A/N: Okay, this is the next chapter. It's quite lengthy in comparison to previous chapters. And there's fluff! Woo-hoo for fluff! Oh, and as a side note, I composed a cute one-shot/song fic called Sully's Girl...It's definitely worth checking out! ;-)
Disclaimer: Bones is not mine!
-CHAPTER 7-
"I'm hungry."
Brennan looked up from the filthy floor and frowned at the FBI agent. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to pick up something from McDonald's for you? A cheeseburger or fries, perhaps?" she asked sarcastically.
"Ha, ha…Very funny," Booth said half-heartedly.
Looking for a distraction, he swirled his thumb across the floor of grimy dirt. He mumbled a few incoherent fragments under his breath every so often, which were accompanied by the scratchy noises of his fingernails against the hard, pebbly surface. After a few more minutes of silence, a design that resembled a bent ladder was etched to the concrete.
Brennan held the flashlight over his picture. "What's that supposed to be?"
He brushed one hand against the other to swipe off the remaining dirt. The clapping echoed off the concrete walls. He grinned as he admired his handiwork. "A snake," he said matter-of-factly.
Brennan stared at the so-called "snake" blankly for a moment. She had seen many snakes in her lifetime. Snakes had long, curvy bodies and were considerably thick. Snakes had rounded heads and beady eyes and scaly skin. Snakes were slender and flow-y. It didn't take a forensic anthropologist to figure out that what Booth had drawn was no snake.
"That is not a snake," Brennan said in genuine disbelief.
"Sure it is, Bones," Booth insisted. To prove his point, he gestured to largest of the wavy strokes and traced an invisible line over it with his finger. "This is the tail, and that…" he paused to make an imaginary circle over a rather large, deformed oval near the top of the longest curve, "…is the snake's head."
"That is not a snake," Brennan repeated, this time with more confidence.
Booth sighed louder than necessary. "Okay then, Ms. Smarty Pants. What, pray tell, do you think it looks like?"
Choosing to ignore the "smarty pants," comment, she said, "It's a ladder." She proceeded to point to the disarray of circles Booth had drawn in between two of the thickest lines. "Those are the prongs and—"
Booth cut her off abruptly. "No, those are the scales."
"Those are not scales."
"Sure they are."
"They look more like the prongs of a ladder," she argued reasonably.
Booth groaned at the prospect of yet another argument on the horizon. "Look, you're an anthropologist, right?"
"Of course," Brennan said, slightly taken aback by his question.
"And an anthropologist is supposed to observe different cultures, right?"
"Yes."
"And an anthropologist's job is to observe one's culture without imposing or disrupting it in any way, right?"
Brennan still had no clue as to where he was going with this, but she decided it was best to go along with his antics for the time being. "Right again," she said, her voice laced with genuine confusion.
"So can't you just look at this like an anthropologist would?" At Brennan's look of bewilderment, he elaborated on his comment. "Look, Bones, just accept the fact that this is a drawing of a snake, not a drawing of this ladder you speak of. Ignore the lousy art job and accept it. As an anthropologist, you're not supposed to judge. So don't judge. Just accept."
Try as she might, Brennan couldn't wipe the growing smirk off her face. Booth had beaten her at her own game, something that she wasn't accustomed to. She'd have to keep that in mind and find a way to even the score.
Crossing her arms under her breasts, Brennan retorted, "Don't use my own words against me. And besides, I fail to see what this has to do with anthropology, Booth. I was simply stating my opinion. That does not resemble a snake. I see it as a ladder—a bent, distorted ladder, but a ladder nonetheless."
Booth grinned. "Well, if you're such a critic, why don't you put you're money where your mouth is," he challenged.
"I don't have any money with me. Besides, even if I did, do you have any idea how many pathogenic bacteria are passed through the trading of money? Money is a health hazard as it is. Why would I want to put it in my mouth?" she asked innocently.
What does money have to do with any of this? she added in her thoughts.
"Expression, Bones," Booth corrected gently.
Brennan blushed involuntarily at his comment. "Oh, right," she said quietly.
"Hey," Booth said, reaching out to stroke her smooth hand with his own. "It's not a big deal."
Brennan managed to put on a friendly smile. It was amazing that a simple touch from him had such an effect on her. "Yeah. After all, it is just you." She emphasized the words "just you." Brennan saw it as a subtle of way of telling Booth that she was comfortable with him.
Booth pretended to take offence to her comment. "Just me? Aw, c'mon, Bones. You know I'm worth more than a lousy 'just me,'" he cajoled.
Brennan's smiled widened. "That you are." When the meaning of her words registered with her, a wave of crimson graced her features once more, and she retracted her hand from his.
The awkwardness of the moment brought on a bout of unwelcome silence. Brennan kept her eyes downcast. She didn't dare meet Booth's eyes out of fear of what she would see there.
Booth had taught her a lot of things, probably one of the most important being the skill of reading people. That wasn't to say that Brennan was a pro at it like Booth was, but she was definitely making progress. She knew better than to be as blunt with the victims' families. She had even learned how to decode certain expressions and sarcastic remarks. And after working with Booth for awhile, she had learned how to read his feelings, his expressions, his snide comments. She even knew enough to recognize the lust hidden in those chocolate eyes of his.
"Ready to put your money where your mouth is, Bones?" Booth asked suddenly.
Brennan welcomed the question with a bright smile. She decided that she didn't like the direction her thoughts were taking. "As soon as you explain the meaning," she stated simply.
"Alright-y then. You talk like you know your stuff, Bones. You bash my snake, claiming it to be a ladder, but what do you really know about art?" The bemused expression plastered to Brennan's face was priceless. "Draw something, anything, and I'll try to guess what it is, m'kay?"
A shiver ran down her spine upon realizing what the challenge would entail. "You want me to draw?" she asked slowly, making sure that she understood what was expected of her.
"Go right ahead, Doc," Booth confirmed with his signature charm smile.
Brennan let out a nervous chuckle. Unbeknownst to Booth, Brennan could barely draw a stick figure. She was a scientist, not an artist. Angela was the one who helped her decorate her office with pointless tapestries and sofas. Angela was the one who picked out the paints for her apartment walls. Heck, Angela was even the one who chose the majority of Brennan's wardrobe. Ange was the artsy one. Brennan was the brainy one. That was just the way things were.
Damn him! she cursed mentally. Why do I open my big mouth? An annoying voice in the back of her head answered, Because you like to flirt with your so-called, "partner." She chose to ignore her conscience, convinced that she had been talking with Angela way too much lately.
Brennan frowned as she searched for something simple enough to sketch on the ground. She momentarily flicked her eyes upward to steal a glance at Booth. A smug smile graced his lips, and his hands crossed over his chest challengingly. Determined to beat him, she set to work with her drawing.
Brushing her thumb against the dirt on the floor, she formed a few random lines. These random lines soon pieced together to resemble seven, carefully placed bunches of dots. After a few final adjustments, Brennan emitted a tiny grunt of satisfaction and swiped her hands against her pant legs.
"There," she said happily. "What does it look like to you?"
Booth tried to stifle a laugh, but much to his dismay, he ended up snorting loudly. "What…is that? And you call my snake a ladder? I can't even guess what that thing is."
Brennan scoffed at his insult. "I'll have you know that this is the Big Dipper."
"The Big Dipper, Bones? Looks more like a kid that forgot to use his acne cream," Booth rebutted.
Sighing, Brennan gestured to the dot farthest to the left. She slowly snaked her finger down the strand of stars, naming each as she went along. "Those are Dubhe and Merak. That right there is called Phecda. That's Megrez. Next to that is Alioth. Then there's Mizar…and lastly Alkaid."
Moving her finger back to the first two stars, she continued, "Dubhe and Merak are called pointers. They can be used as indicators of Polaris, commonly known as the North Star. If you draw an imaginary line between the length of Dubhe and Merak and then extend that five times, you can easily find the North Star."
Booth raised his brows good-naturedly. "I didn't ask for an astrology lesson, Bones," he challenged playfully.
Brennan, however, didn't interpret his comment to be playful. Once again, she felt the color rising in her cheeks. "Oh, right," she muttered uneasily. "I knew that."
Detecting her obvious discomfort, Booth spoke, "Don't worry 'bout it, Bones." But when the color still didn't disappear, he added quickly, "It's kinda cute."
Brennan smirked. "Cute, eh?"
Trying to conceal his own embarrassment, he played along. "Yeah, cute."
Booth knew that if anything further was added to this discussion, he'd be in big trouble. He wisely decided to change the subject to something much safer. "I don't think we'll be getting any big awards with our second-rate artwork any time soon."
Much to his relief, Brennan laughed lightly. "You're right." She paused, and a daring look crept across her features. "But you have to admit it…my drawing beat the hell out of yours."
He shook his head while wagging a finger in her face. "No way! At least mine resembles a snake. Yours…well…it doesn't even come close."
Brennan sneered. "So you admit it!"
"Admit what?"
"You said that your drawing resembles a snake, therefore implying that it doesn't look like a snake," she jeered confidently.
"That's not what I said and you know it. Anybody who sees that…thing," he paused to gesture towards Brennan's attempt at the Big Dipper, "wouldn't have any clue what it was."
Brennan placed her hands firmly on her hips. "Is that so?"
"Yes." He mimicked Brennan by putting his own hands on his hips. With a devious expression plastered to his face, he mocked Brennan's voice to the best of his ability. "It is so!"
Brennan couldn't help but to giggle somewhat uncharacteristically at his attempts to mimic her current stance. If only Angela could see him now, she thought wistfully. Once she managed to control her laughter, she met Booth's daunting glare.
"What's so funny?" Booth asked sternly, his smiling eyes betraying his harsh tone.
"You," Brennan panted.
The sat there in silence for a minute or two, their eyes locked together, neither of them willing to break the intense gaze.
"Hey, Bones?" Booth asked, his voice slightly shaky.
Brennan nodded for him to continue.
"When we get out of here, how's about seeing some real art?" he asked casually.
Eyeing him suspiciously, Brennan asked, "What do you mean by 'real art?'" She punctuated the words "real art," with air quotes, a trick she had learned from Angela.
"Ever been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art?" Booth asked.
Brennan nodded. "When I was in college, my professor, a few others, and I took a trip down to the city. I wasn't up for the whole 'shop-around-and-buy-useless-junk-from-street-vendors,' thing, so I took a cab over to the museum. It was phenomenal. I left with a newfound appreciation for the arts," she explained.
Booth nodded and smiled softly at her enthusiasm. "You can take me down and give me a tour, then. It'll be a daytrip, just you and me."
Brennan raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Are you sure you want me to give you a tour? I covered every square-inch of that museum, Booth." She frowned. "You might get bored."
Booth waved his hand to shake off any of her fears. "Nah, you could never bore me. I'll even let you correct any of the mistakes that those sign thingies make."
Her eyes brightened visibly at the prospect. "Really?"
Booth nodded his head. "Really."
Brennan realized sometime later that for the past twenty minutes or so, she had been totally oblivious to their situation. She had chosen to ignore the mind numbing fear. She had chosen to ignore that their chances of living were slowly dwindling to nothing. She had chosen to ignore the fact that the Gravedigger was out on the prowl once more, snatching innocent people's live without warning. For the moment, she was happy. Genuinely happy. Her queasy stomach reminded her that a certain FBI agent was behind it all.
Now, I believe this is the time when you drop a review...Thank you, my wonderful readers:o)
-Susan
