Title: Miss Independent
Characters: Booth, Max
Rating: K or PG
Word Count: 373
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.
Story Notes: This was written in response to the Bones Comment Fic Meme. Prompt: Max and Booth, independence.
Author note: Only one more left in this series.
Thanks for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.
Booth has just taken his first sip of coffee when he feels the air stir. Someone sits on the stool to his right; he stifles a sigh. He’d purposely chosen a spot that was flanked by empty stools.
He won’t turn his head. But then, he doesn’t have to. His peripheral vision confirms what his gut already knows – it’s someone he definitely doesn’t want to talk to.
“Not even a good morning, Agent Booth?”
The way he says ‘agent’ makes Booth’s jaw clench. “Go away, Max.”
“I wish I could,” Max replies with a shrug of his shoulders and a raised eyebrow. The latter reminds Booth of Brennan; his hand tightens on the cup. “But fatherly duty compels me to offer you some friendly advice.”
“Yeah right.” Booth snorts. “Save it. Like I’m taking advice from you.”
“You will if you’re as smart as my daughter thinks you are.”
Booth straightens. “Bones said that about me?”
“Not in so many words…”
He slumps back down and tries not to growl.
“Look, Booth, you’re a busy man. So am I.”
Booth rolls his eyes.
“So I’ll keep it short: you’re not sleeping with my daughter—“
“My relationship with Bones is none of your business.”
“—and that means you’re either gay, stupid, or afraid. Since you’ve assured me before that it’s not the former, I’ll assume it’s a combination of the last two.”
“Insulting me is not going to make me listen to you.”
“Shoot the messenger and you miss an important message.”
“Temperance has one hell of an independent streak. She gets that from me,” Max said with a wink. “But don’t let her fool you into thinking she doesn’t need anyone. Now, the way I see it, you two are locked into a game of chicken: if one of you doesn’t swerve, you’re both going to wind up alone.”
“And this matters to you why?”
“If you don’t know the answer to that, you’re even dumber than I thought.” With that parting shot, Max stands and walks away. “Enjoy your coffee, Agent Booth,” he calls over his shoulder.
Booth stares into his cup, scowling. He really must be an idiot if he’s seriously considering taking advice from an ex-con.