(no subject)
((Earlier)).
Being fake-dead is possibly the most boring thing ever, Booth decides.
To be fair, actually being dead wouldn't be so hot either. Oh, sure, there would be the afterlife, whatever that entails (Booth's figuring he's got a decent shot at Heaven, or at least Purgatory. Still. Hell can't be entirely discounted as a possibility), and maybe a stop on the way at the Bar at the End of the Universe.
A chance to say goodbye, to send a message to Parker through Bones, maybe...yeah, that wouldn't be so bad.
This, though. This must be hell on earth. This waiting, this hanging around an FBI safehouse, just hoping that the intel guys get a whisper of a hint about Gregarin.
He can't even exercise. Running's out for sure, and walking on a treadmill is stupid. His handlers won't let him out of the FBI apartment - not that he could get very far if he wanted to, what with having been shot in the chest and all.
Booth's watching an old movie - something with James Cagney being macho, whatever - when Jones finally tells him the plan.
((Later.))
"We've got a bead on Gregarin," the other agent tells him. "He's got the word about your death - we've got the funeral arrangements in place for next week. We've made arrangements for your family to be there -"
Booth interrupts him angrily. "Wait, my family? No one said anything about my family. No."
"What?" Jones says, confused. "Of course your family has to attend your funeral. It lacks verisimilitude -"
"I don't care what it lacks," Booth growls. "You are not putting my son at risk for some FBI/CIA spygame. No."
Jones tries to argue, but Booth refuses to listen, interrupting with a 'No' every time Jones tries to make a point.
Eventually, the other man subsides, and begins telling him about the rest of the arrangements.
"I want to be there," Booth says.
Jones tries to argue him out of that, too, but to no avail. Booth is very, very good at being stubborn.
"If I'm pretending to be dead for two weeks, I'm going to be there to take this bastard down."
Finally, Jones gives in, but not until Booth promises that he'll stay in his appointed place in the honor guard. "No heroics," Jones warns.
"No heroics," Booth agrees, looking as innocent as humanly possible, eyes wide.
It's a lie, of course.
Being fake-dead is possibly the most boring thing ever, Booth decides.
To be fair, actually being dead wouldn't be so hot either. Oh, sure, there would be the afterlife, whatever that entails (Booth's figuring he's got a decent shot at Heaven, or at least Purgatory. Still. Hell can't be entirely discounted as a possibility), and maybe a stop on the way at the Bar at the End of the Universe.
A chance to say goodbye, to send a message to Parker through Bones, maybe...yeah, that wouldn't be so bad.
This, though. This must be hell on earth. This waiting, this hanging around an FBI safehouse, just hoping that the intel guys get a whisper of a hint about Gregarin.
He can't even exercise. Running's out for sure, and walking on a treadmill is stupid. His handlers won't let him out of the FBI apartment - not that he could get very far if he wanted to, what with having been shot in the chest and all.
Booth's watching an old movie - something with James Cagney being macho, whatever - when Jones finally tells him the plan.
((Later.))
"We've got a bead on Gregarin," the other agent tells him. "He's got the word about your death - we've got the funeral arrangements in place for next week. We've made arrangements for your family to be there -"
Booth interrupts him angrily. "Wait, my family? No one said anything about my family. No."
"What?" Jones says, confused. "Of course your family has to attend your funeral. It lacks verisimilitude -"
"I don't care what it lacks," Booth growls. "You are not putting my son at risk for some FBI/CIA spygame. No."
Jones tries to argue, but Booth refuses to listen, interrupting with a 'No' every time Jones tries to make a point.
Eventually, the other man subsides, and begins telling him about the rest of the arrangements.
"I want to be there," Booth says.
Jones tries to argue him out of that, too, but to no avail. Booth is very, very good at being stubborn.
"If I'm pretending to be dead for two weeks, I'm going to be there to take this bastard down."
Finally, Jones gives in, but not until Booth promises that he'll stay in his appointed place in the honor guard. "No heroics," Jones warns.
"No heroics," Booth agrees, looking as innocent as humanly possible, eyes wide.
It's a lie, of course.