Spoilers: Nada. Unless y'all know something I don't.
Disclaimer: Whatever. My Spell Check isn't working...
Author's Note: Hello, again!! I'm sorry if this isn't any good...It was sort of a little thing that just came into my brain, because I had to write something. It's compulsive. I absolutely had to write. So tell me what you think! It's just a little scene that came into mind earlier today!
"Uh, what? What the hell is trimpoxy-"
"Trimethoxyphenethylamine," Hodgins and Brennan said together, cutting Booth off.
"Oh, of course that's what it is! I'm surprised I didn't see it sooner," he sneered, wincing. Brennan shot him a look. Booth recovered quickly. "Okay, so...what is it?"
"Trimethoxyphenethylamine," Hodgins said with a grin. Booth looked about ready to pull his gun. Booth, deciding he wanted to keep his self-control and not smack Hodgins in the middle of the lab, turned to Brennan.
"It's an hallucinagen," she stated.
Hodgins continued, annoying Booth as much as he could. "It occurs naturally in Lophophora williamsii, Echinopsis pachanoi and Echinopsis peruviana," he stated as if it was common knowledge. Brennan smiled at him in what Booth had decided was a sort of Squinty encouragement ritual.
"Huh. Fine. Now it all makes perfect sense. Bones, please speak English, already. Hodgins here is about this far away from a bullet in the knee," he said through chenched teeth, holding up his thumb and forefinger so that there was no space between them. Hodgins flashed a look between Booth and Brennan, eyes wide.
"Please don't shoot my finace in the knee, Booth. He won't have his leverage anymore!" Angela chimed in, whining, flashing Hodgins a grin that was only meant for the bedroom. Brennan looked a little lost at first, then both her and Booth pulled a face.
"Too much information, Angela," Booth said, wincing. Angela only laughed and put her hands on Hodgins' shoulders, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Booth looked hopelessly at Brennan.
"Well, they'll be a while, there. Can you now please tell me what the hell you were talking about before?" be pleaded. Brennan smiled. She enjoyed outsmarting him.
"Hodgins was only teasing, Booth," she started, sounding disturbingly like his mother. "And yes, I can." She moved over to the computer on the other side of the platform, closing down whatever she had been looking at before, then moving to her office, talking as she went.
"It's a psychadelic alkaloid that is found mostly in various cactus plants. It's also found in some beans, such as the Acacia berlandieri. The plants Hodgins named are more commonly known as peyote cactus, the San Pedro cactus and the Peruvian Torch cactus; respectively," she added, as if it would make a difference to Booth what order they were in.
Booth cocked an eyebrow as he struggled to keep up with her as they climbed the stairs. "So this guy was high on Peyote?" he tried to clarify. Brennan seemed to think for a second.
"Well, yes, most probably. But I know what you're thinking, Booth, and Peyote was probably not the cause of death. At least, not the immediate cause of death," she added thoughtfully as she pushed the door of her office open and sank into her chair.
"Bones, if the guy was off his face with Peyote, I'd say we have to look into it as a possibility. I mean, the guy was probably seeing giant tarantulas eating out his eyeballs and the Seven Dwarves doing a Russian polka on a space ship!" he cried. Brennan couldn't help but smile at the imagery, despite her annoyance over his ignorance.
"Booth, Peyote doesn't make you hallucinate like that! It is much more likely that he experienced the normal alteration of consciousness and distortion of reality. Which, yes, is disorienting, but it wouldn't kill him," she finished.
"But what if he used it regularly? What if he was additcted?" Booth challenged. Brennan rolled her eyes.
"Booth, Peyote isn't physically addictive," she said simply. "In fact, most hallucinagens aren't...Thank God," she added after some thought.
"Huh? Why 'thank God'?" he asked. Brennan looked away guiltily.
"No reason, it's just a good thing..." she lied. Booth's eyes widened.
"Oh my God! You've tripped out before, heven't you, Bones?" he laughed, both amused and appalled. Brennan's eyes met his in a sort of scowl.
"Yes, I have. So what?" she said icily.
"So, Bones, you're a druggie!" he cried, more amused now. Brennan's angry expression only made him more amused.
"I am not a 'druggie', Booth, as you so nicely put it. Peyote is a ritualistic drug; it wouldn't have been polite or culturally acceptable to have refused. Besides, I've taken worse," she added, completely unaware that she was digging herself a hole.
"What! What else have you taken?" he asked, eyes wide. Brennan thought for a second.
"Well, when I was in Peru, there was a tribe of native peoples who had a ritual involving a drug I can't remember the name of..." she looked at Booth. "It tasted awful. Worse than Peyote, which I hadn't thought was even possible."
Booth was now leaning forward onto her desk with a look of absolute astonishment on his face. "You don't know what it was called?" he asked finally, slowly. Brennan smiled.
"No, I don't. It isn't like I remember much from that night. The name of the drug was the least of my worries." She looked again at Booth, who was staring a question at her. She elaborated.
"My guide was wanted by the Peruvian authorities for helping a foreigner immerse herself into a culture that they wanted to supress so completely. They don't really like free thinkers in Peru, especially then," she stated dryly. "So, if they had have found him, or me, for that matter, we'd probably have been sentenced to death by firing squad," she said clamly, as if she were reciting her times tables.
Booth looked at her, too stunned to speak. The thought of Bones in a foreign place, with strangers who as good as held her life in their hands made him unnecessarily angry. He looked at her; she was now busy looking through a case file, uninterested in Booth's silence by now.
He rounded the desk and rested a haunch on Brennan's desk, not a foot from her. "Bones," he started, getting her attention. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in question. "You are never leaving this country ever again."
Brennan couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so she settled for berating him.
"Booth! You can't stop me from leaving the country. Even if you wanted to, it's illegal. Besides, I've been in just as much trouble here as I have overseas. Maybe more," she added more for his benefit than hers.
Booth looked incredulously at her. "Yeah? Like what?" he scoffed.
"Well, since I've started working with you, I've been shot at and had a bomb in my apartment," she began, listing them off with her fingers. "I've been drugged and suspected of murder in a state that uses the death penalty. I've been the target of a serial killer numerous times. I was almost eaten alive by savage dogs. I've been buried alive-"
"Stop!" Booth interrupted. "Please, Bones; stop. I know all this," he said quietly. He looked at her imploringly, and a confused look passed over her face.
"If you know it all, then why does my saying it bother you?" she asked curiously, seriously wanting to know. His eyes left hers, looking around the office meaninglessly.
"Because they're all my fault, Bones," he stated simply before meeting her eyes. Brennan looked at him incredulously.
"Booth, they're not your fault! How could they all have been your fault? It wasn't your fault that Epps is a psychopath who was abused by his mother. Or that the Gravedigger obviously has serious issues of his own and therefore takes pleasure in burying people alive," she said, both wincing at the memory.
"Yeah, but, I got you into this...This whole FBI thing. You're my partner. I'm supposed to stop these kinds of thing from happening to you, Bones. Not cause them," he said sadly, frowning.
"Booth, if you weren't my partner, and I did still work with the FBI, I would probably have been dead long ago," she said pointedly, smiling at him. His frown deepened. "No one else would have been in my apartment when my fridge exploded. No one else would have left the hospital injured because they'd figured out that I'd been kidnapped by a rogue FBI agent," she laughed. Booth smiled.
He wanted to say something in return, but couldn't think of anything. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Brennan's brow. She froze, closing her eyes but not moving out of his grasp. She placed a hand on his chaest. He pulled back after a slightly-more-than-platonic amount of time.
"Thank you," he whispered. Brennan's brow furrowed.
"For what?" she asked with a small smile. She watched him as his expression changed for about a minute, then he finally looked at her; his face still unreadable. He had the hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"I don't know," he said finally, slowly, as if he had to think very hard about it. Brennan smiled.
"It took you that long to come up with 'I don't know'?" she mocked. Booth grinned.
"Yes, Bones, it did, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go solve a murder," he said, flashing his eyebrows as he pushed himself off the desk. Instead of heading straight for the door, like she had expected him to, he leaned forward again and pressed his lips to hers, pulling back steadily but reluctantly after a few seconds.
"What was that for?" Brennan breathed. Booth grinned.
He backed out the door with his hands raised in a shrugging gesture. "I don't know," he grinned.
"Booth!" Brennan called, trying to get him to come back. It was useless; Booth descended the stairs casually, grinning at Angela happily as she rounded the walk-way to Brennan office.
"What was that all about?" she asked as she reched Brennan's doorway, perching herself against it naturally. Brennan looked up at Angela and thought for a few seconds.
"You know what?" she asked, pausing, but not waiting for an answer. "I don't know."
So, did anyone (who actually got this far, and I congratulate you) like the product of my writer's block and/or compulsive tendencies? I'd love feedback!
Love.