Note: I had totally planned to spend this weekend seeing if there really should be an epilogue to Running Away, but then this happened. Here we go – a story set pre-season 1.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
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It felt like someone had tied a band of cloth above her eyes and tightened it until it hurt to think. She lay in bed, cringing at the light trying to force its way though her closed eyelids. She must have been extremely intoxicated when she got home last night. Had she left the light on in the hall?
It was only when she went to sit up that she realized her arm was not only asleep, but trapped under the naked man sleeping beside her.
Carefully, she tugged her arm free and sat up, taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to push back the nausea the movement caused. She sat still for a moment, trying not to whimper as the painful tingle of sensation returning to her arm was added to the pounding in her head.
When she was able to use her arm again, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed. The previous night's rainstorm had obviously blown over, and she was able to see well enough to locate her panties and one sock. She pulled on the underwear and picked up the sock before walking out into the unfamiliar hallway. Her jeans were crumpled just outside the bedroom door, and she could see her bra peeking out from under the couch in the living room. She followed the trail of clothes through the apartment, pulling them on as she went, and was relieved to find her keys, wallet, and cell phone were still in the pockets of her jacket, which lay just inside the front door.
She stopped at the kitchen, gratefully gulping from a mug with a picture of an anatomically inaccurate yet comical creature on it, and left the apartment, closing the door softly behind her.
The early morning air was crisp as she walked to the corner to determine where she was. Less than ten minutes later, she was on the way home in the back seat of a cab.
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He woke to the ringing of the phone on his nightstand, the shrill sound making him feel like someone was attacking his skull with a jackhammer. He slapped at the nightstand, trying to locate the phone without opening his eyes.
By the time he managed to find and answer the phone, he heard nothing but dial tone. He cracked his eyes open and looked at the caller ID for the last missed call. The sight of "S CULLEN" sent him tumbling out of bed. The voicemail light on the phone started blinking as his cell phone started ringing. He stumbled into the bright living room and followed the sound of the ringing to his pants, which were lying on the floor of the kitchen. His grumbled "Booth" prompted a few seconds of silence, followed by "Booth? Where the hell are you?"
"Sorry, sir, I overslept", he answered, looking around his apartment as if it were suddenly hiding an extremely passionate forensic anthropologist, just to spite him. It was abundantly clear that she wasn't there, though, and he made his apologies and promised he was on his way to work.
Three minutes later, he was showered, dressed, and out the door, two hours later than usual. The lack of traffic made the trip faster than usual, but he still had time to ponder whether she'd go for lunch with him – and where he should take her if she said yes. Was it too soon to take her to Sid's?
He parked in his usual spot and made his way to Cullen's office, ignoring the smart-ass remarks from the other agents. Cullen's admin assistant was obviously expecting him, and he was waved into Cullen's office almost immediately.
After a few pointed remarks about the substance abuse counseling available through the FBI's employee assistance program, he was handed another case file and told to take care of it.
He felt guilty at the fleeting wish that it were a murder case – which would have remains that needed examination – and not a kidnapping.
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Well? Anyone interested in where this is going?