Summary: Written for two comment-fic prompts at LJ: "Eliot & Booth, 'You look familiar. I feel like I should know you...'" and "Hardison & Hodgins, Hardison's undercover as a squintern. He and Hodgins hit it off. This does not bode well for the lab." Bonus Angel references.


Squint

"You look familiar," the G-man says, squinting, "I feel like I should know you." He's suddenly very thirsty and his forehead feels itchy.

The hitter feels a twinge on his right wrist and rubs absentmindedly at it. "Never met you, as far as I know."

They circle, each feeling the other out, sensing...the predator in their opponent.

"Ranger, Special Forces," Eliot says admiringly, reading the FBI agent. "Sniper. Very nice."

Booth squints again, unable to place this guy. American. Some kind of US military...black ops? Something else, too. A lot of something elses. Criminal. Definitely criminal. Booth's gut says that this guy is a criminal. Not exactly bad - could be bad, maybe once was - but...bad enough.

"What's wrong?" The long-haired man smirks, as if he knows exactly what's going on in Booth's head, "Sunlight bothering you?"

"You wish," Booth shoots back, "What are those, highlights in your hair, cowboy?"

Eliot flips his hair. Just because.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Somehow, it escalates. (I wonder why...)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"King of the lab!" Hardison says, pumping his fist. "Yeah! Age of the geek, baby! Age of the geek!"

"Can't argue with that, brother," Hodgins says, conceding the win, "Can't argue with that."

All of a sudden, there is an almighty crash across the hallway.

Exchanging horrified looks, the squint and his squintern rush to the door in time to see...

"Oh, no!" Hodgins says, throwing his hands up in dismay, "Not the electro-neutro-physico-lumini-optometer!" He starts running over to the crushed machine, only to be pulled back by the new kid.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Hardison says sagely. Yeah, not if his new boss doesn't want to be used as a handy weapon for Eliot to throw at the suit he's fighting. (Has that happened to Alec before? Um...no. Not at all...There's no evidence, y'all! It's all been deleted!)

"But- but- " Hodgins stammers, "the electro-neutro-physico-lumini-optometer!"

"It's already broken," Hardison says soothingly, patting the guy's white jacketed arm. "Can't do no more harm to let them trample all over it like a coupla cavemen. Can't do it no more harm."

"But..."


AN: Thirst and forehead itching? Sun allergy? And oh yeah, Evil Hand (okay, not really, but close). Cavemen was a bonus. :D

Also, I made up the electro-neutro-physico-lumini-optometer. It sounds like something geeks would geek out over…