A / N – I have used a song by Emma (baby spice) Bunton called 'Free Me' for this chapter. It has a slightly jazz feel to it – very Brennan. It occurred to me that when we write songfics the melody is also part of the inspiration. For me it most defiantly sets the mood. So if you can listen to the track...
This chapter is from Brennan's POV. I have never written from her point of view before, but when you do things like telling your husband to speak grammatically correct after he has had three pints of cider - I like to think we are on the same page. Writing her trying to be somebody else though? Let me know what you think.
Thank you to my Beta – Moonlight Gardenias who gives me the confidence to post without paranoia over whether it makes any sense at all to you guys. And your reviews are like diamonds. Precious, sparkling and the more I get the more I want.
Disclaimer – I would love to own David Boreanez. However, I don't. Nor any of the other cast or characters. I'm just borrowing them to play with.
Enjoy.
--
I stand in front of a full length mirror in awe of the reflection staring back at me. The make up I wear is heavier than I am used to and my lips are painted in a shade that emulates sexual arousal. My hair is tied back in high pony tail, exposing my neck, while loose curls frame my face. My favored ethnic jewelry has made way for simple, unfussy gold pieces.
The uniform I wear is atypical of society's sexualisation and dominance of the female form. It has obviously been designed to create erotic responses in the target audience of this type of establishment.
Furthermore, according to the National Center for Health Statistics, the average height for an adult female in the United States is 5 feet 3.8 inches. At five foot nine, I am statistically taller than 97.2 of the female population. This uniform is most defiantly not designed with women of my stature in mind. The skirt barely covers my undergarments. I wonder if I could opt to wear shorts underneath to preserve my modesty. Not that I am prudish about my body in any way. I just don't feel the need to share it with complete strangers.
My shoes fare no better. Patent black court with a three inch heel. Admittedly, not the most uncomfortable foot-ware I have forced myself to wear. But I expect to spend the best part of the next eight hours on foot.
I am no longer Temperance Brennan, world renowned Forensic Anthropologist, and bestselling fiction author.
I am Roxy Brown, and I am a waitress in a twenty four hour diner. (I am ashamed to say that, at times, I have a distinctly below par imagination. Over one and a half million other citizens share my surname. However, undercover ops did say that the anonymity would be advantageous in this environment.)
I started my shift a few hours ago. He was already here when I arrived. He looked tired. When he saw me for the first time yesterday he was angry. Booth thinks I need protecting.
I don't.
I know what it's like to be alone. To have nobody to turn to when you need support. Sometimes I do think about how lucky I am to have so many people in my life now. To have Booth. The sooner he understands that I am here to help the better.
"Break's over, sweetie."
My manager Julie pops her head round the door of the staff area. She is approaching fifty and this diner is her life. She has to be one of the nicest people I ever met. And she reads people exceptionally well. I do have concerns that she may see through the persona I have created. I told her I have escaped a violent relationship and needed a whole new identity. I think she knows I am not being completely truthful, but she seems to understand and she has not asked any more questions. In many ways she reminds me of Angela.
"Hey honey," she asks. "how are you in the kitchen?"
Cooking is a science.
That is why I have always excelled whenever I turn my hand to it. Ultimately, it is about measurements, volumes and chemical reactions. A good meal is nothing more than a well conducted science experiment.
"I believe I'm pretty good." I reply with confidence.
"You ever baked pie?"
"You want me to bake pie?" I smile.
I know that usually I would compulsively argue that we are in control of our own destiny. Booth would say this is a sign.
--
I see him enter.
As the day has progressed I have found myself to be in receipt of an excessive amount of attention from the clientel, specifically those who were male. While I found the attention to be very flattering I longed for Booth to be the one stood at the counter flirting with me.
Now he was.
Being with you
Longing for something to happen
Biting my tongue
Hoping to get a reaction
Atmosphere's tense
Happy with anticipation
Don't leave me here
With only my imagination
"Hey." he smiled at me. He looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"You have a good sleep?" I question. He nods. Then scans the diner.
"Where's Max?"
My father left about two hours ago telling me it was better if I don't know. I knew relaying that information to Booth would not be a good idea. He understands my father better than I do. He does not trust him though. "Dunno," I mumble, "I've been working in the kitchen. You want some pie?" I ask, diverting the subject to his stomach.
"Nah. But I could murder burger and fries."
"Oh." I sound obviously disappointed.
Booth looks at me questioningly. "I had pie this morning. You brought it over. And I do recall you saying many times before that it is important that I eat a variety of different foods." He paused, thoughtful. "Usually before you start some anthropological crap about diminishing my sperm count. Why do you do that exactly? What's with the obsession over my fertility?"
"The nutritional content to burger and fries really is no better than pie."
I notice Julie observing us. It strikes me that the conversation makes it obvious to others that we have not just recently met. I have seen Booth use distraction techniques before. Roxy must up her game. And I will use this to my advantage.
I hold up a finger indicating for him to wait, and quickly dart into the kitchen to grab a slice of the steaming pie. As I re-emerge he arches his eyebrows at me.
"Are you trying to seduce me with pie?" he questions, smirking. I wonder if Sweets constant insinuations are placing subconscious ideas into my psyche. I have to remind myself I don't believe in psychology.
Free me
Enough is enough. Angela had told me she was waiting for me to catch up to my own reality. I think I just arrived.
Now Free me
let me loose to love you
Yeah how i long to seduce you now
"But I made it!" I whimpered suggestively
"What?"
"It's part of my job here. To bake pie"
"Ohh-" he mumbled thoughtfully.
"I said I didn't like to eat pie. Never said I couldn't bake it." My eyes flickered down to the warm dessert between us. Dare I?
His eyes met mine once again as I smiled and held his gaze. He did not appear to notice as my finger's slipped between the pastry to scoop up the sticky caramelized apple and cinnamon filling. I brought the now heavily coated phalanges slowly up until it hovered just under his nose, the aroma enticing him to act.
How long can i
Continue to suffer in silence
My achin' heart
Can't bear to wait in such suspense
So maybe its time
To tell you just how i am feeling
this full on desire i have too long been concealing
My brain went into overdrive. Fight or flight, Booth?
Fight or flight?
I was not disappointed as he slowly parted his lips and eased himself forward taking his prize in one foul swoop. I closed my eyes as the sensation of his tongue caressing my fingers sent shivers through my entire body.
Free Me
We were brought back to reality as the moment was interrupted in the most brutal way possible.
"Hey, hot stuff!" A customer.
And one who had apparently taken a liking to me. Understandably, considering the performance we had just given in full view of everyone.
"Feel free to offer a taste test to me too!"
"Jerk." Booth muttered under his breath.
"Whaddya say?" threatened the other man.
"I think you heard!" exclaimed Booth. I could see the anger rising behind his eyes. This was not about to end well.
"Hey buddy. You lookin' for a fat lip?"
"No, but you're heading towards a broken nose."
"You wanna take this outside?" The other guy was really gunning for Booth now.
"Not really." Booths fist jerked back and smacked the guy right in the face, sending him backwards into one of the tables. "You know Roxy, I think I will have the pie. And the burger and fries too. Suddenly I have a really big appetite."
I was well aware that I should not find this blatant territorial display of alpha male behavior desirable, but given the earlier eroticism of his lips on my fingers it took all my self restraint not to lunge myself onto him right there. It struck me that I should be thankful for the volume of make-up masking my natural flush. I suspected that under the lipstick my mouth was swollen enough that the two colors were a close enough match to be indistinguishable.
Julie came out of the kitchen to see the commotion. She shot me a look of annoyance, before helping the other guy off the floor. A steady stream of blood was flowing from his nose.
"Go clean yourself up, Allan." Julie instructed. "Then leave. I've had it up to here with your attitude" She turned to Booth. "And you... If he wasn't such a jerk, you would be barred. Consider yourself warned."
Booth smiled at me. "Told you I was a good judge of character," he stated with pride.
A voice called from the kitchen. "Roxy." It was Julie.
--
"I figure that little display out there was about you."
"He was just being protective."
"Slippery slope, sweetheart. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Especially after what you told me. When a guy has a temper it can come out in any situation. "
"I won't get hurt. He's not like that."
It occurs to me that it I wasn't the only one role-playing a new identity. Booth was too. He was supposed to be a very dangerous man. I would have to accept that in the course of our work innocent people may get hurt. Hitting that guy out there wasn't him. I know him. It doesn't matter how mad he gets, Booth always does the right thing. If I am going to be here with him then maybe my expectations with have to be a little more adaptable.
And I look forward to being with him.
Tonight.
Free Me
Authors note – I have decided to hold you to ransom. If I get enough reviews - let's say ten – then I will give you a kiss.
No, not from me. My husband would get rather jealous.
From our favorite non couple. You know you want it. But do you have the patience to wait?