LIKE SHIPS IN THE NIIIIIIIIIIIGHT
Because I promised baggers I'd give her something to shout at because APPARENTLY IT'S ACTUALLY VERY DIFFICULT FINDING TIME TO TALK TO SOMEONE WHEN YOU'RE ON DIFFERENT CONTINENTS, and because I desperately need this out of my brain (and into your car?) - okay. So, like, every Bones fan ever has their own special "so this is why they hated each other!" story. And every fan ever wants to be right?
TITLE: no, that's not going to happen, not in a million years
FANDOM: Bones
SUMMARY: Booth has to see a guy about a thing?
NOTE: I am only 50% serious with this. (That's a lie. I believe it.) (No, I don't.) (Fandom, you are the only place where I can be honest about these things...?)
"Actually, technically speaking-" Brennan says.
Booth finishes for her, "We met at a bar."
Sweets: "..."
Sweets: "Seriously?"
-
"...so then I said, 'Well if that's what you think, then you can take that watercolor palette and shove it up your,'" Angela abruptly stopped. "Okay, sweetie, are you even still listening to me?"
Brennan registered the interruption a second later. "What?"
"You're not."
"I'm listening, Angela! I'm listening!"
"No. No, you're not, you're just staring into space, thinking about work and dead people."
"I'm not, and those are the same..." Except she was, and she also wasn't listening. Brennan sighed. "Finish your story."
"Nope. Never mind. Doesn't matter."
Brennan frowned. "Now you're upset."
"No, I'm not upset," Angela moaned, sucking a large gulp of her brightly colored drink. "I'm just pissed at myself for thinking you might actually suddenly turn into a fun normal person if I dragged you out on a Friday night."
"Hey! I can be fun!"
-
(History tells us that what happened next was fortuitous. Momentous. A butterfly flapping his wings in the Caribbean, the apple that fell on Newton's head, etc., etc. If anyone had been able to understand the chain of events that would be triggered by these next immortal words, someone would have stopped to take a picture. Or fall over.
Or - something.)
-
Angela raised a single eyebrow, sensing the challenge. "Fine." She lifted her chin toward a table in the back. "That dude has been checking you out all. night."
Brennan squinted at the man in question - plaid shirt, fairly muscular build, looked to be physically in good health, and... oh, no. He had a mustache. Assuming that Angela was insinuating that she strike up a conversation with this person in the hopes that it would lead to a casual social interaction, drinks, maybe the exchanging of phone numbers and a possible date, followed by the possibility of sexual intercourse - no. That was not likely with this individual.
Brennan stared. "Okay."
"And," Angela replied, leading, hoping this would inspiring - what? this opinion to suddenly change? "You should go talk to him."
"But I don't want to talk to him."
"No. Of course you don't." She turned back to her drink. "You just want to die miserable and alone with four dozen cats and crates full of old bones around you, all waiting to be IDed," she exhaled.
"What?"
Angela waved her hand at her best friend. "Why do I bother?"
"I don't think I understand what's going on right now."
Angela ignored this, announced she had to use the bathroom, and left Brennan alone at the bar. And for a while, Brennan just sat there, trying to figure where exactly she had gone wrong. If she had found the man attractive, sure, perhaps she would have humored her friend. But she didn't find him attractive, and if she didn't find him attractive then it holds that a conversation with the pretext for future sexual encounters would of course be pointless and ultimately futile and disappointing. Why didn't Angela realize that with her-
"Good choice, by the way."
She heard him perfectly, but it took a few seconds to register that this particular snippet of conversation was standing next to her, and actually directed at her. She eyed the stranger to her left. "Excuse me?"
At her acknowledgement, he turned, relaxing against the bar. Now this man, her mind instantly assessed, this man she found physically attractive, for what it was worth.
"That guy in the plaid," he replied, nodding a little in the man's direction. "Definite pass."
Usually, Brennan would have ignored this sort of thing - she wasn't the best at picking up the nuances of social interactions, but this man was so openly hitting on her and yet - his stance, and deliberate cadence were all clear indicators of this - anyway, usually she ignored this sort of thing, but there was... something. It was probably some latent desire to show up Angela for that miserable and alone comment, she reasoned. So she turned to him fully, putting her head on her palm as she looked up at him, and really, he was... well, he had excellent symmetry of the skull and torso region. Given the height of his femur in proportion to his arm extension, she guessed he might have been a basketball player at some point in his life. That wasn't an assessment based on any potential sexual interest - it just was.
She licked her lips, suddenly aware that she hadn't actually said anything. "And I suppose," (she wasn't sure what exactly she was doing with her voice right now, or why, or that it even mattered), "you have a good reason for saying this?"
He shrugged. "The way that guy's been looking at you all night? One more second, and I'd've arrested him for stalking."
Brennan laughed, then sorted through the meaning of what he'd just said, and raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "So that's what you say to strange women in bars? 'I'm a cop, so have sex with me'?"
Normally, Brennan had discovered, when she pointed out to strangers in bars that they were hitting on her, it tended to make them leave her alone. Most men didn't like having the artificiality of this particular courting ritual pointed out to them. This guy, though, he just smiled at her, like he was actually glad the jig was up. Also, he didn't actually stop participating in it. Instead, he shrugged, and replied, "Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes it even works."
She laughed. She had to laugh. What the hell was this guy up to? "I don't know who I feel more sorry for, you or the women dumb enough to fall for it."
"Yeah, well...," he said, but didn't finish it. When she didn't turn away, he moved in a little closer to her. "So now's the part when you tell me your name."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's what you do in these kinds of things."
"But I don't know you."
"Right, and I don't know you, so - what's your name?"
She considered it for a moment. "How will you know I'm not lying?"
This question seemed to genuinely confuse him. "Wait, what?"
"How will you know I'm not lying?" she repeated quickly. "My friend, whom you may or may not have observed also, has repeatedly extolled to me the virtues of lying about one's own name to strange men. Apparently it has something to do with 'sketch value,' although I'm not entirely certain about the actual scientific validity of that scale."
He stared at her a while, then said, "You look honest."
She snorted. "That's certainly a totally unprovable observation."
"I mean it," he replied quickly, adding, "You look... well, you just sort of look like you."
"You realize that that makes no sense?"
He gave her a look she didn't quite understand, then smiled. "You'll at least let me buy you a drink, then?"
"You don't know my name, but you'll still buy me a drink?"
"Yes."
"I already have a drink."
"So finish that one, and I'll buy you another one," he smiled, even broader than before.
"I wasn't planning on having another drink. I was actually going to go back to work."
"On a Friday?"
"Yes."
"Why?!"
"Because it's quiet, and I get a lot done." He was looking at her like she was insane, and Brennan immediately felt like it sounded like an excuse (it was) (it wasn't, but it was) (she so would have ended up back at the lab anyway, most likely). She decided to try another angle: "I don't know your name. Why would I let you buy me a drink?"
"Because then maybe I'll tell you."
"I... have to accept a drink from you before you'll tell me your name?"
He thought about it for a second. "Yes."
She licked her lips again. Why, why, why did she keep doing that? "Then... no."
"No?"
"No."
"But I thought-"
"If the purpose of accepting a drink from you is to achieve the aim of learning your name, then I must unfortunately decline."
"...you don't want to know my name?"
-
(This is the second most important thing that happened that night.)
-
"No," she lied, before she even realized what she was doing. "I don't."
The stranger looked down at his feet. "Oh. I-"
"It's not-" Okay, was she suddenly feeling bad? What? "You do seem very nice."
This comment made the stranger smile, except differently. Brennan couldn't actually quantify what differently meant, precisely, but it was. She started to say something more, but she noticed his eye was caught by something behind her, and he said, quickly, "Your friend's coming back now."
It almost sounded - was it regret? And what was that she was feeling right now? Disappointment? No. That had to be the beer. Beer, and the attention of another human being. It had to be.
Brennan turned to see Angela threading her way through the masses crowded around the bar, and when Brennan turned back to her left - the man was gone. She looked around, but he had disappeared into the teaming masses of bodies.
"...Brennan?"
She turned back to Angela. "Hmm?"
"Who the hell was that?"
"What?"
"That guy you were talking. Who was he?"
"Oh." She considered it, then replied, honestly, "I don't know."
"Okay, seriously? Alone and miserable. There is absolutely no hope for you."
"Thanks, Angela."
"Anytime."
-
Sweets looks at both of them. "Seriously?!"
Booth smiles. "Oh. It ain't over, Sweets."
-
About a week later, Angela was recounting the gory details of how she had finally broken up with Paul the Insane Pseudo-Buddhist Watercolor Painter for good, all while Brennan shrugged into her lab coat and made her way across the forensic platform of the Medico-Legal Lab when - she stopped dead in her track at the sight of the man being checked in at the security office. The guard passed him a temporary security pass, and Brennan had immediately forgone Angela's commentary for an incredibly brisk walk (lie: near run) to meet him before he crossed the threshold into the lab.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm-" (he did not recognize her, at first) "-sorry?"
"That joke, about the guy stalking me. Is this little stunt supposed to be funny?"
"I-" (realizing who she was) "-hey-" (REALIZING) "-Um. Hi."
"Hi."
He held his hands up in defense. "Okay, seriously, you have to believe me. Totally not stalking you. You work here?"
Angela eventually sidled up to Brennan's side, gave him a thorough and blatantly obvious once-over, then declared, "Hello."
"Hi," he said, to Angela.
Angela tilted her head. "You two know each other?"
"No," Booth said, at the same time that Brennan said, "Yes."
Angela blinked. "Yeah, I'm confused."
"He's the... guy," Brennan elucidated.
(Booth mouthed, the guy?)
Angela's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? From the bar?"
Brennan didn't know why she suddenly felt so uncomfortable. "...yes."
Booth looked like he could definitely name about ten places he would rather be at the moment, and half of that list were countries where he was known to have killed someone, so he just waved his hands at this general situation and said, "Listen, I'm just- I'm from the FBI, see, and I need to see a guy. Can you help me out?"
This seemed to orient Brennan. "FBI?"
"Yes," he replied, pulling out his badge. "Special Agent Seeley Booth."
Brennan looked at Angela, because both of them knew exactly why he was here.
She considered him. "And you need to see a guy."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To," he held up the folder in his hand, "It's about a... thing."
"What 'guy'?"
"That's the problem, apparently you need an appointment or whatever. I just have a last name, but I could really use the guy's help."
"There are channels for that."
"Yes, I know there are channels. Thank you."
"You make an official request to the administrator of the Jeffersonian, Dr. Goodman."
"Again: thank you, already aware of that."
"So why are you-?"
"HE'S IN CHILE."
"Yes. Yes, he is. So why are we-"
"He's in Chile, and his office won't be able to get back to me until next month, and I just thought - I thought -"
"You thought you could come here and be charming."
He looked at her. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's a - bad thing."
Brennan shrugged. "I didn't say it was."
"But you implied- whatever. Could you help me out here?"
Brennan crossed her arms, inquisitively. "Maybe if you actually told me who you were looking for, I could help point you in the right direction."
If Brennan had actually known the hurdles and red tape and epic skyscrapers that Booth had leapt and scaled to even get to the point that he was at - standing here, (unknowingly) in the presence of the one forensic anthropologist in the entire world who could solve this case - the case that had weighed on him for as long as it had, whose unsolved nature ate at him every night and tortured his soul, and whatever other metaphor you'd like to throw at this - if she had known, then this would have probably been the last thing she would have ever said. But of course she didn't know. How could she know? He was a guy who had hit on her at a bar, and then seven days later he showed up at her job. How could she know?
How could she know he'd react like this:
"Listen, I know you're all a bunch of squinty scientist whatevers who don't get out a lot, and don't talk to many people on a regular basis, but what I've got here in my hand is stone cold murder, so if you're done fucking around with me, that would be fantastic. Just point me in the direction of the bone person."
Angela winced. Brennan's spine straightened.
"The bone person," she repeated back to him.
"Yes," Booth replied, finally, completely unaware of the shit he had just waded into. "Brennan... something or other."
"The bone person named Brennan."
"What am I, speaking Klingon?" Very elegantly, she extended her hand, which he just stared at dumbly. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Dr. Temperance Brennan," she introduced herself. "The bone person."
-
Sweets coughs with laughter, then starts giggling. "Oh man. Epic."
Booth just stares at him.
Brennan starts to say, "No, no, you're not telling the whole-"
Booth shuts her down immediately.
-
(Angela: "I'm Angela, by the way. Angela Montenegro."
Booth shook her hand, for as long as she held on to it (it was a long time). "Hello."
"I'm the best friend."
"Okay...?"
"Just so we're clear."
"Great."
"Good."
"Can you let go of my hand now?"
Booth swore she winked as she sauntered away.)
SERIOUSLY, THOUGH, I AM A LITTLE CRAZY.
-
And, uh, of course this would be our meeting place post?
TITLE: no, that's not going to happen, not in a million years
FANDOM: Bones
SUMMARY: Booth has to see a guy about a thing?
NOTE: I am only 50% serious with this. (That's a lie. I believe it.) (No, I don't.) (Fandom, you are the only place where I can be honest about these things...?)
"Actually, technically speaking-" Brennan says.
Booth finishes for her, "We met at a bar."
Sweets: "..."
Sweets: "Seriously?"
-
"...so then I said, 'Well if that's what you think, then you can take that watercolor palette and shove it up your,'" Angela abruptly stopped. "Okay, sweetie, are you even still listening to me?"
Brennan registered the interruption a second later. "What?"
"You're not."
"I'm listening, Angela! I'm listening!"
"No. No, you're not, you're just staring into space, thinking about work and dead people."
"I'm not, and those are the same..." Except she was, and she also wasn't listening. Brennan sighed. "Finish your story."
"Nope. Never mind. Doesn't matter."
Brennan frowned. "Now you're upset."
"No, I'm not upset," Angela moaned, sucking a large gulp of her brightly colored drink. "I'm just pissed at myself for thinking you might actually suddenly turn into a fun normal person if I dragged you out on a Friday night."
"Hey! I can be fun!"
-
(History tells us that what happened next was fortuitous. Momentous. A butterfly flapping his wings in the Caribbean, the apple that fell on Newton's head, etc., etc. If anyone had been able to understand the chain of events that would be triggered by these next immortal words, someone would have stopped to take a picture. Or fall over.
Or - something.)
-
Angela raised a single eyebrow, sensing the challenge. "Fine." She lifted her chin toward a table in the back. "That dude has been checking you out all. night."
Brennan squinted at the man in question - plaid shirt, fairly muscular build, looked to be physically in good health, and... oh, no. He had a mustache. Assuming that Angela was insinuating that she strike up a conversation with this person in the hopes that it would lead to a casual social interaction, drinks, maybe the exchanging of phone numbers and a possible date, followed by the possibility of sexual intercourse - no. That was not likely with this individual.
Brennan stared. "Okay."
"And," Angela replied, leading, hoping this would inspiring - what? this opinion to suddenly change? "You should go talk to him."
"But I don't want to talk to him."
"No. Of course you don't." She turned back to her drink. "You just want to die miserable and alone with four dozen cats and crates full of old bones around you, all waiting to be IDed," she exhaled.
"What?"
Angela waved her hand at her best friend. "Why do I bother?"
"I don't think I understand what's going on right now."
Angela ignored this, announced she had to use the bathroom, and left Brennan alone at the bar. And for a while, Brennan just sat there, trying to figure where exactly she had gone wrong. If she had found the man attractive, sure, perhaps she would have humored her friend. But she didn't find him attractive, and if she didn't find him attractive then it holds that a conversation with the pretext for future sexual encounters would of course be pointless and ultimately futile and disappointing. Why didn't Angela realize that with her-
"Good choice, by the way."
She heard him perfectly, but it took a few seconds to register that this particular snippet of conversation was standing next to her, and actually directed at her. She eyed the stranger to her left. "Excuse me?"
At her acknowledgement, he turned, relaxing against the bar. Now this man, her mind instantly assessed, this man she found physically attractive, for what it was worth.
"That guy in the plaid," he replied, nodding a little in the man's direction. "Definite pass."
Usually, Brennan would have ignored this sort of thing - she wasn't the best at picking up the nuances of social interactions, but this man was so openly hitting on her and yet - his stance, and deliberate cadence were all clear indicators of this - anyway, usually she ignored this sort of thing, but there was... something. It was probably some latent desire to show up Angela for that miserable and alone comment, she reasoned. So she turned to him fully, putting her head on her palm as she looked up at him, and really, he was... well, he had excellent symmetry of the skull and torso region. Given the height of his femur in proportion to his arm extension, she guessed he might have been a basketball player at some point in his life. That wasn't an assessment based on any potential sexual interest - it just was.
She licked her lips, suddenly aware that she hadn't actually said anything. "And I suppose," (she wasn't sure what exactly she was doing with her voice right now, or why, or that it even mattered), "you have a good reason for saying this?"
He shrugged. "The way that guy's been looking at you all night? One more second, and I'd've arrested him for stalking."
Brennan laughed, then sorted through the meaning of what he'd just said, and raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "So that's what you say to strange women in bars? 'I'm a cop, so have sex with me'?"
Normally, Brennan had discovered, when she pointed out to strangers in bars that they were hitting on her, it tended to make them leave her alone. Most men didn't like having the artificiality of this particular courting ritual pointed out to them. This guy, though, he just smiled at her, like he was actually glad the jig was up. Also, he didn't actually stop participating in it. Instead, he shrugged, and replied, "Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes it even works."
She laughed. She had to laugh. What the hell was this guy up to? "I don't know who I feel more sorry for, you or the women dumb enough to fall for it."
"Yeah, well...," he said, but didn't finish it. When she didn't turn away, he moved in a little closer to her. "So now's the part when you tell me your name."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's what you do in these kinds of things."
"But I don't know you."
"Right, and I don't know you, so - what's your name?"
She considered it for a moment. "How will you know I'm not lying?"
This question seemed to genuinely confuse him. "Wait, what?"
"How will you know I'm not lying?" she repeated quickly. "My friend, whom you may or may not have observed also, has repeatedly extolled to me the virtues of lying about one's own name to strange men. Apparently it has something to do with 'sketch value,' although I'm not entirely certain about the actual scientific validity of that scale."
He stared at her a while, then said, "You look honest."
She snorted. "That's certainly a totally unprovable observation."
"I mean it," he replied quickly, adding, "You look... well, you just sort of look like you."
"You realize that that makes no sense?"
He gave her a look she didn't quite understand, then smiled. "You'll at least let me buy you a drink, then?"
"You don't know my name, but you'll still buy me a drink?"
"Yes."
"I already have a drink."
"So finish that one, and I'll buy you another one," he smiled, even broader than before.
"I wasn't planning on having another drink. I was actually going to go back to work."
"On a Friday?"
"Yes."
"Why?!"
"Because it's quiet, and I get a lot done." He was looking at her like she was insane, and Brennan immediately felt like it sounded like an excuse (it was) (it wasn't, but it was) (she so would have ended up back at the lab anyway, most likely). She decided to try another angle: "I don't know your name. Why would I let you buy me a drink?"
"Because then maybe I'll tell you."
"I... have to accept a drink from you before you'll tell me your name?"
He thought about it for a second. "Yes."
She licked her lips again. Why, why, why did she keep doing that? "Then... no."
"No?"
"No."
"But I thought-"
"If the purpose of accepting a drink from you is to achieve the aim of learning your name, then I must unfortunately decline."
"...you don't want to know my name?"
-
(This is the second most important thing that happened that night.)
-
"No," she lied, before she even realized what she was doing. "I don't."
The stranger looked down at his feet. "Oh. I-"
"It's not-" Okay, was she suddenly feeling bad? What? "You do seem very nice."
This comment made the stranger smile, except differently. Brennan couldn't actually quantify what differently meant, precisely, but it was. She started to say something more, but she noticed his eye was caught by something behind her, and he said, quickly, "Your friend's coming back now."
It almost sounded - was it regret? And what was that she was feeling right now? Disappointment? No. That had to be the beer. Beer, and the attention of another human being. It had to be.
Brennan turned to see Angela threading her way through the masses crowded around the bar, and when Brennan turned back to her left - the man was gone. She looked around, but he had disappeared into the teaming masses of bodies.
"...Brennan?"
She turned back to Angela. "Hmm?"
"Who the hell was that?"
"What?"
"That guy you were talking. Who was he?"
"Oh." She considered it, then replied, honestly, "I don't know."
"Okay, seriously? Alone and miserable. There is absolutely no hope for you."
"Thanks, Angela."
"Anytime."
-
Sweets looks at both of them. "Seriously?!"
Booth smiles. "Oh. It ain't over, Sweets."
-
About a week later, Angela was recounting the gory details of how she had finally broken up with Paul the Insane Pseudo-Buddhist Watercolor Painter for good, all while Brennan shrugged into her lab coat and made her way across the forensic platform of the Medico-Legal Lab when - she stopped dead in her track at the sight of the man being checked in at the security office. The guard passed him a temporary security pass, and Brennan had immediately forgone Angela's commentary for an incredibly brisk walk (lie: near run) to meet him before he crossed the threshold into the lab.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm-" (he did not recognize her, at first) "-sorry?"
"That joke, about the guy stalking me. Is this little stunt supposed to be funny?"
"I-" (realizing who she was) "-hey-" (REALIZING) "-Um. Hi."
"Hi."
He held his hands up in defense. "Okay, seriously, you have to believe me. Totally not stalking you. You work here?"
Angela eventually sidled up to Brennan's side, gave him a thorough and blatantly obvious once-over, then declared, "Hello."
"Hi," he said, to Angela.
Angela tilted her head. "You two know each other?"
"No," Booth said, at the same time that Brennan said, "Yes."
Angela blinked. "Yeah, I'm confused."
"He's the... guy," Brennan elucidated.
(Booth mouthed, the guy?)
Angela's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? From the bar?"
Brennan didn't know why she suddenly felt so uncomfortable. "...yes."
Booth looked like he could definitely name about ten places he would rather be at the moment, and half of that list were countries where he was known to have killed someone, so he just waved his hands at this general situation and said, "Listen, I'm just- I'm from the FBI, see, and I need to see a guy. Can you help me out?"
This seemed to orient Brennan. "FBI?"
"Yes," he replied, pulling out his badge. "Special Agent Seeley Booth."
Brennan looked at Angela, because both of them knew exactly why he was here.
She considered him. "And you need to see a guy."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To," he held up the folder in his hand, "It's about a... thing."
"What 'guy'?"
"That's the problem, apparently you need an appointment or whatever. I just have a last name, but I could really use the guy's help."
"There are channels for that."
"Yes, I know there are channels. Thank you."
"You make an official request to the administrator of the Jeffersonian, Dr. Goodman."
"Again: thank you, already aware of that."
"So why are you-?"
"HE'S IN CHILE."
"Yes. Yes, he is. So why are we-"
"He's in Chile, and his office won't be able to get back to me until next month, and I just thought - I thought -"
"You thought you could come here and be charming."
He looked at her. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's a - bad thing."
Brennan shrugged. "I didn't say it was."
"But you implied- whatever. Could you help me out here?"
Brennan crossed her arms, inquisitively. "Maybe if you actually told me who you were looking for, I could help point you in the right direction."
If Brennan had actually known the hurdles and red tape and epic skyscrapers that Booth had leapt and scaled to even get to the point that he was at - standing here, (unknowingly) in the presence of the one forensic anthropologist in the entire world who could solve this case - the case that had weighed on him for as long as it had, whose unsolved nature ate at him every night and tortured his soul, and whatever other metaphor you'd like to throw at this - if she had known, then this would have probably been the last thing she would have ever said. But of course she didn't know. How could she know? He was a guy who had hit on her at a bar, and then seven days later he showed up at her job. How could she know?
How could she know he'd react like this:
"Listen, I know you're all a bunch of squinty scientist whatevers who don't get out a lot, and don't talk to many people on a regular basis, but what I've got here in my hand is stone cold murder, so if you're done fucking around with me, that would be fantastic. Just point me in the direction of the bone person."
Angela winced. Brennan's spine straightened.
"The bone person," she repeated back to him.
"Yes," Booth replied, finally, completely unaware of the shit he had just waded into. "Brennan... something or other."
"The bone person named Brennan."
"What am I, speaking Klingon?" Very elegantly, she extended her hand, which he just stared at dumbly. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Dr. Temperance Brennan," she introduced herself. "The bone person."
-
Sweets coughs with laughter, then starts giggling. "Oh man. Epic."
Booth just stares at him.
Brennan starts to say, "No, no, you're not telling the whole-"
Booth shuts her down immediately.
-
(Angela: "I'm Angela, by the way. Angela Montenegro."
Booth shook her hand, for as long as she held on to it (it was a long time). "Hello."
"I'm the best friend."
"Okay...?"
"Just so we're clear."
"Great."
"Good."
"Can you let go of my hand now?"
Booth swore she winked as she sauntered away.)
SERIOUSLY, THOUGH, I AM A LITTLE CRAZY.
-
And, uh, of course this would be our meeting place post?