Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.
Summary: Every time Christmas rolled around, one of them found out they'd ended up facing the truth of some type of confession. And, each year, after said revelation, things never went as Booth and Brennan had planned.
A/N: I imagine each of these one-shots, which I'm going to try to keep short (probably around 1000-1500 words—which every who's read my work before knows is a postcard—as loosely connected. Right now, the target is going to be for a total of eight pieces in this series - one for each year B&B have known each other. As the plan stands, I'm keeping the rating as T, but you never know where my muse might take me. Point-of-view and genre will vary depending on the year of said confession. Reviews are appreciated since their one of my favorite presents, but not required. Happy reading!~
Year 1: Brennan's First Confession
Although some people think I'm immune to it, the effects of the holiday season do get to me in certain weak moments. I won't lie, but then again, since I never lie, it's not that much of an issue for me to admit that in a moment I actually thought of him.
It was three days before Christmas, a holiday that I disliked as much for personal reasons as for the inaccuracy of the religious myth that is perpetuated on a massive scale to the global population. Each year before I sojourn to the calm refuge of my archaeological dig during the holiday, I sometimes have to suffer the hustle and bustle of the consumer season. It was on such an occasion that he popped into my mind.
On that particular day, I'd gone to the grocery store to purchase enough food for my evening meal, since I was trying to keep my refrigerator empty in anticipation of my impending departure to Coasta Rica. However, as I entered the Whole Foods Market and completed my shopping, I did my best to tune out the onslaught of excessive sensory data from the bright, twinkling lights to the tinny sound jingling of hand bells, to the well-worn lyrics of the Christmas music that had taken over a record three D.C. area radio stations with 24/7 holiday music since the second week in November.
For some reason, despite my resolve not to waste any brain power on anything Christmas-related, as I checked out with my groceries, my conscious mind decided to pay attention to the lyrics of the annoyingly catchy tune blaring over the store speakers.
"Bah, humbug!" No, that's too strong
'Cause it is my favorite holiday
But all this year's been a busy blur
Don't think I have the energy
To add to my already mad rush
Just 'cause it's 'tis the season.
The perfect gift for me would be
Completions and connections left from
Last year, ski shop,
Encounter, most interesting.
Had his number but never the time
Most of '81 passed along those lines.
So deck those halls, trim those trees
Raise up cups of Christmas cheer,
I just need to catch my breath,
Christmas by myself this year.
Calendar picture, frozen landscape,
Chilled this room for twenty-four days,
Evergreens, sparkling snow
Get this winter over with!
Flashback to springtime, saw him again,
Would've been good to go for lunch,
Couldn't agree when we were both free,
We tried, we said we'd keep in touch.
But, of course, we didn't. And, I know why, too. It was my choice, after all. But, what does that matter now? Why did I even choose to pay attention to that song in that moment, anyway? Moreover, why did that particular song elicit a thought of him? I must admit that I'm not really sure. Perhaps it was a way for the cosmos to mock me—if I believed in the actuality of such possibilities.
The song in question that had made me think of him after all that time was preformed by a little known band from the Midwestern United States called the Waitresses. I later looked up the details after the irksome lyrics got stuck in my head. Wikipedia, while still circumspect as a knowledge source for many things, is a veritable font of information on pop culture topics. The 1981 Christmas song gained moderate success, more so outside of the United States on the heels of the bands most famous song "I Know What Boys Like." Over the years, "Christmas Wrapping" has become a staple of the Christmas music onslaught that lasts for a minimum of six weeks and grows longer each year. And, unfortunately for me, it was the song and those irksome lyrics that made me think of him.
I didn't want to think of him—I wouldn't think of him. What was the point? I hadn't seen him in seven months. If things went as I'd planned, I'd never see him again. He's a bully and a liar and a stupid, stupid man. Although I'll reluctantly concede, in the aims of maintaining my pledge to be honest, that he was quite aesthetically pleasing, his looks aren't enough to compensate for his abominably offensive personality and his atrocious behavior towards me.
Yes, I was glad I'd told Zack to make certain that I never had to talk to Booth again. And, thinking back on that final conversation that I'd had with him, I was more certain than ever before that I'd made the right choice in giving Zack that directive.
"Zack," Brennan had called to her intern, her voice sharp and brittle and still full of the indignant anger she'd felt in the hour since she'd left the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building.
"Yes, Dr. Brennan?" the young intern looked up from where he was staring at a slide of bone cells at extreme microscope magnification.
Despite the tension of her rigid frame, the furrowed brow, flared nostrils, and flushed skin tone, her terse words did nothing to unsettle the future Dr. Addy. His non-emotional reaction to Brennan's hostile bearing was one of the things she loved most about the young man. He was calm, cool, detached—in a single word rational. Zack was so many things to which Brennan aspired, but that she feared she was only faking at portraying to the outside world in a semi-convincing manner at best. Truth to be told, it was his logical stoicism that had been the final reason to convince her to choose Zack when she'd been making her choice in who to hire as her intern. Yes, he was brilliant, but then again, he hadn't been the only brilliant applicant in a pool of very brilliant applicants. But, he had been the only genius who had withered under Brennan's gaze during their interview. And, it had been Zack's unflappability that set him a part from the other candidates—and ultimately won him the job. He displayed that keen aplomb as he stared at her, waiting for a response to his inquiry.
"You're aware of the obnoxious FBI agent with whom we had the misfortune to work in identifying the remains that turned out to be Cleo Eller?" Brennan asked.
"Of course," Zack said. "He had a very intimidating scowl when he was displeased. It would be hard to forget such a scowl. Why?"
"If he calls again, or attempts to make contact with me in any way, I don't want you to facilitate him in achieving that goal. I never want to speak to him ever again. Don't bother taking any telephone messages, don't bring me any of his correspondence or parcels, and don't accept deliveries. As far as I'm concerned, I don't know any Special Agent Seeley Booth. He never existed. Do you understand?" Brennan asked.
Zack tilted his head and said, "To summarize, under no circumstances do you want me to put Agent Booth into contact with you, no matter how or why he may attempt to communicate with you?"
"Correct," Brennan said with a firm nod.
"And, you're certain that he's going to attempt to do so in the first place?" Zack asked with a tilt of his head.
Brennan considered his words and then nodded. "Of course he's going to try to contact me. I'm me. Why wouldn't he?"
"I'm just making certain I understand the entire situation, Dr. Brennan," Zack said.
"Very well," Brennan replied. "Do you have any other questions?"
"No, Dr. Brennan," Zack shook his head. "I understand."
And, Zack was as good as his word. Seven months later, I'd still had not heard one word from Seeley Booth. Of course, I wouldn't. I gave Zack a direct order. There's no way to know how many times he's intercepted Booth's attempts to contact me. But, what do I care about that any way? I thought to myself. "I don't—I don't care about Seeley Booth at all."
I think I said it more to convince myself than anything else as I took my cart and pushed it outside into the parking lot. As I began to unload my groceries into my car, half lost in thought, a shrieking piece of childish delight rang through the air drawing my attention. A tiny little boy with blonde hair, perhaps no older than two or three, was running unsteadily on his feet towards the entrance of a nearby Christmas tree lot tent that had been set up on the edge of the supermarket's shopping center. A tall dark haired man, wearing a dark sweatshirt, jeans, and sunglasses—most likely his father—disappeared in a blur after him shouting a single word that echoed on the cool night's breeze.
I shook my head as the pair disappeared, annoyed at the interruption and inability of a parent to control their offspring, as my thoughts returned to Booth. Yes, I'll confess—it was glad I was never going to have to see him again. It was a good thing. A very good thing.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself….
A/N2: So, there you have it. Confession #1 went to Brennan. Confession #2 puts us back at the lab with Valley Fever and our favorite lockdown at the lab. Who might have a confession of his own to make, and what might an elf hat and a tank top have to do with said confession? If you want to know, click that little button down below and let me know what you think of our first start off out the gate—