The Perfect Path in the Pie

Chapter 19 - She Blinded Me With Science

Disclaimer: I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'She Blinded Me With Science' by Thomas Dolby.

A/N: So here we are at 'Bonus' Chapter number three, which features a song from one of my Playlists. This is a transition chapter to B&B happenings in the 'Big Apple' – my thanks to Rankor01 for Beta assistance…this was a difficult chapter to put together.

Sunday March 27th 2011 - New York City - Third Sunday in Lent

Taking a slightly later flight to New York City had turned out to be a good idea. Not only had Booth and Brennan been able to relax over breakfast together; they had also managed to dodge most of the Paparazzi at the airport via the ruse. There had been some time for a spirited discussion over breakfast about whether to take the opportunity to join the Mile High Club on this particular flight. Surprisingly, Booth suggested that they use the flight time of just over three hours to catch up on briefings and case notes in preparation for their return to Taskforce work on Monday morning. The suggestion was delivered so smoothly that Brennan didn't realize that her husband simply had ulterior motives for their evening. Given their sudden nuptials and the interagency pissing contest that would see them racking up more frequent flyer miles than Charlie Sheen's 'Winner Miles' through rehabilitation facilities, they had decided to take a belated Honeymoon at the completion of their Taskforce involvement in a few weeks time. Hopefully, the planned short period of leave would be coincide with the lull between the investigative processes and the predictable flurry of legal proceedings that would follow in a couple of months time.

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Approximately two hours into the flight, Booth made a small grunt of exclamation when he opened an e-mail from New Orleans SAC Derulo, the FBI's most unwanted misogynist. Working industriously on a fiendishly complicated technical deposition, Brennan's attention wavered as she glanced at the raised brows and incredulous expression gracing the face of her erstwhile partner and husband.

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"I didn't see that coming..." said Booth."Did you see the message from Derulo, Bones?"

Brennan gave a low chuckle. "I saw the message, but I was saving the content of that email until later. Did he find something?" she asked.

"Yeah, he did. He found 'someone' actually; a woman," he replied, his tone indicating surprise.

"As in Homo sapiens without a Y chromosome, demoralized enough to engage in sexual intercourse with him?" she proclaimed with heavy sarcasm.

"Ooohh, ouch!" winced Booth. "Do I detect a hint of belligerent snarkiness in the tone of my wife?"

"Absolutely. Mr. Derulo, despite his pivotal role on the New Orleans branch of the Taskforce, is a pariah on civilization. I frequently found myself resisting a strong urge to strike him," she replied, giving a fond smirk at Booth's possessive use of 'my wife'; they were playing a subtle bantering game, slipping the monikers through the goalposts when they could, but the usage had to be subtle to be 'paid'. Brennan held out her left fist and Booth gave a small 'woot' of triumph as they fist bumped their wedding rings together.

"Derulo's team managed to collar the perp with the hook," announced Booth, placing his hand over hers now that he had her attention for a moment.

Brennan quietly conceded to the reality of his warm hand being responsible for triggering a plethora of Pavlovian perversions within her neural and limbic systems. Fortunately, the core of her rational genius was, as yet, largely impervious to his charms and didn't miss a trick about the news in Derulo's message.

"My primary analysis of the injury patterns indicated a 'male' of short stature...a female perpetrator would have to be abnormally strong to have committed the crimes. The damage evident on the bones of the victims from both Chicago and New Orleans supports the abnormal directionality of a hook being used when restraining forces applied the bindings to the upper and lower limbs. The strength required by the perpetrator in all cases falls outside the accepted range for females, particularly a woman of only 160 to 170 centimeters in stature."

Booth turned his laptop screen toward her and she leaned in to look closely at the mug-shot and arrest record on the screen. "Remarkable," she breathed.

"Yeah, I know, I'm pretty special...it's why you married me, right?" he mumbled against her ear as her began aimlessly nuzzling at her hair.

"You, are distracting me!" she warned, pulling away with a wry grin that hinted that she was in fact enjoying every second of it. "From the build and physical appearance evident in this photograph, I would suggest that this woman has been a habitual abuser of anabolic steroids. Her over-developed musculature and the bony prominences in this side shot indicate that she has trained heavily with weights, for a number of years, perhaps as a competitive body builder, or as a weight lifter."

"Now you're distracting me..." complained Booth. "It always amazes me how much you can tell me from a mug shot. She's a twenty-eight year old Chinese national, ex-champion weightlifter, got kicked off the Olympic team when she was busted at a qualifying event for testing positive for 'juice'. Spent some time in jail for going on a 'rhoid-fueled' rampage, when the authorities wouldn't let her train. She almost killed her trainer with her bare hands. Probably got recruited to the 'No Han Han' in jail."

Brennan frowned and shifted in her seat. "Her coach should be the one incarcerated in jail, Booth. The violence and associated criminal activity is likely to be a behavioral sequelae of long term steroid abuse. That is very sad. Does her criminal record make reference to the mechanism of injury which resulted in her hand being amputated?" she asked.

Booth closed the arrest record window and glanced through the narrative text of the message from Derulo. "Yeah, badly injured in a motorbike accident, five years ago, slid the bike under a truck and was trapped. Traumatic amputation of the hand, head injury, badly mangled leg; Doctors managed to save the leg though. She walks with a limp."

Brennan's attention perked up. "A limp? The damage was to the right leg?" she asked, her free fingers flashing over the scroll pad and keyboard of her notebook, calling up a series of forensic reports and photographs that tiled over the screen of the device like a hand of cards being spread over a table.

"Yeah, is that important? Because you've got that look on your face..." he said with a knowing tilt of his head and a wry smile.

Still intent on scrolling through the information in front of her, she didn't even glance his way. "What 'look' would that be?" she asked absently.

"The one that tells me that pretty soon I'll be busy requesting Warrants and racking up charges to convict someone," he replied.

She nodded but made a caveat on his assessment. "That course of action will probably have to wait until Monday morning, Booth. I have to examine the physical evidence of victim number two in New York before I can provide you with sufficient evidence to bust a move.

Booth gave a snort of laughter. "Bust a move?"

Brennan smiled and pouted a little, recognizing that she'd suffered acute idiom failure. "From your reaction, I'll venture that 'bust a move' is not legitimate cop slang."

He leaned in and squeezed the hand he was holding. "Making a bust...having enough evidence to make a move...cop slang. Busting a move...street-dancer slang. Cute though, Bones, very cute!" he said, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek.

She glanced sidelong at him and gave a small huff of derision. "Cute is for puppies and babies."

He met her glance with a look which was definitely designated as 'off the clock'. "All in good time, Bones...just tell me what the deal is with victim number two. You haven't even laid a finger on the bones yet."

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She extricated her hand from his and pointed at an image and a diagram that now dominated the screen of her laptop. Noting that their escalating banter was attracting attention from the seats across the aisle; she turned the screen away from the view of prying eyes, lowered her voice and began speaking next to his ear.

"According to the physical evidence log from the scene in New York, where the remains of victim number two were recovered, casts were made of frozen tracks leading to and from the location of the remains. The impressions identified that they were made by standard issue boots, available through Army surplus outlets, the size of the boot is smaller than the average male foot, which would approximate to an average sized female foot. The gait indicators in the tracks are consistent with an individual carrying an injury, to the right leg, Booth," she announced with a note of triumph at making the connection.

"You're a genius, Bones," he announced, turning his head toward her, so that the lips that had been giving low volume evidence against his ear were now almost touching his. The dialogue concerning her piecing together of another clue in the No Han Han puzzle had been distractingly punctuated by the subtle seductive puffs of breath exhaled against the shell of his ear. His eyes flicked down toward her lips and the tiny twitch at the right corner of her mouth betrayed that seduction was precisely what she intended.

"I would expect my husband to be cognizant of that fact," she murmured in an intimate tone before preventing their lips from meeting by tapping him gently on the sternum. He glanced sideways to see her left fist hovering expectantly for a wedding ring fist bump.

Booth grinned and his eyes crinkled with amusement. "You want me to pay that?" he asked of her 'my husband' mention.

"You want me to kiss you?" she retorted, giving a meaningful glance and a micro nod toward her waiting fist.

He gave a sigh and smiled, his left fist bumping hers, the antique gold Claddagh rings making a small clink upon contact. Their fists unfurled as their hands reached for each other to physically connect in tandem with their lips for what proved to be a first class make out session, in First Class.

As evening fell and their preparations for the early morning NYC team briefing at the Manhattan office of the FBI were completed, Seeley Booth encouraged his wife to shut down her laptop computer, hovering behind the desk where she was again working industriously...because he was hungry.

"If you hand me the Room Service menu, we can make a selection and remedy the issue of your hunger," she announced. "I could use the additional time to run another couple of cross referencing queries against this database," she reasoned, waving her hand at the laptop and one of the hard copy records that the New York SAC had been kind enough to deliver to the Ritz-Carlton, despite Booth's suggestion to the contrary. Clearly his colleague had buckled under pressure following an order from his partner in her most domineering mood.

"No Room Service, Temperance," he pronounced. "Get dressed, 'your husband', is taking you out to dinner!"

Brennan gave a sly smile and stood to face him, her arm still draped over the back of the chair, her fingers trailing suggestively along the carved wooden frame. When she spoke, her voice was a low sultry drawl that triggered Seeley Booth's desire to simply strip down and assume the position. "You should hide in the closet, lover...'my husband' is coming to take me out to dinner..."

He gave her a bemused look as her arms slid around his neck and her fingers traced the border of his hairline above his shirt collar. "Save that thought and that voice for later. I made a reservation, and I guarantee you're gonna enjoy this meal...we're going to Chinatown," he disclosed, unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Wouldn't you prefer to stay in? We could order in…" she suggested, still in vamp mode and nipping lightly at the sternal notch that was exposed by his open shirt neck.

He gave a light slap of reprimand to her ass, causing her face to tilt up and pout at him. "Behave, woman!" he chided. His gut chose that moment to growl meaningfully. "Hear that? I need authentic Chinese food, or I'll fade away."

She sighed dramatically and extracted herself from their embrace. "Do I need to dress up?" asked Brennan making a show of flouncing off toward the bedroom of their hotel suite. Yet again, she had switched the accommodation allocated to them by the FBI, pissing off the Agent who had picked them up from the airport earlier. Apparently, her publisher was picking up the tab again; all the publicity from the New Orleans leg of the trip had triggered reprints of her back catalogue. Pre-orders for her new book were already flooding in.

"Wear the green dress..." he called after her retreating back.

He heard a laugh from the bedroom. "You just want to ogle my cleavage over dinner!" she protested.

"Damned straight!" he agreed, triggering more laughter.

"Will you come through and zip me up?" she purred from the other room in her best vampy tone.

"Oh boy!" he said to himself, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he prepared to enter the layer of the minx also known as his wife.

An hour later, they exited the cab that dropped them off on the edge of Chinatown and Booth took her hand to lead her to the doorway of a small establishment that sported a highly lacquered red door. Inside, there was a small coat checking closet and a petite Asian woman greeted them in a Bronx drawl that reminded Brennan of Cam's speech inflections during her feistier moments. They were quickly seated in a small half-moon shaped booth which had a bright Chinese paper banner hung on the wall above it.

"That banner is no coincidence, Booth," she observed. "The characters represent 'double happiness', did you tell them that we recently married?"

"It was all over the news, Dr. Brennan, so I took the liberty of adjusting the decor," said a familiar voice.

She grinned widely. "No menus on the tables, I should have made the connection. How are you, Sid? The Jeffersonian team often reminisce about your food. Is the New York trade more lucrative than D.C.?" she asked.

"Not really, but my kid is studying at Juilliard; plus gun crimes are marginally lower here than in D.C., so I can't complain. Congratulations, by the way. Dinner is on Sid tonight, call it a belated wedding gift," he said, spreading his hands in an encompassing gesture.

Booth stuck out his hand to shake Sid's "Hey, thanks man. Does this mean we get to choose? Because I'd kill for a bowl of..."

.

Sid held up a finger to silence Booth. "You know the drill, Seeley. Not even the beautiful face of your blushing bride will sway me on my policy. I'll be back in a minute with your entree. Yeungling for you Booth? And mineral water for the lady?" he asked, as he half-turned toward the bar.

"I am not blushing," muttered Brennan, who then promptly blushed in response.

"Thanks, yeah," replied Booth. He turned to Brennan with a grin of amazement. "That is uncanny, not an hour ago you were talking about cutting back on the booze...how does he do that?"

"I have no idea...this is quite reminiscent of our early years as partners," she observed.

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Their drinks arrived and were quickly followed by entrees of soups in large bowls. Brennan took an experimental sip of the broth in the bowl and stirred the vegetables around before giving an approving pout and nod. Booth crowed his anticipation of devouring the chunks of lobster that featured in his own entree, and she made small talk about traditional Chinese wedding feast dishes while they made their way through the bowls.

Three more dishes arrived in sequence, with Brennan's eyes narrowing suspiciously as Sid announced each dish that he placed in front of them with his standard knowing flourish. Unable to stop herself at the arrival of the fourth course, she fixed Sid with a challenging glare.

"Is something not to your liking, Mrs. Booth?" asked Sid with an arched brow.

Booth choked on a piece of sea cucumber. "Seriously, man...even, I don't call her that...and she's my wife!"

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Brennan dutifully paid Booth's use of 'my wife' by presenting the knuckles of her left hand toward him, her expression and stare unrelenting when Booth gave her knuckles a cautious bump. Sid's expression indicated that he found the behavior a little strange, but knowing this particular couple he categorized the impromptu fist bump as quirky-normal.

"This menu, Sid," she said waving her chopsticks at the demolished dishes on the table with her right hand. "It's delicious, but I'm an Anthropologist, I'm well-versed in Chinese culture...I know what it signifies."

"Well, I don't," complained Booth. "I know it tastes awesome though..."

"Thanks Booth, glad you think so...how about I make a pot of Green Tea for your lovely wife and she can give you an Anthropology lesson," suggested Sid, making a hasty exit as Brennan's lips flattened into an unimpressed line.

Booth wrapped his fingers around her left hand that was still curled into a fist on the red tablecloth. "You're mad about something...c'mon tell me what he did…are you gonna call in an assassin from the American Anthropological Association to take Sid out?" he asked with a grin.

She let out a pent up breath, stabbed at a piece of bok choy innocently bystanding in amongst the noodles remaining on her plate, then relaxed a little. "I'm not angry, Booth."

"Okay...not really buying that," he offered honestly.

Brennan put her chopsticks down. "I can't be angry at Sid if his assessment is accurate...perhaps 'bemused' would be a better term to describe my reaction," she said.

He slung an arm over the back of the booth and slid his arm behind her back. "You realize that you're gonna have to let me in on the significance of the dishes here, Bones."

"Every dish here is fertility food. Sid may not have a formal qualification, but he is a keen Culinary Anthropologist," she explained.

"Is there even such a thing?" asked Booth.

"Yes, of course there is!" she retorted with a smirk, mildly amused that he would believe that she would fabricate a branch of learning to make a point. "What interests me is how Sid somehow deduced that I stopped taking birth control pills following our discussion last night."

"Coincidence? Lucky guess?" suggested Booth. Immediately regretting his words when her brows raised in acute derision. "Fine...no speculation. I don't know how Sid does it either...besides, he's a little premature...you said it could happen as soon as next month or as far away as next year."

"Correct," she confirmed. "Sometimes, long term oral contraceptive use results in the formation of a mucus..."

"Whoa! Hold it right there on 'mucus' and the whole icky family planning stuff...not over dinner," he pleaded, glancing around to see if anyone in the restaurant had heard her drop the the word 'contraceptive', relaxing slightly when he saw other patrons still with their heads down over their meals. He popped a stray morsel of something that looked strange, but tasted delicious, into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he smiled fondly at his wife as she revised what she was going to say.

"As my husband, it is probably advisable for you to familiarize yourself with how my body functions...particularly if you plan to be at the birth of our child," she advised, a crinkle appeared above the bridge of her nose and her face fell a little. "Do you want to be there, Booth? I realize that birth can be a confronting experience for males."

Brennan found herself pinned against the restaurant booth, sharing the taste of black bean and ginger on his tongue, as she took onboard his rapid and unannounced non-verbal reassurance.

A china tea set rattled politely as it was placed onto their table by Sid, interrupting their increasingly passionate palate cleansing kiss. "Here is your Green Tea. I see the dish selections were suitable, as always," he scoffed pleasantly. "Just keep in mind that this is a family establishment."

Brennan cleared her throat and adjusted the neckline of her green dress which was displaying a little too much heaving cleavage, thanks to the wandering hands of her partner. "Thank you, we will," she said with a small smile of acknowledgement at the quirky restaurateur.

Booth gave her a sheepish grin, but his eyes were all sincerity. "I'm all in, Temperance. Thick and thin. If they try to keep me away from the birth of our kid, I'll shoot my way in, okay?"

"Point taken," she replied. "Although, I imagine that guns are not permitted in birthing suites, even in extenuating circumstances."

"Fine. No guns. I'll settle for cutting the cord instead," he suggested.

"I am amenable to that arrangement," she said, rubbing a black bean particulate away from the corner of his mouth. "I find myself quite excited at the prospect. But I'm serious, Booth. You should take an interest in my body outside the realm of sexual intercourse."

Booth shot her a warning glance at her public mention of 'sexual intercourse' and calmly picked up the tea pot, pouring them both a cup. "If you like, we can start tonight...just you and me though. I don't think the other diners are ready for your instruction."

"Agreed," she said, holding up her cup of Green Tea for a toast. The delicate china cups clinked together as their eyes met over the steaming beverage. "Do you think Sid will bring us dessert, or will making love have to suffice?"

Her husband shrugged noncommittally. "Dessert, I can take it or leave it, but if I get the choice, it would be all of the above."

Thanks for reading...let me know what you think, I'm always happy to hear from you :D