Looooong chapter. You guys okay if it counts as two more? *dodges flying objects* Oookay. *cracks knuckles* Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho. . . . .
Disclaimer: HAHA! HOW ABOUT THAT I ACTUALLY GET TO OWN SOMETHING! Ehem, I own the story about the President. It's completely made up. Not real in the least bit. Just an idea. I don't own Bones. Hart, Stephan and FOX are the lucky bastards who do.
Morning Routine
Takes place anytime in the middle of Season 8 but before 8x15, around the time earlier this year when that tsunami wrecked parts of the East Coast. (No Presidents were harmed in the making of this Fic)
"It's neither unusual or strange for an archaeologist to have a reptile for a pet. Nor is it 'weird' that they may carry them when they go from place to place."
"All I'm saying is that they shoulda at least stopped the guy." Angela said. "He was within range and in an airport, for God's sake. He shouldn't have even had it on the plane, in my opinion."
"Well, I trust that the President wouldn't put himself in unnecessary danger like that." Brennan explained to her friend. "It's not anyone's fault if something almost happened. There are many people that are prepared to lay down their life for the President if need be, and I'm sure there were plenty who jumped in the way because that looked to be where things were headed. Anyways, I fail to see the reason that this made it to the news. They knew the archaeologist because he's famous enough, so they knew he had a pet snake at all times; you told me this. If they didn't want the President in such cautious places where danger was a problem, then-"
"Okay, Sweetie! I get it," Angela laughed on the other end of the phone. Talking to Brennan was usually like this, so it was somewhat comforting to the artist now to hear her speak the way she always did. Things were flying up on the news left and right lately that were getting her stressed, and not even the comforts of her own husband – no matter how silly he made something seem just by one comment – could soothe her. "I'm just a little on edge these last few days.
Brennan smiled sympathetically, aware that her friend couldn't see it, but that she'd somehow hear it in her voice. "Well it's not every day that the President walks into an accidental threat, although it would be strange if one went through his or her entire four-year term without issues. I can empathize with your distress."
Brennan could hear the emotion in Angela's voice. "Thanks, Sweetie."
She continued on. "But there's something else, isn't there?" She walked back and forth along the foot of the bed. The covers were still messy and Christine was bound to wake up any minute.
Having the job – and schedule – that they did, the duo was used to waking up at seven, six, maybe five in the morning. Depending on the case and/or Brennan's crazy breakthrough's in the middle of the night. But it was a Saturday, which meant no work. Also, it was six thirty on a Saturday. Crime Fighter and Anthropologist were woken up at 6:13 by the distressed (literal) call from the Artist, who was up at all hours of the night (morning?) watching the news.
So here Brennan was now, pacing slowly back and forth, glancing at the connecting bathroom from their room. Booth left the door open a crack, allowing her to glimpse the movement of a hand or arm once in a while as he shaved and gelled his hair.
She continued. "You sound as though there is something more that's troubling you, other than the alleged attack on the President."
Angela scoffed. "Well, I'm then assuming you haven't heard about the tsunami on out coast yet." On her end, she switched the phone to fit between her shoulder and cheek, pouring a cup of coffee and adding the creamer. Upstairs she heard Hodgins talking to Michael.
"Sandy, I think they named it. They say a Roller Coaster was obliterated and Jersey Shore is down," she smirked at her coming remark. "Guess that means no trouble for the cops for a while."
"What? There was a tsunami? How big was it?" Brennan asked, seemingly glazed over the fact that it had demolished a Roller Coaster. She slid open the bathroom door, leaning against the frame as Booth continued the work of gelling his hair. He regarded her briefly at her entrance and mention of a tsunami before returning his attention to the mirror.
Angela recalled the information, squinting her eyes as the coffee sharpened her memory. "Started in the Bahamas or Cuba or something. Only twenty-two deaths or so, but still. Went almost all the way up to Vermont. Was a doozie."
Brennan's face turned, her eyes on the floor like they always were when she was thinking. Taking in the information, forming a picture of what she might see if she were to look it up, which it what she'd probably do later to see for herself. "That's awful. Do you know what they're planning on doing about it?"
At her change in voice, Booth looked over at her. "What, what's up?"
Brennan held up a finger, telling him to wait.
"Well it was a tsunami, Brennan. All they can do for now is evacuate people as far away as possible from any danger zones." With that said, Hodgins came in, carrying Michael on his hip. Angela greeted him with a, "Morning, Babe," and a kiss on the cheek before moving to the dining table to sit. "I mean, who knows how long it will take to clean up. With our luck lately, right as we start cleaning up another one will hit."
"Don't say that," Brennan said, so brokenly that it affected both her friend on the other line and her partner, who really looked at her seriously now. "If this country wasn't so in debt right now, we'd be more prepared for these types of situations; we'd have money put away. Enough for immediate repairs and food.
"Bones, what about a tsunami?" Booth dried his hands on a towel, setting it down and leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest.
"Oh, Sweetie," Angela's voice was admiring – adoring, in a way. "Don't get so worked up over it. These things happen. They always get worked out in the end, one way or another.
Brennan held out a hand, palm up as if her friend were right in front of her and she was relaying the facts to her directly. "Yes, but through struggle and increased stress on everyone. On the outside, everything is fine, but on the inside. . .we owe more than we did before. It's like," she sighed. "It's like the world is seeing how much we can take."
"We can take a lot, Bones." Booth said. She found it amazing that though he wasn't fully filled in on what they were talking about, he had the ability to say something so heartfelt and true. She gave him a small smile of gratitude, and though it was small it lit up her eyes.
Angela smiled knowingly. "Well, you've got buckets of money, don't you? Why not donate some of that into helping out over there? They have programs for that, you know."
The anthropologist seemed to brighten at this, taking some of her weight off the doorframe and standing up a little straighter. "That's true. I do have a lot in the bank that I'm not allowed to use." At this she looked specifically at her partner. He raised his eyebrows, as if daring her to go back on her promise to only pay her share of the mortgage and groceries that they agreed on. "I've made multiple accounts which I've taken to donating to Animal Causes and Charities and such. It would be exciting to invest in something new."
"Wait, who says you can't spend your money?" Angela asked with a laugh, unbelieving that Brennan would listen to anyone about her money affairs, let alone agree to whatever compromise they laid out. Well, booth might- Oh. She did a mental face-palm. Not she got it. Damn. If there was ever one way to understand, or prove, just how much Brennan loved that man, it was that fact right there. She'd be willing to compromise a money deal with him. Her money. The thing she was so laid back about and used unintentionally to intimidate people. "Ah. Booth." That little realization made her lean back in her chair, head lolled back.
"Sweetie," she continued, deciding to drop their earlier conversation. "Is Booth there right now?"
That caught her off guard. She shifted her feet. "Yes, why?"
"Just give him the phone for a sec; just real quick."
Over the line she heard, "Angela wants to speak with you."
The sudden change in Angela's tone and topic of conversation thoroughly confused her, but she did as her friend asked, grabbing her brush off the counter and running it through her hair.
"Hey, Ange," Booth greeted, the slightest hint of a question in his tone.
"Hey, Mister, you got Brennan to agree on keeping her stash untouched?"
"Yeah, over a year ago. Why's that so important?"
That question – the way he said it – was so Booth. It was so Booth. He really didn't get what he'd accomplished, did he?
"You know, she loves you." Angela said matter-of-factly.
He pushed his fingers to his eyes and sighed. Why was she doing this to him so early in the morning? Here he thought this woman couldn't function unless she got her eight hours of shut-eye in. Turns out she could work just fine on six, or however many she'd gotten before she decided to call them up so early. "What's your point, Angela?"
"You know she wouldn't agree to it unless she was sure about you. It wasn't just the pregnancy." Continuing as if he hadn't even spoken. So Angela.
Booth glanced over at his partner, currently standing where he'd been in front of the mirror and getting gently at the knots she'd acquired during sleep. She seemed deep in thought as she tackled her brown hair, maybe about whatever that tsunami thing was about, but her look remained thoughtful. He smiled as he took in her 'morning look'.
Remembering the phone, he said goodbye and pressed the touch-screen's 'End' button.
"Hey," he snaked his arms around her from behind, kissing the side of her head then giving her a chaste kiss when she turned her face toward him. He rested his cheek next to her temple, looking at their reflection in the mirror. She still brushed gingerly through her hair. "I suppose a proper good morning id doable now that Angela is gone."
Brennan laughed. "You know she'll call again, Booth."
"You know, you pick the oddest people to be friends with."
"All of my friends are people I work with," she met his eyes in the mirror. "Including you. I think that's better than nothing. And they're your friends too Booth."
He covered her eyes, feigning annoyance at her.
She laughed and pulled his hands away, tossing a look at his reflection. "Not funny."
"Is that so."
"Yes."
"Then how come I laughed just then, huh?"
"You're teasing."
"No, I don't think so." Booth pretended. He poked her side, trying to annoy her, regardless as to if it came back to bite him in the ass later.
"I don't know what else you'd call it." She resumed the knot untangling.
"Tempting a reaction that is enjoyable to me and will inevitably end in you chasing me around the house."
"I believe you would classify that reaction as annoyance, which is caused by teasing."
"Oh, well then that's what I'm doing."
"Ugh," she laid her hands on the counter, leaning on her arms over the sink. "Pourquoi ai-je reçu un tel partenaire ennuyeux?"
"On we, what?"
Brennan flicked her head up to meet his eyes in the mirror. "Why do I have such an annoying partner." She translated.
"You think I'm annoying?" He pretended to be hurt.
Her face softened. "Yes," she set the brush back on the counter and turned to face him. His hands came to lean on the edge behind her, trapping her between the counter and him. "And sweet, and handsome, brave, and dorky, funny. . ."
"You know all you're doing is bumping my ego, right? Think of me as a ten year old." He charm smiled her, leaning closer.
". . .And courageous, strong, hard-working, nice, and excellent father and-"
"And?"
She shrugged. "And very romantic."
"I think we've had this conversation before." He joked, kissing her. "Damn straight about handsome, too, by the way."
She laughed. He kissed her again, longer this time until-
"She's awake," Brennan mumbled, assuming it was 'his turn' for baby retrieval. Not that she truly cared, it was a game they'd devised soon after Christine was born.
"It's hardly seven," Booth hung his head in defeat.
"She heard us moving around, she's grown accustomed to our routine of waking up early; she does this every weekend you should be used to it by now." She reasoned with him, raising an eyebrow in question.
He sighed, pecking her lips before heading down the hallway. "You'd assume."
Don't you love how Angela can turn on a dime in conversation? Re-watching episodes when she does that always makes me laugh.
That bit about archaeologists with snakes, I have no idea if that's true or not, but my mom told me a story one time of meeting an actual archaeologist who had a pet snake. Whole story about the President meeting up with the archaeologist was totally made up. This story was not meant to offend any possible archaeologists reading this Fic.
P.S: Is it illegal to put the President in danger in a made up story? If so, I'll see you guys in over the border in Canada. OMG, why am I freaking out about this?
I translate French as best I can, I know how to make sentences pretty well, but I don't know how to do the accents and things so I go to Google translate.