Phobia
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: If Bones were mine, all the supporting characters except Sweets would probably be ignored and they would just sit in therapy for the entire hour bickering...
Man, Bones oneshots are addicting!
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"Guys," Dr. Sweets said enthusiastically. Booth and Brennan eyed their psychiatrist wearily, and his excitement wavered slightly. "I believe I have found the perfect place for you two to do your next excercise. It's loud, bright, exciting... possibly the farthest thing from your line of work you can get.
"You're not gonna make us go to a concert together, are you? Because I'm trying to picture Bones within twenty feet of a mosh pit, and it's kind of freaking me out."
"Hey!" Booth's partner exclaimed, shooting him a glare from the seat next to him. "I take offense to that, Booth. And why would you assume the concert we would attend would have a mosh pit in the first place?"
Booth stared at her blankly. "What fun concert doesn't have a mosh pit?"
"You think a concert without a mosh pit isn't fun..." Brennan said thoughtfully. "I think that's an indicator of violent tendencies, Booth. Ones that probably shouldn't be ignored, especially considering your job and the fact that you carry a gun. Don't you agree Dr. Sweets?"
"Oh, low blow, Bones. Is that how we settle arguments now? You sic the shrink on me?"
"Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan," Sweets reprimanded, addressing each partner separately. "Could we at least pretend to act like the adults we are?"
"There are so many things I could say to that," Booth commented. "I'm not even sure where to start."
"Would you like to hear the assignment, or not? I mean, we could try role playing again. I'm curious about how Agent Booth would react to playing a more feminine role. I think I may have a tiara in that box somewhere..."
This shut Booth up immediately. He sat back and folded his arms. "Fine, Sweets. Shoot."
"He doesn't have gun, Booth," Brennan pointed out, confused. "And even if he did, I doubt he would shoot you. Dr. Sweets isn't a very agressive person. Then again--" Booth shushed her and pointed to Sweets. "Oh, right." She positioned herself so that she was facing the therapist. "You can shoot now, Dr. Sweets."
"Okay, so, like I said, I figured that it would be beneficial for you to do something completely different from your work together. A place where you won't even think about murder or bones." So, I got you tickets to," he paused for dramatic effect, "the circus."
Booth stiffened. "The circus?" Next to him, Brennan was struggling to keep a straight face.
"Yep!" Sweets was obviously very proud of himself. "It's a chance to let out the inner child that, trust me, is in both of you. And this year's show is supposed to be awesome! There's this guy that charms snakes! How cool is that?" Brennan's amusement disappeared, and she followed Booth's lead, staring at Sweets in horror. He didn't notice, however, as he was too busy excitedly reciting the program of the show. "And they have acrobats from China!" Finally, he saw that both Booth and Brennan were several shades whiter and wide eyed. "Is there a problem?"
The partners glanced at each other, then back at Sweets, before simultaneously yelling out their answers.
"Booth is afraid of clowns!"
"Bones is terrified of snakes!"
Sweets was surprised. "You mean... you guys have phobias? Like real phobias?" They nodded slowly. "Why wasn't I aware of this? I mean, c'mon, I am your therapist!"
Brennan shrugged. "It never seemed relevant."
"You never asked," agreed Booth.
"But all this time when we could've been discussing this legitimate psychological issue, you've been arguing over who gets to drive!"
"I still think I should be allowed to drive at least occasionally," Brennan said.
"It's not your car!"
"Technically, it's not yours either. It belongs to the FBI."
"Which you are not a part of, and I am."
"I didn't need a reenactment, guys," Sweets interrupted dryly. Then he turned to Booth. "You're afraid of clowns?"
Booth sighed. "Thanks a lot, Bones."
"What did I do?"
"You know what he's going to bring up now!"
"That would imply that I am psychic, which I am not. So, no, I don't."
"Agent Booth," Sweets continued. "Do you think your phobia is an underlying reason why you discharged your firearm at the clown head on the top of an ice cream truck last year?"
Booth groaned, and Brennan nodded. "I suppose I should have been able to predict that," she said.
"Look, Sweets. I already discussed this with a shrink, and a full grown one at that. I shot the head because I was stressed and it was annoying. The fact that it was a clown was just a weird coincidence."
"It strikes me as odd that someone that confronts murder suspects on an almost daily basis could be afraid of something as innocent as a clown."
"She works with dead bodies and is freaked out by snakes!" Booth exclaimed, pointing at his partner defensively.
Sweets directed his attention to Brennan. "It's the tongue thing, isn't it?" She nodded. "It just doesn't seem natural to smell with anything other than a nose..."
"It really doesn't."
Sweets closed his eyes for a moment and gently shook his head before turning back to Booth. "Did you have a traumatizing experience with a clown as a child, Agent Booth?"
Booth stared at him incredulously, then looked at Brennan. "It's because she's a girl, isn't it?"
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I love Booth. He's so fun to torture. Want to know what else is fun? Reviews. Really, they are. Just press that little button and try it! If I'm wrong, you can add it to the bottom of your review before you send it! "Sophie, you were wrong." But I don't think I am. Okay, I'm going to stop babbling now. This is what I get for staying up for like twenty four hours and pumping myself with caffeine. WOO!