fic: bones, brennan/booth, g.
Birthday ficlet! Which may be lacking in quality if I say so myself but anyhow, I wrote it, I finished it, it's here.
a while
bones, brennan/booth, no s2 spoilers so i guess it takes place in s1, for piratesword, 500 words, prompt words; jupiter, chinese food. I don't own, Kathy Reichs & Hart Hanson do.
“Listen to this, Booth,” she says, putting down the chopsticks, folding the magazine onto her lap, a smile playing at her lips. “'Jupiter will move to the perfect position for that one you desire but haven't let know of your feelings yet - take a chance this week, or the opportunity may never present itself again!' I mean, what sort of medieval superstitions do modern women still uphold to believe these sort of things? Our victim was a woman with two degrees from top universities and she actually wrote for a magazine that contained this sort of carbage? It's absurd.”
“We all have to make a living somehow, Bones,” Booth comments, noticing idly that the horoscope she had just read was for his sign. “Maybe she just wasn't uptight about that stuff.”
“Planetary movements predicting events in one's personal life, and half of the people who write this stuff do not even study star charts for them - they simply make up as they go along.”
“As I said, gotta make a living somehow, even those journalists,” Booth says, and he's not sure why he's standing up for fortune tellers or horoscope columnists, it's not like he believes in them, it's not like he reads, or cares, but Bones is always against something and sometimes he feels like he needs to oppose to her just for the sake of opposing, just so she's challenged, just so she doesn't get bored in his company.
“What's your sign?” she asks, her mind clearly moving away from the case now, focusing on other things.
He shakes his head. “I don't believe in it, I don't want to know.”
“Mine is,” she says and stops to think. “I've forgotten.”
“The food's getting cold,” he says, trying to change the subject. “I'm dragon in my Chinese horoscope.”
He's lying, and she's quiet, just staring off to space, chopsticks in hand, magazine fallen down from her lap.
“Bones, are you okay?” he asks.
“It's been a while, and I,” she says, and pauses, swallowing, and maybe he's imagining them or maybe her eyes are moist, maybe she's. “I don't remember, Booth. I don't remember what I did on my last birthday.”
“It's been a while,” he repeats, edging closer, and maybe this isn't okay, his arm around her shoulders, or maybe it is, he holds it there. “It's okay,” he says, and doesn't know if she's listening or not.
She shivers, and moves away, dropping her chin so her hair falls to cover her face. He can't see her. Maybe she thinks it's better that way.
“Let's eat,” she says finally. “It's getting cold.”
“We can finish this tomorrow,” he says and she nods, forcing a smile.
No hurry, no hurry at all, except to wrap his arms around her tighter whenever she feels lonely, no hurry except to tell her that maybe he feels something, an inkling to get closer. To kiss, and mess everything up, just in hopes that it would all be worth it.
a while
bones, brennan/booth, no s2 spoilers so i guess it takes place in s1, for piratesword, 500 words, prompt words; jupiter, chinese food. I don't own, Kathy Reichs & Hart Hanson do.
“Listen to this, Booth,” she says, putting down the chopsticks, folding the magazine onto her lap, a smile playing at her lips. “'Jupiter will move to the perfect position for that one you desire but haven't let know of your feelings yet - take a chance this week, or the opportunity may never present itself again!' I mean, what sort of medieval superstitions do modern women still uphold to believe these sort of things? Our victim was a woman with two degrees from top universities and she actually wrote for a magazine that contained this sort of carbage? It's absurd.”
“We all have to make a living somehow, Bones,” Booth comments, noticing idly that the horoscope she had just read was for his sign. “Maybe she just wasn't uptight about that stuff.”
“Planetary movements predicting events in one's personal life, and half of the people who write this stuff do not even study star charts for them - they simply make up as they go along.”
“As I said, gotta make a living somehow, even those journalists,” Booth says, and he's not sure why he's standing up for fortune tellers or horoscope columnists, it's not like he believes in them, it's not like he reads, or cares, but Bones is always against something and sometimes he feels like he needs to oppose to her just for the sake of opposing, just so she's challenged, just so she doesn't get bored in his company.
“What's your sign?” she asks, her mind clearly moving away from the case now, focusing on other things.
He shakes his head. “I don't believe in it, I don't want to know.”
“Mine is,” she says and stops to think. “I've forgotten.”
“The food's getting cold,” he says, trying to change the subject. “I'm dragon in my Chinese horoscope.”
He's lying, and she's quiet, just staring off to space, chopsticks in hand, magazine fallen down from her lap.
“Bones, are you okay?” he asks.
“It's been a while, and I,” she says, and pauses, swallowing, and maybe he's imagining them or maybe her eyes are moist, maybe she's. “I don't remember, Booth. I don't remember what I did on my last birthday.”
“It's been a while,” he repeats, edging closer, and maybe this isn't okay, his arm around her shoulders, or maybe it is, he holds it there. “It's okay,” he says, and doesn't know if she's listening or not.
She shivers, and moves away, dropping her chin so her hair falls to cover her face. He can't see her. Maybe she thinks it's better that way.
“Let's eat,” she says finally. “It's getting cold.”
“We can finish this tomorrow,” he says and she nods, forcing a smile.
No hurry, no hurry at all, except to wrap his arms around her tighter whenever she feels lonely, no hurry except to tell her that maybe he feels something, an inkling to get closer. To kiss, and mess everything up, just in hopes that it would all be worth it.