Author's Note: So it's been quite a while. And it would have been longer, had Allison not asked one of her aggravating questions and - for once - not had an answer. Or you know, had an answer that didn't end up as a fic. As if that ever happens.
Anyway. This is a little different from what I usually do. It's a little drier, a little more analytical, and takes place in all of three rooms. And one outdoor location. It's like Twelve Angry Men gone Bones fic.
So. As always, a thousand thanks to Allison who once again practically co-wrote this. Without you and your questions and your answers, I would be completely unproductive. And fic-less. I just hope I still have the energy to tackle the beast. And, you know, finals.
And a thousand kissies to my Capii. Without you, I would have the style of a dictionary.
Psychobabble
"Dr. Brennan?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Booth move as if to stand, before settling back down on his side of the bench. Straightening her shirt, Brennan followed the woman Booth called a 'shrink' through a twisting corridor before entering a small, well-lit office. With the squeak of a vinyl-covered cushion, she slid into the hard-backed seat she was offered.
"As you know, Dr. Brennan, part of your yearly evaluation involves an individual assessment. This is primarily so we can ask the tough questions without your partner here." She smiled as an indication that the last comment was meant to be in jest.
Except, Brennan thought, it wasn't. She smiled slightly and nodded anyway.
Lydia Kinsey, a "Dr." according to the nameplate at the edge of her desk. crossed her legs and clicked her pen. "So. Tell me, Dr. Brennan. How is your relationship with Agent Booth?"
Booth shrugged. "It's Bones."
"Okay…" Dr. Harlow – Ben, as he insisted – said slowly, steepling his fingers in a way that Booth found both pretentious and obnoxious. "Let's look at it differently. What makes you see Dr. Brennan as 'Bones'?"
"I don't know. She's smart. Really smart...crazy smart."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. She's, uh, kind of a nerd. You know, the kind that always had their hand up first when the teacher asked a question? She would rather spend her time holed up in a dusty library instead of going out and doing things like normal kids. Kind of like you were, I bet."
If his shrink took offence to his comment, he didn't show it. "So you don't see Dr. Brennan as being 'normal'."
"Well, I don't know if I'd say she wasn't normal. She's just…different."
Dr. Harlow glanced down at the thick open file on his desk, scanning the handwritten notes there. "You said in previous assessments that Dr. Brennan was initially very eager to join you in the field, despite her lack of expertise and status as non-FBI personnel. This surprised you. Why is that?"
"Like I said, doc," Booth leaned back into his slightly too small chair, trying to make himself as comfortable as he sounded. "She's a squint. In my mind, squints stayed in labs and were happy to be there."
"So Dr. Brennan was different."
"Yes.."
"And that interested you." The man's tone of voice made it difficult to discern whether it was a question or a statement.
"In a way…" Booth paused, considering. "Yes."
"It was…intriguing," Brennan said carefully. "Booth possessed skills and talents with which I was unfamiliar. He was different. The work I could do with him was different from the standard Jeffersonian assignments."
"And that's why you choose to continue working for the FBI?"
"That is…part of the reason. I'd had little opportunity to explore that part of our society prior to Booth's request for my help. I was interested. And as I'm sure you know, access to that realm requires what Booth calls an 'in.' He was a connection to that world as an established participant; an informant of sorts."
Dr. Kinsey stifled what Brennan thought might be a laugh. "So Booth is your…snitch."
Her brow furrowed, her distaste clear in the pinch of her mouth when she said, "You make it sound like I'm using him."
"Aren't you?" Dr. Kinsey asked shrewdly, all traces of laughter gone from her voice. "You just told me you chose to work with Agent Booth because he made it possible for you to experience investigative field work."
"Well, yes," she said, flustered now. "I did, initially. And I admit that Booth and I did not have a particularly amicable relationship at first."
"But not anymore."
Brennan paused. "No."
"She had no social sense when I met her. None. Some of the things that came out of her mouth…" he laughed. "Man, you're lucky you aren't the one doing her test. She can get you from zero to pissed off in three seconds flat."
"So she upsets you."
Booth caught himself. The last thing he needed was for this guy to get the idea that he and Bones spent half their time fighting (even though they did), that they weren't fit to solve cases anymore (even though they were), and report it to the Deputy.
"Lying isn't going to make you or your partner look any better on my report, Agent Booth."
"Well, yeah," he said finally. "She pisses everybody off. But you know what? When it comes down to it, when it really counts? She manages to get it right. She says exactly what someone needs to hear. And it's usually the truth. And that's…that's something."
"You sound like you admire her," Dr. Harlow noted.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I do. I mean, don't get me wrong. Bones is great at what she does. The best. But dealing with people? Sensitive stuff? That's my thing. It's why we make a great team."
"Would you consider yourself a people person, Agent Booth?"
"Yeah. I would," he said with a half-smile on the verge of turning into a confident smirk. "And it works, too. You could say that I read the living people and Bones reads the dead ones."
Dr. Harlow didn't laugh. "And can you read Dr. Brennan?"
The smile faltered for a second. "Not at first."
"Meaning that now you can?"
This time, the smile disappeared completely. "Not exactly. I can't read her like other people. But I know her. I can tell you when she's upset, when she's sad, when to keep your distance because she'll bite off your head if you bug her, when she's about to make you feel like you have the intelligence of a preschooler…"
"I see." He did that annoying thing with his fingers again. "The understanding you have of Dr. Brennan - how much of that is due to your professional relationship?"
Booth's right eyebrow quirked upward. "What?"
"I wish to examine the dynamics of your professional relationship. Especially since Dr. Brennan is merely contracted by the FBI."
"So…what do you want to know? I bring her a case, she and her squints do their thing, we do our thing, we catch the bad guy, case closed."
"Both of you seem to sustain considerable physical injury for what seems to be such a simple process, Agent Booth."
His face lost it's careless expression, clouding over quickly. "There have been…incidents that I would have preferred hadn't happened. But I try," he exhaled sharply. "I try every day to make sure she's safe. But it's just insane what kind of trouble she manages to get herself into. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure she just doesn't think. Surprising, I know, for a woman whose job is thinking."
Dr. Harlow hid a smile behind his hand.
Booth leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees. "I try my best. I do. But when adrenaline hits, or when there's an opportunity to shoot something? It's next to impossible to stop her from charging full steam ahead. So am I protective? Yes. I have to be. If I wasn't, she'd probably be missing an arm by now. Or dead."
"You know, Dr. Brennan, your partnership with Agent Booth is not exactly FBI standard. Since you aren't technically an employee of this bureau, Agent Booth is responsible for you in the field. Obviously, we are interested in his performance in that regard."
Brennan stared. "Are you asking me if Booth does a good job of protecting me?"
"More or less."
"I don't need Booth to protect me. I assure you, Dr. Kinsey, that I am quite capable of taking care of myself."
"Your record would suggest otherwise. Dr. Brennan, during the course of your partnership, you have sustained numerous injuries from, among other things, fire, explosion, physical confrontation…on paper, it would seem that Agent Booth is failing in his responsibility to you."
"Booth has never –" she stopped short. "What has happened has been beyond Booth's control. I know he thinks he needs to protect me, and he's more than capable of it. But I don't need him to."
There was a moment of silence while Dr. Kinsey gave her a long look that only served to make her more irritable. "Tell me, Dr. Brennan, would you consider Agent Booth to be over-protective?"
No hesitation, "Yes."
"Why do you think that is?"
"He has a son. I suppose it's normal behaviour for a father. I always assumed he simply allowed that mentality to extend beyond his familial circle."
"So you feel that Agent Booth treats you the way he does his son."
She almost laughed. "No, of course not!"
But then she stopped. Pushed aside the absurdity of the image to really think about it. "Sometimes…I feel like he thinks of me that way."
"Like a child?"
"Yes. He feels that he needs to…teach me things."
"I thought you said you wanted to learn from him."
"I do. But he measures out information as he sees fit. He condescends to me."
"Perhaps that's part of his protective nature," she suggested gently. "Your family history, your initial detachment; they all suggest an emotional vulnerability that someone like Agent Booth might gravitate to."
"I am not emotionally vulnerable, Dr. Kinsey. My problem lies in the fact that my partner thinks I am. He makes jokes he thinks I don't understand, he sees himself as a buffer between my world and his. He treats me like a child! And while once I might have needed him to be that, I just…I don't anymore."
"And he doesn't see that."
"No."
"And do you resent that?"
Her jaw clenched. "Yes."
She cleared her throat. "Dr. Brennan, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but when speaking of what you consider to be Agent Booth's finer points – the pros, shall we say – you consistently use the past tense."
Brennan shrugged so stiffly it looked more like a spasm. "I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean."
Dr. Kinsey glanced down at her notes, quoting, " 'It was intriguing,' 'Booth possessed skills,' 'He was different' …Dr. Brennan, your tense choice indicates that you no longer feel the same way you did when you first started working with Agent Booth."
"People change," she said lamely, wondering if she had really said those things.
"So what I want to know is whether this trend is indeed indicative of your current feelings. Do you no longer find Agent Booth, 'intriguing'as you put it? Is he no longer 'different?' More importantly, Dr. Brennan, is it still an intellectual attraction that drives your work with Agent Booth?"
"You know, Agent Booth. You've told me three times now that Dr. Brennan is different. But you have yet to tell me why."
"I…I can't, really," he found himself admitting. "Other people…I have no problem sizing them up. A little prying, and they open up to you. But Bones…she opens up a little, you blink, and BAM! Fort Knox."
"That must be frustrating."
"It is," he said emphatically. His eyes were unfocused, seeing something that wasn't in the room. "I mean, we've worked together for five years. You'd think that after all that time, I would know her better than I do. I mean, I know all those stupid inconsequential things that no one really cares about."
"But she shuts herself up and she won't let me get in there, be in there, you know? She won't let me…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Know her?" Dr. Harlow suggested, and Booth jumped as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone.
"You know, it's not typically necessary for partners to achieve that level of personal intimacy to maintain a good working relationship."
"I know. But Bones and me…we were more than partners. You know? We got to really know each other, got to trust each other implicitly. And you'd think that after all this time, she'd…I don't know, let someone in? Open up just a little. But it, uh," he pressed his lips together, looking down at his hands. "It didn't work out that way."
"What didn't?"
Booth's head snapped up. "What?"
"What exactly didn't work out, Agent Booth?"
"Nothing." In a second he was on his feet, pacing the short distance from one end of the room to the other. "Nothing didn't work out. I mean, there's nothing to work out."
"I beg to differ. You said–"
"Look, I know what I said, okay?" He threw his hands up, exasperated, irritated and more than aware that he'd said something he shouldn't have. "Is it really necessary to rehash our entire history? I told you: Bones and I get along fine. So if you could just sign that form that tells the upper ups we're good to go, I'll be on my way and we can go through this whole song and dance again next year."
Dr. Harlow leaned back, calmly considering the increasingly agitated man before him. "Agent Booth, a thorough psychological assessment is required of all agents and their partnerships on an annual basis. And I'm the guy who decides when we've been thorough. So either you start opening up or we're going to be here for a long time. Understand?"
"I'm not sure I understand." She laughed a little, uncomfortable since her last outburst. But Dr. Kinsey's expression didn't change.
"Dr. Brennan, if we're going to complete this assessment, you're going to need to be both open and honest with me, okay? Now. Talk to me about your personal relationship with Agent Booth," she repeated.
"We don't have a personal relationship," she said slowly.
"Oh?" Her eyebrows rose alarmingly high. "I was under the impression that you and Agent Booth shared a relationship closer than that. You don't…have dinner, go for drinks?
"Oh! Yes, we do that."
"So you're friends?" she probed.
"Yes." She nodded, clasping her hands in her lap to keep herself from fidgeting. "Yes, we're friends."
"Good friends?" she prodded, wondering at Brennan's sudden reticence. "Dr. Brennan, would you consider yourself and Agent Booth to be close?"
"I understand interpersonal 'closeness' to be a quality that is mutually achieved and agreed upon. Therefore I cannot comment without first consulting Booth."
Dr. Kinsey sighed. It was just her luck to have pulled the short straw this year. "Okay then, let's approach this from another angle. Do you care about Agent Booth?"
"Well, yes, we're friends."
"And do you think he cares about you?"
"Yes." There was never any doubt in either of their minds about the existence of those feelings, or concern. Intensity and endurance was where they had a question.
Dr. Kinsey pursed her lips. "At the beginning of this evaluation, you told me you originally wanted to work with Agent Booth to explore the world of investigative work. You wanted to understand him and what it is he does. Is it fair to say that you have accomplished that?"
She wasn't ashamed to admit it. "Yes."
"And in the course of your partnership with Agent Booth, have you gained anything aside from that?"
She hesitated.
She thought about him. About that stupid protective streak. About his habit of correcting her, of stepping in and drowning her out with his niceties and platitudes. She thought of his face, and that expression she saw for the first time six weeks ago. The look had, strangely enough, reassured her that they were making the right decision.
"No."
"Do you wish you had?"
Her lips tugged into a smile that didn't make her look any happier. "I don't know."
Dr. Harlow looked down at the FBI questionnaire. But Booth was pretty sure the questions he was being asked weren't printed anywhere on the multi-page document.
"How do you connect on a personal level?"
"How do we what?"
"How do you connect? How do you bond as people, outside of your partnership?"
He wanted to simultaneously laugh and cry. Instead, he rubbed his eyes, fighting back the fatigue that came with constantly being both this close to Temperance Brennan and as distant as ever. The frustration born from taking a step, sometimes two, forward, only to be shoved all the way back to where you started. Five years and he was still standing at the starting line.
"Bones and I are like oil and water," he said, not bothering to hide the bitter edge to his voice. The doc wanted honesty, and he was going to get it. "You can shake us, stir us, even try to stick us together with superglue. But give it a minute or two. A month. A year. Whatever. Take another look and you find out after all you did, all the work and all the effort, they've gone and separated on you. You're not any closer to where you want to be. And there is nothing you can do about it."
"Why is that?"
"Because she's stubborn as hell. Because she can't stand it if someone gets just a little too close. God forbid she let someone in for once in her life." He was pacing again, but he didn't care. "That woman doesn't take a single risk without weighing the pros and cons. And if she decides that it isn't worth the effort? It's done. Over. You go along with it because what else are you going to do? 'Cause no matter how much you want it, there comes a point when it's too damn hard to keep doing what you're doing."
"What is it that you are doing, exactly?"
Booth didn't seem to hear.
"And you know what? She's right. This case can be filed with the UFO sightings for all I care. Let Mulder and Scully see if they can figure her out, because God knows I can't. And you know what? I'm okay with that. There is no point in waiting and wanting for something that's never going to happen. It's too hard and too exhausting, and just…difficult; and you all you get out of it is disappointment."
He gripped the back of his vacated chair, his knuckles white, his fingers tense with the futile pressure; the rigid wood wasn't going to give way. "What idiot would want that?"
They met in the parking lot; his government issued SUV three spaces down from her silver convertible. Their glances were quick, fleeting and suddenly, inexplicably, shy.
"That was pointless," he said chuckling.
"Yeah," she nodded, even though she wasn't sure she agreed.
"At least it's just once a year."
"Mmhmm."
They were at their respective vehicles now, lingering despite the awkward tension. She played with her keys, the jingling metal keeping them from falling into complete silence.
He stuck his hands in his pockets, fidgeting a little. "So I'll uh…see you Monday?"
"Yeah, Monday."
She watched him turn to go, watched him rub the back of his neck and didn't try to stop the words from coming.
"Booth - I'm sorry."
He looked back. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew what they would look like. She knew him completely. And just for a second she wished she'd let him know her.
"Me too."
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