A/N: Today, one of my 2-year-old students pointed to my chest and said "boobies." That doesn't have anything to do with my story, but I hope it makes you smile, and (in case you haven't noticed yet) I'm not really into traditional authors' notes.
Speaking of amusement, I changed the genre of this to "romance/humor" since, apparently, it's funny. I love it when writing takes on a life of its own. Ironically, this chapter is less humorous and more cute than the preceeding one. It also contains some moderate spoilers for Two Bodies in the Lab, mostly in the sense that if you haven't seen the ep, it might be confusing.
Last but not least, I would like to state for the record that a fixation on pirates is not a guy thing. Pirates are wicked awesome! love, tc
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"Wow, you have a lot of CDs, Dr. Bones!" Parker called from the living room. Brennan tossed their bags on an end table and went after the boy. He was on his tiptoes in front of her collection. "Do you have The Wiggles?" he asked excitedly.
"I'm going to have to assume that that's a musical group, and no." Her eyes came to rest on the case resting on the edge of the table – Foreigner: The Complete Greatest Hits. Even after the crime scene investigators had finished their work and she and Angela had cleaned up all residual evidence of the explosion, Brennan hadn't been able to move it. There was something about the memory of those untouched, innocent (it had been just innocent fun, right?) moments before all Hell had broken loose that she wasn't quite ready to leave behind.
Parker was already hitting 'power', 'play', and 'shuffle' with the confident prowess of a 21st-century child. Hot Blooded poured through the speakers, and Tempe couldn't help but grin. The warm nostalgia was short-lived, however, as Parker called out, "I listened to this song at Daddy's house yesterday!"
Coincidence, she told herself, attempting to breathe deeply. Logical, even. He praised the album highly and implied that no music enthusiast should be without a copy. No reason not to listen to it yesterday evening. "Really? That's nice," Brennan replied in what she hoped was a casual tone.
"Uh-huh," said Parker distractedly, currently playing air guitar. "He bought it after he was in the hospital to make himself feel happy. Um, Dr. Bones, are you okay?"
The forensic anthropologist in question had just tripped over her own coffee table. "Yes, fine, sorry, I'm fine, just, ah, I'm going to get dinner started. You just, uh, keep dancing."
In the kitchen, Brennan was pretty sure that if her hands didn't stop shaking soon, she was going to slice her finger instead of the chicken breast. He bought... does that mean... what about... it's just a CD! He probably bought it for the same reason you can't take yours out of the stereo. The nagging voice retorted which is what, exactly?
Brennan shoved all of those clearly inappropriate thoughts aside and concentrated on heating a pan of oil without burning down her kitchen in the process. In the next room, she could hear Parker switching tracks and occasionally singing along. "Dr. Bones, can I look at your books?" he shouted.
"Well, I don't really have any children's titles, but you're welcome to see what you can find on the shelves," she called back. "Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes."
The CD played on, but all other noise ceased. Brennan poured two glasses of milk and added chocolate syrup (a late night purchase the day before) to Parker's. Setting plates of chicken and SpongeBob-shaped pasta (she sincerely hoped that Angela hadn't been joking about that, though the packaging did seem to indicate that the product appealed to children) on the table, she went in search of her young charge.
Parker was face down on the carpet, brown eyes wide, pouring over – Shit. "Um, Parker, sweetie, I don't think it's appropriate for you to be examining that textbook."
The boy looked up from the image of a partially-decomposed skeleton. "How come? Dr. Bones, do dead people really look like this?"
"Well, sometimes, when the conditions are-" speaking of dead people, your father is going to kill me. "You know what, I think it's time for dinner. Why don't you go wash your hands?"
"Okay," he said reluctantly, and headed toward the bathroom while she hid the evidence and tried not to think about what else he might have seen. This is why I would make a lousy mother. I know more about peri-mortem skull fragmentation than appropriate children's literature.
"Cool! SpongeBob AND Patrick!" Parker was squealing gleefully, and Tempe relaxed in the knowledge that she'd done something right. Well, if listening to Angela's advice counted. She and Parker settled down and spent the majority of the meal discussing the plausibility of a pineapple remaining intact in salt water at high pressure and the appropriateness of a tie as a component of a sea sponge's attire.
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The low toll of the doorbell while they were clearing the table sent Parker running to the door and Brennan's heart into her throat. "Daddy, Daddy!" he screamed, and it was all Tempe could do to keep him from flipping the locks before she checked the peephole. It was indeed her partner, sans jacket, tie loosened and hair disheveled. The exhaustion was evident even in the tiny, distorted view, and her hands ached to smooth and comfort, though she wasn't sure why and certainly did not know how. Tempe settled for opening the door and hoped Parker's squirming enthusiasm would take care of the rest.
Some of the weariness did appear to ease as he took the five-year-old into his arms, but Brennan noted that her partner's usually unstoppable grin wasn't quite reaching his eyes. "Did you have fun with Dr. Brennan?" he asked.
"Uh-huh. We had chocolate milk and I got to feed the bugs with Dr. Zack and I beat Angela at skee ball!"
"And I'm sure it happened in exactly that order," he chuckled. "And did you listen to Dr. Brennan and stay out of trouble?"
"Uh-huh. I looked at her books but she said I couldn't look at the ones with dead people."
"Booth, I am so sorry, I can't believe I let him see those textbooks-" she babbled, realizing that she hadn't even been hospitable enough to say hello.
"Hey, Bones, it's cool. He's probably seen worse on CSI." Booth bent down to look his son in the eye. "Just don't tell Mommy, okay?"
"Okay. I didn't tell her about your books either."
"You have forensic textbooks?" Tempe asked, puzzled.
"Not with dead people. With naked ladies," Parker explained patiently. "Daddy keeps them in-"
"Okay, right, well, anyway, I'm glad he wasn't too much trouble," the agent interrupted, one large hand covering the small boy's mouth.
"Not at all," she replied, trying not to smirk at her partner's obvious embarrassment.
At that moment, the CD started over and Hot Blooded pounded through the apartment again. Brennan forced herself to meet Booth's eyes, but instead of the shock, curiosity, or embarrassment (then again, how would he know that Parker told me?) she'd expected, there was a kind of understanding, a shared moment that brought forth the first genuine smile since he had walked in the door.
"Daddy, Daddy, dance with me and Dr. Bones!" cried Parker. Booth obligingly began to rock out, but the boy shook his head. "No, like Drew and Cheryl!" he whined.
Temperance didn't recall Booth ever having mentioned acquaintances named Drew and Cheryl, but apparently they were quite the dancers. Before she knew what was happening, Booth had swept her into his arms and they were spinning around the living room in some sort of improvised tango that didn't seem to match the music and had her laughing and breathless. When the track changed and the opening chords of a soft, familiar ballad filled the room, she didn't argue when he slid his fingers into hers and pulled her body close. His smile was soft and distant, and the fatigue in his eyes had returned.
"Hey Parker," she called softly, meeting his father's gaze, "can you go in the kitchen and finish up those dishes for me?"
He scampered off, and Temperance wished yet again for Angela's easy smile and open, comfortable demeanor. Her best friend would know what to do, what to say, how to comfort this man who was hurting so desperately. More to steady her own nerves than anything else, Tempe let her head fall against her partner's chest, and felt Booth rest his chin lightly against her hair. Should I ask him about the case? Will talking make it worse? Will he think I'm prying? Ange, help...
It's so right, he thought, relaxing for the first time in days as her fingers brushed absently at the nape of his neck. This is my partner. My colleague. A year ago I barely knew her, and now we're in her living room dancing to some cheesy love song with my son in the other room and somehow, it's not even close to awkward. When did this happen? When did the thought of holding her in my arms go from momentary, inconvenient fantasy to uncomfortably recurring desire to... normal?
Tempe felt him relax against her. His touch at her waist was gentle but steady, reassuring. She breathed in his familiar (familiar? when did that happen?) scent and felt his heartbeat, slow and even, calming. Great. I try to comfort him and I'm the one who feels better. When she raised her head, though, she saw that the tension had eased and he was regarding her quietly, thoughtfully. Their faces were close, almost touching, yet there was none of the meddlesome, insistent desire to press her lips against his that, the scientist had to admit, was coming over her more and more frequently with each passing day. Instead, there was simple pleasure, unspoken understanding, fulfillment. Whatever had been growing between the two, whatever would come to pass, faded away and there was only a man and a woman, dancing. It was enough.
"Thank you," Booth whispered to his partner as the song ended. Brennan smiled and turned toward Parker, yawning in the doorway.
"Ready to go home?" she asked, releasing his father so she could tousle the boy's hair.
"Uh-huh," he replied drowsily. "Can I go to the lab again tomorrow?"
"Actually, I meant to tell you when I came in. They don't need me at the office until the afternoon – we're waiting for some surveillance reports – so I was thinking we could go to the zoo," Booth answered.
Parker responded with an exuberant cry. "The giraffes? We can see the giraffes?"
Booth chuckled. "All the giraffes you can handle."
The boy grabbed Brennan's hand. "Dr. Bones, I'm gonna show you the baby giraffe!"
"Oh, well, honey, I think your dad was planning on-"
"Bones, don't be ridiculous; you're welcome to join us."
She desperately wanted to accept and didn't know why. "Are you sure? I mean, I know you haven't had much time alone with Parker, and I wouldn't want to be in the way..."
"Please Dr. Bones, please please please puh-leeeeease..." begged the younger Booth.
"Yeah, Dr. Bones," repeated the elder, with a cheeky grin that told Brennan he was feeling like himself again – for better or for worse. "Please?"
She sighed. Even the great Dr. Temperance Brennan was no match for two pairs of chocolate brown eyes and identical pouting mouths. "What time should I be ready?"
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A/N: There is currently only one (non-baby) giraffe at the National Zoo, but they were my brother's favorite animal when he was there as a toddler, so I'm taking a liberty. Also, I ignored track numbers on the CD - the ballad is I Want to Know What Love Is.