A week later, he arrived home from Jamaica. He pulled into his driveway and carried his suitcase up the steps, surprised when he opened his door to see a small brown box addressed to him. He didn't think he was expecting any packages, and there wasn't a return address on the outside of the box.
He pulled it and grabbed the rest of his mail, putting it on the table before opening the box. Inside was a note, and he opened it.
"Hey, Booth.
It's Angela. Brennan 'lost' this, but hey, you found it, in the front seat of your car.
Lucky us! Now push play."
Booth looked in the box to see his partner's little handheld tape recorder thingy. Confused, he pulled it up and hit the play button. It was hard to hear what was being said, almost as if the recorder had been in a pocket, maybe the pocket of a lab coat. He pulled it closer to his ear. It sounded like they were talking about something in the lab, and he heard his partner tell Angela she was an anthropologist.
"They got to stage five, and they balked." Angela was saying.
"Not Booth. Booth does not balk." He heard Bones say.
"Sweetie, it's always the guy."
"Booth is not a balker."
He pushed stop and looked over to his right, almost as if he thought someone else might be standing there. Eyebrows raised, he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and gave a half chuckle.
Not a bad day.
.