(After the Corpse at the Convention)
A little something for the day after Halloween. It's been raining all day and I was little bored.
I don't own Bones.
Ooooooooooooooooooo
Restless, Booth got up early that morning and walked outside to retrieve his newspaper. The paper in his hand, Booth scanned the driveway and saw some trash littering it. Irritated, he placed his newspaper near the door and walked down the driveway to pick up the discarded boxes of raisins and empty candy wrappers. Placing the trash into his robe pockets he made sure the yard was also litter free. Satisfied, he turned to walk back to the house and noticed something odd about the brick work surrounding the door. Puzzled, Booth stared intently at the front of the house as he got closer.
Realizing what he was seeing, he stopped and stared at the mess on the bricks and the top of the door and felt his blood pressure rising. Exhaling deeply, trying to contain his anger, Booth ground his teeth together as he opened the door. Leaning into the open doorway, he yelled into the house, "Bones . . . Bones come here." His arms crossed against his broad chest, Booth waited impatiently for his wife to appear.
Tying her robe around her, Brennan left their bedroom and walked down the hallway. Puzzled about Booth's apparent rage, she cautiously stepped into the open doorway and asked him, "What's going on? Why are you angry?"
His rage barely under control, Booth stepped forward and pulled her out into the front yard. Slowly twirling his finger, he pointed at the ground and ordered her, "Turn around."
Slowly turning, Brennan's gaze moved over the house. "This is . . . what . . . why would they throw eggs at our house? Who threw eggs at our house? This is outrageous."
His arms firmly crossed against his chest, Booth reminded her, "We ran out of candy last night. I told you we should have turned the light off, but no . . . We have raisins. We'll give them that . . . I told you that was a mistake but would you listen to me . . . God forbid . . ."
Tired of his ranting, Brennan interrupted him, "You mean to tell me that those children last night paid me back for giving them nutritious snacks by throwing eggs at our house? That doesn't make any sense. This is pure vandalism. It's . . . it's intolerable."
Slowly shaking his head, Booth let her know. "The next time we run out of candy during Halloween we are turning off the lights and pretending we aren't home. Kids want candy for Halloween not raisins or apples or anything else that might be good for them. That's like waving a red flag at a bull. We might as well have painted a target on the door and told them to egg us."
Disgusted with the mess, Brennan turned to face Booth, "I should have listened to you. You are more in tune with the minds of children."
Not sure if he'd been insulted or not, Booth placed his hands on this hips, "Are you calling me childish?"
Aware that he'd misunderstood her, Brennan smiled at him, "No of course not. I didn't phrase that properly. I just meant that you have more experience with children. The next time I will bow to your expertise."
Surprised, Booth placed his arm around her shoulders, "Well, okay then . . . Um . . . I guess I better go change clothes and come out here and clean up this mess before the sun hits it and makes scrambled eggs on our house." Pulling some of the discarded raisin boxes from his robe pocket, Booth placed them in her hand. "Here's your raisins back."
Taking them, Brennan shook her head and sadly remarked, "And they were good raisins too."
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Just a little something something. Let me know what you think of it. Thanks.
