Spoilers for S4's The Princess and the Pear. Because I didn't care for the end scene—not at all.
He Likes Blondes
"It's open," I hear him call, only to walk in to see the two of them doing ... something-- probably one of those adjustments of hers. He sees nothing wrong with the fact that I'm there-- or that I've walked in on them while she's got him in a position I hear some people would pay big money to see. He doesn't seem to react one way or the other as I tell him I brought him some chili. But she-- her eyes widen ever-so-slightly before she looks down and away. She's not happy I'm there, but she's not mad at me. But she's mad about something, and I've already seen her mad-- I don't want to be anywhere near her when she goes off. That woman is dangerous.
I stammer out that I've got to go, but she's saying it too without looking at either of us-- by the time I've reached his door and shut it behind me, with his faint, querying "Nobody's staying?" behind me, she's already booked it halfway down the stairs. After these last two cases, I find it's her I'm more curious of. As if he and I were going to do more than talk about work anyway what with him dropping the "Peyton" and going back to "Perotta," not to mention that whole drugged-up "silky black hair and soft skin" thing. Puh-leeze—a girl knows when she's beat—that chili was just a last gasp to salvage my pride. So I hustled down after her, calling "Dr. Brennan!" as she was already halfway down the street toward her car.
She stopped warily before turning to look at me. Warily? This is the woman who broke the cheekbone of the Gravedigger with a briefcase and whaled the hell out of as close to a knight as we get anymore, chainmail and all, beating him down with his own sword, for crying out loud. And she's wary of me? Guess I didn't impress her as much as I'd hoped.
"Yes, Agent Perotta?" she asks, her voice low. The woman does the phrase husky-voiced alto proud. Special Agent Silky Hair should add that to his list.
I'd better make this good if I'm going to try to get more of a read on her. "Um, I ... I appreciated the chance to work with you again and wanted to thank you for asking for my assistance."
She stands there a moment, assessing. I feel like squirming under that stare of hers, but squash the urge to dance in place like a five year old. I'm a damned Special Agent, already. I expect her to say something efficient like she did earlier, but she says "Well, you did more than a competent job. The Bureau should consider you an asset."
I got all warm and fuzzy-- from her, that's a big sloppy kiss. But she falls quiet again and doesn't offer to continue the conversation. Okay... ball's in my court. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you," I tried. "I'm sure Agent Booth's medicated state will require further monitoring."
Her face shifted. "No," she replied. "He said he was fine." She finished crossing the street to her car, parked just opposite mine. "I don't want to bother him further tonight ... but ... I'm sure ... he'd be happy to see you."
She, however, did not sound happy to say that-- and as she said it, she gave me this grimace that wasn't a smile, not at all, though I'll give her an A+ for effort. She turned to unlock her car, and boy am I lucky I have good hearing. "He likes blondes," she said under her breath as she stood with her back to me.
Oh. Looks like both of them have no idea what the other one thinks. That's more than a little bit twisted. Does their therapist know?
I was debating whether to say something or whether I would embarrass her-- I suddenly realized it was possible to embarrass her about some things. Like how she felt about Booth-- or what she thought he felt (or didn't) about her. Before I decided, her phone rang. I stood by the side of my car, unabashedly listening as she stood with her back to me.
"Hey. No ... I could ... but ... are you sure? I don't want to bother you and ..."
She sounded completely different talking to him-- it had to be him-- than I'd ever heard her speak around me.
"Okay," she said softly. "Be back up in a moment."
I quickly got into my car, so she wouldn't think I'd been intentionally eavesdropping. She had a tentative look on her face, this scary-smart woman who could kick the snot out of me and then would analyze the wound placement just to make sure she'd landed each blow where she'd aimed.
What the hell, I decided. It would be my good deed for the day.
"Dr. Brennan?" I called, lowering my window.
She came over and nodded, head tipped to the side as she waited.
"I think he likes brunettes more."
I looked away then, starting the car and backing up while studiously not looking at her until I'd pulled out of the space and could look in the side mirror. She stood on the sidewalk, pulled a strand of her hair between her fingers and held it up to the streetlight before her. Shaking her head, she turned and went in.
