The trip back challenge
Booth and Brennan walked out of the Oxford University grounds towards the limousine. She was walking with her arm rigidly engaged in his. Inspector Pritchard watched from a distance, lost in that kind of what-if thoughts that have the nasty habit of being bad for you. She looked longingly at the couple. Climb that Everest Dr Brennan. Don't let it be too late. Her eyes watered slightly as her colleague and former lover popped in and out of her mind, uninvited. When Booth and Brennan looked back, she waved them goodbye, a sad smile on her face.
"Do you think she's going to be ok, Booth?" The uniformed driver opened the door and held his hand out to assist Brennan in which she did unaided, oblivious to the courteous gesture. The driver stiffened his back in quite disapproval.
"I think so, Bones" Booth followed her in, relieved not to have to accommodate his frame inside the miniature car this time around. God, he missed American cars with all that elbow space. "She's a tough cookie", he looked at her and seeing her eyebrow raised in the familiar question mark, continued "I know you don't know what that means!" Brennan sighed. "It means that she's strong and she won't let this pull her down."
Brennan got comfortable in her seat, lost in thoughts. She was not quite ready to return to the train wreck of a thought that was Booth's mortality.
Booth, on the other hand, could not get comfortable. Every car seemed to be on a collision course with them, all the taking overs were being made in the wrong carriageway and, he'd be damned, the driver was too old to be driving anything but a bike.
As the miles sped by and the urban limits of Oxford morphed into green countryside, Booth forced himself to relax. He took in the mahogany interiors of the car, the console of buttons on his right hand side, the leather seats, the burgundy carpet and upholstery… Way to go, Bones!
He started testing the buttons on the console. The first opened and closed the divisor between them and the driver. The second activated reading lights. Not much need for that. Another button opened a hidden compartment embed in the front seat. Champagne. Too dam fussy! Yet another button and he got music. Brennan was pulled back to the reality of the limo by all his fidgeting and button pushing.
The fifth button was a charmed one. It opened another hidden compartment containing crystal tumblers and a decanter full of an amber liquid. Now, that was much more promising. Just like in the movies! Reaching for the decanter her lifted the lid and sniffed it. The smell alone knocked him backwards. Now this is quality of life! So he poured a finger of the liquid in two glasses and handed one to Brennan. He raised his glass.
"Cheers, Bones!"
"It's too early, Booth"
"Aw, come on, Bones. Live a little! Just a toast to England! It actually grew on me, you know!"
"Cheers, Booth!" she surrendered, smiling. They drank the liquid slowly, their systems shocked by the fire spreading from their mouths and throats to the rest of their bodies.
"Man, it does pack quite a kick, ha, Bones?" Her eyes watered an agreement.
"That may be an understatement, Booth!"
"Yeah, I think I lost sensation in my tongue!"
It may have been the whiskey. In fact, Booth would have bet the last penny in his pocket that it was the case, but the automated check in presented a challenge. He struggled to understand the machine and, when the snotty check in assistant came by to help him, he struggled to understand her snotty accent. He would even swear that she had given him a dirty look when she smelled his breath.
Brennan, on the other hand, seemed to have found automated check in a breeze. She checked in in less than a heart beat and was looking at him from a distance, squinting at his familiar figure. Booth sighed his impatience, checking for Bones and anyone around her as usual, and giving her an impish look over the assistant's head. She did not seem to register his familiar smile. He would have heard the wheels in her brain turning had it not been for the terminal's noise.
"Come on, Bones, let's get a move on!" But she did not follow. "Bones?" He looked closer. Still no reaction. His hand reached out for her hair and then her face. And she almost jumped out of her skin.
"Bones, are you ok?" Concern was printed all over his face. Her hand reached up and touched his, still on her cheek. Pritchard's words were echoing in her mind, loose, disconnected. It was mostly the word Everest repeated over and over again like a scratched record. All other noises faded into a buzz. She wanted to snap out of it but seemed to be unable, caught in the loop of heat generated by Booth's hand.
It was self preservation- though she wouldn't call it that- that brought her back to the organized chaos that was the airport.
"I'm ok. It must have been the whiskey. I told you it was too early…" she walked ahead, still working hard at shaking that leave of absence her senses her mind had taken. She was mad at herself and would have kicked her own butt if it had been remotely rational.
As it was, her phone was now beeping irritatingly its missed call alarm. Great! She had missed Angela's call. She hit the voice mail key.
"Hi, sweetie, it's me…" Brennan's head immediately snapped to attention at the first words. I know this tone and it's not good! "Jack and I broke up and I won't really know what happened until I talk to you" But… but just twelve hours ago they were mapping locations for the reception… "I'm gonna crawl into bed and… give me a call, ok?"
Brennan hit the replay button. She wanted to make sure she had not missed any nuances, anything that might explain the hurt in Angela's voice. She looked at Booth, eyes wide, mouth open as if suspended in speech. Booth took the phone from her hand. "What, Bones?...What?" He repeated when he got no answer. He directed her to a chair and sat next to her. He held her against him while he replayed the message, the distress in Angela's voice tugging at his heart.
"Call her back!" He handed her the phone, "she needs you, Bones!"
She took the phone and hit the number two on her speed dial. She braced herself for tears on the other side but, instead, there was again that tone. Brennan identified it as that of grief at an immensurable loss. And it scared her. She was used to an Angela that screamed and shouted out loud her upsets, not to that person prostrated with sadness. She wanted, more than anything, to hug her friend.
Brennan realized two things during that telephone conversation: one, that there was more to love than poetry and biological urges and, two, that it was endowed with the potential to flatten you out.
Security passed, they walked through the endless carpeted corridors, Booth holding Brennan close to him, having to pull her out of the way of rushing passengers and their luggage. She was definitely weird since the whiskey. She even allowed herself to lean on him. Oh man, something's definitely wrong. Booth was not quite ready to ask what was going on with her his intuition telling him he was not prepared to deal with whatever it was that was bothering his partner, so he tried his best to snap her out of it, clowning around a bit, drawing a distracted smile here and there. He felt so out of balance that he was grateful to board the flight, despite knowing he would be spending the next eight and a half hours with his legs poking into the front seat with its passenger nearly seating on his lap all the way to DC while she sat in Business class, her eyes sad like that. So, when they were both shown to Business class with all that lovely leg and elbow room, he saw her finger in it. The limo, the flight… he could have kissed her. Scratch that, Booth, she's weirded out enough as it is!
He decided to enjoy the flight. All eight and a half nearly blissful hours of it. The complimentary drinks just as they took their seats, the air hostess' smile… wait, I know that smile… she wants me… and he snickered with pleasure. I still got it! He flushed. Just because he wasn't willing to act on it, it did not mean he could not enjoy the appreciative smile. There wasn't much of that going around in his general direction lately.
He took one of the complimentary newspapers- the Washington Post. Ah, home! Even newspapers smell different! He accepted a cup of coffee. No, still England, he scolded himself for the overview. And when Brennan accepted a shot o whiskey, he nearly fell out of his seat. Something was definitely up. And it would be wiser not to press. She couldn't be rushed but, dam it, he was worried.
Booth had once read that a plane was at its most vulnerable during take off and landing. So he closed his eyes, held on to his seat while praying, discreetly, to Saint Christopher, patron saint of travellers. That's when he felt Brennan's hand on his, gently rubbing his fingers, offering comfort.
"There, there, Sir Seeley, be brave. It's almost over!"
"No, not over, don't say it like that" and he made the sign of the cross.
"No, I just meant that take off is almost over. We're almost at cruise altitude"
"Oh… Ok, then. Thanks, Bones!" And that's when she realised that she was still holding on to his fingers. She withdrew her hand back to where she could control it- tightly grasped in her other hand.
Her touch had distracted him from his fears but had sent him on another collision course. The bloody line. Lately, he had been more and more aware of his predicament. People on his side of the line were not safe. Hence the line. Hell, might as well build a whole freakin' wall. But some people were just so close to the dam thing that anyone looking from a distance would not know what side they were on. Enter Temperance Bones Brennan. She was pretty much holding his hand across the line. Not stepping, no, but they were dam near glued at the hip. And now, all the allowances she had given him, all the hugs, the comforting, the acceptance of advice on love, those far away looks in her eyes, the sadness…
Now, Booth was not oblivious to his own feelings. But having her feeling the same, with that talent of hers for disaster was, altogether, a new ball game. That would obliterate the line- she was not the type that would be told what to do or what side of the line to stay on. And it seemed to him she was starting to see him as… well… almost the same way he saw her. Not good! Man! Is that another whiskey?
"Bones?" She had closed her eyes on hearing him. As if that would shut his voice out. "Bones, what do you think you're doing?" She sighed. "This is…"
"Stop, it Booth! You're not my father!"
And that God for that! Brennan was having unsavoury thoughts herself. All revolving around Everest, biological urges and stupid literary notions of love. She just wanted to stop thinking. She was feeling dizzy but her thoughts had not yet given her a break. All those new feelings she didn't want to think about all the hugs, the comfort, the support, the importance of his opinion on sexual partners… And she had an epiphany. I need a boyfriend, a lover, something… I've been alone for too long. Ah, she congratulated herself, that was the advantage of a rational mind- an answer was always there to be found. She needed someone, something to distract her. She noted that on her to do list: find someone with a great body, easy to talk to, smart, gentle… There we go again… stop it!
Booth was fascinated. Her expressions were changing by the second. Man, she does think fast! Every and each of her thoughts was playing in her face. She went from dreamy to sad, to mad, smug and settled on furious in the space of less than a minute.
When he saw her signalling for another drink, he got up and approached the air hostess- the very same that had given him the once over earlier. It took little to no time convincing her to stop the flow of anything alcoholic in Brennan's direction. Yep, I still got it! He walked back to his seat with a smile on his face. Half an hour into the flight and she's already tipsy. Oh brother!
"Bones, so how did you like England?"
She gave him a quizzical look. She couldn't quite decide if she was grateful for the interruption to her flow of thoughts or not.
"But where's that girl with my drink?"
Booth was taken aback, unsure if she was just straight to the point as usual and her only concern was liquid oblivion or if she was trying to gain time and composure. He looked her in the eyes- a tactic that never failed him- as people usually felt the need to talk just to fill the silence. Bones did not disappoint.
"Pritchard seemed so sad today! I know she said it was mostly just sex between her and Wexler but, somehow, I got the impression that she wouldn't have been that affected if it was just that…"
Booth held fast to his technique. He simply stared at her. He knew her train of thought would eventually veer towards the direction of what was troubling her.
"And now Angela broke up with Hodgins… she was so sad, Booth… and I can't think of a single thing to say to make her feel better… Nothing can make you feel better when you lose someone you love…"
"Ah… but you don't believe in love Bones…" It was said somewhere between a question and a statement.
"… no, I don't…" and the answer, Booth remembered, had been said before with so much more conviction and flair before. "But love seems to hurt people, Booth and sex doesn't."
Alarm bells went off in Booth's head- loud and with flashing lights. So that's the rub… sweet Jesus!
"You can't have it both ways, Bones! You either don't believe in love or you admit that it exists and that it hurts people…"
She looked at him. Her logic had been challenged. She was squinting at him. And she got closer to his face, the need for a reply forgotten.
"I think I may be just a bit drunk. I forgot alcohol affects you much more at high altitudes than in normal conditions."
Booth was grateful for the interruption. Another second of that close scrutiny and he would have kissed her. And then what? Then he would be in a pickle.
"You're getting to me…" It was said almost in a whisper. And, in fact, Brennan herself was not sure if she had said it out loud until she saw Booth's eyes wide open. She tried to back track in the admission but her brain was not cooperating.
"What I mean is… oh, hell… it's like I measure every man against you… and you're always talking about making love and how it's not the same as sex and I guess I'd like to try that…"
Oh God, just don't say that you'd like to try it with me! Booth was growing increasingly worried for the integrity of his line. He could cope with his own feelings, but not hers. Too much for just one man!
"But then there's this sadness when you lose love… Why aren't you dating Booth? Since Cam you haven't… I mean, I don't know how you do it…"
Yeah, I'll be damned if I know, Booth was now wishing he hadn't served her that first shot of whiskey in the limo. The expression "sleeping dogs" waltzed in and out of his mid.
"She called you Sir Galahad, you know?" The change of subject made his head spin, but he welcomed it. "He was, from all the Knights of the round table, the one with the purest of hearts!" She put her hand over his heart. "Your heart is golden, Booth. Like sir Galahad's"
Ok, so maybe not a change of subject. Oh God, give me strength!
She sighed and closed her eyes, falling asleep soundly. Booth was struggling to understand what was going on, and, most importantly, to find strength in his convictions. To keep them both safe. He ordered a shot of whiskey from the smiling air hostess and wished ever so briefly that Bones hadn't bothered upgrading his ticket.
Nine hours later, Booth drove Brennan home. She had been looking sideways at him since he had woken her up for landing. He decided to assume, for his own benefit, that she didn't quite remember what she'd said. If she were to approach the subject, then he'd deal with it but for now, those damned dogs better sleep just a while longer.
He took her to her door.
"Good night, Sir Seeley Galahad Booth!"
"Good night, Lady Temperance Bones" he said with a kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow"
The End.