Author's Note: This is my first Bones fic. ever. I just started watching the show, I only just started season 4 (please for the love of pants don't spoil me!) and I really wanted to write something about Booth/Bones because this show is my new love and muse. I always right something fun and brief first so I can ease into a fandom. Please let me know what you think so I can be inspired to write more!

Takes place in the midst of season 3. ALL rights to the people who created Bones. I am not worthy *bows*.

He blames Angela. This is her fault, really. The woman had a knack, a nose for truth that just had to be working on that oh-so-fateful day she dragged Bones out of the lab to go shopping.

Good God, he was going to kill Angela.

"Booth."

It of course didn't help that Angela made her wear what she'd bought. Was that even allowed for her to wear at the Jeffersonian?, he wondered. It had to be illegal. There had to be some sort of federal law against that item of clothing. It wasn't fair.

"Booth."

And, sure, he'd seen legs before. Agent Seeley Booth had seen a great deal of legs in his lifetime. But this…this was torture. This was pure, unadulterated, apparel-induced, torture.

"Booth!"

"What?" Booth tore his eyes upwards, away from Bones' legs, up to Bone's actual face. She looked at him exasperatedly, barely holding back an eye roll before turning back to the mass of mangled limbs that sat before her.

"Were you even listening to a word I was saying?" She asked a moment later, bending over the mass and squinting closely.

"Yeah," Booth stretched like a cat, yawning and wincing as his joints cracked. They must've been in the lab for hours now, waiting for Bones or one of the other team members to find something useful. Cases were rarely slow for them, but this one was. And when it came down to it, all Booth could do was sit around and wait for the Squints to find something useful. It was technically a day off, but he'd somehow found himself sitting in the lab in his 'relaxing' clothes, waiting for something to happen, "Yeah, I was. Something about a fibulus lacerations?"

"It's called a fibia," responded Bones, and this time she did roll her eyes.

"Right." He responded, distracted again. The way she was bending…it was obvious to see even from his distance; the fitted pencil skirt that hugged Bones' thighs and hiked up just a bit higher each time she leaned over the table. Booth bit his lip, trying to find somewhere, or something, else to look at. He'd seen Bones in pants almost every day, with the occasional Wonder Woman costume or Vegas-Newlywed outfit thrown in-between. This whole attractive thing wasn't new to Booth, he was aware that Temperance Brennan had a nice figure, and was…structured; he'd told her as much one time. But still, he didn't like to stare. Especially since he wasn't supposed to want to stare.

"New skirt?" He asked casually, trying to brush off the fact that at the very second he mentioned it, his eyes snapped straight back to her legs.

"From Black Friday Shopping with Angela. We made a day of it." Bones replied, a small smile dancing across her face as she continued to sift through the dead material.

"I wasn't aware you shopped for fun." Booth continued curiously, leaning back and feeling increasingly flustered as he tried in vain to ignore the devilish skirt riding even higher.

"Anthropologically speaking, it's completely healthy for females to convene together over meaningless artifacts of life that rely on other's approval; makeup, males, clothes. It's healthy for me to indulge."

Yeah, healthy for her maybe. Meanwhile, Booth was dying. Plain and simple.

It wasn't even her being in the skirt that irked Booth the most. It was the fact that he liked her in the skirt. He liked the way it trimmed her figure, showing a little and hiding a lot. He liked the way her hips swayed as she walked in it. He liked the fact that it gave him a great deal to imagine about if she wasn't wearing the skirt...or anything else for that matter. He liked it. He liked her. And that was not a good thing.

The truth was, Booth was starting to like quite a lot of things about Bones. Things far beyond even new articles of clothing. He didn't talk about it with anyone, tried not to think about it. But it kept popping up in the most opprotune moments. Typical.

"What do you think of it?" Her voice startled him for the second time in five minutes.

"Oh I..wait…what?"

Bones was watching him now, pausing in her work and tipping her head to the side as she turned around to look at him. "My skirt. Do you like it?"

Booth shrugged, muttered something intangible. How was he supposed to respond to that? I like it. I like it because you're in it. But I'd probably like you better without it. Christ, he was losing it. Finally, after what seemed an eon of sputtering and repeated shrugging, he answered, "Very tasteful."

She smiled again, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to her work. Booth suddenly felt very hot and uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic. He stood abruptly, stating the need for coffee. Hopefully, if he was lucky, he could get caught up in one set of antics or another. There was never a shortage of those in the Jeffersonian Forensics Lab. Whether it was talking to Cam about her sister, or supervising some harebrained experiment by Hodgins and Zack, or strangling one very evil Angela Montenegro, he was sure he'd find something to do. It was better than staring at Bones. Hell, he'd take a over analyzed visit with Sweets over having to stare at Bones.

But first, off to kill Angela.

Because it was all her fault, really.

Chuckling to himself, Booth left the lab, completely unaware that Bones was eyeing the backside of his new jeans as he left.

Please reviewreviewreview! Let me know what you think!