The First Time
Rating: I'd give it a K+ – because there is no nudity or rampant sex, but the thought is still there. )
Summary: Booth needs help. The FBI assign him a partner and he meets the squints, and Brennan, for the first time.
A/N: Oh it's brilliant. Bones started after Booth and Brennan had met, which leaves lots of doors open for me… oh yes D. Please review. I hope you like!
"I am sure you two will get on fine," Dr Goodman said, knowing instinctively that there would be conflict immediately. The FBI agent, with his cocky smirk and streetwise attitude would turn Temperance Brennan into a one woman campaign for intelligence over experience.
He wasn't prepared to scare Seeley Booth away, though. The Jeffersonian was funded by the government, and he didn't want to piss off the biggest institution.
"I'm sure we will," Booth said, side stepping a table scattered with stripped bones. His eyes lingered for a moment, before he shook his head. "So, this… Brennan woman, is she good?" Goodman thrust his hand into his lab coat and produced his key-card.
"One of the best, Agent Booth," he said, swiping his card and permitting the agent into the quarantined section of the lab. Booth noticed that the table there was covered with plastic, concealing the body underneath from his eyes.
"Good," he stated. "I don't need some hocus-pocus, guessing stuff, here. I need exact science." Booth pulled the sheet back, peering underneath at the skeletal remains. He was surprised to find only a skull, half a rib cage and, one arm and a foot.
"Please don't do that, Agent Booth," Goodman sighed. "Dr Brennan is fiercely protective of her work and that is classified." Booth dropped the sheet.
"I don't know what I'm looking at, anyway," he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders.
"In answer to your statement, anthropology is an exact science and in the interest of your working relationship with Dr Brennan and not to mention your physical well-being, I would recommend you don't make such derogative comments in her presence." Booth offered Goodman his most charming smile, but the man remained impassively stern.
"Duly noted, sir," he said. "So where is this woman, then?"
"Whose this?" Goodman and Booth spun to face a woman with dark hair and a cheeky smile.
"Miss Montenegro," Goodman said. "This is Agent Booth from the FBI, remember?" Angela stepped forward, thrusting her hand out.
"You're the FBI agent? Why did I imagine someone with a gut and a balding head?" Booth clasped her hand, shaking hard. "Angela Montenegro," she added, despite Goodman's introduction. "I'm the artist here, and the relatively normal one." Booth frowned, releasing her hand.
"Normal? What do you mean?" Angela merely smiled. Booth turned to Goodman. "What does she mean?"
"...still cannot determine what happed to the skull. It took two days of to reconstruct. One of the most challenging. I've been working through the night. The shattering around the temple is inconsistent with a blunt instrument, Zach…." Booth blinked.
"I think I understand. Is that her? Dr Brennan?" Angela grinned, glancing over her shoulder. "Damn…"
Goodman stifled a chuckle, but the sound was audible enough to break Temperance Brennan's conversation with her assistant. She stopped outside the quarantined lab, passing her eyes over the three of them in turn. Goodman first, Angela second and Booth last. Her gaze lingered there for a long time, their eyes meeting in an instant battle of wills. Booth instinctively knew she'd be a tough woman to work with.
Hands shoved into her lab coat, vibrant mahogany hair and blue eyes the colour of artic ice, Dr Brennan was not only fiercely protective of her work, but feisty and determined. Her chin tilted in defiance of his presence and her eyebrow arched skyward.
"Listen…" Angela whispered. "How the tension crackles." Brennan glanced at her friend, her eyes narrowing. "Sweetie, look at your new partner," Angela said, gesturing to Booth. "No gut." Temperance swiped her card, climbing the stairs.
"You're leaning on my bones," Temperance said, gesturing to the table. Booth stepped back.
"There's a woman who knows a good chat up line. Nice to meet you too, Dr Brennan." He didn't offer his hand to her.
"These remains have been discovered after half a millennia," Brennan said. "This man commands our respect." Booth gave a low whistle.
"Half a millennia? That's staying power for ya!" Brennan lifted her chin again, her expression cold and detached.
"I don't know what that means," she said, pulling the sheet back.
"Well, it-" Booth began.
"Leave it alone, Agent," Goodman said, shaking his head behind Brennan.
"Zach, look at this," Temperance gestured to her assistant who had been otherwise silent. The dark haired boy stepped up, bending over the skeleton, narrowing his eyes. Booth sighed.
"Squints," he murmured, ignored by the other four. "Erm, Dr Brennan?" He said, rounding the table, waving his hand in front of her face. "While I hate to disturb this happening party you have going on here, we have something in this century that requires your immediate attention." Temperance ran her fingertips over the ivory skull, focusing especially on the cracks that radiated from one side.
"What did you say your name was, again?" She asked, turning and taking a small metal ruler from Zach's hand.
"Seeley Booth," he answered.
"The radius of this wound is two point one inches in diameter at the widest point, Zach," Brennan said. "Like I said, it wasn't blunt. Whatever it was, it penetrated. This hole indicates that the instrument was only point twenty five of an inch at the tip. Maybe a rounded spear?" She glanced up, as if acknowledging at last that Booth was there. "Yes," she said, "Agent Booth, if you want to bring the remains into the lab, I'd be happy to take a look. Whenever I get time."
Goodman cleared his throat. "Actually, Dr Brennan, the FBI takes priority, now." Temperance looked up, her jaw tight.
"I don't work for the FBI," she said.
"The Jeffersonian is funded by the government, Dr Brennan. The FBI need an anthropologist and that's you. Agent Booth will show you to the remains." Brennan peeled her gloves off, her stare impenetrable. She was cold, Booth knew. But intriguing and no doubt infuriating. Perhaps he was a glutton for punishment, but he felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of working with her.
"So this is why I obtained a doctorate, is it? To be loaned to the FBI whenever they snap their fingers?" Booth rocked back and forth on his heels, grinning cheekily. He was suave and confident. Her biting tones proved ineffectual.
"Come now, Dr Brennan, no one here is snapping their fingers. I usually just say please." Her eyes flared, angered and irritated. "The remains will be delivered to you shortly," Booth said, grinning idiotically. "I'll be in touch later, let me know what you find." He saluted them, racing down the steps. "Catch you later, Bones." He called, meandering through the lab.
Temperance Brennan watched him go, a flush of fury creeping across her neck.
"What did he just call me?" She asked.
God, she hated him already.