Title: Expectancy
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Despite being a very, very good girl this year, and writing several letters to Santa (only one of which began, 'If you ever want to see your mother again...'), I do not see any Bones-shaped packages underneath the tree.
Notes: I love fluff, really, I do! This, however, is far from it; it's how I actually envision Tempe's Christmas going this year. Just a little one-shot.
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Temperance didn't
like to be disappointed.
Christmas was always a disappointment.
Therefore, Temperance didn't like Christmas.
There it was, her syllogistic argument, which managed to be logical and bitter all at once- which, she supposed, meant it probably wasn't all that logical at all. She also supposed it didn't really matter, because it was true regardless.
There were two ways, she had discovered, of avoiding disappointment. One was working hard enough to get what you wanted. The other was holding low expectations. On the whole, she vouched for hard work, but she knew that no matter how much sweat and blood she put into it, Christmas could never work out the way she wanted it to. All or nothing. She lowered her expectations.
She had seen Angela off at the airport the night before, had said good-bye to Zack as he prepared to re-unite with the Addy clan, had warned Hodgins to drink plenty of water after his massage sessions to clear the toxins from his blood, had breezed past Booth with a just-long-enough holiday greeting so he wouldn't have time to pity her and invite her to intrude on his own plans, had even managed to wish Cam a merry Christmas.
Christmas morning dawned clear and cold. Temperance was supposed to meet Russ to drive up and meet his girlfriend and her little girls. She figured it was safe to assume he wouldn't be keeping that appointment anymore (and, if he did, she would probably kick his ass.) Two slices of bread went into the toaster, and she started brewing some coffee. After breakfast, she settled down with a few papers she'd received from the mummy congress in Arica. She was halfway through them when her cell phone rang.
She'd known that this would happen. She reached over, flipped the radio on to a mindless talk show, and waited until her phone had rung five times to answer.
"Brennan," she answered, loudly, talking over the radio.
"Merry Christmas to you too, Bones," came the voice on the other end.
She paused. "Merry Christmas. What do you need?"
"I was just wondering if you'd like to grace Parker and I with your presence later on."
She didn't respond right away, and yelled, "Yes, please, Pam, thank you very much," and then started. "Oh, Booth. I'm actually kind of busy tonight, and it's very loud here. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Alright, Bones." He sounded relieved, she noted. She'd known he would. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," she agreed, hung up, flipped the radio off, and gone back to her reading. Now she could enjoy her Christmas in peace, imposing on no one, and Booth could spend his holiday the way he really wanted to, conscience satisfied.
Everything had, in fact, worked out according to plan. The feeling of dissatisfaction that welled up in her throat was, of course, completely illogical. She'd expected nothing more.
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AN: Jeeze, what am I, the Christmas killer? Anyways, I'd love to get some reviews in my stocking! Please? Or at least some nice egg nog, accompanied by your thoughts and opinions.
