Booth is wound up, caged in her office and beginning to fidget on the couch. Left to his own devices, he starts flipping through her magazines and fiddling with the poker chip in his pocket. He tosses it up, spins it on the table, turning it over and over in his hands until Brennan cannot ignore him any longer.
"The lab results may take a while longer, Booth. I would appreciate it if you would please stop that."
"How long do DNA results take anyway?" He grumbles, his voice belying both his apologies and expressing his boredom.
Brennan arches a brow, unamused. She returns to her typical waiting-in-office activities, filing away old paperwork, finishing case notes, and working on an outline for her next book. For the most part, she disregards Booth's presence, she certainly wasn't forcing him to stay. He had been the one who wouldn't leave; he'd gotten huffy when she declined his invitation to lunch.
"I believe Dr. Saroyan usually gets results abnormally quickly. These must be taking longer to process for some reason. We may not receive anything for a few days."
He glances at her, incredulous, "A few days? Then what are we still doing here? Let's at least get out of this office—go running or something."
"There is a gym down the hall, if you leave the lab through the south entrance and take the first left," Brennan tells him, pulling a stack of files toward her.
"There's a gym here?"
"Yes, I just told you how to get there. Leave the lab—"
"I didn't know about that."
"You obviously failed to look at the floorplan I provided you when I gave you your identification badge, then. And you never indicated a particular desire to use it before, so I didn't see the need to mention it. Now, you have not only expressed a wish to use one, you seem to need physical activity of some kind, so it seemed prudent to remind you—or inform you—of it's existence."
Her tone is clipped; she's distracted by her fountain pen, which is alternately failing to work entirely and blotting ink everywhere.
"Come on, come running with me. I have sweats in my car."
"I have work to do," her response is automatic, almost pre-programmed.
Booth realizes he's never seen her exercise, never even heard her mention it. She eats healthy enough—when she remembers to—and slaves over her job, which keeps her active.
"Do you even work out, Bones?"
The question slides off his tongue before he can curb the impulse to ask. It's a personal question he probably doesn't have the right to know the answer to, but now he's curious. Brennan's face shows her surprise; she rubs her eyes and leans her cheek on her hand, looking at him.
"On occasion I run on a treadmill at the gym, yes. Not with any regularity, my job requires physical endurance but very little muscle development beyond the norm for a woman my age."
"Come on," Booth repeats, and she can tell he expects her to parrot her earlier response. Casting a despairing glance at the paperwork before her and then sneaking a peek at Booth's smirk, she comes to a decision.
"Fine. I'll go. Let's go."
Booth grins, surprised and pleased. His whole face glows for just a second, so quick that she almost misses it.
Brennan changes quickly from her lab coat to sweatpants and a t-shirt (she's been keeping a comfortable change of clothes in her office since the Christmas Eve/fungus situation). Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she wipes the traces of makeup from her face and finds Booth waiting outside the bathroom for her.
She turns in the direction of the gym, and Booth catches her arm.
"Nyuh-uh, we're not running on some sissy treadmill. There's a nice flat path right outside."
"It is the middle of the afternoon, Booth. Why go running in this heat when we can go the same distance in an optimal climate?"
"Because the one time you need to run somewhere, it isn't going to be in optimal conditions."
His voice is low, even if his tone is teasing, and Brennan can see him, in her minds eye, jogging along some sandy dune in blinding sunlight. She shakes her head slightly, clearing her thoughts, before nodding her assent.
They start slowly, moving away from the lab and across the lawn. Brennan privately wishes she had put on sunblock, feeling her skin tingle under the burn of the blinding rays. She's concentrating hard on moving forward, wondering how slow Booth must consider her pace when he slows further to a walk, taking a long drag from his water bottle. She mimics him, breathing loudly.
"I'm sorry," she says, gasping for air, "I know—this must be dull for you—but I'm—not used to this."
"What's this, the great Dr. Temperance Brennan admitting to a flaw?" He's smiling and it's charming, but she wants to strangle him.
"I knew we weren't gonna be running sprints, Bones. But I like company when I run."
Brennan looks at him strangely, but follows when he picks up speed once more.
----------------------------------------------
They run a lot, now.
Brennan has gotten used to the heat and the cold, though she refuses to run outside in the snow or the rain. She consults with Booth when her tennis shoes give out, the rubber sole flapping against her instep. He recommends a store, a brand—though he cringes when she buys shoes with a pink stripe.
"The sale supports breast cancer research, Booth, it is a worthy cause, and I'm buying the shoes anyway."
"I know, I know. But, they—sparkle. It's girly."
"Well, I am a girl."
They don't talk when they run. Brennan wouldn't have been able to at first, and by now, their silence is habit. A welcome tradition, where work lives and personal lives don't matter and don't exist.
Brennan likes that feeling of escape, where all she is thinking about is the road stretching before her and her pacing. She matches Booth's step so that their shoes hit the pavement together, whump-whump, crunch-crunch, measuring out the miles in a careful rhythm.
Brennan finds she likes the rush of the runner's high. She's less keen on the blisters.
Sweaty and exhausted, they always return to the lab, or her apartment, or his. It's part of the routine: run, shower, collapse, food. Sometimes she goes too far, and she winces as she reaches to get the pasta pot from the top cupboard.
"Developing muscles you didn't know you had?"
Brennan opens her mouth to reply that she may work with bones, but that doesn't mean she doesn't understand the rest of the human anatomical structure when he grins. And he's only teasing, so she grins back.
---------------------------------
Brennan laces up her shoes. She's felt the feeling build for weeks, and she's ignored it, pushing it out of her mind. But her body knows a new routine now, and when her legs are cramping as she sits at her desk waiting for Hodgins to come back with a toxicology report, she realizes she has no excuse.
It's raining lightly when she slips out the door, but by this point she's committed herself mentally to this run. She almost cannot wait to let the world slide away.
Her breathing picks up, and she notes that time away from exercise is like time away from the lab—only constant practice keeps you in top shape.
Brennan steps to avoid a puddle, but her shoes are soaking through anyway, it's raining harder. She thinks about the rain, the road, everything—but she can't quite escape the reality of the empty space next to her.
She runs faster, lengthening her strides and listening to her feet pound the pavement. But Booth still doesn't know who she is, still doesn't know what the woman who comes to his house is supposed to be to him. She can't outrun that.
A sharp pain hits her side, and this isn't exercise anymore, it's desperation. She slows, orienting herself to return to the lab.
She's still dripping on the floor when Angela comes into her office, holding the report she's been waiting on.
"You couldn't have waited for some other time to go running, perhaps?" She asks, grimacing.
"No," Brennan answers truthfully, taking the proffered file.
She's tired, but she goes to his place anyway. She rinsed off at the lab, but she hasn't bothered to dry her hair or put on makeup.
"Hey," he answers the door cautiously, and his face changes when he takes in her appearance, "Are you okay?"
"I went running. I was waiting for some lab results."
He cocks his head, looking her over for a long moment.
"I went running today, too."
She looks up, startled.
"Outside?"
"Running on a treadmill is—"
"for sissies, I know." She finishes for him, rolling her eyes.
"Maybe, next time, we could, you know, go running together?" He asks hopefully, and it's so polite she has to cover a smile.
"I'd like that," she agrees, nodding. "It's always nice to have company."