SIREN'S CALL
SUMMARY: A determined Bones, an unconventional proposal and a heated exchange during a stakeout leave Booth more than a little turned on.
Disclaimer: I own not...but if I owned Booth, I would be wearing an FBI shirt all day long...
For Carisa
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Even in the cloaking shroud of darkness, the tension settled between them is undeniable, as is Booth's heightening nervousness, much as he tries to conceal it.
Far from acting as a protective barrier, the symptoms are all visible to Brennan; shaken hands gripping the steering wheel in an assertion of dominance, dark eyes fixated straight ahead to convey control, an illusory distraction from the jittery palpitations of his escalating heartbeat.
Brennan's face twitches into the beginnings of a triumphant smirk, a brief blip on the perfectly poised features.
As she stares at him with patient expectancy, Booth knows he was a fool for entertaining the thought that their situation could deter her persistence, and for arrogantly believe he was immune to her unnatural charm.
"So..." Brennan breaks the silence at length, breathily extending her expectation, "I was thinking we could try something new...an experiment, of sorts."
Booth's casual grin humours her, but the slight dilation of his pupils beneath the poor street light betrays his cynicism.
"That sounds like a pretty squinty request, Bones" He responds affably, "Won't you need a warrant, or at least a lab coat? Or have you been taking lessons in Sweet's psychobabble bullshit?"
Hiding her true intentions has never been her strong suit, but Brennan commendably tries and fails with what could be, when turned upside down and read backwards in an alternative universe, an innocent smile.
"I think you know that a scientific exercise was not the kind of experiment I was referring to", Temperance deadpans, "And I don't need permission from the lab- only yours."
Even toneless and devoid of emotion, her tone sends internal tremors though him, ingrained signs of impending danger that Booth acknowledges and dispels in the same heartbeat. Because he trusts her and she deserves this opportunity, and is as qualified as any certified FBI officer to make such grandiose, suggestive statements, right? It all looks good on paper, so why is he questioning his own informed judgements?
"Enlighten me." Booth responds flatly, semi-aware of where this is heading. His posture straightens as he meets her gaze, a challenge he is unwilling to back down from, disrupting the previously nonchalant lean against the car window to demonstrate his complete attentiveness.
"It involves a slight change in the way we operate", Brennan responds, maintaining a facade of formalities covering her underlying agenda whilst intentionally aiming for mysteriousness in her ambiguous choice or word (too emotive for her usual dialect, and Booth reads it immediately).
Heavily lashed blue eyes flicker suggestively, glancing for a moment too long in his direction, and Booth reflexively sharpens as he begins to comprehend her meaning.
"Bones...we can't" Booth interjects sternly in an attempt to intercept the mislead notion before it gets any further out of his control. The words taste bitter in his mouth, and his chest is tight with the effort it takes to string the single, complicated sentence together.
"I thought you said this was a partnership of equals..."Brennan responds sulkily, with all the diplomacy of a five year old. Her vital signs have significantly altered with the changing circumstances, thrilled in anticipation. Bravely she moves, daring to close the space between them inch by painstaking inch.
"It's completely unprofessional!" Booth splutters outrageously, "And you know as well as I do it would jeopardize everything we've worked so hard for!"
Her movement is sudden, and Booth immediately regrets shifting to physically block the path of her outstretched hand. Her hand brushes his arm, an incidental flinch. Her mouth is respectively agape, perfectly rounded and Booth suddenly needs to focus hard on his breath to maintain a regular rhythm. Something unspoken moves between them; a boundary has been broken, one that cannot be uncrossed, and this airlessness is the existence, filled with wordless possibilities, risks and disaster is all that lies beyond it. The atmosphere turns from placid to stifling, and are the windows a touch foggy?
"Booth...please..."
Her depthless eyes are wounded, and he sighs in aggravation. He knows he is threatening the trust on which their relationship is founded, and now balances precariously between what is and something more.
Booth braces himself, teeth gritted, warring between defence and surrender, the soldier's mentality deeply ingrained unwilling to relinquish his staked moral ground. He is stubborn, even now, when the slight brush of her breath in his face in their nearness makes his slightest analytical comprehension impossibly difficult.
"I... can't...."
But Brennan's composure is regained, and her decisive response is swift. Brennan quickly narrows the space between them, leaning into close to Booth's ear before he can react. Her eyes remain concentrated on his face. Her eyes remain focused, poised, but the irregularity of her breathing provides the perfect distraction.
Against his will and better judgement, Booth's eyes roll closed as Brennan maintains her stance. Both are motionless, but the anticipation pulsates between them, the unknown bidding. The lower octave of her voice is intoxicating. She might as well be stroking him.
"Bones..."Booth groans, more unable to tolerate the suspense than threaten any distinctive course of action.
"Trust me..."
She smiles victoriously, lips inches from pressing against his ear as she moves within range of her prize.
Booth is vaguely aware of their culprit exiting the alleyway in the left corner of his mind's eye, sees Brennan's brain ticking into overdrive, calculating the rate of velocity, factoring in the conditions and the physical attributes of the getaway, planning her next move when Booth can barely envisage what could happen in the next second.
"I said no!"
"Just trust me!"
Brennan waits for the perfect moment, frozen between intense focus and horrifying dawning comprehension. Her hands move determinedly, groping blinding before flicking the switch.
The dormant sirens on the top of the car erupt into wails, an explosion of noxious sound coupled with Brennan's pitch-deaf cry of "I'll trace him on foot, you follow!" in her best squint-masquerading-as-an-FBI-agent tone of authority, before exiting the car and commencing chase after their heavy-bodied criminal at a dead run.
Booth watches her retreating form in a stunned moment of sheer disbelief, before cursing loudly, and screaming out the window, "Dammit Bones, you're never coming on a stake out again, you hear me!"
As he hits the acceleration and swerves away from the curb, Booth swears he can hear her laughing t him as she pursues a suspected murderer. It doesn't matter that this man could be armed to the teeth and an practised in the art of torture, all she wanted the entire time was that damn siren!
Despite the conflicted anger and arousal, fuelled by the delayed burst of adrenaline that is just beginning to catch up with him, Booth silently prays to God that when Brennan apprehends this man twenty metres down the road, when his overweight 40 year old frame runs out of steam, that she doesn't get trigger happy. Even more importantly, Booth hopes to God that when she interrogates him over this little scenario later that she is naive enough to believe that the sharp object jabbing her side during their little exchange was his gun.
"Damn sirens!"