BOOTH
I flip off the 32" flatscreen Bones surprised me with a couple weeks ago. On most weekdays I'm not a big fan of the late games and tonight the Phillies v Rockies game didn't start until 8:08 D.C. time so there was little chance it would end any time before midnight. We're up four-o and the Rockies couldn't play their way out of a paper bag tonight, so I see no reason to lose sleep over something that is pretty much a sure thing.
Besides, I have other, more important things on my mind.
I tug off my t-shirt as I walk into the bedroom, where I find Bones as expected: In bed, relaxing against the headboard, and reading one of the gazillion journals she receives each month. Seeing me come into the room, she glances at the alarm clock.
"I didn't expect your game to be over for at least another hour," she comments.
"I decided I'd rather spend the time with you," I shrug as I toss my shirt into the hamper. Lifting cover and sheet, I slide into the bed next to her then lean in for a kiss that lingers just long enough to emphasize what I'd said. "'Improving Sex Estimation from Crania Using a Novel Three-dimensional Quantitative Method,,'," I read aloud the title of the article she's reading. "You lost me after sex," I tell her, then pluck the journal from her hands and toss it to the floor. Before she can lodge a complaint, I cover her lips with mine.
Mmmmm.
For four months, I've been able to kiss Bones whenever I want and I still can't get enough of her.
You can hardly blame me.
It's taken six years to prove the feeling that had rocked me, that first time I'd seen her on the stage of stage of an auditorium at American University, had been real. That it had been right.
I'd known, I'd always known, even when I denied knowing, even when I didn't want to know, even when knowing hurt like hell and even when knowing meant I was going to hurt someone else and draw in question things I'd always believed about myself.
It had wrecked me… and it had saved me.
Even when it seemed like everything was falling apart all around me, out-of-nowhere that lightning bolt would shoot down my spine making me feel like electricity was buzzing through my blood. These moments were as unpredictable as they were constant. Our eyes might catch in the truck, or she'd call for no other reason than to call, and there it was. We'd be furious with each other and there it was. She'd compliment me and there it was. She'd insult me and there it was. She could flash through my head and there it was. She'd turn to me, all on her own, for comfort and there it—
No, that feeling is so much more.
I'd found it annoying after the slap-in-the-face-heard-round-the-world, at least that's how it had felt at the time and it had damn well pissed me off during that year she wouldn't even work with me…
But there it was. Not all day or even every day, just often enough to ma me draw a slow, deep breath when it happened.
Which, ending the kiss, is what I do now, resting my forehead against hers. I can't help what I'm sure is a big goofy smile that I'm sporting, but can intentionally waggle my brows.
I love how unpredictable she is at these times. Sometimes, a smile makes her eyes sparkle and she laughs as she plants a palm against my chest and pushes me away. Sometimes she steps back, then rolling her eyes with a smile, she walks away. Then other times…
She slides down to her back then drags me down with her, giving me a kiss that is part daring and part freedom, distracting me this time with the memory of kisses that tasted like rain, tequilla and something I can't define and is only Bones.
Speaking of taste…
With a laugh, I end the kiss and moving to my side, I prop my head on my hand looking down at her.
"Enjoy you ice cream?"
"Not really," she answers honestly. "As soon I finished the first spoonful, I realized what I really wanted was mint chocolate chip." This interests me.
"Craving?" I'm hoping it is. Not that I'm looking forward to having to chase Bones down because she wants to go the store in the middle of the night, alone and all lectures that will follow. I'm hoping it's a craving because succumbing to such a basic desire… a need… makes her as human as the rest of us are, all that supremely rational thinking going straight out the door.
"Noooo," she draws out the word, as though I've lost my mind. "I was contemplating the methodology of children's names in today's Western society, which led me to think of Max and I was reminded of how much he and I enjoyed mint chip."
"Names?" I jump on the first part of what she's said, dismissing the rest. "You were thinking about names?" I have to admit I'm shocked. It's not like Bones to think so far ahead.
"Considering the methodology of children's names," she corrects.
"Methodologies," I repeat, deflating some. That doesn't sound very namey.
"Yes," she replies in a tone that suggests I have known what she meant right off the bat. "The Greek custom, for example, calls for children to be named after their grandparents while in Indian culture, baby is often given a name reflective of the nakshatra and greh – the position of the star constellation and the position of the planets – at the time of birth. In Bali, children are commonly named for their order of birth, with babies named Wayan, Putu, Gede and Nengah the most common names of firstborns, whereas for the second born—" I give my eyes a healthy roll then cut her off.
"Christine," I announce, never more confident about something in my entire life than I am about the name.
Bones might have been the author of my coma dream, but it turned out I was pretty darn good at writing some stories of my own when I was asleep, and I slept a lot the first few weeks after I woke up. Turns out, having your brain sliced and diced takes a lot out of you, not to mention makes for some throbbing headaches…
Especially when Sweets was assigned to "help my recovery", meaning he thought he had a license to poke-and-prod to his heart's content. Worse than him constantly in my ear was knowing he actually had license from the FBI to annoy me because I couldn't get back on the job until he cleared me. Turned out sleep was a great way to avoid Sweets as much as possible since he wouldn't dare wake me up. After all, I was a man recovering from brain surgery and needed my rest.
Sleep was my best friend for weeks. Between the scrambled brains, being off the job, being unable to let go of the dream I'd been so happy in and Bones having taken off, there wasn't much to do other than keep my appointments with Sweets, watch the Phillies… and sleep. On a good night, in my dreams I'd be back in The Lab, standing with 'Bren' on the catwalk, looking down at the crowded floor of our club while just catching up on the night with each other. On a really good night, I'd dream of us home in my – our – apartment, enjoying a meal and good conversation, teasing her, dancing with her, making her laugh and quietly talking about the baby.
"If it's a girl, I'd like to name her after my mother… Christine."
Well, of course, she would.
"You'd be alright with that?" she asks now, clearly surprised.
"Well, yeah. More than alright." She doesn't look convinced. "Look, Bones, your mom loved you. She gave her life to keep you safe. If it wasn't for her sacrifice, you might not be here right now… we might not be here and neither would our kid. That deserves to be honored." I can see the gears clicking in her head as she stares at me, picking apart what I've said, trying to decide if this is what I really feel or if I am just doing it for her. I know the second she's made up her mind, a wide smile lighting her face.
"Christine… Christine Booth," she tries the name on for size. That there is no question in her mind our child will have my last name, makes me fall even more in love with her. "And if the fetus is a boy? Have you considered names as well?" My nose shrivels in distaste at her referencing our baby as fetus. That's a conversation for another time, though.
"Do you think we might just call the… fetus… the baby?" I suggest, then leave her to mull on that while going on. "Stewart. He did save my life, after all." I'm having a little fun with her, the moment too good to pass up. She frowns.
"I don't recall you ever mentioning someone named Stewart in the past. Did you know him while in the military?" I purse my lips to keep from smiling too wide.
"Sure, I have. Stuart? Stewie? From The Family Guy?" I remind. "If it weren't for him you may not have realized I had a brain tumor until it was too late."
"Oh, God," she groans, putting the clues together, then discards the entire idea announcing firmly, "Hank. If the fetus is a boy, we should name him Hank." So much for that mulling thing. "I can't think of a better man for him to emulate…" Her eyes shift to meet mine "…other than his father, of course." Pure pleasure shoots through me at her last words and this time I can't hide my reaction, not that I bother trying.
"Pops will be thrilled, honored," I tell her truthfully. As if he needs another reason to love Bones.
"He's a good man. He deserves to be honored," is her only reply.
"Hank or Christine… I like it," I approve, then pause as an annoying thought comes to mind. "Let's just keep this between us, okay? Otherwise, everyone will want to offer their opinions and suggestions…" I let her write her own conclusion.
"It should be just ours," she confirms, echoing words from the past.
"What goes on between us should be just ours."
"Yeah," I answer quietly, nodding my head in approval. I turn the conversation in the direction I'd intended when I came into the room. "How are you and the little guy doing?" The way she narrows her eyes is meant to be a reminder the baby she's carrying may not be a boy at all.
"The fetus is almost nine-and-a-half inches long now and weighs about 11 ounces. The fetus can hear sounds outside the womb and its digestive system has started to work." Part of this piques my interest.
"He can hear me?"
"Probably." She is laughing when I shift downwards and brush her t-shirt up to bear her stomach.
"Hello, little baby in the belly. I'm your Dad… da-da… Daddy."
"I'm going to start reading to it at night." My head pops up.
"We'll take turns," I volunteer. I want our kid to know my voice, too. Wait. "Can he tell different people's voices?" I press a kiss to her stomach.
"Yes," Bones draws out the word, smiling contentedly at me. "Numerous studies have shown listening to music while in the womb not only calms the fetus…"
Her attention will be caught up in whatever study for several minutes, which leaves me the chance to explore her stomach undetected while talking to the baby just in case I draw Bones' attention.
"…Less crying and less colic…"
"You hear that, champ? We don't want you to get colic." I peek at Bones and she seems preoccupied with her lecture. I continue my explorations. I mean, this is our kid right under my hand. It's… it's… it's still… mind blowing. Me and Bones. Bones and me.
And a kid. A grin spreads across my face.
"It has been shown to facilitate language development, to contribute to better cognitive and motor skills…"
I mean us. And a kid.
Last year at this time I'd given up on any chance of me and Bones happening, and look at us now.
"And better coco motor skills," I tell the baby, deliberately messing up the wording. Bones really enjoys it when I do that.
"Cognitive and motor skills," she corrects, lengthening each word ever so slightly, just enough to tell me she hopes I'll remember it this time. I just smile at her, then return my eyes to her stomach.
"Mommy's the smart one of this gang," I advise. I glance at her again when she shifts under my hand, and find her propped up on her elbows, looking at me with that disappointed teacher look. My eyes slant to the right. How much trouble am I in? Then my eyes return to her.
"I know I've gained weight," she informs me. "My cup size has doubled-"
"Oh, I've noticed…" That remark earns a scowl.
"And I'm having a hard time fitting into my pants," this said more with a very un-Bones slight pout.
"No, no, Bones. It's not that you're gaining weight. I mean, you have," that comments loses me any ground I have had made up. I shift positions so I can lean down and kiss her, "Not that it matters since I'd love you even if gained a hundred pounds." I smile down at her until she can't resist. With a quiet chuckle, she rolls her eyes and looks away from me. "You're starting to show, Bones," I tell her, reaching down to lay my hand on her stomach again." Her head snaps back around and she stares downward to where my hand rests.
"No, it's too soon," she objects immediately. "I'm not even four months yet! The books say…"
"That when a woman shows varies from woman-to-woman," I provide.
"Well, yes, but…" I spring out of the bed and, grabbing her hand, pulling her out behind me. I drag her, laughing, behind me into the bathroom until we stand before the mirror.
"Booth, what are you doing?" she laughs.
I tug up her t-shirt and down the waistband of her sleep shorts.
"You're showing, Bones." I've waited five days for her to figure it out herself. My patience is completely shot. I place both palms over her stomach. "You're showing, Bones. That's our kid!" Stunned, she brushes aside my hands and examines herself in the mirror. She turns to the side, does it again. Slowly, a smile lights her face.
"I'm showing," she says with disbelief. Her hand moves to where mine had been. I step back behind her, replacing her hand with both of mine again.
"That's our baby, Bones," I repeat, the thought still dazing me.
"Christine or Hank," she acknowledges in the very best of ways.
"Yeah. Yeah. Christine or Hank." Her face goes brighter.
"You know what this means, don't you?"
"Yeah, you're going to be all big and round before long and—" She scowls at my reflection in the mirror.
"No," she draws out the word in disapproval, then brightens again. "it means I can have mint chocolate chip ice cream." Brushing my hands away for a second time, she steps from my embrace and heads towards the bedroom.
"Where you going, Bones?" I ask with a chuckle, following.
"To the store," she answers in a tone suggesting she really thinks that is going to happen. She's wrong of course. I trail her into the closet.
"Oh, no, no, no, no. It's Mommy's job to rest and Daddy's job to go out and get late night crav—treats," I correct myself before she can. Taking her by the waist, I guide her back to the bed. "Read your journals," I'll be right back."
"Booth!" she protests as I grab a pair of sweats from a drawer and tug them up over my shorts, "I'm perfectly capable of going to the store!"
"You are," I agree. "But Dads get to do so little while Mom's are doing all the heavy work carrying our kid. This is one of those things I can do." She considers this for several long seconds, then seems to find no fault in the logic.
"Fine, but this doesn't mean you get to tell me what to do just because I'm carrying your progeny." I roll my eyes heavenward. Fetus, progeny. Can't we just say baby?
"I would never dream that I could," I fib, since I plan to do plenty in the months ahead to protect her and our kid. I lean down and give her a quick kiss. "I'll be right back." I don't make it past the bedroom door.
"And some broccoli," she announces the addition. "Can you make sure there's ketchup in the refrigerator?"
"For?" I wonder.
"The broccoli," she answers, as though that is a normal combination.
"Ketchup, got it." I make it to the living room this time.
"And Booth! Booth!" she yells for me from her room. I double back and stick my head in the room.
"Yeah, Bones."
"And hummus. I really want some hummus."
"Have something to go with it in mind?" She gives this a second thought.
"No, I'll just eat it with my ice cream."
"With your…." Ick! But I catch myself just in time. "You got it. Hummus, ketchup, broccoli and mint chocolate chip ice cream. "Anything else, Bones?"
"No, mothing else."
I nod my head and walk towards the front door of the apartment… again.
No cravings?
My left foot.
The fun has begun.
