Created April 2013 - I don't own these characters as made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic and Threesquares postings.
Brennan's POV
7:33 AM
BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP…
The offending sound was not the alarm clock this time, but rather the phone.
"Booth, no" I wailed as he disengaged from our warm embrace to retrieve the call.
Bloody technology.
While rationally I realize the importance of staying connected to any leads on Broadsky, the overproduction of endorphins and norepinephrine that I was currently experiencing for my best friend and partner had clouded all rational thought. My only focus was on a strategy to keep Booth in his bed with me as long as possible.
Still startled from the alarm of the call, I laid my arms flat against the bed, panting as he hit the power key. "Boo-" he barely answered before I heard a familiar voice booming through the earpiece.
"Booth, what the Hell is going on?"
I am fascinated as Booth's face turns a crisp crimson. "It's all over the national news that something happened at that lab, and I can't get in touch with Tempe. She's not answering her mobile or office phone and she's offline from her computer, and neither Cam nor Angela is accessible either? What is going on? And don't lie to me…."
As if Max was actually in the room with us, Booth recoiled from me, sat up from the bed and covered me up with a sheet. I chuckle.
Definitely Max.
"Where the fuck is my daughter?"
"Max…" Booth must have said Dad's name at least four times before Dad let him speak. I chuckled, pretty sure that he threatened my federal agent. "She's fine. She's here. She's here with me. What? Of course I KNOW what time it is! Now wait a second, Max. Let me explain."
Obvious that this conversation was not going to progress in any productive way, I grabbed the phone from Booth's hand. "Dad – I'm here. I'm OK."
"Tempe, thank God! Why haven't you answered your phone?"
"Dad, the Medico-Legal lab team is on radio silence. One of my interns was killed in the lab yesterday by a sniper."
"What? Who?"
"Mr. Nigel-Murray"
"The English Squintern?" My face winces as I realize how similar my Dad and Booth are. I'm sure Sweets would jump all over the similarities.
"Yes, Dad – a sniper intended Booth as his target, but instead he killed Vincent. He doesn't however know that he missed his intended target." I look up at Booth who had moved very far away from me on the bed. My concern that he would be uncomfortable with my conversation with Max about Broadsky was allayed as I realized that he was staring at where the sheet had slipped down. I looked down as well. Apparently my movements against my partner during our mutual repose had caused my camisole to slip off my left shoulder. I could see that the camisole was dangerously close spilling and exposing my breasts to him. Looking back at Booth, I observed the struggle between his Catholic guilt willing him to look away and the very apparent desire to be witness to the effects of gravity on my apparel.
"The sniper may be monitoring our phones. Booth's old line has been replaced, and only authorized calls are being patched through to this new line." I look again at Booth, realizing that he added my father to his list of authorized callers. "Dad, I apologize as everything has happened so quickly, within the past 12 hours in fact. We're going to leverage Broadsky's assumption about Booth's death to try and get the pounce on him."
"'Jump on him', not pounce, Sweetheart. Baby, I'm glad you're okay. What can I do?"
"Thanks Dad, I will actually need your help at the Jeffersonian. I expect that I, plus many members of the lab will be participating in various mourning services over the next few days. When are you returning to DC?"
"As soon as you need me to, Sweetheart. Do you need me to keep an eye on the lab?"
"Yes, I expect so. I, I- haven't spoken to Cam yet but I'm certain that we'll benefit from as many resources who understand the operations of the lab in our absence."
"Sure, sure, Baby. Let me know the details when you have them. What's the sniper's name, again?"
I rolled my eyes. "Dad, I'm not going to disclose this information to you. Besides, he's not trying to kill me, he's trying to kill Booth." I wince at Booth apologetically. His demeanor indicates that he understands my non-verbal apology.
I feel the need to compensate for my words that must be difficult for Booth to overhear. I sit up further in the bed, causing the camisole to slip further down my arm and finally lose its tacking against my breasts. I ignore, but am not deaf to Booth's apparent gasp and moan, and I reward him further by pulling my hair behind my ear and arching my back slightly. I'm almost certain that he lets out a groan.
"Yes, but you're usually next to Booth, Honey. About that…what are the sleeping arrangements wherever you are with Booth?"
"Daaaaaaaaaaad" I roll my eyes again. Booth's face lights up, now for other reasons than my exposed flesh. He seems to sense the fact that my father is treating me as he did when I was 15. I know the next sentence will throw him for a loop. "Booth and I are in his apartment. And before you inquire, no, we have not engaged in coitus. He prepared his sofa for me and I slept on it last night".
Indeed, Booth's Cheshire grin was replaced by another visage of fear. My Alpha Male was afraid of no one, except my father, the Alpha Male. I found this fact very appealing to me.
"Okay, Honey, I'll stop teasing you. You tell Booth to keep you safe. Call me tonight. Let me know you're alright. I love you."
"I will. I love you too, Dad. Bye." I hung up the phone.
