A/N: My Bones muse has been refusing to talk to me for quite a while, but now poor a_mistletoe has got a tooth situation, and due to a rather unorthodox set of circumstances I feel a little responsible. So, in order to help a bit, Booth is going suffer along with her…
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Never Yet Philosopher
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"Booth?"
Low groaning.
"Booth, are you in there?"
Drawn-out moan; door hinges creaking.
"Why are you in bed this early in the evening?"
"Toothache."
Raised eyebrows.
"I thought you had a dentist appointment this morning? Why didn't you go?"
Whimpering.
"I did."
"And the dentist…"
"…pulled it – the infection was too bad…"
Tongue-clucking.
"Tooth extraction is very unpleasant."
Glare.
"No shit, Sherlock."
Puzzled frown.
"I was merely attempting to express my sympathy, but if you prefer to be left alone…"
Puppy-eyed look.
"Hey, I didn't mean to snap."
"Because your gums hurt?"
Narrowed eyes.
"You're doing that on purpose."
Soft smile.
"I've found that distracting you sometimes works when you're not feeling well."
"Another shot of anesthetics might work even better."
Frown.
"Didn't they give you a prescription for painkillers?"
Embarrassed silence.
"Booth, don't tell me you refused it out of some misguided need to prove your toughness!"
Shifty eyes.
Mumbling.
"I'm sorry, what did you say? The swelling of your gums makes your enunciation somewhat less precise."
"Painkillers make me woozy."
"And being in pain is preferable to wooziness?"
Long-suffering sigh.
"Okay, okay, you win, Bones – you still got the rest of that Vicodin from when that killer doctor stabbed you in the arm?"
"Booth, that was prescribed to me, I can't just pass it on to you! Besides, it's probably expired by now."
"C'mon, Bones, those pills last almost forever… just one to take the edge off?"
"I'm not sharing my Vicodin with you!"
"Who are you, Dr. House?"
Blank stare.
"I don't know what that means."
Sigh.
"Figures. Okay, you know what, just close the door and let me die in peace."
"It's reassuring to know that you still possess your penchant for melodrama."
"Bones!"
Softening expression.
"Okay, okay, I'll check the expiration date, and I'll call your dentist and ask if it's okay for you to take Vicodin in your current condition."
Relieved sigh.
"I'll love you forever if you come back with those pills, baby."
Narrowed eyes.
"I thought you did that anyway?"
Pause.
"Uhhh… another forever?"
Eyeroll.
"I guess I'd better wait until you're actually under the influence of Vicodin before I ask you to explain that concept to me."
Retreating footsteps, door closing.
Silence.
Door opening.
"Booth?"
"Huh?"
"I love you too. And don't call me 'baby'."
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For there was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently. (William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing)