A.N. Thanks guys for all the comments! I'll try to come up with updates quicker, ok? I just had some problems the last few days because my laptop almost died. But it seems I was able to save it! Yay! Now, hold your breath... here we go:
Chapter 8
A Kiss Is Still a Kiss...
She had been busy in her office all day. Or she had been hiding. Either way, she even had forgotten to have lunch. Maybe they all saw she was in a bad mood, because no one had dared to interrupt her. Yet.
"Bren?" Angela said softly, careful not to startle her.
"Working."
"I can see that," she replied, walking on egg shells.
She pulled a chair and sat next to her best friend. She read out loud what was on the computer screen.
"The three girls, age 8, 9 and 10, were found the next morning in their sleeping bags a hundred feet from their tent by the camp counsellor. They had been raped, bludgeoned and strangled to death...?"
Angela stopped. Her voice refused to continue.
"That was back in 1977. The Oklahoma girl scout murders. It's still unsolved today."
"You think it could be the same killer? 32 years later?" Angela asked, on the verge of tears.
"I don't know. That's why I'm doing research," Brennan said, refocusing on the screen, scrolling down to another article.
"You usually let me do this," the artist pointed out.
"I can't just sit around and wait for you guys to find something, I have to... The bones are... This..."
"I understand."
Brennan looked tired. Oh, she was still stunningly hot, but she was tense and agitated. Angela didn't know what to do to help her. She simply asked, without pushing,
"You know you can tell me everything, right?"
Brennan mindlessly adjusted the screen in front of her before clicking on another headline.
"This one was last year," she explained. "Two other girl scouts were kidnapped and murdered. They were raped, too, but they were abducted from their homes... This is unbelievable. Listen to this..."
But Angela didn't want to hear any more.
"I'm talking about you, sweetie. You can tell me what's bothering you."
"This case is bothering me!" she bellowed.
Shocked, Angela literally backed off. Brennan rarely, if ever, snapped like this. She was usually disturbingly calm and cold with cases as horrid as this one was. She never got emotionally involved. She normally avoided it at any cost. In anything, really.
Realizing she was making a fool of herself, the anthropologist tilted her head down and stared at her keyboard. I really should clean it, she thought, trying to keep her mind on something concrete. Then she shut off the computer screen and, without looking at Angela, she got herself together enough to say,
"I think I'm gonna go to Honduras. Professor Garron offered me a spot on her team. It would only be for a month. And at the pace we're going with this investigation, things will probably be the same when I get back."
Angela scooted closer. Her voice was low and steady.
"When did it happen?"
"She invited me two weeks ago, but it shouldn't be too late to accept."
"No..." she whispered, putting her hand on her friend's arm. "When did you and Cal break up?"
Surprised, Brennan looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone.
"Who told you?"
"You're always planning a great trip when one of your relationships ends."
Brennan took a minute to realize Ange was right. And she said,
"Am I supposed to be sad he broke up with me? Because I'm not. I'm... angry. Angry at the reason why he did it. And I'm... furious at myself because I know I should be sad, but I'm... I can't believe how relieved I am. How insane am I?"
"You didn't love him, that's all."
"I wanted to."
Are you sure?
"I know," Angela murmured, brushing her arm.
Brennan's chest tightened. Her eyes wandered on the artefacts on the bookshelf.
"And I'm scared," she let out.
Angela quickly sat up straighter.
"Of Cal? What did he do?" she pressed on, concerned.
"I'm scared I'm... I'm never gonna find someone to... I'm scared I'm gonna end up alone." She heard herself speak and it irritated her. "And I used to love being alone. I didn't care about... I didn't care. But now, I'm...What if..."
Angela's heart broke seeing her friend struggle like this. She spoke up.
"You're not gonna end up alone. You just can't force emotions."
Brennan sighed, tired of this sappy conversation, when Angela, who already knew the answer, asked a question.
"Did Cal break up with you because of Booth?"
"I didn't even sleep with him."
She saw Angela's eyes get bigger, so to avoid confusion, she added, "With Cal."
"Wow," she let out. "I would have. A lot. He was a gorgeous specimen."
Brennan laughed.
"I know! I should have. I have a great libido. I don't know why... I just couldn't."
I didn't want to have crappy sex.
"Does Booth know about your breakup?"
Brennan kind of snorted.
"No! And you're not gonna tell him."
"Why not? He should know."
"It's none of his business. Besides, he's just gonna feel bad for me and then he's gonna make a joke or two about Cal... I don't wanna hear it."
But what's the point of breaking up with Mr. Hotel if Booth doesn't even know? Angela cried inside.
"Promise me you're not gonna say anything," Brennan begged.
"I promise," Angela mumbled. "Hey!" Her face lit up. She had something in mind. "You should go to the Caribbean instead of Honduras. I'll go with you. We'll lie on the beach, drink out asses off, commiserate and have fun. We never go anywhere together. Let's do it!"
Brennan smiled at the idea, but her eyes averted to her computer.
"Sounds good. But I really want to solve this damn case."
"I know," Angela nodded and got up, ready to leave. "Hey, you should tell Sweets about..."
"I am not talking to Sweets about my breakup."
"About the 1977 Oklahoma killings. Maybe he could figure out if it's a pattern or just a coincidence."
Brennan bit her lips together.
"Right."
***
She came out of the elevator and headed straight to his office. She looked around, but her partner, A.K.A. the Man who was ruining her social life, was nowhere to be seen. She called out his name anyway.
"Booth?"
"Down here," she heard.
She looked at where his voice was coming from and she saw his legs next to his desk. She approached and saw him, his back flat on the floor.
"Are you hurt?!" she blurted out, trying not to sound too panicky.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." She tilted her head to the side.
"I've been sitting all day, getting nowhere. I thought lying down would give me a new perspective."
She pondered and checked the ceiling to see what he was looking at.
"Is it working?" she asked, lying down next to him.
"Nope. But I'm too tired to get up."
"What if your boss sees you like this?"
"You mean sees us?"
They stayed like this, in silence, for nearly 2 minutes before Brennan told him what she was here to tell him.
"Cam said she might have found something. She's running some tests right now. She says we might have more info on the crime scene tonight."
"Good. We might solve this case before we turn 70, then."
Still on the floor next to him, Brennan examined the ceiling. It really needed a fresh coat of paint. For a second, she was tempted to tell him she and Cal were no longer together, but she decided not to. She still wanted his opinion on one thing, though.
"Booth, do you think I kiss like a robot?"
She turned her head to him when she heard his clear laugh.
"What?! What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you think I kiss like a robot?" she repeated.
He turned his head, too, and they locked eyes.
"How should I know?" he asked.
Brennan blinked. He doesn't remember kissing me?
"I've never kissed a robot," he finished.
So this is what it feels like when I'm being literal?
She knew there was a reason why she hated speaking in analogies. She looked back at the ceiling, bringing her hands on her stomach.
Never mind.
"Did Cal say you kiss like a robot?" I'm gonna kick his ass! I knew there was something wrong with that Ken doll.
"No, he didn't." Not really.
"Then where is this coming from?"
"I just want to know... if... because..." Why the hell did I even ask that? And why can't I speak normally today?! She should have stopped herself, but since she had started, her pride made her continued like it was no big deal. "Do you think I'm a good kisser?"
Booth was glad she was staring at the ceiling and not at his face, because he could feel his ears were burning red. If she only knew...
"From what I've... briefly experienced, you were... probably still are..." Aw, now, come on. Don't stop now, you little twit! "... different than a robot."
What kind of answer was that? Brennan looked at him and frowned. He wasn't looking at her.
"Is that good or bad?" she pressured.
"I don't know how robots kiss, but I'm pretty sure it's good."
"But..."
"It's good, Bones," he concluded.
They stared back at the ceiling. Booth put his arms under his head, Brennan crossed hers over her stomach. And they kept quiet, afraid the other would know what they were thinking about. It still smelled like mistletoe and spearmint gum.
***
The next morning, around 6, Booth entered the Jeffersonian with two cups of java. They hadn't had time to stop by the dinner in a while, and he knew how much she liked their coffee. He also knew that she had spent the night at the lab to do some extremely technical, super sophisticated and incredibly delicate procedure to the bones of the victims that only she could do. She would need that coffee like he needed a back massage.
The security guards at the entrance greeted him as usual, although they weren't supposed to let anyone in before 8, and he made his way to her office. No one was supposed to start work before 9 today; they would have time to review all they had so far.
He was about to start whistling to announce his presence when he abruptly stopped walking as if he had hit a brick wall. He almost turned around. He almost did. But she was so beautiful, her slightly arched back facing him... He couldn't move at all. So he stood there, one coffee in each hand, heart racing, lips drying up, as she stepped off the white towel on the floor.
Brennan had just come out of the decontamination shower. She didn't feel like going home just to come back. Besides, she always kept a spare outfit in her office for times like this. Good thing the security men hadn't started their rounds yet, because she had forgotten to bring her clothes with her. She had quickly made it to her office, a towel wrapped around her, and hadn't encountered anyone. She hadn't even bothered to shut the blinds on the glass walls; that's how safe she felt in there. She had always been more comfortable at work than at home. After double checking if she had everything she needed, she took the ends of the white towel and let it fall to the floor.
His body was not responding to his brain anymore. All he could do was gaze as she reached for her underwear. He knew he should, at least, close his eyes. He knew the right thing to do, since he was paralyzed, was to scream something like "Oh! My God, Bones! I'm sorry!" so she would cover up, yelping "Go away!" in a typical feminine screechy sound. Or maybe she would just tell him something clever like "Haven't you ever seen a naked woman before? You know, there are entire societies who live unashamed of nakedness. In certain cultures, nudity is not a taboo and it doesn't have sexual connotations like blah-blah, blah-blah." But he just couldn't. He would feel bad later; he most likely would have to go to confession on Sunday -he was ogling another man's girl, for Christ's sake!- but right now, he felt... everything. She was so astonishingly perfect, it almost made him ache inside.
She zipped and buttoned her dark jeans, then slid into her reddish blouse. She sighed, content. She had slept a mere 3 hours last night, but she hadn't felt that good in a long time. She finally had something useful to do. Something only she, along with maybe 2 or 3 other forensic anthropologist in the world, could do. She would know the results only later in the day, but it didn't matter either way. She had done everything perfectly, she had taken her time, had focused on something tangible, forgotten all about her silly and confusing feelings. She had gone back to normal. She couldn't wait to catch that son of a bitch who had killed those young girls. They would most certainly have a real suspect by the end of the day. Booth would be happy, she would be happy, everything would be fantastic. She could feel it.
She hadn't seen him. He waited until she sat down at her desk, hoping she would not spot him yet. He needed to calm down. Literally. Her phone rang and he thanked God for that reprieve. As soon as she hung up, he walked directly in front of her desk, where a big, tall stack of folders would help cover up his... masculine condition. She didn't need to see this erection, too.
"Hey!" she said, cheerful. He handed her the coffee. "Thanks."
She got up and continued talking.
"Hodgins just called. He said he reviewed his findings from yesterday, and realized the urushiol traces from the toxicodendron radicans he found could only have come from one section of the refuge. It took him some time to figure it out because the traces were minimal and they were mixed with all that residue from the liquidambar styraciflua species."
"Ok, hold on," Booth stopped her. "Back up and start with the first word I don't understand."
She sighed. "Hodgins just called. He said..."
"Well, I understood that!"
He followed her as she headed out, re-explaining him with normal terms like "oil toxin from the Poison-Ivy" and "seeds from the Sweet gum tree". How hard was it to speak human? Seriously. Women are complicated enough as it is.
***
There he was, as planned. Turner. Their one and only suspect. He had just came out of a building, and lit up a cigarette. Just like their informant had promised. They had to arrest him in order to interrogate him. And in order to do so, they had to catch him, first. This probably was their only chance. That man was like the invisible man. Everyone had heard of him, but very few actually had a face to face with him. He never stayed in one place very long and was nearly impossible to track down. The plan sounded simple. As soon as Turner passed by them, Booth was to put a tracking device on him. He would bump into him and drop it into one of his pockets.
Standing at the corner of the street, filmed by a traffic camera, Booth and Brennan were ready to intercept him without scaring him away. Brennan's heart was racing. She really was nervous. Booth was just focused and steady.
"Stop staring at him, Bones," Booth whispered. "You'll scare him off."
"He has to walk past us, where else would he go? It's a dead end on the other side."
"I don't know. He could vanish or something. Just try and look normal."
"I am normal."
"Sure."
"This is not the place nor the time to argue," Sweets' voice warned them.
He was in a truck a couple of blocks away, watching them on a monitor.
Booth discretely adjusted his earpiece. Brennan wasn't allowed to adjust hers. He had warned her if she just slightly touched it, he would take it back. He said she was not subtle. And he was wrong. She could be so subtle.
"We'll have him bugged in a few seconds, Sweets. Don't worry."
Sweets didn't want to tell Booth how to do his job, but he had to intervene here.
"Uhm... Agent Booth? Could you, just maybe, look like you're talking to Dr. Brennan and not to yourself? You don't want him to figure you out as a cop, do you?"
Booth sighed because Brennan was enjoying this way too much. Getting ordered around by a tiny psychologist. That was definitely not in his job description.
He noticed Brennan was still glancing too much at the suspect who hadn't even started walking yet. He put his hands on her hips and turned her around so she would face him completely. And he looked at her as he spoke to Sweets.
"Sweets, could you tell Dr. Brennan, here, to stop looking at the suspect?"
Brennan, whose heart had skipped a beat at the contact of his large hands on her, replied.
"I'm not even looking!" She smiled at him and put her hands flat on his torso. Firm. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had stopped producing saliva the instant he had brought her closer to him. She decided to focus on his St. Christopher medal around his neck instead of trying to hold his gaze without flinching.
She was so nervous about this whole thing. They needed to know more about this man. He was their one and only lead and it had taken them weeks just to know he even existed. They needed this. She couldn't help but glance his way one more time. Just for a few milliseconds.
"Dr. Brennan, seriously. You have to stop. He is getting suspicious. I know it."
"Oh, you read minds now?" she whispered into her microphone.
"No, I read body language. And his is starting to indicate he's getting increasingly nervous. "
She didn't really think. She just wanted to see what those indicators were. She knew she souldn't, but she did anyway. She looked again.
"Oh, my God. Agent Booth, you have to do something!" the shrink urged him.
Booth saw her turn her head for the hundredth time. He had to stop her at any cost. He had to. Right? The only thing he could do was the first thing that came to his mind. Well, the only thing that had been on his mind even since 6 this morning.
She felt Booth's warm fingers on her chin, bringing her head back to face him. And before she could say a word or even realize what was happening, her eyes were closing and his lips were on hers. She gasped, slightly, parting her lips. He deepened the kiss and exhaled. She clenched onto the fabric of his shirt and breathed him in. She took his upper lip into her mouth and her tongue darted out without permission. Booth instinctively pulled on her hips and brought them closer to him. When his tongue, slightly trembling, caressed hers, a jolt of electricity went through them. She grinded onto him, sliding one of her thighs between his legs. And he kissed her again, even slower.
Sweets was staring to the monitor, agape. He even forgot what he was doing in this truck. That. Was. Hot. He laughed to himself, threw his arms in the air and looked around, as if he was searching for his friends to tell them what was going on. But when he understood what was going on, that the suspect had taken advantage of this moment to quietly pass them by and slip away, it was too late. Turner was gone. Without a tracking device.
Booth broke the kiss first. He had no idea how, but he had managed to.
Brennan realized she was still holding his shirt and she let it go.
Booth tried to explain. He was out of breath, but he hid it well.
"I had to stop you. You were still... You were about to... uhm..."
"I understand," she brushed off. "You wanted us to keep our cover. I won't look again, I promise. Lesson learned," she tried to laugh off.
"Uhm, guys?" Sweets' voice startled them.
Brennan touched her earpiece. Booth didn't say anything, he was touching his lips.
"What?" Booth asked. He sounded annoyed. He pinched his lips together and licked her taste away. But when he saw she was doing the same thing he was, he stopped and shifted on his feet.
"... We need to talk," Sweets said, slowly.
She had just promised she wouldn't look again, but...
"Where's Turner?" she asked, worried.
Booth's head spun around. This couldn't be happening.
"Sweets? Where's the suspect? Did he go back inside?"
The psychologist cleared his throat.
"Uhm... We need to talk," he repeated.
Booth and Brennan started at each other. Fuck.
--------------------------
TBC... I really hope you will still read and review this even though the real show starts this week (tonight or tomorrow, depending on your country). I wished I was finished, but I got plenty more to say. So... hopefully, I'll still have readers to write for!
HAPPY PREMIERE!! (review anyway?)
