Author's Note: First of all, a disclaimer - I haven't actually seen all seasons of Bones yet, so any and all continuity inconsistencies are 100% mine to own. I just started Season 3. Secondly, this is my first Bones fanfiction, and I'm from the gaming fandom, so I may be getting a lot of things wrong in the genre. I welcome all comments, feedback, and corrections, but my only request is...since I'm a first-timer (this time around), please be gentle!
Chapter One
"Booth, really, you don't have to do this."
Temperance continued her protests as Booth hauled the suitcases out of the trunk of the car. "I could just stay at a motel or something tonight."
"You are not staying in some motel, unprotected, while there's a psycho maniac after your life." He slammed the trunk hard enough to rock the car on its suspension and stormed across the parking lot to the elevators. "You might be a genius, Bones, but you're also human, which means if you had been any closer to the door when the bomb when off, you could be dead. As it is, you probably have a concussion from bonking your head against the floor."
"I hit the counter," she pointed out, then pushed the button for the seventh floor herself when they entered the elevator. "And I don't have a concussion. A headache, yes, and some bruises, but it's nothing a little ice and Advil won't cure. A concussion would leave me dizzy, disoriented, and sluggish, and I am not currently exhibiting any of those symptoms."
Booth felt like ripping something, tearing something apart. The ice-cold terror that had snapped over him when he'd gotten the call that a bomb had gone of at Bones' apartment had given way to fury, hot, ripe fury that pumped through him like lava with nowhere to go. "Could you just shut up for once?"
Surprise flickered across her face, and Temperance turned to face Booth. She wasn't good at reading faces—she needed Angela for the subtleties of non-verbal communication—but she thought she knew Booth well enough by now to know when he was frustrated, angry, and on the edge of losing control.
He was all three of those now.
She changed tactics. "I appreciate you coming to get me."
That startled him enough to have him shutting up, for about three seconds. "Oh. What?" He peered at her suspiciously as the car dinged and the doors slid open on his floor. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"
She laughed at that, preceding him out of the elevator. "Ice and Advil," she repeated. "And maybe a bath."
"Bath!" Booth smacked himself in the forehead and did an about-face. "Parker."
"What?" Temperance had to hurry to make it back to the elevator before the doors closed. Booth punched the button for the fifth floor. "Where are we going?"
Booth re-shouldered the duffel bag Temperance had hastily packed when he'd announced she was staying at his place that night. "I have Parker for the weekend—Rebecca's out of town, so he's staying with me. I dropped him off at a neighbor's when I got the call that you'd gotten blown up." He slid her a glance as he stepped off the elevator.
"That's not entirely true," Temperance protested. She had to jog to keep up with Booth's ground-eating stride. He stopped in front of 514, glanced at her again. "What?"
"Just…don't say anything anthropologic-y," he ordered, and rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered the door was, in a word, gorgeous. Curling blond hair draped over breasts neatly outlined by the shoulder-baring top in seashell pink. Her legs, encased in stretch pants, went on for miles and ended in very high, very thin heels.
Temperance barely refrained from sniffing, but the perfume that wafted out was a mixture of floral and spice. Angela would likely call it the "fuck-me" scent. Temperance wasn't big on social graces, but she figured even she could read the signals, and the signal was a giant, screaming green for Booth.
The woman's expression went from sultry layered over annoyance to pure annoyance as she caught sight of Temperance. Red light. "Who's she?" Her voice was throaty, bordering on congested. Temperance wondered if Booth went for the obvious and ridiculous come-get-me purr that some women affected.
Booth didn't even wince. "My friend. Her place got wrecked, so I had to pick her up."
The glance the woman scraped over Temperance, head to toe, wasn't complimentary. "She looks like she's the one who got wrecked," she commented.
Footsteps pounded furiously from elsewhere in the apartment, and Parker bulleted out from behind the woman to throw his arms around Booth. "Dad! You're back!"
His voice was that of a survivor greeting the rescue crew. Booth bent down to ruffle Parker's hair. "Were you good for Amanda?"
Parker's lip poked out, and his voice went sulky. "She wouldn't let me touch anything. I'm thirsty, Dad."
"Go get your trucks, then, and we'll get you some juice." Parker let out an exuberant yell and dashed back for his toys. Booth straightened and sent Amanda a winning smile. "Thanks for taking care of him." He refrained from adding I owe you. He and Amanda had entertained a brief affair a few months back, but he had ended it, not entirely without some resistance from her. She'd been a little too pushy for his taste, and he wouldn't have called her if it hadn't been an emergency. As it was, he'd gotten lucky she was in, and alone, on a Friday night.
Thank God for the common cold.
Parker came back with an armload of brightly colored toy trucks. Booth laid a hand on his son's head. "Tell Amanda thank you," he instructed.
If a sneer had sound, it was in Parker's voice. "Thank you very much," he intoned.
Booth lifted an eyebrow. "Good night, Amanda." He nudged Temperance with his elbow and beat a fast retreat to the elevator. The resounding slam of the door was enough to rattle his teeth.
"She wasn't very nice," Parker pointed out as they waited for the elevator. He turned his face to grin up at Temperance. "Not like you, Dr. Bones. Will you hold my trucks?" He held out the biggest one, which was slipping out of his grip.
Charmed, Temperance crouched down so she could relieve him of two of his toys. "I'd love to," she said. The elevator dinged, and they stepped on. Parker happily pushed the button for their floor, and she asked, "Are you excited to spend the weekend with your dad?"
"Uh-huh!" Parker's enthusiastic affirmative beamed out on his face. "Dad is so cool! I get to stay up and watch TV, and then we sleep in forever! He said he'd make pancakes for breakfast, and then we're going to the park, and the aquarium, and we'll have ice cream. Are you coming, too? Is that why he picked you up?"
Temperance flicked Booth a glance. "Well…I wouldn't want to intrude on your weekend plans. I—"
Booth interrupted her. "Maybe," he told his son.
Parker whooped and ran in front down the hall. "He likes you," Booth said, unnecessarily, as they followed at a slower pace. "He'd like it if you came."
He let them in to the apartment, instructing Parker to put his trucks away. Booth led Brennan down the hall to the bedroom, dumped her bags on the floor. Temperance glanced around with unmasked interest. The room was more elegantly appointed than she'd expected of Booth, but it suited him, more than she'd imagined. The walls were a dark hunter green, the furniture a clear-coated pine that gave the room a rustic feel. Framed artwork and woven rugs added sophistication, and the framed photos of Parker on a nightstand turned the whole homey.
She looked at the neatly-made bed, the slippers lined up at the edge, and turned to Booth. "This is your room."
He moved his shoulders. "I'll take the couch."
Temperance shook her head. "This is your place. I'll sleep on the couch."
"Don't be stupid, Bones." She heard frustration and steel in his voice. "Just take the bed. You don't want to sleep on the couch after the day you had."
She thought about it for about a moment. The adrenaline of the moment was fading, and every bruise and bump was making itself known in a symphony of aches across her body. He was right; she didn't want to sleep on a couch.
"Thank you, Booth."
His grin was full of triumph. "About that bath—"
Parker came running in. "Dad! Dad, you said I could have some juice." He clutched a plastic cup in both hands. He looked past Booth to Temperance, skimmed a glance over her that was much less judgmental but the same kind of appraisal as Amanda had. "Dr. Bones looks like she could use some, too."
Booth laughed. "Let's all have some juice. How about that?" Parker raced off with an abundance of energy that had Temperance feeling her age. She followed Booth out to the kitchen, leaned against the counter while he pulled out a container of grape juice from the fridge to fill Parker's sippy cup and two glasses. Parker installed himself at the kitchen table, concentrating on his juice, while Booth handed a glass and an ice pack from the freezer to Temperance.
He sat at the table next to Parker. "What kind of pancakes should we make tomorrow?"
Parker gulped juice. "Blueberry!"
"I was thinking bacon," Booth replied conversationally.
Parker screwed up his face. "Ewww." He turned to Temperance, who stayed where she was by the counter. "Bacon's nasty. Isn't it, Dr. Bones? You're supposed to sit down when you drink juice," he corrected her. "That way if you spill, you won't make a mess."
Temperance lifted her eyebrows even as she complied. "I didn't know your dad was so fussy about making messes."
"It's Mom's rule," Parker sighed. "Dad lets me drink juice on the sofa sometimes."
"Your dad's a rule-breaker, all right," Temperance joked. Parker laughed at that.
Booth sat back and enjoyed the interaction between his partner and his son. He never would have thought Temperance would like small children. Her dealings with adults would be indication enough that she didn't always handle human relationships with either grace or tact. He felt the tension of the evening draining away as he listened to their bantering, though he felt honor-bound to interrupt when they started in on bacon's flaws.
"Look, bacon's an American tradition," he cut in as Temperance started in on her vegan-diet spiel. "It's like apple pie, or the bald eagle. It's sacred, okay?"
"Dr. Bones says she can't eat pancakes for breakfast if they're bacon pancakes," Parker pointed out. He paused to slurp noisily at the last of his juice. "I want blueberry pancakes, anyway. And chocolate ice cream after the aquarium."
Temperance couldn't follow the train of thought, but Booth seemed to take it all in stride. "Sure thing, champ," he said. He pointed to the sink. "Put your dishes away. It's bathtime."
Parker scampered off, disappearing down the hallway, and Booth turned to Temperance. "You'll have to hold off on the bath until after Parker's had his. Advil's in the cupboard by the sink." He got up to follow his son's voice, calling from the bathroom.
Temperance listened for a moment as Booth went down the hall. She heard their conversation—something about why the aquarium didn't have any whales—and then the sound of water running in the tub drowned out their voices. With a groan, she levered herself out of her chair and helped herself to a couple Advil, downing them with the last of her juice. Her left elbow smarted, and a quick check showed an impressive bruise beginning to form. She'd likely smacked it when the blast had thrown her backwards from her door.
She tried to concentrate on what had happened just hours ago. Everything was jumbled in her mind, and she couldn't keep her thoughts straight. Memories of her evening at home jumbled with events of the day until she couldn't keep them straight. One moment she could remember hearing the doorbell ring in her apartment and she was walking to answer it, the next she was talking with her team about the latest case at the lab.
"Bones."
She jumped at the sound of Booth's voice, whirling around to find him standing in the doorway. His eyes were wary. "Sorry. You okay?"
Her heart was thumping in her ears, as if she'd just completed a wild sprint. "I'm fine. You just…I was thinking."
He crossed to her, cupped her chin in his hand so she was forced to meet his eyes. "You sure you don't have a concussion?" he asked, but it was more of an accusation.
Temperance shook her head, and even that slight motion had the world spinning a little. "I'm fine," she argued.
Booth's mouth thinned, a sure sign he didn't believe her, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're not, but we'll pretend I believe you. Parker wants you to tell him a story during bathtime," he said, and steered her down the hall to where the sounds of splashing came clearly through the open bathroom door. "Sit on the toilet."
Temperance complied, watching Booth kneel down by the edge of the tub and reach in to pick up the washcloth that floated among a flotilla of boats. A lone rubber duck bobbed in the water, and Parker made motorboat noises and steered one boat around him while Booth soaped his back. The scene looked distant, as if it came from an old movie reel, and Temperance blinked to keep them in focus.
Parker was talking to her. "Tell me a story, Dr. Bones," he said. "Tell me something funny."
"Funny?" The look she sent Booth was one of pure panic. "I don't think I'm the right person to ask for funny stories."
Parker's voice went straight to pleading. "Come on, Dr. Bones! I want you to tell me a story!"
His voice cut straight through her throbbing temples, and to placate him, if nothing else, Temperance held up her hands in surrender. "All right. I'll try. Um…" She stumbled for words. "How about…" Her mind wouldn't focus. All she could think about was whether or not Hodgins would be able to find any particulates to help determine the bomb's origins.
Booth came to her rescue. "You know, Bones is probably pretty tired right now. She got hurt at work, so she can tell you a story tomorrow, okay? I'll tell you one though, it's really funny." Parker's attention diverted, Booth cast Temperance a worried glance before launching into a made-up tale about a dragon named Zack who was really smart but was always saying silly things to people and made all the knights in the realm angry because every time they went out to slay him, he made them laugh so hard they couldn't hold their swords.
Temperance stayed where she was while Booth lifted Parker out of the tub, drained the water and toweled his son dry. She barely listened as Booth sang Parker a silly song—"Oh where, oh where has my Pa-arker gone?"—and then flew him out of the bathroom like an airplane.
Booth came back in after putting Parker to bed. The boy had complained only a little about going to bed early on a Friday night but subsided at the promise of a sprinkle cone with his ice cream the next day. Temperance hadn't moved from where she sat, staring at the stranded toys in the tub.
"Hey." He steadied her when she jerked around to look at him. "You sure you won't faint in the bath?"
Her voice held a measure of her usual character when she said, "I don't need you checking in on me, Booth."
His eyebrows went up and down, a facial shrug, as he cleared out the tub and ran the water hot. "If you're not out in thirty minutes, I'm banging on the door," he warned her. "Don't lock it, or I'll have to break it down."
She didn't have a retort handy for that. Booth handed her the extra towel from the linen closet, then shut the door gently behind him. Temperance could have wept as she submerged herself up to her chin in the steaming water, bruises singing as the warmth soothed her aches.
The bathroom smelled of child's shampoo and citrus body soap. Interested, Temperance sat up and sniffed the soap bar. Yup, she thought, that's Booth. She lay back, the water easing her hurts, and closed her eyes as her mind drifted back to the case.
It was a puzzling case. There were no indications they had a serial murderer on their hands, but the evidence pointed to a professional kill. They had an ID on the victim, 29-year-old Vanessa Hammond, and Booth had interviewed all the relevant people, but so far they had no leads. The bombing attempt on her apartment was the latest development in the case, and seemed entirely unrelated to the rest of the investigation.
Banging on the door startled her out of her musings. "You awake?"
It made her smile. "I'm fine," she called back. "I'll be right out."
"Ten minutes," he warned. "Heat goes to your head and cooks your brains if you're in there too long."
"That is completely unfounded," she called back, and was rewarded with an exaggerated chuckle. Temperance smiled and quickly scrubbed clean before draining the tub and stepping out to wrap herself in the towel.
Toweling her hair dry, she made an uncomfortable realization.
Her clean clothes were all in the bedroom.
Temperance sighed and twisted her damp hair into a loose bun to keep it off her neck, then wrapped the towel firmly around her body. She opened the door a crack and peeked out. She heard the sound of the TV from the living room and, satisfied that she could sneak into the room with Booth none the wiser, tiptoed down the hall to the lit bedroom.
She shut the door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief, loosening the towel as she started across the room for her duffel bag.
"Jesus, Bones."
She stifled the shriek as Booth poked his head around the open closet door. She clutched at the drooping towel, snugging it around her even as he retreated back into the closet. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded as mortification rose inside her.
Booth snapped, "It's my damn room."
That was reasonable. "You can come out of the closet."
There was a pause. "You really need to get in touch with reality every now and again," he said. Even when he emerged, shirt and pants in hand, he kept his eyes averted. "You know, anthropological brainiac type like you, you'd think language would be of interest to you. You know, colloquialisms, things like that."
"I'm not a linguist," she pointed out. "I study human culture, not human language. Studying language is an imprecise science, anyway, because you can only really objectively study the languages as currently spoken. Relying on written records for linguistic analysis is inexact, because language is spoken communication, and written documents are not a reliable source of information about the spoken norms of any given time period."
Booth's mouth kicked up at one corner. "Bath did you good," he commented. "You must be feeling better if you can manage to say all that without stumbling over your own tongue."
Responding to the humor in his voice, even if she didn't understand why the impreciseness of linguistic study was amusing to him, Temperance said, "It helped. Thanks."
Booth cleared his throat. He still wouldn't look at her directly. "Yeah, sure. Ah, let me just grab a couple more things here, and then I'll get out of your way." He rummaged through the dresser, tucking the last items into the crook of his arm. "See you in the morning, Bones."
"Good night." The door clicked quietly behind him, and Temperance rummaged in her bag for her pajamas before turning on the bedside lamp. She flicked off the lights and peeked out the door. The TV was still on, and she thought she recognized the dialogue as from an old black-and-white film.
Absurdly comforted just by knowing that Booth was there, she slid between the cool sheets, turned off the lamp, and dropped instantly and soundlessly into sleep.
~3.13.11