Note: A Secret Santa fic for threesquares.
Characters I wish for: 1 - 3 characters:Brennan, Booth
Please include: 1 - 3 elements - a couch, banter, snow
Please exclude: 1- 3 elements - Anything Christmas. Make this one Wintery but not centered around a particular holiday.
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Brennan erased the last paragraph and slumped back in her chair. It was ludicrous to think that fictional characters she'd created had minds of their own, but yet every time she tried to get them to take the plot in the direction she'd outlined, they refused to cooperate. All she needed them to do was a little banter, then move on to the case, but once they started to banter, she couldn't seem to get them to bring the conversation back to the murder they were investigating.
It was maddening.
She picked up her written outline and tried to figure out where she'd gone wrong. As she was mulling over the ways she could get the story back on course, the door to her study creaked open and her daughter rushed in, almost bursting with excitement.
"Mommy!"
Brennan spun her chair around and opened her arms to catch the laughing child. "Guess what?'", Christine asked.
Amused at her daughter's colourful outfit, Brennan guessed, "You dressed yourself."
Christine laughed. "Of course I did, Mommy. But guess what else?"
A quick glance at the clock told Brennan that they were running late. "You're going to art class this morning?"
Christine's lopsided pony tails swung as she shook her head. "Nope."
Brennan frowned. "I'm certain you have art class, Christine."
"Not today!" Christine spun around in a circle, barely able to contain her excitement. "It snowed! And I'm not going to art class, we're going to make a snowman and have a snowball fight and have lots of fun in the snow."
"That does sound like fun", her mother agreed. "I'm sure you and your father will have a very fun day."
"You too", Christine said, tugging at her mother's hand. "You have to come play with us."
Brennan shot a frustrated glance at her monitor, the unfinished novel taunting her. "I have work to do", she replied.
"Not today! It's a snow day. Daddy says that's a day where you don't have to do the stuff you're 'sposed to do, you just get to have fun."
Brennan raised an eyebrow at Booth, who had followed his daughter up the stairs and was now lounging against the door frame. "Really?"
He grinned at her. "Pretty sure it's a law, Bones. You're not going to make me arrest you, are you?"
Christine continued tugging at Brennan's hand until she gave in and stood. "I guess if it's the law", she said as she followed her daughter out of the room.
"Rats", Booth whispered as she passed him. "I was looking forward to using the handcuffs."
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The snow wasn't really plentiful enough to make a snowman, but they tried anyway, scraping the snow into a pile and using pebbles for the eyes and a carrot for the nose, with one of Christine's old sun bonnets topping it off. The imperfect snowman didn't bother Christine, who beamed with pride in the picture Booth took of her with her new friend.
Christine swung between them as they walked to the park, laughing at the dogs running around the park in excitement at the unfamiliar whiteness that blanketed the grass. They found some snow that hadn't been trampled, and Brennan taught Christine to make snow angels, just as she had when she was a child. Christine made a few before she tired of that, and then Brennan and Christine ganged up in Booth in a sneak snowball attack, which went on until their hands were red and cold and two of the three of them had snow down the back of their jackets. The walk home was no more subdued than the walk to the park, with Christine skipping around them and singing a song that she'd made up about the snow.
When they got home, they changed their wet clothes for dry ones and gathered in the living room for the hot chocolate that Booth claimed was world-famous. While he was puttering in the kitchen, Brennan had started a roaring fire, and Christine lay on the floor by the fire, explaining that fires were good for warming cold feet, while her parents settled on the couch.
Booth and Brennan sipped their drinks quietly as Christine reminisced about the fun they'd had, a happy, chattering monologue that needed no reply, while her hot chocolate cooled on the coffee table. When Brennan reminded her of her drink, she sat up and scooted over to sit at the coffee table and took a huge gulp, laughing at how puffy the marshmallows had grown.
When her drink was empty and she'd been sent to the bathroom to wash the ring of chocolate off of her face, she said, "I know, let's play a game!" She ran over to the game cabinet and flung the doors open while Brennan replied, "That sounds like fun, honey, but I do have work to do."
Christine's hands went to her hips and she shot a knowing glance at her father. "We might have to arrest her, Daddy."
Booth grinned and raised an eyebrow at his wife, and she capitulated. "Oh, of course, I forgot about the law. What game did you want to play?"
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The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter as the competitors played game after game in an effort to win more games than anyone else. Christine was as competitive as her parents, not above trying to distract them if it would give her an advantage, and sometimes they couldn't help by laugh at her blatant attempts to win at any cost.
After they'd all won – and lost – some games, Christine decreed that they had to have a dance party. She turned up the radio and dragged them onto her impromptu dance floor, where they tried to dance while avoiding her flailing limbs.
When they could dance no more, they made paper snowflakes, folding and cutting white paper into magical shapes under the direction of Christine, who had learned how to make snowflakes in preschool. Parker called while they were working on their snowflakes, and Christine insisted on taking the tablet around the house to show her brother the view of snow from every window, chattering away as she told him all about their exciting day. When Parker had sufficiently admired the snow, he filled Booth in on school and his soccer team's latest game results while Brennan and Christine finished their snowflakes.
By the time the snowflakes were done and taped to the window, it was time for dinner. They all helped cook and Christine proudly set the kitchen table so that they could eat with a view of the snow, still falling outside. After dinner, Booth cleaned up while Brennan gave Christine a bath and dressed her in her warmest pajamas ("You have to wear warm pajamas when it snows, Mommy"). Christine rushed through brushing her teeth, then raced downstairs and settled on the couch between her parents, just in time to watch her favourite movie. Booth and Brennan cuddled close to their daughter and spent more time watching her than the movie, enjoying the way she laughed and gasped over the twists and turns of a movie she'd seen dozens of times.
Christine slumped against Brennan and fell asleep before the end of the movie, exhausted from her active day, and Booth carried her up to bed and tucked her in.
When he came back downstairs, the room was tidied and Brennan was sweeping up the last of the bits of paper left from the snowflakes. He went to the cupboard and pulled out two wine glasses. He opened a bottle of wine, saying, "I think we've earned this."
Brennan smiled at him. "I've don't recall ever being this exhausted." She put the broom away and he handed her a wine glass. They sipped the wine and Brennan added, "I love our daughter, but I don't know where she gets her energy."
"Me either", Booth replied. "Were we every that energetic?"
"Probably", Brennan said, "But I certainly don't remember it."
"So?", he asked. "Want to watch a movie that doesn't involve a talking dog?"
She took a sip from the wine and said, 'That sounds nice, but I really do have work to do."
Booth took the glass from her hand and set it on the counter.
"What?", she asked.
There was a click as the handcuff closed around her wrist. "You can't say you weren't warned, ma'am." He stepped behind her and the second handcuff closed around her other wrist..
"Booth!", she protested, laughing.
He put his hand at the small of her back, steering her towards the stairs. "You have the right to remain silent", he said.
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I have an alternative story for this prompt that breaks the "no Christmas" rule that may be up in a couple of days.