( A Night at the Bones Museum )

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I don't own Bones.

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When he'd arrived at her apartment, he'd meant to just run inside and escort her out to his SUV as quickly as possible. He was running a little late and he didn't want to embarrass his partner by delivering her late to her own party. Knocking on her door, Booth glanced down the hallway to check out the handsome man entering the apartment across from the elevator. Not sure he liked the look of the man, Booth turned back to face the door when heard the door open. "Come on Bones, we're running . . . whoa." Stunned, Booth stopped speaking and stared at Brennan in amazement.

Puzzled with Booth's reaction, Brennan placed her hand on Booth's arm. "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Booth grinned. "Wow, Bones . . . I mean wow!"

Her smile a little uncertain, Brennan ran her hand down part of the skirt. "You've seen me in this dress before."

Certain that wasn't true, Booth shook his head. "The hell I have. You look beautiful Bones. I mean, I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick tonight. I can see it right now."

Now she was just confused. "Beat who off with a stick? Booth, you aren't making any sense."

Booth stepped into her apartment and let his eyes sweep over her body. "Oh, I'm making perfect sense. You're beautiful Bones. Every man at the party tonight is going to be hot to meet you. You'll see."

Her partner was being nonsensical and they really needed to leave. After she picked up her purse from the table she hurried to open the door. "We need to leave Booth or we're going to be late."

As he followed her out of the doorway, Booth glanced at the apartment across from the elevator. "So Bones, you have a new neighbor?"

Once Booth was out of the apartment, Brennan closed and locked the door. "Yes, Thaddeus Smith moved in two days ago. He's an analyst at the CIA."

Booth stared at the closed apartment door of the new neighbor and decided he didn't like the sound of that. Entering the elevator car, Booth waited for Brennan to enter the car and then hit the down button.

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Drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, Booth stared over Gordon's shoulder. He needed to talk, but he was afraid to.

Puzzled about Booth's apparent jitteriness, Gordon cleared his throat. "Agent Booth, what has you so antsy? You haven't been still since you've arrived."

Quickly stilling his fingers, Booth moved his gaze to Gordon. "You're a not a FBI psychologist?"

Curious where this was going, Gordon knew the problem must be huge for Booth to be so nervous about it. "Of course not, you know that. I'm a Chef now. I'm just seeing you until we can get you squared away."

Still not sure if he could trust Gordon, Booth crossed his right foot on his left knee and wiggled his foot.

Growing a little impatient, Gordon leaned forward and placed his hand on Booth's foot to prevent him from moving it. "What is the problem, Agent Booth?"

He needed help and Gordon was his only hope. Crossing his arms across his chest, Booth exclaimed, "I can't shoot anymore."

Surprised, Gordon released Booth's foot and leaned back. "At all?" This is worrisome.

Shaking his head, Booth snorted. "I can shoot I just can't hit my target like I'm supposed to. I think that hole they put in my head has ruined me. If I can't shoot, the FBI is either going to force me to take a medical retirement or they're going to keep me out of the field. I can't let that happen to me. I have to be able to go out into the field. Bones is relying on me to protect her."

Slowly rubbing his chin, Gordon was careful how he responded. "Have you talked to Dr. Sweets about this problem?"

Slamming his right foot down on the ground, Booth leaned forward. "Doc, I can't tell him about this. He works for the FBI. He'd have to rat me out. It's his job. That's why I'm talking to you about it." Booth stared at Gordon and prayed the man could help him.

Lacing his fingers and placing them on his chest, Gordon studied Booth for a few seconds. "Alright, why not just stay out of the field. You're in charge of Major Crimes. I imagine it isn't really normal for a section chief to go out into the field. Just have the FBI assign someone else as a partner for Dr. Brennan."

Straightening up, Booth glowered at the Chef. "No . . . no, I'm her partner. Me. Besides, she won't work with anyone else."

Amused, Gordon shook his head. "You mean no one at the FBI wants to work with Dr. Brennan." After all he did use to work for the FBI and he remembered the situation very clearly.

Staring at Gordon, Booth finally leaned back and smiled. "Both, I guess. The FBI needs her Doc. She's the best there is. I have to work with her. The FBI needs her."

Gordon cocked his head to the side and made an observation. "You need her as well."

His embarrassment back, Booth sighed as he glanced over Gordon's shoulder. "Yeah, I need her too."

Studying the pensive look on Booth's face, Gordon finally responded to Booth's comment. "Can you get me a copy of your brain scan? I'd like to look at it."

Surprised, Booth nodded his head. "Sure, Bones has some copies." He wondered why Gordon wanted to see the scans, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Now Gordon found that fact to be absolutely fascinating. "She's been actively helping you in your case, monitoring your health?"

He couldn't deny it and Booth didn't see a problem answering the question. "Sure, she's my friend and she wants to make sure that I'm doing okay. She's a genius. I trust her."

Pursing his lips, Gordon asked the agent, "Does Dr. Brennan know you can't hit the broad side of a barn?"

Irritated, Booth snapped at the Chef. "No she doesn't. This could affect her as much as me. I need to find out why I can't shoot and then fix it. I want to do that without worrying Bones. She's got enough to worry about besides that."

"What do you mean?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. "Bones thinks I don't eat like I use to and I'm losing weight. I tell her it's okay, but she doesn't believe me . . . Stuff like that."

Concerned with that revelation, Gordon looked Booth over. "Do you know why you aren't eating like you used to? Have you talked to your family doctor about it?"

Booth shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, he says my sense of smell is probably off and that effects how I eat. When your sense of smell is lost or off you can't taste foods like you normally do. Dr. Shank says that it'll probably come back eventually. I've told that to Bones a bunch of times, but she doesn't want to listen to me. She argues with me about it at least a couple times a week."

He was worried about Booth's not eating but grateful that someone cared. "She cares about you."

Nodding his head, Booth smiled warmly. "Yeah she does . . . I love her for it. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Surprised that Booth admitted it, Gordon leaned forward. "So you do love her."

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth decided it wouldn't hurt to admit it. "Yeah, I do . . . She doesn't love me though. Right now I'm kind of trying to sort of woo her. I'm taking it slow and steady. I hope that someday she'll really see me and maybe fall in love with me. I just have to be patient. She already loves me as a friend. I'm hoping that someday she can take the next step and love me as a man and not just as a friend."

Grimly, Gordon shook his head. "It might be a very long campaign."

And Booth knew that already. "Yeah, I know that too. I'm a sniper Doc. If I really want to be patient I can be. Hell, if I had to, I could watch a rose grow. I have a plan and I know I have to be patient if it has a chance of working."

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