A/N: Wow, I suck for not updating in so long. I'm really, really sorry! Thank you, my faithful readers-I promise never to make you wait this long for an update again! Yikes. Thanks for the support!
When Booth and Bones got back to the table, it was to see that Angela was trying to get Jane to dance. The small band had finished setting up, and started playing a very breezy, fun number. Angela was crazy about dancing, but Jane didn't seem liable to budge.
"C'mon, Jane, we're at a dance!"
"No, we're at a party. Big difference."
"You like dancing, Angela?" Frankie asked.
"Yeah. I'm like that dangerous teenager they made PSA's about in the '60s, because if I could, I'd spend all my time at clubs on the dance floor, distracting other goody-goodies from their sock hops and their horn-rimmed glasses because honey, you can't handle all of this." She finished by gesturing to her form-fitting dress.
"That was quite a speech," commented Brennan, sitting down again. "Although I'm not surprised at your being fond of dancing, Angela. The rhythmic—"
"Let me guess," Angela cut her off. "You're about to compare dancing to sex."
Appearing only slightly ruffled, Brennan said, "Well, yes."
"Psh, I could've called that one, too," Booth said, pretending to sneer at Angela.
"I'm glad you two enjoy making sport out of my scientific observations," Brennan said, rolling her eyes.
"Scientific observations, Dr. Brennan?" Jane teased her. "Hell, if I could see that one coming, it's fair game for the layman." She then turned to her date, sighing heavily. "Okay. I will agree to at least one dance, or else I'll feel like a huge jerk. But you've gotta let me pick the song. Oh hey, you know what's good about having a jazz band, though?" Jane asked nobody in particular. "It means no freestyle rapping."
"Oh, man," Frankie snickered, putting his face in hands.
"Have you rapped at one of these functions before, Frankie?" Brennan asked curiously.
Laughing too hard to speak, he just pointed over at Maura.
"I still don't see what you two found so hilarious," Maura huffed.
"Wait—Maura, you rapped?" Booth asked.
"No, no, she didn't actually rap," Jane said. "But it was—what, three years ago? Anyway, she was just one of the few people who deemed it necessary to get up and dance to it. Where'd you get those moves, Maura, MTV? Circa 1994?"
"You know, a lot of people wouldn't put up with your abuse," Maura said, shooting Jane an annoyed look over her cup.
Looking utterly unfazed, Jane just leaned back and folded her arms. "Ah, whatever. You know my abuse is good for you, Maura. What with all your degrees and your fancy job, you've got way too many people kissing your butt. Do you really need one more person in your life doing that?"
"Yes, thank you for always being so rudely honest with me," Maura said flatly.
"Hey, it wasn't just you that night, Maura," said Frankie. "Remember Cavanaugh's rap?"
"You mean the one where he was like, 'I'm proud to be the home of a Y chromosome?'" Jane laughed. "Yes. So in one night we had the simultaneous discontinuation of open mics, rapping, and alcohol, because there was no way in hell Cavanaugh would've done that sober. So he felt like he had to punish the rest of us, and boom, there you have it, 8th grade dance," she sighed, taking a sip of her ginger ale. "Man, that was a fun time, though. Any other traditions die out since then, Frankie?"
"Nope. We still end on 'Jailhouse Rock.'"
"The Elvis song?" Angela asked.
"Yup."
"Okay, Jane. I don't care if you think you look like a spaz compared to Elaine Benes, you will be dancing to that song with me."
"We'll see," Jane chuckled, taking Angela's hand and pulling it to her lap. "I guess since it's the last song of the night, if I haven't danced with you yet, I'll have to." She laughed again when Angela bit her lip, looking back at the dance floor. "Look, sweetie, I don't have a problem if you really want to get up and—" She broke off when Angela gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed Brennan's hand, and ran towards the floor. "…dance."
"Ooh, and it's D.C. 1, Rizzoli's, 0," Booth said, as Jane and Frankie exchanged a slightly weirded-out look.
"Seeley, would you like to dance?" Maura offered.
Jane hated to admit it, even to herself, but she bristled slightly at the sound of Maura calling Booth by his first name. Maura had worked with Korsak and Frost for years, but still referred to them by their formal titles—saying "Seeley" instead of "Agent Booth" indicated a surprisingly close relationship. When Maura made the invitation to dance, Booth involuntarily glanced at Jane, as if tacitly asking her approval. Arms folded casually, Jane just said, "don't look at me," at the same time that Maura, in a much more peeved tone, said, "don't look at her."
"Uh—well, okay then," Booth said uncertainly, allowing Maura to pull him to his feet.
Once they were out of earshot, Frankie said, "Am…I missing something, here?"
"What're you talking about, Frankie?"
"That. You and Booth and Maura. You don't—you don't like Booth, do you?"
After a semi-shocked silence, Jane responded, "Frankie. What part of 'I like pussy' don't you understand?"
"Is it Maura, then? You like Maura?"
"Maura's my best friend, Frankie," Jane said shortly. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't assume that I like every beautiful woman who happens to cross my path."
"Hey! Be fair, Jane, when have I ever said that?" Frankie asked, and Jane begrudgingly had to admit to herself that he was right. "I'm not stupid, ya know. I'm observant. Judging by the way you and Maura, y'know, interact …it just seems like there's something there."
Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Jane said, "You and Dr. Brennan better stop gossiping about us behind our backs."
Jane was correct in thinking that when they were the first of the group to arrive at the party, Brennan had guilelessly shared with Frankie her hypothesis that a mutual attraction existed between Jane and Maura. If he were honest with himself, Frankie had never really wondered about it, because for a long time he had held the belief that the less he knew about Jane's love life, the happier she would be. She was never inclined to share details, and showed signs (like she was now) of hypertension and snarliness when the topic came up. But to hear someone as smart as Dr. Brennan point it out to him made Frankie feel a bit dumb for never having noticed it before. Was his sister really in love with her best friend?
Brennan, meanwhile, was gamely doing her best to keep up with Angela's dancing.
"So you gonna tell me?" Angela asked.
"Tell you what?"
"What you and Booth were talking about before you came back to the table. Brennan, you guys have got to do something about this whole situation."
"About…about what situation?" Brennan asked, genuinely confused.
"You two getting together. I just think if you really stopped and thought about it, you would see that you guys are like, meant to be. You know, maybe on the outside it doesn't seem like you should be a couple, but you actually go really well together—like, you know, cheese and broccoli or something."
"Water and oil, more like."
"C'mon, why do you have to be so negative?" Angela laughed. "Booth is a strong, sexy man who admires you for what you do and just wants to be there for you in every way he can. Including romantically. And sexually. And friend..erly."
"I don't think that's a word."
"You know what I mean. Why are you so dead set on denying yourself a life of comfortable, protected, sexy happiness?"
"Angela, I appreciate your concern on my behalf, I really do. But there are too many intangibles to consider. And besides, it's not as though it's this metaphorical, ignored elephant in the room. Booth and I have discussed our mutual attraction several times—it just wouldn't work."
"Says you. Booth clearly disagrees."
"That's because Booth is an immature romantic. He's everything I'm not."
"Opposites attract."
"They often do, yes. That doesn't mean they should mate for life."
"Oh, come on, Brennan. Don't you ever envision yourself getting old with him? You know, in that Norman Rockwell, happy family, matching-jogging-suits kind of way?"
Brennan was starting to get a tad exhausted with the simultaneous dancing and talking, but she was able to summon enough energy to warily raise an eyebrow in Angela's direction and say, "I've occasionally allowed myself the indulgence of picturing a long future with Booth, yes. Due to his virile devotion to good exercise and self-preservation, I imagine he would remain a very spirited man and spirited sexual partner for most of his life. But I've never thought about the potential of matching jogging suits before… what might that signify?"
"Well for one thing, it might signify ownership," Angela suggested. "You know, like instead of a leash and collar. You wear matching jogging suits, and all the other old ladies stay away from your old man. Let me ask you, Brennan, and be honest—do you ever get jealous when you see other women flirting with Booth?"
"Well, it's easy to see why women would show interest in flirting with him," Brennan said. "He's an extremely attractive male specimen, and possesses many of the qualities that women have long and still try to—"
"You didn't answer my question, honey. Does it make you jealous? Like, say, if you looked over at him right now, would you be wishing that you were the one making him smile like that?"
Brennan glanced over at their table, frowning upon realizing that only Jane and Frankie were sitting there. Her eyes quickly swept the room to find Booth, and she was surprised to ultimately find him just on the other side of the dance floor, engaged in an only slightly-awkward pseudo-dance step with one Maura Isles.
"Why do I get the feeling that you're laughing at me?" Booth asked, trying to keep up.
"Probably because I am," Maura responded, earning an self-conscious chuckle from Booth. "But you shouldn't be embarrassed, Seeley! When I was a girl, I went through at least some level of training in nearly every type of dance. Apparently, the only major kind I missed out on was how to dance properly to freestyle rap—evidently a gaping hole in my education."
"Clearly," Booth laughed. And though he could totally believe it when Jane said Maura was a spaz while trying to dance to rap, an unbidden image suddenly entered his mind of this gorgeous woman in front of him getting low in a club, wearing something that would make a nun blush. He could feel his face getting warm, and felt immediately guilty not only for coming up with a mental image like that of a girl his best friend liked, but also because at this moment, Maura just looked so sweet and innocent. In fact, Booth couldn't remember ever using the word "adorable" to describe a grown woman, and yet it seemed the best way to label Maura.
He had no idea what exact kind of dance they were doing; everyone else on the dance floor was either making it up as they went along, singles style (like Angela and Brennan), or attempting a more legitimate style, like a fox trot or jitterbugging or whatever the heck other kind of dance people did to jazz. Booth and Maura were definitely dancing together, but it was far from intimate; just good fun—they were barely touching, their hands interlaced or on each other's shoulders merely for the sake of formality.
"So have you ever been to a Mormon funeral before?" Booth asked, trying to bring professionalism back into their sphere.
"No, but it's not technically a funeral we're going to, is it?" Maura said. "It's a memorial service. I've come across nothing in my studies to indicate that, unlike their approaches to weddings and baptisms, their religion has a distinctive type of ceremony for the dead. By the way, you'll want to make sure you take off that crucifix hanging around your neck when we go."
"What? Why?"
"The crucifix is a Catholic symbol, like the Star of David stands for Judaism."
"So, what, they don't believe in the crucifixion?"
"Don't be silly; they're a Christian sect, of course they do. They just don't believe in having a symbol to represent their entire religion, and if they did, they wouldn't choose as depressing an icon as the cross."
"Depressing?"
"Well, yes. I was under the impression that Jesus Christ suffered on the cross."
"He did. But then He rose again."
"Not on the cross, though."
Booth had to laugh—this was by far the least romantic conversation he had ever had while dancing with someone; even at Catholic parties, his discussions with girls had never touched upon this aspect of religion. Maura grinned as well, but their attention was diverted when the song ended and the piano player announced, "All right, it's time to slow things down so we can heat things up!"
"Did he really just say that?" Jane groaned, as Angela came running back to the table with Brennan in tow. "Hey babe, having fun?"
"Jane! This is my favorite song, will you please dance with me?" Angela begged.
"What a coincidence," Jane chuckled, obligingly getting to her feet. "This is actually one of my favorites, as well. Let's go." With a hand on the small of Angela's back, she returned them both to the dance floor.
"Frankie," said Brennan. "Would you care to engage in this rhythmic ceremonial ritual with me?"
"With pleasure," he said, shooting his date an adorably dimpled grin.
"So you like this song, huh?" Angela asked, lifting her hands up to Jane's shoulders.
Resting her own hands comfortably on Angela's waist, Jane just smiled and said, "Yup. My uncle —actually the one who likes your dad's band, coincidentally—loved this song. When we were kids and he'd come to visit, it was sort of his lullaby. It could always soothe me, right away. And when I got older, and I heard it again, I was surprised at how beautiful it actually was."
The song was "Blue Moon," performed quite capably by the man at the piano in a rich tenor voice, slow and sweet. Angela gently curled her fingers into as much of Jane's hair as she could. "Aw, that's sweet, Jane. Under the tough, badass cop exterior, you're really a softie, aren't you?"
"Yeah, don't tell anyone," Jane whispered into Angela's ear, eliciting a light chuckle from her date. "Nah, they all know, anyway. Most of the time, at least. I guess I'm kind of like Booth that way. On the job, he can scare the crap out of you. But he's secretly like, this huge sweetheart. Just not to bad guys."
"I know, I love that about you," Angela said, and when Jane raised her eyebrows, she quickly added, "Uh, both—I love that about you both. I think it's great. I think… I think I'm gonna shut up now."
"Yeah, let's just dance," Jane said softly.
Meanwhile, Maura and Booth had just made it back to their group's empty table. When the slow song had come up, Maura had seemed willing to stay on the dance floor, but Booth was definitely not comfortable with the implications of such a dance. He wasn't sure if it was childish on his part, but he couldn't help associating slow dancing with romance, an atmosphere he was determined not to enter with Maura… outside of their plan to go undercover, at least. For her part, Maura had imagined that a slow dance would be a good, innocuous way to feel more of a connection with Booth, something she felt needed to be established before she could believably pretend to be his wife. Maybe there would have to be another way to go about it…
"Seeley?" she asked after a long, awkward pause.
"Yes?"
She leaned in a little closer, though it was easy for Booth to hear her over such a relatively quiet song. "Would you tell me a secret?"
Whatever he might have been expecting to hear, this wasn't it. "About…what?"
"Anything. Tell me something your co-workers don't know, or your family doesn't know." Maura sighed when Booth continued to look puzzled; not upset, but definitely confused. "Sorry, I don't know how to explain this," Maura said. "I just want us to—I think we need to… know something about each other, something private, something personal. It would help me so much with our undercover. If I were your wife, I would know these things. I think there's a certain unspoken element that is occasionally noticeable in close couples …if you scrutinize them closely enough, you can see a look they exchange, or a touch. I just—I apologize if it doesn't make any sense, but I feel as though it would at least help me a tremendous amount if I could feel close to you in that way." Another long pause followed, during which Booth continued to stare, and Maura briefly bit her lower lip. "Is that strange?"
"No," he said softly, though his expression was blank. "No, I…I think it makes sense." He folded his arms, trying to think of a secret he could tell her. What didn't his grandfather know? What didn't Brennan know? What didn't Jane? "I just gotta think of something," he muttered, noticing that Maura looked extremely tense, as if worried she had offended him somehow. He wanted her to know that was far from the case. "Give me, I don't know, a prompt."
She thought about it for a moment, then said, "Have you ever done something you're ashamed of?"
For some reason, Booth felt like he could tell her anything, and she wouldn't be horrified or withdraw from him. She radiated a sense of kind, non-judgmental understanding. With a heavy sigh, he finally said, "When I was in sixth grade, I beat up Charlie Wickham. He was a wimp, a nerd. He called me a caveman because at the time, the only class I was good at was phys ed. So I decided not to make a liar of him, and I beat him up after school one day. I made him bleed. I broke his nose. He told everyone—his parents, the principal; he didn't have any friends—he told 'em he'd fallen off his bike. I don't know if he was proud, or afraid, or what. But I hated myself for doing it. I wanted to tell somebody, anybody, what really happened, but I was too scared of what'd happen to me. Thought I might get kicked out of school." He snorted a laugh, playing with the empty glass in front of him. "Charlie transferred after that. I don't know what happened to him. Sometimes I wish I could call him up. Tell him it's my job now to get rid of bullies." A loud silence followed this story, filled only by the strains of a saxophone solo in "Blue Moon," which sounded strangely distant. Booth looked up at Maura, and saw an expression of utmost sadness on her face. "Was that a dumb secret?" he asked, before it occurred to him that maybe Maura had been teased in school.
"No," she whispered. "No, it wasn't. You were a child when that happened, though, Seeley. I find it very moving that you still remember that instance, though …it speaks to your sympathetic nature. Perhaps you acted in a moment of weakness, as a boy. Jane told me you have a son—I know you'll never let him do something like that."
"You're right," Booth said. "I won't." He fidgeted with the empty glass again, then said, "All right then, your turn. What might your husband know about you?"
He had asked it as a joke to try and lighten the mood, but Maura averted her gaze, looking as though she was internally struggling against something very painful. "I don't know if it's quite a secret," she said, "but it's something nobody in the BPD knows about."
Booth's smile was replaced instantly by a solemn frown. Was she about to admit to her relationship with Vivian Phillips? As Maura twisted her hands in her lap, Booth wondered if she had possibly brought this whole secrets business up in the first place because she needed to get something off her chest. "What is it?" he prodded her gently.
Maura took a deep breath, and still staring resolutely at the tablecloth between them, said, "I'm fairly open in my approach to sexuality, Seeley. Not necessarily in the way you said Dr. Brennan is. I mean in the sense that I—I was at one point involved with a woman. Romantically. Sexually." She inhaled sharply again, stealing a quick look at Booth that told her nothing before she looked back at the table, a fist kneading her forehead. "It wasn't the way I expected; I mean, it wasn't as different from being with a man as I had expected."
"Who was she?" Booth asked, though he knew the answer.
"A cop I worked with in New York. She really swept me off my feet."
"Why haven't you told anyone here about it?" Again, he made sure his tone was curious, not accusatory or angry.
Finally, Maura was able to look him in the face. "Because… because…" Her eyes shot over Booth's shoulder. "Jane!"
He turned around to see Jane and Angela walking towards them, hand-in-hand. The song was over, and neither Maura or Booth had noticed.
"We're taking off early," Jane said as Angela grabbed the purse slung over her chair.
"You're leaving?" Maura asked.
"Don't get us wrong, it's been fun," Angela said. "But it's been a long day, and I think I need to go to bed…"
Slightly alarmed by this sudden change of pace, Booth tried to come up with a reason that they should stay—did Jane know what she was doing? "You're—but—"
"I know! Doesn't it look good in this dress?" Angela laughed, turning around. "Bye guys!"
"See you tomorrow," Jane said, nodding at Booth, then glancing at Maura before putting an arm around Angela's waist and guiding her towards the door.
A/N: The next chapter should be up fairly soon, I swear. Reviews help a ton, though :)