Disclaimer: I still don't own Bones.
VI. Wedding (2x21)
The sixth time they dance together is at a wedding.
At least, it's kind of a wedding. Is a wedding still a wedding if no one gets wed?
Heh. It's like a tongue-twister. How much wood can a woodchuck chuck and all that.
Anyway, he and Bones are standing at the altar, stranded by Hodgins and Angela (who've left for reasons unknown) with the instructions to enjoy themselves.
Everyone's staring at them.
And it's a little absurd, to be honest. He's standing in a church full of people next to one of the two women to have turned him down in recent memory. God sure has a strange sense of humor; he's not sure that he appreciates it right now.
"What do we do now?" she asks him as they stand facing the priest.
After a charged pause, "What Hodgins and Angela suggested."
He turns to the pews, and says loudly, "So, uh, I guess the guests of honor have already departed, huh?"
The crowd chuckles.
Smiling as charmingly as he can, he concludes, "Fortunately, they've left us with quite a nice spread. So let's follow their orders and eat, drink, and make merry."
When no one makes a move to exit, he looks back at Bones a tad helplessly. Put him in an official situation, and he's great at making people jump when he says jump. But right now he's a bit out of his depth.
"I think they're still waiting for a wedding, Booth," she whispers loudly. "Which is illogical, considering that Angela and Hodgins are not here. See, this is why –"
He quickly covers her mouth with his hand.
"Not right now, OK, Bones?" he hisses. "You can't diss marriage in God's House."
Her eyes flash furiously as she pries his hand away.
As she opens her mouth to speak, however, a new voice cuts in.
"Alright, lovebirds, cut it out," Caroline Julian's strident tone pronounces. "These good people didn't come here to see you flirt. Everyone, this way to the reception hall."
And with that, she strides out of the church, beginning a mass exodus of its inhabitants.
Bones' cheeks are slightly flushed, and he knows with a dreadful certainty that his are no better. Neither of them are people who embarrass easily, but being scolded (however wrongly) for flirting in front of a churchful of people? That'll do it.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, feeling rather like a fish.
Looking bemused, Bones says, "Well, that was effective. Of course, we are not a couple, but I suppose I can understand how the casual observer might come to that conclusion in these circumstances. Although Caroline should know better, I suspect that she was subconsciously influenced by the cultural expectation that a man and a woman standing in front of a priest must necessarily be romantically involved."
"Whoa, Bones," Booth says, "That sounds an awful lot like psychology."
Bones huffs. "Psychology is an imprecise –"
"– science, yeah, I know."
She nods with satisfaction.
He hesitates for a second, then, "Are you sure you're OK? Y'know, with me arresting your dad?"
Bones bites her lip slightly even as she huffs, "You did your job, Booth. I understand."
"See, you say that, but I'm not sure that you do."
"It was my father's choice," she says. "He's the one who chose to continue a life of crime. He's the one who chose to get caught."
He shrugs in agreement. "Still…"
"You are an honorable man, Booth," she tells him firmly. "You wouldn't be you unless you did what you thought was right. And I know I don't say this very often, but I respect you for that."
The lump in his throat catches him by surprise.
"Thanks, Bones," he says quietly, his eyes glued to hers. "You're pretty amazing too, y'know."
She smiles. "We make a good team."
"Yeah," he agrees. "We do."
They share one of their Looks, one of those interlocked gazes so full of electricity and layered meanings that he's surprised the air doesn't literally crackle.
Then she looks away and, just like that, it's over.
"So, uh, we'd better get to the reception then, huh?" Booth says.
Bones seems to flip some sort of internal switch, and suddenly she's crisp and professional again.
"Yes," she says.
-–-–-–-–-–-–-–-–-–-–-
The reception is held at a place a couple of miles from the church, so they take Booth's car. By the time they get there, everyone has already started eating and dancing as per Hodgins and Angela's orders.
"There you are!" Cam exclaims, converging on the pair, a plate of hors d'œuvres in her hand. "We were wondering if you'd gotten lost."
Booth snorts. "Get lost? You know me better than that, Camille. I've got a compass up here." He taps his head with an index finger for emphasis.
"That's not possible," Bones tells him.
"It's a figure of speech, Dr. Brennan," Cam says patiently.
"Implying that Booth has an excellent sense of direction?" Bones asks. At Booth's nod, she says, "I concur."
"Thanks, Bones," he says, grinning. He hasn't gotten this many compliments from her in a while.
"I'm only stating a fact, Booth," Bones says. "There's no need to thank me. I suspect your time in the military served to augment your spatial skills."
He shrugs. "I was pretty good at reading maps and stuff before I went into the service, but old Sergeant Mattes and his field exercises really whipped my internal compass into shape. My figurative internal compass," he adds, seeing Bones about to protest.
"And… I'm off to get some more wine," Cam says, looking amused. "The rest of the team's sitting over by the big cluster of balloons if you want to join us."
"Sure thing," Booth says, flashing her a smile. "Thanks."
As soon as Cam leaves, he turns to Bones. Rubbing his hands together he says, "So, Bones, whaddaya say we see what the food's like?"
"I am amendable to that," Bones tells him, smiling.
"Good," he says. "'cause my stomach's rumbling."
One thing that can be said for Jack Hodgins is that he's no cheapskate. The buffet is, in his partner's words, "a veritable smörgåsbord".
A large portion of it is fancy stuff that Booth's never seen before, but he's relieved to discover a section where there are things like good old-fashioned steak and mashed potatoes. And the desserts… good God, the desserts.
"Booth, is it really necessary for you to consume three slices of pie?" Bones asks disapprovingly as they take their seats with the other squints.
"Ah, but they're different types of pie," he informs her, grinning.
She rolls her eyes expressively as she picks up a small pastry.
"What's that?" he asks her through a mouthful of potatoes.
"It's a vol-au-vent," she says.
"Vole?" he says in disgust.
"Vol-au-vents do not contain vole," she explains, amused. As she talks, her voice takes on a familiar lecturing tone. "Their name comes from the French 'le vol dans le vent', which means 'flying in the wind'; the phrase is supposed to describe the lightness of the puff pastry. This particular vol-au-vent is filled with mushrooms. It's quite tasty, actually. Would you like to try a bite?"
"Nah," he says, waving a hand in dismissal. "I'm good."
It's unfair how sexy she can make a fungus dish sound.
"Hodgins and Angela certainly didn't skimp on the wine," he says a bit later as he finishes off his glass. "I mean, I'm more of a beer guy, but this stuff is good."
Bones looks a tad confused as she says, "I fail to see why you would think that they would 'skimp'. Hodgins is quite wealthy, as is Angela's father; it is only logical that they would provide high-quality refreshments."
"Yeah, but there's a difference between 'high-quality' and 'high-quality'," he says, grinning. "This is definitely the latter, baby."
"Other than the emphasis that you put on the first portion of your repetition of the phrase, I see no difference between the two," Bones says. "Nevertheless, I am quite impressed with your use of the word 'latter'."
"Don't get used to it," Booth teases her. "I only bring out the big words on special occasions."
Bones rolls her eyes. "I do not think I am in danger of becoming accustomed to an improved vocabulary on your part."
"Should I be offended?" Booth asks the air rhetorically.
Zack Addy suddenly decides that now is the time to join their conversation.
"Dr. Brennan wasn't being derogative," he says. "It is merely fact that some homo sapiens are more intelligent than others."
"Zack is correct," Bones says, backing up her grad student.
Ignoring that topic ('cause he knows it will only end with everyone riled up), he turns to Bones and says, "Hey, do you wanna hit the dance floor?"
"That is illogical," Zack says. "Why would anyone desire to hit a floor?"
"It's a colloquialism, Zack," Bones explains, for once understanding a turn of phrase. "It means that Booth is asking me if I want to dance."
"Oh," Zack says, nodding in comprehension. "Agent Booth is using that phrase as part of a modern-day mating ritual."
Booth chokes on his sip of wine.
"Booth, are you alright?" Bones asks worriedly.
"I could perform the Heimlich maneuver," Zack volunteers.
Getting his breath back, Booth tells Bones, "I'm fine. That sip went down the wrong way, that's all."
Bones looks confused (he can almost hear her ask "How can a sip go in the incorrect direction, Booth?"), but she accepts his explanation.
"You should be more careful, Booth," she scolds him, before turning to Zack. "Although your supposition has merit, it is incorrect. While Booth and I are indeed engaging in a social ritual, we are not engaging in that particular form of it."
"Bones…?" he reminds her.
"Oh. Certainly," she says, putting her napkin on the table and following him to the dance floor.
"This was a good idea, Booth," she says, smiling as they dance.
"Well, I may not be a genius or a best-selling author, but I've been known to have some good ones," he replies, feeling a tad smug.
This time, he's the one spinning her around the room, eliciting that wonderful smile of hers; not Sully, not some random stranger, but him. And damn if it isn't a good feeling.
Tomorrow, Bones may decide that they're getting too close, decide to run away again. But that's tomorrow.
And tonight, Seeley Booth is just going to enjoy the feeling of having Temperance Brennan in his arms.