Author's Note: A weird, left-field word, I know. But hey! When I was brainstorming words, this one popped into my mind and I couldn't help but flesh it all the way out. Take it or leave it, I suppose. This doesn't push the envelope nearly as far as the show does (or as I may or may not do later), promise. I know I said once a week, but I also said I'd be posting 5 times this week, so this is a bonus chapter! Ding ding!

IMPORTANT: PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL THE PREMIERE FOR ME IN YOUR REVIEWS. WHILE ALL REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED, I MAY BE UNABLE TO WATCH THE PREMIERE LIVE THIS WEEK AND HATE HAVING SHOWS RUINED. THANK YOU.

Setting: About 3 months after Brennan gives birth. Spoilers are to be ignored, of course.

Bras
Short for brassiere; a woman's undergarment for supporting the breasts.

"Bones," Booth called from outside the locked bedroom door. "Are you almost ready?"

If there was one thing he learned over the years in his various relationships it was to never rush a woman when she was making herself up. Especially, he most recently learned, if said woman is particularly hormonal.

It had been two weeks shy of three months since she gave birth but he's not convinced she's as emotionally put together as she's been claiming. She didn't struggle with any postpartum depression, but she definitely has been exhibiting mood swings. One moment, it seems, she is crying over a Home Depot commercial and the next she's particularly feisty.

He placed his sleeping daughter in her carrier and tripled checked the harnesses. "The nanny's waiting for us at the hotel," he added in hopes of pushing the process along.
Again, no reply. Impatient, and fractionally concerned, Booth rested his forearm on the doorjamb. With his forehead on his arm, he listened closely to the sounds on the other side of the door.

He heard muffled sounds of drawers being opened and slammed shut and various fabrics being rifled through. A few times he heard the soft, muted thud of clothing being discarded onto the wood floors. He listened as her footsteps echoed to the closet, soon followed by the clanking and clattering of hangers.

A creak in the floorboards alerted Booth that she was walking past the door. He heard her mumble complaints under her breath and decided to try one last time.

"Bones? We're twenty minutes late. Are you almost finished?"

A distressed, "I can't find anything that fits," came from the other side of the door.

Booth silently chuckled and rolled his eyes. "You've lost all your baby weight already. I'm sure everything looks fine."

After a short pause, he heard the teeth of a zipper be violently pulled apart and the light padding of her feet. "Nothing looks right," she dismissed.

He looked at his watch and saw that they were nearing thirty minutes late. "If you don't open this door, I'm kicking it down."

Before he could, he listened as the lock faintly clicked. When he turned the knob and walked through the door he was immediately surprised by how messy the usually spotless room was. Then he saw what every piece of clothing really was and her state of undress.

Clad only in an ill-fitting towel, Brennan stood with her back to him as she scanned through the closet. Surrounding her feet, and covering pretty much every other surface in the bedroom, were bras. Lacy, pushup, nursing, normal, corset-styled, you name it, it was strewn somewhere.

The image immediately made him uncomfortable. It's not like he hadn't seen a bra of hers before, let alone dealt with one, but having so many out at once gave him the heebie-jeebies. It was like each cup was a set of eyes, and there sure were a bunch of them.

As he backed out of the room, she turned to him. "My breasts are too full to fit into anything," she complained.

Gulping, he reached for the first piece of fabric that he noticed. With one finger he lifted it up by the strap and examined it like it was a piece of evidence. Great, he thought. He picked up probably the sexiest, scantiest bra she owned. "Uh, this one?" She made it to his side of the room and snatched it from him before storming to the bathroom. "I, uh, I'm just going to… I'm going to wait outside," he called, closing his eyes and quickly exiting the room.

With the image of all the lacy items imprinted into his mind, he shuddered. Sensory overload.