Written on request back when I first posted...

I'm not proud of it, but I wrote it, so I'm posting it. Apologies to Mendenbar and to any who know better.

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Seeing Red

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Tim White rose from his oak desk and walked to his oak door at the sound of knocking. It was a clear and confident staccato; not timid like a nervous teenager strayed from class, and not astringent like a blustery employee come to scream at his underling. No, this was the knock of someone who fully expected the door to be opened and to be greeted with the expected amount of congeniality before being allowed to get down to business.

He scoffed. Like hell he'd be congenial. He had just found out his own vacation weeks were on a collision course with disaster; and because of a recent influx in paperwork due to a few new employees, he was unable to take that break. Why the hell should he care about some egg-head's complaint about a bad check?

He yanked open the door, revealing a woman taller than he was who wore a stiff high-collared shirt that barely hid the beads of a blood-red necklace, as well as a second man with curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a beard.

"What?"

He noticed that smirk on her face as her eyes flicked to his name card.

"Tim White?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Speaking."

"Odd name for someone who's working in a museum."

"I apologize for my parent's name choice." He wasn't sorry. "What the hell do ya want?"

"To speak to you."

"What the hell does he want?" he indicated the man behind her with his chin.

She stepped slightly in front of him. "He wanted to come. And I suggest you learn our names."

"Then what are they?"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan and Dr. Jack Hodgins."

"Ah. Egg-heads."

"Scientists," she said. Her tone was no longer light and was freezing over by the second. "I probably have twice the education of you, so why don't you show a little respect?"

"I wasn't aware that being an egg-head gave ya the right to boss me around."

"I wasn't aware that the Jeffersonian had pigs in their staff," Hodgins said from behind her.

"Hodgins," Brennan said. She looked back over at White. "And we have done nothing to warrant your hostility. So drop the machoism and let us in."

"Fine. Fine." White said, backing up from the door. "What do I care?"

"I'm not sure. Which makes your irritation all the more uncalled for."

"Uncalled for," he muttered to himself, dropping into his chair and rubbing his tired eyes. "Pfft."

"I'd love to continue to indulge your foul mood, but I'm here on business," Brennan said, settling into the chair across from him.

"Of course. Ya always are."

"I've never been here before."

He blinked.

"And why else would I come here? To socialize?"

"Why not? We obviously have nothing better to do."

"I assume that you're being sarcastic."

"Whatever gave ya that idea?"

"Hey, dude, just shut up and let her talk," Hodgins said in an amused tone, leaning back in his chair.

"What? Gotta have a body guard along to make sure ol' Tim ain't mean to ya?" White mocked, wanting a little entertainment in this boring place. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been able to just sit and watch TV.

"No," she said, eyes narrowing.

Ha, he thought triumphantly. Maybe he could push this one over the edge.

"I'm here to discuss my overtime—"

"Overtime? What, just working here ain't enough for ya? Ya gotta work overtime?"

"I'm a forensic anthropologist. My job requires—"

"Yeah, yeah. You're out saving the world from the plagues of evil. I get it."

Her eyebrows were knitting closer and closer together, her jaw clenching. Her eyes were turning to stone.

Man, this one was easily riled. She must be secretly just as pissy as he was.

"Dude, how the hell have you managed to stay employed for so long?" Hodgins asked.

"Dunno, dude," White replied. "Must be my House impression."

"Yeah, man. You are kind of House-ish."

"Thank ya, man. That's the best compliment I've ever received."

"You know what? I wouldn't be surprised if that were true."

White glanced at Brennan from the corner of his eye, who appeared to be staring at some far point over his shoulder as she carefully inhaled and exhaled.

"Listen, dude—" White started, putting a hand on his desk. "I—"

There was a flash of movement, and he only had enough time to register the sudden pain on his hand before it was gone again.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, rubbing his hand and staring at Brennan, who was sitting smugly in her chair. "Did you just pinch me?"

"Yes. I did."

Hodgins laughed outright at this.

"So the two of us can't just have a verbal spar? We gotta get physical?"

"I would prefer that we not."

Jesus. She didn't even say 'no.'

"Will you listen to me now?"

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed. This was no fun. After she left the next person to visit would likely be the guy who told him that his vacation days had officially clocked out and that his new time-card would start the next day. Or it would be Saroyan again demanding copies for every scrap of paperwork that had ever existed in the forensics department. Neither of them ever responded to any of his baits.

"It was come to my attention that my overtime is apparently causing some issues for..."

He stared at Hodgins, listening to but not really processing her words. He wondered what he was doing there. Maybe they were dating. I mean, he was, what, four inches shorter than her?

"This was not my intention, but I'm afraid..."

What would they look like if they went dancing? He'd have to lean on her chest. Maybe she was the one who would give him a spin. But he didn't seem very concerned about White's attention.

"And my work involves a lot of..."

Cocky bastard. This one had a temper, but he bet there were plenty of men that threw themselves at her. He must feel pretty damned assured of himself.

He suddenly realized that Brennan had stopped talking and Hodgins was stifling laughs behind his hands.

"What?" he asked.

"You weren't listening."

"Yes, I was. Something about budgets, and overtime, and working."

"Oh, she said more than that, dude," Hodgins said.

He studied her face more. Her eyes were tired, and the thin layer of make-up she wore did nothing to hide that fact. Thin lines accentuated her eyelids, giving the impression they were open far more often than they were closed.

White may be rude, but he wasn't an idiot. If she was annoyed anyway, her lack of sleep would likely make it very easy for her to explode. And, besides, the fun ran out if her anger was caused purely by his own maliciousness.

"Fine," he sighed and leaned forward. "The reason you can't work overtime willy-nilly is because we recently received a bit of a budget cut. You heard about the renovations over in the D building?"

A weary nod from Brennan.

"Those were for a new exhibit. As you may or may not know, we have the largest collection of Indian bones and artifacts in the country. The suits recently decided to take advantage. Ergo, money was needed. It was taken from our salaries."

"Typical," Hodgins muttered.

"Anyway, we could support half the staff on overtime because of our funds. But with the regular museum dipping into our pool, that surplus ain't available no more."

"Then why can't I just work for free?"

"Listen, sweetheart," he placed palms on the desk, still feeling a slight throb in one because of her handiwork. "I tell ya what ya can do. If ya don't work for pay, then simply don't say ya were working. The security cameras may pick ya up, but honestly, no one really cares around here. Even if there's an inquiry, I guarantee it'll never get past my office, which is where it would go first."

"Why? Because you're so nice?"

"No, tuts, 'cause I'd never get to it. And if ya were nice to me, I may forget it."

"You're suggesting I seduce you so that I can work overtime?" her eyebrows rose.

"That would be fun, but no."

She was still eying him.

"Forget it." He rose. "That it?"

"Sure." She got up.

Hodgins, having apparently decided the fun was over, left the office.

"Anything else?" White asked, wondering why she was still standing there. He walked to one of his ten thousand filing cabinets and opened a drawer.

"Just one thing," she said and there was another flash of movement before he felt his hand rammed to his back and up to his neck.

She leaned in close to his ear. "Don't call me 'tuts.' "

The pressure was gone and by the time he turned, the door to his office was already closed and she was gone.

He laughed to himself.

Perhaps there was some life in this office after all.

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And...this concludes the Cam/Jeffersonian/Brennan story. If you liked any of it, leave a review on your way out!