"Disgusted" for mermaidrain
Title: Disgusted
Fandom: Bones
Pairing: pre Booth/Brennan
Rating: G
A/N: I've been doing writing projects every week over on my journal, and this one was part of what I like to call "raffle prompts" They picked a number, corresponding to one of the seven fandoms I write for, and gave me an opening sentence. This is the Bones raffle ficlet, req'd by mermaidrain
It was all she could not to throw up. And that was saying something.
Some of the things she'd seen would make grown men cry. She had waded through mounds of corpses, she had sifted through putrefacting bodies, she had stacks of bones in her office, for heaven's sake.
This, however, was disgusting on a level that she couldn't even begin to process.
"Stop that!" she hissed, smacking Booth's hand.
He jerked away from her, with a look of intense betrayal. "HEY! What was that for?"
"That's the most awful thing I've ever seen," she said, stabbing her finger in the direction of the offense.
Booth set down his fork, and sighed, wiping his mouth with his napkin with an air that suggested supreme patience and restraint. "What are you talking about, Bones?"
"That!" she pointed again, this time with her fork. "That concoction you've made."
"So what? I like to mix my peas and mashed potatoes. It's not the worst thing you've ever seen, Bones."
She shuddered, and covered her eyes, "They aren't mixed, they're mashed. It looks like...gah." She couldn't even come up with something bad enough to convey her feelings.
Booth rolled his eyes heavenward, in his now-daily prayer for strength. He often felt like his grandmother, annoyed to distraction by Grandpa, muttering her frustration into a sinkful of dishes, 'Nearer my God to thee, O Lord, nearer my God to thee." Apparently, masochism ran in his family.
"Fine. If it's that bad, I'l stop eating them."
"Doesn't matter," she said grumpily, "They'll still be there."
He didn't react, only pulled his napkin from his lap, and placed it demurely over the remains of his lunch. He had a long-suffering look, though, which prompted their waitress to bring him a cup of coffee, on the house.
Brennan's smile was blinding, as she said, "Thank you, Booth."
"Don't mention it," he said, tipping packets of sugar into his cup. As he stirred in the creamer, he caught her eye and smiled.
"Do you want some of my fried mushrooms?" she queried, holding one out to him, hand cupping underneath it. She was always trying to feed him like a child.
Booth shook his head, smiling. "Now, that's disgusting." The coffee was still bitter.
The company was nice, though.
Fandom: Bones
Pairing: pre Booth/Brennan
Rating: G
A/N: I've been doing writing projects every week over on my journal, and this one was part of what I like to call "raffle prompts" They picked a number, corresponding to one of the seven fandoms I write for, and gave me an opening sentence. This is the Bones raffle ficlet, req'd by mermaidrain
It was all she could not to throw up. And that was saying something.
Some of the things she'd seen would make grown men cry. She had waded through mounds of corpses, she had sifted through putrefacting bodies, she had stacks of bones in her office, for heaven's sake.
This, however, was disgusting on a level that she couldn't even begin to process.
"Stop that!" she hissed, smacking Booth's hand.
He jerked away from her, with a look of intense betrayal. "HEY! What was that for?"
"That's the most awful thing I've ever seen," she said, stabbing her finger in the direction of the offense.
Booth set down his fork, and sighed, wiping his mouth with his napkin with an air that suggested supreme patience and restraint. "What are you talking about, Bones?"
"That!" she pointed again, this time with her fork. "That concoction you've made."
"So what? I like to mix my peas and mashed potatoes. It's not the worst thing you've ever seen, Bones."
She shuddered, and covered her eyes, "They aren't mixed, they're mashed. It looks like...gah." She couldn't even come up with something bad enough to convey her feelings.
Booth rolled his eyes heavenward, in his now-daily prayer for strength. He often felt like his grandmother, annoyed to distraction by Grandpa, muttering her frustration into a sinkful of dishes, 'Nearer my God to thee, O Lord, nearer my God to thee." Apparently, masochism ran in his family.
"Fine. If it's that bad, I'l stop eating them."
"Doesn't matter," she said grumpily, "They'll still be there."
He didn't react, only pulled his napkin from his lap, and placed it demurely over the remains of his lunch. He had a long-suffering look, though, which prompted their waitress to bring him a cup of coffee, on the house.
Brennan's smile was blinding, as she said, "Thank you, Booth."
"Don't mention it," he said, tipping packets of sugar into his cup. As he stirred in the creamer, he caught her eye and smiled.
"Do you want some of my fried mushrooms?" she queried, holding one out to him, hand cupping underneath it. She was always trying to feed him like a child.
Booth shook his head, smiling. "Now, that's disgusting." The coffee was still bitter.
The company was nice, though.