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Within three hours of spending time with her he makes an observation, not yet aware that it would become one of endless entries in his (entirely unintentional) mental cataloguing of her.
They’re sitting at Wong Foo’s and he reaches over to slide his chow mien toward him, the cuffs of his suit lifting just so. She’s sitting beside him, primly tucking into her meal (‘soup is more beneficial for your digestion at this hour of the day, Booth’) and he feels it before he sees it; how the spoonful of liquid pauses on its way to her mouth, hovering centimeters from her waiting lips. A quick glance registers big, blue eyes locked onto his wrist before they flit away again and the spoon resumes its journey.
She really doesn’t miss a thing, does she?
He notices the stare again as he reaches to pay, this time turning to find her studying his wrist shamelessly. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was a trick of the light; the way her eyes momentarily glint, dark as the clouds clustered over the city, heavy with a sinful sort of approval that has an equally heady heat coiling in his stomach.
Before his brain has a chance to catch up, he’s already calling her out on it.
‘They’re a matching pair, you know.’
Her eyebrows raise to her hairline; a picture of exaggerated indifference, he thinks, to disguise the fact that she’s been caught.
‘The tattoos,’ he repeats, tugging his other sleeve up slightly so that she can see the one on his left. ‘A matching pair.’
He doesn’t miss the tilt of her head, the parting of her lips as her eyes pore over the kanji, absorbing this information as eagerly as she does any knowledge.
She likes his tattoos. They turn her on.
Perhaps she’s cataloguing him, too.
Twenty months and a second (successful) attempt at a partnership later, he answers a question that he knows she’s been curious about for quite some time. They’re in the car - a classic stakeout - except this time she’s commandeered the driver’s seat. ‘That way,’ she muses, taking a bite of veggie burger, ‘if the culprit runs, I will block him off with the car if you are unsuccessful in chasing him down on foot.’
‘’Culprit’? Who are we, Sherlock and Watson?’
‘Oh - ah!’ her eyes light up. ‘I know that one!’
He can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm; it’s adorable and infectious despite the fact he’s developing a cramp in his leg and he really doesn’t like the idea of her driving the SUV.
As if reading his mind, she cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrow in suspicion. ‘You don’t have to worry, Booth, I’m an excellent driver, even under duress.’ Shifting to fold one long leg underneath her on the seat, she grins. ‘I really hope you can’t catch him. I’ve been curious to test this vehicle’s horsepower for quite some time. You’re too cautious at the wheel.’
The french fry in his mouth almost goes the wrong way. ‘Too cautious at th- you realize that’s exactly how you’re supposed to be, right? A cautious driver is a good driver.’
‘A recent study found that fifteen percent of people have been in car accidents, or know someone who has, due to motorists being overly cautious.’
‘Look, just stay in the car,’ he clasps his hands together in a praying motion, shaking them slightly; it’s an exasperated motion he’d picked up from his mom and he’s growing increasingly concerned that being around Bones is going to land him with a bout of RSI, because he finds himself doing it daily.
‘That’s exactly why this plan is so effective, Booth,’ she explains it to him like he’s five. ‘You wanted me to stay put in the car, and I’ll do so. I won’t leave the car, but can easily come to your assistance should you need a hand apprehending him.’
‘Which I won’t.’
‘But if you do…’
‘…you will go all Fast and Furious on his ass.’
‘I don’t know what that means.’
‘It means thank you, Bones, but please, just stay in the car and keep your foot off the gas.’
‘Fine.’
‘Great.’
They sit in silence for a while, save for the overzealous crunchcrunchcrunch as she nibbles on the lettuce of her burger. He glances behind him in search of his phone; earlier, he’d discarded his suit jacket, throwing it so that it landed in an unceremonious heap on the back seat. Placing one hand on the dashboard to prop himself sideways at a better angle, he leans forward and attempts to delve into the right pocket. If he just stretched a little further-
A delicate hand encircles his wrist, and he glances back.
She’s doing it again. Studiously examining his wrist, clear eyes wandering expertly over soft tissue and blue-black ink, head cocked to the side as if determining some sort of hypothesis or other.
And then he sees it. The tip of her tongue darting out, licking her lip.
He grins. ’Still there, Bones. They’re not going away anytime soon.’
Blinking owlishly, she relinquishes her hold on his wrist as he maneuvers himself back into the seat. He raises his eyebrow and she looks away, grinning shyly. ‘I hope you thoroughly researched what those specific symbols meant before you etched them into your skin, Booth’. It’s just the right amount of dramatic to be comical. And just like that, once again, she hooks her slender index finger and thumb around his wrist, expertly turning his hand palm-up. ‘What do they mean?’
‘’Soul,’ and ‘destiny’.’
She chuckles. The grin on her face widens, full lips parting welcomingly over perfectly aligned teeth, and suddenly his brain is screaming kissable! and he has to stop himself from proving that theory then and there. Clears his throat in panic, because he realizes, not for the first (and certainly not the last) time, that he’s in over his head when it comes to her.
‘What?’ he ventures tentatively.
‘Nothing. It’s just…’ clear eyes meet his, brimming with that mix of unspoken laughter and genuine affection. ‘It’s just very you, is all.’
He puffs his chest out. ‘I’m taking that as a compliment.’
‘You should.’
It’s so quiet he almost misses it, breathed against the window like a secret as she turns her head away.
After, way after, there finally comes a time (their time) when he teases her relentlessly about it. And sure, it’s never been a secret to him - no, not ever - but now it reveals itself all the time.
She fucking loves his tattoos.
It’s evident when she runs a steady thumb over his pulse points, because they’re always touching these days. He’s pretty sure that that she has a thing for his hands, too, because she twines her fingers with his any chance she gets. It’s clear as day whenever he’s cupping her jaw in his hand, and she turns, nosing at his wrist, nipping playfully, teeth lightly scraping over skin before she pulls back and gives him that delectable smile he’s always compelled to kiss.
A month in - when they’re lying in her bed, spent and panting heavily - she takes his hand from where it’s resting on her sternum and cradles it between both of hers. She brings it up to her face, running a finger over the kanji, and the expression on her face is so studious that he lets out a bark of laughter.
‘What?’ she chuckles, dropping his hand and twisting so that she’s half-draped over him. The sensation of her bare breasts against his chest is almost successful in distracting him from the matter at hand.
‘You’re obsessed, Bones.’
‘Am I?’ she muses lazily, burying her face in the crook of his neck. ‘Don’t laugh at me! God, I can’t help it.’
But they’re both shaking with laughter, and he can’t help but think it’s the most glorious moment of his life.
‘I can’t be certain,’ she sighs, pressing a kiss to his neck. ‘But if I were to guess, I’d say I’m reacting to the alpha-male trait of risk taking, which in some cases, is a biological indicator of quality.’
‘I am a quality male.’
‘…of course, that same trait, along with many others, can also make alpha-males difficult to work with. Impossible, some might say.’
‘Alpha-females too, right? Takes one to know one,’ he sniggers.
‘Booth!’ she rolls her eyes, opening her mouth fully and biting down on his arm playfully. He yelps, not entirely in displeasure, snaking his other arm around her waist, pinching playfully at her thigh.
‘Did I hear that correctly, though? You, making a guess?’
She props herself up on her elbow. ‘It’s a tentative guess, yes.’
‘Tentative?’
‘I much prefer the simpler explanation,’ she admits.
He raises his eyebrows. ‘And that is…?
‘…maybe I just find it really hot.’
She lets out a squeal of surprise as he flips her underneath him. It turns into a wonderful throaty laugh and he looks down at her, drinking her in. Eyes screwed shut and cheeks rosy, hair fanned out on her pillow, she’s resplendent. And it’s very much a love thing (he’s well aware) so he almost says it but not quite yet.
(No, not quite yet. Baby steps.)
‘What is it?’
He raises both wrists. ‘I know which one you prefer.’
Blue eyes flit to his right. 'That one.’
‘'Destiny’.’
She smirks. ‘No such thing.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he leans down, settling between her legs, grinning against her mouth as she gasps and arches her hips up to meet his. 'We’ll see about that.’