(Death in the Saddle)

A/N: This chapter is rated T for language.

I don't own Bones.

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A blaring horn outside his bedroom window woke him from a sensual dream. Reluctantly he had opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The dream slowing fading from his mind, Booth sat up horrified when he realized what his sexy dream had been about. "No . . . No way . . . No, no, no, no." He was so embarrassed he felt his face burning with shame.

Flipping the covers from his legs, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the mirror across the room. "I am not some fucking pervert. No way. That dream . . . that dream is wrong. I don't do things like that. Not me. No way." Mortified, he stood up forgetting to flex his toes and feet first. The pain lanced through his feet and up his legs reminding him that jumping out of bed was a stupid thing to do. Hobbling over to the dresser, he pulled the drawer open and removed a t-shirt and boxers preparing to take a shower.

As he approached the bathroom, his phone rang. Continuing to hobble, he moved back to his dresser and grabbed his phone. "What?"

Did I wake you?

"No, I'm up." Booth leaned on the dresser flexing his feet. "I'm getting ready to take a shower."

Are we still meeting at the Diner for breakfast?

"Um, no." Booth crushed his t-shirt and boxers in his hand, trying to sound normal. "Bones, I have something I have to do before I go to work. I should have told you last night."

Alright. I'll see you when I see you.

"Yeah. Maybe we'll get a case." He ended the call and hoped that he'd sounded normal. The last image of his dream intruding upon his thoughts made him shudder. "Fuck!"

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He sat in his office and stared at the reports in front of him and tried not to think about his dream, but it kept intruding into his thoughts. Worried, he grabbed his phone and made a call. "Hey Gordon Gordon . . . I . . . um . . . do you have time to see me? I need to talk to you."

Of course. I need to talk to you anyway so your call is fortuitous.

"Great, I'm on my way." Booth stood up, grabbed his jacket and slipped it on. A little nervous, he left his office and hurried over to the stairwell, too impatient to wait for the elevator to appear. Once he found Dr. Wyatt's office, he rapped his knuckles on the door and entered the room. "Thanks for seeing me."

Curious, Gordon noticed the state of agitation his younger friend was in and wondered what had set him off. "Not at all. I was planning to see you this afternoon anyway . . . May I ask why you need to see me?"

Sitting on the couch facing Gordon's chair, Booth pulled his lighter from his jacket pocket and started to flip the lid open and closed. "Um, well . . . well, I'm working on a case right now and um. . . I've had to deal with a bunch of perverts . . . me and Bones have had to deal with a bunch of perverts and um . . . well, um . . . I had this dream last night and um . . . and I don't dream about shit like that, I just don't, but last night . . . um . . ."

"Why do you think the people you've been dealing with are a bunch of perverts?" Gordon was fascinated. He hadn't expected this kind of drama and he found it to be utterly fascinating.

"Well, the murder victim was into pony playing." Booth felt uncomfortable, but who else could he talk to? "I don't mean the guy gambled on horses . . . He um . . . liked to pretend he was a horse and his jockey was a woman who um . . . groomed him and um . . . rode him . . . that's not normal. Pretending to be a horse I mean."

This was getting better and better. "I see. And the dream you had?" Gordon was certain he knew where this was going, but he didn't want to assume anything. Who knew what was in the mind of Seeley Booth?"

His cheeks were red and Booth could feel the heat intensifying. "I dreamt . . . In my dream . . ." He couldn't do it. Standing, Booth shook his head. "Nope, I'm sorry I bothered you."

Before he could get to the door, Gordon stopped him. "You had a dream where you were a pony?"

His hand on the doorknob, Booth closed his eyes and nodded his head. "Yeah." The thought of going to confession was now making him cringe. What would his priest think of him? Would he call him out for being a pervert? Did he have to tell Father Hebert? It was just a dream and he didn't actually do anything.

"Agent Booth!" He has said the man's name twice. Obviously he was deep in thought. "Please come back and sit down. I really would like to talk to you about this."

"I bet you would." Booth mulled over what he should do for a few seconds, released the doorknob and walked back to the couch. "I'm not a pervert."

He knew that he needed to be very careful how he handled the agent. "No one has said that you are . . . please sit down."

Reluctantly, Booth took a seat and glared at the psychiatrist. "I don't have control over my dreams. I mean who does? It's not my fault I saw all of these perverts prancing around half naked pretending to be horses and my mind just . . . um inserted that into my dreams. I don't want to be a pony. I'm a man and that kind of shit is just an excuse for poor sex. Really bad sex."

The Agent was a religious man and Gordon knew that his dream had scared him. He didn't know how to handle it and he was asking for help. "You're right. We don't have control over our dreams. They're influenced by the things we see, the things we experience, by movies and television shows. There are many ways to influence our dreams and just because we dream about strange things that we would never do in real like doesn't mean you have anything to worry about. Dreams aren't real. They're just a way for our minds to play while we're asleep. You can't turn off your mind. It's on even when you're asleep. This dream you had may be a little embarrassing, but it has nothing to do with reality. You have to know that."

Calmer, Booth thought about what Gordon had said and he finally nodded his head. "I guess I do know that . . . It's just that it was so real and when I woke up, I could see her . . . um, I was shocked that's all and it worried me."

"Yes, I imagine it was shocking for a man like you." Gordon could see that he agent was calmer. "Would you like to discuss your dream further?"

"Um, no." Booth shuddered. "No I would not . . . You said that you were going to see me today. What about?"

Gordon sat back against his chair and spoke clearly. He didn't want Booth to misunderstand. "I'm being transferred to London. I'm probably going to be there for at least a year if not longer. It's something that I've wanted for a while. I'm from England as you well know and I'd like to go back for a while and see family and friends. By working in England, I can spend more time with my parents. They're elderly and I don't want to neglect seeing them until it's too late. The FBI has hired someone to replace me here. A psychologist. I'm sure he will be able to help you whenever you need it."

Stunned, Booth couldn't believe that this was happening. "I can see why you want to go home. My grandfather is getting old and I see him as much as I can . . . Will you be back in a year?"

Surprised the agent was taking his news so calmly, Gordon nodded his head. "I think so."

With nothing else to say, Booth stood up, stepped closer to the psychiatrist and held out his hand. Shaking Gordon's proffered hand, Booth nodded his head. "I don't think I'll need to see anyone else while you're gone."

Gordon knew for a fact that Booth and his partner were going to be asked to see the new psychologist because Booth had arrested Brennan's father, but he wasn't about to mention it. Let someone else have their heads bitten off. An angry Booth was to be avoided if possible. "It was a pleasure knowing you Agent Booth. You're a very interesting fellow."

"Thanks." Booth chose to take that comment as a compliment. "You too."

Once Booth had left the office, Gordon sat back down and stared at the closed door. "It would have been lovely if he'd actually shared his dream with me. Perhaps his lovely partner riding him dressed as a cowgirl? Yes, I think that is what the agent was so upset about. A little bit too close to home."

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