A/N: I haven't decided yet if this is a one-shot or the start to a multi-chapter. This story is dedicated to my boss, the owner of the wicked smile and the destroyer of traffic pylons, who kindly lets me do my own thing as long as I get my work done.
He does things simply to make me happy. No grand gestures, though I'm sure he is more than capable of them. He probably wishes that I was the grand gesture type of woman, the better to demonstrate his alpha-male attributes. With him it's about the little things. Little things that add up to so much.
Jasper. He didn't have to give Jasper to me; we barely knew each other at the time. Not to mention that we spent more time arguing than just about anything except catching murderers. And we argued about that, too. That one gift means more to me than anything any other man has ever given me. Even now, years later, I can close my eyes and recall his expression as he handed me the small plastic pig with perfect clarity. Chocolate brown eyes full of warmth, charm smile fixed firmly in place yet somehow uncertain. I've never told him, and I probably won't, but that was the first time in our relationship when I was sure we would be ok.
He stops by with takeout when he knows I haven't left work in eighteen hours or more. Or he drags me to the diner for pie, even though he knows that his insistence that I try a piece will trigger my protest. It used to be annoying, like him calling me Bones, but now it just seems right. He always asks and I always tell him I don't like my fruit cooked. He smiles his charm smile and I can't help smiling, too. I never used to smile this much. I blame him for that, or should I be thanking him?
He has an entire vocabulary of facial expressions. I may not be able to read most people, but I can read him like a book. Or a skeleton. He uses his charm smile more often than anything else. It seems to make women melt, even me on occasion, and men want to be on his team. Then there's the hesitant smile. Its appearances are rare, he only uses it when I'm mad at him and he's not sure if I'm going to beat him senseless or hug him in forgiveness.
He calls them 'guy hugs', but I'm certain he has never hugged other men that way. Each hug I find it a little harder to let him go. I know he feels it, too. The embraces that linger just a little too long for two people who are 'just partners'. At least that's a lie we've stopped telling, though I can't pinpoint exactly when we stopped telling it.
The newest weapon in his arsenal of expression, and the most dangerous, is the wicked smile. I always know we're in for a good time when the wicked smile comes out. Last time he ran down several traffic control pylons with barely concealed glee. The pylons had been placed to ease speeding concerns on a narrow residential street. What hadn't been planned for was the fact that when cars were parked on both sides of the street there was barely a lane's width to drive through, leaving little choice but to run over the pylons. He actually sped up to hit them, with a manic giggle and that wicked smile on his face.
I love him. I haven't admitted it to him yet, but the fact that I can admit it to myself speaks volumes to the influence he's had on me. He has helped me in so many ways, made me grow, be a better person. Maybe I'll tell him tonight. I'll show up at his door with an armload of takeout and just tell him. It really can't wait any longer. Its the only rational thing to do.
"Earth to Bren!" Angela called from the doorway, hand on her hip and an amused look on her face.
"Yes, Ange?"
"Sweetie, I've been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. You have that look on your face that Hodgins says is like you stuck a fork in a toaster. What were you thinking about?"
"Getting some takeout."
"Mmm-hmm, like I believe that. You better believe I'm going to want details later about whoever it was that put that look on your face." At that the artist walked out, throwing an exaggerated wink over her shoulder and closed the door. Before I could change my mind I picked up my phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Hey, Booth."