Title: Folie à Trois Missing Scene #2: In The Heat of the Night
Characters: Booth, Brennan
Summary: He was itching for a heated discussion, a knock-down bickering match. So was she. It was the only way they knew how to deal with the tension that ran a fever pitch today. Companion piece to Folie à Trois, chapter 2.
He would have had the decency to announce his entrance properly to his partner if he'd known she'd be in the kitchen too.
His bare feet had apparently led him so quietly down the stairs that she jumped a little when he announced his presence with a surprised cough, and he felt a twinge of guilt for startling her.
She recovered just as quickly however, and wordlessly tipped the beer bottle in her hand at him, then lifted it to her lips and drank greedily.
The cool white light of the moon through the tall kitchen windows belied the sweet-smelling, stuffy heat in the kitchen. It made her skin, off-set in white against dark shadows, seem even more pale than usual, and holy mother why could he see so much of it??
His throat was getting dry from staring at her with yet another bottle to her mouth, and wearing even less clothes than earlier in the day. And suddenly he really needed that cold drink he had come for right fucking now. He walked to the refrigerator to help himself to a beer, following her example.
He felt a little ill at ease running into her here after midnight, wearing that pathetic excuse for sleepwear. He needed a moment to center himself before he felt ready to deal with that. He folded his arms across his chest, emphasizing his broad torso and the muscular definition in his arms and shoulders, his stance wide in the middle of the dark kitchen.
"Aren't you getting a little chilly there, Bones? Maybe put some clothes on before coming out in public?" he inquired coolly. Which was a fucking miracle in this muggy heat, and made his remark all the more laughable.
He was half-trying to sound like he didn't care, and succeeding mostly in sounding like a jerk.
Catching his cool tone, she cocked her head and lodged herself in her favorite position: the opposite of his. "The kitchen at midnight isn't exactly public, Booth."
He set his jaw. Even in the middle of the night, the first thing she did was provoke him? As if she hadn't done that all day?
"Well, that recovery site this afternoon was," he shot back in an aloof tone, if a little sullenly. He took a quick swig of beer, vainly hoping it might cool his temper.
He should have known that remark only served to bait her. In fact, maybe he did.
Even in the half-dark, he could see the dangerous glint of engagement in her eyes before she tilted her head at him. "Are you implying there was something wrong with my costume, Booth?"
He nearly shot beer out of his nose. She was calling that painted-on, barely-there, ridiculous excuse for work clothes she'd been wearing today a costume? Had he taught her nothing about plain English the past few years?
He idly scratched his short fingernails over the damp skin on his biceps. Something itched beneath his skin, begging to get out, when she got like this. But after all the times he'd felt like this, he still refused to recognize it for what it was. Instead, he channeled his frustration into a snarky attack.
"There was nothing wrong with your outfit, Bones....if you were going to a bar to pick up a guy."
Oh, he had her now. She sucked in a breath through her nose; he could hear the harsh sound all the way from where he was standing, several feet away. He saw a tautness seep into her posture as she steeled herself for full-on battle.
"Isn't that a double standard, Booth? YOU were wearing jeans and a tank top, too. So why can't I? It was hot."
He actually snorted at the pun, which she wouldn't get. "Yeah, it suuuure was." He couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.
The emphasis gave away that he meant something by it, but it was still too hot to think, and late, and they were both tired, so all she gave him was an annoyed sigh and the strained question, "What are you implying now?" Their voices at were rising to an angry whisper, but they were both trying to keep the volume down so as not to wake anybody else even though their argument was escalating.
She couldn't possibly be this dense. "You can't tell me you didn't notice all the guys were watching, Bones."
She got that holier-than-thou look on her face that pissed him off faster than anything else. "They were not, Booth. They were dedicated professionals. We were working. Our appearance was the last thing on our minds."
And to him it sounded suspiciously like she was using the "they" as a thinly veiled substitute for me.
She was being recalcitrant, and he was being snippy and sarcastic, and more than once now he'd deliberated insulted her. On any other night he would recognize the dynamic at work and be smart enough to put a stop to it. He was itching for a heated discussion, a knock-down bickering match. So was she. It was the only way they knew how to deal with the tension between them anymore lately, especially when it that ran a fever pitch like today, even now.
"This doesn't concern you, Booth. So just drop it!" she whispered spat angrily.
He padded over to where she was standing by the counter, inching closer and closer, but she wouldn't back down from him. Another step and they were toe to toe.
He leaned in menacingly, and disconcertingly close. "It concerns me if guys drool all over you and distract you from your work, because I have a murder to solve!"
Aaaaaand…that REALLY hit a nerve.
Her eyes tried to emasculate him before her voice did. He almost covered his vulnerable parts with his hands in a reflex.
"Oh, YOU have a murder to solve? What am I, chopped liver?"
He would have laughed at her finally using a slang expression correctly for once, but in this mood he was likely looking at a good slugging if he did. Her eyes were blazing fire and he was reminded of that encounter at the shooting range when they first started working together. He thought he'd never seen anything as captivating and arousing as a pissed off Temperance Brennan.
"I thought we were partners! You rat bastard!" she ground out, vibrating with fury and righteous indignation.
Something was scratching for attention in the back of his mind, something about the hurt behind her anger, but he ignored it, lost in the heat of the moment, the heat of their tension.
They were standing way too close together, of course, especially in this heat. He could feel the heat of her body and her anger radiating against him, until finally she stepped back and leaned back against the counter.
"I am not distracted. I don't allow my sexual interests to affect my work."
That did it. With the holier-than-thou attitude again, and what sounded suspiciously like an accusation in that moment. He took a step closer so they were almost hip to hip, one hand planted on the counter beside hers – trapping her – and his feet planted firmly astride one of her shins. He felt a small twitch of arousal that he attributed to the adrenaline rush of butting heads with her so fiercely. He leaned in so his face was close enough to see her pupils dilate., and was gratified to see an infinitesimal shiver run up her arms and shoulders, goose bumps rising in its wake.
He liked the thrill of having her cornered, and fuckit the close proximity too. He could see the fine dew of perspiration covering her face, smell her sweet breath laced with a hint of alcohol against his upper lip. And when he ventured a glance down at her rapidly expanding chest, he gloated over the clear outlines of her nipples against her tank top—and it was definitely not because of the cold.
"Well, aren't YOU just better than the rest of us, Bones."
True to form, she didn't allow his posturing to intimidate her. She simply held her ground, let him take his best shot. She leaned back and held the counter; her arms at her sides and resting behind her, shoulders pushed back. Come on, bad boy, let's see what you got. I'm not afraid of you. She exposed herself to him, made herself vulnerable, even while she challenged him with her chin and eyes.
Their eyes dueled now, replacing the verbal battle for now. You look down, you lose. A perverted game of freeze-tag. But on the inside, he was anything but freezing.
For just a fraction of a second, his gaze flicked down to the way her lip was drawn up belligerently. Or mockingly. Or both.
She smirked. "Do you mean that you let your sexual interests affect your work, Booth?"
Fuck.
He knew he had hedged just a fraction of a second too long to maintain plausible deniability.
The bottle of beer dangled from the hand that he was raising up, his index finger rudely pointed close to her face, but he didn't care right now. He was just trying to salvage some of his argument—and some of his dignity. "Don't-"
But before he could finish whatever pitiful attempt he was still trying to formulate in his mind, a movement that caught his attention from the corner of his eye saved him.
Cam.
Well, didn't that make the fucking party complete.
Note: Thanks once again to SSJL for instigating this companion piece (and supplying a couple of lines here and there to tickle my muse), because phew *wipes brow* I EFFING LOVE IT when they get like this. :-)