I bring newbie Bones-fic!
I just joined this evening, and wrote this in honor. This is actually my first Bones piece (and House makes an extended cameo for absolutely no reason). I hope I won't be eaten alive. I taste better broiled.
Title Squints and Guns
Rating PG-13, probably. My Booth has a little foul mouth.
Description A shoot-up in a warehouse (don't roll your eyes at me!) convinces Booth that Bones does indeed need a gun.
Characters Booth, Bones, Gregory House. Genfic with a little pre Booth/Bones.
Word Count 1011
Spoilers for Tuesday's Bones. I blame the badness on the fact that it's 3 AM.
He will never let her have a gun. Bones with a gun is just too dangerous, too much paperwork. At least, that’s what he tells himself. And Bones when she asks, which is every time they’re together. The felony - that was an excuse, he could easily have that dismissed if he wanted to. A couple of forms filled out and strings pulled and his squint partner would have a concealed weapon. She’d be able to shoot all the bad guys she wanted.
He definitely doesn’t want that. And her argument about what-if-she-needs-protection doesn’t hold any water, either. Booth knows himself. He will never be disabled; he’s an Army sniper. He can do anything. Some little sociopath won’t shoot him. Bones will never need to have a gun because she will always have him there to protect her. He’ll always be around to back her up.
Until the time he actually gets shot, and they’re trapped in an abandoned warehouse with a very desperate man. He glares at the bloody hole in another $1200 suit and doesn’t even hear Bones asking for his gun, he’s already throwing it at her. To her credit, she helps him bandage the wound in his leg before dragging him into a dark stairwell.
“I’ll be all right, Booth,” she says, but again he doesn’t hear her.
“Keep low, keep your head down.” His warnings are whispered into empty space - Bones is already gone, and he notes with a father’s pride that she’s doing exactly what he would do. He can only watch with his heart in his throat when she crawls out of sight, somehow managing to be quiet even with all of her weird tribal jewelry. She will be all right, Bones will get the guy.
He hopes. God, he hopes. And when there’s a gunshot, he feels fear knot inside each and every one of his organs, manifesting inside his bones. His gun had a silencer. This did not, and rang out loudly, ricocheting off metal. Ricochets were good. He hadn’t hit her, yet. The pfft sound of silenced gunshots came, and then a thump hit the floor.
“Booth!” she yells. “I got him! It’s all right!” He immediately took out his cell phone, prepared to call an ambulance. “It’s all right, it’s all-…”
The bang that follows makes his heart stop. Evidently her mark had gotten off one more before he expired. “Bones!” he yells, full of pain. To the cell phone he barks an angry command to get a car and an ambulance there now, dammit, and hangs up. He’s already pulling himself up, ignoring his leg. It doesn’t hurt, he just has to get to Bones. Already he’s fearing the worst when he sees her with her back to him, curled up in a ball.
He sits beside her ungracefully and rolls her over. The bullet has almost completely missed her, tearing off a chunk of flesh on her shoulder. If she’s lucky, it won’t scar. He checks her pulse although she’s already shrugging him off, putting his hand over her wound.
“Pressure. Help me get the bleeding stopped.” With a request like that, how could he refuse? He sits by her and waits for help to arrive, his hand on her shoulder.
They insist on putting him in a stretcher because of his leg, with him protesting all the way. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let me sit up.” But they won’t let him sit up, either. Bones smiles and walks into the ambulance, sitting beside him. They talk about plans for the weekend as EMTs field-dress them.
“Bones,” he says softly, making her look at him to catch his words. “You’ll get your gun.”
“But I thought you said the felony meant I couldn’t have one…”
“I can take care of that. A phone call, an ass-kissing round of golf… you’ll get the gun. If for no other reason than if I ever die, I don’t want you wasting time looting my corpse while the killer closes in.”
“So tactical of you,” she frowns, and neither remarks that they’re holding each other’s hand. They just had a near death-experience, they’re entitled to have some gut reactions. Logic can wait until the hospital.
A cranky doctor with a cane checks him over brusquely. Booth doesn’t like his attitude, and tells him so.
“I don’t like your suit,” he says and shrugs. Booth fails to point out that the man is wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt underneath a sportscoat, and grits his teeth while the jerk of a doctor sews him up. He offers him a couple Vicodin for the pain from a pocket in his jacket, and Booth agrees with a shrug. Free painkillers are free, after all.
He and Bones somehow get a room together (he suspects his supervisor had something to do with it), but Bones doesn’t look up for talking and frankly, Booth is at a loss for words. She rolls over and goes to sleep instantly. He turns on the TV and zones out as the Vicodin takes over.
Could have gotten yourself killed, Bones killed, God. You really need to rethink this partnership, Seel. He glances over at her sleeping and sighs.
The gimpy doctor is back, standing over his bedside. Booth blinks a couple times to make sure he’s real - he wonders what the dosage was on those pills.
“The FBI agent working with a forensic scientist. How Mulder and Scully of you. So what’s up, sport? How’d you two get shot up?”
“It’s an open FBI investigation. I can’t tell anyone anything. And I wouldn’t tell you anyway.” Booth rolls over. “I want to sleep.” He very much hopes that the mouthy doctor will leave. But upon reopening his eyes, Seeley realizes that luck is just not his tonight, god damn it. “Am I going to have to call a nurse?”
“God, suits today. No fun. Fine. I was never here.” Booth closes his eyes and doesn’t reopen them. He hopes that tomorrow will be more normal than today.
If I can think of more for the plot I'll flesh it out more. But I'm tired, it can wait.
Title Squints and Guns
Rating PG-13, probably. My Booth has a little foul mouth.
Description A shoot-up in a warehouse (don't roll your eyes at me!) convinces Booth that Bones does indeed need a gun.
Characters Booth, Bones, Gregory House. Genfic with a little pre Booth/Bones.
Word Count 1011
Spoilers for Tuesday's Bones. I blame the badness on the fact that it's 3 AM.
He will never let her have a gun. Bones with a gun is just too dangerous, too much paperwork. At least, that’s what he tells himself. And Bones when she asks, which is every time they’re together. The felony - that was an excuse, he could easily have that dismissed if he wanted to. A couple of forms filled out and strings pulled and his squint partner would have a concealed weapon. She’d be able to shoot all the bad guys she wanted.
He definitely doesn’t want that. And her argument about what-if-she-needs-protection doesn’t hold any water, either. Booth knows himself. He will never be disabled; he’s an Army sniper. He can do anything. Some little sociopath won’t shoot him. Bones will never need to have a gun because she will always have him there to protect her. He’ll always be around to back her up.
Until the time he actually gets shot, and they’re trapped in an abandoned warehouse with a very desperate man. He glares at the bloody hole in another $1200 suit and doesn’t even hear Bones asking for his gun, he’s already throwing it at her. To her credit, she helps him bandage the wound in his leg before dragging him into a dark stairwell.
“I’ll be all right, Booth,” she says, but again he doesn’t hear her.
“Keep low, keep your head down.” His warnings are whispered into empty space - Bones is already gone, and he notes with a father’s pride that she’s doing exactly what he would do. He can only watch with his heart in his throat when she crawls out of sight, somehow managing to be quiet even with all of her weird tribal jewelry. She will be all right, Bones will get the guy.
He hopes. God, he hopes. And when there’s a gunshot, he feels fear knot inside each and every one of his organs, manifesting inside his bones. His gun had a silencer. This did not, and rang out loudly, ricocheting off metal. Ricochets were good. He hadn’t hit her, yet. The pfft sound of silenced gunshots came, and then a thump hit the floor.
“Booth!” she yells. “I got him! It’s all right!” He immediately took out his cell phone, prepared to call an ambulance. “It’s all right, it’s all-…”
The bang that follows makes his heart stop. Evidently her mark had gotten off one more before he expired. “Bones!” he yells, full of pain. To the cell phone he barks an angry command to get a car and an ambulance there now, dammit, and hangs up. He’s already pulling himself up, ignoring his leg. It doesn’t hurt, he just has to get to Bones. Already he’s fearing the worst when he sees her with her back to him, curled up in a ball.
He sits beside her ungracefully and rolls her over. The bullet has almost completely missed her, tearing off a chunk of flesh on her shoulder. If she’s lucky, it won’t scar. He checks her pulse although she’s already shrugging him off, putting his hand over her wound.
“Pressure. Help me get the bleeding stopped.” With a request like that, how could he refuse? He sits by her and waits for help to arrive, his hand on her shoulder.
They insist on putting him in a stretcher because of his leg, with him protesting all the way. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let me sit up.” But they won’t let him sit up, either. Bones smiles and walks into the ambulance, sitting beside him. They talk about plans for the weekend as EMTs field-dress them.
“Bones,” he says softly, making her look at him to catch his words. “You’ll get your gun.”
“But I thought you said the felony meant I couldn’t have one…”
“I can take care of that. A phone call, an ass-kissing round of golf… you’ll get the gun. If for no other reason than if I ever die, I don’t want you wasting time looting my corpse while the killer closes in.”
“So tactical of you,” she frowns, and neither remarks that they’re holding each other’s hand. They just had a near death-experience, they’re entitled to have some gut reactions. Logic can wait until the hospital.
A cranky doctor with a cane checks him over brusquely. Booth doesn’t like his attitude, and tells him so.
“I don’t like your suit,” he says and shrugs. Booth fails to point out that the man is wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt underneath a sportscoat, and grits his teeth while the jerk of a doctor sews him up. He offers him a couple Vicodin for the pain from a pocket in his jacket, and Booth agrees with a shrug. Free painkillers are free, after all.
He and Bones somehow get a room together (he suspects his supervisor had something to do with it), but Bones doesn’t look up for talking and frankly, Booth is at a loss for words. She rolls over and goes to sleep instantly. He turns on the TV and zones out as the Vicodin takes over.
Could have gotten yourself killed, Bones killed, God. You really need to rethink this partnership, Seel. He glances over at her sleeping and sighs.
The gimpy doctor is back, standing over his bedside. Booth blinks a couple times to make sure he’s real - he wonders what the dosage was on those pills.
“The FBI agent working with a forensic scientist. How Mulder and Scully of you. So what’s up, sport? How’d you two get shot up?”
“It’s an open FBI investigation. I can’t tell anyone anything. And I wouldn’t tell you anyway.” Booth rolls over. “I want to sleep.” He very much hopes that the mouthy doctor will leave. But upon reopening his eyes, Seeley realizes that luck is just not his tonight, god damn it. “Am I going to have to call a nurse?”
“God, suits today. No fun. Fine. I was never here.” Booth closes his eyes and doesn’t reopen them. He hopes that tomorrow will be more normal than today.
If I can think of more for the plot I'll flesh it out more. But I'm tired, it can wait.