché. Certainly one must consider any situation from all angles." Tilting his head, he peered sideways at her. "What brought all this on?"
"As I said, I realized I had made an illogical assessment –"
"No, no – I got that. What I mean is . . ." Vincent raised his hands, fingers loosely splayed. "What made you question your logic in the first place? Something must have spurred you to reconsider."
"I simply questioned myself – I noticed the flaw in my thinking later. I do that sometimes. I go over things in my head, and when something doesn't make sense, it pops out. That's all it was."
Eyebrows raised, Vincent considered whether to pursue this line of thinking. If I haven't lost my mind completely, he thought, Dr. Brennan seems to be nervous as well, where she didn't before. What's she hiding? "I suppose that makes sense. It's just that there's usually something that spawns an epiphany."
"What spawned my epiphany was my habit of reviewing my conclusions. I do not require outside stimuli to become inspired to think – I think all the time. There are times when I can't stop thinking. It's why my sleep patterns are occasionally erratic, and why I talk too fast for some people to understand, and why I am able to write books and conduct research in the lab even during cases I work with Booth." She stood, walking around the end of the couch and heading toward the kitchen. "This is just how I am. I don't operate the way most other people do."
He followed her with his eyes. "I've noticed that, yes. But as I've said, there's nothing wrong with –"
"If you believe that my epiphany is misguided and that this experiment is pointless, I expect you to say so. Communication is a part of your participation here, so if you have any pertinent facts to share about my logic and about my re-assessment of you as a whole, I need to hear it." The glasses she was extracting from the cabinets made slight thunks as she set them on the counter. "I value your insight, as you must already know, because why would I invite you here if I didn't want to hear what you have to say? The success of this experiment is contingent upon all of our interactions, not just sexual ones." She put a hand on her hip. "Dammit."
Vincent was standing. "What is it?"
"I . . . I got these glasses down because I was going to pour us some whisky, but then I remembered you can't have whisky."
He approached his mentor, watching as her brows knit together. "That's alright. You may indulge, if you like." Truth be told, he didn't want to see a bottle or catch even the slightest whiff of whisky if he could help it, but he was surprised at how distracted Dr. Brennan seemed, and he wanted to be accommodating.
"No. I believe that would be rude." She was shaking her head. "And I don't want the scent of alcohol to inflame you."
Vincent suppressed a chuckle, made easier when she shot him a slight glare, and cleared his throat. "That's not quite the reaction I have to alcohol, but . . . I appreciate that." He took a step closer. "Dr. Brennan, er, sorry, I mean, Temperance . . . I have an unfortunate tendency to speak at excessive length at times, particularly on occasions when, ideally, I should not speak at all."
"Yes. I have noticed this, Mr., uh, Vincent. It is one of your quirks, indicative of nervousn—"
"Agreed." He wondered at his growing confidence, daring to interrupt Dr. Brennan. Is there an inherent paradigm shift when one person shows vulnerability to another? Vincent wondered. Can't be that simple. "However, I am concerned that my behavior, or my nervousness, may seem to be somewhat contagious, in the euphemistic sense, of course."
"I – contagious?" Her head reared back. "That's absurd. Behavior does not spread like a contagion. Social interaction is completely—"
Impulsively, his hand scooped her jaw, his lips meeting hers, head cocked to one side, mouth opening. After a moment, she returned the kiss, opening as well and sliding her tongue along his. Vincent felt her pulse quicken along with his own, but decided not to bring her closer into an embrace even as he felt her trace her fingers along his side, moving from hip to ribcage. Her lips were soft, with a sweetness he hadn't been expecting. Despite wanting to continue the kiss, he pulled back out of it, seeking to gauge her reaction.
"You are taking the initiative," she said, cheeks slightly flushed. "That's good."
Vincent licked his lips and smiled shyly. "I have to remind myself sometimes that words aren't the only form of communication."
"Agreed. That is an excellent point." Her arms went over his shoulders, one hand entwining his hair at the nape of his neck as she pulled closer to him.
Their noses brushed as they met in another kiss, and Vincent did not hesitate to put his arms around her waist this time. His body thrummed with excitement, but he refused to let fear derail him. Adrenalin, despite being associated with the fight-or-flight response, he thought, does not necessarily indicate fear – it is equally associated with exhilaration, and even joy. He could not immediately recall the source for this fact, but at the moment, this did not concern him. Their non-verbal communication consumed most of his attention.
~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~
Author's Note: As awkward as these two are, in general and with each other, it seems they're able to connect. Can't rule out any unfortunate slapstick moments, though. Depending on how the next chapter goes, I may need to up the rating to M. We shall see.
Thanks for reading!