Author's Notes: I type, they talk. I don't always control the conversation.

Talking About Booth
Chapter 9

The evening air breezed through the palm trees and over the restaurant's second floor patio. A white passenger ship cruised along the horizon. The ocean was in a relative state of calm, ideal for the sunbathers crowding the sand in various states of undress. Booth pushed his sunglasses up past his forehead and grinned at me. "Now this is more like it." He tasted his beer. "Oh, yeah." He studied the way the light filtered through the beverage. "You can't tell me you'd rather be inside, Bones. Sand, sun, beer," he said. "Good company." He tipped his head my way.

"We're not on the beach, Booth," I couldn't resist pointing out. "We're not even at the beach. We're across the street from it."

"Bones, get into the spirit of things, will you?" A deep breath. "Smell that air. Let it go. We're not on a case. We're relaxing."

I ran a finger along the surface of my glass. It was sweating profusely with condensation. "Reminds me of Africa. They have some nice beaches."

He squinted at me. "Yeah? It's a big continent, Bones. Where abouts?"

"Somalia, for one," I said, thinking of its untapped coastal beauty.

"If you can ignore the civil wars."

"You've been there?" I saw his face and looked away. "Never mind." Sometimes I pushed him too far.

"Only you would connect here with there, Bones. There's no comparison." A quick flick of his finger brought his sunglasses back onto his face. "Besides, you can't swim there."

I had forgotten about the sharks.

"Bones, you're not like anyone I know," he said a few minutes later.

"What do you mean?"

"You go to Somalia to do your thing. Okay, first of all, I don't know any women who can say what you just said."

"Say what?"

"About Africa."

"Lots of people go to Africa." I had not meant to trigger bad memories.

"But not to Somalia." He worked his beer for a bit. "Look, I know what you're talking about. You go to these places no one's ever heard of. You see terrible things, things no one will ever get, so there's no point talking about it." More beer. "They just want to hear about the gore anyway. Like in your books."

"Booth..."

"I've seen those beaches. You're right, they're amazing. But you're the only person I know who can keep those things separate in your head."

"Angela says I compartmentalize too much." I didn't know how to fix my mistake.

"Yeah, you do," he said. "You got to remember though, Bones, not everybody does."

I didn't know what to say.

"I get it, Bones. But sometimes, it's too much. Okay?" Our meals arrived before he could continue. It took a steak and a second beer to bring back his good humor. "Diving," he said out of the blue. "You up for some diving?" He had already demolished half his meat. "We could rent some gear, check out the fish."

"You dive?" I hadn't realized.

"Yeah, a little." He set his sunglasses aside on the table. "We should find out where the good spots are."

"The interview's tomorrow," I said.

"Evening," he said. "We have the whole day."

"Don't forget about the drive."

"Right. More Arnie." He grimaced and resumed his attack on his steak. "Early start?" At my nod, he grinned. It was a welcome sight. "Leave it to me," he said. "I know a guy."

"You know a guy? Is he qualified?"

My question seemed to amuse him. "Oh, yeah, Bones. He's qualified. He'll help us get set up."

"How early?"

"No late night partying for you," he said.

"Or you." I slid the keys across the table.

"What's that?"

"The keys," I said helpfully.

"I can see that," he said with a touch of annoyance. "But what for?"

"Your turn to drive."

"Back to the hotel? Very generous of you, Bones." The keys jangled as he gave them a single shake.

"No," I said. "For the rest of the trip."

He frowned at me.

I shrugged. "I guess I'm too used to being on the other side." I gave him a look. "Apparently, I do a lot of thinking."

He stared at the keys in his hands. "Is this an apology?"

"I'm not good at those."

His smile was sudden and warm. "Yeah, Bones, you are." He put the keys away. "You know what this means, don't you, Bones?"

"You get to drive?"

He ignored me. "You'll be at the beach. Standing on actual sand."

"I know what sand is."

"There'll be sun." He grinned. "Good thing I got you that sun screen."

"I have a hat," I said.

He groaned. "No hats, Bones. It's the beach. It's California. Hats are for my grandmother."

"You said I was her."

"When?" He waved a fork in a brief circle. "Never mind. Doesn't mean you have to dress like her."

"Booth, I'm talking about a hat."

"You know, I hate that."

He had lost me. "Hate what?"

"Do you take notes or something? Where do you get this stuff from?"

"Booth..."

"How do you always remember what I say?"

"It's easy," I said. "You say things. I listen."

"Bones..." He seemed torn. "You really are something else."

I mulled his words over. "Thank you," I said at last. "As are you."

This time, the silence lasted comfortably until dessert.