As I type, Bones would have been on if the season finale wasn't last week. Sad! Oh, well. Thank you all SO much for the reviews and alerts. Alternative perspectives are always risky to do, especially when a lot of people hate Daisy, but I'm glad you guys are on board and sincerely look forward to every review!

As mentioned, this chapter is a little conflict-y, but not entirely. Future shots will not be so fluffy, if this can even be considered so. :)

Daisy and Daffodil: Running

"So wha—you're saying—is the bone actually—didn't exist?"

Their bare feet pounded into the sand, three powdery thunks of Daisy's for every two of Brennan's. They'd left the housing compound in the darkest skies before dawn and had reached the ocean shore just as the island lightened with the unsaturated grays of coming morning. The sand was cool and soft and Daisy only wished that it could stay like that while they were at the dig site, but the sun here near the equator was brutal—once it had actually risen. Before sunrise, though, the air was refreshing enough that the humidity could be forgiven. It was, just as Dr. Brennan had said, perfect for a good run.

If you were a runner.

"The femoral neck had never formed," Brennan responded easily, and if it wasn't for the bounce in her voice from the force of her pounding feet, she sounded like she could have been sitting down—and Daisy felt totally shamed as she huffed and puffed. "She had a birth defect that she never knew about, though you'd think she'd question why she had a limp."

"—Yeah," was all Daisy could manage as she hiked her speed just a little to fall by Brennan's side once more. "Good for identification, though," she coughed out.

"Great for identification, since statistically—hey, are you alright?" Brennan asked, slowing her pace to a jog as she watched Daisy warily. Daisy felt her pride practically cry from the bruising resulting from Brennan's sympathetic frown.

"No, yeah! Fine! Great! Why'd you slow down?" she whined choppily.

"You're pushing yourself. I don't usually run with someone shorter than me and I didn't realize I'd been forcing you to overcompensate for your stature," Brennan explained and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. We can stop at that fishing dock up there. It would be ineffectual to have you in pain at the dig site today."

Daisy swallowed her slight embarrassment and despite her aching lungs she squeaked out, "Well, we gotta finish strong, Doc!" And she took off at a gallop; Dr. B actually laughed a little, and that was worth the burning in Daisy's lungs.

Once they reached the fishing dock, Brennan jogged the last few lengths and then, since the steps had clearly deteriorated and collapsed with age, hurdle jumped onto the old wood. Daisy figured Dr. B must do this regularly and it was easy for her, given her height and strength, to clear the three-foot leap… for Daisy's five-foot-four self, not so much. Luckily, Dr. Brennan knew this—of course Brennan knew this, it was basic kinesiology—and offered Daisy a hand up.

"Thanks," Daisy said as cheerfully as she could manage and immediately doubled over chin-to-chest, trying to heave as much oxygen as possible.

"Yeah," Brennan responded distractedly, not even looking her way as she began the walk down to the edge of the long dock. Once there, she stood straight, her arms behind her and her hands bracing her spine as she stared out into the slowly-brightening ocean, patiently waiting for Daisy to recover. The way she held her torso stretched her muscles in ways that made the biological anthropologist student in Daisy snap into observation mode; these morning runs and the digging and the general active lifestyle of this research trip was really beginning to show in Dr. Brennan lean musculature. Daisy couldn't help but smile; she was glad that Dr. Brennan had permitted her to tag along on this morning's short run, but even gladder to see the energy with which Brennan sprinted and the overall healthful glow she sported. It was reassuring because Daisy sometimes thought Dr. B might be a little sad, and the tossing and turning in the tent and in the dormitory on some nights often left her haggard and she had to admit, a little bitchy. But when she ran, it was like this elusive little free spirit came out to play.

"Dr. Brennan, wow, are you in shape or what?" Daisy said, breaking the silence that had settled after her breathing had slowed. "You must run often."

"The FBI has fitness standards. Quarterly testing," Brennan said vaguely, eyes still on the horizon. She leaned forward and braced herself on the edge of the dock to look down at the frothy waves.

"No way—they test you? Is it because you're in the field so much? What are you, like an honorary agent?"

Brennan had a sort of awkward smirk that was both sad and longing and amused all at once. "No, I don't—no. It was for Booth. I run with… I ran with Booth."

Cute, Daisy thought. It was a simple enough explanation. Explained the whole I-don't-usually-run-with-short-people comment. It was kind of sweet to imagine her and Booth racing in some park, actually, and it was certainly nothing unexpected or unusual or groundbreaking. But then something happened—a slip that Daisy would regret for a very, very long time.

"Well, that's kind of funny."

Brennan craned her neck around and slowly stood from her crouch. "Funny? In what way?"

Looking back, Daisy knew she could rationalize her ill-phrased response with something Lance had once told her about post-exercise endorphins. Apparently, the excess excretion of different hormones after strenuous exercise often tampers with the ability to think clearly and studies have shown that the brain's ability to censor is the first thing to go. Kind of like alcohol, except a safer inebriation. Lance said he knew of quite a few psychologists who kept treadmills in their therapy rooms and often practiced exercise honesty, as he liked to call it. It reportedly had very positive, therapeutic benefits.

But as it was, her runner's high set off her mouth's mouth and the uncensored words were anything—anything but positive.

"Well, because now instead of running with him, you're running from him."

It was rapidly clear to Daisy that she had word-vomited and for a moment she had to stop to remember what she'd said, because Dr. Brennan looked like she'd been punched in the face. Her eyes were wide and empty and her jaw was slacked and pitiful. Yeah, well that expression didn't last long; it would've been way better if that had been Dr. Brennan's prevailing reaction. Her actual prevailing reaction was something far, far worse. Those eyes went from empty to a raging storm on the drop of a dime.

"Leave, please," she growled in such an alto timbre that it literally shook Daisy. The pleasantry of 'please' was not so pleasant beyond the venom.

"Dr. Brennan, I am so sorry—"

Brennan spun on her heel so that she was toe to toe with Daisy and she towered over her, brows furrowed in a challenge. She was practically baring her teeth at Daisy, her slightly sharp canines looking like fangs in the dim dawn light as she spat, "Go back to headquarters and do not apologize, Miss Wick."

…Do not apologize? Does she—does she think I'm right?

Even in her fearful retreat, Daisy dared to throw inquiries over her shoulder, each growing in volume as her distance from the dock increased. "You know I didn't mean it—you can't believe that I meant it—you don't believe it either right?" She was shouting now because the distance necessitated it, but Dr. Brennan wasn't looking at her. Once she was several yards away and she deemed herself at a safe length, she stopped.

"Dr. Brennan, please. It was verbal vomit, that's all, and I can't stand thinking you think I meant it!" she said, her voice getting scratchy from the shouting—and because she was starting to cry. But nothing would make Dr. Brennan look at her. She was now squatting at the end of the dock, arms wrapped around her knees and face impassive.

Still as a goddamn statue and more sealed away than ever.

Daisy just knew this would be the end of any bond they'd managed to form and as she watched her toes dig into the sand with every step, she couldn't help but mourn her own stupidity. She knew there was something irrevocable in hurting the woman she revered as her mentor. She knew Booth was an unsafe topic; she knew she should've tread a bit more carefully. And Dr. Brennan, so invincible, looked so pained—and all because of me! The tears fell. She kicked a seashell and cursed as it cut her toe. Kneeling forward, she picked up the offending shell and tossed it as far as she could into the ocean, a curse on her lips. She glanced back at the dock one last time at the still silhouette of Dr. Brennan and then began to trudge away toward HQ, wondering now how anything could go right again.

Would Dr. Brennan stop talking to her completely? They probably wouldn't have dig rotations together any longer, since she scheduled them. Often, they ate together—always, they catalogued and did write-ups together. Dr. Brennan was still her professor and Daisy still had credit hours to fulfill for her internship, but she could pull strings and get one of the other anthropologists to act as an adjunct on her behalf or something. Oh, God, what if she even removed her name from the articles they'd written? No, she wouldn't do that, because that would be admitting that emotions could sway her professional duties—

"Daisy…"

"Oh, Christ," Daisy gasped, practically tripping on her own feet at Dr. Brennan's voice directly behind her. Somehow, perhaps while Daisy had been wallowing in her sudden depression, the doctor had snuck up on her.

Brennan ignored the interjection entirely. "I am a scientist," she said forcefully and swallowed hard after her declaration. "I am an anthropologist. That is why I'm here."

"I-I know, I didn't mean it—"

"That's why I'm here," she repeated over Daisy's quiet stuttering.

The silence was nothing short of strained as the women watched each other carefully. Daisy, not willing to speak and subsequently cause another huge disaster, stood completely still and trained her eyes on Brennan's with the most contrite expression she could manage. When the silence dragged on, though, Daisy remembered that it was Dr. Brennan she was dealing with—who tended to follow the conversational leads of others whenever she could help it.

"I'm really sorry, Dr. Brennan," Daisy risked and Dr. Brennan's stance instantly relaxed.

"I know you are. I just—I wanted to clarify that in terms of this dig, my motivations are strictly professional." Her words were clinical, her tone was, well, mostly clinical, but the tense expression she wore was not clinical at all. "As you are still my intern, I wanted to be sure the right example of professional priority is being set."

"Aren't we past that?" Daisy let slip and she almost launched herself at Brennan's toes to apologize, until she realized that Brennan had not taken offense; in fact, if Daisy was perfectly honest, she'd say Brennan looked relieved at the informal turn in their conversation. "Even if what I said was true," Daisy continued with a little more confidence, "which it's not, I certainly wouldn't hold it against you or your professional concerns. And Dr. Brennan, I know that you're not running from Booth."

What Daisy could only label guilt colored Brennan's eyes.

"No," Brennan started carefully, looking away as she composed herself. "No, Daisy, you don't know that. You know don't know anything about it. Nobody does. Looking at what little evidence you're privy to, it could be interpreted that I'm running, that he's running. That we're just trying to—to escape. But it's not like that—Booth and I, we're professionals and we were called upon. We responded to a duty call. That's all."

"I believe you, Dr. Brennan. It wasn't my place." Seeing that Brennan was getting flustered and was showing sure signs of trying to hold back tears—a feeling Daisy knew to be very unpleasant—Daisy began to backpedal. "Please, don't feel pressured to explain anything."

"Well, ignoring it and not vocalizing my feelings has caused nothing but pain in the past, so I'm trying."

Daisy swallowed hard. Dr. Brennan wanted to open up? Voluntarily? Even after being offered multiple means of escape? With nothing short of wonder in her voice, Daisy asked, "Are you saying you're going to let me be your confidant?"

Brennan didn't offer a direct response to that question, but when she continued sharing her secrets, Daisy knew the answer was "yes."

"The truth is that I am running. I am running though I believe it's in a different direction than is usually implied by the verb in the context of—of relationships. I am running to catch up with him, not to get away from him, though I am scared I am too far behind."

"Oh, Dr. Brennan." Daisy felt her gut twist in empathy at the lost, little kid look on Brennan's face. The words were bubbling out of her like they had been this enormous pressure for way too long. And based on Brennan's past behavior compared to the current no-bars-held expose of psyche, they had been.

"I'm running as fast as I can but he's a… a star athlete, so he's been waiting at the—at the finish line for a long time now. He can't just—sit on the sidelines waiting for me. He can never just sit still and I—I don't want him to." The non-scientific comparative explanation sounded foreign from Brennan's mouth, but it also seemed like there was no more accurate of a description. "I wish there was a more concise way to say this; I very much dislike convoluted metaphor, especially ones that are sport-related, but part of my 'catching up' involves a little bit of mental evolution, so…"

"I'm sure Agent Booth would be proud of that."

It was a sad smile, but at least it was a smile. But it quickly turned into an angry, exasperated sigh. Brennan swiped at the bottom of her eyes as tears betrayed her composure. "And this is why I run all the time. I mean actually, physically run. I run to think about"—she waved her one hand vaguely toward the horizon, the other still fighting the waterworks—"this. I am finding, though, that it is detrimental. I am trying to figure out how to open up to him and I am doing so through introspection. Alone. What I should be doing is putting my underdeveloped extroverted tendencies into practice. I suppose that is why, for some irrational reason, I've wanted to tell you about all of this. You are a very open person. Sometimes too open, but I'm not picky when there are things to be learned."

Daisy's throat caught. "Learn? Learn from me?"

"Yes. I am finding that this trip is becoming rather educationally symbiotic for us." Something incredibly soft came over Brennan's face. It made Daisy's pulse freeze, for she knew something very un-Brennan-like was about to be revealed. "Daisy, for reasons I cannot rationalize, I find myself identifying with you—or rather, there are parts of me I thought were—I thought were long gone, but being around—I don't know. I'm not very good at this."

Well, this was certainly a one-eighty from Daisy's oh-so-recent breakdown regarding her relationship with her mentor. She watched on, marveling.

"So," Brennan continued, sounding slightly doubtful under Daisy's huge-eyed gaze, "if you're capable of still maintaining the necessary respect and boundaries in terms of your position as my intern and student, I'd very much… I'd very much like to—"

"Be friends?" Daisy posed calmly. She gave herself huge props for not saying it on a squeal. In fact, she was rather measured and frank and did well in matching Brennan's pragmatic cadence.

"Be…" Brennan was clearly searching for some less cuddly word, but when she couldn't find one, she visibly relented. "Be friends."

Daisy's response was a gentle, genuine smile. A nod, too, but nothing more.

After a stunned second, Brennan gave her own little crooked grin. "I am both surprised and impressed by your equanimity, Daisy. It's typically in your nature to relate to positive events with excessive exuberance."

"Well, hey, if we're going to be friends, it's all I can do to refrain from things that annoy you, right, Brennan?" Unsure of the lack of the obligatory title, she added in a little voice, "Heh, um, is that okay? Without the doc? I mean, obviously when we're on site I won't—"

"It's fine," Brennan said, cutting her off. "We do have to start heading back now, though. Start sifting yesterday's finds before the sun gets too high."

"Absolutely," Daisy agreed. But even though it was nearing work time, Daisy sensed something totally different about Brennan's disposition. She just needed someone to talk to and Daisy was more than willing to be that person. She would make herself available to be that person. Because certainly, she could learn just as much from Brennan as Brennan could from her. So she'd be that confidant. She'd be that friend. For Brennan, for herself, and for Booth.

Also, she decided it wouldn't be such a bad thing if her thighs jiggled just a little less, so…

"Hey, Do—Brennan?"

"Yeah?"

"Think maybe I could start tagging along with you when you run? And I mean both ways. The physical running and the catching-up-to-Booth running. I figure you can help me with one, and I can help you with the other. If you'll let me, of course."

She waited for the response with baited breath, a little wary of how her frankness regarding Booth would be received. She was relieved at the response.

"I would really…" Brennan said, almost so quietly that Daisy had to strain to hear, "really like that, Daisy."

And knowing that her words would have all the meaning in the world to Brennan, Daisy dropped her volume to match.

"I'll help you keep running in the right direction. I promise."