Originally written for the bitesize_bones lj community's Bones Fic Comment Meme.


Title: Eggs

Characters: Sweets and Daisy

Rating: PG

Word Count: 427

Prompt: Strange prompt here, choose any characters you like and somehow apply this Tom Stoppard quote:

"I don't want anyone else but sometimes, surprisingly, there's someone, not the prettiest or the most available, but you know in another life it would be her. Or him, don't you find? A small quickening. The room responds slightly to being entered. Like a raised blind. Nothing intended, and a long way from doing anything, but you catch the glint of being someone else's possibility." (thanks to missnyah for the prompt)


He knows, with a logic that Dr. Brennan doesn't believe that he could possibly possess, that Daisy is perhaps not the most extraordinary woman in the lab. He knows she doesn't possess the graceful beauty of Angela, the fierce intelligence of Dr. Brennan or even the cool efficiency of Dr. Saroyan. To everyone else, Daisy is lesser—perhaps only by the slightest of margins—but not to him.

Never to him.

Lance knows the truth of what Daisy is, and yet something inside of him still broke apart the first moment he saw her quaint, cute face and those always eager-to-please eyes. Something that further splintered and cracked the first time she called him Lancelot and he felt the springy mass of her hair underneath his chin as he held her. Something he has never felt before in another human being, especially a woman.

Something, he was certain, that had nothing to do with how beautiful she was, or how smart or how efficient. Something, instead, that had everything to do with the sunny, almost batty disposition that made every moment around her an adventure; something about the vulnerable curve of her cheek that told him from the very first moment that she would be intrinsically important to him.

"Lancelot," she sings in that horribly off-tune manner of hers, her hips swaying to the ridiculous British pop music she insists on playing in the mornings, as she scrambles eggs in an old frying pan on her even older stove. The music makes her happy, she tells him, and gives her the energy she needs to face the day. Energy, he knows from personal experience, is Daisy's strong suit. She is relentless and passionate and desperate in her need to be someone, do something—accomplish the goals that she holds in front of her like a beacon.

He knows that it is this same fierce enjoyment of life that baffles everyone else—especially Dr. Brennan. Lance thinks that for someone who deals in death on a daily basis, it must be difficult to understand someone who so relentlessly embraces life and all its varied delights.

The kitchen is small, almost tiny, and he sits in the even tinier nook, waiting for her to finish at the stove. She walks over, bearing a plate of steaming eggs as if she is giving him the world. And maybe, Lance thinks, as he takes in the sunny yellow mound on the plate and her even sunnier smile as she beams at him through a shaft of early morning sunlight, she is.