Chapter Text
The way that Doctor Brennan would have explained the situation, in the opinion of many, sounded better on paper. She would have said, in front of God and everyone (if in Whom she believed), that it made the most sense to go and travel, stay the week, and share the same itinerary together because they were both invited to attend the wedding and the subsequent wedding party.
However, upon further inspection, the way that Agent Booth was handling everything seemed more… practical to reality. He wasn’t exactly nervous about it, but he still treaded very carefully on any implications that he and Doctor Brennan were more than partners and friends in this particular situation. All the while, if anyone dared question why he would have put himself in such a peculiar predicament—like all men like him did—he got defensive and stated, nearly verbatim, the reasons Doctor Brennan previously gave.
Camille and Angela only had to look at each other once to have an entire silent conversation about it when the trip was first announced. What it was for, only Angela really knew, but it was still intriguing to hear that they would do everything together like a… oh, no one should dare say it… couple’s getaway week-long vacay.
It was an early October morning when the behavior started telling on itself.
“Vic’s age, Bones?” the FBI agent asked, scrubbing his cheek with the heel of his hand. He stood over Temperance as she kneeled over the body, peering at the skull like it had the answers to the secret of life.
“Mid-twenties,” she hummed. “Victim is male, likely with a history of physically-aggressive sports, given the age, size, and sporadic injuries across the phalangeal extremities.”
“Football player?” he asked, sniffing once.
“Possibly. I’d have to study the skeleton further.” She looked up at Booth. “Did she text you back, yet?”
“No,” he replied to Brennan. “I doubt Caroline even saw it; it’s six in the morning. We still have another four weeks before we leave anyway; we’ll get everything sorted and it’ll be, you know, hunky-dory.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Cam leaned closer to Angela. “What’s that about?” she hissed, pretending to be extremely preoccupied with a severed toe that looked gooey enough to have some answers. Her eyes flicked up to the other woman’s face quickly enough to be missed if one blinked.
“Russ is marrying Amy,” Angela explained. “Brennan and Booth are going together, but they’ll need to find appropriate substitutes while they’re gone for the week just in case any more murders like these pop up.”
“And that means they’ll need to get good opinions and referrals,” Cam surmised. “Hence Caroline.”
“Exactly hence Caroline.” Angela beamed. “Booth got asked to be a groomsman; Russ hasn’t even told him why, yet, and Brennan is just as confused as Booth is.”
Cam’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really-really.” Angela fiddled with her camera, also pretending to be invested in work rather than the juicy gossip about Booth and Brennan. “Bren, obviously, is going to be a bridesmaid for Amy, since she’s Auntie Tempe.”
“That’s really kind of her,” Camille said. “Amy and Brennan, actually, since they’re kind of equally extending the olive branch.”
“I know, right?”
The two women smirked at each other. “You think Brennan will catch the bouquet?”
“You think Booth’ll catch the garter?”
“In your dreams.”
Angela laughed a little too loudly. The other people on the site—including Booth and Brennan—looked over at her. She waved her hand lightly and called out, “Sorry!” before turning her attention back to Cam. “I haven’t even really told Hodgins everything, yet. I’m waiting to hear Brennan’s excellent excuse about why she’s not going to be jumping Booth’s bones the second they land in Tampa.”
“I get the scoop before your husband?”
“You asked; he hasn’t.” Angela’s eyes glittered cruelly. “Also, it’s just different when you can talk to another girl about it, you know?”
Camille laughed, sticking the toe she was pretending to examine into a bag. “Oh, I know it.” She reached over to point at Angela’s camera. “Can you take some pictures of this for me? I need the comparisons later for bruising and potential environmental distinguishing so your husband can go all buck wild on them.”
“Got it,” she said. “So, what about you? Any plans for when IRL Kathy and Andy are gone?”
“Nothing but the Jeffersonian. You?”
“I thought about watching a chick flick and relishing in the fact that Brennan is going to be living inside one,” she answered. “Jack’s got some Magic the Gathering party he’ll be going to for a night or two, which gives me some much-needed girl time.”
“Won’t you miss him?”
“Oh, yeah. For sure.”
“Ange!” Brennan called from over by the body. “Can you come take some photos of the victim’s thoracic region?”
“Coming!” she answered. “I’ll be right there!”
By mid-afternoon, Brennan had asked Booth about Caroline’s potential texts back a minimum of eight times, not that either of them had really been counting. Booth wasn’t that precise, and Brennan was, for once in her life, too distracted to keep count of something. Booth really only knew about five of those times for certain, because they all happened while they were transitioning into something, like the one on the crime scene, twice in the car, one time as they walked into the Jeffersonian, and then one more time as they left the Jeffersonian. Brennan only recalled asking three times, which happened to be three separate occasions that Booth checked his phone in a quiet room outside of wherever they had just been to talk to the victim’s family.
Now, collectively, it had been the ninth time, sitting in the Royal Diner and waiting for the waitress to come back with their eggs and toast.
“Listen, Bones, if there’s something to tell, I’ll tell you. Okay? It’s not going to happen faster just because you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” she insisted. “I’m just…”
“Anxious,” he finished for her.
Brennan glared half-heartedly. “I’m not.”
Booth held up his hands in mock-surrender. “Got it. You’re not.” He sighed. “What does Russ expect of me as a groomsman? I’m not his best man, so will I… have to do any kind of speech, or something? Am I gonna have to bring up some kind of embarrassing story?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She looked at her partner. “Has he given you any kind of list of expectations?”
“Kind of? Nothing really outside of the ‘be there at the wedding, party with the groom, dance with the bridesmaids’ criteria.” He picked at a salt packet. “Nothing really… specific.” The grimace he gave more closely resembled pain than anything else.
Brennan, as rational as ever, was as cool as a cucumber. “Amy’s friends are all beautiful.” Brennan sipped her coffee. “If I recall correctly, at least two of them are single.”
Booth’s cheeks tinted. “Nice, Bones.” He frowned. “That’s not really what I was worried about.”
“It wouldn’t be bad,” she said. “It’s not like we’re sharing a hotel room.”
“According to the booking, we’re going to have a connecting door.”
“That’s an entirely separate wall,” she debated lightly.
Booth used a napkin to wipe his mouth as he made a sour expression. “That’s still too connected for me to feel comfortable bringing another woman around.”
With a shrug, she said, “I might bring another man.”
The color on Booth’s face darkened, but his countenance didn’t change. “That’s your decision.”
“You don’t have to be so uncomfortable about sexual encounters,” Brennan reminded him over her coffee cup. “It’s a natural, biological fact of life.”
Booth rolled his eyes and moved his own cup out of the way, leaning on his elbows. “I like my sex life private, Bones; I’m not exactly the kind of guy who likes to share that stuff. You know?”
“It’s not embarrassing.”
“It’s also not for everybody I meet.” The tired look he gave her passed silently across the table. “I’m not like Agent Andy, Bones; I don’t just give up my bedroom history to every girl who bats her eyes.” The bite in his words melted right out as soon as he had said the words Agent Andy.
“You’re not Agent Andy.” Brennan set her own cup down and crossed her arms. She also leaned on her elbows, pressing her lips together to suppress a smile. “If I did base Agent Andy off of you, I wouldn’t have included his various sexual dalliances with Kathy Reichs throughout my novels.”
A little smirk appeared. “Right.”
“Did you ask Russ why he wanted you to be a groomsman?”
Booth cleared his throat, coughing gently into his fist. “Yeah.”
“Did he answer?” Brennan asked. She tossed her hair out of her face. “Or are you still confused?”
“Why?” Booth perked up. “Why? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing. He only told me that you’d be one. He never elaborated when I questioned him.”
Booth puffed his cheeks and sat back hard against the chair. “Well, you didn’t interrogate him, did you?” He said the words less like a question and more like an accusation. Something closer to an You should have, rather than a Did you?
“I assumed that I was missing a social cue,” Brennan answered, lifting her arms in the tell-tale, I don’t know! little children did.
“Come on, Bones!” he groaned. “I’m going to be a groomsman for your brother! The least you could do is figure out why.”
“I can ask him again if it bothers you so much.”
“Please,” Booth said. “It does. I feel like I’m missing a social cue.”
“Because you rarely do,” Brennan filled in. There was an air of confusion on her face.
Booth’s own expression softened. “Yes,” he said, no longer as irritated as he had been moments ago. “And I’m not really… used to it.”
“I’ll call him tonight,” she promised. She looked back at her coffee.
When Caroline finally texted back, the relief hit so hard that Booth could literally see Brennan’s shoulders rise into the air like floaties in a pool. If he wasn’t so concerned about the whole trip, himself, he might have found that amusing, but this wasn’t really the time to be thinking about humor—Caroline was enabling Russ’s Wedding Week.
“Bones,” he called as he leaned on the jamb of her office. He held up his cell phone and waved it ever-so-slightly.
There was a pause that lasted no more than a breath.
She picked her head up from whatever she was reading at her desk, promptly running over to his shoulder to inspect. “What? What?”
He tilted his phone. “Names.” His eyebrows climbed his forehead to a mild degree. “You like any of ’em?”
“McCourtney and Rook,” Brennan murmured. “Jung and Cook.”
“I like Bradley and Morgan,” he told her quietly. “They’ll be really good if they’re going to be working with your Squinterns.”
“I’ll have Clark mostly working that week,” she informed Booth. “Wendell is my back-up but he’ll be present for most of the work as well.”
“So we’ll have to figure out who’ll work best with those two.” Booth paused. “Daisy and Fisher might be too socially awkward, but why not Vince—?”
“He’s going to be on vacation,” she clarified. “I decided Clark and Wendell would be the best matches.” She got off her toes and left space between them again. “We’ll have our phones on us, so I’m not particularly worried.”
“Yeah, but Bones, this is your brother’s wedding,” Booth reminded her. “You’re not going to be solving any cases that week. I’ll take the phone from you and keep it in a little plastic baggie like I do with Parker’s toys when he misbehaves.”
“I am not your eight-year-old son.” Brennan gawped at him. “I have a prolific career!”
“And you’re also trying to have a good relationship with Russ, so we’re not going to be Special Agent Seeley Booth and Doctor Temperance Brennan that week.” He sighed. “We’re going to be Booth and Bones, like we always are, just without the badges and the gloves and the murder. Just us.”
She shifted from one foot to the other, but decided, for once in her life, to concede. “Tell Caroline Bradley and Morgan; they’ll fit best with the Jeffersonian team.”
“Got it.” Booth looked down at his phone and thumbed in the response as directed. Without looking up, he asked, “You got your bridesmaid’s dress, yet?”
“Yes,” she said. Bones folded her arms. “It’s…” She trailed off, trying to hide her smile. Then, after a moment or two of failing to conceal her opinion on her face, she admitted, “It’s a terrible color.”
“Yeah?” He looked up. “Is it anything like the pale blue tie I’m gonna wear?”
“It’s periwinkle,” Brennan informed him, chuckling with the shake of her head. “I’m glad that this will be about Amy and Russ, because I doubt anyone…” Brennan trailed off again, still giggling at herself. “The photos will be beautiful.”
“What’s Amy’s dress gonna look like?”
“You’re not supposed to know.”
Booth frowned facetiously. “I’m not the groom! It’s not bad luck, Bones,” he sang.
“Yes, but you’re a groomsman! Aren’t the brides supposed to hide themselves until the procession?”
“You’re a killjoy, Bones,” he told her, puffing his chest.
She laughed again, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Am not!”
“Are, too!”