Author's note: ShimmerAteDeath answered my PM, and gave their blessing for me to continue. Thanks, gawilliams, for pushing me to do the right thing. To celebrate, I'm publishing this about 13 hours ahead of my original plan.

The Bones In Bones

Chapter 3

Booth slowly reached forward, lightly tracing her collarbones. The straps of that damned bra made his fingers stumble. "Clavicles." They met in the middle, and he dragged them down between her breasts. "No, before you ask, your bra still isn't in the way. It's cut more than low enough in the front to allow me to reach your sternum. There's another three." With that, he allowed his fingertips to part and tickle the insides of her breasts.

"106, Booth. And are you saying that you want to give up and play instead?"

"Not in the least. Just taking a brief fondle-break. But for the next step, I think I'll take you up on your earlier offer." He then cupped her breasts, trying to keep as clinical as he could, and released the clasp. Her bra fell apart, and he eased the straps off her shoulders. He then gently placed her bra on the back of a nearby chair – it looked expensive, and he wanted to make certain she'd wear it for him again some time. "Rib time." He stretched her arms out to her sides, then slowly ran his fingers down her sides. "Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, twenty, 22, 24. What's my total now?

"130."

"You really should start getting nervous, Bones. I'm very close to winning here."

"You're the one who ought to be worrying, Booth. From here on, it's all tough ones."

"Not entirely." He glided his hands down to her hips. "Here's your ilium…" His hands them moved to her buttocks.

"If those are in the way…" she started.

"Not in the least. They're so skimpy, it's almost like they're not even there." He cupped her buttocks. "Ischium." Then one hand reached between her legs from behind, pressed up into her groin. "And pubis. Three more."

"133."

For all the confidence in his voice, Booth was actually starting to worry. He had just reached the end of his easy ones. Now he was going to have to work at it. He stepped back and stared at her face, hoping for inspiration. He started an inner monologue.

OK, there are her cheekbones. Don't remember the proper term for that. And there's that bone that runs up the center of the back of the nose. It had some funny name, too. She won't accept those.

Jawbone. Nope, it had some Latin-sounding name that he couldn't recall. For some reason, he thought of insects, but he couldn't think beyond that. Neck – there's that tiny little bone in the throat. It was a real oddball – the only bone that didn't attach to any other bones. It anchored the tongue, and Bones had mentioned it in a lot of cases – it tended to get broken when someone was strangled. But dammit, the name was escaping him.

He looked further down. Nope, he'd gotten all the bones there. All he was looking at were her breasts and nipples, and they had no bones – he'd thoroughly checked on countless occasions. Nope, no bones, just breasts and nipples. Small nipples. Small, dark nipples. Small, dark, erect nipples. Small, dark, erect nipples that were begging to be caressed. Small, dark, erect nipples that were begging to be caressed and kissed. Small, dark, erect nipples that were begging to be caressed and kissed and…

"You seem stuck, Booth. I'm fairly certain that my breasts contain no bones, but you're free to verify it if you like."

He wrenched his eyes away to her arm. If it was anyone else, Booth would expect to be hearing the theme music from "Final Jeopardy," as they would be telling him to crap or get off the pot. Instead, he just got attitude.

"Just needed a little break, that's all."

She reached forward and cupped the front of his boxers, and smiled when she found just how erect he was inside. "I thought you said you weren't going to 'bone up' for this?"

He gently removed her hand – quite reluctantly. "Sorry, but 'boning up' doesn't mean 'getting a boner,' but it refers to a quick refresher study of a subject that one has previously studied in depth."

She nodded. "That would explain last week, when Cam talked about 'boning up' on certain federal regulations before submitting her annual budget. In retrospect, that should have been an indicator that it didn't necessarily refer to penises or anything sexual."

Back to her arm. There were only three bones in the arms – the elbow had no equivalent to the kneecap – and he'd gotten them all. There were a bunch in the wrists, but he'd never remember those, let alone identify them. One or two of them were something like "trapeze," and he cursed that that particular detail would choose to pop up now instead of something useful.

Wait a minute, he thought. The wrists were complicated, and he'd gotten the fingers, but he'd skipped right over the hands. And they were simple – just five bones each. Further, he remembered that they didn't have unique names, but had just one common name, again like the fingers. But what the hell was it?

He then remembered Doris, the old-school secretary from the office. She'd had to go out on disability from that wrist condition – repetitive-motion injury. But it had some name that everyone knew, it was practically a household word. And it used a term for the wrist bones…

Carpal! Carpal tunnel syndrome! The wrist bones were the carpals, and the hand bones were…

He took her hands in his, and pressed his thumbs across the backs of her hands. "Metacarpals. Two, four, six, eight, ten."

Bones was impressed. "143, Booth. But you're really slowing down."

"Just making you sweat a bit." But his mind was racing. The wrist and hand were remarkably similar to the ankle and foot, and the terms for the foot parts was similar to the wrist parts.

He dropped to his knees again, and pressed his thumbs across the tops of her feet. "Metatarsals. Two, four, six, eight, ten."

Bones cursed under her breath. He just might pull this off. "153." He only needed two more. Worse, she suspected he knew he was only two away.

Booth did know that, and he was stuck. He'd used up every bit of luck he had. All he needed was two more, and a pair of anything would win him the bet. He was certain that one of the bones in the ankle was the tarsus bone, but if he didn't nail it dead-on, she'd just rule that he'd picked a different bone and count it as an error. He'd never paid much attention to the skull, so he didn't have any hope for that. The facial bones were pretty much all singles. If he could remember the names for that stupid bone inside the nose, the buggy name for the jawbone, and that freak in her throat, he'd win the bet.

He let his eyes trail down her body again, this time forcing himself to not linger on her breasts. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and more nothing. He also kept himself from lingering too long on her panties - he'd tucked the stray hairs away, but they were still drawn up and clearly defined her cleft. Worse, he thought he saw signs of moisture. He forced his eyes down, over her long, luscious, long, strong, and long legs. Finally he got to her feet.

Wait a minute. Her feet. She'd said something about her feet last week, when they went out for dinner, dressed to the nines. She'd complained about how her shoes were too new, and were bothering her feet. And she'd made a squinty pun about it.

She'd been very proud of it, at first, but her pleasure had been diminished when he hadn't gotten it. It involved a rhyme of some sort, linking the proper name for a part of her foot and the injury her shoes were inflicting. She'd had to explain it to him, and it was a good pun, but way too esoteric for the vast majority of non-squints. She'd wasted it on him. But what was it?

He started thinking about the various injuries feet suffer. Sprains, bunions, blisters, corns…

Calluses.

That was it. "Booth, these shoes are killing me." She smiled brightly at him, a very proud smile. "In fact, they're giving me a callus on my…"

He fell to his knees once more, in triumph, and grabbed her heels. "Calcaneus! One in each foot. That's 155, and I win!"

Bones looked down at him. "You calling it quits, then?"

He stood back up, a grin of triumph splitting his face. "I did the math, Bones. There are 206 bones in your body. Three-quarters would be 154 and a half, so 155 is the passing grade. And that's just how many I named. Now, about my prize…"

Bones smiled back at him. It was not a pleasant smile to be on the receiving end of. It was a gloating smile, the smile of someone just about to snatch victory out of someone else's jaws. "Sorry, Booth. You got one wrong. You lose, and I win."