When he came back downstairs-in record time-dressed as she requested and showered and clean-shaven to sweeten the deal, he found the overhead lights throughout the house dimmed down to almost nothing and the dining room bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. The play of shadows and glinting surfaces on the table made the whole thing look surreal, as if it were mysteriously alive.
She was bringing a large plate of pasta to the table and he pulled out a chair for her. The food looked just as good as its smell suggested.
"Bones, this is really great" he said, in between bites of robust mostaciolli.
He was refilling their empty wine glasses when it finally came to him.
"You know, it kind of reminds me of…"
"Your grandmother's dish, the one she made for you whenever you came over after church because she knew you liked it so much?"
"Yeah; how'd you know?"
"Hank," she stated simply. "I called and asked him about your favorite meals when you were growing up. He said you always asked for this one and for his barbecued ribs. Since I can't make the latter because I can't condone the killing of animals even for a special occasion, the former seemed like a good option. I believe I put everything your grandmother put in it, except for the ground beef. Although I think even you might find this gluten substitute acceptable."
He wasn't lying when he said he liked everything on his plate, including the questionable meat; but what he liked the most was the fact that she had gone out of her way to make something that meant so much to him and brought to mind such good memories from a time that didn't have many to offer.
"What's in it? I can't figure it out-it's something that she used to cook with..."
"You're probably referring to the pinches of cumin and turmeric; or maybe to the capers. I confess I was struck by those items in a recipe for pasta sauce, but Hank read me your grandmother's original instructions over the phone, so I trusted that that's what she used. They're unusual ingredients, but I believe they do work-they add depth to the dish, without overwhelming its flavor. She also added a bit of port wine for sweetness. She was very creative, your grandmother. Hank was very kind; he said he's going to give me her original recipe book next time I come to visit; he thought we could make better use of it than he currently can. I hope this comes close to what she made for you. Unfortunately the measurements were rather vague."
"It does; it tastes just like the one I grew up with. It's wonderful, Bones. Remind me again, what are we celebrating? he asked, increasingly confounded by all the hoopla. "I didn't think getting cleared to go back to work was such a big deal; I was only off for a couple of weeks. Unless you're celebrating the fact that I'm finally out of your hair" he said jokingly.
She frowned at the tease. "It is a big deal, Booth" she retorted firmly. "You were falsely accused of committing a very serious infraction and were censured rather severely for it. At the very least, your professional judgment came unfairly into question."
He put down his fork and looked at her.
"I couldn't have gotten out of the mess without you. If it wasn't for the fact that you sicced the whole Jeffersonian staff on the scene after I got suspended, no one would have ever found the gun jammed into one of the apartment building's air ducts, with the kid's fingerprints all over it."
"His friends had a very good reason for hiding it" she answered evasively, deflecting any praise. "It had been used during an armed robbery at a local corner store a few months ago where a clerk was killed. It's fortunate that the gun was stuck between two joints, or his associates might have been able to retrieve it from the duct and dispose of it before it could be found. And I refuse to take credit for your recent absolution because your exoneration really shouldn't have been dependent on the Jeffersonian's lab staff's efforts. I'm sorry to say that your FBI's forensic team did a woefully inadequate job conducting the original search of the premises. Almost anyone could have found the weapon implementing even rudimentary evidence-gathering procedures. I simply helped to bring their incompetence to light. We can happily put together a set of more exacting search parameters for them to follow in the future, if you think that would help."
He laughed a little at her suggestion, but he wasn't going to let her brush the issue away so easily.
"I know about the call you made to Hacker, and the reprimand letter that got put in Carter's file right after that call. You going to also avoid taking credit for fighting my battles for me?" he inquired gently.
She looked down at her plate. So he knew about the phone call, of course.
"Are you mad?" she asked cautiously.
Booth shook his head. "I think I'm pretty much done with being mad Bones, at least for a while-and definitely done with it at home. Too much of that going on lately. And I can't honestly say I feel sorry for Carter; he's had something like that coming to him for a long time-that guy's mowed down a lot of decent agents on his way to what he thinks is the top. Well, whatever happens, I'm pretty sure I won't be having to deal with him in the future-no use for the FBI to tick off their most valuable forensic anthropologist again." He gave her a sidelong look, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Besides, I think they're moving him to a different field office. After they get a good look at the files he's botched, they'll probably put a lid on his tactics too. I hope they end up shipping him to Alaska-would serve him right to freeze his butt off."
"Alaska has many breathtaking natural landmarks-maybe he would enjoy it there."
"Death Valley then." He took another sip of wine.
"So Sweets snitched, huh?" Booth asked, biting his lip to hide a smirk. He was enjoying watching her squirm.
"Perhaps snitched is not the most accurate term; I don't believe I gave him much of a choice."
She remembered the agitation in Sweets' voice as she strong-armed him into giving her every single detail of what had transpired during Booth's interview. The awkward situation this might end up putting him in with regards to Booth hadn't really been much of a concern because she had bigger things to worry about at the time, but now she was beginning to fear the long-term friction that might result between the two men from her well-intentioned interference.
"I knew something unpleasant had to have happened between you and Carter to make you so angry that night, something that possibly involved me or our relationship given your staunch refusal to discuss it when you got home, and I also knew you would never tell me because I would most likely be upset. Sweets was the next logical source of information since he was present during the interview. Please don't give him a hard time over it," she pleaded.
"Are you kidding? I can't blame Sweets for throwing in the towel-really, I'd be way more afraid of you than me any day of the week if I was him. Just for the record, you can be scary sometimes, you know that? Our baby duck was just being smart. I promise I'll take it easy on him-but I can't promise I won't get some mileage out of it while I can" he finished with an irreverent grin.
"For that same record you seem to be referring to, I was not fighting your battles for you; I know you don't appreciate my intervening on your behalf with anyone for any reason. But in this case, his comments and innuendos affected me personally and professionally, and I felt compelled to defend myself above and beyond what you'd already done. If you were partly vindicated in the process, well, it was simply a byproduct of that process; I know very well that you are more than capable of effectively taking care of yourself."
He reached out and took her hand, seeking to put her at ease. He wasn't angry; he was grateful that she cared enough about him to take on the FBI's garbled bureaucracy for him.
"It's fine, Bones, and I appreciate it, just like I'm appreciating the meal you made for me and just like I'm really appreciating seeing you in that dress. It looks good-I mean, really good-on you. Just like it did when you took me to that Egyptian thingy."
"You remembered? I didn't think you would notice."
"You expected me to forget? Every guy there was drooling over you the whole night-even the half-dead old ones. It's lucky for you that I have a ton of self-restraint."
"Why?"
"Because if I didn't, I might have given them something else to think about. I swear, I would've scared the living daylights out of them too if I didn't think it would have gotten you kicked out of your own party for bringing some crazy-jealous guy as your date."
Laughing, she pushed her plate away. "I recall you looked particularly attractive as well in your tuxedo-I'm quite certain that I'm not the only woman who thought so. And you look very attractive now. I like that black shirt."
"I figured you must, if you ordered me to put it on at gunpoint" he joked.
His mood suddenly shifted.
"This was a lot of work to put into an evening just for me-you sure there isn't anything else going on in your mind? Because you've seemed a little preoccupied lately."
By lately, he meant of course since their argument three weeks ago. As much as he'd agreed to put off going anywhere near that topic tonight, the worm in the apple was just getting too big to ignore. He realized there was a decent chance he was going to regret asking her that, but he didn't want to keep living with the apprehension that was steadily piling on, the doubts that were beginning to sap the joy for him out of anything they did together.
Brennan became introspective as soon as she heard the question.
He's like a human barometer, she thought, mystified once again by his uncanny ability to read her even when she was certain she had disguised her feelings well. She had postponed telling him about the decision she had reached on the morning after their fight because she wanted to be sure about this one giant leap of faith. The latest one out of the many that had begun on the day that Mr. Nigel-Murray died. She was saving her declaration for tonight; but things had been so pleasant and easy between them since he got home, that she almost wanted to put to it off. Because before she could feel confident enough to tell him, she knew she was going to put them both through some discomfort. Just one more piece to solve yet another puzzle, and she would be able to move forward once and for all. One final, jagged piece to put everything else into perspective.
She had waited long enough and so had he, she decided.
"It was for you Booth," she declared truthfully. "But I also planned it because I had something important to tell you. But before I do, I would really like you to answer a question for me, something that's been on my mind for a while now. And if you don't want to, I'll understand."
Oh God he thought, as his heart began a free-fall descent straight into the pit of his stomach. It had to be about his damnable, petty behavior from three weeks ago. How had he dared to believe that there wouldn't be any fallout from it?
Putting his napkin on the table, he silently agreed to tell her whatever it was she wanted to know-anything, no matter how painful, even if she might not like what she heard. And he would tell her everything; there was just too much at stake.
He wondered if their wedding plans-to the extent they still existed-would come crashing down as a result.
"Ok-sure. Whatever you want to know, Bones. I'll do my best, I promise" he said, looking at her solemnly.
"It's about you-you and Hannah." She closed her eyes for just a second, before she turned her gaze on him.
"Do you believe that you'd be married to her now if she had said yes when you proposed?"
