Not mine
"It's V-Day – you should spend time with Booth."
She should have known Angela would hound her today. It is, after all, February the fourteenth.
"Angela, Valentine's Day is a silly tradition loosely based on Catholic myths dating back to the fifth century AD. I don't believe in monogamy as a way of life, and I think that commercial exploitation of the human need for comfort and social contact is wrong. And I don't know why you're bringing Booth into this – unless he likes those chocolate hearts and hasn't told me." She frowns and continues to walk toward the bone room, where Zack has been waiting for three minutes already. "He can buy them for himself if that's the case, so I still don't understand your insistence."
Angela shakes her head with a small smile on her face; Temperance thinks it must be amusement. She's slowly, but surely, getting better at 'reading' facial expressions. "It's not aboutconsumerism or candy, Bren. It's about the love you share with another person. It's an entire day devoted to spending time with someone you care about. Just do something you both like." Her smile morphs into a smirk and she adds, "Like – I ordered some edible body paint last week and Roxie and I are going to do what we do best all night long."
"I don't think Booth wants me to paint him," she points out reasonably. "Honestly, Ange, love is just a reaction of the body when the brain releases vasopressin, oxytocin, norepinephrine, dopa-"
"I get it," her friend says dryly. They reach the bone room and Angela tells her quietly, "Remember how hurt and upset you were when you thought Booth was dead? And how mad you were when you learned he was still alive and hadn't told you? That's love, sweetie."
Temperance purses her lips thoughtfully while she watches Angela walk back the way they came. What she hasn't told anyone is that she was far more anxious when Zack was lying in that hospital bed, gloves covering his hands and cold sweat on his forehead and pinned with accusations she didn't want to believe. Booth is her partner, but Zack is both her colleague and intellectually her equal – no, that's not right. He's intellectually her superior.
And he's been waiting for her.
Snapping her gloves in place, she enters the room and tries not to smile. Zack is still examining the skeleton, almost as though it's an old friend who decided to drop in and say hello.
"Good morning, Dr. Brennan," he says quickly.
"Good morning, Zack," she replies. "What have you discerned so far?"
___________________________
When Angela leaves to have lunch with Roxie, Temperance is suddenly – and inexplicably – reminded that she doesn't socialize with people outside her lab. Of course, on occasion she has sex with men or converses with people attached to cases, but not much has changed in years; her closest relationships are with dead people. She has, after careful consideration, added Booth to the list containing Angela and Zack, but –
Even Zack socializes more than she does. The enigmatic 'Naomi in paleontology' seems to have become a friend to him somewhere along the way, and though their sexual relationship ended when he went to Iraq, she continues to see him outside of the Jeffersonian and engage him in friendly conversation often.
She can't do anything about it today, but she has an hour for lunch and can't do anything further until Hodgins finishes analyzing the sticky substance found in what was left of the victim's hair. Sighing, she looks up and says, "I'm taking lunch, Zack. You should take the opportunity as well; we may not have another chance to eat until late tonight."
"Okay, Dr. Brennan," he replies. His quick responses have always pleased her, and the way he says 'Dr. Brennan' is almost...she doesn't know the word. She's never been good at identifying emotions, much less categorizing them. Endearing, perhaps, but that doesn't seem correct.
She tilts her head. "Would you like to join me?"
"Yes."
She feels a smile begin to spread over her face – as she often does when Zack agrees to accompany her somewhere, and when they figure out something important together.
Eating is only important because the human body needs nourishment to function properly, but she finds that she's excited to eat with Zack. It's most likely because as of late, they haven't spent much time together and she (tentatively) considers him a friend of Angela's status.
___________________________
As soon as she swipes her card, Angela is beside her, grinning. "And where were you when I came back, huh?"
She rolls her eyes – she thinks that Angela might be thinking romantically again. "Le Bon Café, for lunch."
She feels much more 'at home' in her lab coat than she does out of it (Angela told her once it was 'worrying,' though she thinks it's more convenient than anything), so pulling it on feels like friendship. Her lab coat doesn't hound her for details – Zack doesn't, either. She finds herself impatient for him to get back from the restroom so they can continue their work; Hodgins must be finished by now.
"So? Did you call Booth?"
"Why would I call Booth, Angela? It was just lunch."
Her friend sighs. "Sweetie..." She seems to rethink her decision to say something, because she suddenly brightens. "Well, I know if you had lunch alone, you would have brought something back here. So who was it?"
She shrugs and wishes she could walk to the bone room; Temperance doesn't know why, but she wants to wait for Zack. "I just-"
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Dr. Brennan," says Zack, hurrying through the door. His hair looks slightly disheveled, as though he's been running, and despite herself a smile spreads across her face again.
"Wait – you went to lunch with Zack?" Angela sounds oddly distressed. Temperance doesn't know what could be distressing about this situation, and decides she must be wrong in her assessment.
"Yes; we had nothing to do, and I wanted to make sure we ate something before we were too busy. I think things will get busy fairly soon, so I need to go to my office for a moment. Let's go, Zack."
He follows her quickly and quietly – again, the snap responses she likes – and leaves behind Angela, who is wearing an expression Temperance thinks is bemusement.
"Angela seems upset," he says, tilting his head in thought. "I don't know why."
"I don't know either," she admits.
Hurriedly, and with some kind of mild concern, he asks, "Do you think we're supposed to do something? I just finished a book about modern social etiquette and it says one should provide comfort to a distressed friend. Is this an appropriate time to try it?"
She laughs lightly. "Angela keeps talking about calling Booth; I think she must want to speak with him, and so talking to us will do nothing except possibly annoy her. We have to talk to Hodgins and get back to work, but I need to pull up my hair first. You can get the information and meet me in the bone room."
He lingers a little longer than necessary, watching her search for a hair elastic, but just when she opens her mouth to ask what he's doing, he turns and nearly bolts out of her office. It's odd, butZack is odd. In truth, she doesn't mind when he studies her. He seems to like what he sees, and though she'll never admit it out loud, she's flattered.
___________________________
"Hey, Bones," he says, and she sighs. It's not worth the argument anymore; he's not going to stop calling her 'Bones' any time soon. She's learned to consider it a sort of endearment anyway.
"Hi, Booth. What do you want?" She doesn't mean to be snappish, but there's a dent on the right femur she can't explain. It is old, and most likely not pertinent to the investigation; but the fact that he has not been able to identify it leaves an itch in the back of her brain, and Booth has a knack for distracting her.
She notes that he looks like a kicked puppy. This happens often – she doesn't know why, but she hasn't asked, either. It doesn't seem to be an internal issue. After only a moment, he shrugs and gives her a winning smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Valentine's Day is just a commercial 'holiday' which shouldn't have any effect on-"
"Yeah, yeah," he says, scowling. "Jeez, Bones, it's not like I professed my undying love for you. Happy Tuesday, then."
"Is there something you needed, or did you just come here to follow a silly trend?"
He sighs heavily. "We found the site of the murder – and another body."
She can't help but be a bit excited. She likes it when a case moves forward; it means they're one step closer to catching the culprit. Still, she has to ask, "Are you sure you need me? If there's any flesh at all, Dr. Saroyan's a better choice, because I have to-"
"Nope, just a skeleton and a smell I wish didn't exist. C'mon, Bones. You're spending more and more time in the lab since Zack started working again. You're not mad at me again, are you? It was just protocol-"
"I'm not mad," she promises. "Just busy. Hang on; let me get my coat."
After a short walk to her office, she shrugs into her outdoor coat and asks, "Where are we going?"
"Little house about twenty miles from here. Other than the bones, the only thing in there is a ton of live ladybugs, and a bunch of dead ones." He frowns. "It's actually kind of creepy. Hodgins will probably have a field day."
"I'll make sure to get samples," she says dryly, following him out of her office. Louder, she calls, "Zack!"
After a moment's pause, she sees a head of brown hair pop around the corner. "Yes, Dr. Brennan?"
She finds the sight fairly amusing and laughs a little. "There's another crime scene. Keep working on that dent, okay?"
"Okay." He disappears and she hears his footsteps grow faint.
"All right, Booth, let's go," she tells him, and pointedly ignores Angela's strange grin as they pass by the scanners.
___________________________
Hodgins, with what seems to be excitement, tells her, "You have hit the jackpot."
She pauses in her study of the skull. Zack is nowhere to be found, but it shouldn't matter – it does, for some reason, but she dismisses her disappointment because it shouldn't matter. "Why? We found something interesting or pertinent to the case? Or are you speaking of something I haven't heard yet?"
"Unless you found something new on the bones, you may have delivered cause of death to me. Nothing's certain, of course, but this is something you wouldn't be able to see. You know those ladybugs you brought me?"
"Yes, I remember them. They were...quite disgusting, actually."
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, they weren't ladybugs. They were Harmonia axyridis – more commonly known as Asian lady beetles. The victim was tied up and chewed on by rats, but didn't show any recent injuries unrelated to that, but – if she was allergic to the bite of the beetle, she could have had a severe reaction. She must have been sweating in that house and struggling, and those particular beetles can bite people, trying to suck the salt from their sweat. Several bites, which would have gone untreated, could cause severe hives – and we all know in the right places, hives can kill a person."
She frowns deeply, almost (but not quite) frustrated. "That is a guess, Hodgins. We don't guess here, remember?"
"Do you have another explanation? Cam hasn't found anything toxic in what was left of her flesh. You and Zack haven't found anything on her bones. Booth hasn't found much of anything either." He winces and sucks in an exaggerated breath. "What a horrible way to die. Asphyxiation-" He swallows, and she tries to not think about being buried in that car. "-is one thing, but being sick and itchy but unable to scratch? That's torture."
"Well...we can't assume anything," she tells him, "and we'll know more when we talk to the victim's family; but at present, this is the most likely conclusion. Good work, Hodgins, but keep looking. I'm not ruling this cause of death until we find out everything."
"Sure thing, Dr. B."
Temperance shrugs, not at all satisfied, and makes her way to her office. She needs to organize her findings and note Hodgins' input. Grabbing a notepad, pen, and a packet of Post-It notes, she sits on the floor in her office and begins to write.
It isn't long before she's interrupted by Angela, who comes in quietly and sits on the couch behind her.
"What is it, Angela?"
She hears a sigh. "You don't have plans for tonight, do you?"
"No, I do," she replies on the spot. "I'm going to stay at the lab. I still have lots of work – and I also have some writing to do. Tonight will be very productive."
"I mean Valentine's Day plans," Angela shoots back. "Bren, the holiday doesn't matter – I shouldgive you this talk three times a week until you finally suck it up and take Booth out. Today's just...an important day for those of us who believe in love. There's no rule about it; it's just-"
"Spending time," she says blandly. "You told me this morning. I don't know why you keep bringing Booth into this; he's my partner, and we go places together all the time. If I were to spend tonight with someone, I'd want them to be able to help me with my work and provide intelligent conversation."
Her friend makes a soft snorting noise as she laughs. "Zack's your only option there, sweetie."
Thoughtfully, and shifting slightly, she says, "You're right. That's a good idea. Thanks, Angela."
"You..." Her friend shakes her head with wide eyes. "Zack is-"
"Intelligent, and can help me with my work. He's also male, so it should satisfy you and keep you from bringing up this subject again, correct?"
"Do you like Zack?"
"Of course I do. Don't you?" She feels a small frown pull her lips down against her will. She's not the best at discerning emotions from facial features – possibly because of her resistance to anything involved with psychology – but she's learned enough from experience (and from Sweets, who seems to pop up in all the wrong places) to know that Angela's upset, or at least perplexed. She stretches her legs and waits for her friend's answer, hoping the reply will be in the positive.
"Well, yeah, but I don't mean that way."
"I don't know what that means," she says very quietly. Angela's increasingly serious manner is unsettling. "I have a lot of work to do, though. Do you have something for me? Other than advice about where to spend my evenings?"
"Yeah." Angela holds out a large bag of colored hearts. "I'm leaving, but these are for you. A little present, because even if you're a grouch about today, I'm not." Her face suddenly lights up. "Now, Roxie will be waiting for me, so I'm gonna go. Just think about what I said, all right? Love is the most beautiful thing you can find in this world. That's why nobody can paint it – it's too powerful. You should call-"
"Booth," she interjects. "You've said that several times today." To avoid further confrontation, she adds, "I'll think about it."
___________________________
It's nearly midnight and the lab is peaceful.
Zack was more than willing to stay with her, and though she'll never admit it, she's happy he agreed. She thought that perhaps he might spend the night with Naomi, a woman with a strong personality who nearly always gets her way, but he doesn't put much stock in silly traditions either, and he's as eager to solve this odd mystery murder as she is.
It's her turn to watch him stand over the bones. She notices that he looks much more secure and calm when he's alone, or at least alone with her; she attributes that to his social awkwardness. She feels more secure when she's alone, too. She also notices that the intense look on his face is reserved for when he studies bones...and when he watches her.
She clears her throat. "Zack?"
"Yes, Dr. Brennan?"
Why is it that his response always makes her smile? It's illogical, but she can't hold it back. "I have sandwiches in my office. We can discuss our findings while we eat. Would you like to join me?"
"...Okay," he says slowly. He glances at the bones again – she does recognize that look. He doesn't want to leave the room unless he figures out something important, but he knows it's a good idea to do something else. She has that feeling constantly during every case.
Their trek to her office is quiet, but not uncomfortable – and it doesn't last long.
"Dr. Brennan," he says. His voice sounds much brighter; she wonders what changed. "Why isn't Agent Booth here? Angela said you were going to spend time with him."
"Angela wants me to call him," she replies honestly. She's a bit amused. "After some consideration, I realized she thinks I want to have sex with him – today is Valentine's Day, as she keeps telling me."
He seems to choke, but when she turns toward him with the sandwich she picked up off her desk, he looks collected, as usual. Looking down at his feet and sitting on her couch, he admits, "I've never understood the ideology behind Valentine's Day. The significance escapes me every time I try to piece it together."
"It's supposedly just an opportunity to express how much you 'love' a person." She rolls her eyes and sits beside him. She doesn't unwrap her sandwich, though; she just holds it in her hands and notices, out of the corner of her eye, that he isn't eating either.
"But...love is just chemical reactions to stimulation, both sexual and generic, so it can't be very significant, right?"
She has to grin. "That's what I tried to tell Angela, but she's convinced love is not only real, but very important. To be honest, I worry when people say they're in love."
He gives her a blank look. "Why? Because they're losing touch with reality?"
"Exactly." She begins unwrapping her sandwich, but doesn't eat it; instead, she continues, "The state of being 'in love' isn't a normal state of mind. Some symptoms of 'love' are silly declarations, feelings of unexplained euphoria, difficulty concentrating, difficulty sleeping, difficulty articulating...it's comparable to psychosis. Lust is a natural human function, and we're social creatures so we instinctively reach out to others for companionship, but being 'in love' seems to just be a widely accepted delusion. Those of us intelligent enough to reason our way out of that delusion – or at least acknowledge that it is a delusion – are free to explore other, more pragmatic relationships."
His face suddenly looks as though he's had an epiphany. "That seems more likely than what I previously thought."
Before she takes her first bite, she asks curiously, "What did you think?"
He shrugs sheepishly. "When I was nine, I had a seizure as a result of a high fever. After the MRI, I asked the doctor to tell me about the different parts of the picture. She must have assumed I was too young to understand technical explanations, because she only told me the names of some parts of the brain, but I looked them up at the library when my mother let me go to the library again. I read that the hypothalamus controls the autonomous nervous system and releases oxytocin, which would mean the 'feeling' is intensified; and the part of the brain associated with 'love' is also associated with things like Agent Booth's 'gut.' But more importantly, the brain of someone 'in love' looks like the brain of someone on drugs. I always supposed that 'love' was a compulsion, like addiction, and my firm grasps on logic and rationality override most compulsions."
"That's a very reasonable explanation, Zack," she says approvingly. She enjoys the way his face flushes – she doesn't know what it means, but it's enjoyable anyway.
"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. I've tried to explain it to Naomi – and my mother – but both of them said it was nonsense. Well, my mother said it was nonsense. Naomi said it was 'bullshit,' and I try not to argue with her. Hodgins told me only aliens think this way, but I'm fairly certain he was joking."
"I think you're right."
They exchange a smile. She doesn't pay much attention to the excitement the small gesture triggers; it's not sexual stimulation, and it's not because they're getting close to solving a case. Ever since Zack came back to work – with prostheses and heavy scarring, but the same sharp mind and helpful insight – she's been excited like this. She chalks it up to relief; he's not a murderer, and he's not dead. She wants to be close to him, most likely for the same reasons.
They eat in relative silence. She's not certain why; Zack usually has a lot to say, and she's not known for idle thoughts; but she thinks it's kind of nice. Angela once said that one of the marks of true friendship is the ability to sit quietly with another person comfortably and without any anxiety. If she's right – and she usually is, when it comes to matters of friendship and personal relations – then this means she has a 'true friendship' with Zack.
That's kind of nice, too.
"Hey, Dr. Brennan-"
"Temperance," she says suddenly. If she has a 'true friendship' with Zack, then he shouldn't have to call her Dr. Brennan.
"Okay – Temperance," he says, and she isn't sure if she's really seeing a smile on his face. "We just finished a conversation about the insignificance of Valentine's Day. Why do you have candy hearts?"
"Oh...Angela gave them to me." She doesn't know why she's uncomfortable, so she ignores it. "She said that even though I'm a 'grouch' about Valentine's Day, she isn't. Then she told me to call Booth. I'm...I think spending the night with you is much more enjoyable than spending the night with Booth would have been."
He hesitates, but then asks, "...Are you going to eat them?"
"Why," she asks, almost teasingly. "Do you want them?"
"Only the white ones."
"What?"
"I only like the white ones," he replies.
"But," she says slowly, "they all taste the same."
"The white ones are...weaker," he protests.
She shrugs and retrieves the bag from the small table at her end of the couch and passes it to him. "Help yourself."
She watches him retrieve one white heart from the package and place it on his tongue. He sucks on it for a moment before chewing it. At her questioning look, he says, "Sucking on them makes them softer and easier to chew. It's basic chemistry." He tilts his head toward the bag and adds, "When did you last eat these?"
"I was...sixteen," she says quietly. "I was staying with a new family – Frank came home with them. Martha let me stay up while we watched Sixteen Candles. I didn't like it much, but..."
She frowns. The memory is more bitter than sweet; she stayed with that family for three months. That night, Martha gave her a candy heart saying Be Mine, and she hoped it could be literal, but Frank was caught in a nine-car pileup and she had to move on to another 'family.' That was the point at which she decided she hated Russ for abandoning her – even though she didn't hate him and he had only done what he thought he had to do.
"...They were a nice family," she finishes. "When did you last eat these?"
"Last year." There's a crunching noise and he winces. "Ow. I shared them with Naomi; I ate the white ones, and she ate the green ones. I gave the rest to Hodgins, but I don't think he likes them, because they were in the trash that night. Here, try a white one."
She raises an eyebrow – she only vaguely remembers that they taste awful – but Zack looks very earnest and, as always lately, she can't resist that look. "All right."
The message is Call Me, which doesn't make much sense even in a traditional situation, but she supposes it's supposed to be cute. Copying Zack's technique – sucking on it really does soften the edges –, she tastes the heart.
It is awful, but when she's swallowed, she decides she wants to try another color.
Her disgust must show on her face, because Zack says, "You look like you just ingested a worm. Ilike them-"
She fishes out a green heart – U R Sweet – and pops it into her mouth. Once again, she makes a face. She doesn't understand why she wants to try another color, when they clearly taste awful no matter which color, but she doesn't think about it too much. Watching Zack watch her is oddly entertaining – at least, that's the best word to describe what she's feeling.
He takes another white one.
Her orange IOU, which is more amusing than it should be, is soft enough to chew without sucking, but Zack seems to like it better when she does it his way, and somehow sucking really does make them taste better. It shouldn't, and she decides it must be spawned from the enjoyment she gets out of watching him watch her. So when she eats a yellow Hugs, she makes sure to suck a little longer, and when she tries to meet his eyes, he looks away. She's not surprised; he's never been big on eye contact; but somehow, it's disappointing. She decides to not try it again.
"I don't know why I'm eating these," she confesses. "They don't taste good."
"My sister told me that's the point. They're made to be metaphorically 'sweet,' but it doesn't matter how they taste. I still like the white ones, though."
Her pink Sweet Heart doesn't taste any better, but her taste buds seem to have acclimated, because she finds that she doesn't dislike them anymore.
They both go for a heart at the same time. Their hands brush, and irrationally, she feels the need to withdraw her hand quickly. She doesn't, and neither does Zack, but his breathing has become slightly quicker. She picks out a purple one and laughs, though it's slightly shaky. It says What Ever.
It's a pleasant surprise to find that she actually likes the purple ones. She doesn't understand; they obviously share one taste, but purple just...tastes better. She supposes it's the same reason Zack likes the white ones, whatever that may be.
"I like the purple ones," she says aloud, and receives a strange laugh in response. She takes a handful and begins to separate them on her sandwich wrapper – white and purple in one pile, and every other color in another. Peripherally, she can see that he's doing the same.
"I thought they all taste the same, Dr. Bre – Temperance,"Zack says, and she can recognize that he's teasing her, or at least attempting to tease her.
"The purple ones are a bit spicier than the others," she replies, her tone very matter-of-fact. She gives him a white one.
"2 Cute," he reads aloud, and though his voice isn't quiet, it sounds like it should be quiet. His flush hasn't quite disappeared; in fact, it seems to have gotten a bit more pronounced, but he puts the heart in his mouth as though he doesn't know. Perhaps he doesn't –
Watching him suck on the small candy isn't entertaining, she realizes. Perhaps the term isexciting. That's closer to the truth, anyway. The differences between Zack and the other men in her life are suddenly at the forefront of her mind – Zack is able to carry on an intelligent, rational conversation with her even in times of distress. He shares her beliefs, and he doesn't expect her to do anything other than what she already does.
Zack doesn't look anywhere near her when he hands her a purple one which says Kiss Me, and she thinks she finally understands. She has said, several times, that most women prefer younger men, because of the compatibility of drive and experience, but now she realizes why she hopes it's true.
He tastes like candy hearts and avocado, which she expected. She did not expect his lips to be soft, and she didn't expect him to slide his hands along her shoulders and down her back – tentatively, as though he's not sure what she wants and he doesn't want to disappoint her. In truth, she still doesn't know exactly what she wants, but right now it seems like she's getting at least half of it.
He doesn't look at her when they part, and there's something about it she's sure Angela would call 'adorable.' Adoration has always seemed a bit pointless and trite, but so are candy hearts.
She almost doesn't give it to him, but after a moment of biting her lip, she realizes that she's being completely irrational. There's no reason to hesitate, and since this is just a silly exchange of candy conversations, things are open to interpretation.
She places it in his hand, and her heart speeds up when he smiles brightly at it. It wasn't exactly an invitation; nor was it a careless choice; but it's twelve-oh-one in the morning and unwittingly, she's taken Angela's advice after all.
Angela will never leave her alone now, but that doesn't register for more than a moment because Zack's decided to kiss her again, and this time there's an imaginary taste of extra sweetness which she knows is because of his voiceless response to her heart:
Be Mine.