Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

A/N: Set between 6x23: "The Change in the Game" and 7x01: "The Memories in the Shallow Grave."

It's an exciting life, being secretary to the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Not. Most days, work is as dull as Hades around here.

I know, I know… you'd think Hades would be interesting, wouldn't you? What with all those people being punished and all. But Sisyphus keeps rolling that rock uphill, Tantalus keeps trying to reach the grapes, and Tityos' liver keeps being ripped out by vultures; it's fascinating at first, but since nothing changes, it gets boring pretty quickly.

The same is true of being the Director's secretary. At first, taking so-called important phone calls is interesting, and watching agents get chewed out is entertaining. After a few months, though, it's all just more of the same. And after a couple of years… well, you get the point.

That's not to say that I don't have a few favorite people. Agent Booth, for example – he always breaks up the monotony around here. Particularly when he brings his partner, that lady scientist, along.

So when they stride into my area, bickering away, I perk up and start listening.

"OK, Bones," Agent Booth says, taking a deep breath. "Just… let me do the talking, alright?"

"I don't see why I should cede all talking rights to you," Dr. whatever-her-name-is says stubbornly. "I am an excellent speaker."

"Yeah," Agent Booth mutters, "but you have this tendency to piss people off. More specifically, to piss Cullen off. And we don't want him any angrier than he already is. Not today."

Now my interest is doubly piqued.

"Why would he be angry?" Dr. – let's call her Dr. Bones, OK? – asks.

"Because," Agent Booth says, throwing his eyes heavenwards, as if praying for patience, "you told a federal agent where to stuff it. And to make things worse, it wasn't even one of our agents."

"Where to stuff what? You need to be more specific, Booth," Dr. Bones scolds.

Agent Booth groans. "Look, I don't like shared jurisdiction any more than you do. But you can't just go around yelling at people from other agencies. They don't appreciate it, and they complain to Cullen, who then takes it out on me."

"He was compromising the evidence!" the doctor says indignantly.

"Which is why you nicely ask them to please step away from the evidence," Booth says, "instead of charging in guns blazing."

"You don't let me carry a gun in the field, Booth," Dr. Bones says sourly. "Or have you forgotten?"

"You're dangerous enough without one," Agent Booth tells her.

I have to agree; the doctor strikes me as too volatile a person to entrust with a gun.

"I am highly skilled in three forms of martial arts," Dr. Bones agrees. "Nonetheless, you should really give me a gun. What if you got injured?"

"Not gonna happen," Agent Booth says briskly. "I'm your gun, Bones; you know that."

Wagging her finger, the doctor says, "Ah, but your frequent consumption of pie has undoubtedly dulled your reflexes. It is possible that a criminal might get the fall on you."

Agent Booth pauses, puzzled. Then, "Oh, get the drop on me, you mean."

"Drop, fall," Dr. Bones says in the tones of one saying to-may-toe, to-mah-toe. "They are essentially the same thing."

"And there's no way that the pie's dulled anything, OK? Abs of steel here, and reflexes like a flea," Agent Booth says, grinning.

Like a flea? I'm confused.

"You are very fast," Dr. Bones agrees. "If you persist in eating that sugary concoction, however, the ingredients will eventually take their toll on your body. Which is why you should get me a gun, just in case."

The woman never gives up, does she.

"Nope," Agent Booth says, popping the 'p'. "Sorry, Bones. Besides, even if I wanted to issue you a gun, I'd need Cullen's approval. And after that stunt that you pulled today, there's no way that he'd give it."

These two are better than a T.V. show, I swear.

I lift my mug to take a sip of coffee, and suddenly they realize that they aren't alone in the room.

"Ah, Shirley!" Agent Booth says, grinning casually, and sauntering over in my direction. "How're you doing?"

"Just fine, Agent Booth," I respond. "Glad that it's staying light out later these days. I assume you've got an appointment?"

Dr. Bones nods, saying, "That is correct."

I press the intercom, and inform the Director that his next appointment has arrived.

"Good luck," I tell them as they head into the office.

"I don't believe in luck," Dr. Bones says matter-of-factly, "but I appreciate the sentiment."

"Yeah, well, I believe in luck," Agent Booth mutters, hand on the small of the doctor's back, "and we're going to need all that we can get."

Grinning wryly, I watch them enter the office, and the door shuts behind them with an ominous snick.

-–- -–- -–-

Half an hour later, I'm finishing up my crossword.

And to be entirely frank, I'm a little bit concerned for Agent Booth and his doctor friend. Normally I hear the occasional bellow through the walls when they visit the Director, but not today. This time, it's been entirely silent. That can't be a good sign, can it?

Then, out of the blue, I hear a loud: "EXCUSE me?"

I recognize the voice as my boss's, and he does not sound happy.

Even though I know I shouldn't, I wheel my chair a little bit closer to the office door and tilt my head as close to it as I discreetly can.

"Let me get this straight," Director Cullen says flatly. "After seven years of working together, you two idiots choose now to come to me with this?"

"We presumed that you would rather be informed in person than to find out through the metaphorical grapevine," Dr. Bones says, voice crisp with irritation. "Were we incorrect?"

Cullen lets out a sigh of epic proportions. I can practically see him massaging his temples.

"Sir," Agent Booth says pacifyingly, "we just wanted to be upfront about this."

"And you're seriously telling me that you two had never –" the Director begins.

"– not until a month ago, no," Dr. Bones says promptly. "Which was obviously a mistake, as it has been extremely satisfying."

"Bones!" Agent Booth hisses, voice rife with mortification. Turning the conversation back to the Director, he adds, "I assure you, sir, despite the rumors, this is a very recent development."

"Hmmph," Director Cullen grunts. After a brief pause, he says, "You two have put me in a very awkward position, you know. Again."

Silence.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?" he barks.

Agent Booth says, "I love her, sir. And if you want my resignation –"

My eyes widen and a grin spreads across my face. So that's what this is about!

"– I won't work with any agent other than Booth," Dr. Bones chimes in, interrupting him. "If you penalize him, you will lose the Jeffersonian's assistance, and I can assure you that your solve rate will drop dramatically."

"Are you threatening me, Dr. Brennan?" Director Cullen asks disbelievingly.

Right. That's her name.

"I am simply making you aware of the possible consequences," Dr. Brennan says.

"You don't have the authority to make that kind of statement," Director Cullen replies dismissively.

Dr. Brennan's tone is icy as she says, "Officially speaking, no. However, I am one of the very few board-certified forensic anthropologists in this country and I am the best of them. My word carries considerable weight with the Jeffersonian. Additionally, I have a number of contacts in high places and am perfectly willing to call upon them as needed."

I can picture Agent Booth burying his head in his hands. Dr. Brennan has always been fiery, of course, but this is an as-of-yet-unreached level of audacity even for her.

"Sir," Agent Booth says, "We are following protocol by disclosing our relationship."

"And what about the non-fraternization policies you've so cavalierly blasted into smithereens?" Director Cullen asks. "If I let the two of you get away with this, I establish a bad precedent."

"I'm pregnant with Booth's child," Dr. Brennan says baldly.

I narrowly avoid falling off my chair. As it is, my mouth is open in shock and I'm sure that my eyes are bulging.

"Excuse me?" Director Cullen says in a voice that sounds far too calm. "Booth, please tell me that I misheard what your partner just said."

"Bones and I are having a baby," Agent Booth confirms.

Silence.

Then the Director starts to chuckle.

Is he having some kind of mental breakdown?

Rrrrring. Rrrrring. Rrrrring.

Cursing silently, I reluctantly slide my chair away from the door and answer the phone.

"J. Edgar Hoover Building, Director Cullen's office," I say as cheerfully as I can. "How can I help you?"

Unfortunately for me, the person on the other end of the line is chatty. Very chatty. By the time I manage to extract myself from the conversation, Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan are just leaving the Director's office.

If their pleased expressions are anything to go by, though, they got what they wanted.

I quickly make a note in my planner of the time and date. When Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan go public with this thing, someone will have made a mint in the inter-agency pool. And if I can back the winner up? Well, they might just be so grateful that they'll give me a small percentage of their winnings.

Being the secretary for the Director of the F.B.I. isn't a very exciting job most days, but it definitely has its perks.