What I Wish I Could've Said

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Hindsight is always 20/20. Everyone has a single moment that they wish they could have said something better than what they actually did. A completely random series of what-if vignettes.

Ch 31: That Time Booth Offered to Show Her His

Brennan sat at her desk staring at the printed out booklet in her hand. All things considered, she could usually appreciate thoroughness. However, the thoroughness in this particular situation―as demonstrated by Dr. Sweets' written loquaciousness―wasn't something she found herself appreciating in any way, shape, or form at the current moment.

It's tedious, she thought as she stared at the profuse paragraphs that prefaced the space for the written answer she was to give on her opinion as to why her critical thinking style seemed to mesh well with Booth's as opposed to challenging it. I mean, does he really need to go on for over 1000 words to explain what type of response he really wants? Brennan wondered. He stated the question. I'm a fairly intelligent individual who can comprehend the context of the question―even if his wording is somewhat…imprecise. And, the sample answer―it's really not necessary. It's like he's searching for a specific type of answer instead of using this query exercise to gather legitimate scientific data. And, if that's indeed the case―if he's doing this in order to just procure responses that bolster assumptions and conclusions that he's already made instead of letting the data for itself…well, then he'll be unpleasantly surprised with my contribution to his study. Because, I absolutely refuse to participate in such a study just because Sweets thinks he can threaten my partnership with Booth―

At the thought of her partner, Brennan's mind started to wander as it often did when Booth distracted her―whether in person, physically…or mentally, by proxy.

I really shouldn't be worried about Sweets trying to change my relationship with Booth, she thought. It's not like the FBI has any choice in the matter. I simply won't agree to consult on any cases unless Booth's the lead agent involved. And, since they can hardly turn their bureaucratic noses up at the significance of my very specialized services―well, there's nothing to be worried about…there just isn't.

Still, the more Brennan thought about it, the more a slight, and very familiar, knot slowly twisted in her stomach. It's not like there's any real threat here. So, I don't even know why I'm stressing myself out over this…I just need to finish the damn thing and hand it in so that it can be over and done with since that's what Sweets said he wanted. She stopped, paused, and then couldn't help but make a face as she considered what the psychologist had said earlier when he'd given the partners the lengthy booklet. I mean, a P.h.D. at twenty-two? Even if it is in psychology, where did he get it from? The University of Pennsylvania―Department of Advanced Degrees for Sale Online? Seriously…I know people that have been working on their dissertations for longer than Sweets has been alive. Now, they'll probably never finish and actually get their degrees, but that's not the point. I mean, come on, now. 22?

As Brennan's mind continued to drift, and she mentally castigated the psychologist's credentials, she was mildly startled by the sharp knock that came on her open doorframe.

"Hey," Booth nodded at her as he didn't even stop to wait for her to acknowledge his presence―something she'd long ago given up on with regard to trying to train him in that particular bit of office etiquette.

I guess I should be grateful that he doesn't come straight in and plop down in my chair, put his legs up on the desk, and look at me like he's ready to hold court anymore, Brennan chuckled to herself as she recalled the many times he'd actually done that very thing during the first year of their partnership.

As he walked towards her, Booth continued, "Angela called. She wanted me to..." His words abruptly trailed off as he noticed what Brennan was loosely holding in her hands. "Hey, is that the test from Dr. Sweets?" he said with a conspiratorial nod.

Narrowing her eyes, Brennan said, "Yes."

His grin widening, he only stopped when he reached the edge of her desk. For a minute, Brennan thought he might sit on the edge again―another nasty habit she'd always had a hard time getting him to modify when they were in her office.

It's not that I particularly mind it when he does that, a voice echoed in Brennan's head. It's just that he always manages to knock over my stuff. And, if I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times―a skull on my desk is not the same as a football that may be on his. No matter how many times I've explained, I have no desire to roll his football around and so he shouldn't want to juggle my skull.

Brennan stopped, not knowing why something seemed off in what she'd just said, but for some reason, she couldn't help but feel as if she'd had an unintentionally lewd thought. Roll his football? No, that's not it. What in the hell is it? If you don't roll it, then…well, you can't rub it. And you can't stroke it. I mean, you could, but what would be the point of rubbing or stroking a football? Damn it! What in the hell is the right term? She stopped and then from somewhere, it came to her. Toss! I don't want to toss his football, and so he shouldn't want to knock my bones around. He just shouldn't. Be he always has―he always does.

In a rather smooth movement, Booth arched forward on his tiptoes as he leaned forward and tried to see what page of the booklet she was on. "Well, what'd you put for number seven?" he asked her. He stopped and then waggled his eyebrows as he added, "Because I put 12 to 15 times a day, and now I'm thinking I really misunderstood the question."

Pulling the booklet closer to her chest, Brennan responded instantly, "We're not supposed to discuss our answers."

Immediately, as soon as she'd said it, Brennan knew what his response would be―either he'd try to charm her or he'd sulk. Or, perhaps both, in that order, if the first one doesn't work, Brennan mentally added.

"Come on, Bones," Booth cajoled her. "The teacher's not in the room. Let me see."

Sighing, she shook her head slightly as she said, "Is this how you got through school, Booth?"

"No," he said quickly, before he amended his statement with a sheepish smile. "Well, maybe algebra, but..."

"No―" Brennan said. "I'm not showing you mine."

"Oh, come on, Bones," he again prodded her. "If you show yours, I show you mine." He stopped again and waggled his eyebrows. "It's pretty good, ya know."

"Your test answers or something else?" Brennan asked without thinking as she looked down at her test booklet to make certain it was strategically close enough to her body that Booth couldn't make a successful grab for it. Distracted as she was, Brennan didn't realize that she'd said the words out loud until several seconds after she'd actually spoken. Immediately, her eyes snapped up to meet Booth's. The surprise was evident on her face as she flushed slightly, realizing that her statement could be taken to have a double meaning that she hadn't necessarily intended. At least…I don't think I did, right?

Amusement clearly show out of Booth's eyes as he smoothly did what Brennan had thought he'd do earlier and slid onto the edge of her desk, angling his body so that it was just at the edge of invading her personal space, but not quite after he realized what she'd said.

"I dunno, Bones," he grinned at her. "You tell me."

Okay, she said. With the day I've had, let's just see how far he wants to push this little teasing thing of ours. It's not like my mind wasn't that far from the proverbial gutter, apparently, anyway.

"I think if you meant your test answers, you wouldn't be invading my personal space like you are," Brennan nodded at him.

"Oh," Booth said, looking at his position as if he'd just noticed it. "Huh. How about that? You know, I can be absentminded at times, Bones. Maybe I just didn't notice where I was."

"And, maybe you did," she countered. "Now, the real question is…what did you think you were being asked when you wrote down the answer for number seven?"

Raising an eyebrow at her, his grin widened. "Wouldn't you just like to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," she said, suddenly feel her cheeks burn a bit at her audaciousness. I'm flirting. I'm flirting with Booth. I'm flirting with my partner…who is Booth. When and how in the hell did this happen? I'm flirting with Booth…and I'm really liking it.

"Huh," he nodded, clearly taking in the sight of her flaring nostrils, dilated pupils, and the lovely pink tinge that had colored her cheeks. I don't know what's gotten into you, Bones, but I think I like it. "So, you really want to know, then, huh, Bones?"

"Yes," she said, leaning forward a bit in her chair as, this time, she was the one who now began to invade Booth's space.

"What do you think it is?" as she leaned forward, Booth suddenly caught a whiff of her scent, and the smell of the vanilla and cinnamon body splash, combined with the apple-scented shampoo she always used, made her smell better than anything he could think of at the moment. It's like the smell of warm apple pie…only better.

"I think…I think that it has to do with the number of times that you think about me during the day," she said, her voice tentative as she tilted her head and sought out his gaze. "Am I right? Is that close to what you thought the question was asking you?"

His throat suddenly very dry, Booth swallowed once as he wondered how to answer. It was as if, without either one of them realizing it, the light teasing had quickly transitioned into sexy flirting…and in the space of a heartbeat, now it was potentially something much, much more.

"Honestly?" he found himself speaking without thinking about the words that were coming out of his mouth as he said them. "In part. But, you forgot one crucial little bit there, Bones."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I thought I was answering how many times I thought about you in a, uhh, ya know…personal/non-work kinda way."

"Personal/non-work kinda way?" Brennan chuckled. As she held his gaze, she then asked, "Does that include in a sexual way, Booth?"

Again, Booth realized how dry his throat was. "Uhhh, maybe?" he finally offered in a very lame way that caused Brennan to arch an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe?" she repeated.

"Definitely," he said, again as if he'd been given a shot of sodium pentathol. "I definitely think of you…like that…a lot."

"Oh?" she said as she smiled at his response, leaning in and placing her hands lightly on his thighs. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he nodded, now finding it was his turn to flush in embarrassment. "Like I answered…12-15 times a day."

"You think about me 12 to 15 times per day in a sexual manner?" she laughed as she closed the distance between them. "Is that all?"

"What do you mean is that all?" Booth asked, taking mild offense at her question.

However, never one to let Booth get too far off track, just as she closed the distance between their faces so that their lips were mere centimeters apart, Brennan said softly, "Because I think about you in a sexual way at least two dozen times or more each day."

As Booth considered the meaning of her words, his nervousness vanished, and his earlier suave cockiness reasserted itself. "It was just a guesstimate, Bones. Usually it's more…a lot more, if you catch my drift."

And, as Brennan now took her turn to consider the meaning of Booth's words, she was about to tell him that she was pleased that it was just an estimate. However, she never got the chance to speak when she suddenly felt all rational thoughts of estimates and essay tests and everything but Booth fall right out of her metaphorical head as she finally realized that his eager lips were once more on hers.

Awesome, they finally both thought. Thanks, Sweets. Because this is totally, epically…awesome.

-TBC-