A/N: I don't know where the idea for this one came from, or truth be told, where it is going. But there was something fascinating about what Brennan would really do in this situation—so, hope I got it right, or at least made it an interesting read. –AnaG
For more than fifteen minutes, Booth paced the width of the room. At each turn, he cast a look at the closed door. With every circuit, his mood shifted in a definable pattern. Worried and tense on the left side of the room. Confused and uncertain by the time he reached the right side.
He didn't know what to do next and the inability to act completely unnerved him. Was he supposed to the be the sensitive guy and wait patiently until she was ready to talk? Or the alpha male man of action that banged on the door and insisted that she open up? Over the years, he thought he'd become pretty adept at gauging her moods and anticipating her reactions. But this time, without quite knowing why or how, he sensed that tonight they had crossed into unfamiliar territory.
Suddenly running out of steam, he sank onto the edge of the bed, eyes still focused on the locked door that separated them. The truth was that something had been wrong for days. Nothing overt, nothing that he could pinpoint. Just a faint static between them that had never been there before.
But tonight, without warning, the disconnect had exploded into a wall of white noise that he couldn't get past. She had been withdrawn all day. By the time they sat down at the restaurant for dinner, she wasn't responding to his questions or laughing at his jokes. Worst of all, her eyes refused to meet his the entire evening.
The habit long established, they'd ended up at his place by default. Not that he expected anything would happen. His only plan was to hope that routine would help them slide unnoticed past the conflict, that after a good night's sleep they would wake up next to each other in the morning and it would be as if nothing had happened.
A plan that fell apart as soon as they walked through the door. He was half a step behind her, looking for the familiar pattern. Usually, she dropped her bag on the table by the door and left her shoes neatly aligned with the coffee table before curling into the far corner of the sofa to wait for him. His pulse increased as she missed each milestone and headed directly for the bathroom without once looking in his direction. By the time the door closed after her with quiet finality, he wasn't sure that he remembered how to breathe.
That had been—he took a quick glance at his watch—twenty minutes ago. At first, he staved off the sense of panic, chiding himself for overreacting. The calm had lasted the length of time it took for him to shed his suit; once he changed into sweats and a t-shirt, the pacing had started.
At first, it was fueled by flashes of irritation and frustration, his mind verging perilously close to thoughts like 'typical Brennan shutdown' and 'how dare she'. But that lasted as long as it took him to remember that he did know her—knew the difference between a hoity-toity-snit-fit and real trouble. This, whatever it was, was real.
And there he was, he thought, sitting there like a grade-A jackass, doing nothing. At the same time that realization hit him, he heard a low groan from behind the door. It was faint, almost hidden, but loaded with enough fear and desperation that it shattered his paralysis. He was at the door, demanding that she let him in, twisting the knob against the lock. He leaned into the wooden surface, prepared to break through it, at the same moment that she suddenly opened the door.
Unprepared, his momentum carried him through the doorway and within inches from where she stood. One look at her face though, brought him to an immediate halt. Her jaw was drawn tightly, her mouth a thin tense line. But it was her eyes that gave everything away—he could see the bright shine of tears, and behind that, the heat of anger brightly burning them away before they had a chance fall.
"What is going…..oww, what the hell?"
"This is all your fault, Booth." She stated heatedly.
Stunned, he rubbed his chest as whatever she'd thrown at him clattered on the floor. Before he could process what was happening, she slammed past him, knocking his shoulder into doorjamb. As he regained his balance, his eye happened on the object that had fallen dead center on the tiled floor.
Hands shaking, he reached for the white plastic stick and turned it over. It wasn't until he saw the bright blue plus sign staring back at him that he realized he'd been holding his breath.
"Oh. God."
The answers flew at him with dizzying speed. An open cardboard package resting on the counter next to her bag. The shredded pieces of the instruction insert scattered over the floor. All of the tension, her reticence over the last few days.
In the space of about three seconds, he experienced more than he thought possible, more than he thought could be contained. Unadulterated joy. Question after question. Swift fear about the future. Confusion. Hope. And above it all, an unyielding need to hold her.
"Temperance…"
He turned back to the bedroom, only to find his world upended for the second time that night. She was moving randomly around the room, gathering the belongings that had casually accumulated over the last few months. Dismayed, he watched as she tried to shove a worn running shoe into the already jammed overnight bag resting on the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going home." She answered bluntly without looking in her direction as she abandoned the shoe and reached for the earrings she'd left on the endtable the previous night.
"You don't think we need to talk about this?" He asked, holding up the pregnancy test to make his point.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Well, I…."
He didn't have a chance to finish the question before she turned to face him.
"How could you do this to me?" She lashed out, defying her own refusal to discuss the situation.
"How could I…" He sputtered, his anger rising. "Excuse me, babe, but I think if you check your facts it takes two…and I don't seem to recall you turning down a chance to…"
"I was on the pill."
"Un-huh. Clear that wasn't a hundred percent effective, now was it." He said, his voice laced with sarcasm as he tossed the plastic stick on the bed between them. "I still don't see why that has you pissed off at me…"
"I was protected, Booth. So, obviously it had to be you and your…" Flushing pink, she gestured at his midsection as she stumbled over the words.
"My what, hm? Don't be shy now, Bones." He goaded, edging closer to her.
She crossed her arms defensively over her chest even as her chin rose in slight defiance.
"Clearly it was the impetus of your alpha male, warrior, that guy spermatozoa to get at my oocyte and…"
He stared at her in disbelief, certain that he had just fallen down a squintified version of the freaking rabbit hole. It was just impossible not to laugh.
"Do you hear what you are saying? God, the hormones must already be…"
"I can't believe you're laughing at me." She muttered as she wilted onto the edge of the bed.
"Ah, Bones." He said as he sat next to her and took her hand in his. "I understand. Really. This is—I know. But it could have been anything. Someone at the pill factory screwed up or fate just decided that it was our turn, but the important thing now is…"
He stopped talking as she fell back on the bed and covered her face with her hands.
"No, no, no."
"Temperance?" He asked with concern. Uncertain what new tangent his words had set off, he gently pulled her hands away.
"The antibiotics. For the ear infection I had last month. They interact with birth control and I…I forgot." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Booth. This is all my fault."
"No, don't you see?" He leaned down next to her, brushing a wave of hair from her forehead, placing a light touch against her stomach. "This—this isn't about fault, Temperance. And I know you weren't prepared for this, and you're scared. But I promise, swear, that once you're used to the idea, you'll be able to see this is a good thing, a wonderful, precious…"
His words trailed away as her eyes opened at met his with flat certainty.
"No. No, Booth. I won't."
Without giving him a chance to respond, she rose and grabbed her overnight bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
"I need to go. Don't….just, don't. Please."
"But…" He began, rising to follow her.
"I need time, space to think. Don't you understand, Booth?" Her voice began to waver. "My whole world just fell apart. This—this is my worst nightmare."
"Having my kid's that bad?" He asked, the hurt rising, her words hitting him with the force of a sledgehammer.
She flinched and then her face closed, shut down completely. And he for the first time, he realized how little he did know her.
"Go." He said and turned away from her, regretting the words the minute he heard the door close behind her.
xxxxxxx
He sat in the dark, listening to the rain against the windows and nursing a glass of bourbon that he really didn't have the stomach for anymore. The emotions running through him twisted and turned until he gave up trying to untangle them. He just sat there and took the blows as they came.
The knock on the door was hesitant at first, then grew insistent. His first instinct was to ignore it, but without really intending to, he found himself opening the door.
She looked like she'd been through a wringer. Clothes soaked, mascara smeared beneath her eyes, her pale face standing in stark contrast to the rain-darkened hair plastered to her head. And, heaven help him, still the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
Involuntarily, he eyes fell to her stomach before traveling back to her face. He studied her, waiting for an answer as to why she'd shown up on his doorstep after demanding to be left alone.
"I know I said—I shouldn't be here."
He had a million responses—one for every thought that had crossed through his mind since she'd left—but he didn't put a single one into words. Instead, whether due to indecision or self-dense or hint of retribution, he stood silent and waited for her to continue.
"But I'm scared, Booth."
The confession was soft and unfettered. And so, even though he had the sensation of stepping from a precipice, he stepped back and motioned for her to enter.