Deconstructing 2InLab



Author: wanderingsmith
March 2006
Summary: Deconstructing ep1x15
Warning: B\B angle, spoilers 1x15
Rating: PG-13 , some swearing
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this.

AN:  Who me?? spend a lot of time watching this ep??? neveeeeerrrrrrr!
AN2: just to clarify, I am taking assorted scenes and putting my spin on them.. and adding maybe 1 or 2 scenes that they *really* should have shown... lol


There was an odd tightness in his chest.  Part disbelief and part, harder to admit to, jealousy and hurt.  He had no claim on her, and knew he shouldn't be faulting her for finally getting out of the lab.  Yet...

Objectively?  Potential partner?  He was her partner.  Game playing?  He did not play games, she knew that.  Ignoring the unreasonableness of the thought.

Ruthlessly stomping on the feelings arguing in his head, he spared a mental smirk for the way Angela was taking to Kenton.  Poor man, he was no match for these women.

Watching her walk away from him, becoming the scientist, putting away all thought of relationships.  He was drawn to follow her, gave in to the urge to see if she would react to him as a man.  And there was definite glee to see her stop and stare at him as he spoke, pencil unmoving.  Even if she did jerk herself out of it far too soon.  And defensiveness *had* to be a good sign for him, didn't it?

Damn it, now she had him talking to himself!

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Vaguely listening to Booth try a very good line on Brennan, giving her full points for resisting, Angela found her eyes shifting to the new FBI agent in their midst.  He was quieter than Booth.  Didn't seem particularly enamoured of Bren, had reacted positively to her introduction. Ummm, this could be a fun case.  Especially if he kept annoying the boys by interfering with their skeleton.


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Booth could feel his teeth grinding as he stalked through the doors of the Jeffersonian, starting to yell when he saw Bones working away.  The anger didn't feel like a thick enough shield, the terror he'd felt when he heard she'd been shot at was too fresh, too immediate.

For a moment it won and he found himself asking rather than ordering.  Luckily, she was too busy trying to run the world and run away from her own fear to catch him and he rallied, pulled up mental shields to make himself lay down the law.

There was no way in hell he was letting her put herself in any danger.  If it cost him her friendship then so be it.  He *needed* her alive.

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Temperance felt oddly uncertain.  David had been interesting to meet.  A good-looking man, in an academic way...  When had she started qualifying attractiveness?  And he'd been interesting, had even held up under Booth's questioning, which couldn't be easy.

She'd enjoyed the meeting, right up until she'd looked at Booth before he turned away to lead the way back to the museum.  The emotion flitting across his face had looked suspiciously like hurt.  A look she'd seen too often on him, one she'd hoped never to cause again.

Trying to push the unsettling David issue away, she remembered what Booth had said about Hollings.  She knew this case would add to the burden of guilt he carried.  It wouldn't matter whom the young woman was, he would blame himself for not having prevented her death.

Listening to Angela's description of Booth struck more than one chord.  Wistfulness, worry, a vague sorrow for.. something; something she was missing.  Then she saw him getting ready to come in and braced herself for the pain she was about to cause him in the form of the girl's picture, wishing her scientist's detachment worked better with him.

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Even though he tended to feel like that useless fifth wheel whenever the squints got into it, it was worth it.  He loved seeing her like this.  Enthused, driven, and doing things he never hoped to come up with, yet that could solve his cases for him.  And when he actually got to understand a few useful words.. Who'd have ever thought he'd learn to like working with squints;  at least with *his* squints.

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Temperance was pulled up short when she recognized Booth's tone.  The one she'd heard him use any number of times, trying to guide suspects into saying what he needed.  And she suddenly saw what this seeming waste of time interview was about.  She felt fury that he was still trying to make her stop working.  And sneaking around about it too.

Yet Angela's words had more than a kernel of truth too, and kept her from lashing out.  She wasn't completely blind to the fear in his eyes when he mentioned her getting shot, saw the faint head shake and breath as she reminded him why they were doing this, instinctive mental denials of reality.

Kenton's apology did away with any need for him to hide his worry.  Leaving her to deal with the fact that she wasn't alone anymore, people cared for her, would be hurt if she came to harm.

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Grimacing at being caught playing their teasing game in front of Kenton, at forgetting their audience as he shared frustration with Bones.

'Image the keys and send to Zack’ he was repeating the words in his mind as she finished her summary of why, trying to understand at least the basics.  Dearly glad, and proud, this brilliant woman was his partner.

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One of the things she'd been surprise to find herself liking about her partner was his ability to switch between utterly serious, to child playful.  Just a few minutes ago he'd been warning her about snipers, the next thing she knew he was flirting; and now he was *playing*, to Foreigner of all things.

And she wanted to join him.  It had been years since she'd let herself go to music; at least in public.  But her body remembered this song, remembered dancing wildly with other girl in high school.  And he was far too tempting to not play with.

So she jumped in, let herself dance as she never had with boys when it was the rage.  And he did look like he was having as much fun as she was.

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"Booth! Booth!  Wake up!" she slapped his cheek gently, trying to block the image of him on fire, the terror that was crawling up her throat, held at bay only by the feel of his chest breathing under her hand.

He groaned slightly, starting to wake.

"Thank god.  Don't move Seeley," she kept her voice gentle, "don't move."  Feeling herself start to breathe again.

The instincts that had served her well when the blast happened reminded her that she needed to see just how badly injured he was.  She ran her hands down his ribs to feel for breaks.  When she encountered his cell phone she realized she needed to call the FBI, and an ambulance. Worried about what else she'd forgotten in her shock.


"I'm going with you!" her answer was immediate, definite.  Later she would wonder at her completely out of character response, but now, it never occurred to her to let him out of her sight.

"No! Argh!"  She winced as he groaned, the EMTs having accidentally jerked his stretcher, "You stay with the agents.  Safer.  Make sure they get all the evidence."  His breath was jerky, obviously painful.

"I don't know anything about gathering bomb evidence.."

"You just jog them." he stopped, worry and pain tightening his lung capacity.  "Annoy them, whatever.  Just stay near them."  It was the opposite of what he wanted to say; wanted to make her stay in *his* reach, but he knew she wouldn't be allowed to stay there in the hospital, that he was in no shape to guard her.

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Sitting watching him, bruised, burned and broken because of her, she could feel shock still holding her in a shell.  Speaking was a strain, trying to sound normal, trying to be herself when all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and convince herself he was safe.

The silence too much to bear with the images floating around her mind (still body; fire), she automatically focused on the nearest bones; his x-rays having served as a distraction earlier.

The move failed to distract her, only emphasizing the shakiness of survival, the chances of his dying.  Kenton's arrival almost welcome.

She couldn't find the will to really complain about being shuffled off as though she were a child.  He was hurt because of her.  Worried and made unable to fulfill his promise to protect her.  She didn’t want to add to his discomfort.  Wanted to make him better, needed him back on his feet, steady.  She would even accept his standing between her and the world; he seemed happy there.

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Sitting in his room, ignoring the television.  Trying to think why he had this sinking feeling in his admittedly burnt gut.  Booth wished desperately that he could be with Bones.  Could be sure she was still safe.

Seeing Hodgins in his doorframe, he was confused for a second as to why the man would ever come to see him.  Until their only connection suddenly came to mind and he felt the sinking feeling turn to terror.

Then confusion again as the man he said he was just visiting.

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He slipped his head between her arms to get his good arm around her waist, the leverage allowing him to lift her off that damn hook.  But her extra weight in his arms was too much and he fell back, thankful for the cement half-wall.  As he caught them both from falling too far back, his ribs refused to continue and he felt himself collapse forward, Bones still clinging to his neck.

Before he could drop them both to the floor, he felt her change her hold, shifting to lift and hold him up, taking up the role of supporter.  Through the pain, he could hear her sobbing breathlessly on his shoulder.  He let himself rest in her too-tight grip and concentrated on trying to reassure her; hating to hear her fear, needing his Temperance back for his own sanity.

As she finally started to calm down, he once again became conscious of pain crippling him.  Closing his eyes to try to soak up more of her reassuring warmth.  He felt her start to pull back.

Temperance forced herself to catch her breath, calm herself.  She could feel him shuddering with pain and lifted her chin from his shoulder reluctantly.  For an instant she caught his smell, smoke from the explosion, hospital disinfectant, sweat; and Booth, Booth safe and alive.

She had to make herself raise her head the rest of the way to talk to him. She hated the pain she saw on his face, even as he attempted one of his begging puppy dog eyes.

As he groaned and leaned back into her, she wrapped her arms around him, needing to hold him.  She wondered if she'd ever be able to work side by side with him without touching him again.  She had a bad feeling that the need to feel him warm and alive would eat at her subconscious until it was reassured, again and again.

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As Hodgins tried to make himself invisible, he realized he'd never seen Dr. Brennan look like she needed anyone before.  He wondered if maybe he simply hadn't looked.  Had missed it like he'd missed Angela's unhappiness at work.  Or if she'd only learned that human frailty after meeting the G-man.

He was glad, deeply glad, that he'd decided to stop by and see the FBI agent.  He'd been on his way home when he'd remembered being saved from an unmasking gala; knew the man would be worried about Brennan and figured some company might help.  Even if just by giving him someone to take his anger out on.

Watching the two in front of him, two of the few people he considered his friends, he felt a cold shiver of discomfort at how close they'd come to disaster in the last few days.

And he felt that age-old push and pull for a real relationship with someone.  Pull to know what it felt like to be connected so closely to someone.  Push of fear at what it would then feel like to lose that person in any way.  He was willing to bet that Dr. Brennan at least, would fully understand that duality.  Booth would probably say it was a risk you had to take to live.

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He made himself be cheerful.  Wishing things were different, feeling the need to make up for his behaviour the day before and for having failed to protect her.  She did look beautiful.

Seeing the couple on screen was a push too many for his forced cheer though.  There was a shouting voice saying that that was supposed to be the two of them, not her and some snivelling economist.

He stopped short, suddenly hearing his own thought.  Idiot.  Of course he wanted her.  Why the hell had it taken all this mess for him to admit such a simple thing to himself?

Looking up and seeing her there was probably the best gift anyone could have handed him right then.  The temptation to make a comment about her coming back was faint, easily overcome with the thought of spending the evening with her.  She had to know all he could offer was an evening either sparing, or just watching TV.  Not even music available.  Yet she'd chosen to return.


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