Your Arms Around Me
[A/N: Ever since it was released, Christina Perri's song "Arms" has reminded me of Bones and Booth and the beautiful yet bumpy development of their relationship. I love that song and highly recommend that you buy it. I'd love for them to use it in a Bones episode—I think it captures the journey they've been on and their shared vulnerability so well. Nothing else matters except that they end up in each other's arms and are "home."
I've really made peace with the finale, but I still struggle to fit it with the way I wanted things to happen. This one-shot is a result of that struggle. It's not highly imaginative, but it wanted to be written. Hope you enjoy it.]
Seeley Joseph Booth couldn't sleep. He'd been lying here for exactly two hours and 13 minutes doing something that seemed sacred and forbidden—all at the same time. Ever since Bones had asked permission to crawl into his bed with him, he'd felt bipolar. He didn't understand how it might be possible for one man to ache so deeply alongside his partner as they shared the pain of the loss of Mr. Nigel-Murray and yet feel so calm and peaceful and, hell, happy just lying there with her sleeping in his arms. This was Bones, and his feelings and yearnings for her had never been easy or easy to manage. He was a man—a man who had always been attracted to her and who had not had sex in weeks, but this wasn't physical. Sure, he wanted her. He'd always wanted her. But this completely tender, supportive embracing thing they were doing in his bed was more than that. He'd held her before—many times, but they'd never shared such intimacy. She'd never felt as open and vulnerable. But that wasn't all. Maybe for the first time, he had just relaxed and enjoyed the feel of her warm, strong, beautiful body against his. He hadn't pushed her away or suggested that they sit on the sofa or made some remark that would have triggered a reaction from her that put distance between them to protect his heart.
This was one of those pivotal moments that would flash through his mind. Like his vivid dreams while he was recovering from surgery to remove the tumor and like his memories of other such moments—like the day in the barn when she faced her mother's killer, the day outside the diner when he'd assured her that there was more than one kind of family, the night she'd cancelled her date to stay and watch TV with him in the hospital, the afternoon they'd saved her and Hodgins from the Gravedigger, the day she's rescued him from the ship, the night they'd danced at her reunion, the night she'd cried and told him she didn't want regrets, the night she'd taken him to the Egyptian exhibit—this was truly sacred time between them. Seeing the pain on her face, feeling her body wracked with sobs, holding her through it—this was the way it was supposed to be. He wasn't just supposed to be there smiling when she succeeded at something and to offer a platonic "guy hug" when she needed it. He was supposed to be part of her life and to experience it with her. He was supposed to hold her like this every moment possible. This felt… he really had nothing else to which to compare this feeling. It surpassed all other feelings of contentment. It was just right. This was what he wanted—what he'd always wanted. Bones should be in his arms. Now that she was, he saw so clearly how wrong he'd been to give into his fears and to hide his feelings.
Pulling away slightly, he looked down at her. Damn. Bones was gorgeous. She so seldom allowed anyone to see her this relaxed and peaceful and vulnerable. She looked more woman than scientist, and he decided that this was even sexier than when she was telling him something his brain could barely comprehend. This… holding this gorgeous woman who had captured his heart years ago and who was the best friend he'd ever had… this was the way things ought to be.
His body continued that thought and ran with it. Great, here I am waxing sentimental and mushy, and Bones is going to wake up and find me with a raging…. He stopped thinking and held his breath as she stirred and moved against him—hoping that she wouldn't wake up and find him poised and ready to take her—even though he was.
Lying sniper-still until her breathing resumed a normal pattern, he prayed silently that she'd stay asleep. He knew what he wanted—what he'd always wanted, but convincing Bones would be difficult. She'd pull away and try to put distance between them. He'd have to be clear-headed to talk her out of that, and at the moment, his hormones were clouding his mind. Moving adeptly and without making any sound or moving the mattress much at all, he slipped slowly from the bed without rousing her. After standing there for a long moment looking down at her and longing to climb back in and wake her up in the way he'd only done in his dreams, he turned and left the room. He needed a shower—a cold one.
YOUR ARMS AROUND ME…. YOUR ARMS AROUND ME.… YOUR ARMS AROUND ME….
She woke confused… in an unfamiliar setting. This wasn't her bed. This wasn't her room. Slowly, Temperance rolled over and stretched. Booth…
Instantly, she recalled the way that she'd practically begged him to let her crawl into bed with him the evening before. She sat up and glanced down… she was wearing his sweatshirt. At least she hadn't stripped it off and seduced him the way she had in her dreams. She sighed… she felt almost guilty for allowing her sleeping mind to wander into such pleasurable territory while Vincent…. She choked back a sob remembering he was gone.
After giving herself a few moments to regain her composure, she listened carefully and could detect no movement within Booth's apartment. Perhaps he'd already left for the office. That would make things simpler. She was… she was embarrassed about her actions the evening before. Certainly she'd read about grief and about the longings people experienced when facing loss. But there was no category of grief that explained begging-your-partner-whom-you-have-deep-emotional-feelings-for-but-whose-heart-you've-rejected-to-hold-you-in-his-arms-in-his-bed. Booth was wonderful; he'd always accommodated such requests from her and offered her "guy hugs" and support when she'd been emotional. But this had been different. Things between them were so complicated and tenuous these days. They'd almost resumed the easy banter and bickering and friendship that had been the foundation f their partnership, but last night crossed lines they'd both agreed shouldn't be crossed—not yet, maybe not ever. She had to get out of the apartment undetected and get to the lab. She could face him, talk to him, be appropriately professional with him in the laboratory.
Tentatively but quickly, she made her way down the hallway, past the bathroom where she heard him showering, and over to his sofa. Moving quickly, she slipped her slacks on and stripped off his sweatshirt, feeling irrationally colder than would have been expected once his clothing wasn't caressing her skin. She put her bra on and reached over to pick up her blouse.
"Bones…," she heard him say in a low voice. Her heart felt as if it had stopped beating, but then it raced as if making up for lost time. She turned to face him, her state of undress nearly forgotten.
Something about the expression on his face terrified her, "Oh…," she began, clutching her shirt in front of her awkwardly, "I…." She moved to dress herself so that she could leave his apartment. She couldn't breathe there—not with him looking at her like that.
She was leaving. She was embarrassed, and she was going to bolt out of here. He had to stop her, "Don't."
She froze upon hearing Booth speak. Shocking her, he moved closer and stood right in front of her. This wasn't cocky Booth. It wasn't smiling, charming Booth. It wasn't even bossy, overprotective Booth. She wasn't sure how to classify his assertive yet tentative mode. It both terrified and fascinated her simultaneously.
Now close enough to touch her again, Booth reached out and brushed his fingertips across her left cheek and then ran them gently across her shoulder and down her arm.
"Don't," she stammered, torn between begging him not to stop and asking him to spare her this agony, this longing, this overwhelming sense that things between them were changing yet again.
"God, you're so beautiful," he whispered in that way he had of charging a simple statement with more emotion that she could comprehend.
"That's true," she blurted before swallowing hard and trying to regain some semblance of composure, "But I don't understand how that's relevant to anything related to our partnership."
She'd expected him to argue or to call her out on her feigned lack of understanding, but he did neither. Instead, he just stood there staring at her as if mesmerized.
She had to get out of his apartment—fully clothed or not. "I have work. I have to go," she said quickly as she turned to leave.
"Bones, stay." He whispered as he reached out and grasped her arm firmly.
She looked back at him, now more terrified by the expression on his face than she'd been when facing death or injury. "Booth, I'll be safe. I'll be at the lab," she tried to reason with him as normally as possible despite the fact that his proximity was practically smothering.
"I'm going after Broadsky today," he said begging her to look him in the eye.
"I know," she replied quietly.
"He's good, Bones. Maybe the best. He'll try to kill me," Booth explained unnecessarily.
She didn't understand what he was doing, what he meant to evoke in her. She knew the dangers he faced. Discussing them was irrational. It associated emotions with facts when it wasn't necessary. She wanted to get out of there. This conversation wasn't helping.
"Or, what if he gets to you… before I can stop him…," he insisted, not releasing his grip on her arm.
She looked up at him momentarily and found it impossible to hide the emotions he was stirring within her. "Booth, I can't…. Vincent… You… I can't…," she stammered as tears filled her eyes. Why was he torturing her this way?
"Stay here with me, Bones," he insisted.
Frightened, she looked up at him, tears finally flowing.
"Life's too short. I'm tired of pretending. I don't want regrets, either, Bones."
"I… I don't know what that means."
"Yes, you do. You're just scared," he dared.
"I'm not afraid…," she attempted to deflect. He wasn't buying it.
"I know you, Bones. You were sad last night, and you're scared this morning. Scared about what last night meant… about what this conversation might mean."
"I…," she began, but the determination on his face stopped her speech.
"I can't leave you today without knowing that you know… that you understand… that I love you," he said earnestly as he begged her with his eyes to listen to him.
Instead of protesting or deflecting, she just looked up at him, questions swirling behind those gorgeous, tear-filled eyes of hers. He took her lack of argument as a hopeful sign.
"Ask me, Bones," he cajoled, stepping a small step closer to her.
She swallowed hard. As with the conversation during the snowstorm on the elevator, this discussion seemed to be demanding to be held whether she were ready for it or not. She needed the truth and was glad that he realized that she had questions. "You've loved other women…," she began, her voice cracking slightly.
"Yes," he replied, affection swirling in his chocolate-brown eyes.
"You thought that you loved them. And it didn't last."
"I did love them. But with you, it's different."
"How?" she couldn't resist asking.
"I loved Rebecca. I loved Hannah. Hell, I may have even loved Tessa," he began. Hearing him admit his feelings for all of those other women hurt more than it should have because she'd already known the truth of his statement. She looked away, biting back more tears.
He nudged her chin back toward him so that she'd look at him as he spoke, "I loved them, but I didn't need them. I'm like you. I don't let myself need people. But I need you, Bones. And it's okay if you let yourself need me, too."
Understanding dawning, she looked up at him and was met with an expression so full of caring that it was overpowering.
"I need you, Bones. Tell me that you need me, too."
She couldn't speak. Her larynx was inexplicably immobilized.
He leaned close and kissed her—gentle and slow. Booth took his time savoring the feel of her body, the softness of her lips, the taste of her….
After a long, intimate moment, he pulled back and looked at her. Through eyes clouded over by the haze of their connection, she looked up at him, searching his face, his eyes for the truth and seemingly finding it. "You need me, too. I can tell."
"You couldn't possibly!" she countered, arguing with him was so damned habitual that she chose to argue rather than to flee to collect her thoughts.
"If you didn't need me, too, you'd never have let me get this close, touch you, kiss you like that," he said, daring to smile one of those cocky, knee-melting smiles at her. Her instincts told her to argue, to take his ego down a few notches, to insist that he was just being arrogant. But a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze was her undoing. She wanted this and it was high time she stopped lying to the man she loved. She nodded almost imperceptibly before reaching up to pull him back toward her for another kiss.
Passion long denied took control. In the intricate dance of new lovers, they traversed Booth's apartment and slipped purposefully back into Booth's bed. Pheromones and biochemicals raging, they lost themselves in one another, familiarizing themselves with the last vestiges of the unknown physical aspects of the other partner and aligning themselves emotionally in a way that they had never been brave enough to explore.
Just before that blessed moment when the line separating the partners was obliterated, Booth stopped, caressed her cheek, and whispered to her, "This isn't just sex, Bones." Flushed and overwhelmingly happy, she smiled up at him and reached up to place her hand over his pounding heart, "With you, it never could be. I need you, too, Booth."
Buoyed by emotion he could hardly fathom, he began showing her the art of making love. As with most things, his partner learned quickly and met his advances with a generosity and selflessness that he should have anticipated.
YOUR ARMS AROUND ME…. YOUR ARMS AROUND ME.… YOUR ARMS AROUND ME….
"Booth," Temperance hummed later when she awoke and found herself cocooned in the arms of her new lover.
"Hmmm?" he replied, tightening his hold on her but not yet opening his eyes. He needed more evidence that he wasn't dreaming, that he and Bones had actually made love and crossed the line he never should have drawn between them.
"It's 10 a.m. We're being irresponsible."
"Yes, we are."
"I need to get to the lab."
"Not yet."
"Booth, you have to get out there and find him."
"I know."
"But you're not moving."
"I'm saving my energy," he said with a cocky smile that indicated otherwise.
She laughed, "Your actions this morning were not conservatory in nature."
Causing her to gasp in surprise, he flipped them over and leaned down to pin her with a stare—a challenge. "Make love with me, Temperance."
She stared at him for a long moment, and he braced himself for her argument, for her reason, for her practicality. She raised none. Instead, she surprised him by pulling him down for a kiss so tender that he might have cried if he hadn't been given permission to do again what he had desperately wanted for years.
The end.