Nightmares from the Closet
A/N: This drabble is a follow-up to last night's Bones episode which is the scariest I've seen. If you haven't seen it yet, read this after you've watched it, or it won't make much sense, and may spoil the episode for you.
Once the glass fragments of Christine's snow globe had been collected and its glittery liquid had been mopped up, Booth and Brennan tucked their daughter back into bed as calmly as they could manage, hoping their acting skills fooled their perceptive five-year old. They each leaned over to kiss her, on cheek and forehead respectively, checked the night light and left the door open as they left her room.
Once they were back in the family room, Booth strode to the Panasonic tape recorder on the coffee table and pressed the 'Stop' key to silence "Buffalo Gals" as quickly as he could.
"That song was one of Pops' favorites, but I never want to hear it again," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"Booth, let's go discuss this in our bedroom," Brennan suggested in an undertone.
"Good idea, Bones. How' bout you put off examining these crime scene pictures until tomorrow too. Good thing the dishwasher's cycle is finished. We need to be able to hear Christine if she wakes up again."
He checked the locks on doors and windows in his nightly security routine, as Brennan turned off all the lights except Marianne and Reggie's hula girl lamp which held an 8-watt LED bulb. She chuckled to herself remembering the 'fra-gee-lee' fishnet stocking leg lamp from A Christmas Story.
Booth stared at his wife. "I'm glad you can laugh, Bones. That really freaked me out!"
"I'm always amused for a moment by your mother's choice of lamp, Booth. It reminds me of Ralphie's father," Brennan told him.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to turn in. It's early but I've had enough excitement for one day," Booth declared, putting his arm around Brennan's shoulder and pulling her close.
"I quite agree. A fresh look at this case in the morning will be more productive for both of us."
Pausing to look in on their slumbering daughter, the couple walked arm in arm down the hallway to their room, changed into pajamas and brushed their teeth. Once they were settled in the wide king-sized bed, Brennan reached for her latest anthropology journal. Booth flipped on his bedside radio, leaned back against the pillows, his arms folded behind his head, and listened to the hockey scores recounted on the nightly news.
"The crash of Christine's snow globe really set me on edge. I don't normally startle that badly, but I can't get the sight of Allison's skeleton suspended in the Bone Room out of my head."
"I know, seeing that was grim, and it really spooked Cam as well. Whoever our killer is, he or she is one disturbed individual! But we need some sleep to unravel all this. We'll catch the depraved butcher but it may take time. We can't have ghoulish dreams every night."
A half-hour later, they were nestled against each other for the night.
bbbbbbbbbbb
Hours later Booth awoke from a turbulent dream of chasing elusive serial killers, and found himself in a cold sweat. Careful not to disturb his wife, he shifted the pillows, and tried to go back to sleep. Instead, his mind roiled with worried thoughts of their latest gruesome case. Who was the killer; so disturbed as to be capable of such twisted deeds? Finally, he dozed fitfully.
An hour and a half later, he was startled by moaning sobs. Finding his torso chilled and uncovered, he glanced over at Brennan. She was twisted in their covers, sound asleep but thrashing about, gasping her daughter's name, clearly having a nightmare. He spoke softly and shook her gently.
"Bones, honey, wake up, you're dreaming. It's okay, Christine is safe. I'm here. We're fine."
Brennan opened bleary eyes, her shoulders shuddering as she sobbed.
"Oh, Booth, I searched everywhere, I couldn't find you before George Gibbons sliced your throat, and I couldn't reach Christine in time to save her! She was strung up like Allison Monroe! "
"I know, you were having a nightmare. Me, too. This case has us both on edge; it's positively macabre. Do you want me to make you some chamomile tea?"
Brennan leaned into her husband, burying her face on his shoulder. "Yes, maybe that would help."
She sat up, shoved the comforter back, and slid out of bed.
"I need to wash my face, calm down, drink some water."
Booth got out of bed, pulled on his robe, and hugged her close with a kiss on the forehead.
"I'll be in the kitchen."
Brennan joined him a few minutes later, sank onto a stool by the counter, and gratefully accepted the steaming cup of tea he offered her.
Booth cracked open a Yuengling Light Laeger and sat next to her.
"I'm afraid this case is gonna be a tough one; we can't be losing sleep every night. We can't have ghoulish dreams every night. I'd be willing to bet Cam is having nightmares, too. Maybe we should call Gordon Gordon in the morning and see if he has any suggestions."
"Good idea, Booth. I've finished my tea. Can we go back to bed now? I'm not going to fall asleep without you beside me."
"You got it, Bones," Booth assured her, draining his bottle. He glanced at the microwave's clock. "Geez, it's 4:47 a.m. Let's hit the hay; we've only got a couple more hours to sleep before our little chipmunk is awake again."
The couple returned to bed and entwined themselves beneath the covers, kissed and said good night. In the darkness, each waited in vain for sleep to come. It was going to be a long tiring day.