Authors note – This is set after PITH but before season 4. Because I haven't seen any of it yet. Pity me with reviews.

Disclaimer – I very sadly do not have any legal right to play with these characters.

Thanks for reading. Enjoy.

On quiet days, when the lab is thankfully absent of murder victims, I take time to stand up on the walkway and watch the anthropological nature of those below. From this vantage point I can see almost everyone.

I observe Dr Saryoran stalking the floor, files in hand, surveying her territory. Checking everyone's awareness of workload. Ensuring she herself knows what is happening in every corner of the lab. She is Camille or Cam to her friends. That's what Angela just called her as they converse outside my office. Words echo here at the Jeffersonian. It allows me to hear Dr Saryoran question my locality, as though she is my keeper. To me she is my superior in employment only. I exude superiority to her in many other ways. Although in all honesty I am glad I was not offered her post. I enjoy the freedom I have to accompany you in the field. A sacrifice that I would not have been otherwise prepared to make.

Angela shakes her head to deny awareness of my whereabouts. For me this is a private moment alone. Should anyone find me here I would simply suggest I was assessing the new interns professional conduct as they work below. My eyes follow Angela as she enters my vacant office. Through the glass I see her walk to my desk and lean over. She appears to be writing a note. The temptation to see its content is not enough to pull me away from here. I watch as she walks across to Hodgins, a sultry sway to her hips as her heels click against the hard floor. He raises his head and smiles at her approach. And as she walks by him she runs her hand along his collar, across his shoulder then down the length of his arm, fingers finally grasping for each other as she passes. She has taken a detour back to her own office to experience a simple touch. Is this what love looks like?

Hodgins is still smiling as he looks back down to the task at hand. He turns his head to glance across to her, as though he just imagined their brief encounter, then collects the specimens he has been examining before heading up to the platform. The interns already up there are laughing and joking among themselves as they lay out a body from limbo. My gaze lingers for a moment as my mind pictures Zach lent over the soldiers remains. The constant reminders I give myself only serve to further torment my sense of right and wrong. Zach proved to me that logic is not universal and, like instinct, is subject to individual interpretation. You probably think that anyone else would have used common sense to determine his actions were wrong, but to suggest a sense is common implies that we all think the same. But we are different.. and we don't.

And betrayal is painful. While you may not believe that a physical pain can arise from emotional suffering I would beg to disagree. A cramping in my abdomen forces me to hold my body up as the tautness in my chest slices like a knife though my heart. But what is done is done. And no one can change the past regardless of how hard you wish. I am glad to take time alone to think.

I used to view self-reflection as a purposeless task but I have come to learn its value in understanding who we are. Who I am. And I have discovered through moments like this that I am constantly changing, evolving. Adapting to react to the environment I place myself.

I hear you come though the doors before you enter my line of sight. I watch you bound up to the platform expecting to see me, and the subsequent disappointment on your face when you find I am not there. I consider coming down to meet you but the opportunity to observe you unnoticed rarely presents itself and I feel a need to take advantage.

I must admit that I am somewhat confused as to our current standing. I am not oblivious to the fact that at times we act as though we are in a committed relationship. I say committed because we know each other too well for a word like casual to be bounced around. Those around us see it clearly. Some a little too clearly. Angela saw us right at the start. Sweets saw simple acts and interpreted emotional reactions for them. Caroline saw something... enough to blackmail me to kiss you. Maybe I took advantage of that but it was one temptation I could not resist. It felt good.

Pam Nunan saw enough to want me dead. I know the laboratory is maintained at a specific temperature. It must be the memories of that night that send a chill up my spine.

I know you aren't dating any other women right now. If you were I would recognize the subtle indicators that human males exhibit when attempting to secure a mate. A part of me wonders if it is my presence that prevents you from achieving your picket fence fantasies of a wife and children and Catholic pious. Am I getting in the way of your happiness? Our desire for justice should not allow you to place the rest of your life on hold.

You are still up on the platform as I observe the blonde intern attempt to engage with you as she mirrors your actions. She really is exceptionally pretty. From this angle I cannot establish if her advances are welcomed. As I think about how much you really do mean to me I consider how difficult it would be to let you go. Change is inevitable. Could I stand it should you move on with your life. And suddenly it hits me. Despite my verbalizations of the inappropriateness of humans to view each other as possessions I myself am now guilty of adopting this trait. And that you are not mine to let go of.

It seems I've grown attached. It was inevitable really. Working together in close proximity on cases that harbor intense emotional reactions. Unwittingly we have shared experiences that have only served to bring us closer. It was established some time ago that we complement each other, like we are two sides of the same coin. That when together we somehow make a whole.

I allow my lips to curl upwards into a smile as I consider the alternative ways two people may become one. I can't deny that I have visualized situations arising between us. You are an attractive male with outstanding muscle definition and incredibly symmetrical features. Many women would take pleasure from the opportunity to admire you up close, myself included. It's only natural.

We shouldn't work. But we do. Maybe because we are so different, and yet, when we consider what is really important we are the same. It is not a question I should try to rationalize. Some things cannot be explained no matter how hard you try. If I am honest with myself I would say that having you near completes me. I would gladly sacrifice the sexual experience I currently lack just to know you are always there.

I have tried to date men that are not you. But the truth remains that they are not you. As an anthropologist the concept of monogamy is a ritualistic by-product of modern society. It prevents us from achieving an adequately varied mix of genes. I must conclude that it is an irrational sense of guilt that prevents me from leaving with them at the end of the night. As though to sleep with another man would be an infidelity. If I continue to analyze my feelings further there is a likelihood I will become angry with my own conflicts so I choose to make my way down to my office where you will inevitably be waiting for me.

I hear only the metal under my feet as I step rhythmically down, closing my senses to the outside world, lost in the steady beat of my own making. As I expected, on reaching my office you are waiting patiently. You smile at me and I know this is a social call.

"Bones" you say, "have you eaten?" I know better than to answer a question when you're already aware of the word I will inevitably say.

So I reply with "just give me five minutes" as I hold your gaze and notice your eyes are especially dilated. Has the young intern appealed to you or is there someone else here at the lab? Your body is facing directly towards me, radiating your warmth. I glance to the floor and you do the same. You fiddle with your tie nervously. If I didn't know better you're body language implies...


But you drew a line. It is not mine to erase.

And I sit down behind my desk and spot the note that has been left for me.

Angela's note. The one that reads 'Life's too short for self-reflection on the walkway. Live a little more sweetie.'

Authors note – I live for your comments. Please don't make me beg. Although I will if you want me to! I have little pride.