Déjà Vu Chapter 7
Author's note: Thank you everyone for your reviews! It helps keep me going So…who wants more? C'mon, let me hear you say it!!
Disclaimer: "BONES" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by 20th CENTURY FOX TELEVISION. Some dialogue and cases will be taken from the series, but character interactions will certainly be different!
The next morning found the duo staring at Oliver through a gap in his door.
"Mr. Lauriea, we have a warrant to search your apartment," Booth said. The door slammed shut, the sound of running footsteps following swiftly. Booth rolled his eyes at Temperance and sighed. "I hate it when they do that," he groused. Temperance tried smothering her amused look, but only succeeded in looking wry.
Booth forewent subtlety and kicked in the door, chasing after Oliver as he fled toward the back of his apartment. As he caught up to the scrawny man, he cheerfully manhandled him into submission.
"Where are you going, Oliver?" he asked, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Oliver grimaced, but stopped struggling. Booth released him and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I know what this is about. It's about Cleo isn't it?" Oliver said. Booth raised his eyebrows at Temperance.
"Wow, smart isn't he?" he said. Temperance frowned, herself instinctually disliking the nervous looking man.
"Booth," she admonished. He pursed his lips in annoyance, but nodded and handed over the warrant.
"You're looking for the bronze star like the one Cleo wore?" Oliver said. Booth eyed him with distaste.
"Yes. Exactly like that." He began moving around the apartment, looking through bookcases and drawers with ease of practice. "Cleo took out a restraining order against you, Oliver. You were stalking her."
"Sometimes stalkers retain keepsakes," Temperance added deliberately. Oliver frowned.
"I never stalked Cleo," he insisted. Temperance looked unimpressed.
"Then why did she get a restraining order?" she said.
"Okay, Okay. No. First of all, No. Ken Thompson, her supposed boyfriend, got the restraining order with his boss the Senator, but Ken is only concerned with his job and his tropical fish. They colluded to ruin my reputation with this specious stalker label when in actuality I was Cleo's close friend." Temperance shared a look with Booth.
"Fish?" he asked sharply, "Did you say fish? As in, special types?" Oliver glanced between the pair in confusion.
"Uh…yes?" he replied. Temperance and Booth shared identical, shark-like grins.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Lauriea," Booth said, rapidly escorting his partner from the apartment. Outside, he flipped out his phone and dialled Cullen. Two rings later, he reached Cullen's secretary. "Ella, hi, it's Agent Booth. Can you put me through to Deputy Director Cullen?" he asked. Temperance watched as he smiled. "Thanks." There was a pause, in which he winked at her, a roguish smile firmly on his face that slipped off when a male voice came onto the line. "Sir, yes, it's Booth. I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but we've come across a vital piece of information that we need to follow up on as quickly as possible." He paused, listening to his superior as Temperance opened her door on the SUV and climbed inside.
"Yes, sir, we need a warrant to search Ken Thompson's property for Diametacious earth. It's used in a variety of things, but we've found he has a love of tropical fish. Yes, sir, I know it's not a lot to go on, but would you rather we serve the senator with the warrant? Yes, sir. I'll swing by and pick it up immediately. Goodbye, sir." Booth hung up and leant on his partner's door. "We got him, Bones," he said. She grinned in appreciation.
"Let's get moving then, Agent Booth," she said tartly. He laughed and closed her door, jogging quickly to reach the driver's side.
"Of course, Dr. Brennan," he replied, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the kerb.
Booth restrained himself from doing a victory dance when the warrant team found Thompson was absent from his home, meaning he could once more flex his muscles and kick the door down. At his side, Temperance rolled her eyes with a tolerant smile, easily recognising Booth's desire to display his prowess.
"Alpha male," she muttered as he jogged toward the front door. She snorted a choked off laugh when instead of replying, he stuck his tongue out as he passed. One solid shove later, the expensive wooden door lay open, allowing the agents access. Booth stood with Brennan and directed agents toward the many tanks that stood housing the fish.
"Take up the floor. And take samples of the tanks! We need to see if we can match the previous samples," Booth instructed. The agents nodded and went to work. "Nice and easy," he muttered. Temperance eyed him dubiously.
"We still need the murder weapon," she pointed out. Booth grimaced.
"It is on the warrant, but I'll have to serve it against the senator to get it. Cullen'll blow his stack." She raised a delicate eyebrow, her blue eyes twinkling.
"Since when has that stopped you?" she asked. He grinned and slung an arm around her shoulder.
"So true, Bones, so true. C'mon, let's file the other warrant and get everything out the way."
Booth grinned evilly at Thompson as he watched him get led away by another agent, feeling satisfied that another asshole was going to be behind bars soon enough. He felt Temperance draw to a halt just behind him and flashed her a wink over his shoulder.
"Up for a celebration, Bones?" he asked. Her eyes were bright and happy as she nodded.
"Of course," she said. "You don't think your dancing from last time scared me off, did you?" Booth eyeballed her petulantly.
"Hey, you're the one who tried pole dancing without a pole," he pointed out reasonably. She shrugged.
"That was due to the copious amounts of alcohol that we imbibed, Booth. Your dancing, however, I believe was completely you and you alone."
"I was drunk!" he insisted. She snorted.
"Yeah, like I believe that you're that great a dancer? If it was that bad when you were drunk, then it's likely a disaster area in the making when you're not," she said.
"Is that a challenge, Bones?" Booth said. Her eyes twinkled.
"Take it how you want. It's not my fault if your ego can't take being a poor dancer."
"I'm a great dancer!" he insisted again. Her smile was tolerant as she patted him on the shoulder consolingly.
"Of course you are, Booth," she said. Booth glared.
"You're being patronising," he said.
"I am? I'm sorry," she said, her tone making it perfectly clear she was humouring him.
"Right that's it. We're going dancing. I'll prove I can dance!" he said. She paused, her chin lifting slightly in challenge.
"Alright," she conceded, "We need to get changed first, though." She indicated her clothes and Booth's suit in a single sweep of her hand. Booth nodded.
"Right. We'll stop at mine first," he said. Temperance frowned.
"Why? My place is closer," she said. He chuckled as he gently guided her to the car and held open her door.
"Yeah, but I'd only take ten minutes to have a shower and get ready. You'll be an hour." She sucked in a shocked gasp of air.
"That is one of the most sexist, pig-headed things I've heard you say yet! I am perfectly capable of getting ready in a short space of time! Not all women take hours fussing over their hair and make-up you know!" she snapped. Booth suppressed a grin and drove to his apartment, only half listening to her follow-up. "It's only because society puts so much pressure on women to conform to sexist ideals of 'beauty' that many women even wear make-up at all! It's a completely unnecessary ritual of female adulthood that is as antiquated as half a dozen other cultural stigmas we have to adhere to-"
Booth cut her off before she launched into an impassioned speech on feminist ideology.
"Are you saying you don't like dressing up to look sexy, Bones?" he asked. She paused and sputtered.
"That's not what I said! I only said-"
"That it's only because society, yadda, yadda, yadda," Booth interrupted again. "You didn't answer my question," he pointed out smugly. She huffed and crossed her arms defensively.
"I do like looking nice," she said, "I just resent the fact that women feel they have to cover themselves in make-up in order to be beautiful and empowered. Women should be able to feel confident without making themselves the object of sexual desire." Booth gave her a lop-sided grin.
"You manage pretty well, Bones," he said. Her face told of her internal war between appreciation at his implied compliment and annoyance that he had completely ignored her point. Eventually she settled on a smile.
"Thanks, Booth. It's a shame men don't have to go through the same thing," she reasoned.
"Whoa, hold up," Booth said. "You're saying that men don't have any pressures at all?" Temperance shrugged.
"Not really, no. Beyond the usual cultural points of 'bringing home the beef' and being superior in bed, men have very little to worry about," she said.
"Okay, first of all it's 'bringing home the bacon,' Bones. And second of all, there are all kinds of pressures guys suffer, okay?" Booth said. He saw Temperance raise an eyebrow again from her seat and bristled, though he knew she was really aware of what he was talking about. He just knew she wanted to bicker.
"Guys have to be all 'manly and tough,' yeah? If you're not, you're not a man, plain and simple. And it's more competitive in a guy's world than it is between women," he added.
"And do you have to wax your arms, legs and groin in order to maintain your masculinity?" Temperance asked.
"What? No!" he said, looking horrified at the idea.
"Well there you go then. Not only that, women are forced to conform to societal ideas of beauty, such as dress size, weight, breast size," she hefted her breasts for emphasis, distracting Booth for a moment.
"Jesus, Bones! Don't do that!" he exclaimed.
"Do what? Touch my breasts?" she asked, repeating the motion.
"Yes! Yes! No touching the breasts!" he demanded. She smirked, obviously amused. "Bones," he warned. She rolled her eyes and sat back to stare out her window, obviously letting the matter go.
"You seem to have an obsession with my breasts, Booth," Temperance teased, dashing his hopes. "Remember? Nipples, teats, breasts?" Booth briefly closed his eyes and prayed for patience.
"Bones, please let it go," he pleaded. Her eyes gleamed evilly and he sighed.
"Is this because you saw me naked?" she asked. His sigh turned into a groan of frustration.
"Bones! Can we not talk about this? For once?" Images of her nubile body began playing through his mind and he almost whimpered. I can't catch a break, he thought to himself.
"Alright, fine. This isn't over," Temperance warned, feeling immensely satisfied with herself. Booth gave her the gimlet eye and continued to drive in silence.
"Evil woman," he muttered softly. Temperance pretended not to hear him, but allowed a victorious smirk to settle on her lips.
When they arrived at his apartment, Booth seriously began questioning his intelligence. Twice in a row he had fallen for obvious bait, but he just couldn't let it go. Despite rather humiliating defeats, real or impending in the case of the dancing, he couldn't deny that bickering with Bones was far too enjoyable for the fact it was actually supposed to be a disagreement.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Temperance asked as they walked through the front door. He shrugged.
"Just pondering life," he answered semi-truthfully. She nodded and moved further into the apartment, nosing around like a curious child. "Make yourself at home, Bones," he said. She glanced at him, a playful twinkle in her eyes.
"I doubt you'd want that, Booth. Occasionally when I want to relax I walk around naked." Booth choked on the glass of water he had drawn for himself and glared at her incredulously.
"Stop doing that!" he demanded. She turned away from his record collection with an innocent look, belied by the furious twitching of her lips.
"Stop doing what?" she asked, tilting her head endearingly. Booth pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You know what," he muttered. She failed to hide her grin this time and he grimaced, deciding discretion was the better part of valour. "Oh forget it, I'm going for a shower." Her husky giggles trailed after him down the hall, and he shivered, rubbing at the goose-pimples that prickled up and down his arms. "She'll be the death of me," he muttered. The cold chill that crawled down his spine made him swallow and dash cold water on his face from his bathroom sink faucet. "Note to self: do not say that again," he growled.
He busied himself then with getting ready for his shower. He stripped off his suit and underwear, grabbing his favourite deep maroon towel as he entered the bathroom and closed the door with a push. Unnoticed, the door failed to close, silently drifting partially open behind him as he climbed into the tub and into the rushing spray.
Down the hall, Temperance finished poking around and eyed the comfortable looking leather couch appreciatively. After mulling it over, she reluctantly concluded that Seeley Booth had good taste in furnishings and decided not to tease him about the occasional item of sports memorabilia scattered around. Besides, it had to have been difficult to get signed bats or balls anyway, and mocking him about them would only make him tell her how he acquired said items, something she had no desire to find out about.
Her ears picked up the sound of the shower from down the hall and a devious idea sprung fully formed from her subconscious into the light of day. Silently she crept down the hall and into Booth's bedroom, inwardly appreciating the subtly masculine overtones of the décor, before turning her head toward his en-suite bathroom. She froze.
There, perfectly framed for her appreciative eyes, were Seeley Booth's naked buttocks. Temperance found herself regretting her vegetarian stance immediately and wondered exactly what it would be like to sink her teeth into the perfectly sculpted posterior of her partner. Her gaze dragged itself away and up his back, marvelling at the way the water cascaded across his body. The word 'ripped' sprung to mind, and she wondered if her intentional voyeurism could get any better.
Then he turned around, and all semblance of thought fled. She dimly realised he was rinsing the suds from his hair, and would soon be able to see that she was staring at him, but really couldn't bring herself to care. Revenge was definitely not served cold in this instance, she reflected as she sub-consciously fanned herself. He was nearly done. She would soon be found out.
Should I leave? She wondered. The thought was dismissed as fast as it cropped up. Not a chance. I want to see his face! She moved closer, nudging the door open wider with her toe as she leaned against the frame, once more allowing herself to appreciate just how aesthetically pleasing her partner was.
Then he opened his eyes.
"HOLY -!" his rather unmanly shriek of surprise was cut off as his feet slipped from beneath him and he fell over the side of the tub, tearing the shower curtain that had semi-encircled it from its railing as he fell. She couldn't help feeling amused, despite her worry that he was okay, and burst out laughing even as she waddled around to see if he had been injured.
"Are you okay?" she asked when she had brought her laughter under control. He groaned, and then sat up with the speed of a striking snake.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!?" he roared, his face and upper torso turning an interesting blotchy pink. She blinked.
"I would have thought it was obvious. I was looking at you while you had a shower," she replied. "I must say, you are an excellent specimen," she complimented, "above average size. I'm sure you would make a woman quite happy," she added with an impish smile. He stared at her, completely flabbergasted.
"I cannot believe that you actually watched me shower," he murmured faintly.
"Fair's fair," she said. "You saw me naked," she reasoned.
"For one second!" Booth exclaimed, leaping to his feet, the curtain clutched protectively over his groin.
"You didn't need any more," Temperance said. "Research states that it takes less than a fraction of a second for a man to recognise and memorise the female form. If you closed your eyes right now you would be able to picture my body perfectly." Booth reddened further and shifted suspiciously. Temperance grinned, scenting blood. "Oh? Have you thought about my body, Agent Booth?" she teased.
I'll be thinking about yours, she added to herself.
"Bones," he said, sounding resigned, "please let me get dressed. Or at least hand me my towel?" she handed the fluffy towel over with a smirk and watched him glare in return. "Are you going to turn around?" he asked.
"No," she said honestly. "I've seen it before, remember?" He sighed and began wrapping the towel around his body, brushing past her and into his bedroom, his shoulders tense and annoyed. Temperance followed, lightly brushing her hand across his wet shoulders and letting her hand settle on his bicep. He turned to face her, his face tense.
"I'm sorry," she said, feeling childish and silly. "It was meant as a joke," she explained. He shrugged, the muscles of his torso rippling tantalisingly.
"It's okay," he muttered. "Just don't do it again." Moving to the door of his bedroom, Temperance allowed an increasingly familiar wicked smile to cross her face.
"No promises," she said and disappeared. Booth sighed and settled his wet head against the front of his closet.
"Dear God, why must you torment me so? Is it karma? Really? Can you not get me kidnapped by drug smugglers and tortured for information with baseball bats or something?" He sighed, pulled the closet open and began to rummage for something to wear. Just for that stunt, he was going to make her head spit. "Evil woman," he muttered. He was unaware that it came out sounding fonder than he wished.
Temperance held her head in her hands as she sat on Booth's sofa, silently remonstrating herself and wondering just what had possessed her to act on such a childish and illogical impulse. Admittedly it had been somewhat worth the look, but she didn't want her newfound partnership with Booth to be endangered by such actions. At the time, it had been fun, but if it continued?
Well, the thought also had merits as they were professionals and she was excellent at compartmentalising, but was Booth? At that point a soft footfall alerted her to his presence and she stood, turning to apologise again, when she caught sight of his appearance.
He wore a tight fitting white vest top that emphasised his defined pectorals beneath a plain white short-sleeved shirt and worn hip-hugger jeans that drew her eyes like iron to lodestones. Temperance swallowed and glanced up to meet Booth's eyes.
"Let's get you ready to dance," he said, his voice low and purring. Nervous butterflies began to stir in Temperance's stomach, but she assayed a defiant grin.
"Took you long enough," she said, "I was wondering if you were applying make-up." Booth snorted and grabbed his jacket as they walked down the hall, his hand settling dangerously low on her back.
The ride to her apartment was silent, Booth suddenly seeming to ooze confidence and a raw sexuality that made Temperance's hands damp and mouth go dry every time he looked at her. At first the effect had left her confused, but she was swiftly gaining in her own confidence and had decided that, if he was pulling out all the stops to look good, she might as well do the same.
You want a challenge, Booth? You've got it, Temperance thought, her mouth curling into a grin. Booth was beginning to become nervous on his side. When he had seen his partner's reaction, he had never felt more confident, but as his partner's smile began to grow, the seed of disquiet had begun to grow in his belly.
He glanced sideways at the same time she did and saw the determined, challenging glint in her eyes. Seeing it made him smirk as he pulled up outside her apartment complex.
"Here we go, Bones. Ready to rock 'n' roll?" he asked. A lazy smile crossed her face and she leaned closer.
"Always, Booth. Can you keep up?"
"Anytime, Baby," he postured. Her seductive act suddenly collapsed as she burst out laughing. "What?" he said, frowning in confusion. She paused and thrust out her chest and chin, lowering her voice impressively.
"Anytime, baby," she mocked, losing control a second later and clutching her sides. "Oh! That was so macho! My god!" Booth sulked at the wheel, annoyed he hadn't been able to keep her off balance for long.
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," he muttered. She tittered in response and weakly pulled herself from the car. Booth's mood further diminished as each time she caught sight of him, Brennan squared her shoulders and jaw and deliberately swaggered until she could no longer take it and began to laugh. "Could you, I dunno, maybe stop laughing at me, Bones?" Booth pleaded softly. She pressed a soft hand to his arm and grinned at him.
"I'm sorry, Booth. I just found it amusing. I hope I didn't hurt your ego," she said. Booth huffed, wanting to stay mad, but amused despite his best attempts.
"Considering you lewdly stared at my body in the shower, I think I'm good," he muttered. Temperance turned pink and dropped her hand.
"It was just in revenge for you seeing me!" she protested. Booth smirked.
"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night," he said. She gave him an evil look, but refrained from commenting as the elevator opened onto their floor. A moment later and they were inside, Temperance skilfully removing her jacket, shows, purse and keys in a practiced motion.
"I'll be ten minutes," she said. "And I'm locking the door," she added. Booth glowered.
"I have morals!" he called. "I don't go peeping on people!"
"Just stealing their towels while they wear them!" Temperance's voice drifted back. Booth stomped into her kitchen and got himself a glass of juice from the refrigerator after giving it a wary glance before sitting down.
"Impossible woman," he muttered.
The promised ten minutes later, Booth eagerly watched the hands of his watch in anticipation of crowing his victory. There was no way she would be ready in time. Not with how he predicted she would look. He knew she would pull out all the stops just to upstage him. Not a chance she would be-
"Ready!" she called. Booth palmed his face and turned around, his eyes taking in the slinky black dress that plunged absurdly low between her breasts, hugging her curves and caressing the gentle swell of her breasts like a lover.
Ah, hell, he thought. She looked gorgeous, her eyes dusted with a smoky grey eye shadow and lips shining with a natural lip gloss that enhanced her natural beauty. She clutched a tiny black and gold purse and wore heels that made her silky smooth legs go on for miles and miles.
Booth felt his cheek twitch and pointed at her.
"You cheated!" he said. A slender eyebrow gracefully reached for the sky in response. "There is no way you got ready that fast!" he insisted. Her lips curled in another grin and he resisted the urge to stamp his feet. "Fine," he muttered petulantly, "so you did. I hope you can dance in those heels, partner, 'cause I'm not carrying you in here later!" She blithely ignored his statement as she lifted a small black jacket from her coat rack and slid it around her shoulders.
"Ready?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. Booth grumbled, feeling one-upped that she could get ready that fast and still look amazing.
"Let's paint the town red, Bones," he said. She frowned.
"I don't know what that means," she complained. Booth chuckled and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it, Bones. Let's just go dance."
"And get bombed," she added. Booth grinned.
"Oh yeah. We are so getting bombed. After I dance you into the ground," he said.
"You wish," Temperance said as the door closed behind them.
