Title: A Dangerous Aficionado
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to Fox and their affiliates.
A/N: My headache has gone but the weather in Northern Ireland is really shit today. So instead of spending my Saturday going out, I am going to write instead - while my husband tinkers about with the network and my best friend plays GTA on the PlayStation. A random piece of information that effectively wastes your and my, time. Oh well, it is Saturday after all…
Oh and one piece of relevance to the actual story… I have moved on a few days. Upping the pace, and all that.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
"Do you think Brennan is alright?" I pull a stool across the lab and sit next to Hodgins, who tilts his magnifying glass a little, rolling grains of dirt, although I don't call it that in front of him, between his thumb and forefinger. He hums a little, signifying that is okay for me to talk, but he won't necessarily be listening. It's good enough for me. "I don't know if she's okay. This past few days she's been acting… odd." Hodgins looks up, flicking his fingers until the residual dust falls back unto the dish.
"Okay, Angela, you do remember about the psycho stalker thing?" He asks, slipping the lid unto the dish. I roll my eyes, watching as he seems to almost smile at the grainy earth within.
"I don't mean that," I say. "I expected her to be a little more… frustrated at Booth being around twenty four hours a day. He gets on her nerves, remember." Hodgins chuckles, pulling his latex gloves off.
"Maybe they've bonded," he jokes. "Oh and, Angela, you owe me twenty dollars." I frown, following him across the lab as he slips the Perspex dish into the darkest, dreariest corner of his shelving unit.
"How?" I ask. His blue eyes laugh when he does. I've noticed that about Hodgins. At least, recently, I have. And a shyness. It's my artistic nature that causes me to notice. I do this with everyone. Look at their eyes, and gauge their emotions and their soul. I tell myself that all artists in history do this.
"Forty eight hours, max? It's been five days, Angela. Five days, and not so much as a glowing cheek. Plus, the stalker guy has been mysteriously absent. No letters, no photos… pretty soon, Booth will have to pull out the cavalry… and by that I mean the federal agents he's had posted outside her apartment. And himself." I maul over what he's saying, and eventually give in.
"Okay… it seems their defences are a little stronger than I first anticipated. But he won't leave. I agree he may have to put an end to the stakeouts, but he won't leave her apartment. No way." Hodgins descends the steps and I follow him, hands in my pockets. We walk a little ways through the tables of oblivious scientists, stopping when we see Brennan's office. The door is closed, but through the window, we see her, bent over her desk, analysing something.
"What's wrong with her then?" Hodgins asks at last, glancing sideways at me.
"She's letting her defences down. She has to be. That's why she hasn't clobbered Booth over the head with something. I mean… look… he's sitting in her office and she isn't even unnerved by him." Hodgins nods slowly.
"So you're thinking maybe they're getting to know each other. Bonding, like I said?" I shrug. I'm not really sure. "Good on Booth! He's either really too concerned about her safety or he's gay. What man would be living with a hot woman, and not trying to get off the sofa into the bed?" A dig him with my elbow, and he laughs, batting me away.
"Maybe Booth is an old fashioned kind of guy, huh?" I say, wondering at the thought. Hodgins matches my stance now, hands in his pockets. "Maybe they're doing things the right way." I cannot remember a relationship where I ever did things the right way. With Kirk, we had something very nice. Comfortable and understanding. But that started with physical attraction. Most men I meet I form a physical bond before emotional.
"There's a right way to have sex?" Hodgins laughs, moving on, through examination tables, past our colleagues who barely talk to us because we're the anthropology team and we have a super strange boss. The rest of the scientists tend to shy away from us. I don't care. I like our little team. All five of us. Technically four, but Booth is one of us now.
"Of course there is," I reply. "Not only with sex, but with everything. I level of trust should be established. I think Brennan trusts Booth entirely. Maybe that's why she's not pissed off at him." We climb the long flight of stairs to the gallery. I realise it's lunch time already.
"Ange… I never realised you were such a hopeless romantic," Hodgins is mocking me, and I poke him again. "Ouch, knock it off!" The balcony affords us a view over the entire laboratory and I see Booth leave Brennan's office, his jacket slung over his shoulder. He's coming towards us. Moments later, Brennan leaves too. She's not wearing her lab coat. She's always got that thing on.
When I think they're going to climb the stairs, they veer off towards the doors. "Oh my God…" I say, turning to Hodgins. He frowns at me as though I am insane. "He's taking her to lunch. How did he distract her from her work?" Jack shakes his head, dark curls shifting slightly. "This is huge…"
"Oh melodramatics are so your thing, Angela. It's lunch, not marriage. And we should not spend our day wondering at the Brennan and Booth saga. We have work to do." I huff.
"It's lunch time," I say, turning on my heel and falling unto the sofa. I finally notice Zach, feet propped on the table, he's holding a notebook on his knees, a pencil in his hand, but he's watching us. I grin at him. "Whatcha doing?" He guards the book against his chest.
"Has something happened between Dr Brennan and Agent Booth?" He asks, sounding like an eager puppy dog. I laugh.
"No," Hodgins says. "Angela is relying on her conjecture, again. Which Brennan hates by the way. Yeah, Zach, what are you doing man?" Zach reluctantly pulls the notebook away from his body and tilts it ever so slightly towards me. All I see are scientific words and I lose interest immediately. Hodgins, however, scans the first few lines. "Your thesis? Zach…"
"Dr Goodman thinks I should finish it, remember," Zach hurries to say. "I'm putting in some time between working here and when I'm at home." He sighs. "I guess I have to accept that I cannot be Dr Brennan's assistant forever." Hodgins sits on the sofa opposite, a compassion taking over him and I watch. He pretends he doesn't like Zach. But I know he does. I know we all like each other.
"You'll be an excellent anthropologist, Zach," he says. "Two doctorates…"
"You have three…"
"Yours are better than mine," Hodgins says without missing a beat. I know that no doctorate is better than another and sometimes Jack doesn't give himself enough credit. He calls himself 'The Bug and Slime Guy' but he doesn't realise how invaluable he is. To Brennan and to the Jeffersonian. "I think it's excellent what you're doing." Zach's shoulders slump a little.
"Yeah… but I've made friends here. I feel like my scientific nature isn't odd among you guys." Hodgins drops his eyes to the floor.
"Maybe you can get a job here?" He says finally. I frown.
"We already have Brennan…"
We all open our mouths to speak, but whatever we planned on saying is silenced by Brennan, pounding up the stairs, followed by Booth. Her eyes are wide, her skin chalky white. "Where's Goodman?" Booth asks, his knuckles white.
"Last I heard he was checking out some archaeology exhibition, why? Hodgins says.
"We need to see the security tapes," Brennan says, her voice trembling a little.
"Why?" Hodgins repeats.
Booth releases a breath like a fiery hiss. "The bastard has been here." And then he's gone…