Warning! Fluff, rambling, and singing ahead!
"C'mon, Bones. It wasn't that bad," Seeley Booth insisted as they entered their hotel room.
"I'll admit, it did have its moments," Temperance Brennan conceded, peeling off her jacket with the aid of her partner and boyfriend before tossing it casually across the back of a chair.
Booth removed his own coat, draping it over hers and cast her a look of forfeit. "So, what was the problem, exactly?"
The hotel room was well lit and dotted with lovely décor. Both Booth and Brennan had been undercover for the past two weeks, posing as a married couple (Booth bowed down to his own charm at convincing Brennan of that) in the favored company of two mob families who appeared to have a taste for the Theatre.
Tonight, it had been the theatre alright. Theatre in the form of film.
"It's just completely illogical that ordinary persons would up and break out into passionate song in the middle of their mundane routines," Brennan rationalized, gesturing at him with an open palm, eyes wide and insistent.
Booth found himself laughing. "Yeah, well... murdering barbers and cannibalistic bakers don't exactly fit your 'ordinary persons' profile, there, babe."
"We've dealt with cannibals," Brennan was adamant, taking a seat on the bed to remove her high heels.
"That's still not normal, Bones!" Booth stressed, loosening his tie before plopping himself on a chair to remove his own shoes.
"Define normal," Brennan antagonized with a teasing smirk and an arched brow. "Also," she continued, removing her jewelry, "how could the Judge possibly get away with the unmerited sentencing he laid on all his so-called criminals? And to condemn a child to hang? It's no wonder this Sweeney Barker character sought to overthrow him with a razor to the jugular."
"Todd," Booth corrected. "Sweeney Todd. Benjamin Barker."
"Right. Of course." Booth could sense her upcoming dissection long before the wheels had begun spinning in that genius mind she kept in that beautiful skull. This time, he was mentally prepared for Hurricane Brennan. "Now, why did no one help his Lucy? And while I understand that this Benjamin person was shipped away to prison, what I don't understand is how he escaped, and how he found himself onboard that vessel. And why was he singing that love song to his shearing equipment? They're inanimate objects. And why was Mrs. Lovett so obsessed with him? Obviously, Sweeney wasn't very interested. Also, why did his hair have that white streak? While not impossible, I suppose, such an anomaly is statistically and scientifically as rare as they come. And I thought he only sought revenge on the Judge—not to mention that Beadle character who I found downright repulsive. I assume you did as well, seeing as those types of individuals are the sort you tend to enjoy hitting with something heavy before all the handcuffing and rights-giving. So... why was he killing all these other Londoners? Not to mention that the act of revenge is completely illogical means to justification. And just how brake on the uptake are these people anyway?"
"Slow on the uptake."
"Right. What I'm saying is: how were they not suspicious? I mean, you see a man go into Sweeney's Barbershop. And then nothing. One goes in—none come out. And this happened repeatedly! Plus, now all of a sudden, Mrs. Lovett's worst pies in London aren't so bad anymore, and she never seems to run out of meat. Meanwhile, London is slowly losing citizen after citizen. How could not one of them see a pattern? And then there's this boy Toby, who's convinced that he's of legal drinking age and that he has the musculature to take on a full-grown man. Although, I have to admit, I was rather surprised when he was the deliverer of Sweeney Todd's demise. Speaking of which! That ending! Damn you, Booth—you brought me to that film! I hope you're satisfied! I was getting all choked up like some hormonal teenager going through her menstrual cycle."
Booth could only stare at his partner, who was regarding him with a rather indignant glare of doom at the present moment. Finally, he allowed an amused expression to spread across his face. "At least now I know you paid attention. Is that it?"
"In fact, it's not," Brennan said with forthright assertion. "Is it entirely morbid that I consider it a great accomplishment that this Johnny Depp has achieved for making a crazed barber with a penchant for delusional ramblings and slitting throats appear incredibly attractive?"
Booth blinked, squirming slightly. "Only in the literal sense."
"Don't worry," Brennan offered him a kind expression, lips twitching. "You're the only singing fool I'm interested in."
Booth let out a laugh, coming to sit beside her on the bed. "So, did your anthropological critique appreciate anything else besides Depp's gothic sexiness, which totally escapes me, by the way."
Brennan smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I enjoyed the vocals."
Booth heaved a groan, collapsing back onto the bed, his colorfully festooned feet dangling over the edge.
"Despite their unfounded presence," she explained. "I found the notes incredibly pleasing."
"Which song did you like best?" Booth lay with one arm flung over his eyes tiredly.
Brennan leaned back, tapping him playfully on the chest. "The one where he sang to his inanimate friends." At Booth's appreciative chuckle, she quickly went on. "No, I think the one where he sang to his wife. It was very touching."
"Aren't you the softy, Bones."
"Well, I'm a woman. I'm entitled."
She smiled brightly at Booth's bark of laughter.
"Don't hog the bed, now," Booth grumbled good-naturedly as he slid under the covers beside his companion. Though he and Brennan hadn't yet taken that further step in their still new and fledgling relationship, both were well aware of the oddity a married couple sleeping alone posed.
Even in the dark, he almost laughed at the puzzled expression on his partner's face. "Despite your questionable metaphor, I believe I understand what you're trying to say. But I don't know what your problem is. This bed is big enough to fit two more of us."
"I think the two of us is just fine." As he went on, Booth's voice began to carry a lingering tune. "We could have a life, you and I. Get married by the sea."
He could feel his partner shaking with mirth. She was facing away from him, but he could still hear the smile on her face. "You and me, Missus T. Down by the sea," Booth scooted closer, humming.
Brennan was only further amused. "Really, Booth. Go to sleep."
"There was a Barber and his Wife… and they were beautiful," Booth sang quietly, purposely hitting an off-key note every now and then, just to make her smile.
To her initial surprise, she felt a pair of strong arms begin to curl around her waist, and tried to stifle her chuckle. "What happened to pigging the bed, Booth?"
"Well, we are married, hunbun." He purposely knew the overplayed term of endearment would serve to egg her on, and counted on it. "Technically. Is my acting over-the-top?"
"It's not as debatable as your singing."
Booth laughed against her hair, holding her. "There was an Agent and his Squint… and they were beautiful," he sang again, delighting her with his own twist.
"That's very clever," she approved, smiling in the darkness and snuggling more comfortably against him, surprising herself. Both with this and the fact that she hadn't immediately demanded his relocation.
Well, she argued, she was perfectly suited. She found that her partner exuded some sort of therapeutic warmth, that of which she couldn't at all explain. Already, she was feeling incredibly drowsy, and noticed her eyelids drooping. To describe the feeling like she was cuddling up to her own personal teddy-bear seemed downright juvenile. So, she wouldn't admit such a thing. Aloud.
She shifted barely a fraction, recalling something in the cloudy dark haze that was closing over her consciousness with tender care. "Mmm..." she mumbled. "I forgot... to kiss you goodnight."
Already, Booth could feel her breathing slow to a calm rhythm, and her delicate fingers slackened their grip over his own hand that rested flat against her abdomen. Smiling, he gently placed an undisruptive kiss against her neck before relaxing back into the mattress with her in his arms. "Goodnight, Bones."
He had a reprise up his figurative sleeve, just as well. He couldn't stop himself from nuzzling his nose against her hair, inhaling deeply as a satisfied sleep happily fell over him.
There was an Agent and his Bones…
And they were beautiful.