Bones: Overdue Books
Overdue Books
Booth/Bones
Rated PG-13 for language and kissing
Warnings: Spoilers through “The Passenger in the Oven”
“It’s not the librarian, Bones. It’s you.” He smiled, “well, you pretending to be a librarian.”
This is for Megg, my librarian-in-training
------------
Booth was having a bad day. Actually, “bad day” might be an understatement. The upside? He caught a murderer. The downside? The murderer in question was only sixteen. Plus the State Department was riding his ass (again) for pulling a case out of thin air (again) en route to China. He hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands. If he heard the words “Agent Booth,” one more time, he was going to snap and shoot something. And chances were it wouldn’t be a clown attached to an ice cream truck.
“Mr. Booth?” Brennan’s voice was soft and a little hesitant. Booth looked up, confusion written across his face. Bones was leaning against the doorway of his office. Did she just call him Mister Booth?
“Y-yeah, Bones?” She had on these glasses--kinda like the ones that old lady from the plane had. Cat eye. Was that what they were called?
Brennan pulled off her hair elastic with fingers that trembled. “Do you know the penalty for overdue books?” She said, grinning as she shook out her hair.
Booth’s mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed nervously. “Bones, what’s going on?”
Brennan blinked. It wasn’t often that she was at a loss for words. “You wanted me to say that,” she reminded him. “On the plane to China.” With a sway in her step, Brennan sauntered into his office. Booth stood automatically, puzzled by her behavior. “I asked Angela, and she hypothesized that it had something to do with the male fascination with librarians.” She reached his desk and stopped. That look crossed her face--the look that she got whenever he mentioned things like Spiderman or The X-Files. That look he loved so, so much. Booth stepped out from behind his desk, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
“I don’t really understand--“ she started to remove the glasses, but Booth’s hand stopped her.
“It’s not the librarian, Bones. It’s you.” He smiled, “well, you pretending to be a librarian.”
“But why librarians? They’re just people with an extensive knowledge of research technique and cataloging systems. Even though their field is classed as a science, one could hardly call them scientists. In fact--“ Booth knew when she was gearing up for a tirade about “real” science versus the imitation stuff, so he stopped her the only way he knew how--with a kiss.
She widened her eyes in surprise, but allowed him to wrap his arms around her waist. She had hypothesized that the interest in librarians was founded in sex. She suspected that the attraction lay in the idea of a strict, severe woman losing her inhibitions. Anthropologically speaking--
As though he knew her line of thought, Booth pulled away. “Bones,” he murmured, kissing her neck gently, “It’s okay to stop thinking for a minute or two.”
Brennan rolled her eyes. “I can multi-task,” she said, pulling Booth’s face toward her own. “Now, Mr. Booth,” she continued, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Do you know the penalty for overdue books?”
Booth/Bones
Rated PG-13 for language and kissing
Warnings: Spoilers through “The Passenger in the Oven”
“It’s not the librarian, Bones. It’s you.” He smiled, “well, you pretending to be a librarian.”
This is for Megg, my librarian-in-training
------------
Booth was having a bad day. Actually, “bad day” might be an understatement. The upside? He caught a murderer. The downside? The murderer in question was only sixteen. Plus the State Department was riding his ass (again) for pulling a case out of thin air (again) en route to China. He hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands. If he heard the words “Agent Booth,” one more time, he was going to snap and shoot something. And chances were it wouldn’t be a clown attached to an ice cream truck.
“Mr. Booth?” Brennan’s voice was soft and a little hesitant. Booth looked up, confusion written across his face. Bones was leaning against the doorway of his office. Did she just call him Mister Booth?
“Y-yeah, Bones?” She had on these glasses--kinda like the ones that old lady from the plane had. Cat eye. Was that what they were called?
Brennan pulled off her hair elastic with fingers that trembled. “Do you know the penalty for overdue books?” She said, grinning as she shook out her hair.
Booth’s mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed nervously. “Bones, what’s going on?”
Brennan blinked. It wasn’t often that she was at a loss for words. “You wanted me to say that,” she reminded him. “On the plane to China.” With a sway in her step, Brennan sauntered into his office. Booth stood automatically, puzzled by her behavior. “I asked Angela, and she hypothesized that it had something to do with the male fascination with librarians.” She reached his desk and stopped. That look crossed her face--the look that she got whenever he mentioned things like Spiderman or The X-Files. That look he loved so, so much. Booth stepped out from behind his desk, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
“I don’t really understand--“ she started to remove the glasses, but Booth’s hand stopped her.
“It’s not the librarian, Bones. It’s you.” He smiled, “well, you pretending to be a librarian.”
“But why librarians? They’re just people with an extensive knowledge of research technique and cataloging systems. Even though their field is classed as a science, one could hardly call them scientists. In fact--“ Booth knew when she was gearing up for a tirade about “real” science versus the imitation stuff, so he stopped her the only way he knew how--with a kiss.
She widened her eyes in surprise, but allowed him to wrap his arms around her waist. She had hypothesized that the interest in librarians was founded in sex. She suspected that the attraction lay in the idea of a strict, severe woman losing her inhibitions. Anthropologically speaking--
As though he knew her line of thought, Booth pulled away. “Bones,” he murmured, kissing her neck gently, “It’s okay to stop thinking for a minute or two.”
Brennan rolled her eyes. “I can multi-task,” she said, pulling Booth’s face toward her own. “Now, Mr. Booth,” she continued, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Do you know the penalty for overdue books?”