Author's Notes: Not exactly lighthearted banter, but it's what came out of the keyboard and that's how I write these things.

Talking About Booth
Chapter 4

I didn't know when our morning meetings had become routine, but the Royal Diner felt like home. Outside the window, the traffic was beginning to build up into its usual snarl, a sentiment echoed inside by Booth.

"What's wrong with this picture?" He held his open cell phone towards me. I had to lean over my plate to get a good view of the photo.

His son was standing on a field framed by blue sky. "I don't see anything," I ventured finally. "But he has your phenotype."

He frowned.

"He looks like you," I explained.

"So why did he join a soccer team?" He stared at the tiny screen.

"I don't see what link there is between his appearance and his choice of activity."

"Football." He closed the phone with a practiced flick of his hand. "He should be playing football. Who plays soccer?"

"Your son, evidently." I decided to stick to the facts at hand. "Soccer is a well-respected sport worldwide. The most popular in terms of viewing audience and participation."

"Not here, Bones. That's what counts."

"That's a completely ethnocentric perspective."

He slid his cup towards the waitress for a refill. "I bet I have more stamps in my passport than you do."

"Where to?" My curiosity took over before I could think.

His cup paused on its way to his mouth. "Do you really want to know?"

I sprinkled more pepper on my eggs and the moment passed.

"He doesn't have the body of a soccer player." Equamity recovered, Booth resumed his attack of his breakfast.

"He's four," I couldn't help pointing out.

"I looked like him at his age and look how I turned out."

I gave him a clinical once over. "I think some of your physique is due to the workouts you do. Broad shoulders, yes, but helped along by your time in the weight room."

His dark humor seemed to ease somewhat. "Impresses Maggie. Anything else?"

"I've seen you run, Booth. If Parker's anything like you, he'll cover the soccer field without any problem." I studied his torso. "You don't have a body builder's frame and I doubt your son will either."

"Which means he can play football. I don't know what Rebecca's thinking. Maybe it's her boyfriend's idea."

I stifled a sigh. Being a weekend father was taking its toll on Booth. Monday mornings were never a happy affair. "Take off your jacket and hold out your arms," I instructed.

His gaze never left my face as he complied.

I reached out and ran my hands lightly over his shirt sleeves.

"And the verdict is?" His fingers gently cupped my arms as I considered the state of his muscles. Warmth radiated through the fabric.

"You have a high muscle to bone ratio," I said before my sense of scientific inquiry faltered. I released him and drew back. "Typical of athletes. Your son could probably play both sports comfortably. His muscle definition, however, will depend on the training regimen he embarks on." I returned my attention to my meal.

"Football," he insisted as he mirrored my actions. "There's no future in soccer." His pancakes disappeared in record time.

"Maybe when his bone growth has stabilized," I suggested. "Soccer is excellent for cardiophysical development and muscular coordination."

A knock on the window startled us both.

"God," muttered Booth as Maggie fluttered a hand in greeting. "Maybe a GPS locator. What is she, a bloodhound?" I heard the door open behind me.

"Temp," Maggie's voice called out. She swept into the chair beside Booth.

"Maggie," he said as he worked his coffee.

"Booth," she acknowledged. "Nice belt buckle. Very big."

He shifted around in his chair to make eye contact. "You finished?"

She gave him a slow smile and leaned in. Sniffed delicately. "Booth. Honey." She pulled back. "You smell positively divine. Love the cologne."

I drew a sharp breath as he kicked my shin.

"Temp, honey, what's wrong?" Maggie reached across the table. "You okay?"

"What are you doing here?" The pain was subsiding.

"Oh, that." She waved a hand in a vague gesture. "Hodgins told me you'd be here."

"He's a valuable member of my team," I emphasized, immediately sensing the danger. "I couldn't do without him."

"Oh, I don't know, Bones." Booth drained the last of his coffee and set the cup back on the saucer. "He's not the only bug and slime man in town."

"Don't be angry at Jack," said Maggie. "I had to be sure Temp told you."

"Told me what?" He watched her like a hawk.

"About the tickets to New York. Temp, honey, you did tell him?" Her sigh was dramatic. "Of course you didn't." She gestured our waitress over. "I booked an interview with McLean for the two of you. Gave Temp the tickets and everything. All paid for." She glanced up. "Decaf coffee, dear." Beside her, Booth indicated he was ready for the bill.

"You leaving already?" Maggie placed a hand on Booth's arm as he stood.

He lifted her wrist and dropped it away from him. I saw her wince. "Maggie," he said quietly. "You're a good publicist. Bones has aced every interview since you came along."

"Booth, honey..." He stopped her with a look.

"She trusts your judgement when it comes to publicity and you haven't steered her wrong." He dropped some bills on the table. "So far."

I gathered my things together. It was never a good idea to step between two alphas.

"I'm good at what I do," said Maggie. "But I don't see what that has to do with..."

"Back off."

"From helping Temp?" Her voice was sharp.

"No," said Booth. "From me." He lifted his jacket from his chair. "Let's go, Bones."

I could feel his hand against my back as I made my way to the door. "I'm sorry, Booth," I said when we got outside. The confrontation had been inevitable.

"Not your fault," he said. He shrugged into his jacket and fished for his keys. "You should've told me about the tickets. Do you want me to do the interview with you?"

"What?"

"The interview," he said, leading the way back to the SUV. "Me, you. Yes or no?"

"Isn't it against FBI policy?"

"Yeah, but it's McLean. Boss likes him. He's done some good work on veterans and on the war."

"Which one?"

"All of them." He paused before getting in. "I had a buddy check into him. He's a good guy, Bones. He gets it."

"So you'll do the interview with me," I said before I realized. "Wait, you checked up on him?"

"If it's okay with the boss." My question didn't seem to register. He put his sunglasses on. "But if not, I wouldn't mind a free trip to New York."

I wished I was better at reading people.

"Bones?"

"Okay," I said at last.

"To the interview or the trip?"

"Both," I said, then shrugged. "Why don't you come with me and make up your mind about the interview when you get there?"

His grin was boyish. "Ever been to a baseball game, Bones?"