“Twelve. Hours. Damn.”
“Why? Don’t you get some grace after the thing?” Hodgins stares at Booth who won’t meet his eyes.
“You have done the thing? The thing on page …”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah! Tons of times,” Booth says, his eyes growing wide then shrinking as he squints at the ground. “But, I only ever get a good … I don’t know … three hours of grace out of it,” he says dejectedly.
“Dude,” chortles Hodgins. “Maybe you’re not doing it right.”
“Wha – shut up, Hodgins,” spits Booth, smirking. He’s shooting Hodgins the ‘of course, I do, you idiot’ expression.
“Nooo, Dude!” Hodgins recognizes insecure posturing when he sees it. “Are you doing that thing at the end? You got a do that thing at the end,” he says plaintively.
“What thing at the end? What do you mean?” Booth is alarmed now, dropping a pretense of denial.
“You know, the little … thing … with the … thing? Come one. You know. You did read the whole chapter, right?”
“Of course I read the whole chapter, Jack. I read the whole damn book. Twice!”
“I don’t think you’re doing it right,” says Hodgins with finality, screwing up half of his mouth as he chews on his bottom lip.
“We’re done here,” blurts Booth, turning and leaving the restroom. “Let’s get back to the Vajayjays.”
oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoOo
Sitting across the street from the Atlas Performing Arts Center in a pair of lawn chairs are two elderly gentlemen. Between them sits a small camp table. On top of the table are two bottles of beer and a couple of Chilli Dogs. Under each bottle of beer is a one hundred dollar bill. That is the value of the friendly bet between the future grandfathers-in-law. Max says Booth will bolt. Hank says he won’t.
“My boy loves his hockey. And he loves his Flyers, Max,” Hank had assured him. “But I’ll gladly take your money!”
As the patrons begin to file out of the theatre, Hank and Max watch. “Maybe we should have gone, Hank,” says Max. “Who knew there would be so many fine women in one place at the same time?”
“My boy did,” says Hank, with a sneer. “But there’s only one he’s interested in, and that’s the one that’s the one he’s standing beside right now, tossing her head back, and laughing like she’s a satisfied woman in love with a really fine man who makes her happy.”
“You’re a romantic old cuss, Hank,” croons Max, chuckling. “Here. Take your money. And you know what?”
“What’s that, young man?”
“I’m glad I lost. If the thing that makes me lose is the same thing that makes my Tempe smile and laugh like that, I’d bet a hundred more of those bills,” he says proudly.
“And I’ll take every one of them from ya,” says Hank, offering his fist for a bump.
oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoO oOoOoOo
“Hodgins?” Booth scoots closer to Hodgins while the women are in the kitchen getting the Cherries Jubilee prepared. “I will kill you if you ever bring this up again. But I have an important, uh, question,” says Booth, hesitating, turning a little red around the collar.
“Sure, what is it?”
Booth’s lips pucker, his eyes pensive. He can’t believe he’s about to ask this, but when it comes to Brennan, he’ll do just about anything to make her happy.
“Booth, is this about … the thing?” Hodgins helps him out, feeling some empathy for his brother in arms.
Booth shrugs, then looks up at Hodgins. “What the hell? I can’t be doing it wrong, could I?”
“I don’t know man, but I’ll tell you what, if you want to talk about … that,” he swallows, furrows his brow, “I’m gonna need something a little stronger than beer … ”
“I’ve got some Scotch …”
“That’ll do,” he chuckles. “Hey, Ange! You’re driving home tonight, right?”
“Men!” Paul, the gynecologist, walks back into the room. “You are two very impressive men, my friends. I can’t wait to tell my nurses that I was at The Vagina Monologues with three fine women and their partners. You have won my respect … and my loyalty,” he says, holding up his bottle of beer for a toast.
“Nah, nah, nah,” chuffs Booth, taking Paul’s beer and giving him a tumbler of Scotch. Here’s a man’s drink. And I have to say, I’m glad we’ve earned your loyalty …”
“And why’s that?” Paul swings sideways to look back into the kitchen. The women are relaxing against the counters, chatting and laughing. No worries between the three of them. No worries here between the three men who have gotten to know each other much better through the sharing of this … unique … experience.
“What did you say you do for a living?” Asks Booth, feigning ignorance.
“I’m an … OBGYN. That’s how I got us those great seats,” he says.
The other two men consider what Paul might actually mean by that. They can’t really figure out … I mean … he’s a gynecologist and that was a performance about … but how the one translates into that kind of fringe benefit is beyond them.
“Don’t ask how if it makes you uncomfortable,” says Paul, meekly, hoping he hasn’t crossed a line somehow.
“Um, we won’t,” says Booth, staring at Hodgins, the two of them cracking up. Paul joins in.
“The thing is … because of your job … you’re kind of an … expert … at some stuff, right?” It’s Hodgins swallowing dryly and trying to find the words.
Booth jumps in and saves him. “Paul, have you read Bones’ book … ?”
❤️ ❤️ ❤️
If this is the first time you’ve read MoxieGirl fiction and you enjoyed the experience, you can find more here: The When and the How: A Bone to Pick about how B&B came together as a romantic couple while pursuing a serial killer. “The Meaning in the Episode,” is a series of substance and fluff one shots inspired by several season 7 episodes. Thanks for reading ~ and have a blessed year!