They had eaten breakfast in silence. It was unusual for them not to talk, bicker or laugh. But they each had a newspaper section to read so they could pretend nothing was wrong. But when they got into the car, Booth felt helpless.
"Fine!" he said really loudly. "I'm sorry!"
She gave him a questioning look.
"What for?"
"Whatever you're mad at me for."
"I'm not mad at you. I have headache and feel like crap. Yeah, ok. You can be sorry for that."
"So you're not pissed at me?" he checked.
She was. But he would not understand why. The reason was blurry even to her. She was pissed at herself, mostly.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Booth."
"Then why aren't you talking?"
"You're not talking either. And I enjoy silence. Particularly this morning."
"I hate silence. You know that."
"Then turn on the radio!" she said.
He turned it on.
"I'm sorry for making us play that tequila drinking game..." he said after another 5 minutes of nothing to say.
She brushed it off. "That was nothing." Oh, really? "You didn't make me do anything. We were drunk, and it was fun."
"Then why are you acting so weird with me?" he asked.
"Would you stop already?!" she begged him.
"Fine."
He stepped on the break and swerved to park on the side of the road.
"I didn't mean stop the car!" she interjected.
"You never shut up usually. And I like that."
"I have nothing to say this morning, that's all. It happens."
"Is it because I read that thing on your computer?" he asked.
YES! THAT'S WHY. YOU HAD NO RIGHT. I NEVER WANTED ANYONE TO SEE THAT. ESPECIALLY NOT YOU, she thought.
Fed up, furious and about to explode, she got out of the car and slammed the door shut.
"Wha..." Booth tied to get out too, but his seatbelt was stuck.
Brennan kicked some rocks around. Calmer, she leaned back on the car, arms wrapped around herself. This needs to stop. You're a woman, he's a man. This is completely natural. The fact that you're trying to ignore your attraction is making it worse. It's not healthy. Just tell him. Tell him you want to fuck the hell out of him. But don't use those words.
Booth finally got out of the car. He stood next to her and folded his arms too.
"I don't want things to change between us," Booth confessed.
She looked up, at his face. He had his dramatic face on. His eyes met hers. She needed him by her side. Sleeping with him would change things. Definitely. I know sex and emotions don't have to be related. He doesn't. But their relationship, whatever it was, was more important than anything.
"I don't want things to change either."
"Good. So let me ask you one thing," he said.
That doesn't sound good.
"What?"
"That wasn't your new book, was it?"
She didn't answer. Which kind of answered.
"What was it about?"
"Sex, mostly."
He laughed. "No, I got that. Was it about... me?"
For one second, she was tempted to say yes. But she read some kind of fear in his eyes.
"God! You're so conceited."
"Hey! Weirder things have happened..." he said.
"It wasn't about you."
"Was it about... Sully?" he asked, fearing the answer.
"Sully?" she repeated, confused. "Why would it be about Sully?"
"I don't know..."
"It wasn't about anyone specific. It was just some notes I took."
He looked at her. And made a joke attempt.
"Like a to-do list?"
She laughed, but didn't answer. They were both breathing a little easier now that things were clear. Or seemed to be.
"You're just feeling weird because you held me in bed this morning," she said. She looked at his reaction to make sure she hadn't gone too far.
His blushed.
"Oh. You noticed that?"
"It was too hard not to notice."
She hadn't intended for it to sound so dirty.
"Can I drive?" she asked, not really expecting anything. Mostly to start an argument to keep her minds off the topic.
He handed her the key.
She looked at him, in shock.
"You do feel sorry! I should let you hold me more often."
Did I just say that?
You let me?
They arrived at the Bed & Breakfast where they were to meet the owner. The victim had been reported staying here a week prior to the murder.
"Wow," Booth said, taking his sunglasses off, casing the building. "This could be Hansel's and Gretel's house."
"I didn't know you had friends in London..."
"Hansel and Gretel are not my friends," he said, noticing how incredibly stupid that sounded.
"Then who..."
"Hey there," a big voice interrupted them. They turned to the front door and saw a big man in the doorway. He didn't look like a B&B owner at all.
"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan. We're here to meet a Mr..."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on in!"
The man disappeared, leaving the door open. They both entered the house and Booth almost shivered in disgust. This was bringing the term "English cottage charm" to a whole new level. Flower patterns were everywhere. I bet the toilet paper is flowered too.
"One of us should stay here tonight," Brennan said. "I'm sure there are rooms available. And it's not that far from the subway."
"The tube."
"What tube?"
"That's how they call... Nevermind."
Booth looked around again. He did not want to stay here.
"You can stay if you want," he said.
"Why am I the one who has to stay here? All my stuff is at the apartment."
"Fine! We'll flip for it," he said, taking out his wallet to find a quarter.
"Oh, let me!" she demanded, childlike.
He smiled at her excitement and it to her.
"Ok," she prepared herself. "The one who wins gets the apartment tonight."
"Tails," he called.
Her tip tongue darted out in concentration. And she flipped it. Booth had to duck.
"Oops, sorry."
"It's ok. I must have another one..." He checked his wallet, his pockets... nothing.
"Care for some biscuits?" the big man said.
They followed the man to the back porch, where they sat. He was wearing a dirty –formerly white– t-shirt too small for his size. His pants were stained, too short, and he was wearing boring white socks.
"So, you own this place?" Booth verified.
"Yeah. It was my auntie's business. But she died last year."
"This place is really clean," Brennan stated. "You don't look..."
Booth interrupted her. He had a feeling she was about to say something that would offend the big man.
"You've owned it for a year, then?"
"Yes. I thought about shutting the place down, but I realized it would be money for old rope."
Brennan turned to Booth, about to ask him to rephrase that for her, but Booth shushed her again. He had no clue what the man had just said and he didn't really want her to know. Luckily, the owner wasn't finished talking.
"I'm happy I kept it running. The loads of babes coming through that door... You know what I mean?" he said, snorting really loudly.
"No, I don't," Brennan said flatly.
He looked at her from head to toe. She felt a little uncomfortable.
"Surely you know..."
Booth had had enough. He got up and pulled Brennan's arm for her to do the same.
"Thanks for your time, Mr Brody. We'll be in touch if we really need to."
"Booth! You didn't even ask about the victim..."
"I'll come back later."
"Why?"
"Because you're distracting him," he said.
Before she could protest about this overly protective behaviour, the man said,
"I think you dropped a coin."
Brennan quickly asked him not to touch anything and went to see what side was up.
"Tails," she sighed.
Booth grabbed her arm and pulled. He walked them out in the hallway.
"Wait! You won," she said.
"There's no way in hell you're staying here."
"Why?"
"Why? The creepy guy looks like a sex-offender," he said.
"Aw, come on! What do you base this..."
"I'm not letting you stay here. End of discussion."
"Fine," she said. "You stay here then."
Booth snorted.
"I'm not staying here. This place smells like my grandmother."
Brennan sniffed the air.
"You're grandmother smells like bleach and pine oil?"
"My grandmother's dead. She probably doesn't smell anything anymore."
"Was she cremated?"
"No."
"Then she indubitably smells of putrefaction."
"Thanks, Bones," he said, sarcastically.
***
Since they had wasted their time that morning, they got really busy with the case the rest of the day. Around 7 pm, they were done. Case was closed.
"Hey, you wanna celebrate? We could go out," he proposed, as they got out of the car. "A nice dinner for our last night in England?"
Booth didn't know why he was nervous asking her that. They went to dinner all the time. But something was different now.
"Yeah," Brennan said, without thinking.
But then their eyes met. And they both felt the spark.
"Tempe?" a voice called her.
She spun around, recognizing him.
"Mike?"
"Hey!" the guy cheered, before hugging her.
Booth readjusted his belt buckle, and stood up straighter while the two others talked and yelped at the same time. Who's that creep?
"Booth? This is Mike Bruski. Mike, this is my partner, Seeley Booth."
"You finally caved into marriage, huh? I knew you would."
"What? No!" Brennan said.
"I'm not... She's... We work together."
"Oh, good for me, then," the guy winked.
Booth searched for Brennan's eyes. But she was in awe, staring at that Mike person.
"Mike and I went to college together," she explained.
Well, college is over. Now bye, bye, buddy. We have plans tonight.
"This is crazy seeing you here. Can I ask you out?" Mike asked.
"I'm going back to DC tomorrow" she said.
"Are you free tonight then?"
No. She. Is. Not.
"Tonight? Uhm..."
An evening filled with sexual tension and awkwardness or an evening with an old friend?
Brennan didn't even look at Booth before answering.
"Yes."
"Great. I know some great restaurants. Then we could go dancing, or..."
"Sure," she said. "Pick me up here at 8?"
Booth was really uncomfortable. But he had to stay there and watch because she was the one with the key to the apartment. How fast had she agreed to go out with Mike? He didn't want to be, but he was hurt. He had asked her first. And she had already said yes. She couldn't do that. It really wasn't polite.
Mike walked away, not without turning back three times to wave at her. Brennan was still smiling when she dug through her purse to find the apartment key.
"This is so weird! I haven't seen him in ages and we meet in London."
They walked up the stairs.
"You can't date him!" he let out.
"Why? He's not gay..."
"Clearly'" Booth mumbled.
Once in the living room, she turned to him.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"We had plans, that's all."
He looked hurt. She hadn't thought it would hurt him. She had thought of herself. How easy of a solution it was to go out until really late to avoid the weirdness that was still in the air of every room of this place. Go out to give herself a break from the sexual attraction she had for her partner.
He thought maybe she was attracted to him for real. Maybe she was even more than that. For a second he had thought... But he was obviously mistaken.
"I'm sorry," she said. "But we can have dinner any time. Chances are I won't see Mike for..."
"I get it. It's fine."
She went to change while Booth watched TV. When she got out of the bedroom, he automatically got up to his feet. She was...
Her green dress was showing off her silky legs. Her breasts were pressed together, ready to make him have an aneurism.
"Could you..." she asked, pointing to her back.
He licked his lips and walked to her. His fingers were cold against the skin of her back. He zipped her up, watching her skin react to his touch. Kill me now.
Once he was done, she turned around.
"How do I look?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.
"Sure." He had no idea what she had just said. He had seen her lips move... but kind of slow motion.
"Sure of what?"
"Huh?"
"Am I ok?" she asked, certain now he had not caught her first question.
He could only nod. And trail his eyes all over her.
"When will you be home?" he asked.
Home. Home?
She laughed faintly at the image. And shifted on her feet.
"I mean..." he started.
"Yeah. Uhm... You probably shouldn't wait for me."
Good thing she was getting out of there soon. How could Booth not know what the way he looked at her did to her?