My first half-ways serious fanfic...and one of the only fanfics I've ever finished. It's really disjointed, and pointless, and silly... but it begged to be written. Please R&R.
Temperance Brennan sat in a chair in a hospital room. Her partner sat on the bed, having "some scrapes" patched up by a nurse. He would have refused, but Dr. Brennan's ability to describe his injuries to him in a way that he was so completely at a loss to understand convinced him to allow her to take him to the hospital just so that she would stop the incessant stream of 4- and 5-syllable words flowing freely from her lips.
Unfortunately, she had also ceased the stream of any words. She sat with him, holding his shirt and jacket in her arms, but looked at a wall with her jaw set. When the nurse finished wrapping his left bicep in layers of gauze and giving some advice on caring for his fractured clavicle, she let him go. Dr. Brennan stood and handed him the blotchy, tattered piece of clothe that had been his shirt and he put it on. He then took his coat from her to try and cover the worst of it.
"Hey, Bones, let's get back to the Jeffersonian. I'm sure there's something on me that could be used as DNA evidence from our suspect."
"I could have protected myself." These first words were spoken with a cold, matter-of-fact tone, but Booth could hear a hint of anger seething under them.
Booth smiled his charm smile and tried his best to make her smile as well. "I know you could have, but it was my duty as a gentlem-"
"It was your alpha-male tendencies and your instinctive need to protect what you consider your property-" She nearly spat the last word at him and gestured towards him. He started to reach up to grab her wrist, but had to stop. Neither of his arms was of much good right now.
"Hey, now!" he called, to stop her. "Just because I decide to do something nice for you-"
"Because you think I can't care for myself!"
Her eyes widened, and she turned to face him, full ready for a head-to-head argument. She inhaled, preparing to parry his next verbal blow. Instead, however, he turned away.
"I'm sorry, Bones."
"What?"
They stood for a moment in the parking lot of the hospital, and then he continued to walk towards his car. "I'm sorry. You can care for yourself. You're wrong, though."
"About what?"
He refused to answer, though, and got into his SUV. He started to reach up to the wheel with both hands, and then stopped. His left arm was missing a good deal of flesh from a knife that their suspect had and would be sensitive for several days, and his right clavicle wouldn't let him left his right arm hardly at all. He just sat in the seat for a moment, and her argumentative expression softened.
"I'll drive."
At the Jeffersonian, Angela took Booth's shirt – rather happily – and took it back to look for DNA evidence. Their suspect was not cooperative when Brennan asked to swab for DNA, but they were hoping that that wouldn't matter. Although most of the blood covering Booth's shirt was his own, they were hoping they could find some that wasn't.
Booth, who was left with nothing but a slightly torn and stained jacket and a heavily soiled undershirt, followed Brennan to her office and sat on her couch. She sat at her computer and started to type. "You didn't tell me what I was wrong about."
"What?"
"You said I was wrong."
"Oh."
Booth took a deep breath. "Alpha-male tendencies…you write a lot of my personality and actions off on alpha-male tendencies."
"Well, it's true. It's nothing to be asha-"
"Not everything I do is due to chemicals in my brain, Bones."
"Actually-"
"Listen. I know that sometimes, when I'm doing my job, some things are instinctive because of my training. But back there? That wasn't. When you asked that guy for a DNA sample…what he said to you…" Booth rubbed his forhead. "He pulled the knife and went for you. It wasn't my FBI-Army-Ranger-Alpha-Male instincts that made me jump him."
He paused, and finally looked up at her. There was no reaction in her features, however. She looked more someone listening to a story; she was waiting for the end of his story. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Those were completely different instincts. We're…you're too important for that, you know?"
She smiled a little bit, leaning back in her chair. "We do have a very successful partnership. It would be a shame if it ended just because of one uncooperative suspect."
Booth stood up suddenly, looking at the ceiling as if searching for the next thing to say. Finally, he stood in front of her desk and looked at her. "Bones, that's not what I mean." He turned, trying to come up with words. "Maybe, if there were no more murders…maybe, if you had it your way, we'd just be coffee. But you know what?" He turned back to face her. "If I had it my way, we'd be a lot more than coffee."
She looked at him, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. He felt like she was laughing at him, but he had gone too far now to stop.
"How would we be, if you had it your way?"
Booth shook his head. "I don't know, Bones. But a lot more than coffee."
She leaned forward on the desk, her mouth scrunched in thought. Finally, she nodded. "You're right. We would be."
He smiled at her. His smile dropped for a moment, though. "I need to ask you something. I only ask you, because I know if you say no, then you can…compartmentalize, or whatever you do, and it won't change anything, except for screwing up my day. But not asking you will, anyway, so I'm going to."
She shook her head in mild confusion, trying to follow his train of thought.
"Screw the line, and our jobs, and all that. Could we be more than coffee…now?"