I know intellectually that teeth and bones break down to the same elements. I know that teeth are extremely useful in the identification of the decomposed remains that fill the Jeffersonian. I know that they are an accurate tool for studying how ancient people lives, what they ate, their overall health. I know all these things but in this moment none of that matters, I have decided that I hate teeth.
Evolution is the key to survival, so I can't help but wonder why our teeth have not evolved properly? As our proportions have adjusted and our nourishment values have changed our teeth have struggled to follow suit. Especially the four extra teeth that no longer are required, nor seem to fit properly.
Wisdom teeth. What imbecile came up with that expression? As if advanced neurological tissue needed for higher reasoning skills could exist within a single tooth. Anyone with true intelligence would have the wretched things removed before they presented as a problem, in this I most certainly have NOT shown myself wise.
With a tendency to get absorbed in my work it didn't come to anyone as a shock that I allowed the loathsome things to cause me undo pain for too long. Normally I lecture Booth about the importance of seeking the necessary health-care professionals, but I rationalized that my regular six month intervals were sufficient.
Booth of course found my predicament hysterical. Apparently the fact that my wisdom teeth cause me discomfort, nearly 10 years older than the typical patient, is cause for humor. He of course wanted to know how brilliant I would be if they were allowed to erupt properly. I sincerely hope that he is aware that intelligence has nothing to do with a set of vestigial third molars.
Despite his teasing he has been, as usual, doting and kind. It would have been far more anxiety producing if he had not been by my side. I do not, in actuality, make a very willing patient. Grateful for his company, I feel somewhat comforted by taking my usual spot in his SUV. I can almost pretend that we are headed toward a case instead of the oral surgeon's office. If I was one for fanciful ramblings I might even pretend that the loathsome doctor is the victim, fortunately for him, I am not.
I know that he waited nearly the entire time in the cramped waiting room. He must have snuck out briefly because when he meets me in the recovery suite he has a gorgeous bouquet of daffodils, which I know are not in season. He also filled both my antibiotic and pain prescription, he smirks as I try to see what other treasures are inside the brown paper bag. There are entirely too many narcotics in my system to put up much of a protest as he brushed my hand away from the surprise and sweeps me to my feet. He guides me to the waiting car, steadying me with each step. I take note, as I often do, how well his strong arms seem to fit my frame. I secretly repeat all the bones of the hand, in order to prevent my medicated brain from speaking my thoughts aloud.
Nearly four hours later I wake up in my own bed, I am not entirely sure if I remember the trip, feeling both at once clearer and in intensified pain. Sitting up goes fairly smoothly so I attempt to stand. The room no longer spins, a definite improvement. Wandering down my hall I hear the gruff sounds of a hockey announcer on my newly acquired television. For a moment I am surprised that Booth hasn't left, but with further thought I realize his alpha male qualities would not allow him to abandon someone in a weakened state. Arriving in the living room, he looks up at me and grins. I wonder, not for the first time, if he is aware of how enrapturing his smiles can be.
"Hey there Bones! Feeling better? Do you want a pain pill? Something to eat? Watching something on TV?"
I look at him and simply state "A little, no, not now, I don't want to interrupt your game."
For a moment he looks at me confused, as if processing my answers. "My game, nah, this is ESPN Classic, the Flyers won this game in sudden death back in 1993."
I consider why Booth would want to watch a game to which he already knows the outcome, but decide it is perhaps best to just let it be. "Well what else should we watch?"
The grin is back. "Well at the store I picked you up a present." He tosses me a purple DVD box.
"The Gilmore Girls: Star's Hallow Highlights" I read the title. "Who are these girls and what is a Star's Hallow?"
"Angela recommended it, said it was light and fluffy and would have a ton of pop-culture references you could ask me about." I look at the front doubtfully, these two women are lovely, but I don't anticipate their humor as being enjoyable. I am resigned to his choices. Who am I to question Angela on television shows?
I settle on to the couch beside him. Happy just to feel him close, what images are displayed on the TV is inconsequential.
Seven hours, eight episodes, two doses of antibiotics and nearly a dozen chocolate pudding cups later, we have watched the entirety of the DVD set. I find that my opinion is very much changed, their banter was quite humorous, and I learned quite a bit with Booth's constant explanation. We saw the first episode and the last, and six that we scattered in the middle. It was a delightful way to spend an afternoon, evening and most of the night. I can hardly believe that it is nearly two in the morning.
"So Bones, what did you think?"
"Well I don't think I would have understood most of it without you, but overall I thoroughly enjoyed it."
He laughed, getting those sparkly eyes I adore so much. "I am not surprised, the daughter reminds me very much of someone I know." He gives me a knowing look.
"Really? I can tell by your facial expression that you are referring to me, but I must say, I see very little resemblance aside from some basic physical coloring." I am rather confused that I remind him of an innocent young girl.
"Well not you NOW Bones, but you know, as a kid. She is exactly as I pictured you would be. Feisty, intelligent, quirky, devoted, inquisitive. The spunky, artistic, Asian best friend doesn't hurt the comparison either."
I reflect on his words, recognizing the compliment. But a realization sets in, "you mean it is who I would have been if my parents hadn't left." I didn't mean to get melancholy on him. Sometimes I wish I had an undo button.
His face falls slightly, "No Bones" he said quietly "She's still the girl I see, no matter what happened to her, or where she lived. You are still all those things. I wish you did have your mother, I always wish that for you." He reaches out and pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear, it was a comforting gesture.
"Thanks Booth, I would have liked to think we would have had that kind of relationship. She was great. But I still don't understand the comparison. I think you picked the entirely wrong character."
His face changes from caring to quizzical. "Really, I have the wrong character? Then who, do tell, is most like you?"
"Easy" I reply "I am much more of the mother, than the daughter."
"WHAT!" He is hysterical. I love that his emotions can change in an instant. "You are nothing like Lorelei, she is messy and impulsive, and emotional, and irrational, and well, just not like you!"
"You missed the obvious similarity, the essence of Lorelei. Which we do, absolutely, have in common."
"Well, you stumped me Bones, what makes you exactly like the impractical mother?"
I look at him. Lingering in his chocolate brown eyes. Hoping that he understands my point. "We are the same because of Luke."
Author's Note: I hope that everyone reading this has a basic understanding of the Gilmore Girls, for those that are unfamiliar. Lorelei is the single mother of Rory a teenage girl. Luke was her best friend for nearly all of the series, her constant, her rock, her, well…..Booth. After some on and off they finally get together in the finale.
I wrote this tonight to take a little break from my next chapter of The Emotion in the Silence, it was getting a little angsty and was in dire need of a little fluff. I am thinking about doing this like I wrote Baby Books. The same story but from Booth's perspective. Thoughts?