WHEN FLU BUGS BITE by: Arianna Malone
Disclaimer: I have only borrowed the characters Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth. I do not own either of them. All I did was ask if the three of us could hang out for a while. I'll see to it that they make it home safely to their real owners – Josephson Entertainment and Far Field Productions in association with Twentieth Century Fox Television.
A/N This story is fluff, nothing but fluff. I am living by my credo "Plot? I don't need no stinkin' plot." If you are hoping for a case story, you have come to the wrong place. If you want realism, well…you'll probably be disappointed as well.
Chapter 1: The Blame Game
La Crosse County Airport
La Crosse, Wisconsin
Temperance Brennan was an adult. That was one fact that she never questioned. She also defined herself as a scientist.
Both of those roles meant something extremely important: Her world was composed of facts; it was a haven of logic and a dwelling place of reason.
Ergo, any conclusion that she reached, based on a logical understanding of the facts must be well-founded.
Currently, Brennan had concluded that Agent Seeley Booth was to blame for her current situation. Utterly and completely, this was entirely his fault.
She'd tell him so, too, if he ever found his way to the airport.
Of course, if he missed their flight, she wasn't going to wait for him. He could rot in Wisconsin, for all she cared.
Tempe huddled down further in her uncomfortable seat, wrapping her jacket around her to maximize the warmth it offered. The tickle in her throat was back. She tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was just a piece of errant dust that she could swallow away.
Nope, no good.
She covered her mouth as she hacked and barked her way through the coughing fit. As she finished, her breath wheezed through her abused throat. If she had been home, alone and unobserved, she would have given way to a mournful whimper. Gods, she hurt. Her throat burned, her head throbbed, and her body was one big ache.
When she had collapsed into bed last night, it was only her throat and her exhaustion that gave her a clue that something was wrong. It was a big clue, too. She had been so tired that she had skipped dinner, found her way to her hotel room and closed her eyes at 7:30! She didn't open them again until her cell phone's shrill tone penetrated her dreams at eight the next morning.
Booth had been calling to see if she wanted to go with him to the local police department – a kind gesture that took into consideration her desire to be included in every aspect of the cases they worked together. At that moment, though, she hated any person who dared disturb her slumber and brusquely told him no. If she had been more coherent, she might have noticed his long pause before he offered to meet up with her at the airport later in the day. But, she didn't. Tempe simply grunted a response and hung up.
Actually, she was lucky that he had called and woken her up. When she rolled out of bed and proceeded to get ready for the flight home, she found that everything seemed to take twice as long as it normally would have. The worst part was how often she found herself, sitting slumped on the bed, not quite remembering sitting down, but understanding that she was trying to gather more energy to continue with her packing.
That's what had started her train of thought on its trip to "Let's Blame Booth" station. If only he hadn't included her on this case, if only, instead of dragging her along, he had sent the remains to her at the Jeffersonian, if only he hadn't had the bright idea to visit the bars EVERY SINGLE NIGHT over the weekend, trying to connect with the college students and gather information. A small voice chimed in with her litany of 'if onlys'.
If only you hadn't insisted on tagging along, wanting to help find the killer and give the families and friends of the six dead female college students some closure.
"Oh shut up!" She replied, irritated. "It isn't my fault that I caught the flu." Hearing her voice in the empty hotel room made her groan. Now she was talking to herself. Fabulous! She was sick AND she was losing her mind.
By the time she had gotten to the airport – a dinky little building that had a common waiting area for all three gates – her sore throat and exhaustion had been joined by the muscle aches and – worst of all – an excruciating, pounding head. When she wasn't blaming Booth for everything under the sun, Tempe found herself thinking rather mournfully "I want to be home. I want my cat. I want my bed. I want to go home."
It was better to be mad at Booth.
Time passed, and the final boarding call for Flight 465 forced Tempe to her feet. Booth was late, and unless he walked through the door in the next moment, or used his G-man powers to delay the flight, he would be stuck in Podunk, Wisconsin until tomorrow. A mean, nasty part of Temperance Brennan thought that it would serve him right. She handed over her plane ticket, and made her way out to the tiny, regional jet that would start her on the first leg of her journey home.
TBC…