I own nothing. Legally, all of my stuff belongs to my parents, and my favorite shows belongs to a bunch of people living in L.A.
Friends
"Do you think I won't pop you one just because we're standing in the judge's kitchen?"
In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the expected head turn of Bones. Here it goes again, The speech about violent tendencies and about how he shouldn't rely on his physical stature and gun to influence people to do what he wanted. And of course she'll have that disapproving look in her eyes...
Ever since they had started working together, their relationship had been like this. They would talk and laugh and he would actually get her approval, actually manage to get closer to her. Then he would say something and have her glaring at him again, be right back where he'd started a few months earlier– with her hating everything about him. It was like playing a computer game; right before he got to the next level, he'd make some kind of bone-headed move and have to start over again. He groaned internally at the idea of facing this level again. She had easily passed onto his next level; he considered her his friend. So why can't she do the same?
Despite all of that, he couldn't stop his head from turning in her direction. And that's when he was surprised. She was staring at him, sure, and to everyone else in the room it probably looked disapproving. But her eyes had none of that look in them; they were actually twinkling, as though she was holding in laughter. And that's when he knew.
He had finally passed. Gotten through level one, now onto level two. Unless he failed the game, he would never have to go through that horrible level again. She finally considered him a friend. He could have jumped up, punching the air with his fist or doing some ridiculous dance. But he forced himself to remember that they were indeed in the judge's kitchen arguing over a matter of life or death. So he settled on a smile. A smile for Bones. A smile for the women who now called him a friend.