Brennan rounded on Booth the moment Hermione disappeared after returning them to their hotel room. "You can't seriously be considering this challenge, Booth." His answering smile indicated that not only was he 'seriously considering' the game, he was looking forward to it.
"There's nothing to worry about, Bones. I've played rougher sports," he added in an attempt to calm her fears.
"Not 50 feet in the air!"
He shrugged. "They won't let me fall. Relax."
"Won't let you . . ." she stared at him, open-mouthed. The beep of her phone interrupted whatever response she might have made. "Angela wants to know if we're available for a video link. We will revisit this subject, Booth," she warned as she opened her laptop and connected.
"Hi, Mommy!" Three dark heads crowded together, fighting for space in front of the laptop camera. "Daddy!" The shouts were louder when he sat down beside her.
"Woa!" Booth exclaimed when he got a good look at the two little boys who, but for the fact that one pair of eyes was blue and the other brown, stared back at him from identical faces. Faint shadows of multicolored paint could still be seen decorating their cheeks and in Simon's case, the tips of his dark hair.
"We painted our faces like Mommy's Icky masks," Henry boasted proudly.
"Inca masks," Moira corrected, rolling her eyes.
"Don't worry," Angela's voice called out from somewhere nearby. "It will eventually wear off."
"Sam's was the best!" Simon disappeared from the screen yelling for the other boy. In minutes he was back, pushing Moira and Henry out of the way as he pulled Angela and Jack's youngest son into the frame. "Look! Can I do this for Halloween?"
"No," Booth and Brennan said together as they got a look at the varied stripes of color covering his face. Immediately, Henry rejoined the other two at the laptop and all three boys began complaining and whining loudly. The pushing and shoving continued as everyone jockeyed for position.
"Stop pushing, Henry!" Moira determinedly elbowed her way closer.
"Ouch! You stepped on my foot!"
"Dad, we want to paint our faces!"
"You pushed me first!"
"STOP!" Even from across an ocean, Booth's stern voice had all four children, including the one who didn't belong to him, immediately freezing in place. Brennan closed her eyes and massaged her temples with the pads of her fingers. "Simon, we'll discuss face painting when your mother and I get home. Henry, stop pushing. Mo, don't punch your brother. Sam . . . maybe you could back up just for a minute, okay kiddo? Where's Parker?"
The top of Moira's head was visible just behind the boys. "He went to his mom's house. He said all these boys were driving him crazy." She crowded her way into the frame.
Simon turned accusing blue eyes on his sister. "No, he didn't," he retorted. "He said 'all these kids' were driving him crazy. That means you, too!"
The little girl tossed her long brown hair with an audible sniff. "There are five of you and only one of me so clearly he was only talking about you," she said, mimicking perfectly the same tone her mother might use addressing an intern who'd made a mistake.
"Dad, she was the one following him around all the time!" Henry jumped in to defend his brother.
"That's because he's a grownup and you're such a child!" Moira answered, looking even more like Brennan as she lifted her chin stubbornly.
Henry gave her a light shove. "You're a kid, too!"
Booth looked at Brennan. "Let's just not go back," he murmured.
"I heard that!" Angela sang out. "Don't even think about it!"
Brennan looked directly into the camera and began reciting the bones of the human body, starting with the hand. "Distal phalanges, intermediate phalanges, proximal phalanges, metacarpals . . ."
Simon's eyes widened and he waved frantically at his siblings. "Mom's listing bones, stop!"
". . . trapezium, trapezoid, capitate . . ."
"She's at the carpals!" he said in a louder voice when his twin and sister continued their shoving match. At the word 'carpels,' both children stopped and faced the screen.
"Sorry, Mom."
"We're not fighting now."
Booth sat back, crossed his arms across his chest and smiled.
"Your father and I will be back in a couple of days. I expect all three of you to be on your best behavior for Aunt Angela until then," she said sternly.
"Yes, ma'am," three voices chirped.
"Simon, Henry, you two should also help Sam remove the rest of the paint from his face."
"We did our chests, too!" Henry piped up.
Fortunately, the microphone did not pick up the curse Booth muttered beneath his breath.
A curly head appeared in the side of the screen. "It wasn't our fault," Michael Hodgins said, without preamble. "Will and I told them to paint on the paper."
"All right, all right," Angela interrupted. "Any kid not named Booth, move away from the laptop." There was a general reshuffling, in the middle of which another set of dark smiling eyes popped in.
"Hi, Aunt Tempe!"
"William!" Angela scolded lightly, and he disappeared.
Left alone, the three Booth children sat close together and stared into the laptop's camera. Smaller, blended versions of their parents, Moira had Booth's dark eyes and her mother's wide jawline while only Brennan's pale blue eyes twinkling out of Simon's face distinguished one twin from the other. Out of sight of the camera, Brennan squeezed Booth's hand. "I've missed you all very much," she said, and felt her heart catch when all three grinned back at her with the same smile their father still used to great effect.
"So," Moira said with an attempt at great casualness, "what are you bringing us?" Booth laughed with gusto.
"Good try, Mo," he responded. "But we're still not telling. It's a surprise," he added, laughing again when she pouted.
After several more minutes talking about Moira's day at school and the new species of spider Hodgins had introduced the boys to, the children were bored sitting at the laptop and ran off to the playroom, leaving it open for Angela.
"You know it's weird that four-year olds can name the bones of the human hand, right?" she said as she sat down.
"It's a more educational approach than simply counting to ten," Brennan countered. Angela rolled her eyes and laughed. "I'm sorry about the paint," she continued. "When you said they'd painted each others faces I didn't realize they had done such a thorough job."
Angela waved off her words. "Oh, don't worry, it will wear off eventually," she shrugged. "And we've been meaning to repaint the playroom anyway."
"I'm not going to ask," Booth said seriously, shaking his head.
"Well, anyway," Brennan said, "I'm glad we connected tonight. Someone will be delivering remains to the lab tomorrow morning, including the cranium and mandible. Do you think you can find time to do a facial reconstruction?"
"Sure," Angela nodded. "I'll take the young ones to the daycare while the older ones are in school. Once I get the markers done, I can work at home if I need to. I didn't know we'd picked up a new case."
Brennan and Booth exchanged a glance. "This is a . . . special request," Brennan answered finally. "There are also samples from soil at the burial site which I'd like Hodgins to analyze. I'd like as much information as possible while we're still here, so please ask him to make those samples a priority."
"You know," Angela smirked, "when we talked about bringing home souvenirs, a dead body wasn't really what I had in mind."
Booth huffed and sat back, his arms folded. "Yea, just once I'd like to come to England and not get dragged into a murder investigation."
Eyes narrowed, Brennan stared at him. "If you die tomorrow, you won't have to worry about this investigation, will you?"
"Wait, what? Who's dying?" Angela leaned closer to the laptop screen.
"Nobody's dying," Booth shook his head. "I'm just going to play a little game . . ."
"This is not a 'little game,' Booth," his wife insisted. "It is obviously extremely dangerous and you do not have the same abilities . . ."
"Did you sign up for a rugby match or something?" Angela asked, curious. "Because if so, I think Brennan is right. That can get pretty rough and you're not as young as you used to be, G-man."
Booth glared at Angela through the camera. "Why does everyone suddenly think I'm old? I'm still in the prime of my life, thank you very much!"
"This has nothing to do with your age, Booth," Brennan insisted, "although it is completely normal for a man approaching the age of 50 to lose muscle mass and notice a slowing of his reflexes and a general weakening of his physical prowess."
"I'd listen to her, Booth," Angela nodded. "Rugby is pretty dangerous. She's just trying to take care of you."
"I'm not playing rugby and if you don't mind, I think I'll wait a few years before I retire to a rocking chair on the front porch!" Booth eyed both of them with irritation.
"We don't have a rocking chair on the front porch. Did you mean the swing?" Brennan asked curiously.
"No . . . never mind," Booth said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we just get back to the body?"
"Sure," Angela responded, clearing her throat to cover a chuckle. "Remains delivered tomorrow, facial reconstruction, soil samples. Got it. I'll call Cam when we finish up and let her know to expect the delivery."
"Is there anything else happening at the lab I should know about?" Brennan asked.
"No, it's been quiet. Clark finished the last of your WWI unknowns so you'll have to sign off on that when you get back. And the kids have had a great time."
"They look like human paintbrushes, Angela."
"Oh, you know," she waved her hand airily, "kids will be kids." She smiled and leaned in closer. "So what are you bringing me?"
Brennan's husky laughter had Booth's eyes fixing on her, a faint smile forming on his lips. "That's a surprise, too," she answered. "Thanks for everything, Ange," she added as they said their goodbyes. "Oh, and be sure to send me a copy of the reconstruction as soon as you have it!"
Laptop closed, Brennan sighed heavily before leaning down to slide her shoes off. "I don't like to reinforce gender stereotypes but why is it always the boys who are involved in these situations and not Moira?"
"Because there's two of them and they egg each other on," Booth answered. "And," he flashed that smile, "they're the Booth boys. Just wait." He eyed his wife speculatively when, stretching into a yawn, she stood, twisting her shoulders and back sinuously. Before she knew what was happening, he stuck a broad shoulder into her midriff and lifted her easily over one arm.
"So my physical prowess is weakening in my old age, huh?" he said over her laughter, heading toward the separate bedroom.
Hanging helplessly over his shoulder, Brennan slapped at his back. "Put me down, Booth! You'll hurt your back again!"
"That's okay, I know someone who thinks she's a chiropractor," he said, and kicked the door closed behind them.
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