Author's Note: The song playing in the background at the airport sounded like Candi Stanton's He Called me Baby. This is what happened when I thought about that song.
Drawn almost magnetically, she lifted her gaze and saw him. Broad and strong and staring at her with melted-chocolate eyes.
She crossed the concourse and stood near him, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his body. She shifted as he began speaking, trying to suppress the urge to fling herself into his arms.
His hand folded around hers, that hard ridge of callus rough against her own fingers.
She nearly melted.
He called me baby, she recalled.
They tried to be normal; they'd done the post-case paperwork in her office and had fries and coffee at the diner afterwards. But everything had been stiff, stilted, buried beneath the weight of everything they weren't saying.
When he was walking her to her car, his hand in its place at the small of her back, she realized that was it. That spot? On her back? It was HIS place. He'd rested his hand there so often, gently guiding, forcefully propelling, or softly stroking. Other men had tried to do the same, of course, ushering her through crowded rooms or walking next to her, but she had shrugged them off. Their touch was wrong, would always be wrong. Only Booth's hand belonged on her back.
That spot was his.
She stopped to face him.
"What is it, Bones?" he asked, his hand sliding around to clasp her waist.
"Why do you touch my back?"
"What?" he was thoroughly baffled.
"You always have your hand on the small of my back. Males typically do that to assert dominance or establish to other men that the female is taken or to provide protection."
"Sometimes they do it just because they like to touch."
She let out a shaky breath. "Is that why you do it?"
"Most of the time."
"You're the only one I let do that. Other men, their hands feel wrong. But you…feel…right. It's like when you hug me, we fit and it's not awkward or uncomfortable like it is with other men. You're just…right. And intellectually, too. Like puzzle pieces, we're not the same, but…"
She was interrupted by his mouth closing over hers, his hands pulling her closer to him, arms sliding around her. The kiss was gentle at first but took only seconds to ignite. Her arms wound around his neck and she rose on tiptoe to align their bodies.
They broke apart, breath coming in gasps. He tried to kiss her again, but she dodged him. "No, no, I need to finish this." She kept her arms around his neck, though, which warmed his heart. So different from the last time he kissed her and she'd shoved him away.
"I was wrong. I didn't believe in love, didn't believe it could last or be more than a transient emotion spurred by chemical interactions in the brain. But I was wrong. You taught me, showed me the truth. It's real. And I love you."
He laughed joyously, clasping her to his chest, and when the laughter died, they kissed again, scorching each other.
"Bones," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, "you have the damnedest timing."
"I know. But we have tonight at least."
"Then why are we wasting it out here on the sidewalk?"
They ran, laughing, the rest of the way to her car. She let him drive without a fight, content to hold his hand and watch his profile.
They tumbled into her apartment, shedding clothing willy-nilly, kisses mingled with laughter until he scooped her into his arms and strode into her bedroom.
They spent the night awake, making love and talking and simply touching each other in the moonlight.
He called her baby and she let him.
And in the morning, she dressed for traveling while he watched. She looked at him, sprawled unselfconsciously on her bed and surreptitiously wiped a tear.
He noticed, of course, damn him.
"What is it, baby?" he asked, coming to stand by her, easing her against him with his hand in its spot.
"One year," she whispered, tears coming faster now.
"One year," he replied, catching a tear with his thumb before kissing her.
"Booth," she whispered, "at the airport?"
"Yes?" he replied.
"Please don't hug me or kiss me. I won't be able to get on the plane if you do."
He smiled at that. "We'll say our goodbyes right here, then."
Drawn almost magnetically, she lifted her gaze and saw him. Broad and strong and staring at her with melted-chocolate eyes.
He didn't hold her or kiss her, and it nearly killed him. But he clasped her hand tightly and fought tears.
"One year from today," he reminded her.
"One year from today."