Booth stood at the door of his apartment, his hands both full, his keys gripped between his teeth. He bent down and put the paper bag with his dinner on the floor and pulled the keys from his mouth and inserted the old brass key into the lock and turned it. He pushed the door open and stared into the darkness. He sighed audibly as he pulled the key from the lock and pushed the keys into his pants front pocket before bending down and picking up his dinner and stepped through the doorway. Flicking the light switch with his elbow, the room was immediately bathed with a soft yellow glow from the single globe hanging from the ceiling. It flickered for a moment and Booth stared up at it, waiting for it to die. It didn't thankfully, I better replace that tomorrow he thought.
He dropped his suits, collected from the dry cleaners during the day, over the back of the couch and walked over to the table and put down the bag of Chinese food. He opened it and looked inside and groaned. "Again?" he said as he walked into the kitchen and rummaged in a drawer only to find one single chopstick. He threw it towards the trash can, missing it and sighed again. He pulled a fork from the cutlery drawer and walked back to the table and stood staring at the bag for a moment before picking it up and walking back to the couch and dropping heavily onto it.
He leaned back for a moment, the paper bag resting on his knee. He could feel the heat from the food seeping through the containers into his leg. The warmth was quite comforting. He leaned forwards, placing the bag on the low coffee table in front of him and started pulling small white cardboard containers out of it, lining them up in front of him. He began salivating as he began opening the containers, but quickly stopped as he realised he had the wrong order. "God dammit! How many more times do we have to do this?" he yelled to nobody. He started closing the containers up with the thought that he was going to go back to the restaurant and demand his money back, but then realised that he was really hungry, and he had perfectly edible food right there, hot and steamy, and his stomach growled loud enough to make him rethink that idea.
He looked at his watch. 10:45pm. The restaurant would be closed now. He probably shouldn't have stopped off at the pool hall for that not so quick game before grabbing his dinner. "I might as well eat it" he muttered reluctantly, opening the containers again, lifting them up and sniffing suspiciously at each one.
Booth was a creature of habit when it came to Chinese food. He liked the House Special Fried Rice. He liked the Mushu Pork, and he liked the Ribs. What he had wasn't any of these things. What he was staring at was plain steamed rice, and what is the point? he thought shaking his head. Some sort of, what is that? he wondered, leaning down and smelling the yellow tinged chunks. Lemon chicken? Ugh. And no ribs. He poked at the egg rolls in the last container. But it was still hot and it was in front of him. And he was hungry. He picked up the fork and stabbed at the lemon chicken, he held it up in front of him and inspected the cube of meat, dripping with a yellow sticky citrusy sauce then shoved it into his mouth, chewing with absolutely no enthusiasm.
Twenty minutes later he was leaning back, semi-slumped on the couch, channel surfing through a series of mindless infomercials and reality TV programs. He almost gave up when he came across an old war movie with Rock Hudson, A Farewell To Arms. He checked the online guide, it had only started ten minutes ago. He smiled and pulled a pillow behind his head and used his foot to slide the empty food containers to one side of the coffee table. He wriggled his toes, wincing as a familiar pain stabbed across the arch of his right foot. He stared at the bright green and purple stripes of his socks as the pain subsided, and then allowed his eyes to focus on the TV screen beyond his feet. Good ol' Rock. All class he thought as he watched the movie, belly full and finally relaxed.
Booth opened one eye. It rolled around in its socket taking in his surroundings. It took a minute to work out that he was still in the living room. He started to sit up, but the pain in his neck and shoulders made him groan. He stopped moving for a moment, knowing he was going to have to mentally prepare himself for the pain that would engulf him as he lifted himself from the awkward position he had slept in. Why? Why didn't I just go to bed and forget the movie? He thought as he gritted his teeth and sat forwards, wrapping his hands around his shins and let the pain subside.
He sighed loudly and pressed his hands into the couch and pushed himself up into a hunched over standing position, his hands on his thighs. "Oh God" he moaned as he wrapped his hands around his hips and leaned backwards, stretching his back "Holy Mother!" Booth looked down at the empty containers from last night's dinner, then shook his head and turned and shuffled towards the bathroom. His feet registering their objections with each step.
Booth's body had been ravaged over the years by injuries sustained on the job. His feet, well, he didn't like to talk about that. Torture, any torture is not something one liked to reminisce about. His back and shoulder, well that was wear and tear and a bullet or two. His knees, well that was partly an old sporting injury from his college years and more wear and tear. "I guess you're getting old Booth" he muttered as he walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, running one hand through his mussed hair, then rubbing at the light stubble on his chin "Nah, that can wait another day" he thought, dismissing the idea of shaving.
He turned on the shower and began stripping off yesterday's clothing and dropping it into the hamper in the corner. Reaching into the shower he tested the temperature then turned and walked into the bedroom, opening a drawer in the old dresser and grabbing some clean underwear and socks and walked back to the bathroom, dropping the clean garments onto the closed lid of the toilet. He stepped into the shower, feeling the heat of the water pulsing against his skin. He allowed himself to exhale fully, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "oh yeah" he groaned, tilting his head from side to side, the water, like tiny warm fingers massaging his skin.
He let his mind finally get some focus while standing under the water and tried to remember what he had on his plate for the day. He knew that Camille was in town. She was working as the coroner in New York city and she had requested him to come to meet with her first thing in the morning. He sighed, wondering if it was business or he was in trouble over the fact that he had ignored her last three invitations to go for a drink. Sure, they had dabbled in the dating a work colleague scene, not overly successfully. It was always just too awkward when they were around other people. Camille was just so uptight about people knowing that she was sleeping with someone within the department. Camille is uptight full stop he thought as he rinsed shampoo from his hair.
Wrapping a towel around his hips, he stood in front of the mirror, wiping it with his forearm, trying to clear the mist, revealing his hair, wildly curling around his forehead. He grabbed another towel and roughly rubbed his head until his hair was just damp. Opening the mirrored cabinet he pulled a pot of hair product out and opened it, his fingers scooping up a dollop of the green gel. He rubbed the gel between his fingers and then began working the product into his hair, combing it, smoothing it, until he was satisfied that it looked exactly as it had yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before that.
He nodded and put the pot of gel away and pulled the towel from his hips and quickly dried his upper thighs and threw the towel on top of his dirty clothes from yesterday.
Slipping on his clean underwear and then sitting on the closed lid of the toilet to pull on his yellow, orange and blue striped socks. "OK. Breakfast" he muttered as he left the bathroom stopping to slip his feet into his old brown slippers.
Booth liked breakfast. Most important meal of the day he always told himself. Sometimes it was the only meal of the day depending on how busy he was. He tried to remember to stop and eat lunch, but sometimes, it just didn't happen. He busied himself making eggs and toast and coffee. "Oh yeah coffee" he muttered out loud as the beeper sounded on the coffee maker. He poured it into his extra large mug and sniffed loudly, drawing in the hot steamy aroma. He took a large, loud slurp and closed his eyes, swirling the hot black liquid around his mouth before swallowing and then smacking his lips together loudly, "Ahhhh That's the stuff" he said grinning.
After eating his breakfast standing at the kitchen sink, he quickly grabbed a clean shirt, pulling it from the dry cleaner's plastic cover and pulled on a pair of dark navy suit pants. He stood in front of the full length mirror in the corner of his room and watched himself buttoning up the shirt, starting at the bottom button, working his way meticulously up to the collar, tucking it in, smoothing it around his body. He zipped up his trousers and slid the black belt through the loops and buckled it up. He stood looking at himself for a moment, the shrugged and headed to dresser, shoving the St Christopher medallion he always carried, along with a set of dice and a $100 poker chip into his pocket. He pulled a dark grey tie from the top drawer of his dresser and hung it around his neck. He grabbed his car keys, and pulled his suit jacket from the coat rack by the door and left to make an early morning appointment before meeting Camille.
A phone call interrupted his early morning game. He knew he shouldn't have been there. He sighed and made a promise to himself that he would go to a GA meeting later that day, as he took the cash from the guy he had just beaten in a game of pool. It was the mother of a dead girl, whose case he had been working on. It had come to a dead end as far as he could see. He hated that. It was a tricky thing with these split jurisdiction cases.
His meeting with Camille didn't go quite the way he thought. She suggested he work with someone from the Jeffersonian. Some scientific nerd person, a forensic anthropologist, who, specialised in working out how people died by looking at their bones. He shuddered. That's just weird. He wasn't going to go along with it, but something Camille said resonated with him "same activity, same results". He'd been going over and over this case for months. So he caved and agreed to at least meet with the nerd.
He got her name and headed to American University where he found her lecturing on something about getting flesh from bones, or something equally creepy. He had prepared himself for some middle aged woman, greying hair, with glasses, probably snooty. He wasn't prepared for the woman he found.
Booth had felt his heard do a double beat and his mouth become dry when he looked up and saw Temperance Brennan standing up on that stage lecturing about bones and stuff that he couldn't remember. He could, however, remember exactly what she was wearing, what colour her hair was, and those eyes. Those incredibly electric blue eyes that stared at him with what he later realised was disinterest. He was also taken aback by her rather humourless response to his question. Booth remembered thinking Really? You're serious? When she had touted herself as being the best in the world in her field. He'd never met anyone quite like her. And as he introduced himself to her he found himself wondering out loud "Do you believe in fate?" Her response was given with a smile on her face "Absolutely not".
Surprisingly, she had proven herself to be extremely good at her job, identifying and providing Booth with a fairly accurate description of the girl and her injuries without having being given anything other than her bones. Booth had been extremely impressed and had decided to give the whole partnership thing a go. Her response, once again had thrown him a little. Telling him, that he would benefit greatly from his association with her. He was fascinated by this strange, seemingly, humourless woman with the magnetic eyes.
What he did enjoy immensely was her incredible ability to get common sayings completely wrong. He had a hard time stopping himself from laughing when she wanted to come and watch him broil a suspect. He had tried to explain it was grill the suspect, but the look on her face pretty much convinced him she really had no clue what she had said wrong.
Their working relationship wasn't all smooth sailing. He continually irritated her with his insistence on calling her Bones. He tried to explain that nicknames were very common within the FBI. It was a sign of friendship between people. That nicknames were usually given because of some redeeming quality in the person. She worked with bones all day, so Bones seemed to be the perfect nickname for her. She had stared at him blankly then looked down and commented that his sensible FBI issue shoes were very shiny. Therefore she supposed she should call him Shoes. She really just didn't get it he decided. Dr Brennan would constantly bang on about facts and science. Booth was a gut guy. He used his senses, and relied heavily on how he felt. His instincts. His heart. She just didn't understand it. At all.
He shook his head, this is never gonna work found himself thinking.
And of course he was right. It hadn't worked.
Looking back later, she was, he acknowledged, nothing short of brilliant. And, very attractive. He let himself think back to that night at the bar. He had plied her with alcohol intentionally. Caroline had ordered him to sack her and her team part way through the investigation. Booth had not wanted to do it, but when Caroline said jump, well you damn well better leap.
She had just seemed so soft that night. Her stiffness, subsided. Those eyes had stared into his, her face illuminated by the soft lights in the bar. Her mouth. He was imagining how those lips would feel under his. Then she had suggested they leave together. His hopes rose. They weren't officially working together now. What would one night in this woman's arms matter now?
But standing out in the rain, her face inches from his, one night suddenly didn't seem enough. He actually had thought for a moment that this woman could BE someone to him. And then everything swirled into a blur of muted colour and sensation around him as her lips finally met his.
She tasted like honey. Smelled like summer. She was soft and pliable in his arms. She fitted against his body like she was made for him. Then suddenly, she pulled away and he was left standing on the kerb, the flickering lights of the bar illuminating the night as she drove away in a cab.
Shortly after that night, Dr Brennan and her team had been put back on the job. They cracked the case. Found the murderer, mostly thanks to Dr Brennan's work.
But she had irritated him while talking with the victim's mother. She had started bringing up things about not having enough evidence, which distressed the mother. He had strong armed her out of the room. They had gotten into a fight about him being a bully, and her making people feel stupid.
She had slapped him.
His hand lifted to his face absently remembering the sting of her hand against his face. Remembering the flash of her eyes as she told him she hated him, and the flick of her hair as she stormed out of the room.
Thank god I never have to work with her again. he thought to himself as he finalised the paperwork and closed the case. He sat in his office and spun the poker chip on the desktop watching it whirling around until it finally slowed and settled. He took a breath, picked up the chip and dropped it into his pocket and left the building.
Booth instinctively headed towards the pool hall. He got about half way there, then, had a thought. He stood for a moment, his hand pushed into his pocket, fingers rolling the dice around. He turned around and walked quickly in the opposite direction. He finally stopped outside an old brownstone building. He looked up at the sign by the door "GA Everyone Welcome".
He sighed and pushed the door open. "Maybe it's time" he thought as he walked through the doorway, "I guess it's time".