By Shakespeare's Girl
A/N: First in the "Ten Things I Want to see Seeley Booth Wear" series. My sister, Jane, wrote me a list of ten things she really wants to see Booth in, and I obligingly am writing them for her.
Booth took the steps two at a time. Why a woman who was an internationally renowned author lived in a five floor walk-up--even a nice one like this--was beyond him.
It was particularly beyond him tonight. She'd called him woke him up out of a dead sleep, and begged him to come take her to the lab. Why couldn't she drive herself? Because that expensive foreign car of hers had blown the serpentine belt. Why couldn't it wait until tomorrow? He'd been too tired and out of it to bother asking.
So here he was, dressed in hell knew what, running up five--five--flights of stairs only to run back down them again as soon as he got to the top. A less chivalrous man would have been thinking evil thoughts about Dr. Brennan's parentage--possibly true evil thoughts--and wondering why he was doing this for a woman he wasn't even sleeping with.
Seeley Booth was chivalrous to a fault.
He knocked on Dr. Brennan's door and took stock of himself while he waited for an answer. He automatically backed off after knocking, standing to the side of the door as training dictated. He was wearing his workout clothes--holdovers from his army days. Camoflague pants and an olive drab muscle tank didn't really stand out in a town like DC, but when people--acquaintances--saw the military clothes, they usually assumed he'd quit the FBI for the Rangers. Booth grinned. It might be fun, he decided, to see how Bones reacted.
Deciding to have some fun with it, he straightened into military-perfect posture and bit back his grin. The door opened and he snapped his body to attention.
"Booth?" Bones asked, her eyes widening as she took him in. "What's going on?"
"Ma'am, I'm here to escort you to the Jeffersonian. As you requested, ma'am," he answered. Her forehead crinkled into a frown. "Everything all right, ma'am?"
"Yes," she answered, still frowning. "I've never seen you in camoflague before," she observed.
"No, ma'am," he responded. The army wasn't big on soliloquies, or sharing feelings. Booth--in character--wasn't going to start changing policy now.
Still frowning, Brennan locked the door behind her and let Booth lead her to his SUV. They were almost to the Jeffersonian when Bones suddenly blurted out, "I like you better when you're yourself."
"Yes, ma'am," Booth teased.
"Stop that!" she protested. "I mean it. It's like you're a completely different person with those clothes on."
Booth thought about that. "Most people expect you to be," he finally told her, letting his posture relax as he let the pretense drop. "Drill sergeants to generals, they all expect you to be what they want you to be."
"Well I want you to be Seeley Booth," Bones announced. "Don't ever go all marine man on me again. I was beginning to think that 'Mongolian Candidate' movie wasn't just an irredeemably convoluted protest against the government and actually held some truth."
"It's military man, Bones, not marine man, and I assume that you mean the 'Manchurian Candidate'." There were a few more seconds of silence. "Can't believe you thought I was a marine," he complained. Then, suddenly, he realized something. Brennan's posture, the way she'd looked at him, the way she was looking studiously away now . . . "You thought it was sexy!" he accused playfully.
"What?" she gasped, looking at him involuntarily. "No I didn't--"
Grinning, Booth pulled the SUV into the parking ramp. "Did too. You think I'm sexy," he teased.
Bones pouted, then relented. "Maybe a little . . ."