Warning: Major fluff. So sweet, you'll get cavities. For real. I don't cover insurance for such fateful and inopportune circumstances. For even more cavities, check out my livejournal (link in my profile) for the disgustingly adorable manip.
Disclaimer: It's probably a good thing I don't own Booth...
For the most part, his attention is focused on the television munificently offering him the Sports Center coverage. He can hear Bones typing away off in their bedroom down the hall, and often speaking in quiet tones to another. But out of the corner of his eye, he sees the small form shift into the room. Wandering, though never aimlessly—as most might at such an age—but with purpose. Thumb in her mouth and a look of concentration on her rounded, pretty face, she at last recovers what had originally been misplaced.
The little Einstein doll—complete with crazy tufts of shock-white hair and felt mustache (a homemade gift via Angela Montenegro)—now tucked securely into her side, the small four-year-old ventures further into the room. And quite abruptly, his attention is no longer devoted to the relayed scores or instant replays. A ghost of a smile spreads across his face, and he feigns interest in the television once more. Secretly watching his little nomad.
Every time he attempts "baby talk" with her, she'll poke him straight in the nose as if to scold him. But that smile on her face will counter every stab of little phalange, and put the sun and stars to shame. She's her mother's carbon copy, almost to a T. But she's also her daddy's little firecracker.
The smile alone carries evidence enough. Whenever shied out of speech or interaction, the pull of tiny lips are his wife's. But whenever trying to talk herself out of mischief or chastisement, he sees his own charm smile reflected back at him. He chuckles.
The pigtails almost seem to perk at the sound, so he immediately quells his amusement and forces his eyes back to the screen. She's pacified for the moment, and goes back to returning her toys to their proper places.
Oh, yes. And proud owner of her daddy's investigative skills, as well. And her mommy's eye for detail.
(And snicker-doodles.)
But always a child at heart, of course. He'd growl and she'd squeal. He'd scoop her up onto his shoulders and twirl her around the room. "Faster, Daddy, faster!" she'd demand. Brennan would look on, fascinated, awed, wildly amused, until it became her turn to entertain. She'd be quizzed later on what exactly was experienced by the near-prodigy child. But nevertheless, a child. For when the lesson was over, it was still: "Mommy's turn to be the airplane!"
Sometimes, the home would be transformed into a dinosaur land. Mommy would provide the educative learning sessions on the rise and fall of the Triassic era, and Daddy would assume the role of the rideable triceratops. Tiny fingers became fisted in his shirt or hair for purchase as he braved the lands of roaring volcanoes and swooping pterodactyls. (Often portrayed by a certain older brother.)
And sometimes, the home was silent. When inquired as to her aberrant bouts of speechlessness, the little girl would reply, "I'm not taking questions at this time." Of course, this was because she was running for Office, and needed proper time to form her addresses before they could be… addressed.
Booth smiles wider when his little angel crosses in front of him, intent on something yet unknown. "Hey, Sweet Pea," he welcomes happily. "Whatcha up to?"
Her response is to simply plop herself onto the couch beside him, attention immediately devoted, much like him, to the wide and colorful box of technology. "Put on something appropriate for me, Daddy."
Yes. Sometimes it's the Learning Channel.
But today, it's definitely Bugs and Daffy.
Apple of my eye.