If you can, please review my story. Thank you.

I don't own Bones.

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Booth wrapped up his case earlier that day and to give himself a treat, he decided to go home early. He dropped by the Jeffersonian daycare, picked up Christine and made it home by three in the afternoon instead of the usual six or seven. After feeding Christine a little snack, Booth carried her into the living room with an arm load of graphic novels. He dumped his graphic novels on the coffee table which he then slid over beside the couch, so he could reach his novels without having to get up. Next, he turned on the stereo that was located across the room and found a Golden Oldies station promising to play hits from the 70's and 80's. Laying on the couch, Booth placed his daughter on his chest and cradled her with his right arm. It was awkward, but he could read and spend time with his daughter at the same time, even if she was sleeping.

Ooooooooooooooooo

Booth had been caught up in the story he was reading when Brennan came home. Entering the living room, Brennan found Booth staring intently at a comic book and Christine lying on her back on Booth's chest. The child was awake and smiling. She was busy trying to grab the bottom of Booth's comic book which her father held just out of her reach. Suprisingly, this didn't seem to bother the toddler in the least. She just kept trying to reach for it.

She had missed her baby dearly while she was at work and was pleased to find the child in a happy mood. Walking over to the couch, Brennan reached down and picked up her little girl. Booth, unware that Brennan was in the room let alone standing next to him, jerked his arms in surprised and protested. "Damn it, Bones. Cough or something the next time. You like to scared the hell out me."

Amused, Brennan cuddled her baby in her arms while making an observation. "For someone in law enforcement, you don't seem to be as observant as you should be."

Not amused, Booth decided that she didn't appreciate the situation. "I'm on my couch . . . in my home by the way. I'm not expecting to have to fend off an attacker, Bones. I was relaxing. It's what I'm supposed to do when I'm not working. Someone attacking in my home . . . that's not going to happen. That crap just happens in the movies."

"I thought you said you were going to take care of dinner, this evening." Brennan glanced at the kitchen and then back towards Booth. "I don't smell anything cooking."

Booth stood up from the couch and placed his arm around Brennan's shoulder. "Of course I did. I said I would and I did . . . I picked up Chinese takeout on the way home. It's in the fridge. We can eat whenever you want to."

Disappointed that Booth hadn't cooked one of his sauces, Brennan walked over to the kitchen to feed their daughter.

Following Brennan into the kitchen, Booth sat down at the table and watched Brennan feed their daughter. He loved to watch them while Christine ate. They reminded him that he had a wonderful life and that he wasn't alone any more.

"I thought you got rid of all of your comic books when we moved here." She had seen the pile of comic books on the coffee table and Brennan was curious about them.

Shaking his head, Booth frowned. "Now, why would I do that? My graphic novels are collector items. They may be worth a lot of money when I'm old. They're an investment."

Puzzled about the valude of the books, Brennan wiped Christine's chin and continued to feed her. "If you've read them before, why read them again? Won't handling them risk devaluing them? I thought they had to be pristine for them to remain valuable."

"Nah, what good are they if I can't read them once in awhile." Booth stood up and walked over to the fridge. After collecting two bottles of beer from the fridge he brought them back, placed them on the table and sat down. "I like to read them because they're fun. Besides, I'm careful how I handle them. They're in pretty good shape and I keep them in plastic sleeves when I'm not reading them."

Looking at Booth, Brennan asked, "Booth, why do you call them graphic novels? Aren't they really comic books?"

While he opened one of the bottle of beers, Booth explained. "When I was a kid, comics cost about 75 cents. If you go out and buy one now a days the dealer calls them graphic novels and charges you about four or five bucks. Believe me, dealers couldn't sell comic books for prices like that so they have to call them graphic novels. It's just a marketing ploy to get more money from collectors."

As soon as Christine was finished eating, Brennan held her daughter, while Booth took out the Chinese food from the fridge and put it on the kitchen table. Placing two plates and forks on the table, Booth pointed to the cartons and smiled. "Okay, I worked really hard getting dinner ready so don't let it get cold."

Not sure if Booth was joking, Brennan placed Christine on her lap and opened the other beer bottle. "You just took it out of the fridge, Booth. If anything it will now start to warm up."

Cocking his head to the side, Booth asked her rather dryly, "Really?"

Laughing at Booth's expression, Brennan placed some fried rice on her plate and started to eat.

Ooooooooooooooo

A week later, Booth walked into the kitchen and found a graphic novel lying on the kitchen table. Picking it up, he noticed that it was written in Japanese. Looking through the book, he realized it was a graphic novel based on Brennan's second book. Sitting down, he started to look at each page. Turning the pages he really enjoyed the art work until he found himself blushing, his cheeks burning with heat. There, before him, was page 187 of Brennan's book, interpreted for him in very colorful graphic art work. He coudn't believe that he was seeing that thing that had made everyone talk about Brennan's book at work. Closing the book, Booth realized that he would never be able to think of comic books again as anything but graphic novels.

Very graphic novels.

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What do you think of my story? Any good?