Author's note: This is not supposed to be angsty. Probably a two shot, maybe three at the most. Just playing around with some ideas whilst skiving from college. I don't own Bones, etc. By the way, the Special Merit thing is completely made up. I have no clue what FBI agents get when they do well at their jobs. I guess a T for slight innuendo, to be safe. Smashed, wasted, wrecked. Completely gone, off your face, pissed out of your head, out of it. Just a few definitions of drunkenness. Probably most are Britishisms (is that a word?). These places are where I go when I'm a little tipsy, so I thought I could apply it to our favourite characters. If I can't let me know!
Booth was thinking. He was thinking about how his life had come to this point. This was an unusually contemplative thought for him, or it would have been, had he been completely sober.
He had come home that evening after a successful day at work, feeling relatively happy that one more criminal was off the streets of Washington D.C.. As he walked in his front door and threw his jacket over the chair, he relished the warmth of his apartment. The oven clock had read 19:30, early for a workday that ended in an arrest. He mentally planned the rest of his evening, thinking of the omelette he would make himself, of the beers he would drink and the game he would watch. Monday night football, gotta love it. The omelette was kind of out of character for the evening planned, perhaps some ribs or buffalo wings would be an improvement. Even better, Booth mused, why don't I just go the whole hog and go out tonight? Go to a sports bar and sit himself down at the counter, making conversation with other men doing the same thing he was, watching the game and drinking beer.
Booth decided against that idea, not least because that would require getting dressed into clothes worth going out in. Also, the idea of an omelette, not the stereotypical foodstuff that went with watching the game, was making his mouth water.
So his evening had progressed. The game had ended in his favour, the beers had been drunk, the plate licked clean. And now he was sat on his couch, listening to some Bon Jovi and drinking shots of whiskey like they were as strong as soda. It took a lot to get Booth's head fuzzy, but the whiskey was helping him get there faster than he had expected. As the song 'It's My Life' started to play Booth's thoughts turned to the philosophical.
So, Booth thought, my life has been kind of weird since I got out of school. I mean, it was exciting, hell, it's still exciting. I just don't think that when I was sitting in Biology class, which I should have listened to more really if I want to keep up with Bones, daydreaming about my future as a star football player, I ever considered that I would be here, doing this job and having had this history.
Booth's eyes fell on a painting of a house, a sun and two people, one large and one small standing together holding hands. The colours were bright and the sizes disproportionate; it lit up the small kitchen in which it was placed.
And a son as well! I never would have expected Parker to come along when he did. And I'm so glad he did come along.
Booth's mind continued to wander over the highs and lows his life had taken, in a rather meandering, increasingly slow fashion before finally slumping over in his coach and falling into a deep sleep.