AN: Here we are, in season five... The Bard readers among you are already aware of the episode we're diving into today. We're going to examine a possible "what happened next?" too.
This is the longest chapter yet for this fic, but I'm pretty sure it'll be worth it. You'll tell me, won't you?
Tag To: A Night At The Bones Museum
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones, nor do I own the lyrics to Robert Palmer's gloriously fun hit, "Simply Irresistible". Dialogue borrowed for context and no infringement is intended so hey, don't sue, alright? I also don't own Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing In The Dark".
Simply Irresistible (Robert Palmer)
"Director Hacker wants to have sex with me."
The words suck the air out of his lungs and immediately, he's thinking of ways to make his smarmy boss pay. The guy's barely more than a functioning idiot and now, he's sexually harassing his partner. And the woman you love, his brain reminds him immediately. But you don't talk about that, do you?
"Whoa, he said that?" he replies. "Wait, and it's Assistant Director."
Maybe the guy is yanking her chain in revenge for her inability to address him by the proper title? No, that's wishful thinking, given the whole Andrew stunt he pulled earlier in Booth's office.
"Well he said dinner, but the implication was clear."
Ah, Bones: blunt and to the point. Something Hacker probably won't take well.
"Okay, well all you've got to do is just turn him down. You know, be very polite and nobody gets hurt." And then, you come out to dinner with me, he adds silently.
"He's charming and good looking. Why would I turn him down?"
What? Booth glances at her face and realizes she's actually interested in Hacker. Thinks Hacker is attractive. The guy's face is somewhere between human and Pug! Hell, he'll never live this down at the office – it'll be Sully 2.0, only worse. He latches onto her word choice and immediately feels a defensive rant brewing. Are you saying I'm not attractive and charming, Bones? What the hell is wrong with me?
"Why? Because he's my boss, okay? It'd just be awkward. I'm the guy who's got to report to him, Bones."
And I refuse to not only work for a terrible investigator who schmoozed his way into his job, but also watch him date the woman I want.
They slip into crime scene investigation mode, him jotting notes and asking questions (and strangely hungry after the "Christmas" smell of the mummy, which is disgusting but true). In the back of his head, he's seeing Hacker and his over-polished shoes and bad jokes trying to impress Bones, and it's bringing his blood to a boil. What about the "no fraternization policy"? Sully had been an acceptable stretch – after all, he hadn't been a direct partner or boss to the Jeffersonian team. But Hacker most definitely is a direct boss in the chain of command.
As if on cue, Sweets shows up at the crime scene. Booth swears he can smell drama between the two of them from a fifty-mile radius. The kid's always showing up at his office or the diner right on time to stick his nose in adult business. Thankfully, the shrink's on a mission: getting his girlfriend reinstated so he can get laid sometime soon. Booth delights in calling him out on it. The kid squirms a little and Booth knows he's nailed it. Not so fun when it's you, huh?
"I'd consider it a personal favor, Dr. Brennan," Sweets almost begs.
"Ouch. Personal favors are kind of like penalty shots: you kind of have to take them. Unlike dinner requests, which you are totally open to decline," he adds, hoping his partner will, for once, take a hint.
She doesn't. She's really going to accept dinner with his boss. And Booth is going to accept Cam's offer an hour later over text for a bottle of scotch she has lying around that she magically doesn't need, even if she does come right out and say she told him so. His little chat with Hacker later that day seals it.
"Oh by the way, did Temperance mention that I asked her out?"
"Uh yeah, yeah, I think she may have said something like that," he replies, hoping the discussion will end.
"I just want to make sure there's nothing going on between the two of you. I wouldn't want to get in the middle."
So very gracious, considering he went ahead and asked her already. Who did that? Who asked out a woman his colleague might be dating without getting the facts straight first? Desperate guys with no personality did that. Guys like Andrew Hacker.
"No, nothing whatsoever. It's strictly professional."
"You sure?"
On her end, I'm absolutely sure. Mine... well, I'll just ignore that so I don't beat the shit out of you in frustration. I like my job.
"Yeah, positive."
"Alright then. I'll let you get back to pissing off Nobel Laureates."
He clenches his fist as his boss leaves. He hasn't felt this angry about a guy Bones has dated since his brother. Only now, it's worse: he knows he loves her, heart and soul.
He can't help himself: he runs a check on Hacker, via Charlie. The guy owes him a favour from three years ago, a huge one, and he's called it in to gossip about his boss to his partner. It's juvenile, petty and absolutely warranted. It is.
"So I did a little checking on Hacker, by the way. 42, never married. Just in case you're interested."
His grip on the steering wheel tightens as his partner replies, "Late marriage is often an indicator of a discerning goal-oriented individual. Why is this a problem for you?"
Because you and me, this is special. It's always had the potential to go somewhere. We've just been stubborn idiots for years. But I've let that go. I've erased the lines. If you'd just see it too, then maybe...
"Because he's my boss. That's all. And if you're going to go out with Hacker, then you guys are going to talk about me."
It's not a lie. It's just half the truth. It's not like he can tell her now, driving around on a case that Hey, this sounds crazy, but I love you and I promise it's not a brain tumor coma talking. She isn't someone who can be blitzed like that. Cam is bang on: he has to be sure and do everything right, or risk her closing off forever.
"Why would I talk about you?" she asks.
"Because I'm what you got in common."
"If you're concerned that I'd discuss any perceived shortcomings – "
He nearly jams the brakes in shock. "Shortcomings? What shortcomings?"
"Honestly Booth, Andrew and I are attracted to each other. I'm sure neither of us will think of you for a second."
It's a dagger in his heart. Does she really feel nothing for him beyond friendship? Has he misinterpreted her book as some secret revelation of a life she longs to share with him? These are the thoughts that keep him awake that night, tossing and turning with her smile hovering beneath his eyelids.
I need more time to tell her. But she's slipping out of reach, and it's all he can do to not drive to her apartment and lay himself on the line in a desperate bid for her affections.
"Choose me," he whispers. "Why won't you choose me?"
Of course the guy's in his office. Of course.
Booth is well aware of the "drinks" the night before, courtesy of Angela having some compulsive need to rub salt in his invisible wounds. He's still mulling over her motivations when he rounds the corner and sees Hacker.
"Hey Boss."
Come to tell me you're being transferred to Alaska? How nice! Stay warm.
"How's the case going?"
Booth suddenly clues in. Please, tell me he's not here for dating advice. Please, please do not do this to me, God. I can't. I will have to duct tape his mouth shut and toss him in the dumpsters out back.
"Not solved yet... but uh, you're not here for that, are ya?"
"I just wanted to say you're doing a great job. Truly exceptional work."
Hacker is still playing the denial game. What is he, twelve?
"Sir, if we could just kill the compliments and just say what's on your mind, I'd appreciate that."
If he's going to have to make nice during a discussion of the schmuck's date with Temperance Brennan, he wants it done and over with so he can bash his head off his desk and induce amnesia for the whole affair.
"Right. Let's drop the Agent-Boss thing for a minute," Hacker says.
"Sure."
Booth wonders if this means he can inform Hacker that he is a walking enema bag, but ultimately decides against it. Hacker likely can't define enema. His wit would be wasted.
"It's been a while since I've met someone, you know, special... Aw hell, I just don't want to make a fool out of myself if Temperance is only going out with me because I'm the boss."
Yep, he's twelve. Booth suspects that the last time this guy had a date, it was his cousin on the night of the Senior Prom.
"Right. Listen sir, Bones doesn't feel the pressure to act or do or say anything that she doesn't want to. And no one, no one can make her. That's what makes her..." Amazing. Enthralling. Irresistible. "Bones," he finishes aloud.
Much to his chagrin, this seems to be the pep talk his boss needs to summon the cojones to ask for a second date or whatever. "Okay. Thanks, really."
"No problem," he mumbles, spinning his chair away so he can express his revulsion without being busted.
And then, his boss twists the dagger lingering in his heart from the other day.
"Listen, next time you're at the Founding Fathers, you should try the meatloaf with the egg. You'll like it. Tastes nothing like the human eye."
He has no response. What words are there for betrayal on this scale? I'm sure neither of us will think of you for a second. That's what she'd said, right? He'd made one simple request: don't talk about your partner to his boss. Given his (admittedly secret) feelings for her, Booth really doesn't think he's asked for something unreasonable, nor does he feel it's something that she may have confused or misunderstood.
Perhaps he could forgive her for disclosing, say, his preference in scotch, or his favourite book (her second one, Cross Bones; the first reminds him of their year apart and the third reminds him of real murders). Details he would disclose to his boss, should they come up in conversation, are easily forgiven. He understands her tendency to answer without censorship. But to disclose a personal (and embarrassing) story? It stings, like falling into a vat of lime juice covered in paper cuts previously salted. Human margarita level of betrayal.
Well, I've had enough. Maybe he is just a friend, just her partner. Maybe that is all he'll ever be to her. Booth knows only this: he is no one's punchline. Not even hers.
A wicked thought comes to mind as he notices it's lunch hour and he passes by the kitchen en route to his car. He's about to do the floor a favour and get his point across with scientific evidence for the forensic anthropologist. Opening the fridge, he smiles. At least some things can still be relied on these days.
He spends the fifteen minutes between the Hoover and the Jeffersonian contemplating his approach. Direct? Blunt? Mean? Artificially saccharine? He doesn't want to piss her off, but he does want to impress upon her how he defines and sees partnership, since they no longer seem to share that appreciation.
Walking into her office, he plunks Agent Laramie's hard-boiled egg on her desk and swallows back as much anger as he can.
"What's this?" she asks.
"What does it look like?"
"An egg."
"And when was the last time that you recently talked about an egg?" he presses.
Her response is underwhelming. "Oh."
"Oh?"
"Well, he asked me what was good to eat and I mentioned that you liked the meatloaf – "
"Stop right there," he interrupts angrily. "You said you weren't going to talk about me and you talked about me."
"Well, I didn't mean to talk about you. I told him I didn't want to but you know, I like that story and I guess it just popped out."
She states this casually, as if she'd merely walked away with his pen instead of her own after a paperwork marathon. For all of your intelligence, you can be utterly oblivious, Bones!
"Popped out? I don't need Hacker knowing about my mother's meatloaf!"
His anger catches her off guard and he detects a slight flinching of her frame. "Why are you so upset?"
She really doesn't see it. For all of his fear that she will sense the shift inside of him, see straight through to his terrified heart, it turns out that he's maintained the illusion of pure friendship after all. He doesn't know whether to yell at her or lunge over the desk and kiss her until she's too breathless to speak of his secrets to anyone ever again.
"Because... What goes on between us is ours."
Ours. He loves the sound of that. He frequently imagines all of the wonders that they could call ours: a home; a relationship; a child, maybe. But she's still mystified.
"Come on, Booth. You must have told a lot of people the meatloaf story. Right?"
His look says absolutely not. Her face falls as she finally comprehends. In that moment, he forgives her, even though his head is pounding with a migraine that won't quit. One glimpse of that fragility lurking behind her blue-grey irises and he's reduced to Jello-O.
No harm, no foul. It's not worth holding a grudge and besides, he senses she will never betray his confidences again.
He's not expecting the call, nor is he expecting Andrew's latest "Drop the Agent-Boss thing" conversation, either. He considers tipping off Sweets and siccing the shrink on his boss. Maybe it will do him some good, considering Sweets seems more capable of navigating relationships than Hacker. Booth then asks God to forgive him his wicked thoughts of retribution and heads home to yank his tux from the closet.
He smiles in the shower, thinking of their exchange days before.
"Whoa, whoa! How's this going to help us catch Kaswell's killer?"
"It won't. But it could exonerate Anok. There can be no time limit for justice, Booth."
"Bones, Dr. Kaswell's killer is out there now. We're running out of suspects."
"You'll do it, Booth. You always do."
And he'd done it – with her help, as always. Her science remained the balance to his instincts, the yin to the yang. Not satisfied with solving one murder, she'd also managed to exonerate a mummy along the way, impressing Azita Jabbari. The Jeffersonian, in a bid to make Jabbari happy in light of the whole debacle, had announced Bones as the special guest of honour at the exhibit opening.
She, in turn, had requested he accompany her. He'd nearly dropped the phone in surprise. In the past, she'd invited him along "if you'd like to come" to Jeffersonian events (and on occasion, pleaded for him to not let her go solo to an engagement even she dreaded), but this had been a formal "be my plus one" invite. Still reeling from the implications, he was bombarded by questions from Hacker, who'd assumed he would be her date – until he'd phoned to ask the colour of her dress and learned she had no intentions of bringing him with her.
Drying off, Booth hits the radio on and hums along with an old song from The Breakfast Club. He's not going to look too deeply into her request. Perhaps it's a way of atoning for the meatloaf story. Maybe she thinks he's interested in the mummy (he is, although to admit it would be too Squinty). It doesn't matter to Booth. What matters is this is his opportunity, and he plans to take full advantage of it – starting with the tux.
A gift from his partner.
After The Gravedigger bitch took him hostage, he'd been shaken up. He'd suffered worse in his life, but the understanding that somewhere, a clock was ticking – and his partner had felt its hands creeping up on her own life once upon a horrible goddamn time – had drained him. Knowing Teddy was a mirage or hallucination of some kind was equally distressing. The worst of it, however, had been the thought of breaking his promise to her.
"Next time I die, I will tell you."
"I'll look forward to that."
He couldn't die on her again. He'd seen the toll it had taken before, and she had been denied seeing his non-existent remains. But if The Gravedigger... Bones would have insisted. She would have faced the task of piecing him back together... cataloging each mark caused by the explosion meant to claim his life and cross-referencing against the wounds of war only she understood so intimately.
He'd been unable to go home. She'd taken him to hers.
In the bleary light of morning, he'd casually mentioned losing his deposit on the tux, to which she'd stated it was taken care of. Apparently, her morning coffee run had been more productive than the welcome caffeine shot to his system. His pride had protested her paying off the damaged tux, but he'd fought back tears when she showed up a week later with a tailor-made tuxedo as a gift.
"Bones, I can't – "
"You can. You just don't want to."
"Fine, I don't want to."
"Booth, when was the last time you needed a tuxedo for an occasion that did not involve me?"
"Uh..."
"Please, consider it a token of my appreciation for your support. And, if you must, a future bribe towards a gala you will find dull and stuffy."
She'd snagged his measurements from the rental company, of course. His partner is a genius for a reason. The tux fits like a glove and he admires himself in the mirror. Not bad, Seeley. Not bad at all!
The music shifts to a song he knows well and he cranks up the volume before pawing through his drawer for cuff links. He makes it a mere four lines in before realizing it is a perfect song for his partner and the predicament he's in. It's encouraging, like all of the planets coming into alignment. He's gotta make a stand. Tonight.
He meets her at the Jeffersonian and beams at the sight of her pacing near the platform. Her dress sends a jolt of lightning straight to his groin, the short hemline and pushed up cleavage begging for him to ravage her. From a distance, the effect is of lace over bare skin, and while he knows this cannot be true, his libido is off and running with the illusion. As he passes through the sliding glass doors, she grins and makes her way down the steps.
"You made it!"
"I wouldn't miss your big party, Bones," he replies happily.
Her face suddenly clouds over and he winces. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, hugging her against him.
"C'mon, Bones. I know tonight's all about the past, but it's Egyptian history, not ours. Smile?"
She nods slightly, forcing a slight smile. "I know. Last time... But you're right. I must admit that I was experiencing irrational anxiety waiting here for you. Angela phoned just now and I startled in rather embarrassing fashion."
"If it makes you feel better, I hate it when you head into the parking garage without me," he admits quietly.
A more sincere smile curls her lips now. "Thank you." She steps back a foot, glancing over his attire. "It's an excellent fit!"
"It is. Thanks." Glancing at his watch, he jerks his head towards the doors. "We should probably head over to the exhibit."
"Yes, we should..."
She's got a devious look in her eye and Booth is intrigued. "Bones? Whatcha thinking?"
"Detour," is her only response before looping her arm through his.
They drift in the right general direction – he knows that much from past outings – but once they reach the reception, she pushes through a door clearly marked Staff Only and they cut through a small hallway to a second door emptying into the Exhibition Hall proper.
"Down here," she instructs him, heading for an ornate staircase.
It takes him all of thirty seconds to understand where she's brought him: the Anok display. The one that has not yet opened to Jeffersonian VIPs, let alone the public.
"Bones, we're not supposed to be down here yet!"
"You're with me, Booth. It's my find. You're not going to get into trouble. Don't-don't step on that!" she blurts out suddenly, gesturing to the polished copper embedded in the floor.
"Why?" he asks, but quickly moves on. "God, this is just so cool! Wow!"
There's something about Egyptian history that ropes him in. Raiders Of The Lost Ark perhaps, or The Mummy's Curse – Chaney is one of the greats. Directly ahead is the ruby – Anok's Bleeding Heart. It's as big as Parker's head was at birth. Thanks to his partner, the world knows now that his "heart" bled for his innocence.
"So, he wasn't trampled by his brother?" he asks.
"No," she replies happily. "Meti suffered from osteogenesis imperfecta – " She peeks at him through the case of the ruby and he swallows hard, stuffing down his carnal reaction to the eyeful of cleavage he's been given. "Otherwise known as brittle bone disease. Meti's fall from his horse killed him. Anok was innocent. His mother was right."
Justice, Temperance Brennan style. He thinks back to the first murder he'd heard of her solving and is awash in admiration of her.
"So it only took 3000 years for someone to hear her? You know, I'll tell you what: If I was Egypt I'd throw you a party too."
She chuckles, then suddenly freezes, taking a deep breath and pushing it out loudly. "I have to speak. I hate these things."
"What are you talking about, Bones? You're great at these things. Listen, you changed history. How many people can say that?"
"You can. Every arrest you make changes history. You make the world safer."
His heart flutters. "With your help," he insists.
She's stunning; there is no other word for it. It's not just her physical beauty that floors him. Tonight, he's in awe of her heart muscle, of how deeply she cares about each and every set of remains she examines. He trembles slightly, mulling over her words. She believes that he changes history. In him, she sees greatness. For a moment, he almost believes in it, too.
"So Andrew..." He chooses his words carefully, not wishing to tip his hand or offend her. "I thought you were going to take him to this thing. That's what he told me."
"I was, yes, but you and I, this is our case. And I guess … what goes on between us – that should just be ours. Isn't that what you said?"
"Yeah."
Ours. He wants that union. He wants it now. Kiss her, his heart insists. He leans forward ever so slightly, their mouths mere inches apart. He could claim her lips with his own in a fraction of a second, pull her body against his and whisper the truths he's finally come to know. Maybe he is enough for her now. Maybe this is the right moment. She's not backing away. Kiss her!
He's decided: he's going for it. But life has other plans and a burst of noise spins his head towards the ornate staircase, where their coworkers clutch drinks and laugh.
"Come on, you two! The ambassador's about to speak," Angela says.
They retreat, Sweets growling for unknown reasons and the moment is lost. She draws her wings around her frame. Tonight, the butterfly is too shy to take flight with him. She straightens his tie unnecessarily, as if to prolong their solitude here, nestled between two brothers in eternal rest.
"Thanks," he murmurs, his fingers reaching to toy with one large, loose curl.
With a shy smile, she leads him back the way they came – back to reality.
They spill into Founding Fathers at midnight, the lot of them tipsy off the pricey champagne and other high-end goodies at the open bar (Booth's poison: Johnny Walker Gold Label, which goes down far too smooth to be enjoyed in moderation). There's been a battle cry for nachos (Angela) and french fries (Bones), and the late kitchen hours have earned their usual hangout the misfortune of an intoxicated and horny Daisy Wick.
Yeah, that's also playing a role in his alcohol consumption tonight.
"Isn't it past her bedtime, Sweets?" Booth asks pointedly.
"Yes, it is!" Daisy replies coyly, leaning against Sweets.
"I'm going to hurl if you two don't knock it off," Cam cautions them.
The only place large enough to accommodate them all is a long table near the antique jukebox. Most nights, the owners keep it off, leaving satellite radio piped in over the speakers to entertain the masses. However, on weekend nights, they often flip it on for a few hours, allowing customers to go wild (and spend several quarters in the process). Tonight is one such occasion and Booth watches two women struggling to remain upright in their stilettos flipping through the selections, one jingling coins in her hand.
"Ooh, is the jukebox on tonight?" Angela exclaims. "I wanna pick a song!"
She fumbles through her purse, seeking coins with a frustrated look. A tap on her arm from Hodgins brings a smile to her face as he passes her a quarter.
"Thanks, Jack," she purrs.
"No problem, babe." The bug guy flushes, then quickly flags the server near the bar. "Can we get menus? Drinks?"
Booth shakes his head. He still can't wrap his head around their break-up. It's obvious Hodgins is nowhere close to being over Angela, and the way she glances at him when she thinks he's not looking, it's pretty clear she still holds a candle for him, too. Everything happens eventually, he reminds himself, sighing happily as Bones leans up against him. He catches Cam's curious gaze across the table and flashes her a firm look to drop it for now.
Orders are taken and Angela pops up from the table to choose her song. She flips furiously and it's obvious she knows what she wants and simply needs to find it. Hodgins is staring at her and Booth wonders if he's been looking at his partner the same way.
Crap, I hope I'm not that obvious.
"What did you pick, Angela?" Daisy asks.
"You'll see!" she sing-songs, grinning at the approach of their drinks. "Yay, wine!"
Booth rises to his feet, beer in hand. "I'd like to offer another quick toast for my partner, whose dedication to justice spans centuries." Glancing down at her flushed cheeks, he continues. "You give people back their voices, even when it seems all ears have fallen deaf."
"To Brennan," Angela chimes in.
"To Brennan!" the group enthusiastically enchoes, clinking glasses all around.
"You're all very, very kind. Thank you," she says quietly.
"A humble Dr. Brennan? Someone get video of this!" Cam teases.
"Yes!" Angela cheers as the song changes.
"The Boss! Excellent choice," Sweets enthuses.
"Cam sings?" Bones asks, confused.
"Bruce Springsteen, sweetie," Angela explains. "That's his nickname."
"Oh! I know who that is," she replies happily.
"You do?" Booth asks.
"Russ likes him. I don't know his work, but this song's good so far," she explains.
Hodgins leans forward. "You've never heard 'Dancing In The Dark' before now?"
His partner shakes her head. "No. Is it popular?"
The table erupts in chuckles. "Just a little," Booth replies lightly.
Angela is on her feet, dancing around the table and singing with abandon. Booth loves her spirit. She tends to pull the scientists out of their respective shells, something they desperately need. Coyly, she drapes herself over Hodgins' lap and sings a few lines, only to demonstrate her equal-opportunity serenading by doing the same to Cam, then Bones. When she reaches Booth, she winks and curls up in his lap, singing one line very pointedly.
"You can't start a fire without a spark," she stresses, before winking at the group and pointing to Booth. "This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark."
"Woohoo!" Daisy cheers, downing her beer.
"I gotta get a gun," Sweets mumbles.
Angela leans over and whispers in his ear. "Denial's not just a river in Egypt."
"Huh?"
"Hacker? Please."
The artist flits off to her seat as a large platter of nachos is plunked on the table and Booth considers her words carefully. What denial is she talking about? Bones denying him? Angela's been hung up on pairing them off for years – Bones has told him as much over drinks while rather intoxicated, and they often chuckle about it – but is she onto something?
An idea hits him, and he rises to his feet.
"Your song's inspired me, Angela," he announces, pulling a quarter from his back pocket.
"Let's see you top me, G-Man," she goads him.
He strolls over to the jukebox and flips back several pages to the letter P. He scans one page, then half of the next before finding his choice. With a grin and a punch of three keys, he inserts the coin and heads back to the table.
"What did you pick?" Cam asks.
"A song I was reminded of earlier today. Forgot how great it is."
"I know what you mean. The other day, I heard 'Welcome To The Jungle' at the gym and had to raise a fist," Sweets says.
"Lancelot, my rocker!" Daisy coos.
Booth catches his partner's grimace. She hates the pet name her intern likes to throw around. Unprofessional, she gripes. He watches her pop a french fry in her mouth and smiles.
"I am so hungry!" she exclaims.
"That's why we always order Thai to go with our scotch," Booth replies. "You're a hungry drunk."
"I am not inebriated!" she protests loudly, much to the amusement of the bartender across the room.
"Sure, Bones." He glances up as the music changes. "There it is!"
Hodgins grins, recognizing the opening riffs. "Hell yeah!"
"How can it be permissible?
She compromise my principle, yeah, yeah
That kind of love is mythical
She's anything but typical..."
Drunk men cannot be restrained in the face of classic rocking tunes and soon, Booth and Hodgins are singing along with flourishes of air guitar and drums. Sweets bobs his head in time while Angela flashes the horns in approval.
"She's a craze you'd endorse, she's a powerful force
You're obliged to conform when there's no other course
She used to look good to me, but now I find her – "
Hodgins thumps the table, accenting the drums as the two of them grin and shout: "Simply irresistible!"
Booth steals a glance at his partner and finds her beaming, shimmying in her seat to the beat. If only she understood this song is about her, about us. Angela understands, flashing a quick thumbs up his way.
"Her loving is so powerful, huh!
It's simply unavoidable
The trend is irreversible
The woman is invincible."
Hodgins decides turnabout is fair play and serenades Angela with a fork. She giggles while Sweets slips briefly into shrink mode and studies their interaction. Angela's celibacy has her so wound up, Hodgins could likely have his way with her right at the table, audience be damned.
Fuck it. If Hodgins can get away with it, so can I. Directing his attention at Bones, he sings his heart out.
"She's a natural law and she leaves me in awe
She deserves the applause, I surrender because
She used to look good to me, but now I find her – "
Daisy drums the table and the entire group – even his partner – shouts it out: "Simply irresistible!"
Booth steals a fry from the plate, earning a playful swat of the hand. Shrugging, he takes another, laughing as his partner lunges out to bite it.
"Order your own!" she protests.
"Why? You never do!"
"Your french fries taste better," she asserts.
"Oh, is that an empirical observation?" he counters.
"Yes! I've tested it on several occasions where we've both ordered fries."
Cam laughs heartily at this. "Only you could make a scientific defense of food thievery."
"Science is irrefutable," she replies, devouring another fry.
"Cam, you're her boss. Order her to share," Booth pleads, suddenly hungry.
Cam snorts, reaching for her wine. "Seeley, you know damn well I'm her boss in title only."
"You can have some nachos," Daisy offers. "I don't even think the four of us can finish this."
"See that? Your intern is nicer than you, Bones."
"I am a very pleasant and likable person," Daisy chirps as she nudges the platter towards him, much to Angela's amusement.
He's barely managed to snag a cheesy chip when he feels a tap on the shoulder. He turns and Bones is there, feeding him a pair of fries.
"I can be nice too," she murmurs.
"She's unavoidable, I'm backed against the wall
She gives me feelings like I never felt before
I'm breaking promises, she's breaking every law
She used to look good, but now I find her..."
He swallows, his throat suddenly dryer than the deserts of Iraq. "Yes, you can be."
He pops the chip in his mouth after draining his beer, needing an excuse for not talking. He expects if he tries to speak, he'll stumble over every word, throw caution to the wind and drag her out to the nearest cab for a do-over of five years ago.
The banter resumes, chatter of benefactors and their dirty laundry, much to Booth's relief. Another round of drinks arrives in the form of tequila shots. Booth groans, cursing the synchronicity of Hodgins' intended good gesture. Never mind, Booth.
"I don't drink tequila anymore," Bones says.
"Me neither."
"More for me!" Angela crows, knocking back an extra shot. "God, tequila always makes me think of body shots..."
"Oh?" Hodgins is very interested, it seems.
"Angela..."
"Yeah, yeah Sweets. Go home or leave this nun be," Angela replies with a pout.
Hodgins glares at the shrink and he seems to hide behind his girlfriend. Poor guy. At least Booth isn't the only one who can't catch a break tonight. Angela offers her ex the remaining shot and he takes it from her outstretched hand with his mouth, throwing his head back in a hands-free slamming of booze. Angela whistles in approval.
"I love when you do that."
"Look at the time! I've got a teenager at home, hopefully alone, that I ought to get back to, so I must sadly say goodnight," Cam announces.
Third wheel annoyance, Booth realizes. He's been there and it blows. Funny that there's only one actual couple at the table and yet, the dynamic's shifting somehow. He rises to hug her goodbye, ensuring she's grabbing a cab even though he knows she'd never drive after drinking. It's the protective instinct – she calls it his lion heart. Suddenly realizing that, unlike everyone else at the table, they can get laid tonight, Daisy and Sweets hurry off, throwing down an excessive amount of cash to cover their share of the tab.
"I should probably get home too before I strip and dance on the bar," Angela grumbles.
"Now, now, don't go running off yet!" Hodgins teases. "I could hold a stool steady for you."
"You are a cheeky flirt."
"I am merely supporting my friend in her pursuit of artistic outlets, including dancing," Hodgins replies, batting his eyes.
"I support you too," Brennan says.
"Why don't you come dance with me?" Angela suggests with a wink.
"Yeah Bones, go dance! We'll get Coyote Ugly up in here."
"I don't know what that means."
"You probably don't want to," Angela says, standing up slowly. "It has been a blast. Congrats, Bren." She leans over and kisses her friend's cheek. "Goodnight, Booth, Jack."
"Let me walk you to the cab," Hodgins insists, rushing to his feet. "Leave the bill, Booth."
"Hodgins – "
"I'm treating everyone except Daisy and Sweets. Deal with it. They have my card and they'll run through the tab when you leave. Goodnight, guys." He winks as he pockets the cash on the table and follows Angela to the doors with an enormous smile.
And then there were two.
"I'm finding that I feel rather sleepy," his partner murmurs.
"Well, you have had a lot to drink tonight."
"I hate speaking," she mutters, draining her glass of wine. "I also loathe the inanity of most of the Board members."
"Hey, I say you deserve a little drunkenness!" He snags the last lonely chip from the nacho plate and gestures to her remaining fries. "You gonna eat those?"
"No, you are," she says with a smirk. "Taste better when they're not yours, right?"
He pops all three into his mouth at once, chewing slowly and humming to himself as if in deep thought. Swallowing, he replies, "Maybe."
"Definitely."
"C'mon Bones, let's get you home."
With a stifled yawn, she rises to her feet, teetering on her heels. His arm slides around her waist to steady her and they navigate their way outside to the waiting cabs eager for drunken fares. He waves at one to ensure it'll wait and helps her along the sidewalk.
"Heels are so impractical, never mind unhealthy for the feet," she tells him.
Holding open the cab door, he helps her inside. "So why wear them?"
"Because you're tall."
He slides in beside her and gives the driver her address first. She's exhausted. The lack of sleep during the case is finally catching up with her in a boozy haze. Her head comes to rest on his arm and he lifts it out of the way.
"Can I? I just... need to rest my eyes..."
"Of course, Bones."
She rests her head on his knee and he swallows hard. His hand smooths over her hair, one light stroke after another, as he watches the city pass by the window. It's been one hell of a night, but he still doesn't know what to make of her dating Hacker and their interactions tonight. To him, it's felt very couple-like in nature, although he has to admit then that they've been acting very couple-like for years. How does she see it? He's too scared to ask and she's not telling.
It's getting harder each passing day to remain silent, but he has no choice. Temperance Brennan cannot be made to think, feel or do anything on anyone's schedule but her own. To blurt it out would be to risk their partnership if she doesn't reciprocate his love. He can't see her dating another guy and loving him.
Maybe she doesn't see it. You didn't until the coma.
"Mister?"
Booth glances up and finds they've reached their destination. "Oh, sorry. Bones?"
Dead weight. He shakes her arm slightly, but she merely draws her knees closer to her chest. She's out. He tosses cash for the fare at the driver and slips out from beneath her sleeping form. Rounding to her side, he opens the door carefully and scoops her into his arms. She barely shifts at the jostling. It's been a very long time since he's seen her this drunk.
The doorman mercifully spots him and holds the door open. "Good evening, Mr. Booth. I'll get the elevator for you."
"Thanks, Jordan," he replies softly. "Any chance you could get her door, too?"
"Of course."
The doorman rides up with them, holding the elevator open and then slipping ahead of Booth with his spare key to unlock the apartment door. He holds her front door open as well, leaving the keys on the kitchen counter.
"Thanks, Jordan."
"You're very welcome."
The doorman takes care to shut the door quietly behind him and Booth makes his way down the hall to her bedroom. He nudges the door open with his foot and grimaces at the sight of her bed. Clothes are strewn over much of it. She was obviously indecisive about her outfit for the evening. You chose well, he thinks, admiring her dress anew.
On the side nearest to him, he spies a sliver of vacant space and manages to gently maneuver her there. He grabs for her dresses and blouses, tossing them on top of her dresser for the night. She'll make sense of it in the morning. Turning back to her, he's suddenly aware that something is missing – two somethings.
"The shoes."
She must have kicked them off in the cab. He hadn't noticed at all. Damn it. Hopefully, she'll be able to get them back.
Draping a blanket over her, he pauses to admire her soft features. In sleep, she looks younger, free of worry. The pursuit of justice takes a toll on all of them, but in quiet slumber, she is simply Temperance the woman. Unconsciously, his fingers drift to her cheek, tracking her mandible lovingly. Her head leans into his touch and he sighs wistfully, wishing he could hold her until morning.
"Goodnight, Bones," he whispers.
Unable to resist temptation, his lips graze her cheek. She smiles from the ethers of her dreams and his heart sings him out her door.
"Her methods are inscrutable
The proof is irrefutable, ooh
She's so completely kissable
Our lives are indivisible
She's a craze you'd endorse, she's a powerful force
You're obliged to conform when there's no other course
She used to look good to me, but now I find her
Simply irresistible..."
You know the routine: there's a super-cool box at the bottom. Right there, see? It's a magic portal to my skull and it feeds my neurons candy to keep them writing. I'd love to know what you think of this one!
I have two songs in mind, so I also want to know what you want next week: mid-season 2 or mid-season 6? Your wish is my musical command!
"