Title: Paradise Skies
Disclaimer: Every night I go to bed and hope when I wake up I will own them. But in the morning, I'm still in my own bedroom and not in some million-dollar mansion, so no, they're not mine.
Rating: I promise it'll be an M eventually. But I'll change the rating accordingly.
A/N: Thank you to all the people who think sweaty island sex is appealing. Thanks to anyone who Googled Mauritius. It really is amazing. I want to incorporate that in my story. So please, keep reading.
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Booth drained his glass and turned to the barman, who was grinning. "Another?" He asked, snagging a bottle of locally distilled rum. Booth pressed her fingers to his forehead, scanning the liqueurs that lined the bar. Another exotic piña colada, he'd be officially drunk.
"What did you put in that?" He whined, picking the vibrant red cherry off the glass. The barman, whose name-tag read 'Nav' uncapped the bottle and held it up for Booth's inspection.
"I cannot reveal the secrets of my trade," he joked. "But I can tell you that it is ten parts rum…" Booth chuckled, dropping his head to the long mahogany bar.
"Yeah… I can believe it," he said, slipping the cherry into his mouth. "I've never drank a cocktail made primarily from rocket fuel before." Nav poured a plentiful amount of clear white rum into a glass and shrugged.
"I don't know what that means, Monsieur," he said. Booth slipped unsteadily off the bar stool, and turned to the vibrant blue horizon, dulled only by the fading sunlight.
"You in cohorts with Bones?" He mumbled. As if on cue, she stepped into the bar, scanning the empty wicker chairs and smiling when she found him. He was a little indignant that she'd known where to look to locate him. "Where you been, Bones?" She dropped her backpack unto the nearest chair and he glanced at the long expanse of her legs, almost completely exposed by her little khaki coloured shorts. She wore sandals on her feet, and he noticed that her toe nails were painted a pale peach colour. She looked like a sexy explorer.
Brennan passed her fingertips over the back of her neck. "Working," she said. "Vishnu Narayan showed me the remains." Booth took the freshly made drink and passed it to her, nodding in response. "We've confirmed that the bones are authentic, but the origins are still shady." She turned towards the ocean, sighing contentedly. DC, with it's bustling roads and hurried people seemed an eternity away.
Removing her sandals, she sunk her toes into the powder soft sand and sipped the yellowish liquid through the florescent pink straw.
"Vishnu and his team are flying to Réunion tomorrow," she said. "They're to attend a conference for three days, so I intend on taking full advantage of my time off," she hummed contentedly. "What's this?" She asked, holding the glass up. Booth shrugged.
"Ten parts rum, apparently…" Brennan frowned, shrugging and taking another sip. Booth turned to the restaurant, nestled beyond the shimmering swimming pool, and grinned. "They're getting ready for dinner," he said, gesturing to the uniformed waiters as they set the dinner tables with an air of grace. "I'm going to shower, what time do you want to meet?" Brennan plucked a slice of orange off her glass and inhaled the loveliness of the citrus fruit.
"Meet for what?" She asked, and when she looked up, he noticed how the evening breeze tugged at her loose hair, and stroked her cheeks.
"Dinner, Bones," he said, smiling patiently. She blinked, pushing the drink away and glancing down at her watch.
"Seven?" She suggested.
When he left, she stood, taking a final sip of the cocktail, and descended the three stone steps to the flower-lined pathway that led to the beach. A man dressed in a black pants and a white linen shirt was lighting a line of flame torches and he bid her a good evening. She smiled, watching how the dazzling yellow flames fluttered in the fading light. The island made her think of old-fashioned amenities and how she could easily adjust to the life.
She loved DC – the Jeffersonian was her second home, yet walking next to natural torches, towards an endless expanse of white coral beach, she began to wonder if modern life and what came with it, was really better than the simplicity of island life. Here, no one seemed stressed. It was reflected in their easy smiles and relaxed gait.
Brennan rounded the second pool and climbed the back stairs to her room, standing at the top of the long flight to admire the hotel gardens below. If she stood for long enough, the fluttering flames, the pinkish hue of the sky and the slow lapping waves along the beach, whooshing and whispering continually, could have convinced her to stay. And she'd only arrived earlier. There was a certain magic that filtered through everything into the very atmosphere that the island was soaked in. It was too easy to forget about work, however focused she wanted to be.
The tall palm trees swayed in the humid sea breeze, the branches creaking occasionally. She pressed her cheek to the cool white wall, and closed her eyes. The images stayed in her mind's eye, and she hoped it would forever. She had been to many beautiful places in her life, always for work purposes, but there was something about here that felt different. Perhaps it was the company she'd be in for the duration of her stay.
Seeley Booth.
She hoped not, because then she was in trouble. Resistance to romance did not bode well in a place like Mauritius, and recently their friendship had been teetering dangerously on the edge of something more. Nothing had been spoken, no kisses exchanged and sex was a long way off, but Brennan had noticed that Booth's concern was shifting beyond platonic and her meddling best-friend has assured her that Booth, as her partner, had no right to pry into her personal life. But as her friend… things could be radically different.
Turning away from the glorious scene before her, Brennan slipped along the sheltered corridor to her room. Inside, the air conditioning cooled her clammy skin and she sat on the edge of her bed for a long few moments, just relaxing in the freshness of the circulating air. When she caught the scent of traditional Asian spices in the air, her stomach growled hungrily and she noticed it was already six fifteen.
Showering again, because it was simply too hot in Mauritius not to, Brennan dressed in a long summery dress and slipped her shell bracelet back unto her wrist again. She had always liked alternative jewellery, and the little red stones and tiny dried shells made her think of how, one person's junk really could be another person's treasure. She'd given the old woman a hundred rupees at the airport which was approximately four dollars, and she was certain it wasn't worth it. But it looked nice. Different.
Fastening her hair with a clip decorated with an artificial pink lotus flower, Brennan coated her lips in balm that tasted like the mango she had smelt earlier. Her pale yellow dresses swished around her bare legs and she wondered if she was over-dressed. She was vaguely aware of her own paranoia, because she'd seen plenty of people dressed exactly as she was, but looking at herself in the mirror, rosy cheeked with wavy hair and a strapped dress, she felt too much as though she were going on a date.
Chiding herself, she checked her watch again and it was five minutes to seven. There was no time left for doubt. Her 'date' would be waiting.
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I hope you're still liking the story and the locale. I am totally loving be able to write about it.
Réunion – Ren-u-on – no emphasis is specifically placed on the 'u' in this island's name. Réunion is owned by France and is also in the Indian Ocean.
My reference to the 'ten part rum' thing is because I noticed the Mauritians are very generous with their alcohol. They really so have locally distilled rum called 'Green Island' and the quote given in chapter one by Mark Twain is inscribed on the label of each bottle of white. I believe what he said is so… so true.
I hope you'll be back for chapter three.
