Title: Life With the Dead
Author: random shoes
Disclaimer: Don't get mad at me Joss! I love you and would sort your mail or take out your garbage or paint your house if you asked.
Spoilers: None, actually. Not a one. Odd... Oooh! Guess what? Angel is a vampire!
Author's Note: This chapter's a short one, and a bit different. And yes, I know this isn't the most original thing I've ever written but, well, the magic cephalopod made me do it.
The good news: I am now in possession of a grand and complicated plot. He just showed up on my doorstep the other night, spewing explanations and wearing a lovely grey hat. The bad news: he did this at a time (4 a.m.) when I really should have been sleeping.
Oh, and yes, Booth has absolutely read Harry Potter. He has a ten-year-old son. How could he not have?

Interruptions

12:37 a.m.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit sh—

"Booth? Are you quite all right?"

All right? All right? No. Not at all. Not even a little. He was pacing up and down the entryway, couldn't seem to stop walking. What the hell? What the HELL?

"Booth?"

Stop feet. Turn around. Look at partner.

"Bones? Is it, um, possible that I have a two-hundred-year-old undead body double?"

"Two-hundred and fifty-seven."

"Bones..." Do not strangle partner do not strangle partner do not—

"Well, I had noticed a resemblance, yes. Although his hair sticks up rather more than—"

"—and were you, I don't know, going to mention this to me at some point?"

"I suppose in all the commotion I forgot about it."

"For-forgot?"

"Yes. Once you get over the initial surprise it's rather easy. The two of you are so very different in personality that—"

"I need to sit down." He did, on the floor, knees bent, back against the wall.

"There are chairs in th—never mind." She sat down next to him.

What did this mean? Booth's intoxicated and possibly concussed brain couldn't sort it out. He didn't even know why this thing, of all the many things, was freaking him out so much. Straw that broke the camel's back? More like anvil that broke the camel's back. He liked his back the way it was. Well, mostly. And he didn't want to be a camel. Oh God his head hurt. Maybe if he held it together it wouldn't explode?

"I'm worried that you have a concussion."

"Mmm."

"Booth?"

"I just want to sleep, Bones."

"That is exactly what I was worried about. If you have a concussion you shouldn't sleep for more than two hours at a time."

He groaned. Great. Another night of not-quite-sleeping. Just what the doctor ordered. Or, well, it was what the doctor ordered but...shit.

"You will need someone to wake you up and to make sure your mental function is not impaired. And, unless there is someone else you would like to ask, I am perfectly capable of assisting you."

Through the haze of confusion, alcohol, and general exhaustion, a distant part of his brain was telling him this was an extremely desirable plan.

"Okay. Thanks, Bones."

They sat in silence then, which gave Booth time to become aware of her shoulder pressed against his, and her calf nudging his foot, and her hip almost touching his. If scooted over, just a little...

Buffy appeared in front of him. Maybe she'd apperated, like in Harry Potter. Nothing could surprise him right now.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Possibly. In a few decades."

"I'm sorry. Was it, was it Angel?"

"Something like that. Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm gonna go home now, okay?"

"I—okay."

Bones stood up. "I will drive you."

He nodded, and pulled himself to his feet. "Oh. Bones? My car is down the block."

"We can get it tomorrow." There was no arguing with that particular tone, so he simply followed her to the door.

"Uh, goodnight Buffy."

"Night. You—you are gonna be all right, right?"

"Yes. He will be fine," said Bones.

3:04 a.m.

"Booth?"

"Mmm?"

"What is the capital of South Carolina?"

"Wha?"

"What is the capital of South Carolina?"

"S'a weird dream..."

"It's not a dream, Booth. I need to ascertain your mental state."

"Don' know."

"What?"

"Don't know the capital of fucking South Carolina!"

"What about Florid—"

"Go away!"

"Okay, Booth."

Laughing. She was laughing. Mmm, pillow.

4:49 a.m.

She was laughing at him. Running, and laughing at him, and running some more. And calling his name. Over and over, calling his name. The grass that had started at his ankles was now around his ears, scratching and cutting his arms as he ran, and still Bones was just a flash of dark brown in the yellow blur. "Bones! Wait up!" But she just kept laughing. She was going to get lost, or hurt, or...if he could just catch her...

A hand grabbed his shoulder. "Booth! Wake up!"

He did her one better: he was out of the bed and crouching on the floor in under two seconds.

Bones jumped backward, stumbled, and caught herself. "Oh! I—I apologize. I was having difficulty waking you up. I didn't intend to startle you."

Booth stood up straight, realizing abruptly that he was standing in front of Bones, in his boxers. And she was wearing his shirt. "Uhh...I still don't know what the capital of South Carolina is, so..."

"Columbia."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"It's a very good sign that you remember that conversation."

"Uh, great. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I don't see why not."

He slid sideways back into his bed, afraid to take his eyes off her, as if she was a wild animal. Tiger? Panther? Some kind of big cat.

"Goodnight—well, technically it is morning, however it is—"

"Goodnight, Bones."

"Night, Booth.

6:11 a.m.

"Irish!"

Booth's own shout woke him. It apparently also woke Bones, who pushed into his room almost immediately, looking startled, disheveled and, oh. Kinda sexy.

"What is it?"

"What is what?"

"You just yelled the word 'Irish.'"

"Oh. Huh. I did, didn't I?"

"Booth, I don't like this. It reminds me too much of, of last year. I think maybe we should take you in—"

"No, I remember. It's not—my head's fine." Booth swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He needed to feel solid ground.

"Are you sure? Because if it was, you would have no way—"

"Is Angel Irish?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is Angel Irish?"

"What makes you—"

"The last couple a days, people kept asking me if my family was Irish. First Buffy, then, uh, Billy Idol. And I think I just realized why: Angel's from Ireland, isn't he? Originally, I mean. When he was human."

"Well, yes, I believe he is."

"Oh Jesus."

"Booth—"

"They were asking because of how I look. They were asking because they thought we were...that I am...that he's my great-great-great-great-great...something. Is that—do you think that's possible?"

"I suppose so. It's often incredibly difficult to trace genealogies that far back, depending, of course, on the level of documentation—"

"Or you could just ask him."

"Oh. Wow. Yes, I guess we could."

"Seeing as he was probably there."

"That is rather amazing, isn't it? It's an unbelievable historical reference."

"Um, Bones?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you're not going to try some sort of vampire historical survey? I like you, you know, alive."

She smiled, a big one. It made him feel a little breathless.

"I promise. At any rate I can just call Angel and Spike."

That didn't improve his mood a whole lot. Although, if Buffy trusted them...what did he know about it, really?

"I guess I should go back to sleep."

Bones nodded, started to turn, and then came toward him.

"Bones?" She reached out and touched his forehead. Mmmm.

"Are you sure you're feeling normal?"

"I'm not hallucinating, Bones. At least, not unless you're a hallucination." If she was a mirage she was going to take his chin in her hand right now, and tilt it up, and lean down, and...he almost wished she wasn't real. Almost.

But of course she didn't kiss him. She just looked into his eyes for a disconcerting amount of time, until she found whatever it was she was looking for. "Okay," she said, and turned and left the room.

"Okay," he said, and got back into bed.

8:15 a.m.

"Booth? Booth?"

"It's Columbia!"

"Tssht. That is correct."

Next time: B&B go back to work with a secret and Buffy brings in the cavalry.