The following fic is for fun... take it for what its worth... It is a 'funshot' for my pal Jenlovesbones ... Let's see where it takes us, shall we?
The cube of ice flew into the air majestically, leaving behind a drop or two of water that followed the cube into the glass. It clinked to the bottom and the glass shook again forcing the cubes to do the same dance again and again, splashing into the warm liquor until only chips remained.
"Perhaps instead of displaying your male prowess to the clientele, it might be wise to keep your eyes open." Brennan's voice was deep with sarcasm, and Booth's head snapped in her direction. He then looked down to see if his fly was open.
"What?"
"Nothing." She replied, pulling the glass from his hand, she placed it on the tray she was holding. "Where is the Long Island iced tea?" She asked, looking around him. "You're falling behind. Do you need me to help? I am quite skilled at mixing drinks."
"I can handle it, Bones." He said, setting the glass in his hand on the tray. "Long Island Iced tea."
"You're supposed to be using our cover names, Booth. I'm Jena, you're Frank." She whispered.
"Where did you even come up with those names?" He mumbled.
"I think they're very nice names." She said, turning with her tray, she walked off to deliver the drinks.
The partners had been working this particular cover for four days now. The Barton hotel, an old historic hotel that was just as famous as the people who owned it and kept it running, which is to say it wasn't famous at all. Ten days earlier, a body had been found in one of the rooms, investigated by the local police, they found that the body was that of an undercover FBI agent by the name of Louis Hargrove. Hargrove had been working in deep cover for over five years, tracking the sale of antiquities through storage at the Barton Hotel. He had a meeting with officials and didn't show up, and shortly thereafter, a maid had found his body, hanging from a necktie in the closet of his room.
Booth was brought in to aid in the investigation, believing that by going undercover, he'd be able to find the ins and outs of the hotel.
Naturally, he'd need his partner.
"I need three scotch on the rocks." Brennan said, setting the tray down on the bar, she looked to Booth with tired eyes. Sure, she worked over a steel table at the lab all day long on most days, rarely taking a rest, but she found the work for this job to be extraordinarily exhausting, and Booth could see it in her eyes. There was live music in the small hotel bar, a folksy guitar player with a folksy name playing folksy music. "Frank? Did you hear me?" She said, catching Booth's eye as he spoke to a woman across the bar, smiling that charming smile that made her want to smack it off his face. She glared at him, and he straightened, walking toward her quickly. "Maybe you'd like to hand out drinks for a while?"
"I got it, Bo-" He stopped at her glare. "I got it. What do you need?"
"Three scotch on the rocks. Three of them." She said, watching his eyes wander over the small crowd of people. "Frank." She said, smacking her hand on the bar, he caught her eyes.
"I was just… who are these for?"
"The gentlemen over there." She said, pointing to a table with three business men, sipping from the dredges of their last glasses of scotch.
"How many have they had, they've got to be hammered by now."
"I don't know, but they want more." She sighed, watching Booth grab the glasses, he poured the scotch. "Hear any chatter?"
"Nothing." Brennan sighed. "This is really starting to seem like a dead end." She said, looking around the room.
Suddenly, the music was interrupted by the shrill, scream of a woman. All eyes focused on the woman running for the front door, a woman in a maid's apron, covered in blood, screaming for someone to help as she collapsed onto the lobby floor.
Booth and Brennan exchanged a glance, and amid the gasps and shouts of the crowd, the partners knew that they were in for a very, very long night.