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Part I
'She said no, and maybe that is all that counts', Booth thought. The federal agent shook his head, thinking of the indignity of that physicist pursuing Bones so soon after his lover's death. Booth was never particularly fond of the Jeffersonian lab. It was so bright and sterile, the smell of disinfectant burned in his nostrils. The kind of place that blind, unwashed jerk would love. Booth would not have even had a reason for being here, but Bones had managed to leave her cell phone in the SUV. The incessant buzzing, indicating a failing battery, had alerted him to the device's presence under the passenger seat.
Booth's muffled footsteps sounded like thunder in the hollow, stainless steel space. He wondered if she would still be here this late, long after even the cleaning crew made its rounds. The lights were dimmed and the emergency lights made the cavernous laboratory seem even colder. A pale amber rectangle of light broke the dark silence, twisting around the second floor railing and the equipment below. 'She's here' he thought with a small smile.
Bones hadn't answered her office phone since they had parted hours before, letting all of her calls go to her Jeffersonian voicemail. Booth wondered if she was planning on spending another Friday night piecing together the bone fragments of a person whose name had long been forgotten in the torrents of history. But, instead she sat perched on the edge of her desk chair, eyes focused intently on the glowing screen in front of her.
Standing in the shadows of the metal steps below the anthropologist's office, Booth watched as Bones rapidly typed at her computer. He couldn't decide if he could hear the tic-tic-tic of her fingers on the keys, or if he simply was envisioning her long finger dancing across the keyboard's surface, like a skilled pianist playing a concerto. Shuffling up the metal-frame staircase he approached her office, her back to him. Bones' cell phone pitifully buzzed in his pocket, distracting him from losing himself in the vision before him.
Her conservative sweater was carelessly discarded on the floor behind her chair; it must have slipped off the back, and she hadn't noticed. Her shoulders were bare; Bones had been wearing one of those camisoles underneath her sweater that Booth loved so much. He knew she selected them for comfort and practicality, but the smooth silky fabric and teeny straps were terribly sexy. Booth wondered what was so engaging that the otherwise meticulous doctor failed to notice the sweater's tumble to the floor. Her boots were tossed to the side of her desk. She had purposefully made herself comfortable for this activity.
She rolled her head back lazily, eyes closed, lip parted and moist. Booth leaned in, but aware of staying in his camouflaged position, just outside of the skewed patch of light. Her cheeks were flushed. Bones took a depth breath, the full swell of her breasts rising – threatening the security of the tiny straps of her blouse - and then returned to her task. The tightness in his groin became apparent. He knew she was aroused – and Booth enjoyed knowing it from his secret vantage point.
'It's Friday night and she's writing the sex-scene for her next book.' Booth knew that his partner drew inspiration from her life. It often seemed that she fantasized through her heroine, and he hoped that she was fantasizing about him at this very moment. The muscles in her neck and shoulders were taut, like a spring wound too tight. She was excited and frustrated. Her feet flexed under her desk, as if she were waiting to pounce. But there was no prey as Bones sat alone in her office. And then, what Booth feared happened, she turned completely around in her chair and looked at him – her eyes locking with his.