Disclaimer: Whomever wishes to become my favourite person in the world may feel free to give me the copyrights to the Bones TV series.
Rating: It's going to end up M, so might as well start there.
A/N: This was mostly inspired from watching the Las Vegas boxing episode for a second time with a friend while not studying for a decidedly nasty music history exam with 26 listening examples to memorize. And then it was heavily influenced by Dmitri Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5, which I very might well be playing come January. Its second movement has a very macabre waltz feel that reminded me of the Masquerade ball in the new(ish) Van Helsing movie. Also, this wasn't beta'd, so all mistakes are mine, and mine alone. It's also my first ever Bones fic. Ok, I'm done.
It was when she was rummaging through her closet, searching for the matching sister of her knee-high suede lace-up boots that she spotted them: the dresses from Vegas. The bright, fire-engine red one had been delightfully comfortable and smooth against her skin, and the one that she was far more fond of, the small black number that had stunned Booth into silence, had both been hidden away in plastic bags. The corners of her mouth quirked upwards as she was reminded of the memory of how much fun her little stint as Roxie, the sugar momma, "engaged to be engaged" female side dish for Tony the ex-army boxer had been. It was so easy playing that role, acting her part like a movie star with glamour, the fake accent, and purely feminine attitude, simply because she knew it wasn't real. The little half-smile quickly disappeared, though, when a sigh escaped her. That was just pretend, this, right now, was reality. She knew that if life, specifically relationships, were as simple for Temperance as they were for Roxie, she wouldn't be standing here trying to find a stray boot for yet another trip to hit up several nightclubs on a Friday evening, one that, once again, Angela had all but forced upon her.
One hour earlier..
"Come on Temp," Angela needled again. Temperance was packing up the last of the bones from a solved case, slowly arranging them into one of the remains bins from the metal slab before her, and trying to tune out her good-intentioned, albeit misguided friend. "One psychotic sibling-murdering bastard and an extremely absentee father can't turn you off the party scene of flashing lights, mixed drinks, and loud music that is clubbing. You need to get out of this place and get your mind off everything that's been going on here lately."
Temperance looked up with a sharp glare at her friend's words. "Angela, in case you've forgotten, I've never been turned on to the party scene, as you put it, to begin with."
An exaggerated sound of exasperation blew out from Angela's lips, and Temperance finally looked up from the bones to her friend. "Just this one time, and I'll leave you alone for a month or three afterward if it doesn't work out," she begged.
Temperance looked back down to the bones, and kept sorting. "You said that the last seven, no, I think it was eight, times, and here you are again, trying to get me to come. If you don't want to go alone, just ask Hodgins to take you. I'm sure he'd leap at the chance to be your personal escort."
Angela smiled at the word usage. "Sweetie, only you would innocently use that particular word to describe a date."
"I don't know what that means."
Angela only smiled. "I know. Anyhow, come on! I promise I'll leave it alone this time."
Temperance stared at the bones before her for a long moment, then sighed in concession. Above her, Angela punched the air in an action of success, and turned towards the door.
"I'll be at your place to pick you up in an hour and a half or so, so hurry up and get ready girl, because you won't regret it this time!"
Temperance watched Angela's receding form as she made her way out of the lab, and continued packing up the bones.
"That's what you said the last eight times, too."
Back to the Present..
Temperance was still sorting through her shoes in the hall closet, still thinking about how she was once again going to be soon playing a role while out with Angela, when the buzzer rang, and so she called out from inside her apartment.
"I'll be there in a minute Ange, I just have to find my boot."
"Bones, it's me, open up."
Temperance straightened, disentangling herself from the shoes and stared at the door. Booth? What was he doing here? Her thoughts came to the only logical conclusion, and despite the sharp needle-prick of guilt, she was greatful. Please let it be a case that requires coveralls and lots of fluids, she thought. Then she'd need to work the scene, sign it off, clean herself up with a shower, and by that time, it would be well past prime-time clubbing hours, and Angela wouldn't be needling her to go out again, at least for a while.
She made her way to the door, unlatched the slide lock, deadbolt, and opened it to a suited up, foot-tapping Booth.
Who was undeniably shocked.
Temperance, in her search for the missing boot, had forgotten her hair was still damp and clinging to her neck and currently bare shoulders, as she was wearing only a strapless, form clinging shirt that was missing its partner jacket and happened to be riding dangerously low on her chest. Booth's eyes shot downward in a none-too-subtle attempt to prevent the faint blush of color rising up his cheeks from growing, but he was met instead with further problems. The sight of her bare feet seemed oddly provocative to Booth, and he coughed slightly and quickly looked back up at her face. Temp's eyes were bright and unframed by her normally shadowing dark make-up. The rest of her face, however, was dominated by an amused, yet somehow snarky glance at the same time. Though she didn't mind the attention she received when her partner actually noticed her undeniable female traits, rather, she quite enjoyed it, she wasn't entirelyfond of being giving the once-over by anyone.
"Now that you've appraised of my unfinished appearance," she began in a dry tone, "perhaps you might tell me why you're here on a Friday night at eight? I thought you had Parker this weekend."
Booth frowned.
"Did. Now I don't. Case came up." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "It's a ways outside the city, probably a forty minute drive at least."
"Thank god." Temperance breathed out a sigh of relief as she strode towards her bedroom. "Give me one minute to get into more suitable clothes."
Booth stared at the pile of shoes on the floor in front of him for a moment while he put two and two together. "Was Angela trying to get you out of here and into headache-inducing flashing lights and drinking bad margaritas again?"
"In a word, yes," she called out from her bedroom to confirm, a slight sound of exasperation accenting her tone. "She believes it will alleviate the tension generated from the recent events with Russ and my father."
"What do you believe?" he asked.
Temperance came out of her room then, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a simple button-down black blouse. She had put her hair up into a smart bun at the crown of her head with chopsticks, so another of her chunky necklaces was in plain view around her neck. Booth noted she had also forgone make-up entirely, and although her appearance was slightly less professional and mature without the decorations, he decided she looked far better without them. Temperance looked at him for a moment, thinking again of false roles and the people who took them on, and calculated what words to use.
"I believe, as always, my work is adequate enough a distraction that I won't have to think about my family… issues for a while. And, when I do, I'll deal with them. I can compartmentalize quite adequately."
She slipped her arms through the dark russet jacket Booth had chosen that he held out for her, and turned back to face him, her face now set in a completely no-nonsense work mode.
"So, what have you got for me tonight?"
Booth grinned, and held out the thin manila folder he had been holding behind his back. "Oh, I think you'll find this one interesting, Bones."