only_more_love | Dreamweaver (Ficlet #36)

Title: Dreamweaver (Ficlet #36)
Characters: Booth, Brennan
Series: All That Lies Between Us
Rating: PG
Word Count: 445
Spoilers: None
Timeline: Sometime in the third season; doesn't matter when.

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Author's Note: Since it appears I've traumatized a few people with my parody!fic, consider this a peace offering. I swear I'll never write anything like that again. Well, at least not today. The prompt for the following ficlet is "dreams," and I tried to keep it to 200 words so I could use it for my

drabble123 table, but it didn't want to cooperate. Anyway, here goes...

Conversation flows around them as the other people in the diner eat breakfast and get ready to face the day. Brennan swirls a tiny spoon around and around in her coffee, and on each revolution it taps the cup with an audible clink. After watching her do this for a full minute, Booth scoops some omelet into his mouth and then sets his fork down on his plate. When his hand captures her wrist, she looks up, blinking as if she's just woken from a trance. "Earth to Bones." He waves his other hand in front of her face.

"Stop that," she says, shooting him a quelling glance.

Releasing her wrist, he sits back. "What's on your mind?" he asks, noting shadows the color of day-old bruises under her eyes.

"Do you promise not to laugh?"

"No, but tell me anyway."

Her shoulders slump, and he sits up a little straighter, giving her his full attention. "I keep having a recurring dream, and it's disturbing my sleep." He opens his mouth to speak, but she rushes on. "And before you say anything, I know I'm being silly. In some cultures, people believe dreams are prophetic." She coughs. "I don't believe any such thing."

"But it's bugging you anyway?"

"Yes," she admits, propping her chin in her hand.

"What kind of dream is it?" He waggles his eyebrows.

She frowns, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not that kind."

"So tell me about it."

Brennan makes a face and sips her coffee. "There's a man--in my room. He stands in the doorway and watches me sleep."

"Who is it?" While he realizes she isn't talking about a real person, his brain races with questions about the imaginary perv. He'd like to run a check on him.

"Well that's just it; I can't see his face because it's always in shadow."

"Does he ever talk?"

"No."

"So he just stands there?"

"Yes."

It's weird to be talking about a dream like it means something, but he can tell she's unsettled. That makes his fingers twitch, and he finds himself wanting to reassure her. "Maybe he's watching over you, not watching you in a creepy, stalker kind of way."

Something flickers in her gaze as she considers his words. He realizes he's said the right thing when her face relaxes, and she snags a piece of toast off his plate. "Hey, hands off my food," he says.

"Thank you, Booth. I'm hungrier than I thought was." Her teeth flash white as she bites into the crisp, buttery bread, showering crumbs over her plate.

Smiling, Booth folds his arms over his chest and leans back to watch her eat.