Authors note – I know! Another song-fic. But it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. For anyone interested it's by Scissor Sisters. Reviews are sweeter than haribo.

Rating is for language.

Usual disclaimers apply.


I used to hate stakeouts. Ass-numbing, boring, freezing stakeouts.

Then she demanded to come along. Full participation. From a squint of all people. OK so my ass is still numb from sitting in the same spot for hours on end. And yes, it is still fucking freezing. But we talk, and it isn't so boring anymore. So we sit and talk and freeze together. And I like it.

If I'm honest I like all the time we spend together. I mostly like when we close a case and eat takeout at hers until the early hours. She doesn't push me out the door until I'm ready to go. But I always know when she's ready for me to leave, so I do. I like that.

I like sitting across from her in the diner, always the same seats, always the same order. Always the same smiles. I like that too.

I like watching her work. In her lab. Out in the field. It's all good. She is the best. And I make damned sure everyone knows it.

I even like sitting next to her in Sweets office, despite knowing he's gonna throw us a bone neither of us want to chase. We understand each other better than he can ever hope to know.

When you're quiet, but your eyes
Are saying everything I need to know
I want to burrow like a sparrow
Dodging alley cats and whiskers

"Booth" you say. "You are uncharacteristically quiet this morning."

I reply with a smile and a look that lingers a little too long. "Just thinking Bones. Just... Thinking." You look good, sat there. Watching. Waiting. It's a good job we are alone. If Angela was here she would be talking about denial or unresolved sexual tension or how hot it would be if we were together. Of course she's right. Not much gets past her.

Why do we talk in whispers?
Is it painful hearing voices ring
So early in the morning?

You speak softly. As if you're conscious of interrupting my train of thought. "I saw a deli around the corner. It should open soon. You want me to go and get us some breakfast?"

"Sure" I reply, equally soft. We smile. There's that look again. They used to happen – what, maybe - once a day. Now I can't even keep count. I wonder if you do?

It was only a few days ago when you called me up. Your apartment needed fixing after your upstairs neighbor had that incident with the bath overflowing. You asked me if you might stay a few days, a week at most, because you hated motels. Of course I said yes. But you already knew that I would.

I've been waiting for the day
When I can throw away these numbers
That line my dresser drawers and cupboards
Start me over

So I offer you Parkers room, clearing out drawer space I know you will need. I never realized just how much stuff ex girlfriends leave around. I know I won't see them again, so all their stray belonging's can go in the trash. They don't belong here anymore. I'm glad that I don't find anything belonging to Camille. I wouldn't want you too see me give her something back.

It was over a long time ago.

Life seems so much slower
With your toothbrush by the mirror
Can I make it any clearer?

It seems to suit us. Living under the same roof. Sharing a kitchen, a desk, a bathroom. There is nothing awkward or confusing. It's nice, comfortable. I think you feel it too. You must, or you wouldn't find it so easy to reset all the radio stations on the stereo. And crowd the bathroom shelf with your organic products, which do smell pretty amazing. And don't think I don't know that you borrowed my razor. Twice.

And I just might say it tonight
I just might say it tonight
And I just might tell you tonight
That I love you
And you should stay all my life

We could carry on this way. It wouldn't be that difficult. And then when I bring takeout home you wouldn't have to wait for me to leave. I would like that.

We would eat breakfast together. Just like we already do. And I would bring you lunch when your too busy to leave the lab. Like I have done every day for the last two weeks. And instead of finding neutral ground by way of Thai, or Italian or Mexican restaurants we so often frequent we could come home and cook together, because it would be neutral territory already.

They'll tell you that you'll maybe make it
If you just cut your clothes and change your hair
But I won't fuss and moan
'bout what you wear

Last night your publisher called to tell you about an interview. I could see you getting mad as she proceeded to tell you what to do, what to say, how to dress. And although I will admit that I don't always see the way you dress as particularly flattering. (Those ethnic prints may look good when you adopting local customs in Peru, but in downtown D.C.?) I still know that you would look beautiful if you were dressed in a sack. But I won't ever tell you that because I know it will bring back memories of what you endured in Guatemala.

There are a few exceptions though. The Wonder Woman costume, for obvious reasons. And your lab coat, for... not so obvious reasons.

I feel so much better
When I read your dirty letters
Just wear your sweaters in the winter
'Cause I wouldn't want you to get cold

Thinking about your publisher reminds me that you, at times, have a particularly sadistic streak. I pride myself on the fact I know you better than anyone else, but on occasion's like these I really don't know if the things you say are intentional.


"Yes, Bones." I'm engrossed in a hockey game but you always command my attention and I give it willingly.

"I was wondering if you would review this chapter for me?"

"But you NEVER let me read anything until it's published."

"I'm a little conscientious. It's not what I would usually write and I would appreciate a male perspective. I have to consider my target audience covers a broad range of society."

So you print out the offending pages for me to read. It's a scene between Kathy and Andy. And they are, well, to be blunt. Fucking. And it is damned hot. And you, Temperance Brennan, are sat three feet away, expectantly waiting for my opinion.

No, opinion is wrong. You're waiting for my reaction. Do you know what you do to me?

I shift my gaze from the building we're staking and look at you. Do you know? And more to the point, is that my sweater under your coat?

"Bones? Is that my sweater?" I ask casually. At least that's how I hope it came across.

"I suspected it would be cold"

That's it? No apology. No explanation. That is so...


I hope that we're together when we're old
I would have sold all my possessions
Never took piano lessons
But baby you're a grand
And I will learn to play the good notes
And tune you up the best I can

I turn my attention back to the building and realize I'm grinning like an idiot. I let out a half laugh and you look confused.

"Why are you laughing? Now I'm all at three's and seven's."

"Sixes and Seven's Bones. The expression is 'at sixes and sevens"

"But that doesn't make any sense. At least in my version they are prime numbers."

And I just might say it tonight
I just might say it tonight
I just might tell you tonight
That I love you
And you should stay all my life

Tonight. Maybe.