“Um, hello? Hi! Hello? Yes, can you hear me…?”
You sighed to yourself deeply, placing the bone down deliberately slowly and turning around with a face of annoyance. The English Squintern hovered at the stairs of the platform, his thumbs literally twiddling, and he grinned when he saw your acknowledgement.
“Come in, Nigel-Murray.” You said that with incredible reluctance, and your inner self got down on their knees and prayed to whatever cosmic being that the most annoying person in the world would provide useful information and leave. Especially after previous complications*, you had no interest in seeing the special intern for longer than an occasional glimpse. He nodded appreciatively and swiped his card, running up the stairs in a quaint sort of skip. He glanced at the screens surrounding the current station and nodded.
“Ah, you’re working very hard, I see. Very good.”
“Do you have something you want to say, Nigel-Murray?” You said this quickly in order to shorten your time with him and snapped the gloves off your hands, glumly getting a feeling that you wouldn’t get to concentrate on the bone any longer.
“Oh! Yes, yes I do. I’ve a confession to make to you. See, it’s part of my recovery – ”
“AA, step number whatever of yada, yeah. I got it, Nigel-Murray, you’ve been blurting out these things all day. Just tell me what you have to say. Get it over with.” All the members of the forensic anthropology department had warned you that the twitchy Brit would be coming around to spill some embarrassingly trivial admissions. A hormonal Angela had even given you some of her opinions that were unwanted but unloaded all the same.
“Okay, so he’ll probably tell you that he’s said to some friends from wherever that he slept with you. That’s a given.”
“Heh, will people even believe that? Because that’s funny – ”
“No, everybody probably believed it. I think I heard some people making a betting pool for your wedding day. Anyways, not the point. What I’m saying is that he’ll probably confess something like, really sweet to you soon.”
“Sweet? Like what, ‘oh, I dusted your office for you’? Wait – that’d be nice, actually. Maybe I’ll ask one of the guards to – ”
“Honey, you and Brennan and Cam are my greatest BFFs, but you are each so dense for geniuses. Never mind, I’m just going to throw this out there. He’ll probably tell you that he loves you.”
You shuddered violently at the memory, startling the dark haired intern, who had just started to say something.
“Nope. Go on, go on, don’t mind me. Just get it out there. Do your healing process thing. Go on.” You waved a hand at him, gesturing urgently for him to continue.
“Then, okay, if you insist you’re all right…” He swallowed and composed himself, straightening his posture and clasping his hands together. You stared at him blankly.
“I might’ve told a few mates in archeology that, you and I… well, shared a night of passion.” He tapped his index fingers together as he said this, grinning sheepishly. You blinked.
“That we had sex.”
“Vigorously! And, um, I might’ve insinuated that you’re, er, very flexible.”
“Oh my god, that’s why those nerds keep asking me if I do gymnastics.” You rubbed your forehead and temples, groaning slightly. You looked through your fingers at him, and he still had the nervous look of wanting to say something. You scowled.
“Okay, well, I can live with that. What else do you have to say?” You rested on the side of the table, sighing gently.
“Do you want me to just say them all quickly? Y’know, to… yes? Okay, I can tell by that very ferocious look you’re giving me. Okay.”
“Right. Okay.” He took a deep breath and then suddenly said the following at a speed you didn’t even know was possible for man, “I sometimes smell your hair when you aren’t looking, I once borrowed your pen without asking and never gave it back because it was lovely, I often use your hand sanitizer when you’re not in your office, I take sips of your orange juice when you’re not around, I drew on that picture of you in the newspaper and sent it around a group of buds who may have sent it viral, I dropped your phone off the catwalk and replaced it with a different model, I browsed through your high school website and found several hilarious pictures of you failing miserably in a physical education class, I drop food and then put it on your plate instead, and Imightreallylikeyoualot.”
You didn’t have enough time to interject and instead stood, your mouth slightly open, staring at him.
“Wh… Why… H-how many was that?” you asked faintly, trying to remember anything that he’d said.
“Nine. I had more, but Dr. Hodgins advised me that nine of the worst is enough for my recovery. I feel much better now! Thank you. Good day.” He promptly turned heel 90 degrees and walked briskly towards the stairs, nearly escaping you before you called his name. He turned around slowly, his lips pressed into a tight line as you shook your finger at him accusingly.
“Hey, you said something at the end.”
“What? Really? I, wow, I guess I just rushed through. Oh well! Guess we’ll never know, hee hee, silly me. Good day.” He turned around again before you stomped up to him, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around yourself. You scowled at him, placing your hands on your hips.
“I… I might really… that’s what you were saying. What did you do? What did you say?”
“I… I don’t think you’d want to know. But! You might want to know that the Canadian government – ”
“No, Vincent, I’d actually really like to hear what you wanted to tell me. It’s for your recovery, after all.” You batted your eyelashes and waited expectantly from the skirmish boy.
“I… I really…”
“I… really… like you?”
You were expecting to have an excuse to throttle him – and he knew it, as he cringed back away from you – but you were stunned silent.
“You like me,” you repeated slowly.
“Well, I – Yes. Yeah, I really like you.”
You exhaled sharply and then pinched the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes. You could sense Vincent’s restlessness in front of you, and when you opened your eyes, he was backing up slightly towards the stairs.
“Okay, this is how it’s going to go down.” You said this firmly and took a step towards him, where he let out a very loud squeak. “You’re going to pick me up from my apartment at 7:00. We’re going to go to a nice goddamn dinner and see an actually interesting movie that doesn’t have some old British narrator talk about lion feces. We’re going to your place, where you will have some delicious, non-alcoholic beverage. And then, if I’m happy with you, you’ll get your ‘night of passion’.” You brushed past him roughly to stalk down the stairs, but not before muttering, “I did gymnastics for five years. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Oh,” you could hear Vincent say to himself quietly. You grinned.
Honesty’s the best policy.