Author's Notes: I'm stretching a bit with this one, but I think they're still in character. Let me know if you think not.

Talking About Booth
Chapter 8

Booth stood in the middle of the hotel suite. "I can't believe her," he said. "One room."

"A suite, actually," I said, pointing out the obvious.

"You know what I mean," he said.

I ventured to one of the guilded doors. Maggie had picked an ornate, overblown and expensive hotel. A king-sized bed lay beyond. An abundance of silk and feathered pillows lay piled on top. French doors covered in delicate tuile led to the roof top patio. "There's a bathroom." The tub was huge and sculptural. "I think all the rooms open onto the same deck." The scent of the ocean was unmistakable.

"I'm guessing the other bedroom's on this side." Booth jabbed a thumb to the opposite wall. "If it's anything like the ones I've seen." I could see anger simmering. Manipulation did not sit well with him. "There better be a second bedroom."

I crossed the living space and checked his theory. "Same setup here," I said.

He took an explosive breath. "Maggie." He grabbed his travel bag and dumped it into the second bedroom. "You have to do something about her, Bones. She's out of control. This..." He gestured at the suite.

"I know," I said, depositing my own bag into the other room.

"Do you?"

"I know, Booth. I'm not blind. I've always known." A sigh. "I just didn't want to get into a confrontation."

"Since when do you back off from one?"

"Well, there's the problem of my reputation in the publishing world." I opened the bar fridge and took out a bottle of water. Booth shook his head when I held it out to him. He seated himself gingerly on one of the two couches.

"What rep?" He shoved pillows onto the floor to free up more space.

I took a long sip of water. "Well, my first publicist was murdered." I sat on the couch opposite. "Overrun by fire ants."

"Hard to forget that." He dispatched the final pillow with obvious satisfaction. Purple silk and gold tassels flew across the room into the far corner.

"Neither has anyone else. Do you know how hard it's been for my publisher to get me another one?" My dehydrated state surprised me. Driving a convertible required greater caution than I thought. "Do you know what Maggie's professional nick name is?"

"I don't know if I want to know." The vases and Venetian mirrored end tables had caught his attention. He appeared fascinated by all the breakables in the room.

"Maggie the Unsinkable."

"Yeah," he said, "I can see that. So you don't want to scare her off. Might be hard to find someone to take her place."

"There is no one else," I said simply. "My publisher begged me, begged me, Booth, not to drive her away."

"You could stop writing," he said. "You have enough money."

"You could stop fixing up old cars," I said.

"That's a hobby."

"Mine happens to pay well." I frowned at him. "What difference does that make?"

He leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. "You have a point there, Bones."

"I can't juggle it all without a publicist, Booth. But Maggie, she doesn't respond well to requests."

He grunted. "She doesn't respond period. What Maggie wants, Maggie goes for."

"That's what makes her a great publicist."

"I'd hate to date her. She has the subtlety of a bull."

"She's an alpha, remember." For all her bluster, I liked Maggie.

"Which makes her boss." He looked up. "She's the boss of you, Bones. You okay with that?"

"No." I had no desire to attend the additional meetings she had arranged for me. "But I'm not good with people, Booth. You know that."

"See, that's your mistake right there."

"What?"

"You need to go anthropological on her, Bones." He stretched back and laced his fingers behind his head. "Out alpha the alpha."

I blinked. "Like you did at the diner," I said finally, excitment growing. I leaned forward and braced myself with both hands against the edge of the couch. "When you almost hit her."

"What? I don't hit women, Bones." He pursed his lips in thought. "Unless they hit me first," he amended. "Especially if they have a weapon. And they're about to kill me." He looked up at the ceiling. "Then I'd hit them."

"Okay, you didn't hit her," I said. "But you used your body to intimidate, the way you do when you question suspects."

"The FBI is not allowed to intimidate suspects, Bones." I could see he was getting annoyed again. "I like to stand sometimes when I ask questions, that's all."

"My publisher won't be happy if she leaves."

"Don't worry. You'll think of something." He rubbed his hands together. "We're in LA, Bones. What do you want to do first?"

"I hear the museum's pretty good," I said deliberately.

He rolled his eyes and glanced upward. "What am I going to do with her?"

"Are you talking to God?" His religious beliefs fascinated me.

"Bones." He retrieved a pillow and threw it at me. "Beach. Let's go to the beach and get a beer." He came over and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, Bones. Baby steps. First we sit beside the beach and then later, maybe, just maybe, we can go sit on it."

"Overexposure to the sun isn't a good idea, Booth," I said in protest as he hauled me towards the entry doors.

He snagged a bottle of sunscreen as we passed the complimentary welcome basket. "Knock yourself out," he said tossing it sideways.

"Booth."

"Bones." He released me at the elevator and pressed the down button. "I listened to Arnie all the way here. The least you can do is join me for a beer."

It seemed a fair compromise.