A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed - you're very encouraging!

Chapter 4

Bones lost the argument about who was going to drive. She tried every time, but it was a war she wasn't going to win. Booth knew that the moment she took hold of the wheel he would have to spend the next three days going through paperwork to stop her from losing her licence through the mass of speeding tickets she would have accrued. He ignored the comments that fell from her lips, changing them inside his head to compliments instead, and merely replying with thank yous. It was going to be a long ride.

The scenery had changed from the city to suburban streets, littered with green trees and flower beds. Brennan had quietened down, her attention focusing on the passing panorama and Booth enjoyed managing to grab sneaky glances at her. He had liked waking in the same building as her, and her being the first thing he saw, he had liked the way her hair had been unkempt and ruffled and she had made no effort to appear anything but natural. Tessa and the other women he had dated had practically set their alarm clocks to be able to put make up on before he had seen them, something he hadn't found the slightest bit attractive. Brennan wasn't like that, she didn't care what people thought of how she looked, most of the time.

They passed the drive with general chat, steering the subjects away from the case. Booth knew by now that there was no point in theorising about it, Brennan would only deal in facts. He filled her in with what he knew so far about Lammork, which to be honest, wasn't much at the moment, just that he was in his fifties, unmarried, with no children or dependants and had left number thirty four thirty three years ago when the house was condemned. It put him as a prime candidate for what had gone on in there, although as other people had also been living in the place at the time Booth knew that they couldn't just go storming into his current address accusing him of murder.

"So who's Angela's new friend?" He asked Brennan, hoping to lighten the conversation.

"He's a guy who works at the Jeffersonian in the legal department. She's only been on a couple of dates with him so far," Brennan answered without really thinking about it.

"You think it has more of a chance of it working with him already knowing what she does?" He kept his eyes on the road.

Brennan was silent. He wasn't sure whether she was thinking about his question or had switched over to something else.

"All of the bodies we recovered had a small bones missing," obviously she had been thinking about something else. "Could it be possible that they are being collected for some purpose?"

"Was it the same bone in each case?" He asked, noticing a diversion ahead.

"No, either one of the metatarsals or phalanges, or in one case it was the malleus and incus," she looked to him. Out of the corner of his eye he took the sight of her in and wondered what it would be like if they could ever have a conversation that wasn't shadowed by whatever case they were working on.

"Was this the same with the older bodies?" He queried.

"Yes. They all had a small bone missing and all seemed to have been murdered by the same weapon. But it couldn't possibly be the same person. The murders are eighty years apart," she summed up.

"Hopefully our little to trip to visit one of the last residents of number thirty four should prove enlightening," he turned and smiled at Brennan briefly. "So what would you have been doing today if these bodies hadn't have turned up?"

"Thereis acollection of bones have been sent over to me from the British Museum that they suspect belonged to a 'bog man' found in the north of England. I'm carrying out some investigations on them and will hopefully discover some facts about his life," she replied dryly.

"So when would you have had fun?" Booth asked with amusement ringing in his voice.

"I enjoy my work and consider it to be fun," she replied, not realising he was bating her.

He shook his head. "What? I'm not allowed to love my job? It's ridiculous that society today does…" He decided to interrupt rapidly having heard this line before.

"I did not say that it was wrong to enjoy work, although considering what you actually do some people would argue that, just that you should be doing other things, like going to the movies, eating out, going on dates," he glanced at her face for her expression.

"I do do those things," she responded. "Just not recently."

"When's the last time you had a date?"

She shrugged. "A while ago."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" She retorted.

"Why was it a while ago? You're an attractive, intelligent woman, from what I've seen men find you desirable – why's it been so long since you've had a date?" His voice became animated as he asked the question.

"I've been busy," she answered.

"What with?"

"Work."

"My point exactly," he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel just enough to hurt.

"When was the last time you had a date?" She spun toward him, her eyes flaring.

"That doesn't count. I'm getting over a break up," he gritted his teeth. He knew why he hadn't been on a date since splitting with Tessa, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the red head sat next to him. Nothing.

"Oh, come on Booth, you're an attractive man, you have women dropping like flies around you. I'm sure that Ange would be happy to set you up with one of her friends," she raised her eyebrows.

Booth shook his head.

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Dean Lammock lived in a small, white painted house with a tidily kept garden, just about visible in the soft light of the full moon that hung over head in the sky. Brennan automatically began to look round, eyes everywhere, looking for any indications that might prove that Mr Lammock had been up to something unusual. She followed Booth up to the front door and watched as he banged heavily on it. It was now almost nine thirty and it felt a little too late in this quiet neighbourhood to be banging on people's doors wanting to interrogate them about bodies that had been found in a place where they used to live. However, Brennan wasn't particularly bothered about the polite rules of society. She was hungry, a little cold and half annoyed at being taken away from her lab, and she knew that she would have the British Museum on the phone any day now demanding to know how far she had progressed with the bog man bones.

A small figure of a man opened to door and looked suspiciously at them. Booth automatically introduced himself and flashed his badge at the person who Brennan assumed was Mr Lammock, and then introduced her. She didn't bother smiling at him, he hadn't done anything to make her smile so why should she?

"Are you Dean Lammock?" Booth asked as the man let them enter the house.

He shook his head. "I'm Davey Hennings, Dean's cousin. Dean died last year and left this place to me, which was good as if he hadn't I wouldn't have had a place to live."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Hennings," Booth replied pleasantly.

"Oh, don't be! He was a waste of space, even when he was a boy. Couldn't even die properly. Went outside one morning to get the milk and never came back. Found his body by the river. He'd just dropped dead," Hennings took a bottle of dark rum from a shelf and a small glass, pouring the drink until it filled the container.

"We were wanting to ask your cousin some questions…" Booth began.

"Well, you can't now, he's dead, isn't he." The man chuckled, showing a lack of teeth at the front of his mouth.

"Maybe you could help us instead," Brennan interjected, a little annoyed at Hennings. Her patience was already wearing thin.

"What's a pretty young thing like you doing coming asking questions with a man from the feebs? You should be at home in bed," she felt her skin crawl as she gathered what picture Hennings now had in his mind.

"Actually Dr Brennan is a forensic anthropologist who assists the FBI in certain cases. We are currently looking into a number of bodies that have recovered from number thirty four Moreton Street, where I believe your cousin used to live," she heard the note of annoyance in Booth's tone and realised that he had noted the image that Hennings had conjured up in his brain.

Hennings laughed, refilling his glass. "Never went there. Dean lived there with his great uncle, a man called William McKenzie. He weren't related to me and I had nothing to do with him. He was Dean's mom's uncle. Dean's mom left him when he was six and Uncle Will took him in. There were always a lot of other people in that house, it were a bit odd with people coming and going. For a couple of years Dean and Will lived somewhere else, I think it were in Bicester, and then went back to Moreton Street after."

"How long ago did they live in Bicester?" Booth asked.

"It would have been about forty years ago. Dean would have been fifteen or sixteen. They stayed there for two years and then went back. Uncle Will died just after that." Hennings downed the contents of his glass and stood up. "It's unreasonable folk like you showing up at time like this. Leave me be! If you come back tomorrow I might have more to tell you!" He grabbed a walking stick from next to his chair and began to wave it at them. Brennan could see Booth was trying not to laugh.

They left, ascertaining that they would be returning in the morning. Hennings had leaned into Booth and muttered something in his ear. Brennan had doubted that she actually wanted to know what it was.

"I think we passed a motel a few miles back down the road," Booth said as he unlocked his car. "I know it's not up to your usual standards, but I don't think we have much choice. This place is like the back of beyond!"

Brennan nodded. "I could do with something to eat."

"That might just be what we can get from a seven-eleven. I doubt there's a take out or restaurant still open," Booth answered, putting his foot down.

It was a matter of minutes before they had arrived at the rather dingy looking motel. Grabbing her bag from the boot Brennan led the way into the place, noticing the rather run down furniture and the clock that had stopped ticking behind the table that posed as reception. A young girl with very little make up on stood behind the table, smiling warmly at them as they approached.

"You require a room?" She said brightly, contrasting with the darkness of the under lit room.

"Two, actually," Brennan replied.

"What, we're not going to share?" She heard Booth breathe into her ear. The thought had crossed her mind. She hadn't had a date in ages, or contact with any man other than in a professional capacity. However, sharing a room, or anything else, with Booth would surely just open a can of worms.

The girl handed over two sets of keys and smiled shyly at them. "I'm sorry if you wanted more. We do hope to modernise the place soon," she told them before offering directions to their rooms.

Their rooms were next to each other and both offered furniture that looked as if it needed taking to the nearest tip. They were, however, clean, looking as if someone had tried to make up for the lack of modernity by scrubbing for all they were worth.

Booth popped his head into her room. "I see you're about as well off as I am. I'm just going to get a quick shower then how about we take a drive and find somewhere that serves food?"

Brennan nodded. "I need a shower as well. After spending half an hour in that house I feel like I'll never be clean again." She waited for him to leave and stripped, switching the shower on and waiting for it to warm up. Five minutes later and the water was still like it had just run out of the nearest reservoir. She turned it off in disgust, throwing a towel around her and grabbing clean clothes. Surely Booth would have finished showering by now and she could jump in his shower.

She banged on his door, hoping that no one would pass and wonder what was going on. After banging again, slightly harder this time, the door opened and Booth stood there, an off white towel tied round his waist and drops of water falling from his hair down his torso.

"Bones?" He said, scratching his head.

"My shower's running cold, how's yours?" She asked, wondering why he was making her stand outside his room. "Can I come in?"

He nodded and let her enter. "My shower's warm – it's not powerful but it does the job. Feel free," he gestured to the small room that passed as a bathroom. Brennan wondered why he hadn't cracked any jokes yet about her turning up with just a towel round her, and was puzzled about his shyness. He had now wandered to the far end of the room and had pulled a t-shirt on over his chest, not bothering to complete drying himself. She shrugged and went into the bathroom, her head filled with images of Booth's naked torso.

The shower was as he said; warm but with as much power as an almost dried up waterfall. She managed to wash herself down, enjoying the feeling of being clean and quickly rinsed her hair. She dried herself speedily, wrapping a towel around her head to sponge off the water from her hair, and pulled on the jeans and a smart but casual top she had brought from her room.

Booth was sat on the slim single bed, fully dressed much to Brennan's half disappointment. He was reading a book by an author she didn't recognise.

"Good read?" She asked as he became aware of her presence.

"Not bad," she glanced at the cover, The Beach by Alex Garland. "It was made into a film a few years ago."

"I didn't see it," she informed him.

"I didn't think you would have. It's easy reading," he flashed his pearly white teeth at her. "Let's go find somewhere to eat."

Brennan found him oddly awkward as they drove out of the small town on their mission to find somewhere to eat. He said very little and seemed preoccupied with something he didn't want to discuss. She wondered if he had found her turning up at his door wearing a towel unnerving but couldn't see why. If anything she would have expected him to have made more jokes about it, not have this strange silence.

"You okay, Booth?" She asked as they spotted lights on a building in the distance.

"I'm fine," he replied. "This looks promising," he added as they came to what looked like a diner. He pulled up in what was meant for the car park.

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Brennan had thrown him by coming to his room with just a towel wrapped round her. He was a red blooded male, of course it was going to make his imagination wander. He wondered what she thought of his reaction, and whether she had noticed his quietness.

Her hair was still damp from the shower and her cheeks a little flushed from the heat. She was bare faced and dressed simply, but for him that made her stand out all the more. They were escorted to a window table in the far corner of the diner and issued with menus. The waitress, a scrawny teenager with the name tag 'Brenda' pinned to her chest took their orders for drinks and left them to it. Obviously they were not going to be overwhelmed with spectacular service this evening.

"What do you think the old man knows?" Brennan asked him as he studied the menu.

"More than he's letting on. He's certainly not the most normal of guys," He replied, not averting his eyes from the list of steak variations.

"We've got very little in the way of evidence. There's no point in checking the floorboards for finger prints, and there's no other effects there to give us a clue who's been inside the building. I am certain that the women were killed elsewhere and then transported back to the house once their bodies had decomposed," she explained. "Hodgins' findings support that and I would think that you ought to be looking for places associated with McKenzie and Lammock that might contain fusarium oxysporum, such as an allotment."

Booth looked up at her. "I already have someone looking into that," he snapped back.

"What is the matter with you?" She demanded. Booth felt guilty for his tone. "I'm sorry that my shower wasn't working so I came to you and I apologise if I offended you by turning up in a towel, but there's no need to be so off hand with me!"

Booth sighed and lent back slightly in his chair. He'd blown it now. "I wasn't offended by you turning up in a towel, Bones; you're hardly an unpleasant sight. You just caught me a little off guard."

"What do you mean, off-guard?" She demanded.

"I hadn't prepared myself for you turning up like that and the effect it might have on me," he explained truthfully. She might be an expert scientist but when it came to everyday feelings she only fell a little short of being dense.

To his surprise she blushed and returned her eyes to the menu. He wondered where these things might eventually end up. He suspected that the attraction he had for her wasn't one sided, Angela had already made enough blatant comments to make that clear, but it was obvious that neither of them knew quite how to deal with it. They were partners, good ones, who got results, so it was a little worrying to be having these feelings when they could do so much damage to the team that they had built.

"How did you like me without my shirt?" He plucked up the courage to ask as Brenda brought over their drinks.

Brennan looked up at him, that smile playing on her lips. "You have very well defined pectorals." He grinned at her impersonal response. At least she had noticed. He caught her eyes and found that he couldn't look away. The diner was not having a busy night, but any noise that was there fell away. The look began to feel a little awkward until he realised that they were both smiling, almost laughing, at each other. His eyes returned to the pepper shaker he had been playing with.

"You going to use my shower again in the morning?" He asked her, his heartbeat racing at the idea.

"If it's not going to distract you too much," she said. He wondered if she was trying to be flirty.

If you've read it, please review it and let me know what you think and if you want me to continue.