Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
BACKGROUND INFO: This is set between 5x19 (The Rocker in the Rinse Cycle) and 5x20 (The Witch in the Wardrobe). In this universe, Brennan got slashed on the left arm while pursuing a suspect who (unbeknownst to her) was carrying a knife. Her injury was fairly shallow, but she had to go to the hospital to get stitches. Booth has already chewed her out about going after the suspect alone, she's already informed him that she wouldn't have been wounded if she was allowed a gun, etc. In other words, they've already cleared the air over this particular incident.
I haven't written all of this because A. I'm too lazy and B. It's all just an excuse to get Brennan injured enough to need pain medication. (And doesn't that sound sadistic?) I realize that Brennan didn't react very dramatically to the pain medication that she received in 5x01; however, she DID go to Avalon's apartment alone in the middle of the night, which I think is a reasonable argument for impaired judgment.
Chapter One: The Truth in the Medication
.
Temperance Brennan's Apartment, 4:00 P.M.
"I don't like opioid analgesics, Booth," Bones says stiffly. "They… react in my system in such a way as to make me say things which I do not intend."
"So you act a little out of it on pain meds," Booth says dismissively. "Everyone does."
"I dislike being unable to control myself," Bones continues, wincing as another wave of pain hits her.
"So you'd rather be in excruciating pain?" Booth asks skeptically. "I think not. C'mon Bones, you need 'em."
"You know, in certain cultures it is considered a sign of strength to go without artificial aids. In fact, many cultures believe that pain strengthens the individual."
"And here in the good old U.S. of A.," Booth tells her, "we believe that it's stupid to torture yourself when the wonders of modern medicine are available to you."
"That's a gross generalization," Bones protests, teeth gritted.
"Look, Bones, if it hurts this much to watch, the pain's gotta be killing you," Booth says pleadingly. "Just take the meds."
"I…" Bones says.
Booth takes a deep breath, then says, "Look, I promise not to rib you too badly about whatever you say while under the influence. Scout's honor."
"Were you ever a Scout?" Bones asks, biting her lip. "Because if you weren't, then such a promise would be –"
"Doesn't matter, Bones," Booth says. "You have my word."
"And you won't let anyone else near me while I'm babbling?" Bones asks, eyes wide.
"Not a single person," Booth promises. "I won't leave your side."
"Except for when I use the bathroom," Bones says.
Booth rolls his eyes. "Obviously."
"Alright," Bones says. "Hand me the medication."
Booth pumps his fist briefly in victory, and hands her the pills. She gulps them down quickly with the aid of a glass of water. Before long, she's out like a light.
Smiling ruefully, he sets his watch alarm and settles into an armchair with a book.
One of these days, he's going to convince Bones to get a T.V. He's not entirely sure how yet, but something has to work. He's tried charming her into it, tried guilting her into it, tried to frame it as an exercise in understanding popular American culture... and Bones still stands firm. He doesn't get it, doesn't get her.
Then again, that's always been the case, hasn't it?
–-– –-– –-– –-– –-– –-– –-–
8:00 P.M.
"Wakey, wakey," Booth says, lightly shaking her shoulder.
"Don't wanna get up," Bones moans. "Lemme sleep."
It's kind of endearing, he thinks. Even when she's drunk, she tends to use complex words, so it fascinates him to see another side of her personality.
"Sorry, Bones," he tells her. "No can do. You need to take your next dose of medicine."
"Wanna sleep," she mutters.
"The sooner you take the meds, the sooner you can get back to sleep," he says patiently.
She scowls, but slowly sits up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
Hah! Logic works every time.
She sticks her hand out mechanically and he drops the pills into it. Eyes blearily surveying the room, she swallows them.
"What time is it?" she asks.
"Eight o'clock," he responds.
"I slept for four hours?" she asks incredulously. "I… I ought to get up. I have paperwork – "
Her words are cut off by a wide yawn. Shaking her head slightly, she continues. "You don't need to stay, Booth. I am sure you have more enjoyable things that you could be doing on a Friday night than looking after your drugged partner."
"And miss seeing you like this?" Booth says teasingly. More seriously, he adds, "After today's events, you need somebody here with you, Bones."
"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself," she protests.
"Yeah," he snorts. "I leave you to your own devices, and you'll try to go back to the Jeffersonian; I know you. And you're not doing paperwork!"
"Why not?" she asks.
"Because you just underwent minor surgery," he says.
She looks unconvinced.
Shaking his head, he reminds her, "You're high on pain medication. Not the best time to write a detailed report or translate legalese."
"I don't know what that means," Bones says blankly, then giggles.
Booth stares at her for a moment.
Right, the medication.
"Never mind," he tells her. "Go back to sleep."
"But I'm awake now," she states.
Booth's phone chooses now to go off.
"Just a minute, Bones," he tells her, after glancing at the flashing ID. "Gotta take this."
Walking into the kitchen, Booth flips open his phone.
"Hey, Catherine," he says. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to make sure we're still on for Saturday," Catherine says, and he can hear a smile in her voice. "You, me, and a bowling ball… time to make good on your boasts."
"Wouldn't miss it," Booth says, knowing he's grinning like an idiot. "How else can I prove that I wasn't exaggerating my skills?"
"I look forward to it," she says.
There's a moment of silence.
"Well, I won't keep you any longer," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah," he says inanely, feeling like a teenager again.
Shutting the phone, the bright smile on his face fades a bit. It's a tad awkward, thinking about his date in his partner's house.
Pouring himself a glass of milk from the fridge, he walks back out into the living room.
"Who was it?" Bones asks curiously.
"Uh, Catherine," Booth says uncomfortably.
"The marine biologist?" she asks, cocking her head to one side.
"Yep," he says, eager to change the subject.
"I don't like her," she says.
They say that only children and fools speak the truth, but now Booth has a third category to add to that truism – forensic anthropologists hopped up on pain meds.
"Wha… I thought you said she was nice," Booth says in confusion.
"And smart – although not as smart as I am – and very physically attractive," Bones agrees, nodding drunkenly.
"Right," Booth says, lost.
"She is good for you," Bones continues. "She believes in concepts such as 'forever'."
"I fail to see the problem here, Bones," Booth says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
"I have been thinking, and I have come to the conclusion that I dislike her," Bones states. "My feelings on this matter are irrational and selfish, but I find it… distressing… seeing you in a sexual relationship with her."
Booth's mouth drops open for a second, before he regains the presence of mind to close it. Choosing to ignore the possible implications of what she's just said, he focuses on the latter part of her statement.
"We've only been on three dates. We are not engaged in a," he lowers his voice, "sexual relationship."
"I didn't necessarily mean the physical act itself. I merely meant that the two of you are in a relationship that is societally defined in a sexual context," Bones says. She looks thoughtful for a moment before adding, "Although, given her present to you, it was not an entirely implausible conclusion. One does not normally give formal gifts of clothing so early in a relationship."
And the vocabulary is back.
Apparently even opioids aren't enough to dampen her intelligence for long. But really, he doesn't want his love life being analyzed, and especially not by her.
"So… you don't like her because she's good for me," Booth repeats, feeling like a broken record.
"Correct. Although I also would not like her if she was bad for you," she says reflectively.
"You can't have it both ways, Bones," he says, angry frustration welling inside him. "You've gotta make up your mind."
Her brows knit in confusion.
He's about to really give her a piece of his mind when he remembers exactly why she's being so forthcoming at the moment.
He sighs.
"Look, Bones… just go back to sleep, OK?" he says.
"I do not understand why you are so persistent about this, Booth," she says. "I am not tired."
"Maybe not, but your body could use the rest to help speed up the healing process," Booth reminds her.
"That… is a valid point."
"Always the tone of surprise," he mutters.
"Booth?" she says quietly, curling back up on the couch.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for staying with me. I know that I have upset you somehow, although –"
"Bones," he tells her. "I'm here for you no matter what, OK?"
Her voice small, she repeats, "Thank you."