Title: Couch Time
Chapter: Spies and Sexuality: Bond Aftermath
Summary: Set in season 5 of Bones, just as they return to working cases together. Sweets calls the pair in for a reassessment.
AN: Thanks for the lovely reviews. It's always a little uneasy, going into a new fandom.
Brennan peered over Booth's shoulder, leaning in close enough to brush her shoulder with his. Their heights were similar enough to make it obvious how well their bodies fit together, and it was highlighted by the way her arm eased back into his chest as she continued to invade his personal space in such an oblivious way. He cleared his throat and attempted to ignore the increase in proximity and the smell of her shampoo, which he assumed was organic and cost more than he spent on a haircut.
"Why are you looking at pictures of people drinking iced coffee as they walk down the street?" she inquired after he turned a couple more pages without really taking notice of the contents of the magazine. He was overcome with the scent of a slightly exotic fruit that emanated from her scalp.
"It's a People magazine," he said simply, as if that should sufficiently explain the entire matter for her, despite knowing there was a high likelihood that she'd never heard of the bestselling publication.
"Why would anyone wear such warm weather boots and shorts with insufficient fabric to cover their gluteus Maximus?" she asked with keen disapproval, this time reaching across his chest to highlight to her case-in-point.
"You'd have to ask Ashlee Simpson," he managed, turning the page again from her scrutiny.
"Who's Ashlee Simpson?" she asked, fully ignorant as visible in her clear blue eyes. He wondered, just for a moment, how blissful it must be in her shoes every now and then. There were tradeoffs to everyone's station in life, which he was fully aware. Her intellect limited her, and damned if he didn't find it endearing.
"It doesn't matter," he assured her.
"But you're looking at pictures of her in a magazine. This is quite voyeuristic," she said, still gazing over the full-color pages with novelty.
"Which is why it's a top seller. People love to get a look at the lives of celebrities," he informed her.
"But most of those people haven't done anything to garner an elevated status. At least, none that I've heard of."
"True, but they do all have money, or are in the process of spending more money than most people can ever dream about," he explained.
"That's asinine. If they have earned a substantial amount of wealth, the wise thing to do is invest a percentage, and if they are looking for ways to share their good fortune, there are any number of charity organizations to donate to. They certainly are better deserving of the money than wasting them on that," she said as she tapped with a well-manicured fingernail to a large purse that another celebrity was carrying. "What is that?"
"Let's just say that you're one of the few that can afford that kind of bag," he assured her.
"I don't think I'd like one," she said with a shake of her head.
"It's definitely not something you can carry around dead body parts in," he mused.
"Or tools," she added proudly.
"Bones, I'm not sure you're ready to fix anything without supervision yet. Besides, you don't need your own tools, you can borrow mine. I have a full set."
"Am I interrupting something?" Dr. Sweets asked from his opened doorway.
Brennan pulled back from her position that had left her resting against her partner. Booth was at once cognizant of the lack of warm pressure her body had provided. He pushed the sensation out of his mind.
"We were just referring to the fact that Booth taught me how to fix a leaky pipe," she boasted with a smile.
Sweets' face brightened. "That sounds like an excellent idea. Did you find the exercise of showing someone else what to do helpful in retrieving your old memories?"
Booth shot Bones a look, to which she nodded with encouragement. "We should probably go in the office to finish the story. Sweets will want to read something greater into it."
"I only comment on behaviors that are indicative of other underlying meaning," he defended.
"Maybe you should ask him why that girl was wearing the Uggs with cutoffs," Booth suggested.
"Well, it is his magazine," Brennan said as she got up to join Booth in the psychiatrist's office.
"Excuse me, not all my patients are as highbrow as you. It's a relaxing, if somewhat guilty, pleasure, for some people to read those magazines," Dr. Sweets explained.
"I thought pornographic magazines were used to indulge those kinds of pleasures," she stated matter-of-factly with nary a blink.
Sweets' mouth parted slightly. "I can't put porn out in my waiting room. And besides, there's a theory that engaging in such a mindless retreat helps open the mind for further inflection." "
Brennan shrugged one shoulder. "You're the one that brought up guilty pleasures. Certainly you've looked at pornography before, correct?"
Sweets faltered. "I don't see how that's relevant to our session," he managed.
"What about you, Booth? You were in the military, surely you've used pornography as some sort of aid for release."
Booth's eyebrows shot up. "Wow."
"It's completely normal, and in some cases therapeutic. Unless you enjoy some sort of dangerous fetish, I suppose," she said evenly.
"So, big case this week," Sweets said with a clap of his hands. "James Bond, CIA, Russian torture," he surmised.
"Ukrainian. And the victim's name was Greg Dorit, not James Bond. James Bond is a fictional character," Brennan supplied for his notes.
"I heard he had the gun. Was it cool?" Sweets asked Booth.
Booth smiled. "So awesome!"
"Angela was correct," Brennan noted, mostly to herself.
"About what?" Sweets asked.
"She told me that men get sexually aroused at the notion of pretending to be a spy and the idea that women will literally spread their legs for such men due to the heightened sense of danger it provides to aid in sexual intensity."
"Now that's an overgeneralization," Booth argued.
"You've been going on and on about all this Bond stuff since we got the case," she shot back.
"Yeah, because I like the movies. That's all."
"So, you don't engage in sexual fantasies where you suppose the role of the double agent spy and the woman is an operative who is overcome by your power?" she pressed.
"I don't need sexual fantasies," Booth said as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"That's preposterous. Everyone has fantasies, Booth. It's a matter of human nature. And you said we don't have any secrets, so why won't you tell me about your fantasies?"
"You told her that the two of you don't have any secrets?" Sweets asked, surprised at the fallacy.
"We tell each other everything," Bones reaffirmed with a nod.
"Partners shouldn't have secrets," Booth agreed, though he failed to meet Sweets' eyes.
"Everyone has secrets," Sweets pointed out. "Like sexual fantasy, it's another condition of the human nature. It's in delving into what holds us back that allows us to grow as people."
"He wanted to hear about our plumbing story, let's talk about that," Booth encouraged his partner, doing his best to dodge nearly anything Sweets truly wanted to discuss with the pair.
"Well, you did get it repaired successfully," Bones said proudly.
"Oh, that reminds me, I have your shirt in my office," he said with a snap of his fingers, indicating he'd forgotten the item.
"Excuse me?" Sweets yelped.
Brennan faced Sweets. "It's nothing. On our first attempt to secure the fittings, when Booth turned on the water again, it failed to hold and the spray soaked through my shirt."
Sweets was listening with rapt attention. He'd leaned too far forward with his elbows on his knees and had a sudden failure to blink.
"I couldn't just leave her laying there on my kitchen floor all wet with her shirt sticking to her," Booth pointed out.
"What happened then?" Sweets encouraged.
"Why is he looking at us like that?" Brennan asked Booth.
"Because he's hoping this is where the story gets dirty," Booth glared at Sweets. "It doesn't. I gave her a t-shirt and put her shirt in the washing machine."
"He fixed the fitting before my shirt was finished in the dryer," Bones finished. "And he did it without the book."
"The Dummy book?" Sweets asked, doing his best to recompose himself.
"I just needed a little refresher," Booth defended.
"Okay, let's move on. In our last conversation about the plumbing situation, I noticed a small amount of discord about the fact that Dr. Brennan has earned a substantial amount from her books. Has that issue been properly resolved?"
"There's no issue," Booth said. "Our partnership has nothing to do with money."
"And I would never jeopardize his virility by lording my wealth over him. I'm always happy to aid him, but I've found in the past that he's too proud to accept such extensions."
"I'm not proud, and my virility is not jeopardized," Booth informed the room as he shielded himself with his hands.
"That was defensive," Sweets interjected.
"I agree. But then Booth tends to be overly protective of any perceived slight to his masculinity," Brennan realized.
"That was quite the psychological insight, well done, Dr. Brennan," Sweets said with admiration.
"Hardly. It's seen quite commonly in many cultures, in both male and female dominated societies. Did you know there were some cultures in which men would fight to the death for the honor of impregnating a woman of high standing?"
Booth turned to her with renewed interest. "Is that your sexual fantasy?"
She gave a half smile. "While I don't condone physical violence for sport, I do find it alluring in a somewhat primal manner."
"And you think our spy fantasies are messed up," Booth said with a low whistle.
"On the contrary. I never said you had any reason to be ashamed of your sexuality, Booth."
"I think we should continue in this vein," Sweets suggested.
"You would," Booth muttered. "I'm not overly protective of my virility, okay? There is nothing wrong with my virility."
"I agree. Statistically speaking, your physical appearance should allow you to have your pick of female companionship, and you've already fathered one child, and a male at that, so your genetic lineage is assured. You should be quite content in that regard," Bones analyzed his situation.
"And yet, something is undermining his self-assurance in that area," Sweets poked at the sore point.
"It is not," Booth seethed.
"My guess is it's the money issue. It can be quite difficult to view yourself as an inferior to your partner, especially when it's the cultural norm for the man to have more money," Sweets provided.
"He said money doesn't matter to him," Brennan corrected him.
"It doesn't. And I'm very happy for her. She's very talented, and she works hard for her money," Booth explained.
"You work just as hard as I do, Booth. And while my talent lies in more academic pursuits, your talents are arguably harder to achieve. Not everyone has the skill to be such a high-ranking marksman."
"Thank you, Bones."
"You're welcome, Booth," she said as she gave him a warm smile.
Sweets glanced from one to the other before sitting back in his chair and tapping his pen against his notepad. "So, you're both fine with the money issue, and you are telling me that you have a no-secrets policy."
"We're an open book, Sweets," Booth said with a guarded smile.
"Some people might find difficulty in describing their sexual fantasies with members of the opposite sex that they're not currently engaged with sexually," Sweets said, grasping at any topic that would lead them to trip up on the full-honesty illusion.
"Hey, she brought up sexual fantasies, not me. Some things deserve a little mystery," Booth agreed.
"It was a natural progression. Violence and sexuality are often linked. I've never been ashamed of my sexuality," Brennan announced.
"Yeah, well, I'm Catholic. We like guilt. It keeps us in line," Booth muttered.
"Don't get me started on religious persecution of sexual deviance," Brennan said with a little chortle.
"We're completely off topic here," Sweets said with a sad shake of his head.
"What was the subject matter for this session, Sweets?" Brennan asked.
Lance closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. "Our goal is to make sure that your cases are progressing satisfactorily since your hiatus."
"Hey, we solved a man's murder, so I'm peachy," Booth announced.
"I'm also quite pleased with the outcome," Bones affirmed.
Sweets sank back in his chair, once again feeling bested by their outward appearances. He knew better than to believe that they were putting all their cards on the table, as it were. "If you're both certain that everything is fine, I guess this session is concluded."
Booth stood up. "So, we're done with the analysis?"
Sweets shook his head. "Not until I'm certain that all issues have been properly addressed."
"We've been quite forthcoming with you, Sweets," Brennan argued.
"True, and while I believe progress is being made, there are certain topics that can't be rushed."
Brennan shrugged. "If you're certain."
Sweets nodded. "I am. See you both next week."
"Come on, Bones, I'll walk you out," Booth said as he grabbed the door gallantly and waited for her to pass through. His eyes remained on Sweets, who gave him a tight, definitively knowing, smile.
"I think I know what Sweets is holding out for," she said conspiratorially to Booth.
"Yeah? What's that, an alternate ending to our ending up soaking wet on my kitchen floor?" he asked, his intent being humor, though his voice dropping a half an octave upon delivery.
She gazed at him studiously, attempting to gage his sincerity. "That was a joke? Very humorous, Booth, since he thinks we're compatible sexually," she nodded with a smile. "No, it's your belt buckle."
He put his hand to his waist, which was secured by a plain silver buckle. "My belt buckle."
She nodded. "Yes. He won't be happy until we're providing him with the stereotypes of ourselves that he's comfortable with."
He smiled. "I love how you made him sound like the neurotic one. I'm buying you a beer for that one, Bones."
"And maybe after that, you'll be comfortable enough to tell me about one of your sexual fantasies," she suggested.
"It'll take a whole hell of a lot more than one beer for that one, Bones," he said with a chuckle as they exited the main office doors.