The Perfect Path in the Pie
Chapter 12 - Stairway to Heaven
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Disclaimer: I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'Stairway to Heaven', by Led Zeppelin
A/N: Thanks for sticking with me on this story. All the e-mails and reviews are very motivating. I'd also like to give a quick shout out to my personal Twitter agent PolamaluGirl...thank you for the enthusiastic Tweets - this one is for you ;D
Saturday, March 19th 2011 - Washington D.C. (Feast of St. Joseph - 10th Day of Lent)
She hadn't said anything; but he knew. Temperance Brennan was stewing about something. It wasn't the long silences, or the distant focus that would fall over her face a dozen times a day, or the way that she set about practically devouring him the moment they were alone. All of that was normal. Booth was used to her quiet intensity after working with her for years...okay, that whole 'devouring' thing was pretty new to him, but he wasn't complaining about that development.
Bones was worrying and twisting at her Mother's ring absently; her little poker tell, the one that spoke volumes to the gambler in him. During their ride home last night, the precious metal and inset stones had captured the street lights that had bordered their familiar path, flickering their minute reflections in his peripheral vision. She'd stepped from his bathroom after washing away the strain of the day and turned to stare at the distant lights of a passenger jet cutting across the inky night horizon; wearing nothing but a towel and that ring, which transmitted its' Morse code sparkles to where he sat up against the headboard of his bed, as she worried at it with her thumb crossed under her palm. He had asked her what she was thinking about. Cryptically, she answered 'fiction', before discarding the towel to the floor and with quiet, but passionate intensity, she set about devouring him. Wearing nothing but that ring.
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Booth had risen early to attend Mass. Today was the Feast of Saint Joseph, Patron Saint of Fathers and families. In a fitting coincidence, they were going to take Pops out for lunch and Bones had sensibly suggested inviting Max along, so that they could be informed of the upcoming publicity. It was a practical suggestion, which could avoid Booth copping a well-aimed jab to the cojones if Max decided that he was still holding a grudge. Max had seen him with Hannah once; just days after Bones had delivered her devastating admission in the SUV. Bones had been like a ghost of herself in those first difficult days, every erg of her ultra-calm facade had seemed to scream at him hauntingly. Max had approached him, wearing his grey lab coat and a sober expression, saying darkly 'I haven't seen her this happy since they faked your death, G-man'.
No greetings, no direct threats; no guarantees of his safety either.
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Returning to his apartment after Mass, he was not surprised to find Bones awake and tackling the new day, dressed in jeans and an ANU sweatshirt, on her second cup of coffee; and judging by the crime scene on the plate next to the fruit bowl, her third piece of fruit. She was typing away rapidly on her laptop, an activity which didn't cease in response to his entry.
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"Are you blessed, confessed, and ready to face the day," she asked with a smile of greeting.
He gave her a withering look. "Heathen!" he said affectionately.
"That's 'hungry heathen' to you. Did you bring breakfast?" she asked with a laugh.
"Yup!" he answered holding up a bag. "A feast fit for a vegetarian."
She stopped typing. "Another day of no meat for you of course. Lunch will be interesting."
"Don't you mean boring?" he asked.
"Only from your gastronomic perspective...today is technically the day when we 'fester up' to our parental figures," said Brennan as she approached him and cheekily snatched the bag of food, taking it to the kitchen counter.
"That's 'fess up', as in a confession, Bones," Booth said, making a grab for one of the packages as he swung in to kiss her cheek. "Hey! I want some of those hash browns, so just back away from the breakfast, lady."
Brennan pouted and handed the packet over. "A confession makes more sense. I couldn't completely reconcile a festering sore within the context of making an admission."
"Did you manage to pull in that favour to get us a table for lunch?" asked Booth around a mouthful of hash brown, as he took his now loaded-down plate to the table.
"Yes. It was very short notice, but I dropped your name and Chef Wyatt said that he would make room," she replied handing him cutlery as she sat down with her own plate.
"Ha! It's not often that 'my' name opens doors," said Booth with a grin as he tucked into his meat free assortment of breakfast foods; most of them fried and well salted.
"That is a matter of perspective..." said Brennan, her tone and heated glance across her coffee cup, heavily salted with innuendo.
"Are you writing 'sparky bits' for your book this morning, Temperance?" he asked. "Because we really need to clear up this whole inspiration for Andy Ryan thing before we fly out on Tuesday."
She gave him a sharp glance, tempered by a sultry smile. "Can we leave that issue for another time?" she asked. "I would prefer to get through lunch...and the seduction scene in this chapter first."
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They ate in their own brand of companionable silence, which included a hard fought kleptomanic clash for the hash browns.
"Y'know...we've never done 'page 187' before..." said Booth, licking some sort of condiment from his finger, way too slowly to be a reflex action.
"Well, according to the journalistic authority of the National Inquirer, I have..." she said evenly. A twist of her Mother's ring suggested that the allegations were bugging her. "I never have...have you?" she asked, pinning him with her honest gaze.
He stared back openly with a ghost of a smile, because he knew where this was going. "No...I haven't. Not because I'm a prude either, Dr. Feelgood!"
"So...Hannah, never wanted to...?" she asked bluntly.
"Umm...no..." he said, feeling the promised discomfort that his gut had warned him about.
"Don't be uncomfortable. I really don't care why," said Brennan conversationally. "For some reason, people seem to go out of their way to tell me about their 'page 187' experiences. It apparently requires sexual confidence, experience and trust between lovers to achieve the pleasure and intimacy that surpasses the simple formulaic sexual gymnastics involved."
Booth swallowed his mouthful of food, feeling a hard lump forming in his throat that was echoed by the one forming in his boxers. "I'd like to try it with you sometime..."
"Likewise," she said with a grin, leaning forward conspiratorially she lowered her voice. "You know, Hank was one of those people who went out of his way to tell me about the experience..."
"You're serious?" he exclaimed.
"Serious as the heart attack he thought he was having after he did it," she said with a wry grin. "It was a very adventurous undertaking for a man of his age and medical co-morbidities."
"Y'know, I don't think I wanna hear any more. I've got to look Pops in the face over lunch, I don't to be think about him..." Booth winced and closed his eyes trying to come up with an analogy.
Brennan laughed, "...doing complex crochet?"
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Max Keenan was waiting for them at their table, when Booth and Brennan arrived at the restaurant with Hank. The stubborn old guy had insisted on taking the bus to D.C that morning. Booth had insisted on picking Pops up from the bus station, after a fond blustering session over the phone between the two Booth men that had made Brennan smile.
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Introductions were made, with Max Keenan turning on the roguish charm that had he and Hank telling off-colour anecdotes and making derisive comments about recent sports performances within minutes of their meeting. Surprisingly, when Hank had announced his intent to order a vegetarian meal, in observance of the Catholic holiday, Max decided that he too would join in the flesh-free dining experience.
While waiting for their entrees to arrive, Brennan decided to break up the breadstick duel between Hank and her Dad, by announcing that she and Booth would be going to New Orleans on Tuesday.
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"You're eloping?" asked Hank hopefully.
"Not if you believe the 'National Inquirer'," growled Max. "I hope you're suing them Tempe..."
"Yes. My attorney is pursuing the matter," she replied.
"The National Inquirer?" said Hank with disdain. "That rag isn't even kept for emergency toilet paper where I live...it goes straight to lining cat litter boxes. Cats love to crap on it. What did they say about you, Honey?"
"It doesn't bear repetition, Hank," she replied. "But the consequences of the media attention have impacted upon our work, my forthcoming book, and our relationship."
Max directed a dangerous look at Booth. "Could you dash your relationship on the rocks anymore than you already have? Jesus, Tempe! I don't know how the two of you can stand to be in the same room some days...obviously, today is a good day in the scheme of things."
The breadstick in Booth's hand snapped. "Max, all of that is past now. Every day with your daughter is the best day of my life. She knows that!"
"I can speak for myself, Booth!" retorted Brennan. "It's true, Dad." Booth rolled his eyes, but grabbed her hand anyway. She glanced at him sideways and gave him a small grin.
"You finally pulled your head out your ass and lost that blonde Camel Spider that bit you in Afghanistan, eh Shrimp?" crowed Hank. "Atta boy! We should order Champagne..."
"You shouldn't be drinking alcohol on your medications, Hank!" chided Brennan, causing knowing looks to pass between Hank and Max. The entrees arrived and were passed around the table.
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"Look, we weren't planning on going public so soon, but our hands are being forced by the Feds, and by the Publisher," said Booth, picking up his fork and searching for signs of protein in the leafy greenness in the bowl in front of him.
"To draw media attention away from the important work that we are involved in right now, Booth and I will be going undercover on a 'promotional tour' for my new book next week. Our relationship will be subject to deliberate speculation, in order to allow our real work to progress without scrutiny. The reason that we asked you both here today was to let you know that there will be media reports of our relationship mirroring that of the characters in my new book."
"You mean Kathy gets to have Andy's baby after one too many steamy sessions of backseat loving?" asked Hank gleefully. "I'm going to be the centre of attention in the crochet club!"
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Booth placed his head in his hands, unwittingly transferring breadstick crumbs onto his hair.
"No, Hank," corrected Brennan. "Kathy and Andy are getting married. So we will have to publicly portray a couple completely infatuated with each other and actively planning to spend the rest their lives together."
"Geez!" drawled Max. "Do you think you've got the acting chops to pull that off?"
"Eh, Max," said Hank with a wheezing laugh. "That ain't such a stretch...the piper's been calling their tune for years. It's just a pity that your daughter's been tuning into the wrong channel and my grandson is tone deaf."
Brennan turned to Booth. "What are they talking about?"
"The past, Bones," said Booth directing a grimace at the two men chortling at their own wit across the table. "Old men do that...talk about the past."
"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Seeley!" said Hank. "I'm just glad that I get to see the two of you enjoying the happiness you deserve before I die."
"Don't be so damned morbid, Pops!" said Booth.
Brennan sniffled and directed a watery smile at Hank. "It's so sweet of you to say that, Hank."
Max looked at his teary daughter. "Did you knock my daughter up, Booth? Because, she hasn't cried at the dinner table since she was four. Her Mom always got weepy, way before the rabbit died."
"Dad..." she said, getting even more emotional. Her knuckles whitened as they gripped the cutlery suspended above her plate.
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Booth gently took the knife and fork from her hands and pulled her into an embrace. Her arms slipped around his waist and she began to relax a little after letting a couple of muffled sobs go against his collar.
"What we really need is time, and space," said Booth quietly. "This past year has been..."
"A disaster?" suggested Hank.
"A big mistake? contributed Max.
"Yeah, those things...and plenty of other things too. We've done and said things that we both regret...Right now, we're trying to find our way to a permanent peace between us, that's just between us...not played out in front of the media," said Booth as he stroked a hand up and down Brennan's back.
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"Oh, my word! Please don't tell me that the entrees are disastrous enough to make my favourite Anthropologist cry?" said Chef Gordon Gordon Wyatt as he reached the table. "I shall find the fool in the kitchen responsible and have their hide!" he proclaimed.
Brennan raised her head from Booth's shoulder and pulled herself together. "Not at all," she said. "I am just attempting to convince my father that I am in love with Booth, but I don't think that I'm having much success."
"Damn. Now I think I'm gonna cry...," said Max quietly. He grasped at her hand across the table. "You didn't need to convince me, Honey...I've just been waiting for you to convince yourself."
"Hey, Chef?" said Hank conspiratorially. "Could you arrange a big bowl of freshly chopped onions for us out here, because I'm gettin' a little misty over here myself. We Booth men need an alibi when the tears start."
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"Just shut up you two!" said Booth. "Let me get a word in edgeways and give a guy a chance to tell a girl that he loves her, okay?"
Brennan moved a hand behind his head and pulled Booth in for a kiss.
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"Very demonstrative!" commented Chef Wyatt. "I've seen marriage proposals at this establishment with less passion..."
Hank leaned in toward Max. "They didn't do that in public in my day!"
"They did in mine, old-timer!" said Max. "But usually when their parents weren't looking...kids today, huh?"
The couple broke apart with a laugh.
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"Congratulations on finally finding your way together," said Gordon Gordon with a smile. "I hope that your colleague, Dr. Sweets, will assist you through your time of transition."
"Uh, yeah," said Booth. "We're seeing him on Monday, to help us with our cover."
"Ah, splendid...but a word of advice, if I may?" said Gordon Gordon.
"Sure..." said Booth with a shrug.
"Don't divulge too much about your physical relationship to Dr. Sweets...particularly you, Dr. Brennan, because you are so delightfully candid..." the Chef offered with a smile. "Appeal to his pragmatic, melancholic demeanor; do something that he would both lament and expect from the two of you. Tell him that Agent Booth has given up sex for Lent and that, you, Dr. Brennan, are waiting for him."
"I believe that that was our original intent, but Booth was too difficult to resist...especially when he made a show of removing his towel when I was making a business call to China," said Brennan with a smile.
"No way, Bones!" said Booth, jumping into the fray. "You were the one told me to take it off! And don't even get me started on how you jumped me after rebounding from Champagne Hangover of the Century!"
Brennan held up a finger to interject. "As I recall it, you were the one that woke me up to give me the 'magic pills' that cured my hangover..."
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Gordon Gordon Wyatt tapped a fork on a water glass to put a stop to the rapidly deteriorating dialogue. Brennan and Booth looked at each other, and then looked at the Chef, wearing slightly bashful expressions.
"That kind of outburst is exactly what I am referring to!" said Gordon Gordon waving the water glass and fork animatedly. "How can you expect Dr. Sweets to support you with therapy and advice that will assist you to navigate the treacherous shoals that will lead you to the seas of happiness, when you distract him by playing out the titillating minutiae of your relationship? Entertaining, yet very personal moments, such as the one you just discussed, are for you...and you alone."
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"That sounds like a reasonable suggestion," said Brennan.
"Anything that keeps Sweets from prying to find out all my best moves," drawled Booth with a cocky grin.
"Hey, remember whose daughter you're pulling those moves on, pal," said Max.
"I've got moves of my own, thanks Dad!" shot back Brennan.
Hank gave a cackle. "Your daughter is one feisty girl, Max!"
"Yeah? Well your grandson is one cocky bastard..." retorted Max.
Gordon-Gordon called for silence again with the fork and the water glass. "Cocky is precisely what the man's belt buckle says!" declared the Chef. "Now who would like to try my freshly prepared pumpkin tortellini?"
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Following a long lunch, Hank Booth capitulated and let Booth and Brennan drive him back to his retirement home. The old guy told Shrimp stories for the first half of the journey until he dozed off, leaving Brennan plenty of time to relate her thoughts about Booth's devastated reaction to the reportedly mouthwatering Pecan Pie that Gordon Gordon had offered for their dessert. Booth had shared a chocolate lava cake with Brennan instead; with the ensuing volcano innuendo erupting into thinly veiled threats by Max Keenan to manufacture a bread stick shiv.
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It was after four p.m. by the time they said farewell to Hank. Booth had been scandalised when Brennan had accidentally laddered her panty hose when getting out of the SUV and Pops had referred to the ladder as a 'Stairway to Heaven'. She had asked what Hank had meant by it, and Booth had promised to tell her later.
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Some time later, following a brief stop at her apartment to collect some items for her 'vacation' wardrobe for the New Orleans trip, she was hanging her clothes in his closet. Still wearing her flattering floral dress from lunch, she decided to change into jeans and a casual shirt for the evening. Reaching behind her neck, she manipulated the hook and eye open, before tackling the zipper. Booth took the opportunity to move up behind her and take over the task. She didn't require assistance to get undressed, but foreplay was an exception to her feminist sensibilities.
Before removing the dress, he ran a hand down her thigh until his fingers met the laddered stocking that disappeared up under the hem that fell just above her knee.
"So tell me what you 'do' know about the 'Stairway to Heaven', Bones," asked Booth.
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"According to Russ and some of my high school peers, it is a song which is never be played in a guitar shop," she said. "I don't know what taboo is associated with the phenomenon, perhaps you can enlighten me."
"It's 'Rock n Roll, Baby!'" he replied with a chuckle. "Remember that case with the fantasy camp, when you told me you'd been offered tickets to the last Led Zeppelin concert?"
She gave a short laugh as she recalled the case. "Yes. You wore a tie around your head. They played our song."
"Yeah, I remember," he said to her, his fingers inching up the ladder on her leg. "Led Zeppelin are the band who play the song 'Stairway to Heaven', it is really, really famous."
She grabbed his wandering hand and turned to face him. "So what does that have to do with a ladder in my panty hose? Is the song a homage to women's hosiery?"
He gave her a cocky grin. "It's about a woman who is so much more than what she appears to be on the surface. But when we're talking about laddered stockings, the song title is just innuendo..." he said as he steered her toward his bed and sat her down. "I'll demonstrate."
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Taking her foot in his hands, Booth removed her shoe and ran his hands up to the point where the ladder originated just below her knee, placing his lips at that point, before making his way up her leg following the path of the defect.
"Ah, a euphemism for foreplay, with the promise of sexual fulfillment," she said with a husky laugh. "Please continue."
A/N: Thirty more songs to go! But next up is a bonus chapter...I hope that you enjoyed this one!
