A/N: What can I say? Must've been on a hormone high and this just kind of burped itself out one night.

Disclaimer: I own nothing Bones related except my imagination.

Booth looked down at the disemboweled body that was partially covered by leaves and silently cursed the bastard who'd dumped the body here at the edge of the woods, on Federal property, and ruined his upcoming Friday night. Not that he had big plans – a six pack of beer, some nachos smothered in cheese and jalapeños, and a hockey game – typical bachelor fare, but still. It had been a long week and he'd been looking forward to a night of just sitting on his couch and relaxing at home alone in his underwear.

Brennan squatted down next to the body and carefully started removing some of the debris with her forceps. As she poked and prodded the remains, exposing more of the body to view, the noxious odor of decaying flesh got stronger.

"Jesus Christ, Bones. Ugh! That smells awful."

She didn't even look up. "While there are hundreds of compounds released into the air during the decomposition process, what you are smelling are most likely the diamines pentmethylenediamine and tetramethylenediamine, more commonly known as cadaverine and putrescine, which come from the breakdown of the amino acids lysine and methionine in the flesh of the corpse."

"I don't care what or how many fancy names you give it. It still smells horrible." Booth's face was scrunched up in distaste as he waved his index cards back and forth beneath his nose, trying in vain to clear the stench from the air immediately in front of him.

Brennan continued speaking, the facts just continuing to trip off her tongue as though she'd previously prepared a lecture for one of her classes. "In living humans, both cadaverine and putrescine contribute in part to the smell detected in urine and in semen." Then, almost as an afterthought and with just the slightest tilt to her head, as though she were considering her words the first time, "Although, personally, I don't have any objection to the smell of semen."

"T.M.I, Bones," Booth responded, trying his damnedest to tamp down the visuals those last few words provoked and to ignore the instantaneous twitching that he felt in his shorts.

She quirked an eyebrow at him over her shoulder with a confused furrow of her brow.

"T.M.I. Too much information." Booth took a few steps backwards, moving away from Brennan and the body. "I think I'll, uh, I'm just gonna walk around a bit, you know, and look over the scene. Give me a holler when you're ready to go over your findings."

Booth saw Brennan raise her head and felt her crystal blue eyes following him for a few moments as he walked away, amazed that she could remain so close to the remains without retching from the smell. God, this body was foul. Although, personally, I don't have any objection to the smell of semen. He couldn't believe she'd said that and he couldn't prevent the flood of images that filled his mind with those few casually spoken words. Now wasn't the time, but Booth had no doubt he would be replaying those words again later and letting his mind indulge in some very un-partnerly imaginings. Jeez. She made him nuts sometimes.

The body had been dumped about 30 feet from where the edge of the woods bordered a large field and Booth headed towards the open area beyond the trees. Stepping into the field of tall grass and feeling the late afternoon sunlight on his face, Booth took a deep breath and relished the sweeter air. She'd probably tell him that the presence of trees immediately overhead didn't alter the transmission of airborne compounds associated with odors or something squinty like that, but he didn't give a flying fuck. He believed the air smell better out in the open and he planned to take advantage of it, even if the distinction was only in his head.

Booth could look back into the trees and see his partner still crouched over the remains, carefully working, her concentration focused on the unfortunate soul on the ground in front of her. He marveled at how he could look at her and feel his whole body react to just how freakin' gorgeous she was even while she was poking around in something so absolutely disgusting. It didn't matter. He still found himself admiring the graceful arch of her neck when she tilted her head this way or that as she studied the victim. He still found himself fascinated with her slender fingers and the way they traced over what she touched, knowing she was absorbing data from the texture beneath her finger tips and wondering what it would feel like to be the body beneath those hands, to have them exploring his torso, his face, or other less innocent areas. He still looked at her in that god-awful Jeffersonian clown suit she wore and pictured what it would be like to peel that back and reveal the soft, naked flesh hidden underneath.

He felt the heaviness pool in his groin that was almost a constant companion when he was with her these days, regardless of the situation, and pulled his eyes away from her once more.

Booth smiled secretly to himself. He fully expected she'd find a way to tease him about running away from the stench, and, if he was honest, he kind of enjoyed her ribbing and was looking forward to it. It was her way of demonstrating the playful side of herself that not everyone got to see and he'd admitted to himself at least, he loved it. However, he did NOT want her to look up from her position crouched over a corpse and catch him sporting a full-on boner. The merciless teasing he'd get for that didn't even bear thinking about so he'd find something else to focus on, other than her, for the time being.

Booth turned his back on the crime scene and studied the field he stood in. He walked around, noting that grass was tall enough to reach mid-thigh on him. Using some of his tracking skills that he'd learned while in the military, he wandered around, looking for signs that the grass had been recently disturbed. He discovered several game trails indicating deer passed through the area frequently, but nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. Nothing man-made. After about 30 minutes of wandering through the field during which he'd managed to convince himself that whoever dumped the body must've come through the woods, not the field, he heard Brennan holler his name and taking one last breath of his treasured fresh air, he headed back her way.

"Watcha got, Bones?"

She stood and stretched, working the kinks out of her muscles from her prolonged period of crouching, completely oblivious to how even her field suit couldn't hide the perky up-thrust of her breasts as she gripped her hands behind her back and pulled her arms behind her as she twisted her neck from side to side. "Well, the victim is male. I'd say early thirties. He's about 188 centimeters tall and weighed approximately 95 kilograms."

"Really, Bones?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. 6'-2" tall and 210 pounds."

"That's much better. What else?"

"He's muscular, so was probably in pretty good shape physically." She squatted back down, next to the body again. "There appear to be three bullet wounds here . . . here . . . and here which were fired at relatively close range. If he was shot while in this location, which appears likely based on the amount of blood in the soil, the techs should be looking for bullet casings within a 50-foot radius. This one is likely the cause of death," she explained, pointing to a spot roughly in line with the center of his sternum, but offset slightly to the left.

"Right." Booth made notes of her observations. "Time of death?"

"It's probably best to wait until Hodgins and Cam get a look at the body back at the lab, but based on the level of decomposition, I'd posit 4 to 5 days."

They spoke for a few more minutes about her observations and what evidence the FBI field techs had, or had not, already uncovered before proclaiming their part of the field work done. The rest would follow once the body was delivered to the lab.

Sure enough, they had just started to drive away from the scene when she brought it up. "You know, Booth. In the Victorian era, ladies carried scented handkerchiefs with them to help detract from the unpleasant odors of the sewers and the unhygienic scent of the common people who couldn't afford to bathe regularly. I could put a little perfume on a handkerchief and carry with me in my field kit for you if you need me to."

He could hear the superior smile in her voice and, without even looking, knew her lips would be tilted up at the edges and her eyes would be sparkling with barely concealed mirth directed towards him. A quick glance confirmed his suspicions. Oh, yeah. Bones was feeling playful.

"You know, Bones, those same ladies used to drop those same handkerchiefs in front of gentlemen they were interested in as a way of signaling a romantic awareness. In addition to having an excuse for an introduction when a man picked up and returned the item to its owner, the gentleman would be exposed to the woman's personal scent." Then, Booth's voice dropped to a sexy purr. "At the time, it was considered quite the intimate privilege to be familiar with a particular woman's scent."

"Hmm. Yes. That's true." He'd expected more of a debate from her but she suddenly sounded distracted. Booth glanced her way and saw her looking at him with a frown on her face.

"If you gave me a handkerchief scented with your perfume, someone might think you were, you know, flirting with me or something?" He said it mostly to provoke her.

"Huh." He felt the gentle brush of her breath on his skin with her soft exclamation and again glanced her way. She was right there, leaning over the center console into his personal space on his side of the car and Booth felt his heart lurch in his chest. Whether that was because he was startled by her unexpected proximity, aroused to find her so close, or a combination of the two, he couldn't quite say.

"Whoa, Bones. What're you doing?"

"Pull over Booth."

"What?"

Brennan looked out the front window of the truck and pointed. "There. Turn down that little side road and pull over."

"Why?" he asked, even as he followed her instructions, turning on to the dirt side road and pulling over to stop the car.

"I need to get into my field kit," she responded as she opened the door and hopped out of the truck, circling around to the back to pop the tailgate and rummage through her kit. When she found what she was looking for, she looked up and saw Booth still sitting in the driver's seat. "What are you waiting for, Booth? Come here."

Booth got out of his seat and approached the back of the truck cautiously. Brennan just pointed at the back. "Sit." So, he did, wondering when he had started blindly following her commands like some sort of meek poodle, whether they made sense to him or not.

Brennan stepped close, close enough that he could feel her body heat as she practically pressed her length up against his side, and Booth shied away, feeling a little panicked. "What the hell, Bones? What are you doing?"

She smacked his leg. "Be still. You have a tick on your neck. A little one, just below your ear."

Fuck. He hated ticks. As a sniper, he'd laid down in just about every type of terrain, remaining still for hours, and he'd had his fair share of tick encounters. The evil little bastards were like the spawn of Satan and the thought of them made his skin crawl.

He felt the gentle pressure of her finger tip from one hand touch the skin of his neck while the cool metal tweezers in her other hand grabbed the creepy crawly little monster and removed him.

Brennan stepped back and he immediately missed the warmth from her body. She studied the tip of her tweezers for a moment before dropping the little critter into a small evidence jar she had grabbed from her kit.

"Here," she handed him the jar. "Looks like a Lonestar tick. See the white dot on the back?"

Booth took the glass jar from her hand and looked at what it contained. "Yeah. I think your right. Thanks Bones."

"Booth. I see more."

Booth jumped up. "Where?"

Plucking the jar from his hand, Brennan pulled three more ticks off his white dress shirt and dropped them in with their buddy before screwing the lid back on.

"Did you get them all?"

Brennan's eyes ran up and down her partner dispassionately then looked at the jar in her hand. "Well, I don't see any more right now, but these stood out fairly well against your white shirt. A couple of these are pretty small, probably still nymphs, and they'd be very difficult to spot on your dark pants." Brennan reached into her field kit again and pulled out a medium sized plastic trash bag. "Booth, I think you should take all your clothes off."

Five minutes ago, if asked, Booth would've sworn he'd had every fantasy and envisioned every possible scenario where she might conceivably say those words to him. Good thing he no longer gambled because he'd have been wrong. "What? Here? On the freakin' side of the road? Are you crazy, Bones?"

His voice came out as a squeak and she noticed. She smirked and chuckled. "God, you're such a prude. I'll turn around if it makes you feel better and I'll even promise not to peek." Not that she wouldn't be tempted. She handed him the bag and turned her back to him. "I assume you have something you can put on in your gym bag, but you should take off all the clothes you're currently wearing and seal them in that bag. When you get home, just dump them in the dryer on high heat for at least 15 minutes and that should kill any ticks we don't see that are still on your clothing. The ones that are still in the larvae phase can be extremely difficult to spot and hot air is the best way to eliminate them."

"Shit," he exclaimed, but from the rustling sounds that followed, Brennan knew he was following her instructions and didn't even try to stop herself from imagining watching him disrobe.

Booth removed his tie and dress shirt first. He found another tick crawling around on his undershirt but rather than trying to capture it, he just pulled it over his head and dropped it into the bag. Next he removed his belt, then shoes, then pants and dropped them in the bag too. A quick glance found two more ticks on his bare legs, near his ankles. "Damn. Where'd you put the tweezers Bones?"

Brennan extended her arm backwards without turning around and handed him the tweezers. "More?"

"Yeah."

Once he captured those and dropped them in the jar, he pulled off his socks so that he was standing there in nothing but his boxers. Booth wondered briefly if he could get away with leaving those on but looked at Brennan who was standing somewhat patiently with her back to him and figured it would be just like her to ask him if he took off everything and then give him hell if she found out he didn't. So, with a deep breath, he reached down and pushed his boxers to the ground too.

Booth was standing 100% fully naked in the great outdoors within 5 feet of the woman he secretly loved.

And she was looking the other way.

So completely NOT how it worked in his fantasies.

Booth grabbed the sweat pants from his gym bag and started to pull them on when he noticed another of the little brown mother fuckers making its way stealthily up his inner thigh, headed towards his family jewels. "Son of a bitch."

Brennan startled at his curse and started to turn around "Are you –"

"No. No, no. Stop. I'm fine. Everything's under control. Just found another one, that's all, but I got it covered."

He grabbed the tweezers and took care of that one too then quickly pulled up his pants and grabbed a t-shirt and sneakers from his bag.

Once he was dressed and Brennan had conducted a visual survey of his front and back, they got back in the car and started driving again.

"I hate ticks," he growled after the first couple minutes had passed in silence.

"That's understandable. I'm not terribly fond of them myself."

"Do you think you have any on you too?"

"It's highly unlikely. The Jeffersonian field suits are pre-treated with a tick repellent called Permethrin which is extremely effective at preventing tick-bites."

"Damn. We must've found what . . . almost ten ticks, Bones. Do you think I brushed up against a tick nest or something?"

"I don't think so, Booth. Ticks don't nest past the larval stage and the ones I saw on you were bigger than that. I was with a colleague once at an excavation site who brushed up against a larval tick nest and he had hundreds of them on him almost instantly. They were so tiny, you could barely see them – it was more like someone had dusted him with a fine brown powder. We used tape to try to remove them all, which is a very effective method if implemented quickly, before they start to bite. Despite common folk lore, ticks don't jump or fly so you have to brush up against them for them to get on you. With as many as you encountered, I suspect you got them from the tall grass you were walking around in. You mentioned game trails in the grass and if deer or other game pass through there, it's reasonable to assume ticks drop and climb on their hosts there too. That grassy area must've been heavily infected and you were standing out there for a while."

"Huh. Well, however they got on me, I hate the little buggers. Probably almost as much as you hate snakes."

The next half hour of the drive passed quietly as they watched the sky turn from blue, to pink, to darkness with the setting of the sun.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Lonestar ticks are known to be possible carriers of several different diseases. Ehrlichiosis. Tularemia. And, STARI. When you get home, you still really need to perform a thorough tick-check in case you missed any."

"Yeah, Bones. I know. My skin feels like it's crawling right now and I don't think that feeling will go away until I've checked and confirmed they're all gone."

Another few moments of silence passed before Brennan cleared her throat. "Ticks tend to migrate towards areas that are either warm and moist or which emit strong scent . . . areas which can be hard to see during a self-examination. The hairline at the back of the head, armpits, the back, and the rectal and groin areas are some of the more common locations they will attach themselves, but, of course, it's possible for them to bite anywhere . . . With as many ticks as you seem to have encountered, it really would be best if you have someone assist you with your tick-check . . . to be certain." The words came out a little more husky than she had intended. Maybe a tad too eager too.

Booth's heart felt like it stopped beating for a few seconds, then started up again at a pace much more rapid than usual. "Wha-? Excuse me?" His voice hadn't squeaked quite like that since the eighth grade.

Brennan furrowed her brow and frowned at him. "I thought that was pretty clear. Ticks can get in places where a person can't see very well on themselves. It would be best if . . ."

"Right. Got it. Don't worry, Bones, I'll use a hand mirror to help me."

"Booooth." She drawled his name in that chastising tone, like he was being completely unreasonable. "You can't take the chance that you might miss any just because of your modesty. Besides, if you find one in a hard to reach spot, how would you get rid of it?"

"No. No way, Bones. No. I am not going to strip down naked and let you poke and prod me looking for ticks. No. It's not happening."

Good lord. Just the thought of it had all the spare blood in his body racing towards his groin area. With the luck he was having so far today, he could picture himself lying on the bed, gloriously naked with an erection hard enough to pulverize diamonds (because he couldn't picture being naked in front of her without a diamond pulverizing worthy erection) and her totally oblivious as she searched for freaking bugs. Hell. If she so much as touched his ball sac by accident or worse yet, by design, he'd probably ejaculate everywhere and then she'd tell him not to be embarrassed by a normal bodily reaction and remind him that personally, she doesn't freakin' object to the smell of semen. It was his own personal rendition of hell. Could he even picture a scenario where he might feel any more mortified?

"I could call Jared . . . . . . . . Or Cam, if you prefer."

Fuuuuck. Guess that answered that question. Brennan's voice was dejected and quiet and she had that wounded little girl look that she got whenever he said or did something that made her feel like she thought she wasn't good enough for him, like he'd rejected her.

"There is absolutely no fucking way I'm letting my little brother get ahold of my testicles, Bones. Not even to do a tick check. Not. Happening."

"Cam then? Or even the emergency room?"

It had gotten dark enough that he couldn't see her as clearly as he would've liked, but even in the shadows, he could discern the stubborn tilt to her chin. He had to remind himself she was acting this insistent because in her own unique Temperance Brennan kind of way, she cared about him and on the heels of that thought, he acknowledged she wasn't going to give up on this. Fuck. Persistent, tenacious, dogged, and obstinate were all too mild of words for her when she believed she was acting towards his best welfare. Damn woman. There was no way in hell he was going to convince her to just drop this topic. Too bad the part of his brain that felt flattered and tender appreciation for her concern was overwhelmed by the part of his brain that was solidly convinced this could only end in disaster and humiliation for him. Against his better judgment and all his intentions to hold firm, he heard himself acquiesce, albeit, not exactly with grace. "Aarrrrrrgh. Fine," he snapped. "I'll take you back to my place with me and you can check me for ticks in all those hard to access places."

"Fine."

"Happy now?"

"Yes. I am."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

A/N: Will post part 2 (the "M" part) on Sunday. Any fun?