Author's Notes: Well, at least they're in LA. Finally.

Talking About Booth
Chapter 7

"I thought you were kidding," said Booth. He sank as low as his seatbelt would allow him. His sunglasses appeared in danger of sliding off his nose.

"About what?" I was driving for the second time today. A new record in our partnership. The summer air breezed against my skin. I had taken the precaution of tying my hair back before leaving the rental agency.

He patted his side of the convertible. "It's a great car, Bones," he said. "Good choice."

"What choice? You made me rent it." And he had. Seen the car, planted both palms on the hood and had actually kissed the shiny surface, then buffed it clean with his t-shirt afterwards. I knew he liked cars, but it was a side to him I hadn't seen before.

"You were going for the sedan," he said. "A sedan. You can't drive a sedan in LA."

"It was a BMW."

"Beemer, Bones." He seemed to enjoy his role as my cultural consultant. After two years, I didn't have the heart to tell him I usually understood more than I let on. "Although a Roadster would've been good."

"They didn't have any. Besides, you said you wanted to marry this one." I hoped I was going the right way.

"I do."

"You also said you'd marry my mac and cheese."

"Yeah," he said with a smile of remembrance. "Your mac and cheese is something else."

"You know, like most males of the species, you're quite fickle."

"What?" He turned his head and glared at me. At least, I presumed he glared. It was difficult to tell with his new sunglasses.

"Don't worry, Booth," I said to reassure him. "You can't help it." I was happy to see a familiar landmark. "It has something to do with your reproductive impulses."

"My what?" He adjusted his sunglasses upward. "My impulses are just fine, thanks."

"Nervous?"

"About what?" He sounded annoyed.

"You keep pressing your foot against the floor of the car."

"You're supposed to be watching the road." He swept his hand forward to emphasize his point.

"I am. But it's hard to miss, you pressing the floor like that." I shot him a quick look. "I know what it is. It's because you're not in control."

Alarm crossed his face. "Hey, hey, the road."

I had done nothing he hadn't done before in the driver's seat. "That's what I mean."

His sigh was one of long suffering. "Okay, Bones. You're right. But it's because I'm not used to being the passenger. I've been driving for the whole two years we've been partners. You can't just give it up like that." He snapped his fingers as he spoke, then held a warning finger up at me. "And don't start with the alpha dominance hunting instinct mumbo jumbo you usually spout at me."

I opened my mouth to reply.

"And don't tell me what I'm saying only confirms what you're saying." I could tell he was truly irritated.

I allowed him three city blocks of silence before speaking again. "I was going to ask whether you wanted to eat in the hotel restaurant or go to that fancy one Maggie booked for us."

"Really?"

I frowned at his surprise. "What?"

"You're actually thinking of doing something Maggie didn't plan for you?"

"You make it sound like she's running my life." It was my turn to get irritated.

He held up both hands as if to ward off Maggie's presence. "Whoa, Bones. Don't take it the wrong way, but you have to admit you've always gone along with all her ideas."

"So have you," I said. "You're here, aren't you?"

He gazed up at the palm trees as we passed under them. "If you say so, Bones."

"You're not here?"

"I'm here because I want to be. You're here because Maggie told you to be. Big difference."

"I don't see it." I really didn't.

"Yeah, Bones. I know."

"She's good at what she does."

"Boss people around?"

"I go along with her scheduling because, so far, it's coincided with mine."

"How many times has she ignored you telling her what you can and cannot do?"

He was right on that particular count. I had wondered about that myself.

"For someone so assertive, you don't stand up to her like you do with everyone else." He was watching out his side at the neighborhoods as they flashed by.

"You know I hate psychology, Booth."

"Yeah, Bones. Sorry about that." But he didn't sound it.

At the next red light, I punched a few buttons in preparation for the highway. The tiny screen lit up and a map appeared, orienting to our current location. I had taken the time to preprogram a few routes into it before leaving the airport.

"I thought you were kidding," Booth said. His head lolled back against the neck rest. "I really did."

"I don't want to get lost on the way to the hotel."

"I thought you said you know LA."

"It's been awhile. Since I've driven it, I mean."

"Turn left and go forward half a mile, then take the next right exit to the highway," intoned the GPS device in a male voice.

Booth groaned. "See, Bones. That's what I'm talking about. Did you really have to get that?"

"All the top line rentals come with it," I said as I turned left.

"I know," he said. "I was there when the guy told you, remember?"

"Next right, baby," said the device, the voice and accent familiar despite the electronic rendering.

"You've got to be kidding," said Booth. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyelids, a sure sign of his dismay. "Bones, turn it off."

"No," I said. I was enjoying myself. "I don't want to get lost."

"I get that. I do," said Booth. "But him? You had to get him?"

"Turn right now," said the device. "Proceed for the next five miles." The screen showed the progress of the car as a blue dot on red lines. When I reached the highway, the device beeped once with apparent satisfaction. "I'll be back," it promised.

"Arnie. I can't believe you got Arnie." said Booth. He hid behind his sunglasses once more. "You've got to be kidding me."

With a smile, I turned the volume up.