A.N.: Thank you for your comments! I'm realy trying not to bore you with case details. I hope you stay with me!
Chapter Seven
BRITISH EQUIVALENT
"Days seem longer in England, don't they?" Booth asked Brennan as they walked to his rented car.
They had just met with a man who had directed them to a pub. There, they would meet two agents who could tell them more about the victim's life. Life always helps with explaining death. 'It's what makes the world go round,' Booth had told her once. Of course, it was a silly concept.
"Days are the same duration anywhere, Booth..."
"I didn't say they were longer. I said they seemed longer."
She reached the car door.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Waiting for you to unlock the door..." she answered.
"We're in England."
She failed to see his point. "I know."
"And in England, cars are on the wrong side."
"Meaning?"
"That if you want the passenger door, it's the other one."
"I know," she said.
"You think you're driving?" he asked her.
"Well... yes. I've been here longer than you. I know the streets. It makes sense."
"No, it doesn't make any sense, Bones. I'm the one with the key," he said in a smug tone, throwing the key in the air and catching it.
He walked up to the driver's door, but she was in the way. And she wouldn't move.
"We don't have time for this," he whined.
"I concur."
But she didn't move.
So he put his hands on her hips to push her aside. She jerked at his touch and hit her back on the car.
What was that? he thought.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Drive, I don't care," she mumbled before walking to the passenger's side.
She could still feel his hands on her once she got into the car. She would have to be careful not to let him do that again.
Brennan stared out the window, trying to ignore the fact that this car was very, very small.
"How are Angela, Hodgins and Cam?" she asked.
"You haven't called them at all?"
She shook her head.
"I feel special," he said with a grin.
"Why? Because you're a special agent?"
"You're getting better with the kidding thing, Bones. I'm proud."
She felt foolish.
"I feel special because you called me."
"By accident," she rectified.
"You still called me," he said.
He told her everyone was fine. Even though everyone was still struggling. She had been right wanting to come here. He would have done the same thing.
"Why didn't you call me, really?" he questioned her.
Because I wanted to too much. If that had made any sense, that's what she'd have said. But she replied, "You didn't call me either."
"But you're the one who left," he specified.
That sounded like a well known after-breakup explanation he had had too many times with women.
"Exactly," she said with a tone that put an end to the subject.
What?
He whistled some tune for a minute, then he shouted, "Oh!" like he just had an illumination. "Have you listened to the radio since you're here? The stations here are hilarious!"
He turned the knob of the radio all the way up.
"...phone rings in the middle of the night,"
Brennan's throat shut down, her heart raced. She recognized the song instantly.
"My father yells "What you gonna do with your life?
Oh,daddy,dear,
You know you're still number one,"
She tried not to show anything and clenched on the fabric of her pants.
"But girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
Oh,girls,just wanna--"
Until she couldn't take it anymore. Before she hyperventilated, she turned it off.
"Hey, you love that song!" he said without thinking.
"Yeah. I did."
He concentrated on the road in front of him. She wanted her voice to sound detached, but it only made it sound even more hurt. At least to Booth.
"Your death kinda ruined it for me."
He hesitated a little before saying, "But I'm not dead."
"I know."
"And it's just a song. As you would say, it can't hold powers or whatever."
She turned to him.
"I know it's just a song, but I can still... Let's not talk about that anymore."
"Ever? About..."
"Your fake death, yeah."
"No, what were you gonna say?"
"It's gonna sound silly."
They stopped at a red light, and he looked at her. She was staring straight ahead.
"This can count as your secret if you want."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah." He paused. "But I still wanna know what's in that metallic box."
"Of course you do." She laughed softly. She took a deep breath and let it out. "I can still hear the exact moment you get shot every time I hear that song."
He wanted to take her minds off things. He wanted to make her laugh.
"Too bad I got shot before I could hear the ending, though. You sounded great."
Was that a chuckle?
He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.
That comment wasn't even funny. It's his tone, she understood. The way he says things makes them funny.
"You really belted it out. You were... What was it that kids called it back in the day? Rad?"
Her smile grew larger. He knew she was trying to hold back.
"So rad, in fact, when I got shot, I was on my way up on stage."
"Shut up," she said, finally cracking up.
"Really! People think I took a bullet for you, but I just wanted to have fun, like the girls."
She looked at him.
"That's not funny."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"I have no idea. Probably because days are longer in England."
He smiled too. And added, "You really were something else. You were... really beautiful."
She shivered.
"Stunning, even."
She looked at him. He was serious.
"And happy. You got me amazed. If it really had been the last image I had in mind before dying, I would have been okay," he concluded.
"That is not funny," she protested.
"It's wasn't meant to be."
As they got closer and closer to the entrance of the pub, Booth slowed down. Enough for Brennan to notice.
"You okay?" she asked.
He stopped.
"Will you be okay?" he asked in return.
"What are you talking about?"
He tilted his head towards the pub. She got his drift. And shifted on her feet.
"Are you scared?" she almost murmured.
He laughed. She recognized that laugh. His shield laugh.
"You haven't set foot in a bar since the shooting," she pointed out.
"Neither have you, I suppose."
Before silence could set in, she said,
"Any British stalker I should know about?"
He smiled and shook his head.
"Then we'll be fine."
We.
They entered the pub. The place was too small, the music was too loud, it was sticky and smelled like sweat and aftershave.But there was no stage and no piano.They looked at each other and knew they were okay. Brennan made her way through the customers.
"How do we recognize the two agents we have to meet?" she asked Booth, who was right behind her.
He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned near her ear to cover the music. She tried to ignore his warm breath on her skin.
"Let me find a table. They'll find us."
"How?"
"It's easier for them to find two Americans in a British crowd than it is for us to find two Brits... Watch it!"
A drunken idiot bumped into Booth's back, making him jerk forward. Pressed flat against Brennan's back, he held on to her shoulders to steady himself. She turned around.
"You alright?"
"Yeah," he said, looking for the man who had pushed him. He spotted an empty table. "Over there. Let's go."
But before they could move, it was Brennan's turn to get pushed. She bumped onto his chest. Booth wasn't steady on his feet and tipped backwards. She grabbed his shoulders to stabilize him, but he was too heavy. His back hit a wall.
"Ow," he hissed through his teeth.
Pressed against him by the fall, she let her hands trail down his arms.
"That's it. I definitely hate pubs," he said.
She was so close, his groin was pressing onto her. He put his palms on her hips, carefully, to push her away, but someone chose that moment to walk behind Brennan, so she had to push herself even further onto him. Wanting to avoid contact, she squirm, but his thigh slid between her legs. Flustered, she moved again and involuntarily rubbed herself on him.
Booth seemed to get tense, all of a sudden. She saw his jaw clenching and his eyes shifting to the ceiling. She recognized the warm sensation of arousal in her own lower body. Dying a little, she brought her hands to his chest and pushed herself off of him.
"Let's sit before one of us ends up in the hospital." A mental hospital.
They finally reached the table. Booth took the menu, which was shaped like a cow.
"I wonder if they have cheeseburgers. Yes! There's a cheeseburger here with my name on it."
"Where? Who writes names on cheeseburgers?" she asked, stealing the menu from him to see for herself.
He chuckled.
"It's a figure of speech, Bones. Though, it'd be so cool. 'I'll have a Seeley Booth, please.'"
"With a side of fries," she added.
"And a...
"Piece of pie," they said in unison.
They laughed as the waitress, cute blonde, arrived to take their order. When she left, Booth said,
"I can't wait for this day to be over so we can get drunk."
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like being drunk."
"Because you lose control," he said, knowingly.
"No. Because of the headache that follows," she rectified.
He was about to explain how not to get a headache – two Tylenols and a bottle of water before going to sleep- when they heard a man and a woman arguing loudly entering the premises.
"I told you I should drive! Now the bloody car is dented," the man said.
"Maybe if you'd stop blithering on and on while I drive, I could park more easily," the woman replied, not looking at him.
"See?" Brennan told Booth. "He let her drive."
"See?" he echoed. "He shouldn't have."
The man and the woman sat at the bar, near the partners. They heard the man ask the woman,
"Slice of pound cake today?"
"I wish you'd stop asking, already. It's getting old," she replied.
Booth smirked. Pie is so much better than pound cake.
Their order arrived and Booth stopped the waitress.
"Excuse me, do you have any ketchup?"
Then the woman at the bar turned to them. She hit her friend on the arm and they both came their way.
"Are you the Americans we are supposed to meet here?" she asked them.
Brennan frowned. How did she know?
"Hi," Booth said. "Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is..."
"Dr Temperance Brennan," she said for herself. They shook hands.
"I'm Detective Inspector Brendan. This is my partner, Detective Inspector Boone."
They all sat together and talked about the victim for a while. Until Brendan and Boone started bickering again.
"I've been stuck with her for over three years now," Inspector Boone said.
"Same here," Booth let out.
The two women turned to their respective partners, offended.
"Lighten up! I'm kidding," the detective told Brendan.
"Don't gimme that look, you're stuck with me, too," Booth said.
"That's true," Brennan agreed.
They all looked at each other. On each side of the table, the man had his arm on the back of his partner's chair. It was like staring in a mirror.
"So!" Booth chipped in. "You said something about the victim having a partner, too?"
"Yes," Brendan confirmed. "Her name is Leslie Walkins. She lives on Springfield Road in Westminster. She was his partner for two and a half years before she learned he was undercover with the FBI. He was killed three days after."
"That gotta hurt," Booth said.
"Getting killed?" Brennan asked.
"Learning your partner lied to you for nearly three years," the British inspector said.
Inspector Brendan's phone rang. She excused herself and left the table.
"I saw them snog, once," Boone added.
"I don't know what that means," Brennan said.
"Snogging, Bones," Booth said. "Kissing passionately."
"How do you know that?" she asked him.
He shrugged. He probably knew every term used for kissing.
"Well, I have to get back to work. Lovely meeting you both. Good luck with the case."
The Detective Inspector left money on the table and shook their hands goodbye.
"Wow," Booth finally let out.
"What?"
"You didn't notice anything?" he asked, surprised.
"What?" she said again.
"They are us."
She frowned.
"Huh?"
"They are our British equivalent."
"I don't understand."
"Come on! Look at their names: Boone and Brendan?"
"They have similar surnames, yes. How does that translate into being us?"
Booth turned his chair to face her and counted each similarity with his fingers.
"They bicker about who's driving, he offers her British pie..."
"Pound cake is not British pie, Booth."
He ignored her comment.
"...and they've been partner for three years."
If you ignored the fact that the woman was neither a genius nor a forensic anthropologist, he was right.
"Ok. What do you say we go see that Walkins woman right now so we have the rest of the evening free?"
They both got up and went to the bar to get the check. As Booth paid for them both, Brennan noticed a couple making out against the back wall.
"Booth," she tapped on his shoulder to get his attention. "Is that snorkelling?"
"Snogging, Bones..." he said looking where she was discretely pointing to.
"Wow, definite snogging."
They both stared at the couple. That's hot.Brennan realized she was holding her breath. She glanced at Booth for a millisecond and licked her lips nervously.
Booth's eyes caught her tongue wetting her lips. He quickly looked back to the ones getting it on against the wall. That's hot. The coupleparted lips to catch a breath and Booth and Brennan saw their faces.
"Oh."
"Whoa."
"I guess they're not us after all..." Brennan said.
"Yeah. We don't do that yet."
Yet? Yet?
"Yet?" she repeated, looking at him, heart pounding.
"What?"
"Why did you say yet?"
"Huh?"
"You said 'we don't do that yet'."
"No I didn't."
"You did."
"Why would I say that?"
"I don't know that's why I'm asking."
"I didn't say yet."
"You did."
"Why do you want me to have said yet?"
"I don't want you to... You said it."
"Do you have any indisputable evidence?" he asked.
Other than her stomach twisting? No.
"Then you can't prove I said something you wanted to hear."
"I didn't want to... You..."
She decided to let it go. It was getting confusing.
Booth held the door open for Brennan. As she walked past him, she whispered,
"You said yet."
I know. He winced. Good thing she wasn't looking.
--
TBC... Next up: Murder suspect to Booth, grieving partner to Brennan. AND... of course London has no room available for Booth to spend the night in.
