3- The ghost of Christmas present

December 24th, 3am

The moving light of the TV set woke her up gently. The cold she had felt in that kitchen so many years ago was still in her bones, in her heart. It had never left her. Her hands were painfully cold. She got up scolding herself for not switching on the heating, but when she got to the heater, it was hot. She ran her hands through her face and hair, trying to get her bearings. It was turning up to be, all in all, a rather unpleasant evening. She headed to the kitchen to prepare a warm tea, something that might chase away the cold she didn't seem able to shake off. That and the memory of a Smurff leading her through a nightmare. As the kettle boiled, she poured it over a tea bag, her distracted hands dipping it repeatedly to release the flavor she did not crave. Thinking the better of it, she opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of scotch. She would need something stronger than tea to warm her up, to sooth the bad taste in her mouth left there by the dream. She poured a generous amount in her tea cup, caped the bottle and put in in the fridge, her absent hands doing all the actions for her until, when trying to close the fridge, she felt resistance against the door. Snapping out of her trance, she realized it was more than resistance, it was something actively pushing the door open in increments of strength. Her instincts told her to just force the door closed and run the hell out of there. And yet, her feet did not obey her, she was rooted to that same spot in her dimly lit kitchen and a rather huge white rabbit clad in the uniform of the Queen of Hearts and definitely standing upright- walked out holding a pocket watch in his white furry hand.

"Oh!" It wasn't quite an exclamation. It was more of a sigh. Brennan looked at the White Rabbit straight from the illustration of her old book of Alice in Wonderland, standing tall in her kitchen and then at the cup of tea in her hand laced with whiskey and was grateful briefly for having not yet had a single sip of it. This way she could be sure she wasn't drunk, not even tipsy. She took a long sip at the tea. Here we go again! She hoped, looking at his two front teeth, that the White Rabbit did not turn out to have violent tendencies. The damage could be huge and she bruised like a peach. She recoiled when the overgrown rabbit reached out for her. But, as it turned out, the only thing he wanted to grab was her cup. He took it in his hand, sniffed the contents, inspired deeply and drank the contents in one single motion with a satisfied aaaahhhhh at the end.

"She's driving me mad!" He said, the English posh totty accent a stark reminder of David Attemborough's melodic, nature documentary cadence and tone. Except for the little edge of frayed nerves.

"The Queen of Hearts?"

"No, the Queen of Swords!" Sarcasm. "Of course the Queen of Hearts, you silly girl! I was told you were quite the smart one, but so far you have only stated the obvious, little one!" He looked at the pocket watch tightly gripped in his hand and shrieked. "It's late. It's so late! Come along now, we have not a moment to loose" and he opened the refrigerator door and walked in. As she made no movement, to follow, he turned and gave her an annoyed look.

"I haven't got all day. Move along, move along." Brennan considered and measured. She had a remarkably large fridge. Mostly because Booth had persuaded her to buy one of those double doored ones after hers had blown up along with some of his ribs and shoulder when the Cugini family had put a hit on her. Still, large as it might be, she doubted she would fit in it and, more so, if she really wanted to walk into one, being that she was still chilled from her previous experience with Smurffette. The White Rabbit did not give her time to ponder and with a growl, pulled her in. She looked backwards only to see the door closing behind her with a sense of dread.

The furry bunny was walking ahead of her, making disapproval noises as they walked past the contents of her fridge: a bottle of fizzy water, a box of rice crackers and a bottle of scotch.

"I wonder why anyone would want such a big fridge if there's nothing inside it. Where are the makings for Christmas Lunch? This does not make any sense..." And Brennan found herself inclined to agree. Not necessarily about the makings of Christmas lunch but about the size of the fridge in proportion to what was stored inside it. The shelves were depressingly empty as she walked past them. And in any case, if she remembered the story correctly, she'd be better off not eating anything, lest she'd suddenly face a growth spurt or a shrinking episode.

And then it happened: one moment she was looking at the box of rice crackers, intrigued as to why she'd have put it in the fridge and the next she was staring directly at Sid's black eyes who, shockingly, was starring right back at her.

"Hi, Sid" She started, quite unsure on how to explain her sudden appearance. But Sid did not reply. In fact, he seemed to be concentrating on something behind her rather than on her. The White Rabbit pulled her aside with a jerk to her hand and, once she got over the shock of her sudden materialization at Wong Foo's and the rabbit's brisk manners, she turned to look at what Sid was staring at so intently.

Her heart jolted when she saw Booth sitting at the counter, alone as he used to sit hen they first became partners. They usually sat there together, sharing thoughts and theories over warm food. But today Booth was nursing a dangerously small glass full of a suspiciously colorless liquid being poured from a bottle worryingly left by his side. She approached him even suspecting he could not see her. She took one sniff at his breath and was not surprised to feel the smell of vodka. His eyes were hard and his lips pressed into a tight line Brennan had come to understand as dangerous.

The Rabbit took a sit at a far table and remained silent but studious of the scene. Brennan sat on the stool closest to Booth and remained silent. She knew he wouldn't be able to hear her, so she just sat there and waited. She wasn't entirely sure what she was waiting for but was quite certain that she could not go anywhere until the overgrown bunny decided to make a move so she just sat there. She heard Sid's sigh.

The man moved towards Booth and started cleaning imaginary dust from the counter.

"Are you gonna tell me about it now or are you going to drink my whole stock?" Booth must have answered, but the grunt was hardly comprehensible. Sid, however, either by virtue of too many years in the trade or because he knew Booth all too well, understood the reply.

"Parker and your partner? Man, I'll drink to you!" And he pulled a glass and helped himself from the bottle Booth had been holding on to, peeling the label with minutia. Booth grunted something else. Again Sid filled in the blanks.

"Of course they drive you insane. They're women!" This time, Booth snorted something that sounded to Brennan something like understatement, though she couldn't quite be sure. The White Rabbit however, seemed to agree as he nodded furiously at Booth's comment. He was still looking at his pocket watch but had stopped mumbling his refrain so late, I'm going to be so incredibly late. Now he was just mumbling about being driven insane by people, most especially of the female kind. He was still nodding, his huge furry hears accentuating his disapproval. He snapped his fingers in the air and, out of nowhere, Betty Boop, in pasty black and white, appeared carrying a tray with a very real cocktail glass propped on it. Brennan was momentarily distracted. Since when had she been loosing the plot to consider that a cocktail glass perched on Betty Boop's tray was more real than the cartoon carrying it? She had started to suspect that the tylenol could not solely explain the course of events of the night, but she was not yet prepared to admit that she might need therapy. Though the thought briefly crossed her mind. She shook her head, and concentrated on Booth. At least, outside the dream scenario, he was real.

"So", Booth continued, "I ask her to keep me company over Christmas. I figured, if we're having dinner somewhere, you know, talking a bit, sharing a beer or something, I won't be thinking of Parker in freakin' Canada... You know, share the load..." Sid made an assent noise with his throat and ran his hand through his beard.

"It's not just Parker you think about Christmas Eve, though..." Sid withered down the nasty look Booth spared him. "There's also the little matter of all those Christmas not so white..." Booth's jaw was clenching tightly, the line of lips becoming increasingly thin.

"Sid" It was a growl like sound, almost a snarl.

"I mean, with your old man and being who he is, I can't imagine too many of those..."
"Sid" The growl was becoming dangerously soft.

"And correct me if I wrong but not so many Christmases ago, weren't you in some dungeon in the desert with..." Sid did not get to complete the sentence. Booth stood up, the growl gone, just the ominous silence of a wild animal ready to attack. Sid leaned forward into the challenge. "Sit down, Booth. It's me you're talking to. Been there, done it, have the freaking T Shirt to prove it... Look..." Sid rubbed the weariness almost completely from his face. Booth men backed down.

"It wouldn't hurt her either, would it, that she wouldn't be alone for Christmas..." It was an olive branch. He looked at Booth from under his semi closed lashes, probing how far he could go. Brennan had seen Booth's shoulders relax just a fraction. "I though her family was back." Sid ploughed on.

"They are, but she's not easy forgiving type, Bones. I don't blame her, mind you, if she doesn't want her dad around for Christmas. But she prefers to sit around with a three thousand year old corpse than with me."

"Alone..."

"Yeah... alone" Brennan did not like being pitied. She hated it just as much as she hated needing somebody. That had been the whole point of her flat refuse in spending Christmas with Booth. She'd thought she knew he was doing it out of pity, out of concern for her.

"You know, my friend, she's a smart lady. She saw through you, through your trying to protect her as always..."

"But that's not all I was trying to do..."

"No, I suppose not.." Booth sighed deeply.

"I miss my boy, Sid. Every day I don't see him, I miss him and I know I lost yet one more day of his life. And I know I can't do a damned thing about it. And I've learned how to leave with it. But man" and he downed one more shot of vodka, "it's Christmas, for cryin' out loud.. do you know how many Christmas Eves I spent with my boy? One! One!" Booth showed his index finger, illustrating his point. "And he's seven, man!" There was a stubborn tear at the corner of his eye that Booth refused to allow to fall. "When he grows up, he's never going to associate Christmas with me. He's going to count how many boyfriends Rebecca spent Christmas Eve with. He won't have good memories of us on Christmas Eve, of dad sneaking around trying to make Santa real for him."

Brennan wanted to touch Booth, she wanted to sooth the rawness she saw in him. She knew he missed Parker, but, she realized, just because he didn't go around moping over it, it had been easy for her to forget that he was not the tower of strength he always seemed to be. She had thought he had, as always, been trying to help her, to do something for her disguised as something for him. When had she become so blind she couldn't see the ghosts and the sorrow behind the warm smile that he save just for her, so proud that she could not accept help from him, from the one person she trusted more than herself? When had she become so heartless that she couldn't see that he did need her?

She reached her hand to touch him, but her skin could not feel his warmth. And he could not sense her, standing there. She touched his face and traced the contours with her light fingers. She had never dared doing it, but this was a dream. Might as well indulge for a few minutes. There would be no consequences if she touched him now, no questions, no embarrassments.

"She's my best friend... she should have seen that." Her hand recoiled, stung by the bitterness of the last words. It was one thing to think it, but to hear it from him made it unbearable. She felt mean and selfish. She had tried hard to justify to herself that she'd just been trying to protect her heart and abide by Booth's line. And she had failed not only the man she loved, but her best friend.

She stood up and walked to the White Rabbit's table. He understood her request to walk out. Her eyes were red with the tears she refused to cry and her throat felt tied into a knot. They walked back through the empty fridge. The rabbit seemed busy observing his own furry hands. He held her hand while he walked her to the door and pushed it open for her to walk out, told her:

"It occurred to me that this superb fridge is much like your heart: it's quite big and nice, there's plenty of room, but it's empty. What good is a fridge if it does not contain food, don't you think?" And without giving her time to think of a reply, helped her out of the fridge and the door closed of it's own accord.