HUH? by Siapom

Booth put his SUV in park and looked at the bag in the seat beside him, once again debating whether or not this was a good plan. With a heartfelt groan, he grabbed the offending plastic sack and climbed out into the icy January air. She’s sick. Someone needs to take care of her, whether she likes it or not. And, now Angela’s too sick, herself, to be the one to do it. With a nod to demonstrate his newfound resolve, he walked to the front of the building, slipping occasionally on patches of ice hidden by packed and dirty snow. For what Bones must pay for this place, you’d think they’d salt the sidewalk during an ice storm. It was with a sigh of relief that he made it to the end of the sidewalk. He grabbed the railing with his free hand, thankful his gloves would protect his skin from the smooth covering of ice, before tackling the small flight of stairs.

He said a brief prayer of thanks as he crested the top step safely and used the keys he’d gotten from Angela to get through the main door into the lobby. There, he took a moment to stomp the ice and snow from his boots, remove his gloves and take the zipper of his leather jacket down a few inches. Glancing at the elevators, he shook his head and decided that the stairs might help him release some of his nervous energy, even if his goal was only one flight up. He opened the bag to ensure that the Styrofoam container within was still securely sealed before taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the landing of the second floor, he inspected the bag’s contents once again, just in case. Then, realizing that he was stalling, he shook his head at himself. With a muttered, “Army Rangers lead the way,” he mentally prepared himself for the expected battle and opened the door to the hallway. Five brisk steps later, he stopped in front of her door. With one last deep breath – in through the nose, out through the mouth – he raised a lightly closed fist to knock. In that moment, he heard the male voice.

“But, why do you have to be this way? So cold. So distant!”

What? Who the hell… He leaned closer to hear the response, but all he heard was an indistinct, but feminine, voice.

“That’s no excuse! I’d do anything for you! You know I’d die for you, only sometimes it's so hard living with you.”

Excuse me? Jaw hanging open, Booth’s mind whirled. He couldn’t form a complete thought. But, who…? When did she…? Why didn’t I know that…?

He was so surprised, he missed hearing her response. When he realized the man was speaking again, he looked down the length of the hall to make sure no one was around before leaning in and pressing his ear to the door.

“I just can’t believe you’d do this to me! I’ve given you everything!”

Again, a woman’s voice. Is that Bones? She sounds awful! Booth pulled just far enough away to glare at the door. And, whoever this bastard is, he’s arguing with her while she’s sick. That thought settled Booth’s dislike of the mystery man, and he pressed his ear back to the warm wood.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you! Well, I’ll show you! I won’t let you do this to us!” The crazed pitch of the man’s threat was followed by a sound that made Booth’s blood run cold…and then boiling hot – the heavy sound of breaking glass.

Booth pounded on the door and then fumbled, one-handed, for the right key to the lock.

He had just gotten his fingers around it when the door flew open, Brennan looking at him in surprise. Or, rather, looking at him with as much surprise as the sick woman could muster. She looked awful. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy with fever, and her hair had obviously not been combed that morning.

“Booth? What’s wrong?” Her voice sounded hoarse and grating. She then sniffled and wiped her red and runny nose with a crumpled tissue that she pulled from the sagging pockets of the old terry-cloth robe she was wearing.

Without answering her, Booth moved her aside and charged into the room looking left and right. The plastic bag swung wildly as he turned toward the kitchen. “Are you okay? Where is he?”

“I’m sick, and where’s who? What he?”

Untangling his hand from the bag, he placed it on the counter and turned to face her, his hands bunched into tight fists. “What do you mean ‘what he’? The guy that broke the glass! The one that was threatening you. Where the hell is he? What did he do to you?”

Her perplexed frown suddenly turned to a smirk of amusement. At that, she started to laugh. Booth’s anger at the unknown man redirected to irritation at his friend’s cavalier attitude. Of course, when her laughter turned into a coughing fit, his irritation quickly turned to concern. Taking her by the elbow, with one arm around her shoulders, he led her to the couch and helped her to sit down.

After the coughing had eased, he asked, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Well, from what I can tell, you were obviously eavesdropping and jumped to the wrong conclusions.” Her smile threatened to turn to laughter again as she reached forward and picked up a mug of tea from the coffee table. She took a sip of the steaming liquid and cleared her throat before waving a hand at his coat and scarf. “By the way, come in and stay awhile.”

Booth took off said items and leaned back. “I know what I heard Bones. How could I possibly have jumped to the wrong conclusions? It was pretty damn clear what the guy was saying. And, there’s the broken whatever it was.”

“First off, Booth, look around. Nothing’s broken. And, as for what was said…” She reached behind her and pulled out a TV remote, using her thumb to flick the Power button. Suddenly Booth’s attention was drawn to the new, flat-panel TV that now hung on the opposite wall. He hadn’t seen it as he’d barged into the apartment. The volume was turned up to louder than he would expect, and a man and woman were fighting in high-drama style. Just as the man on the screen knocked the woman backward into a wall, the show cut to a commercial, but not before flashing a title across the screen.

“A soap opera.” Booth’s mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of his Bones watching the afternoon soaps. “You’re watching a soap opera? And, when’d you get the TV?”

Brennan opened her mouth to answer before an explosive sneeze burst from her. Covering her mouth and nose with the crumpled tissue, she watched as Booth wiped a hand down his grimacing face. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

With a tight smile, Booth just shook his head. “It’s okay. You’re sick. These things happen. Do you happen to have another tissue handy?” As she reached into her pockets for a fresh tissue, he reached toward her and snagged the remote. He bumped the volume down a few pegs before taking the neatly folded tissue she was holding out to him. Wiping off his face, he asked, “So, are you going to explain this? Or, do I have to threaten to tell Angela?”

“First, who do you think forced me to buy a new TV and then introduced me to these shows? I find it fascinating that an entire culture of amazingly devoted fans has sprung up surrounding various over-dramatized and poorly acted storylines. However, at the same time, the more that I watch them, the more I can understand their overall appeal. They really do allow one to disassociate from the reality of everyday life. It would make an intriguing anthropological study. So, why don’t you tell me how you were able to hear my TV so clearly from out in the hall?”

Booth blinked at her sudden change of topic, and then his cheeks tinged pink. He looked away as he said, “Well, you did have it up pretty loud.”

Brennan just raised a brow.

“Okay. Okay,” he said as he slumped lower into the couch. “I couldn't help overhearing. I had my ear to the door.”

He waited for his partner’s cry of outrage over his lack of respect for her privacy. But, when no argument came, he looked up at her. What he saw was somewhat surprising.

“Why are you smiling instead of yelling at me?” He gave her a suspicious look before reaching his hand toward her forehead. “Just how high is your fever?”

Brennan slapped his hand away before it could make contact and asked, “Why are you doing that? If our situations were reversed, wouldn’t you be rather amused at the image of me standing outside your apartment with my ear pressed to the door?”

Booth stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the plastic bag along the way. “Okay, that’s it. You must be more sick than Angela told me. You’re not even yelling. What kind of cold medicine are you taking? That could explain it.”

A slight chuckle turned to another hacking cough. When Brennan got her breathing under control, she finally responded. “I’m taking Thera-Flu if you must know. It’s the only medicine that works when I’m sick. Although, if you’re worried about my mental state, you could leave and come back in an hour. I'll be crazy by then.”

“Huh?” Booth gave her a quizzical look as he walked back to the living room and handed her the bowl of chicken noodle soup that he’d pulled from the bag.

Brennan gestured toward the TV and tossed a wicked grin his way. “The next soap’s storyline is focused on a woman whose arch enemy is making her think that she’s going insane. Just think of what you could learn about me if you listened from outside the door.”

Booth’s glare didn’t at all diminish Brennan’s smile as she took the first spoonful of soup into her mouth.