185A/N: Okay, so this is it, folks: the second-to-last chapter. Sad, right? But all good things must come to an end.
Thanks a million to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. You all get brand-new David Boreanazes. If you already have a Boreanaz, remember: you can use a Boreanaz for just about anything. Need a masseuse? Boreanaz. Bouncer? Boreanaz. Pool boy? Boreanaz. Fiancee? Boreanaz. Any job you can think of, your Boreanaz can do it. *
*Note: David Boreanaz hates birds. Do not ask your Boreanaz to feed your chickens or clean your aviary.
Booth held her slender hand in his two large ones and played with her fingers. "Have I ever told you how perfect you are?" he murmured.
"No," she replied truthfully.
"Well, you are. You're the most perfect, exquisite woman I've ever known. Your face is perfect, your legs are perfect, even your fingers are perfect. Everything about you is perfect."
She couldn't believe him, sometimes. Brennan gave him her disapproving look. "I'm not perfect, Booth," she chided him. "And you shouldn't pretend that I am. It's dishonest."
"Dishonest?" he exclaimed indignantly. "Pretend?"
"You are in excellent physical shape, but I would never say that you're perfect. You have many flaws and imperfections, just like every other human being."
"Boy, you really know how to stroke a guy's ego," he muttered.
"There's nothing wrong with having flaws," she protested. "Our culture places extreme emphasis on maintaining the illusion of physical perfection, but in reality everyone has flaws. I don't want to change or hide yours. They make you the man that I know and love. For instance, you have these acne scars." She gently kissed the pock marks where his jaw met his ear. "Which tell me that you were once a pimple-faced teenager, no matter how cool and mature you are now –"
"Jesus, Bones," he groaned, "you think I want to remember that?"
"No," she admitted, "but I find it amusing." She moved down to his chest, planting a few light kisses along the way. "And here you have a scar from the time a crazy woman shot at me, and you stood in her way to protect me." She fingered the mark gingerly. The few days that she thought he was dead were some of the darkest days of her life, outweighed only by the disappearance of her parents and the abandonment of her brother. It was amazing that the only reminder left was this shiny pink scar. He was incredibly lucky.
Then she turned around and climbed down the bed to his feet. She tapped the soles lightly. "And here, carved into the bone, are just a few of the many scars that tell the story of your service in the Army, and your commendable conduct on the battlefield." She kissed the tops of his feet, making his toes curl. Yes, his bones would forever bear witness to the suffering he'd endured in the name of his country. She couldn't help but recall the time he'd been kidnapped and tortured by Gallagher, and afterward he'd flippantly remarked that he'd "been tortured worse." As if that made things better. Even though she was proud of him, she wished he'd never had to face the kind of horrors he had.
Her tour having concluded, she climbed back around and snuggled in next to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "That's what I do, Seeley," she explained, looking into his eyes. "I look at skeletons, and use their imperfections to identify them. Their scars, their wounds, their deformities – they all tell me who they were, and how they lived." She touched her lips to his. "And I love who you are, and how you live."
He tightened his grip on her and rolled her on top of him. "You misunderstood me," he informed her.
She raised her eyebrows. She didn't need to ask him to elaborate.
"I don't think you're perfect like a fake skeleton, with the ulna exactly this ratio to the thoracic vertebrae and the coronal suture at the exact right angle –"
"That doesn't make any sense!" she laughed.
He chuckled. "I know, Bones. What I'm saying is, I don't think your body's perfect because it's anatomically correct. It's perfect because it belongs to you. Every little thing about you is exactly the way I'd plan it. Every flaw, every scar and every 'deformity', as you like to call it, seems like it was designed to make you even more beautiful, and everything about you makes me love you more. That's what I mean by perfect." He caressed her cheek with his thumb, and then pulled her in for a passionate kiss. "You are perfect to me," he whispered hoarsely.
She smiled and gazed down at him, hoping he could feel the way her heart sped up when he whispered that way. "Well, under that definition, you're perfect too," she said softly.
She was rewarded by one of his glowing, heartfelt smiles, the kind where she could see every one of his pearly white teeth, and her body was pressed so close to his that when he chuckled she could feel it as much as hear it. "Thanks, Bones." Then his smile turned suspiciously innocent. "I know this is technically our first date," he began, "but how do you feel about going back to Vegas for a little vacation?"
She frowned. "Booth, you're a gambling addict –"
"Reformed gambling addict," he corrected.
"- and Las Vegas seems like the last place we would want to go." The last time she and Booth had been in Vegas, they'd gone undercover to bust an underground fight club. Things had not gone according to plan and Booth had ended up in the ring, and their trip had nearly ended with "Tony the Tiger" getting smashed into a bloody pulp. He'd won, but not without receiving a severe beating first. Why he thought she would want to return there was beyond her.
"But I know everybody there! And there are lots of other things besides casinos and fight clubs in Vegas," he assured her. "There are bars, and music halls, and magic shows, and wedding chapels, and I don't know, there's gotta be a few bowling alleys –"
In a flash she understood exactly where this was headed. "Seeley Booth!" she exclaimed in surprise, pushing off of him and sitting up. "You want to get me inebriated and marry me!"
"What on earth are you talking about?" he asked, feigning indignation, his playful eyes belying his wounded expression. "I am a gentleman, Bones. But, you do raise an interesting point – maybe if you just got married on the spur of the moment, you know, no big ceremony to 'reinforce antiquated gender roles' and whatnot, and tried it out for a few days, you'd change your mind about the whole thing."
She rolled her eyes. "I've told you dozens of times before, Booth. I'm not getting married. Ever."
"Don't knock it 'til you try it," he warned.
"Maybe you should become a vegetarian, then," she retorted.
He gaped. "Give up meat? Are you deranged?"
"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she shot back. Speaking of food… "Now, if you're done trying to manipulate me into inadvertently participating in archaic cultural institutions, I'm going to make lunch." She stood up from the bed and spotted Booth's clothes strewn on the floor. "And I'm taking these," she declared impishly, snatching his pants and sauntering towards the door.
"Bones! Give me back my pants!" he demanded, trying to look fierce but obviously entertained.
She paused in the doorway, reaching her arm upwards and leaning against the doorframe seductively. In the New York accent of her Las Vegas identity Roxie, she raised an eyebrow and simply said, "Come and get 'em, tiger."
"Oh, that is it, I am gonna teach you a lesson," Booth growled, jumping up from the bed with a devilish look on his face and chasing after her. She made a mad dash to the kitchen, but she didn't get more than a few feet before he caught her and tackled her.
Needless to say, lunch was temporarily delayed.