Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Also, Brennan's explanation of why Booth sees 'lights' is taken directly from the script of 1x09, when Goodman says the exact same thing.
A/N: Here's a silly, sappy little ficlet set during Season One. To those of you who celebrate Christmas, I hope that you had a happy one!
The lights are pretty. Pretty lights.
Goodman's explained what they are to him a couple of times, but he can't quite seem to remember.
They're really pretty, though. Twinkly.
He doesn't understand why Bones doesn't agree.
"Bones," he hisses, poking her side.
"What, Booth?" she asks. She sounds grumpy. "I'm trying to work."
"But it's Christmas Eve day," he whines. "You shouldn't be working on Christmas Eve day."
"It's just December 24th to those of us who don't buy into the Christ myth," she says distractedly, peering into her micro-thingy-majig.
He doesn't like it when she ignores him. And he really doesn't like it when she badmouths The Man Upstairs.
"Hey," he says. "Could you just pretend to respect my beliefs? Just for a little bit?"
She sighs, and puts down the bone she was examining.
"What do you want, Booth?" she asks.
He beams.
"Many things," he tells her happily. "You should lie down and look at the sparkly little lights with me. They're like stars."
She closes her eyes briefly and massages her temples.
"There are no 'sparkly little lights'," she says patiently, as though explaining something to a small child. "What you see is merely the result of minute firings of neurons on your optic nerve caused by your reaction to the anti-fungal vaccination."
"Oh." He pauses. "They're really pretty."
She groans.
"Please, Bones?" he asks, giving her his best puppy dog eyes, the ones that Parker always gives him.
She lets her breath out in a whoosh. "Fine."
So she lies on the hard floor with him, staring at the ceiling. He's looking at the lights, but he can tell that she's just looking at glass.
Maybe that's their problem – he can see the stuff that she can't, but she's the only one who could ever even begin to explain it. It's kinda like that fable with the blind men and the elephant.
"We're like the blind men," he tells her, "and there's this elephant in the room, see. Only you refuse to believe that there is an elephant, 'cause I'm the only one who's touching it. But you won't even reach out your hand to try touching it. You're a scientist and you need proof, but you won't get your proof unless you try. It's a paro… paradox!"
He grins triumphantly.
"You're inebriated, Booth," Bones says in amusement.
"What? No, I haven't had any alcohol. Wouldn't say no to some, though…"
"From the medication," Bones reminds him. "It's fascinating, really. Apparently you are one of the rare people who become euphoric and mildly hallucinatory instead of violently ill."
"I'm rare?" Booth asks.
"Yes, your reaction to the antifungal drugs is statistically uncommon."
"Heh, how about that," Booth says proudly.
"You know, I would like to get some work done…" Bones says.
"You're gonna have lots of time to do that," he says. "Just… enjoy the lights for a little bit, OK?"
She rolls her eyes. "The lights to which you are referring do not exist."
"Maybe you're just not looking."
She opens her mouth, as if to argue, but he cuts her off.
"Whoa. They're dancing, now," he says, eyes wide.
"Even if there were lights, it would be impossible for them to dance," Bones informs him.
"We should dance too," he tells her.
She opens her mouth and he's certain that she's going to argue, but then she closes it abruptly with a think-y look on her face.
He likes that look.
When she opens her mouth again, she says, "If we dance, will you try to sleep for a bit afterwards?"
He nods eagerly.
A chance to dance with Bones? Hah! No way he's going to turn that down. Even she has to like dancing.
As they twirl around in circles on the platform (and why does she keep checking over her shoulder?), he remembers what Pops used to tell him and Jared.
"Some people say that if you kiss a woman on New Year's Eve, it means that the two of you will be together throughout the coming year; load of crock, if you ask me. I've kissed lots of girls on New Year's over the years –" This is where he and Jared would typically scrunch up their faces in disgust and exclaim "Pops!" or "Eew!", but Pops would just ignore them. " – and didn't stay in a year-long relationship with many of 'em. But if you really care about a woman, boys, dance with her on the day before Christmas. Worked for me and your gram, and for her parents before us."
He wants to still be here with Bones this time next year. Well, not here here, 'cause spending his holidays at the lab isn't his idea of a good time, but he wants to be with her.
Huh.
The lights are bright and sparkly. So are Bones' eyes, but he knows better than to say so.
"Look at the lights, Bones!" he enthuses.
A wry smile on her face, she says, "Yes, Booth, they're very nice. I think it's time for you to take that nap now." In an undertone, she adds, "With any luck, the effects will have worn off by the time you wake up."
Pouting, Booth crawls back into his sleeping bag on the floor.
It's not fair. It's Christmas Eve Day, and he wants to spend it doing fun things. He wants to be with Parker. Parker would like the lights.
And as he drifts off to sleep, their glitter follows him into his dreams.