Temperance Brennan was annoyed. Why, she wondered, could people not understand her complete lack of enthusiasm in celebrating a pointless holiday where all one did was dress up and beg for candy? It seemed almost wrong. Surely it taught children bad habits?

Instead of understanding, they simply dismissed her protests and told her she was too uptight, which was precisely why at that moment she was sitting in the front seat of Booth's SUV as they drove to the FBI's annual Halloween party. She didn't understand why she had to be there. Hodgins wasn't, Angela had left him at the lab because she said she didn't want to have to listen to his muttering about the whole concept of Halloween being a conspiracy. Just three hours ago (had it been that long already?) she herself had been face to face with a centuries-old skeleton from an Indian burial site, and now she was face to face with the thought of having to endure over a hundred people dressed in ridiculous costumes and getting drunk all over the place for several hours.

She remembered the conversation she'd had with Angela in the clothes shop earlier about her own ridiculous idea for a costume.

"I've decided on the perfect costume for you."

"What costume would that be, exactly?"


"I am not going as Cleopatra to the annual FBI Halloween party."

"Oh, but Sweetie, it would be perfect!"

"How so?" Skeptical.

"Because it would make Booth want to fuck your socks off."

Of course that was the reason. Another thing she didn't understand was why after all these months of nothing happening the artist was still bent on getting her with Booth. Or why she had to swear so loudly and in public. Or why she ignored the fact that it was ludicrous to think someone could actually get their socks 'fucked' off.

"Look, Brennan, I'm not a Neanderthal, so stop looking at me as if I am and ignore my crass and possibly offensive use of language. And wear the costume."

"I will not wear it. Nothing you say, as crass or offensive as it may be, will change my mind about it, either."

"Well what will you go as?"

"I'm a forensic anthropologist, isn't that interesting enough to use as a costume?"

By the look on the artist's face, Brennan had guessed not.
It didn't stop her from going as one though. And Angela couldn't talk; her costume didn't exactly require effort.

"Angela, why are you carrying a stick?"

"I'm Buffy, the vampire slayer. And it's a stake."

"It's a stick. And I don't know who that is."

Angela raised an eyebrow at the anthropologist. "You've never even heard of the show?"

"It's a show?"

It wasn't her fault she didn't have a television. Her thoughts were interrupted as the car slowed to a stop and Booth killed the engine.

Everyone piled out and Brennan looked apprehensively at the building they were standing in front of.

Angela went on ahead immediately, and the other three followed a ways behind.

Booth leant down slightly and said in Brennan's ear, "You look nice."

She stopped. "You see me like this almost every day."

She raised an eyebrow as he stepped closer. His proximity didn't bother her, they were always in each other's personal space. It was more the way he was looking at her that was making the breath catch in her throat.

"Yes…but there's just something about you tonight…" a finger traced a line along her collarbone, "…my scale of hardness seems to have been raised to an eight."

"Booth, the Mohs Scale of Hardness is to do with rocks and minerals, not arousal."

"Oh, right, and next you'll tell me cleavage has nothing to do with your chest."

"It's the name given to what happens to a rock when you split it."

Zack didn't seem to notice how close the two were standing to each other as he gave Booth the explanation, walking past them. Or maybe he did and just didn't say anything. Booth stepped away from Brennan and turned to her assistant.

"Is there any reason why you're not inside yet?"

Zack scurried away after Angela, who had disappeared into the noise.

"I wasn't talking about Mohs scale of hardness anyway. Who is Moh?" he leaned in, only inches from her lips. He didn't really even care about what she would reply with. He just wanted to see her react to him.

Brennan didn't say anything for a minute. And she didn't flinch. Then she calmly smiled and took a step back, turning and walking towards the brightly lit doorway.

"Frederich Moh was a German mineralogist," she threw over her shoulder.

She didn't look behind her, but she could imagine Booth's look.

Maybe tonight wouldn't be entirely wasted after all.


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