Anthropologically Speaking
TAG: A series of interconnected fun and fluffy oneshots. It really is amazing how much Brennan loves her job and sees the anthropological significance in every day things.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. If I did, I would indeed have "Boney-o's" cereal. one hundred percent of the RDA for calcium, phosphorous, and Vitamin D. Short story: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
Spoilers: Set several weeks after "The Wannabe in the Weeds"
A/N: Really, I am a Wings fan (I actually have 2 favorite teams—one in each conference—but I've only knit a throwback sweater for the WINGS). The timeline is tweaked a tiny bit so Booth can watch his Flyers in the playoffs, but it's really not a big deal. Hey, after taking a bullet for somebody you should get to watch your team play for the Cup.
Chapter 1: Mac n' Cheese and Hockey
Dr. Temperance Brennen opened the door to her apartment. She had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a fussy FBI agent behind her. It had been weeks since he'd been shot at the karaoke bar, but he'd just been discharged after yet another surgery to help correct the damage to his shoulder. This time he got a small plate and the hope of regaining some use of his shoulder. The orthopedic surgeon was hopeful—eighty percent or better recovery—but only time would tell for sure.
"Bones, you really don't have to do this. I can take care of myself. And Rebecca and I worked out visitation—Parker won't be coming to stay until after I get the all-clear so I don't have to try to take care of him while I'm laid up. It'll just be me at my place."
Brennan dropped his bag inside the door and pulled her key from the lock. The keys jangled as she hung them on a hook, the tiny skull grinning back at her.
"I know, Booth, but it would be easier on you to stay here and rest. I've got the guest room set up for you. Just make yourself comfortable and I'll take care of everything." She carried his bag into the guest room, leaving Booth to contemplate his situation.
He looked down at his wardrobe. His pajama bottoms were a gift from Hodgins—they were decorated with the Superman logo. His Philadelphia Flyers T-shirt was several sizes too large so it could accommodate the sling that cradled his right arm. He smiled and toed off the laceless shoes, keeping his left hand on the back of the sofa for balance. It wasn't his normal style of footwear, but his life was significantly easier without trying to tie his shoes one handed. Getting dressed was still a chore, but he was managing to get things figured out. He looked forward to wearing something besides lounge pants and oversized T-shirts again, despite being secretly pleased to wear superhero jammies in public.
He had just started down the hall to the restroom when Brennan appeared from the guest room blocking his way. She was holding two pillows.
"When you get settled I'll help you support your arm with these."
Booth calmly dismissed her. "I can do it. Relax."
"I'm sure you can, but let me help you." She stared at him for a moment before she softly added, "Please?"
Booth nodded, losing this little battle. "Okay," and stepped around her.
Brennan dropped off the pillows and moved into the kitchen. "I'll get you anything you need, but you are on your own in the bathroom. I have to draw the line somewhere."
Booth grinned.
"When'd you get this, Bones?" Booth's eyes were glued to the shiny, new electronic addition to Brennan's apartment. A 50-inch plasma television, complete with 6.1 digital surround sound.
"When I asked you to convalesce here. I figured you'd be happier if you were able to watch a movie or a sports game on it and my old one was still broken."
Booth grinned, silently thrilled that she'd do something like that just to make him happy. Happy enough to not point out that it was "Sports" or "A Game," most definitely not "A Sports Game."
He responded like any sports-loving male, his voice barely above a whisper. "Awwwwsome." He looked around for the remote. Like a kid with a new toy he needed to try it out. He flipped on the set and immediately switched from the Discovery Channel—the on-screen guide read "Our Earliest Ancestors"—he didn't want to get into a discussion of anthropology with Bones right now. He suddenly realized what time it was and hurriedly flipped over to ESPN—The Cup playoffs were on. Luckily, the game wasn't on just yet, it was still the pregame show. He tried to sit gently on the couch, eyes never leaving the screen and made a slight pained whine. Though he could hear Brennan banging around in the kitchen and the television—with all its glorious digital sound—was up to a louder than reasonable level, she somehow heard the noise.
"Booth? Are you okay?" She called from the kitchen.
"Yeah Bones," his voice caught again. "I'm fine. Just a little—ah!" He winced again. "Sore. I'll be okay." His face screwed up as he rode out the wave of pain. When he opened his eyes Brennan was at his side.
"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Her voice was edged with concern.
Booth shook his head. "A couple of days ago. I stopped taking them."
"Why would you do that?"
"I don't like them. They make the pain go away, but when they wear off it comes back right now. I can't prepare for it. I'm also getting weird dreams." He decided not to tell her they weren't just dreams, they were nightmares. The first round of nightmares left him exhausted and with several stitches nearly pulled out. He figured he was better off dealing with the pain than constantly re-injuring himself.
"Besides," he continued. "Pain is the body's way of telling you to stop. Trust me, I'll heal up faster if I'm in a little pain." He offered a smile that wasn't very convincing, but Brennan left it at that. "I'll be fine if I can just get comfortable and watch the game. Flyers are at Detroit tonight." He reached to arrange the pillows under his arm, but Brennan gently stopped him.
"Don't move, I'l help," she spoke softly, crouching next to him.
He shifted again, slowly lifting his right arm so Brennan cold place the stack of pillows under it for support.
"How does that feel?" she asked when she had it about right.
Booth rested his arm on the soft pile and visibly relaxed. "Perfect," he stated simply, his face inches from hers. He gave a genuine smile this time. "Thank you."
Brennan smiled back. "I'm going to go finish up in the kitchen. I'll only be a few minutes. If you need anything—"
"I'll yell," Booth finished for her and she stood.
The game was about halfway through the first period when Brennan returned with two plates of her famous macaroni and cheese. She placed them on the table in front of the couch.
"Oh, Wow, Bones. mac n' cheese!" He grinned, "Mac n' cheese and hockey. Life does not get any better."
She thought for a moment. While it was a gross oversimplification, she realized the truth in those words. Anthropologically speaking, even on the most basic level, life didn't get any better. Food to eat and the luxury of entertainment. A luxury because it meant a person had the resources to worry about more than basic survival. No matter how advanced or primitive the society, the basics of being human never changed.
"What are you thinking about, Bones?"
She blinked back into the real world. "Nothing important." She suddenly realized she had one more surprise in store for Booth and disappeared to the kitchen. "Close your eyes. I have something for you."
Booth waited for Brennan to return and heard the clunking of glass being set on the table in front of him and felt the shift of the cushions as Brennan settled into the couch to his right.
"Okay, you can open them now."
Booth opened his eyes and saw his surprise—a brown beer bottle glistened with condensation. He reached out with his left hand, grinning. "Labatt Blue! You got me hockey beer, Bones." He leaned in close to her face. "Thank you. So much."
Brennan felt the warmth of his breath mingling with her own when Booth's attention was snapped back to the television by a referee's whistle and screaming fans.
"Woo hoo! Fight!" He look at Brennan. "Well, I guess it can be a little better," and winked.
She rolled her eyes and watched how easily he could eat using his non-dominant hand. It suddenly occurred to her that it was likely a skill he was forced to learn in the past. She hoped he wouldn't need to do it ever again.
During the first intermission Brennan cleared away their empty dishes while Booth again visited the restroom. Brennan was already seated on the couch when he returned. He attempted to get comfortable in his previous spot but couldn't. After several tries he groaned in frustration.
"What can I do to help you?" Brennan asked.
"I think—" Booth shifted again. "I think I need to," he stood and moved the pillows to the end of the couch opposite Brennan and she started to stand to help him. Booth stopped her. "No, no, stay there."
He sat next to the pile and turned his body so his knees and calves were supported by the pillows, stripey-sock-clad feet hanging over the arm rest. He rolled back until his head was suddenly resting in Brennan's lap.
"I need to lay down," he stated matter-of-factly.
Brennan stared back down at him, caught off guard by his position.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he teasingly asked at her expression.
"No, I'm perfectly comfortable," she knew he was purposefully pushing her buttons. "Are you alright?"
Booth smiled. "Never better."
Brennan felt a little flip-flop in her chest and quickly looked back at the television. She tried unsuccessfully to find a place to rest her left arm without touching Booth any more than she already was. She settled for laying it uncomfortably along the back of the couch. She felt Booth reach up and take her hand in his.
"Bones?" he asked softly as he pulled her hand onto his stomach, threading his fingers through hers. He brushed his thumb across her palm and looked up at her. "Can I ask you something?"
She nodded, mouth suddenly dry.
"What do you think about hockey?"
Her brain couldn't comprehend the question. It was so out of place. Did she hear him right?
"Hockey?" She was confused.
"Yeah. Do you like it?"
She didn't answer right away, trying to discern the actual meaning behind the question before she answered.
"Yes, I do. I like it better than football, anyway. It's very fast-paced, there are many options on any one given play, and the attempts at scoring are much more fluid."
The corners of Booth's mouth curled slightly. Typical Bones response. "Good," his smile grew. "I'm glad we're not just watching this because I like it."
Brennan returned his smile and shook her head at his small joke. She relaxed into the couch and tried to watch the game, keenly aware of the seating arrangements. She felt Booth shift to get a better view of the screen. She glanced down and noticed his hair was getting longer; it hadn't been cut since before—
She didn't finish the thought. She found herself brushing a few wayward strands off his forehead. When her fingers connected with the warm skin of his brow he inhaled sharply and tightened his grip on her hand.
Brennan froze, unsure if he was suddenly in pain again. After a few moments she breathed again. Booth closed his eyes and she began to stroke his hair, his breathing becoming more and more regular. She knew he wanted to watch the game, but he needed his rest much more, so she didn't wake him. She listened to his light snoring as Booth dozed and wondered how she was going to get him into the bed in the guest room for the night.
Her eyelids drooped and she was asleep before she had an answer.
While I was writing this piece I was reminded of this quote: "... Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for a friend."
This was inspired by a revelation I had while at a wings place with a friend who said something very profound: "Chicken and beer and pay day. Life does not get better."
Also, I know Blue is crappy beer. My Canadian friends rip on me for drinking it, however it brings back frond memories of college dollar pitcher nights, so I still keep it on hand.