The Author's Note/Explanation: *waves somewhat shyly* Hey, people. Bones enthusiasm is down a little, and I've been experiencing a bit of a wane myself, both writing and reading wise. My life has been a giant juggling act as of late and I just haven't had the time for much else. However, it's come to my attention in the last few weeks that I'm possibly on the brink of losing a few of the girls I've become quite close to in fandom. Forever. They've tried to assure me otherwise, but my heart is a little broken nonetheless and this new project is a selfish, shameless, last ditched attempt to remind them how much they love it here.
The Breakdown/Rules of Engagement: So, here's the game plan, boys and girls; RositaLG has a birthday in one month less two days. What I would like to do is post one little ficlet a day, probably 500 words or less (or more, if it gets away from me; who knows) until then. A birthday countdown of sorts, if you will. Just fun little things that aren't to be taken too seriously. I'm rusty, but I'd very much like to try.
What you guys are going to do (hopefully) is leave me the prompts. Today's is courtesy of Some1tookmyname – because I needed someone to get me going and she witnessed my epic Twitter meltdown over this whole situation – but the rest are all on you. Review, PM, Tweet, DM... pick your poison. RositaLG and Jenlovesbones don't know it yet, but every morning one of them will be responsible for making the selection. If you have a prompt idea/word/location/scenario, bribe them, blackmail them, hell, threaten their lives if you want. Remind them that it can be all fun and games in our little corner of the Bones world, and maybe convince them to stay.
Day 1: Splitting Time, 50/50
And I am here still waiting
Though I still have my doubts.
I am damaged at best
Like you've already figured out.
Broken, Lifehouse
They take a step back soon after Brennan tells Booth that she's pregnant.
It's not intentional but the desire to be better to one another faces off against years of learned behaviour, and in the end it simply proves too easy to fall back into what is familiar.
In the moment, Booth is just so glad to have a reason for her slight distance and Brennan is so relieved to unload the burden of this secret and know that this will not be the thing that ruins them, there isn't room to feel much else. But the next day they're a little more polite. A little more guarded. The facts are, they are just beginning to rebuild the foundation of them; they haven't yet found their way back to a place where they can bicker and share their thoughts freely without fear of judgement or significant repercussion. Her pregnancy does not change the facts.
Over the next few weeks they function on a sliding scale of exhilaration and frustration; the good is good, and the not-so-good is better than what they have been, so they tuck the frustrations away inside themselves.
They've learned a lot from their mistakes, but problem solving in a constructive manner is a continuing work in progress.
On one of their good evenings, Booth watches Brennan from his kitchen doorway as she revises her next academic journal submission with the same merciless attacks of red pen she uses when grading the papers of her grad students. He can't see her face clearly from this angle, but he can imagine the deep furrow of her brow and the red bite marks on her bottom lip. Her legs are drawn up toward her chest, her work rests atop her knees, and her tea mug is balanced precariously between her quadriceps and her lower abdomen. He smiles as she blindly locates the mug and takes a sip, but instead of resting the cup back in the space created by her folded body, she extends her hand beyond the couch arm and lets go.
The sound of shattering ceramic pierces the air and Brennan startles before gasping and swearing softly. In the half second it takes her to recover and place her paper safely on the coffee table, Booth is kneeling on the ground, carefully gathering the broken pieces.
She glares at him accusingly. "Booth!"
"Are you being serious right now?" Booth pauses and shifts from his knees to balance on the balls of his feet. "You break a glass and spill all over the floor when I'm not even in the room, and it's my fault?"
"It's not you; it's your end table."
"What's wrong with my end table?"
Brennan joins him on the floor and reaches under the couch to retrieve the broken handle piece, then rolls her eyes when Booth nudges her hand away and picks it up himself. "There isn't anything wrong with it," she stands and heads into the kitchen for a cloth. "However, it is located on the opposite end of the couch to the end table in my apartment."
She returns to the living room and begins soaking up the liquid slowly spreading across the hardwood floor. Because she is so focused on her task, it takes her a moment to realise Booth has stopped trying to pick up the thin white flecks remaining on the floor and now stares at her with a goofy grin sitting lopsided on his face.
"Why are you smiling?" she frowns.
"I don't know, Bones. Maybe because you feel so at home here, for a minute there you actually thought you were in your own place."
"It was a reflex action, Booth. It's hardly something that warrants excitement."
"I still think it's nice."
"Well stop." Brennan's frown deepens and she pushes her hair out of her face. "I'm finding it very difficult to concentrate here."
The natural break in conversation following her words falls into a heavy silence.
"Do you want to go back to your place?" Booth asks hesitantly.
The words are polite. The tone is polite. Everything in his expression is polite. Still, Brennan can't help but feel as if he is testing her. And she can't quite tuck away the frustration this time.
"I just want to finish my paper, Booth," she says tiredly. "That's all."
He runs a hand over his face. "We need to figure this out."
The apartment battle has been fought silently up until this point; they both present their arguments, make their excuses, and the strongest one wins. He has Parker this weekend. Her place is closer. There's no bacon in her fridge. He's out of whole wheat bread. With Booth's words, however, there's no more room to pretend that this is working for them.
"We may as well just flip a coin," Brennan mutters. They've crossed over the line they've been skirting cautiously for weeks and quite frankly, it's refreshing to be a little snippy.
Booth's eyes narrow and he gets snippy too. "You know what? Why not. If you win, I give up my place. I win, you give up yours."
Brennan raises her eyebrows. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"That... does not seem like a very practical way to make this decision."
He takes a coin out of his pocket and gazes at her expectantly. "Call it, Bones."
She accepts the challenge, but as usual, it's on her terms. "I want to do it."
"What?"
"I want to do it. What if you cheat?"
"For crying out loud, Bones. I'm not going to cheat."
"Well neither am I, Booth."
"Fine. Here."
She takes the quarter and gets ready to throw it. "I'm heads."
"You can't flip and call, Bones. One or the other."
"Fine; you call."
"Fine."
There's another pause as they each wait for the other to end this obvious insanity, but after seconds tick by, Brennan's jaw clenches defiantly and she tosses the quarter above their heads.
Before she can catch it, Booth snatches it out of the air without ever taking his eyes away from hers.
"Hey!"
"This is beyond stupid."
"Because I was going to win?"
"No! Because we're not ten years old." His gaze turns piercing and she shifts slightly under the weight of it. "What do you want to do, Bones. Tell me what you want."
She knows it's irrational to keep both apartments. She knows shuffling the baby between two dwellings would be an unnecessary inconvenience and she knows that moving buildings is only going to become more difficult as her pregnancy progresses. But when she answers him, she's honest.
"I'm not ready to give up my apartment." The words tumble from her lips, and the world does not end. The rest of the words quickly follow suit before she can lose her nerve. "It's my home, Booth. It's been less than two months..."
Her voice trails off and her earnest expression asks him to understand.
"... it's my home."
He does understand. Because there's a doorway in this apartment that charts the growth of his son with charcoal and thin tipped marker. There's a wall that still displays the faint etchings of orange crayon despite his attempts to scrub it clean.
Life has thrown them a curveball, but they've always created their own rhythms and despite what Booth would like to believe, the conventional approach rarely works for them.
"We start by splitting time, then. Your place, my place. Fifty-fifty, huh?"
Brennan tilts her head. Eventually, her face relaxes and she smiles. "Fifty-fifty."
She likes the thought of this. Of equality and at last, the promise of some time to adjust. It's a temporary solution – and a flawed one, at that – but perhaps the next time this frustration comes to a head, they'll both be ready to make a different sort of change.
"Okay," she answers. And they're good again. For now. "Okay."