Disclaimer: The only bones I own are the 206 in my body. The one I'd rather have belongs to Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs and the people over at Fox.

My muse is cruel. I beg her for ideas, she gives them, finally, but when I write them, they turn out maybe five or six hundred words. Sometimes less. Yeah... not a story. But I write them anyway, and some of them don't totally suck. So I thought I'd share them with you as I await my next idea and work on my first Bones chapter story.

This first one starts way, way back. Pre-series.

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Staring

He's staring at you again.

You're not positive why, but it's making you slightly uncomfortable. Not that there's a reason to be. He's not dangerous, not planning on causing you any harm. You're working with him to solve a murder, that's all. But his unbreaking gaze sends a ripple of feeling down your back and you try to think of way to move out of his line of sight. Is that something on the left femur? That will work. You cross over to the other side of the autopsy table, and glance back up.

He's still watching.

This is ridiculous. You can't let him distract you from your job. Turning your attention back to the remains on the table, you notice that you were in fact right. There, on the left femur, is a fracture, healed now, but a fracture nonetheless.

"The victim broke their leg when they were younger," you comment. Stay professional. That's all he is. A colleague.

"Good to know, Bones," he replies with a nod.

Bones. It's not the most creative nickname, but it's affective. You hate it. He knows this, too. It's why he's so insistent on calling you by it at every possible moment. It seems irrational that a single word can sound so condescending, so degrading, but it does. You're not his equal. Not in his eyes.

But he keeps working with you. Usually, by now, agents have fled the lab, terrified of what they call "Squint Speak", intimidated by your intelligence. But not him. He seems stronger than that, which should be a relief. You were beginning to lose faith in today's law enforcement. But you almost wish he wasn't able to put up with you. He's becoming difficult to work with.

You look up again. This time, he catches your eye, raising an eyebrow and smiling. He's tried this before. That smile... For a moment, you consider smiling back at him, at least you want to, but you know you can't. This is the last man you want to get on friendly terms with. You ammend your previous statement. He is dangerous. Not physically so, but dangerous nonetheless.

And he's still staring at you. Why? You try to tell yourself that it's only because you're working, and he wants to know what's going on. But you think he would've looked away by now, if that were the case. So what is it? Does he find you attractive? That would be... complicated.

Or maybe he's just as confused about you as you are about him. You haven't worked together that many times, you know almost nothing about each other. If you tried to make a list of all the things you know about him, it would be disappointingly short. Disappointingly? Where did that come from? You remind yourself that you want to have as little to do with this man outside the lab as possible. You turn back to the remains. Bones have always been your way to get away from your feelings, your problems. But he's still there.

With one last look up, you realize you can't concentrate with his eyes on you. It's useless. You look at him pointedly.

"I'll call you if I find anything else important, Agent Booth."

He grins again, then turns to leave with a quick, "See you then, Bones." And although you would never admit it to anyone...

You wish he was still staring.