Here we go! chapter 2, just like I promised! And as an added plus, FINALS ARE OVER!!!! (Now it's off to band camp for me)
anyway, this one is Booth's Side Of The Story(SOTS, if you will).
Another, verrrry short chapter.
Booth felt like a loser. Which was unusual because Booth was normally very much a winner. He was, after all, Special Agent Seeley Booth with the world at his fingertips and justice balanced evenly on his shoulders, he was a dad who was idolized and looked up to by his son as some kind of a superhero and he was an overall outgoing, charming, handsome, hilarious guy with seductive chocolaty brown eyes with flickering amber tints that danced when he laughed and a fascinating grin that made women melt in their tracks.
Or so he told himself when he was looking into the mirror after a particularly stressful morning (one in which he found a gray hair or a crease in his forehead that hadn't been as apparent the day before) or when his confidence was beat. Usually, this technique worked, but today he just felt like a loser.
It was a lazy Saturday evening and he was kicked back on the couch in an off white muscle shirt and his old, faded navy blue sweats, with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. The hockey game played on the TV, but it was really just background noise to his own thoughts.
He felt awkward. Not in any particular area of his life, but just in general. Mostly, he didn't like going to work. He had a ton of old paperwork to catch up on, sure, but he would sit at his desk anxiously awaiting Charlie's small frame to burst into the room.
"We've got a case, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan has been notified and she'll meet you at the crime scene." He would declare. Booth would nod and keep a professional aura, but when Charlie left his office; his face would light up in excitement. They had a case.
For the past few days he would sit there and wait, looking up subconsciously at the ticking Philadelphia Flyers clock. Itching for an investigation to pop up. Knowing poignantly that one would not come. Or, at least not one that required the expertise of his lady scientist- and even if she was needed, she was off in Africa. For three months. It would be disappointment all around for him.
Another thing that made him ill at ease was going out to eat. It didn't feel right. He usually went out every once and awhile to an actual restaurant and almost every weekday headed down to the diner for coffee and sometimes eggs or something light. (Occasionally he ate dinner there, but only with another person, never by himself). It had only been six days since she'd left, but already, he'd driven to the Royal Diner. He'd sat in his car for a couple minutes, debating in his mind. He decided not to go in. He turned the key and backed out. It felt wrong going there by himself.
Booth finished off his third beer and, noting the score, clicked the TV off, lowering his hand almost to the floor and allowing the black brick of plastic to softly hit the ground. He was truly restless. He felt trapped in his own mind. He threw his hands over his eyes and lay there on the couch, waiting for time to fly by around him so life could go back to normal.
After awhile of trying not to think (which is a paradox in it's self), sleep overtook him, throwing him to a violent mess of dreams and hopes and wishes and anxiety and frustrations. Yes, he couldn't wait for October to come.
There ya Go!!!
~Rhea~
"...and this time, art made science her bitch!"- Angela