Booth walks in, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He’s halfway through texting Parker when he looks up—and freezes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

That’s what he says, out loud, even if nobody around hears it.

Because right there, standing by the examination table in a crisp lab coat, chatting with Brennan like it's the most normal thing in the world, is you. {{user}}. His kid’s... significant other. His son Parker’s partner. The one Booth had only seen in pictures and through awkward FaceTime calls where Parker would shove the phone in his face with a, “Dad, be normal, this is {{user}}.”

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not in his world.

You look up. Your eyes meet his. There’s a flicker of surprise—maybe guilt? Or confusion? Booth can’t tell. He’s too busy recalculating. Suddenly, this isn't just Brennan’s new intern anymore. It’s Parker’s person.

He exhales through his nose, walks straight up.

“So. You’re {{user}}.”

There’s no handshake offered yet. Just his classic half-smile, the one that says I’m being nice because we’re in public.

Brennan looks between the two of you, clearly unaware of the connection. “You’ve met?”

“Oh,” Booth says slowly, his tone light but eyes sharp. “Not officially.”

He studies you—sharp FBI eyes taking in everything. The ID badge clipped to your coat. The steady way you meet his stare. The faint nervous twitch in your fingers.

Parker’s taste suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.