Author's Notes: To say I'm surprised by the response to this thing would be an understatement. I wrote it for fun. I'm glad it reads that way. But I don't know how I'm going to finish the story because I never thought beyond the first chapter to begin with. Thanks for all the lovely feedback. Very much appreciated. I have to say though... it's tough to sustain lighthearted banter. Nobody talks like that all the time, not even Brennan and Booth. Plus you have to wonder -- how many different ways can Maggie say Booth is sexy?
Talking About Booth
Chapter 3
"I need a warning system," Booth said. We were in the upstairs lounge filling out the latest batch of paperwork. Food containers lay scattered around the table. He picked up one and examined its contents with a pair of chopsticks. "Something to let me know when she's near."
"Who, Maggie?" I signed the last page of the report. "You're not afraid of her, are you, Booth?"
"Afraid?" He stabbed at some unseen morsel and came up with nothing more than a piece of mushroom. "That woman shouldn't be allowed out unsupervised."
"You're threatened by her alpha tendencies."
"What?" He frowned. "No. No, that's not it."
"You're an alpha male," I said as I started in on the evidence form. "Visually, Maggie is female but behaviorally, she presents as an alpha male. The two contradict one another which creates a sense of dissonance."
"Bones." He stabbed the air with his chopsticks. "Now see, Bones, that's the sort of thing you need to stop doing."
"What sort of thing?"
"That thing you do." He dropped the container to the table. The chopsticks rattled as they followed. "I'm not a specimen up for study."
I stared at him as I tried to make the connections.
He took my shrimp. "Stop using anthropology talk."
"But that's what I am," I said. "An anthropologist."
He leaned over the table, his weight on one hand and pointed a prawn at me. His t-shirt shifted as he did so; I couldn't recognize the logo. "See? That's what I mean," he said. "Sometimes I think you do it on purpose."
"Do what on purpose?" I was still trying to define what he had meant by thing.
He made a sound remarkably like a growl as he dropped back in his chair and glared at me.
"Good lord, Booth," came Maggie's voice. "That's what I've been talking about. You do sexy so well. Oprah would love it." She stood at the railing and beamed at us. "The only question left is whether he should wear a suit or dress casual." Her gaze swept across his torso and lingered on his arms. "Right now, I'm voting casual."
"How'd you get in here?" Booth did not sound happy. After an array of incidents last year, he had become almost obsessive about security. "The doors are locked and it's after hours."
Her perfume wafted in with her. "Honey, if I can't talk my way past a few guards, I'm not worth my salt as a publicist." Another once over. "Oprah will most definitely love you."
Abruptly, defensively, he folded his arms against his chest. "What part of no don't you get?"
She tilted her head to one side considering. "The no part." Her regard of him did not waver. "Oh, that's good," she said suddenly. "Now you're glowering."
"That's it." The chair scrapped back as Booth got to his feet. "I'm going downstairs to talk to security. They shouldn't have let her in without a proper pass."
"Booth, honey." She latched one hand onto his arm as he tried to walk past, then tightened her grip with obvious appreciation. "Temp, honey. Have you felt these?"
Without a word, Booth extricated himself from her grasp and left the lounge.
She watched him go. "I would partner with him any day."
"Objectification is wrong regardless of gender," I said.
"I can dream, can't I?" She joined me at the table. "Don't you?"
"Don't I what?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't use that delay tactic on me, Temp. I taught you that."
"I'm not delaying." I was running out of patience. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much," she murmured.
"How can I protest about something when I don't know what we're talking about?" I started gathering the cardboard remnants of our dinner.
"Temp, this is me you're talking to. You can't tell me you haven't noticed how the man looks?"
"For a publicist, you sound remarkably like a matchmaker," I said. "In certain societies, matchmakers serve a valuable function and work from numerous variables of compatibility."
"Good lord, Temperance," Maggie said. "Give the anthropological mumbo jumbo a rest and speak English. Have you or have you not noticed that Booth's one sexy man?"
"The connotation of sexiness depends on individual perspective." I dodged her question with an ease that came from practice.
"Okay, okay," she said. "We'll play it your way. But it doesn't change the fact that he positively simmers when he's around you."
"Maggie."
"Fine. He's your partner and friend. Got it." She gave me a sideways glance. "But denial's not just a river in Egypt, you know."
"Maggie, writing's not my only job."
"Yes, yes, yes. You solve crimes too." She pulled an envelope from her purse and laid it on the table. "I could've couriered it over, but why waste the opportunity?"
"What is it?"
"Tickets," she said with satisfaction. "Two to be precise. Plane tickets to New York, hotel reservations, meals. All paid."
"For?"
"We'll start easy. McLean is a good interviewer. With commercials, ten minutes of talking tops. You've been already and I know you liked him. He certainly likes you. He'd treat Booth right."
"No, Maggie."
"Booth was the one who talked you into going in the first place, remember?"
"I said no." Her badgering had gone far enough. "No interview for Booth. I'll go solo or not at all."
"It's already paid for."
"He's not doing the interview."
She shook her head. "Temp, honey. You're not getting it. Everything's paid for. The plane tickets are in your names. I've done everything I can to convince you and him that you should do an interview together. I think it would be dynamite for your book sales and for your rep. But if not, are you really going to let the extra ticket go to waste?"
I was still pondering the question when Booth returned.