The Burden of Proof

9. Irrefutable Conclusion

This wasn't even funny. She was losing her mind. She had no control whatsoever over anything anymore. First, she had trouble concentrating at work; she couldn't compartmentalize him at all. To be honest, she had always wanted him in a very primal way. His pheromones had definitely always called out to her. But the line had always been there to remind her of what was at stake. However, now? No line. She could have him. Not only that, but she would have him. It was supposed to be a good thing. A great thing. But it was not supposed to alter her brain functions, for God's sake!

Yet, there she was, in front of his apartment door... giving her hair some volume with her fingers. What the hell? That wasn't her. Ok, fine. It was her. She had never felt more herself than right now. She just wasn't sure she liked that person at all. That typical woman who had spent over half an hour deciding which matching underwear she wanted Booth to see for the first time. And she had gone with black? on! How original could she get?

"Hi," he greeted her, opening the door.

Her fist was still raised. She hadn't even knocked.

"Hi," she smiled, slowly bringing her hand down.

Booth realized he was staring at her in a pretty intense way that was about to become creepy. Her hair was down, wavy, shiny. Inviting. Her blouse was... yes, it was very inviting, too.

"You're beautiful, Bones."

And now you're blushing? How girly could she get?

She shoved the bag in his hands instead of dropping it to the floor to push him against the wall behind him.

"I brought wine. Red and white. I didn't know what we were having for dinner, so..."

Stop. Babbling.

"Oh, thanks."

"I knew you probably already had beer, so I didn't get any, I..."

I said. Stop. Babbling.

Booth chuckled.

"Come on in," he said, getting out of the doorway.

She did. And as she looked around the apartment she knew so well, she tried to block all thoughts. Because they didn't even have dinner yet, and all she could think about was how comfortable the couch was. And how she had always wanted to step inside that bedroom of his.

"It smells good," she said, turning to him.

"Portobello mushroom tortellini with a candied almond spinach salad," he blurted out.

That didn't sound rehearsed at all. Good job, buddy.

"Yes, that smells good too," she said, passing in front of him with a sly smile on her lips.

He followed her to the living room like a puppy. Yes, like an excited puppy.

"Do you want some wine?" he asked, slightly raising the bag he was holding.

"Sure. Here, I can do it." She went to take the bag back, but he stopped her.

"Oh, dinner's almost ready. You can sit down, I'll be right back."

"I can't just sit down while you're doing everything," she said, tilting her head.

"You're my guest. Guests are not allowed in the kitchen."

Her face dropped.

"Booth, please. Let me do something. I can't just... sit and do nothing." I'll go crazy.

He winced.

"The kitchen's a mess. It actually looks worse than when Pops set it on fire."

"It can't be that bad."