April 2005
He wasn't certain how it happened, but here was, having an almost friendly conversation with her. "I'm really glad we could work things out," he told her over the phone.
"As am I," the woman on the other end conceded. "I look forward to working with you." There was a softness to her voice, his gut didn't quite trust.
"Maybe I'll have to swing by with some work right away," he simpered as he swaggered down a blank hallway.
He snapped his phone shut loudly behind her ear, startling her to spin and face him. In an instant, he was lost in her translucent blue eyes.
"Hi." It didn't matter who spoke.
She smiled saucily and inclined her head as she took a step into his personal space. He gently brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and leaned in to gently touch a restrained kiss to her lips, slowly pulling back. She smiled and pulled him in by his lapels for a second, more passionate kiss. He instantly matched her intensity. When they pulled back a moment later, wide smiles quietly erupted on each of their faces. He could easily spend the day testing his lips against hers.
"I told you this would go somewhere."
Closing his eyes in anticipation, he leaned forward again before he was unexpectedly interrupted.
"Booth!" an agent barked as he knocked on Booth's desk.
"Bones!" Booth's head jerked off his propped hand, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. The coffee after last night's stakeout had not done its job.
"Beg pardon?" a man five years Booth's senior smirked, failing in his attempt to hide the amusement he felt at finding the agent asleep at his desk.
Recognizing the voice, he looked up to see the other man. "Friedlander!" His attention awoke and he shook the other agent's hand. "It's been a long time. How are things on the fifth floor?"
"Fine, just fine." Agent Friedlander muffled his chuckles as he teased, "Sounded like an interesting dream there."
"I was, it was, uh, just about the case I'm working on. I think the lab missed something on the bones. I need to have them look over the remains again," Booth deflected. "What can I help you with?"
The other man took a deep breath as he fixed his features with a grave countenance. "We've been assigned as partners again."
"What?!" Booth jumped to his feet, his chair flying backwards and toppling over as he ranted to himself, "No, that can't be right. Cullen made me jump through hoops to work independently. Sans partner. Alone. What the hell? No offense Alan." He finally remembered the man who had brought the news only to look over to find the man shaking with suppressed laughter.
Each of the men had tremendous passion for his work. They had started off well enough together when Booth was new to the bureau and willing to learn. However, as Booth absorbed interrogation and detective techniques, his gut instinct helped him become as good as, if not better than his partner – at least when he bothered to be at work – and he began to carry himself in a prideful manner that made his partner find him overconfident. Friedlander would never admit to jealously he felt for the younger man's quick mind but he had been exceptionally vocal in his complaints about Booth's frequent absences and minimal hours.
Since their partnership had been severed, Friedlander had been promoted higher than Booth, giving him a sense of vindication which had subsequently erased all evidence of ill-will towards Booth, and it was the younger man's turn to have a mild taste of envy whenever they met.
"I'm kidding," Friedlander soothed, patting Booth on the shoulder. "By the time we were split, I couldn't stand working with you. Man, it is way too easy to get you fired up."
The only response Booth gave was a glare as he picked up his chair and allowed himself to fall heavily back into it.
"Don't act so offended. You didn't want us to be partners anymore either."
"Thanks for that. I'm assuming you had a reason for stopping by," Booth couldn't help but bite back as he picked up the files that had scattered upon his abrupt wakening.
The ruddy faced agent smirked as he put his hands in his pockets. "No, Cullen wants to see us. It should only take a couple minutes," he motioned towards their boss's office with his head.
"Us?" Booth's brow knitted in consternation as he stood and they began walking together. "Shit. So he could be making us partners again."
"No," Friedlander said decisively.
Booth threw the other man a sideways glance as he suggested, "So you know what this is about."
"Yes."
"And you're purposely being evasive now." Booth's jaw tensed as he cricked his neck, trying to release some of the building annoyance.
"Yes." Friedlander grinned, knowing full well what he was doing to his former partner.
Booth put his hand out to stop Alan before they rounded the corner to Cullen's office. "Okay, tell me this at least. What do you have to do with me if it isn't re-partnering us?"
Choosing his words wisely, the older agent sighed, "I was your longest partner, so I know your work style better than anyone else." He turned into the office before Booth could respond, leaving the younger agent no choice but to follow.
"Took you long enough to get here, Friedlander," snapped Cullen. "I have another meeting in ten minutes so let's make this quick. Take a seat."
"Sorry, sir," Alan pressed his lips together in remorse.
Addressing Booth, Cullen started, "I'm sure you've guessed why I called you in today."
"I think my presence has thrown him off," Friedman divulged.
Flicking a glance at the more senior agent, Cullen refocused on Booth. "Normally when an agent seems ready for promotion, we interview their current partner."
Booth's shoulders broadened imperceptibly, hope rising in his gut.
"But since you've insisted on not having a partner, we went to the only person who has worked with you long term. I have to say, for how dysfunctional the two of you were when you were split up, Friedlander here spoke very highly of your skills."
The younger agent turned to his former partner, giving him a slight nod of thanks.
"Let's get down to brass tacks. Hard numbers show your solve rate has doubled over the last nine months. Anecdotally, your supervisors have found you to be more ready and more focused on a consistent basis. Your reports have been thorough and complete and, of course, no disciplinary actions on your official record."
"You were on everyone's radar when you started with your high scores at Quantico. I was afraid for a while that you were going to wash out, be one of those agents who puts in only the bare minimum effort. I'm glad you've proven me wrong. You've done well with the small teams the last few months. You'll still need to report to me for the first six months, but we'll be assigning you a larger team and you'll be moving into the office at the end of the bullpen."
Booth's eyes brightened, waiting for the words.
"Congratulations Booth. You've earned this promotion."
With a silent exhale of relief, Booth finally allowed himself to smile. "Thank you, sir."
He reached across the desk to shake his boss's hand while his former partner offered, "Well done Seeley."
"Thanks Friedlander." He shook the other man's hand with genuine friendship. Once more professionally even, jealousy over their former rivalry disappeared, each knowing they would never have to report to the other.
"I'm waiting for some paperwork to be finalized through HR but we'll talk salary at the end of the week. Stop by Sarah's desk on your way out to get new business cards ordered," Cullen directed as he gathered files for his next meeting.
The two agents parted at the door and Booth dutifully gave Cullen's secretary the information needed for his new cards before sauntering back to his desk.
Grabbing his mug, he strolled to the break room for another cup of coffee, lest he fall asleep on the job again and get distracted by that kiss. How could he still be having such pleasant dreams about a woman who he wasn't sure he even liked? He needed to get her out of his head. The dreams mean nothing. I just haven't had a date or a good kiss like that in too long, that's all. If fate wasn't going to work with him in regards to her, he needed to stop fooling himself. Grateful Pops had been right about things turning up for him at work, he only hoped he was also right when it came to his personal life. He needed a woman's touch.
"Bren, do you want to grab some lunch?" Angela barged into her friend's office but stopped two steps in the door.
Dr. Temperance Brennan, renowned forensic anthropologist, respected professor and soon to be published fiction writer sat in her desk chair with her chin resting directly on her desk, eye to eye socket with two ancient, tanned skulls that seemed to stare back at her.
"Umm, what are you doing sweetie?" Angela found her legs and walked behind the skulls, trying ineffectually to pull Brennan's attention to herself.
"I am choosing which skull to bring with me to my photoshoot at noon – my publisher wants me holding a skull for the picture. While I believe it to be gimmicky, my publisher is calling it a visual hook, necessary to the promotion of my book."
"Make people take a second look," she sing-sang, continuing the rhyme.
Brennan looked perplexed at her friend, unsure what she was getting at but without any time to ask. "If you want to wait for a late lunch, I will be happy to grab something to go." She stood to pull her satchel out and chose the skull on the right to place in her bag. "Hopefully I will be back by one o' clock."
As the author walked by to exit her office, the artist quirked an eyebrow. She knew getting a professional picture taken for a book jacket was going to take more than just an hour. "That's alright. I'll see if Zach wants to go. We can try for tomorrow."
"I do not believe Mr. Addy wants to be disturbed. He is currently using skeletal remains from the bone room to aid his studying efforts for an upcoming paper. You could try Dr. Hodgins if you want company."
Angela contorted her face in distaste, complaining, "Jack doesn't talk about anything but dirt, bugs, government schemes and corporate conspiracies. I think I'll pass."
"Your other option is Dr. Goodman but he was supposed to be in meetings all day," Brennan suggested as they paused at the doors leading to the parking garage.
Her friend twisted her features into a skeptical, grimacing smile, telling Brennan, "I'll figure something out. Have fun at the shoot!" Giving one last small wave, she returned down the hall back towards her office.
Brennan made her way out to her old car, satisfied with the progress of her day so far. She had made a relatively quick identification of a set of remains from World War I that morning and just needed to send off a sample to genetic testing for confirmation before notifying living family members. As she drove out of the ramp, the anthropologist made a mental itinerary for the rest of her day. She hoped to return to the lab by one, in order to finish a report Dr. Goodman was requesting. Following that, there would be the report to write up on this morning's identification to send along for DNA confirmation and the remains to prepare for transport. Then, if there was time, she wanted to review notes for a lecture she was scheduled to give the following Thursday before she met Peter for a late dinner.
Five hours later, a disgruntled scientist gently set her skull back on her shelf before throwing her satchel harshly to the side.
"Not quite the quick in and out that you thought it would be, was it?" Angela simpered from the doorway, earning herself an angry schoolteacher glare from across the office. This only made her smile bigger and chuckle as she walked in and helped herself to a seat and asked, "So, besides taking ten times longer than you thought it would, how did it go?"
"It was fine," she answered tersely. Her entire body evinced tension as she grumbled, "It was just a waste of time when I still have so much to get done today." Flustered, Brennan shuffled papers on her desk and opened and slammed drawers shut looking for notes and files.
Knowing the afternoon had been more demanding on her nerves than the scientist had expected, Angela felt pity and tried calming her friend. "Bren, you're so flustered, just –." She put her hand on some papers Brennan was trying to move. "Give yourself five minutes to breathe. Something is bothering you, more than just going over your expected time, to get you this worked up. Talk it through and clear your head. "
Brennan looked up doubtingly.
"Besides, you owe me for earlier – Jack cornered me into having lunch with him." Angela wrinkled her nose as she slouched back into the chair.
Resigning herself, Brennan took a cleansing breath and agreed, "Fine, five minutes."
"So tell me about it. I see they did your hair and make-up."
"Only concealer and lipstick." Brennan wiped at her cheek to see if she could get any of the paint off. Add one more thing to do tonight: it was going to take multiple washings to get her face clean of the gunk. "They wanted to outline my eyes but I refused to be made up to look like an Egyptian sarcophagus."
Angela chuckled. She could imagine Brennan's refusal as an outright battle if everyone else were even half as stubborn as her friend. "Good call. Your eyes are stunning all on their own. They did your hair nice at least," she offered trying to find something positive in what must have been a stressful experience to someone who didn't seem to like being touched.
"It looks nice because it doesn't move. There are so many chemicals holding it in place, it's going to take forever to get it all out." She closed her eyes, adjusting her mental itinerary some more. Add one more thing to get done tonight unless I want to add washing the bedding to tomorrow's list.
Normally Brennan didn't care about this trivial stuff. Angela, wanting to get her out of this petty mood, tipped her head and mimicked her friend's voice saying to herself, "Thanks Angela, I'm happy with how my look turned out."
"Thank you Angela," a tired Brennan looked the artist in the eye with a small smile on her face.
Smirking at her easy success, she admired, "You really do look nice. I'm hoping they gave you something to cover that mustard stain though," pointing at a yellow spot planted directly over her breast.
Her head jerked down to see. "Must-," she bit her tongue to keep an expletive from spilling out. Pulling a detergent pen from her desk drawer to dab at the stain, she sighed in frustration before she continued, "No, they actually had a whole wardrobe picked out for me. I don't know what was wrong with my own clothes."
Angela pointed at the wetted yellow mark.
"The mustard was from the hot dog I grabbed from a vendor on my way back," she explained with a roll of her eyes.
"What did they put you in? Good stuff?"
Conceding, "If by 'good stuff' you mean designer clothing? Yes – just a jacket over a blouse. I could have done without their choice in jewelry though."
"What was wrong with it?"
Rolling her eyes, "They made me wear a cross necklace. They said it would make me appear more wholesome. I understand the anthropologic need for symbolism, but it's not a symbol significant to me!"
"You're atheist, right?"
The timbre of her voice rose as she quarreled against no one, "I do not believe in any mythical god character but they either wouldn't listen or didn't care about the truth. They only cared about what looked good."
"That's a publicist for you."
"I had to use their prop skull. They all looked at me horrified when I pulled my own out," she said, lowering her voice in shame.
Understanding dawned on the listener: she must be upset by the reactions she had elicited from the crew at the shoot.
"They said mine wasn't bleached enough. Apparently in today's culture a real skull is horrifying but a fake one is just fine," Brennan pouted as she faced the skulls on her shelf to admire the beauty in their age and authenticity.
"Well, I'm sure the end result will be beautiful, it has you in it," Angela smiled adoringly at her friend.
"You're already my best friend, you don't have to use flattery," Brennan returned with a shy smile.
"I'm your best friend?" she asked, surprised.
"Of course." As if there were any question about it. "You were one of the first people I met after moving here, outside of work."
Confusion clouded her brown eyes as she processed what that meant. "You were here for a whole year before we met, sweetie."
"Yes, but I didn't know anyone when I moved here to take this job. I spent a significant portion of my first year here contracted out, working on a special assignment in and out of Cuba." For Brennan, it was all fact.
"You went to Cuba?" Angela's eyes brightened with curiosity. "I thought it was illegal to travel there."
"It was a special assignment. That's all I can say." She had probably said more than she should have already, but she trusted Angela. I trust Angela. Trust. It's okay to trust friends, she reminded herself silently.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Brennan was slightly shocked her nosy friend didn't try even one question. "That's all?"
"I trust you'd tell me if you could, being your best friend and all," she teased.
She smiled a tired yet grateful smile across her desk. "Thank you, Angela. Now, in being my best friend, I have no scruples in telling you that five minutes is up. I have to get back to work." She was more relaxed after their chat, but her deadlines remained.
"Of course you do. I'm heading out so I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight." As soon as Angela was gone, Brennan dialed Peter's number to cancel dinner. It was going to be another late night at work.