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. Rating has changed! Rated M for language/sexual situations. TB/VN-M
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Stranger Things Have Happened
Chapter 6: Riff Walk
Minimal clean-up completed, she regarded her bedside table, one hand on her hip. I suppose I could return the remaining condoms and cleaning wipes to him, Temperance thought, but I do not want to draw attention at the lab. Vincent might refuse them anyway, considering the fuss he made over the album I gave him. She sighed. Perhaps I'll find a use for them eventually.
Walking back out to the livingroom, she surveyed the area, looking for anything out of place. Everything was as expected. She had her "empirical evidence" at this point regarding her presuppositions of her intern. She had leapt to conclusions – a very human trait, but no less distressing. I have to hold myself to a higher standard, she thought. Also, I am not sure that I can consider my interaction with Vincent to have been completely rational either. Even when sex is agreed to be nothing more than a mutual exchange of physical pleasure for the purpose of an experiment, there are still emotions involved, because emotions are chemically induced. I seem to have a greater affection for Vincent than I had before, although I am not in love with him, and I am still able to evaluate my conclusions about him objectively. She wondered how this might affect her thinking in the future.
In all likelihood, she thought, the effect will be minor. I must have had some level of affection for him before attempting this experiment, or I would have dismissed it entirely. I think. She frowned. If I ask Booth about this, he'll yell at me. I'm not sure he would understand.
"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but those are the facts." His eyes had flicked to her as he drove.
"I understand." Her voice had hitched. "I missed my chance."
Taking a seat, Temperance knotted and unknotted the end of a Thai prayer scarf. Intellectually, she'd moved past that pivotal moment, her realization about her feelings for Booth. But emotionally, she kept returning to it.
"OK, this is how this is going to work. Me and you are partners, that's what we do. Me and you, we're partners. And I love that. I think that's great. And we're good people that catch bad people, right? And - and we argue. We go back-and-forth. We're partners, and sometimes after we solve the case, we come here and celebrate. That's what we do, we celebrate. So as far as I can see, that's what happens next. Are you okay with that?"
He had paused, stared at her, his voice indicating anger, panic. "Great, 'cause you know, if you are, you stay here and you have a drink with me, all right? Maybe we have a little small talk, a little chit chat. If not, well, you can leave – there's the door. And tomorrow, uh, I'll find you another FBI guy."
"Those are my only choices?" Surprise and sadness had colored her voice.
"Yeah. Those are your only choices."
An easy decision. "Then I'll have a drink."
She had felt that they had both been broken somehow, and yet were still able to come together in the way they always had before she'd had her realization. That was important, a good thing, and she knew it. Yet sex, and their differing views of it, still managed to be a stumbling block for them.
"Making love would be . . . quite satisfying." She had smiled.
"Yeah, but then what? I mean, as a couple. You and me . . ." His gesture had been vague.
"No, it would never work."
Letting go of the scarf for a moment, Temperance placed her thumb in her other palm and rubbed in a circle. There were so many differences between herself and Booth. She had told herself many times that she was better off continuing her life as she had for years, focusing on her work, finding time for pleasure with like-minded individuals who had no long-term expectations of her. She still enjoyed that. Only Booth made her feel like she was missing something.
"You know the difference between strength and imperviousness, right?"
"Well, not if you're going to get all scientific on me." He'd cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Well, a substance that is impervious to damage doesn't need to be strong. When you and I met . . . I was an impervious substance. Now I'm a strong substance."
"I think I know what you mean."
"A time could come when you aren't angry anymore and I'm strong enough to risk losing the last of my imperviousness," she had said, hopeful. "Maybe then we could try to be together."
Of course she had changed – environment systematically alters individual behavior over time, it was inevitable. The change itself wasn't the point. She felt, now, that she was changing for the better. Had her interaction with Vincent played a part in that? Temperance wasn't sure. Probably, she thought. But my long-term exposure to Booth has had the greater influence. Despite all the things they had not done and had not said, her mind always came back to Booth.
"I just need time to kinda hang back and find that inner peace before I, you know, get back out there. You know what we're talking about here?" His familiar significant glance.
"Yes." Pulse quickening, she'd kept her answer simple.
"You and me, you know, and love and happiness and life and fate."
"I don't believe in fate, but I know what we're talking about."
And she had. It wasn't that she was waiting – though in a sense, she had always been waiting. It was that she knew she wouldn't be ready until Booth was. And Booth wasn't ready.
Keeping secrets wasn't something she relished. Temperance was accustomed to keeping several things to herself, but not for the purpose of deliberately hiding them – there were simply certain topics that she didn't feel it necessary to discuss. She didn't fear recriminations from the Jeffersonian or scandal of any kind. And truth be told, she easily would have been able to dismiss any overtures from other interns if they reacted in the way she had suggested to Vincent that they might. Her reasoning led her to believe that if the others at the lab knew he had had sex with her, that they would treat Vincent differently, possibly to his detriment. Booth wouldn't approve, she thought. No one would. Except maybe for Ange. She would keep their sexual interaction a secret to protect him, and that was all.
She recalled their pre-coital conversation on the couch and Vincent's apparent discomfort bubbling over into mirth, one hand reaching up to cover his mouth as if laughter itself was unseemly. He confused her sometimes, but somehow managed to be endearing about it. Temperance wasn't sure why. We don't make sense either, she thought, hand perching on her hip. Well, maybe no one makes sense. This is why I like working on cases and doing field work and research – I can make sense of things in those situations. Facts are easier to deal with than feelings. She knew she'd have to deal more with her feelings for Booth, but she felt no rush. They had time.
Entering the kitchen, she approached the pineapple and bent to inhale its scent. It didn't smell ripe yet, so she left it on the counter. She noticed that the bottle of ginger brew was still on the counter as well and decided to put it in the refrigerator. Considering that she mostly drank water, or tea, and the occasional fruit juice or whisky, she wasn't sure when she would sample it. Maybe the next time Ange comes over, she thought. I'll say that Vincent – no, that Mr. Nigel-Murray gave it to me while we were working on our research presentation. That's plausible enough. She pulled open the door, cool air wafting over her, and placed the bottle in the center.
Glancing at the contents of her fridge, she remembered the semen. Temperance crouched and slid the tray of biological samples toward her, staring specifically at the knotted condom. This is several ounces of semen, she thought. Perhaps when I transfer it to a test tube for the lab, I will only use a portion of it. Certainly area sperm banks are always in need of donors. I'm sure Vincent wouldn't mind.
She replaced the tray and closed the door, standing. Reaching up, into the cabinet, she pulled down the ruby tin of herbal tea. A pot of tea, rumination, and some music – all ingredients for a restorative evening at home. Temperance felt relaxed, ready for another day, with the promise of more things to do, to know, and to be.
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On the whole, it had been quite a day. He was still sorting through his feelings on it all. He didn't believe in karma, though if he had, he might wonder about a subsequent backlash, considering that he had, in fact, experienced a delicious evening of sexual adventure with Dr. Temperance Brennan, and that he now owned a mint original printing of Led Zeppelin's first album signed by Jimmy Page. He didn't believe in 'putting his fate in a higher power' despite how much the AA meetings he attended harped on that – fair enough if that worked for other people, but it didn't work for him. Vincent just did his best, believing that his actions spoke for themselves and reaped their own consequences. "Learn from your mistakes, boy, but never stop moving forward," his uncle had once said to him, and he took that to heart. It just surprised him sometimes when things went his way.
Slipping the album from the brown paper bag once more, he regarded it as though it was contraband. After a moment's contemplation, he approached the shelf above his telly, moved some knick-knacks aside – a carved elephant from his uncle, an antique silver pitcher engraved with the Murray family name, three green stones from Madagascar, and the bottle of the last beer he'd ever drank on the night he'd pledged to give up drinking – and placed the album bang in the center, propped against the wall. He stepped back, staring at it. Not sure that's a good enough spot, he thought, but it'll do for now. Going to have to invest in a UV-filtering container for it, to keep it protected.
It was easier to think about the album than it was to think about the activities in which he and Dr. Brennan had engaged. Which is mad, actually, he thought. I should be thinking about our lovemaking! How long have I fantasized about THAT? He shook his head. Since I met her, I'd expect. Amazing to think that it really happened. Experiment or not, it was still . . . Closing his eyes for a second, he sighed, lips curving. The feel of her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, nimble, her skin warm . . . the eagerness of her kisses as she'd moved him toward the bedroom . . . her utter lack of shyness, slipping her top off as he'd watched . . . the press of her breasts against his chest, soft, heat rising . . . her hands teasing, reaching into his pants . . . her eyes, flashing as he'd bent to disrobe her fully as she'd done him . . . the feel of her nipple, his tongue circling it – he'd been so caught up, he'd nearly forgotten to get the condoms, until she'd reminded him. Despite the intervening polyisoprene-based protection, his orgasm had been one of the most intense he'd ever had. He licked his lips. Incredible.
Vincent was surprised to note that he did not feel resentful in the least that he had to keep their sexual experience under wraps. It's fair, he thought. More than fair, considering some of the fabrications I spun about her, and about the others. Recalling some of the more scandalous tales he'd told his mates about Angela Montenegro and, especially, Dr. Camille Saroyan, he found himself blushing. Not that any of those things will be coming true . . .
"Mr. Nigel-Murray, if I didn't have any self-control, I would kiss you."
Oh, how his imagination had run away with that one. The notion of Dr. Camille Saroyan with no self-control was enough, but the fact that, in jest or not, she had verbally articulated a desire to kiss him and bam: daydream fugue state. That had stayed with him for days. He'd actually slipped up that night – fallen off the wagon and had a glass of whisky, partially to distract himself from his inner fantasy life and partially to cover his nervousness at having to pretend to Hodgins that he didn't know about Angela's pregnancy, which turned out to be moot anyway. Barely managing to keep from drinking more, he'd later wondered what might have happened if he'd kept sober and been a designated driver. Impossible scenario, of course, he thought, but if I'd been left there with a tipsy Dr., er, Temperance, Camille, and Angela, and I'd gotten to Temperance's place first and she'd asked us all upstairs . . . Angela wasn't really showing yet, but she might have needed a massage, and if Camille was feeling . . . unrestrained and cheeky, and she came up behind me as I was rubbing Angela's feet . . . and then Temperance came out and decided to join us for experimental purposes . . . Vincent felt the hairs on his arms rise up.
He shook his head as if flinging the thoughts from it. Let's not get more distracted as a consequence of this. You've got work to do!
The conference loomed as an impending deadline, but it felt more hopeful than threatening. Something to look forward to . . . Humming the song to himself, his eyes scanned his apartment, coming to rest on rich cognac-colored leather.
I really should get started on the calculations for the tyrannosaur presentation, he thought, but . . . I will have some time tomorrow to work on that. And honestly, when will there be a more fitting occasion?
Approaching slowly, he ran a finger up its arm and down its spine, circling, breathing in the scent. Circle completed, he turned, bent, and sat in the grand leather chair, sinking into it, propping his feet on the footstool. No facts, pertinent or otherwise, immediately sprung to mind demanding to be spoken. He smiled. For the moment, Vincent Nigel-Murray was completely at peace.
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Author's Note: Final chapter! Back to both perspectives for this one. A sidenote: polyisoprene is the material used in making modern latex condoms. Here are some not-especially-pertinent details as an addendum to the story:
Chapter titles were dance-related:
Mirror Reel – a Scottish country dance move
Box Step – the basic waltz step
Sugar Push – a swing dance move
Pas de Deus – a ballet duet
Dile Que No – a salsa dance move
Riff Walk – a tap dance step
DR. BRENNAN'S EXPERIMIX (the CD Vincent put together for her):
"Whole Lotta Love" – Led Zeppelin
"Loneliest Person" – The Pretty Things
"World Lookin' In" – Morcheeba
"Cut Your Heart Off . . ." – Redneck Manifesto
"Lucky" – Radiohead
"Cloudbusting" – Kate Bush
"Couldn't Stand the Weather" – Stevie Ray Vaughn
"Interstellar Overdrive" – Pink Floyd
"Fake Palindromes" – Andrew Bird
"Graviyaunosch" – Ruins
"Chaiyya Chaiyya" – Gulza
"Rumour Has It" – Adele
"Europa" – Thomas Dolby
"Assassin" – Muse
"Tales of Brave Ulysses" – Cream
"Starálfur" – Sigur Rós
This was fun to write. I tried to stay in character as much as possible, and it was more of an awkwardness-fest than anything else. That's the reason I listed this story as "Friendship" rather than "Romance" – it fit these two better.
Thanks to everyone for reading, and a special thank you to philly cheese dude, DeenaTweety, and JayBee188 who were kind enough to review! I really appreciated hearing some feedback while I was writing this, so hugs to you!