A Tie
Summary: A little B&B Banter (because who doesn't love alliterations, eh?) about who is luckier to have whom as a partner.
He ran his hands over the closing paragraph of her latest novel and smiled at the implicit innuendo that would eventually lead to the obligatory fade-to-black sex scene.
He made to snap the book closed, but first flipped back to the dedication page to view his name once again.
This book is dedicated to my partner and friend, Special Agent Seeley Booth.
It had come as a shock to him in the first book in which this dedication had appeared. Now it wasn't so much a shock but a comforting reminder that she cared about him too. The alpha male in him appreciated it too; in some vague anthropological way, he realized, she was staking her claim on him while acknowledging that he had some sort of claim on her. He bet that she would laugh if she heard this hypothesis of his, but it made perfect sense to him, even if his botched anthropological analysis made a mockery of her profession.
He set the book down on his desk, glancing cursorily at the clock as he did so. It was just past 5. If he waited a little while he could drive down to the Jeffersonian and harangue her for not having eaten all day. He was sure she hadn't. Some fresh new rotted corpse had been shipped in from somewhere he couldn't pronounce, which was sure to mean she had spent the majority of her day hunched over a lab table peering at some long-dead soul, reading the minutia of its structure even more thoroughly than he had just read her last novel.
She would give this person an identity. Angela would give it a face. They would recognize this pile of bones for what it was, or once had been – a human being. Those outside their line of work could never fully understand how they could do the jobs that they do… dealing with death all the time. Admittedly, upon first meeting her he had dismissed her as a squint with two feet in other peoples' graves, poking and prodding and scrutinizing them in death. He had realized later that this couldn't be further from the truth. They gave her bodies, she gave them life in the sense that she returned them to those who loved them and made sure their stories were finally told.
That's what she was – a storyteller. People who met her were often confused by the juxtaposition of her strange demeanour and remarkable writing abilities. They simply couldn't see it. How could someone so out of touch with the average human write literary fodder for the masses… and have them completely eat it up?
He'd have to ask her sometime... he began to shut down his computer in preparation to leave for the day. He stood up and was just pushing that accursed desk chair in behind his desk when someone knocked on his door. Assuming it to be Charlie or Danny or – God forbid – Sweets, he told the knocker to come in without a single glance up.
"Am I… disturbing you, Booth?" a wide smile stole over his features as he looked over to see his partner.
"No, Bones. Come in, sit down, make yourself at home,"
She seemed to relax a little, sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk. Her eyes scanned over his cluttered desk, stopping on a familiar object. She picked it up, "Were you reading my book?" she looked at him with a hint of laughter in her eyes, "They really aren't working you hard enough, are they?"
"Well, I don't really have as much work to do when people aren't being murdered left and right. I had a little downtime and I really do enjoy your books," he hesitated, "I know you like to pretend you're all science, but you really are an excellent writer."
She looked a little befuddled at the compliment, but stared at the book in her hands and then replied, "I've thought about that actually. The truth is, there's a science to writing."
He laughed teasingly, "Only you, Bones, could take the expression and freedom of language and reduce it to facts and statistics."
She looked at him curiously; he could tell she wasn't offended, "Well, maybe 'science' wasn't the right word. I just approach it as such because that's what I know. The truth is, skilful writing isn't just finding words and putting them in order… it's choosing the perfect words and making them do your bidding to say exactly what you want to say – to convey your exact thoughts in a medium that shows them for precisely what they are – imagination splashed onto a page," she stopped. He stared at her intently until she continued, "There are hundreds of thousands of words and infinite permutations…" her speech was enthusiastic, her face faintly flushed, "but if I don't stop and dwell on all the never-ending options and just simply… feel it, I can write anything I can dream up," she looked at him for the first time, "Brain in neutral, heart in overdrive."
He nodded, too enraptured to do anything else, "There is so much more to you than people realize."
She cocked her head at him, recapturing her businesslike manner with remarkable speed, "And more to you than you allow people to realize. We've all got aspects of our personalities that we don't employ in everyday life. I rarely use my bestselling-novel-writing skills when we solve cases,"
He smiled and shook his head, "True, Bones, but what makes your writing great is your passion. You throw that into everything you do, and that's why you're such an amazing… everything… be it scientist, author, person, or… friend," she blushed again and they sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes. He got up and grabbed his jacket, stopping behind her, "I'm lucky to have you for a partner, Bones. And all those other things too."
She turned to him and smiled as she made her way through the office door. As he was locking it behind her, "I would say the same to you, Booth."
He tilted his head, charm-smile firmly in place as they made their way to the elevator, "So the question becomes, who is luckier?"
She rolled her eyes at the hand placed on her lower back for the simple motion of guiding her into the elevator, but stopped short of batting it away, "I'll admit that while your alpha-male tendencies tend to annoy me in everyday situations, they come in useful when we need to take down a criminal."
"And I'll admit that while your squint-speak tends to annoy me in every situation, it is an indispensable part of how we work to our," He paused, remembering how his overuse of the phrase irked her, "full symbiotic potential."
She reacted just as he'd known she would, and the elevator doors opened on her exasperated look and his ingratiating but endearing little smirk.
"So it seems," she glanced at him as he spoke, her icy façade beginning to crack a little, "that we have reached an impasse."
She raised an eyebrow, "It seems we have."
"I say I'm luckier."
"I say you are too."
He stopped, staggered for a moment before realising that this was one of those rare and precious instances of Bones-humour, and jogged to catch back up with her, slinging his arm casually across her shoulder this time.
"Maybe," she looked at him sideways, "it's a tie."
He laughed and squeezed her shoulder, "If you say so. A tie. Stalemate. A draw. Dead heat! This is an equal partnership and we are both equally invaluable."
"So that means I get to drive fifty percent of the time?"
"Not a chance, Bones," He held the door open for her and they walked out into the courtyard, all but blind for the blazing sunset, "not a chance."
Just a short little friendship piece.
Up next: "Tie." Booth gets dressed, with a little help from his partner.