Spoilers: None, really...
Disclaimer: I suppose I'll just keeping writing random things here. Works well enough, I suppose.
Author's Note: I promise something will actually happen this chapter. Well, maybe. If I get around to plotting something with an actual plot, perhaps. That could help. ANYway, enjoy the second chapter!
Brennan looked across the car at Booth, amazed. He was humming. And he seemed quite into it. She'd only ever seen him do anything like that once. Yeah, she thought wryly, just before your apartment blew him up.
Not a thing she liked to remember. But, in one way, it was a sort of turning point in their relationship. Really, that whole week was a turning point. Her nearly dying had had its benefits. Such as Booth in her apartment. She'd liked the way he looked there; he was so comfortable, splaying himself on her couch like he belonged there. Sure, it annoyed the hell out of her, too, but it had opened up a new chapter, so to speak.
When he'd spied her music collection, she'd been terrified. He teased her enough already; he didn't need more ammunition. Then he'd found Foreigner. He'd looked confused at first when she'd relied to his skeptical, "Foreigner?" with a "Who doesn't?" look.
They'd danced. She'd danced. With him. She wasn't a big dancer; one night out here and there with Angela, when forced. Well, that didn't happen too often anymore, either. But Booth had been so into it that she couldn't resist, and she'd quickly resorted to the childish air-guitars with him.
With anyone else, she knew she would have felt idiotic and self-conscious dancing to Hot Blooded like a madwoman, but it was Booth. Booth knew her, even then, even that long ago. He knew her in ways she'd never allowed anyone else to know her. Ironic, really, that the only way he didn't know her was Biblically, the way she 'knew' most men.
She had no idea what the tune was, but she knew it. She'd heard it before, some time ago. As a teenager she'd been a music fanatic, like most people her age. Only, for the most part, she hadn't been into the same things they were. Sure, she'd crank Foreigner, or Meatloaf just as loud as everyone else, but she had truly lived for jazz.
She smiled as she remembered perfectly the smooth saxophone solos of Coleman Hawkins, and the blasting, soulful trumpet of Miles Davis. Faultless recollection was definitely one of the perks of being a genius. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the window.
Booth looked over at her. She seemed deep in thought, but not troubled like she usually looked when she was thinking. She was smiling. Good, he thought, Be happy, Temperance. He stopped humming, too busy looking at her, too lost in his thoughts to remember the rest of the song.
He honestly couldn't remember what that song was. He was humming it because it had been stuck in his head for days, but he couldn't recall the words at all. He forced his attention back to the road. It won't help your situation if you kill her, Booth, he though to himself.
A few minutes passed in a newly discovered comfortable silence, and soon they were at the diner. Booth stopped the car and ran to Bones' side to open her door. She shot him a look. He could tell she was holding back and insult, but she was also holding back a smile. He flashed her his widest charm smile and led her inside, and, pushing his luck, positioned his hand on the small of her back.
She was still in her own little world when the car pulled up at the diner. It wasn't until he opened her door that she realized, with a shock, that they were there already. She both hated and enjoyed his small chivalrous acts, such as this. She had only really hated them for a while, before she'd realized that they weren't meant to be chivalrous, just...Booth.
The music in her head didn't stop playing, however, until he touched her. This was another of his mannerisms she enjoyed. Far, far too much. Though she'd never admit it to anyone, including herself, she relished in the small moments of contact she shared with Booth; a touch on the arm, his hand on her back, his shoulder touching hers as he leaned over to whisper in her ear.
God, she loved it when he did that. Again, far too much for her own good. He did it all too much in interrogation rooms, too, and it sent her thoughts unhealthily away from the case. She was a focused woman. Ha! Not with Booth's warm breath painfully lingering on her jaw.
She shook her head. Bad train of though to continue here; in public. With Booth's hand still on her back. Her legs hit something, and she realized they were at their table. Shaking her head again, she sat down across from him.
"Bones? Y'okay?" Her head snapped up, and she was met with Booth's eyes of concern. She was slightly flustered from all this. Stop this, Brennan, she commanded herself, Angela's getting to your head. She made a mental note to talk to Angela later, and suddenly realized she hadn't answered Booth's question.
