Booth was not the kind of man who had trouble being in charge. For the most part, he found it quite easy to manage his team, to be the leader. And after all their years together at the Bureau, he took pride in the fact that his agents functioned as a well-oiled engine. Everyone did their job, and he had an innate leader's ability to push them just hard enough without burning any of them out. And after weeks like this, when he'd ridden his team harder than usual, he had the good common sense to slide his credit card across the bar and buy a few rounds of drinks for his guys. Maybe even more than a few. Looking at the agents assembled around him, he had a strum of satisfaction that came from building and maintaining a solid team.
"Alright, get em up," he barked, handing out another round of tequila shots. His newest agent, a rookie straight out of Quantico, groaned and swayed slightly as he took the liquor from his boss. Booth slapped him on the back and told him not to be such a lightweight. "Seriously," he continued with just the slightest slur in his voice, "you all did a great job on this case. And if I don't say it enough, I'm saying it now: you guys make me proud of the bureau. To the job," he toasted, raising his glass.
"To the job," his team echoed, throwing their shots back. The liquor seared a burning trail down the back of his throat. Shaking his head briskly, he upended his shot glass on the bar and retrieved his beer. He was feeling alright. Somewhere between buzzed and… buzzed-ier, he thought. How many rounds of shots had they done? Enough to not be sure.
He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and was amused to find that his face had gone mostly numb. And if he was that far gone… yep. His rookie had just slid off his bar stool onto the floor. Laughing, he wrestled the kid back onto his barstool and shouted for some coffee. His other agents were in varying states of wooziness. Time to call the cab.
Booth got Aielo to prop up the rookie while he settled the tab. He was slowly checking his addition—alcohol made it soooo difficult to remember what you were supposed to do with that little number, that you carried…somewhere, before adding up the rest of the numbers. It went somewhere at the top—but at the top of which column of numbers? He scowled at the figures as they undulated in his gaze like the surface of water. Stupid numbers. Only a genius could add them up when they kept moving like that. He knew a genius! Maybe he could call…
Bones. Even hazy with alcohol, his senses were preternaturally collimated to his partner, and he could sense her presence the moment she walked into the bar.
He could see the moment of surprise when she recognized Charlie, recognized Johnston, roved the group until her eyes locked on him. He could see the moment her quicksilver mind pieced together that he was out with his coworkers, and the fission of disappointment that flickered behind her gaze before she gathered a brave smile. He spent so much time with her staff—why hadn't he ever invited her to get to know his? His guys helped on their cases too, doing an astonishing amount of legwork, logging hours of cold calling, interviewing, and background research. He felt immediately guilty for not including her. Why did he keep her at arm's length from his coworkers?
"Booooooooooooooooth!" Johnston hollered drunkenly, "Your hot scientist is here!"
Ah, and that was why. Booth smacked Johnston on the back of the head and hissed, "Shut it."
She hesitated briefly before crossing the room to join them. She didn't want to intrude on what seemed to be some sort of tribal, male bonding ritual. But Booth had nodded welcomingly, if also a little… drunkenly, she deduced, suddenly enveloped by the tequila-scented cloud swirling around the group.
"Bones!" Booth shouted, much louder than was required for the ambient volume of the room. "Come have a drink with us! What can I get you?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, but she saw the hopeful expression in her partner's eyes and realized it wasn't just an offer of a drink. It was an offer to stay a while, get to know his team. Not altogether different from the time she'd been invited to enjoy cardamom tea on a toshak with a mullah in Afghanistan. As an anthropologist, she recognized the importance of accepting shared rituals, and in fact, every society had…
"Bones?" he prompted again.
"Whatever you're having," she replied.
With a hoot of triumph, he pounded his fist on the bar and said, "Shot of tequila!"
Brennan nodded at the agents she knew, and Booth did the perfunctory round of introductions for the two she hadn't met, pointedly declining to tell her the name of the agent slumped over himself ("He's just Rookie, until he learns to hold his liquor"). Brennan shrugged out of her coat and tried not to think of her dinner, probably cooling off in the to-go bag behind the bar at that very moment. She leaned against the counter next to Booth.
"So watcha doin out so late, Bones?" he asked, tilting a grin in her direction.
"Picking up some dinner on the way home from work."
"Work?!" he hollered. "It's a quarter to two, on a Friday night!"
Glancing at her watch, Brennan frowned in confusion. "It would be more technically accurate to say that it's Saturday morning."
Booth rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Bones. It's still Friday night. Friday night is for relaxing, going out, not being at work, having fun?"
"I was having fun," she protested. "I was doing a particularly difficult skull reconstruction, and…"
"Is she serious?" one of Booth's agents interrupted.
Waving the comment away impatiently, Booth tried to explain. "Bones is not like the rest of us," Booth said, his inebriation making it difficult to find the right words. He meant that she was special, better, but as soon as he saw the crestfallen expression on her face, he realized he'd said exactly the wrong thing.
"I should go," she muttered awkwardly.
"Bones," he whispered urgently, grabbing her by both shoulders to pull her close enough that their foreheads were almost touching, and the lingering lime aroma from his last shot wafted across her face. "Don't go. I want you to stay." She looked uncertain, and he reached over the bar to procure the shot that had just been poured for her, slowly raising it between their faces and sloshing it temptingly. "Stay for just one?" he wheedled.
Smiling, she took the shot of tequila from him and threw it back like a pro. She secretly loved the expression that Booth got whenever she managed to surprise him, and the thrill of it drove her to surprise him a little more. "I'll stay for two," she corrected, "and you're buying."
Booth's grin could have lit the room as he ordered her another. "That's my girl."
Brennan was about to remind Booth in no uncertain terms that intoxication wasn't an excuse for overtly possessive displays of machismo when suddenly, the rookie, who appeared to be weaving in and out of consciousness, yelped in a voice that sounded almost tearful, "I'm going to be late! And now I thhhink…" he patted his side clumsily, his face a mask of tragic concentration. "I think I've lohzzt my gun…"
Booth rolled his eyes. "You think we'd let you bring your gun to a bar? You've barely learned how to load it." He twisted around to find the bartender. "I need that coffee," he shouted.
"Dr. Brennan," Johnston said, "unless… can I call you Bones?"
"No, you cannot," she replied coolly, drawing another smile from her partner.
Johnston threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, no problem. I was just wondering if you wanted to play a game with us."
Booth shook his head. "Whatever game you're thinking of, the answer's no," he growled.
"Booth, I'm capable of making my own decisions," she lectured. Grabbing her second shot of tequila from the bar, she tossed it back and hissed as the liquor lit up her insides. She was doing fairly well at the alcohol portion of their bonding ritual, she thought. She could handle a simple game. "What kind of game?"
"It's called 'Who'd you Rather' and basically you just answer… you know, which one of us you would rather…sleep with." Johnston supplied.
"And we're done!" Booth growled, grabbing Brennan's coat from the chair and attempting to bully her away from the group.
"Wait, Booth," she whined, "I'm trying to understand the object of the game. I assume by 'sleep with', he's referring to sexual intercourse…do I have to actually have sexual intercourse with the person I pick?"
Johnston looked shocked. "Wow, no. Um, no, unless you know you actually want to…" but one look from his boss shut him up immediately.
"Okay," she grinned. This game was interesting, and part of her enjoyed how much it seemed to irritate Booth. She saw him setting her jacket back down in a posture of defeat and it made her grin even more.
Brennan glanced at each of the men in turn, seriously considering their viability as potential mates. She didn't realize that her face was openly revealing her lack of interest quite so brazenly, and Booth had to chuckle. His Bones had no poker face whatsoever, and she clearly wasn't impressed with her choices. But he choked on his laughter immediately as her gaze slid away from him with the exact same disinterest. Really? She was that completely disinterested in him? It stung his pride way more than he wanted to contemplate.
Brennan shrugged noncommittally. "I'm not really interested in any of you," she admitted. The group collectively groaned.
"You have to pick one of us. That's the game!" Johnston argued.
Sighing deeply, she scanned the group again and settled on one of Booth's younger agents, the one named Aielo. "Okay then, you, I guess." He had nicely defined pectoral muscles and a passably handsome face. They immediately erupted in a torrent of hooting and back-thumping, congratulating the grinning young agent.
Johnston was doubled up in laughter. "Look at Booth's face!" he shouted, unable to control himself. "Not your partner? You didn't pick Booth?!"
"Shut up, Johnston," Booth growled.
But the man couldn't stop laughing. "We all thought you'd pick Booth! Why not? Is it that ugly mug? One too many punches to the face?"
Brennan shrugged. "Booth's quite attractive. Just…"
Even in their inebriation, the agents all quieted down to hear her answer, enjoying the rare sight of discomfort on their usually unflappable boss, leaning in expectantly.
"You don't have to answer him, Bones," Booth said in a clipped voice. He flashed an angry scowl at his subordinate.
Sensing that they'd pushed their boss to his limit, the agents simmered down. Brennan could see them pulling back from the conversation, pulling back from her. The camaraderie she'd felt with the agents just a few minutes ago seemed to dissipate instantly and she felt once again pushed to the fringes of the group. It seemed that, as always, she had managed to kill the party. College all over again. She was determined to reconnect with them, to share a piece of herself as Booth had once taught her to do, but struggled for a way to explain herself that wouldn't hurt her partner's feelings or cause him any further embarrassment in front of his staff.
"It's just that," she continued awkwardly, "Booth isn't really my type, not in that way. I like someone who's… not sweet. Well, no, I don't mean that. I just like someone… more spontaneous, and less inhibited."
"Less vanilla?" Johnston asked, with a leering grin. The agents, suddenly interested again, all laughed along with him.
"I don't know what that means," she replied cautiously. She scanned Booth's face but found his expression unreadable. He was still, his posture rigid. Please don't be offended, she willed him. She just didn't have the words to explain. If she had been given time to think of her answer, to write something, she could have been more eloquent. But being put on the spot like this, with all their eyes on her… well, it didn't bring out her best communication skills.
But then her mind latched onto the right concept. Triumphantly, she explained, "Booth is a gentleman." Seeing their blank expressions, she clarified. "And while that's usually a good thing…I don't like gentlemen… sexually." Blushing, she studied the bottom of her shot glass with downcast eyes while the group erupted in a torrent of laughter and catcalls. She concentrated on calming the wild rush of blood beneath her skin. When she finally dragged her eyes up to Booth, he was regarding her with a dark, brooding expression, nodding slowly as if he finally understood a puzzle that had long been confusing him.
"You think I'm a prude," he stated quietly.
"Noooo," she hedged. "Just not as… adventurous as I would prefer, you know, if we ever… if you and I…" her voice trailed off awkwardly and she once again studied the inside of her glass.
When she found the courage to look up again, his cocky grin had miraculously returned to his face. It seemed that playful Booth had made a reappearance.
"It's okay, Bones. You're not my cup of tea either," he taunted her, grinning.
Inexplicably bothered by his words, and the oooooohing of the agents gathered like carrion birds at the perimeter of a lion fight, she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not?" she demanded petulantly, wincing slightly to hear the whine in her own voice.
Taking a step closer to her, Booth cocked his head and looked her up and down, frankly evaluating her, as if seeing her for the first time. "Pony play, Bones," he said, alluding to one of their more bizarre cases.
Indignant, she set her glass angrily on the bar behind her and put her hands on her hips. "I told you, Booth, I've never actually engaged in pony play. Just because I'm not as closed-minded as you are—"
Waving her words away dismissively, he moved a step closer. "Not actual pony play, Bones. Just stuff like it. Props," he continued, "toys. Amateur stuff." He shook his head slowly, his tongue appearing briefly to moisten his lips. "I'm not the kind of man who needs accessories."
She suppressed a shiver of arousal at the low, gravelly tone of his voice. He was deliberately goading her now, she was sure of it. Playing the alpha male in front of his pack of lesser males, trying to unsettle and embarrass her on purpose. Well, she refused to let him win so easily.
Grinning up at him, she responded coolly, "Maybe you're threatened by accessories."
He smiled lazily, taking another step towards her. "Bones, I'm not threatened by much," he replied smugly. "Maybe you've needed accessories in the past, but…" he shrugged broadly, nearly blinding her with the full wattage of his most arrogant smile.
She stared into the heated dark eyes mere inches from her own. The tangy scent of tequila on his breath, his subtle cologne, the warmth radiating from his body were intimidating in a dangerously pleasant way. She felt lulled, foggy, as if she'd had as much to drink as he had. "You sound pretty sure of yourself, there Booth. But in my experience, men are never quite as good as they think they are. That's why I'm always in charge," she purred, satisfied by the way his eyes widened in disbelief.
Shaking his head incredulously, he crowded directly into her personal space, backing her up against the bar, forcing her to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. And then he leaned in towards her, poked a finger solidly against her breastbone, and labeled her with a low, silky rasp in her ear. "Bossy."
She met his smoldering stare with one eyebrow arched delicately before mimicking his gesture, jabbing him in his chest with her own accusation. "Not bossy enough."
His pupils dilated with challenge. He stepped back suddenly, as if he was considering something. And then he lunged forward faster than she could prepare for and slung her bodily over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, standing up and turning as the room spun dizzily around her and her yelp of protest was lost in the upside-down fall of her hair.
"You want a caveman, Bones?" he demanded. "I can do caveman." And with that, he spun around, steadying her with one arm across her backside and strode out of the bar to a chorus of catcalls and whistles and riotous, laughing applause. Brennan barely had time to be embarrassed, intent on hanging on, still shocked at how easily he'd lifted her. Booth strong-armed the door open and maneuvered her out into the night air. He carried her several paces down the sidewalk before stopping to let her down. The torturous slide of her body down his front nearly stopped both of them from breathing.
Booth found himself staring into the widest blue eyes he'd ever seen, stunned and angry and… he couldn't believe he'd done that. Letting the liquor in his brain convince him that responding to her teasing was a good idea—that throwing her over his shoulder like a duffel bag was a professional way to treat his partner in front of his staff. "Bones, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have done that, and I know you're going to be really mad at me but you just really know how to push my buttons, and for some reason I just felt like I had to teach you a lesson and—mmmmfff--"
His words were smothered by Brennan's lips, as she wrapped herself around him and kissed him ravenously. It took only a single heartbeat for him ante up, crushing her against his body and burying his fingers in her hair fiercely, unleashing a moan from deep in her throat that nearly boiled his blood. The shock of the kiss sizzled through their bodies like an electrical circuit finally, blissfully completed, their lips sliding slick against each other, their tongues meeting in frantic urgency. This was nothing like their mistletoe kiss—this was nothing like any other kiss, period. Their bodies melted together, soft against hard, before they each pushed the other away to gasp for air. Wide-eyed, they stared at each other in stunned silence, a thousand unspoken questions ricocheting between them.
Booth shook his head in an attempt to clear the lust from his mind. "Bones… what…?"
"I just… you were so smug, maybe I wanted to teach you a lesson…" she responded shakily. She pointed awkwardly to her lips, and then to him, wrapping her arms around herself and eyeing him warily. "Lesson," she repeated quietly.
"Oh." He nodded, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Oh."
She rocked back on her heels unsteadily, rubbing her hands over her shoulders more for comfort than for warmth. The tension was unbearable. "I should probably… my jacket, and…dinner," she gestured towards the door.
"Right," he replied briskly, moving to pull the door open for her. "I should probably… you know, I don't want the guys to think…"
Tipping her chin up resolutely, she nodded. Pausing in the entryway, she looked back at Booth, her face set in confusion. "So what…lesson…did we both learn, exactly?"
Looking down at his partner, he moved to tuck a stray ribbon of hair behind her ear. Shrugging, he gave the only answer that came to mind. "Don't drink tequila?"
Surprised, she shot her partner an inscrutable grin and winked.
Following her back into the bar, he could only smile. That's my girl, he thought.
AN: I know, I know. I tease. ; )