.
"This might burn a little." The wizened little physician leaned over his tiny patient with a pair of tweezers.
"Are they fairies?" On her parents' bed, snuggled firmly next to her father, Christine peered at the book in his hands.
Before Booth could answer Zach, pressed just as closely into his other side, snorted rudely. "Of course they're not fairies," he scoffed. "They're just little people."
"They might be fairies!" Christine jabbed at the illustration on the page. "They sparkle!"
"Mommy said they weren't supposed to sparkle," her brother disagreed. "The artist did that. It's artist likings."
Smiling over their heads, Booth nudged his son gently. "Artistic license," he murmured, giving the four-year old time to dutifully parrot the correction before he continued reading.
"Ouch! Ouch!" Dimly began to complain before the tweezers even touched him. "It hurts something fierce!"
"Why does the dust hurt, Daddy?" Zach looked up with a smaller version of his father's eyes.
"Because it's magic." Christine answered first. "Only fairies can touch magic dust."
"They aren't fairies!"
"They could be fairies!"
Booth cleared his throat softly and the argument immediately stopped. "Since Mommy wrote this book you can ask her if they're fairies when she gets home tomorrow, okay?" He accepted the mutual sticking-out-of-tongues at each other as their agreement and continued reading.
"Stop wiggling, Dimly," Doctor Thistlewhistle ordered in a stern voice. "You are only making it worse."
"They have wings," Christine muttered stubbornly as Booth turned the page. "Fairies have wings."
Zach sat up straight. "Birds have wings. Butterflies have wings."
"Butterflies could be fairies!"
"Nuh uh! Butterflies come out of coocoos -"
"Cocoons," Booth corrected automatically, then mentally kicked himself for participating instead of ending the bickering.
"Fairies could live in cocoon houses -"
"Uncle Jack said caterpillars build coocoos - cocoons -"
"Fairies could -"
Another cough from their father silenced the children again.
"Is it in my ears, too, Doc?" Dimly's squeaky voice cracked. "Sissy said it would make them grow ten feet high! I don't want my ears to be -"
"Mosquitoes have wings." Zach had inherited his mother's habit of always wanting the last word. "The flying monkeys on TV had wings."
"I don't like those monkeys." Christine's voice was small as she pressed closer to Booth. "They're scary."
"They didn't scare me," Zach insisted bravely, before looking through the window at the darkness gathering outside his parents' bedroom. He, too, burrowed deeper into his father's side.
Booth dropped a kiss on the tops of both their heads. "You don't have to be scared, I promise," he assured them. "There aren't any flying monkeys around here, I promise. And," he added quickly, "let's not tell Mommy we watched that movie, okay?" He went back to the book in his hands.
"Sissy was only teasing you," Dr. Thistlewhistle said. "I have never seen ears grow more than a foot or two."
Dimly's eyes widened in horror. "I don't want a foot growing out of my ear!"
"Can I sleep in here with you tonight, Daddy? In case I have bad dreams about the monkeys?" Bright blue eyes looked up hopefully.
"Me, too?" Not willing to be left out, Zach joined his plea to his sister's. "Can I sleep with you, too?"
"I guess so." Booth dropped the book to his lap and encircled both small bodies with a quick hug. "One last time before Mommy gets home." He tried for a stern look. "Now, are you two going to let me finish this book or not?"
Two quick nods followed.
"I didn't say a foot would grow out of your ear!" Dr. Thistlewhistle wagged one finger at Dimly. "I said -"
"Jacob said he sleeps with his mommy and daddy every night." Zach's voice was matter-of-fact.
"Well, Jacob's parents are old hippies," Booth muttered. He focused on the book again.
"I said -"
"What's an old hippie?" Christine glanced up curiously.
Booth shook his head. "Never mind. Just -"
"We could sleep with you and Mommy every night," Zach suggested hopefully. "You have a really big bed!" He spread his arms out wide.
"No, you can't." Booth tried to distract them by shaking the book slightly.
"That's good." Dimly was relieved. "I only have three socks."
Dr. Thistlewhistle worked quickly, ignoring the tiny man's continued complaints. "You look like you've been rolling in magic dust!" he exclaimed.
Zach tried again. "We sleep with you sometimes."
"Sometimes, you're allowed to," Booth agreed. Familiar with his precocious children's habit of bringing up uncomfortable subjects, he stared hard at the book again.
"Rolly and I were hiding the extra jars in the Purple Grotto," Dimly explained. "One of them fell off a shelf and broke."
"If we slept in here with you, you wouldn't have to sleep with Mommy all by yourself."
Warning sirens began to sound loudly in Booth's brain. "Mommy and I like sleeping by ourselves." He moved on quickly.
"I hope you cleaned it all up." Dr. Thistlewhistle shook his head. "Magic dust can be very -"
He wasn't fast enough. "Because you have sex?" Two small, innocent faces looked up at him.
"We are not going to talk about that," Booth said firmly. He lifted the book with determination.
"Oh, yes," Dimly nodded. "We swept it all up!"
"Mommy says sex is a natural expression -"
"Christine!" Booth's deep voice silenced the little girl immediately.
Zach looked from one to the other in fascination. "I want to know what Mommy said."
"No." Booth shook his head when Christine opened her mouth to reply and gave each child a severe look. "We are going to finish this book and then it's bed time." When they both began to speak again, he shushed them. "No more talking." He sent up a silent hope that his admonition would work this time.
"No, no, no," Dr. Thistlewhistle exclaimed loudly. "Sweeping only makes the magic dust dance." He scolded Dimly with a tsk tsk. "And that's why you should always vacuum the grotto."
.
.
.
Brennan mentioned writing a children's book but I'm not sure she'd write about fairies. Sorry, Christine.
Thanks for reading!
