55 Words, by SherlockBones (one shots)

This is my take on the 55 word challenge. I know Gum already posted the list of words in her set of one shots, so I won't bother posting it again.
Enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

INTERN

Temperance Brennan stared at the stack of files on her desk, a sense of hopelessness washing over her. The good doctor had been sifting through the dossiers for over three hours, but had made very little headway; checking and rechecking test results, reading letters of recommendation, glancing over thesis work, and browsing through her own notation. Words began to blend together and she caught herself reading the same page over and over again without actually gleaning anything from the text. She put the folder back on her desk with a sigh. Choosing an intern was proving to be a nearly impossible task.
At the time of her appointment as Forensic Anthropologist for the Jeffersonian Institute, she had been unaware that teaching would be one of her job requirements, and once she had been made aware, had protested the idea thoroughly. Her work was time consuming enough as it was, without having to take the time to teach and supervise someone else. Logically, she knew that the Board of Directors was justified in insisting on an Internist. It would be highly beneficial for a graduate student to have a mentor as qualified as she, and Bone Storage offered almost endless possibilities to gain experience; not to mention further improving the Jeffersonian’s reputation. However, the prospect of teaching still made her cringe. Educating had never been her strong suit, as she had learned during an unsuccessful tenure as a teaching assistant in college. So she had put it off for as long as possible; but now her superiors were adamant that she take on an intern, and thus the selection process had begun.
Realistically, she knew it was unfair to compare the candidates to herself, as very few people would be able to match her intellect, let alone her skill in Forensic Anthropology. Yet, she was still very dissatisfied with a majority of the applicants. Many of their portfolios were hastily put together, lacked quality, or were incomplete; and the interview and practical exam had been a disaster for the most part. Out of four hundred applicants, only twenty five were deemed qualified enough to be interviewed, and of those twenty five: two arrived late, one of which was hung over, three misarranged the carpal bones, four had a nervous breakdown on the platform, one knocked over a tray of chemicals which set off the biohazard alarm, and one admitted to plagiarizing their application. Brennan went home each night with a throbbing headache, and the whole process had left her worn out and extremely behind in her own work.
Now the deadline was finally here and she was no closer to making a decision.
Frustrated, she shoved the stack of files away, then cursed as they toppled off her desk, spilling across the office floor. Squashing the irrational urge to cry, she rose from her chair and proceeded to clean up the mess, quickly sorting the folders into two piles: “Maybe” and “Definitely Not”. After dumping the “definitely not” pile into the bin to be shredded, she placed the remaining ten files on her desk. Another twenty minutes later, she had finished with all but one applicant. Opening the final dossier, she found herself immediately impressed with the credentials within; remarkably high intelligence, glowing recommendations, an interesting thesis about the evolution of the coronal suture, and excellent marks during the practical exam. Booting up her computer and opening a blank correspondence template, she read over the file one last time before nodding in satisfaction. Yes, this was the one. Smiling slightly, she began to type; “Dear Mr. Addy. It is my pleasure to offer you the post of my intern in Forensic Anthropology…”

GUT

“Okay, I think I’ve got it figured out.”
“What? Already?”
Booth studied the sheet in front of him for several moments, face tense with concentration, before looking up at his partner. “Yep. It was Colonel Mustard in the Ballroom with the Revolver.” He smiled triumphantly, reaching for the small manila envelope in the center of the board.
“That’s impossible! We’ve only been playing for 20 minutes! You had to have cheated.” She made a grab for the package, but he deftly kept it out of her reach.
“Hey! Seeley Booth does not cheat. I won the game fair and square. You’re just being a sore loser.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that you can’t accept that I beat you at something, Bones.” He smirked, further adding to her irritation.
Brennan furiously read through her own notes, trying to find something she might have missed, something that would have given away the answer to the game. While she had ruled out a few possibilities, there was no way that she’d be able to ascertain the solution from the information she had available. “Then what did you do? Guess? Don’t tell me you used your gut to figure it out.”
“It’s just like any other murder investigation. You just gotta ask the right questions.”
“But it’s not like you can question witnesses or read their body language. They are paper cards with fictional characters printed on them.”
“Right, but I can read”, he pointed his finger for emphasis, “you.” When she was about to object, he continued. “The way the corner of your mouth goes up when you’re amused. How you’re completely oblivious to everything else in the room when you’re intently focused. The way you crimp your lips in frustration. Or how your eyes brighten when you’ve figured something out.” It seemed as if she was blushing, but he decided it was just a trick of the light. “The rest was just process of elimination.”
“So, you cheated.” Her brow furrowed and her lips crimped together.
“No, I did not.”
“You read my body language instead of actually playing the game correctly. That’s cheating, Booth.”
“You’re getting awfully upset over this. Listen Bones, you are an expert when it comes to evidence. You can determine a weapon from the smallest little nick on a bone. That’s amazing. This here, is just a silly game. So just forget about it, okay?” Frowning, he began to clean up the playing surface, returning the game pieces to the box. If she didn’t know better, it would seem that he was actually upset.
She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. Sighing, she placed her hand on his as he was about to empty the envelope. “I’m sorry, Booth. It would seem that my accusations have upset you. You also have an indispensible skill. You can tell when someone’s lying, when they are suffering, or any number of emotions; and you know how to react to those emotions in an appropriate manner. You connect with them. It’s something that I am rather terrible at. I am very lucky to have you as my partner.”
“Thanks, Bones.” His smiled, placing his hand over hers.
“You’re welcome.”
“So you’ll admit that I won fair and square?” He loved needling her; she was just too cute when she pouted. Brennan snatched her hand back.
“Fine. You didn’t cheat, although I still don’t agree with your methods. Now can I please see what was in the packet?”
“Read ‘em and weep, baby” Booth showed her the cards, chuckling.
“It seems that you have correctly guessed the perpetrator, although, I don’t really understand why it would cause me anguish. As you said, it’s only a board game.”
“Once again, a figure of speech has completely escaped you.” He sighed, shaking his head.
“Oh! Oh!” Sudden realization dawned on her.
“That one finally sink in?”
“Kyle hit the Duke with the candlestick in the crypt. I get it now!”
“Huh?”
“That case. Marnie Hunter had been killed by the two rock climbers turned treasure hunters, who then turned on each other at the time of arrest, and the one hit the other over the head with a candlestick. You were talking with Goodman later in the day and you said ‘Kyle hit the Duke with the candlestick in the crypt’, which Goodman found highly amusing. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. It’s a reference to Clue.” The pout disappeared as her face light up in delight.
“That’s my girl. Want to play again?”

Hey

Nice job! I always like it when someone pulls up the past the way you have. Things that are merely mentioned onscreen really do have a whole story behind them or a future...thanks to FF!

sorry for the long delay in posting again. I've had this one mostly finished for days, but I had trouble with the last little bit. Enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!


Rain drummed against the windows of the dilapidated row home, keeping time with the steady strokes of a Smith-Corona Coronet Super 12 typewriter. The owner’s experienced fingers flew over the keys, banging out lines as the latest jingle coalesced in her head. After what seemed like hours of typing, she stood and stretched her aching muscles. A quick glance at the clock confirmed her suspicions; it was two o’clock in the morning. Putting away her work and snapping off the kitchen light upon her exit, she padded quietly up the stairs, careful not to wake the other sleeping occupants of the house.
Upon arriving at the second floor landing, she noticed light spilling from under a partially open door at the end of the hall. Her son Seeley’s voice floated down the hallway, however the words were indistinct. Oh, if he thought he was going to stay up all night talking to his girl-of-the-week, he had another thing coming! She stormed to his door, squaring her shoulders and setting her face into a stern mask. Just as she raised her hand to knock-
“Hold it right there!” The sudden outburst caused her to freeze in mid knock, until it dawned on her that it was not directed towards her. Peeking into the room, she caught sight of something that took her breath away. Her eldest boy stood in front of the mirror on the wall, dressed in his brand new work clothes; black suit, crisp white shirt, black tie, and black shoes. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a shiny badge and ID card, flashing it towards the mirror. “My name is Seeley J. Booth, I’m a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to ask you some questions, Ma’am.” Shaking his head, he stepped back and tucked the badge back into his suit coat. After a few moments, he repeated the movement. “I’m Agent Booth, with the FBI. We’re conducting and investigation -" He sighed, clearly dissatisfied. Running his hands through his hair, he returned to his original position.
She watched him for quite some time as he tested out different phrases, a smile playing across her face. Over his life, Seeley had made a few questionable choices, but he turned out all right in the end. She had worried every single day of his enlistment with the Army. She thought that she would have been used to it, marrying into a military family; but every night she watched the news with bated breath, praying that his name wouldn’t be among the list of soldiers killed overseas.
His return home hadn’t been an easy transition either; the mood swings, the night terrors, the gambling, endless days at the VA hospital. It was like a total stranger had come home in his place. Gone were his mirthful smiles, and his eyes had become hollow, haunted. How many times had she been woken at night by his anguished shouts? It was nights like those where she prayed for strength before crying herself to sleep. But things eventually got better. Seeley finished his degree, went to counseling, and started earnestly making plans for the future. Now her baby was a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It felt as if her heart would burst from happiness.
“Booth, Seeley Booth.” He spun on his heel, hands clasped around an imaginary gun, pointing at an invisible enemy. It was then that he noticed his mother standing in the doorway, looking rather amused. He dropped the stance and tossed his badge onto the dresser.
“Sorry, Ma. I was just messing around. I couldn’t sleep.” He grinned sheepishly, loosening his tie.
“Well, if their shooting a new 007 movie, then you’ll be a shoe in sweetheart.” She tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked sob.
“Ma, are you crying? What’s the matter?” He moved towards her, but she just shook her head.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just so proud of you.” She wiped her eyes on her bathrobe. “Now get to sleep. And don’t look at me like that,” she scolded when he rolled his eyes, “I don’t care how old you are, as long as you live in my house, you’ll listen to you mother.” She shuffled over, reached up on tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, and then turned and left the room, a contented smile on her face.