So, it's been a little while….but we are back! Hope you all enjoy Scribble #10! – Ana and Willi

And this week's words are: horrendous and stem

Brennan was itchy. No, itchy wasn't a strong enough word for how she felt. Her whole body was on fire and she couldn't stop scratching. She tried to take a deep breath but failed, her stuffed nose only allowing tiny snorts of air to pass through. She glared at the offending item on her desk and tried to determine how to dispose of it without feeling worse. (Not that it was possible).

This was all her own fault. She had been getting antsy lately, even going so far as to snap at Booth over something trivial. It was then she realized that she needed to alleviate her sexual frustration immediately. So she had called up Thomas Wynbourne, a donor she met at the latest Jeffersonian gala and asked him out. He was handsome with an impressive musculature, so it was quite easy to fall into bed with him. The sex was excellent of course, and she found herself feeling much more calm.

But then of course, Thomas had to continue to pursue her, despite her insistence that it was a one night thing. She went out on a second date (since Angela advised her to give him a second chance) and found it as boring as the first. The sex was still great though. But she hadn't seen him since. It had been eight days and she assumed that he had gotten the hint and left her alone.

But that's when the bouquet of death arrived.

She surveilled the floral monstrosity from as great a distance as the dimensions of her office would allow her. It sat there, defying description even as it continued to emit its toxic waves of pollen and other assorted allergens. The thing was massive; Thomas must have selected half a dozen of every type of flower the shop had available before cleaning them out of baby's breath and fern fronds in the process. Brennan couldn't help but think that whatever florist had created this travesty should be alleviated of their license....and that Thomas needed a serious lecture on the subject of overcompensating.

'And limits,' she thought as another series of sneezes overtook her.

"Oh...my....god."

"Don't say anything Angela, please. Just get rid of this before I...."

"What did you do you naughty naughty girl?" Angela said with a knowing smile as she ignored Brennan in favor of searching the arrangement for the card.

"What? Nothing. I didn't do anything....to deserve...." Brennan tried to speak, but the next incipient sneeze gave Angela all the opening she needed

"Bren. This thing needs its own zip code. The guy...."

"Thomas

"Okay. Thomas. He must have spent a fortune. So either you were a very, very ...

A low whistle interrupted before Angela could travel further down that particular path. Brennan would have been grateful, had she not immediately identified the source.

"Well, well...what do we have here?" Booth said as he sauntered into the office with a smirk that told Brennan that this was not going to be good. Not good at all.

"Booth please..."

"Nice flowers Bones."

"No, no they aren't. I..." She then let out a horrifyingly loud sneeze that caused both Angela and Booth to turn and stare.

"Sorry, I.." she started fleetingly, before seeing both of them burst out in laughter.

She pouted as she watched them laugh over her current situation.

"S..sorry Bones." Booth said, through his chuckles.

She sniffed again and crossed her arms.

"Can you please get rid of it?" she asked, when they had both finally calmed down.

"Aww, come on Bones, don't you want to keep it around for a bit? It's kind of..."

"Tacky? Overdone?" Angela supplied.

"Look." she said firmly. "I'm not seeing him again and I wasn't expecting this since it's been over a week. Okay?" She knew she was getting testy but frankly she could barely breathe.

"If it's been over a week, how come he sent them today?" Angela inquired. Booth looked equally confused.

Tears welled in her eyes that were unfortunately not allergy related.

"I have no idea. Can you please remove it? I'm going to the bathroom."

She didn't wait for an answer as she made her way to the bathroom. As she looked at herself in the mirror she reasoned that it wasn't a big deal for her two closest friends to forget her birthday. After all, anthropologically speaking, the celebration of one's birthday is little more than an ego boost.

Studying her reflection, she told herself that she didn't need the validation of gift, cards or a frivolous party with an anacronistic cake and balloons. A confident, independent, successful woman didn't need those things to feel good about herself. Straightening her shoulders, she pressed a dampened paper towel beneath her reddened eyes, trying to erase the evidence of tears that definitely, most absolutely, were only an immunological response to the pollen in those damn flowers.

xxxxxxx

Settling onto her couch, Brennan sipped from her wineglass. Smoky blues drifted the stereo, the scratchiness from the original recording adding to the aching beauty of the song. She drew her legs beneath her, fingers tapping slowly against the glass as she looked around the shadowed room. For a moment, she considered the novel resting on the table, but there was no curiosity to see how the plot unwound. Without having to look, she also knew that there were journal articles to be read, email to be checked, notes from her editor to review. None of it, though, held any appeal.

With a sigh, she stood and began to wander the room, unsettled by the disconnect she felt from the space that she knew so well, that usually brought her such comfort with its familiarity. Why now did it feel so empty?

...alone on your birthday....

She barely had time to dismiss the thought, to return to the mantra that she had repeated throughtout the day, when a knock sounded on the door. For a second, she allowed the tiny flare of anticipation, before realizing that it probably signaled nothing more than the arrival of the chinese food she had ordered.

...alone on your birthday....

Taking another sip of wine, she reached for the bills that she had placed on the counter and headed for the door.

Swinging it open, her mouth formed an 'o' of surprise as she saw Booth standing on the other side.

"Hey." he said, shuffling his feet.

She frowned for a moment, wondering what was wrong. He wasn't acting himself. There was no ego and swagger; instead awkward nervousness prevailed.

"Can I come in?"

She nodded and opened the door further so he could step inside. It wasn't until they were on the couch that she realized he had something in his hand that looked suspiciously like something wrapped in tissue and paper. Before she could continue to observe, she felt Booth's hand on her knee.

"Listen, Temperance, can we talk?"

She nodded, shivering as she heard him use her given name. Whatever it was, it must be important.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier. As soon as you left, I realized why you were sent the flowers. It's your birthday. I'm sorry that I forgot and frankly I can understand if you are mad at me.."

"I'm not." she interrupted.

"I got you something." He said, hesitantly. "I know it's not as extravagant, but I know you like them so..." He trailed off and thrust the package in front of her.

"You didn't have to..." she said, as she unwound the tissue paper. There inside, lay five daffodils, their colour as bright as the sun. Her favourite.

She looked up and saw his face, nervously awaiting her reaction.

And that was the moment she fell in love with him.