Disclaimer: Bones, and all of its characters, are the property of Josephson Entertainment, Far Field Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. It's based off the writings and life of forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs, no infringement is intended by this work of pure fiction, for the entertainment of the readers and author. No money is being made, though I could sure use some cash right now. My stash of caffeine is getting low…
Author Note - This is my first attempt at writing for the Bones fandom. I waited to the worst possible time to get hopelessly hooked on the series – three episodes from the end of season – so bear with me. I'm still learning the ins and outs of the show, and the Booth/Brennen connection, until I can see the re-runs. This is just something short, to let me stick my toe in the fandom, test the waters. I adore the show, the science, the squickyness, the tension and angst.(I'm an angst queen, fair warning) I plan on writing a longer, multi-chapter story for Bones soon, but for now, please enjoy this first attempt and let me know what you think! Please! I need to know if I've captured the characters and the feel of the show, if I am to take on a longer fic later. Reviews feed the soul!
Spoilers: After Soldier on the Grave and Woman in Limbo.
"Touch Point"
Part I
Nighttime at the Jeffersonian usually gave the building an ambiance of tranquility. The labs, meeting rooms, and offices were deserted – the cool hued lighting bounced off the exposed pipe-structure of the ceiling architecture, making the skylights seem darker than dark, as if the Plexiglas panes were the only thing separating the interior of the labs from the depthless cold of space itself. The hallways were vacant, the only occasional sound of footsteps coming from one of the night guardsmen or a lab assistant burning the midnight oil for their teacher.
Being an open-air design, the Medico-Legal lab picked up every chink of keys rattling, every footfall bounding off the empty spaces – creating echo effects. Some people might have found this eerie or spooky – being alone in that huge building at night, with only the sounds of computers and the errant echo for company.
Dr. Temperance Brennan found it quite soothing. There, in her office with the back-lit bookshelves filled with ancient pottery, ceremonial masks and other trinkets brought back from her various globe-trotting expeditions – Brennan could work in peace, enjoying the serenity of the lab without the worry of intrusion. Flipping a lock of auburn hair out of her eyes, and sighing, Brennan stared at the same page on her computer screen she'd been looking at for over an hour. The only thing typed was a measly paragraph of her next manuscript, one she had started on shortly before finishing her latest book. Said finished manuscript was sitting on her desk next to the keyboard, with the title conspicuously crossed out.
"It was a stupid title," she muttered.
Leaning her chin wearily on her hand, Brennan glazed over the paragraph she'd written. Her "fictional" Detective-heartthrob had just finished a heated argument with Kathy over a case, which had ended in a very hot, very passionate kissing session. For the life of her, Tempe couldn't understand where that scene had come from.
She ran a hand over her face and sighed again. Well…maybe she could understand. Her character Andrew, had been trying to get Kathy to see his point of view, and had, in a fit of the moment, reached out to stroke Kathy's face with both hands.
Touch. Brennan's mind unwillingly returned to a couple of weeks prior, when she had been sitting with Angela, going over the scenes of what had turned out to be a horrible case of friendly-fire – and as always, their conversation turned to one tall, dark, and contumacious Seeley Booth. For the first time, Brennan had seen a side of Booth she was unfamiliar with, a side that was desperately trying to hide from the ghosts of his past, which were intruding on his ability to properly work a murder case. He was hurting, and Brennan found herself hopelessly out of her emotional league.
Angela, perceptive as usual, hadseen her friend struggling with the need to help her hunky partner, but not knowing how to go about doing it. So, she'd offered a simple piece of advice, one that had made Brennan initially balk and retreat to a safer position of writing a note to articulate her feelings. 'How lame was that idea?' Brennan thought ironically.
"A simple touch…"
Brennan sat back in her chair, swiveling to look out over the lab room, now darkened and deserted, but sporadically glowing in areas by the odd computer screen saver. How could a simple touch mean so much? True to form, Temperance Brennan's brain attacked the ideas plaguing her weary brain like the scientist she was. From an anthropological view, Bren knew that touch was very important to the social and emotional development of human beings.
From infanthood, touch was essential in the bonding experience between mother and child. Touch has a nurturing effect. To comfort. To calm. Even into adolescence and pre-adulthood, the use of touch, as Brennan knew from her studies (if not from actual experience) – is used to solidify trust between two people. It opens the lines of communication, promotes intimacy…all of the experiences Temperance Brennan knew all too well, she was sorely lacking in.
Brennan angled her head to look upon her computer screen again, and frowned at that thought. It wasn't as if she'd never felt those things. She'd had a family…once. Quickly, Brennan shoved that line of thought back into the murky depths of her psyche. She didn't need to pour salt in that knitting wound. It was still too fresh.
She'd been in relationships that had those types of elements in them, hadn't she? Brennan's frown deepened.
"Well, I wouldn't really go that far in regards to Michael," She thought wryly. Michael had been her teacher, her mentor. Maybe that had been the beginning of the attraction between them – more about their abilities and interests than anything involving the heart. And he'd lied to her.
There goes the trust thing…
And what about David? Could she say that his touch evoked those emotions defined by socio-psychological study guides?
Brennan thought back to that day in Arlington Cemetery, when her partner had allowed his walls to crumble and given her a glimpse into his ghosts from the past. She'd never expected him to tell her what his past had done to his soul. Not like that. She'd even given him an out, saying that when he was ready, he'd tell someone…someday.
But Booth had chosen her…and Brennan wasn't prepared for the emotional assault on her senses his revelation wrought. His pain seeped into her skin, like the heat from a summer day, and made her chest seize. And seeing her partner in this way, a man she cared for…more deeply than she realized, Brennan stepped out of the confines that she usually hid her feelings behind, reached out and grasped his arm.
Brennan closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the moment Booth put his hand on hers, squeezed it slightly and looked into her eyes. Gratitude glittered behind the unshed tears – and Bren knew what her touch had meant to him. Comfort, compassion…caring. Everything she'd hoped to convey was all right there in that simple touch. 'Was that what Angela meant?'
Brennan ran her hands through the sides of her hair, and heaved a sigh that felt like it came from her toes up. Whatever it was about Seeley Booth, that made her spend time and precious energy on this type of introspection – she couldn't hope to comprehend. No matter how much she might want to.
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After sitting, staring unseeing at the same small paragraph on her computer screen for an immeasurable amount of time, Brennan heard purposeful footsteps enter the lab. She shook her head slightly, allowing an ironic smile to grace her lips. The object of her over analytical thoughts was now at her office door, his presence wafting into the room, strong and confident.
Agent Seeley Booth stood at Dr. Brennan's door, leaning a broad shoulder against the frame casually. Always able to balance on the rope of professional attire, and expensive style, Booth wore his usual well-cut grey suit – his coordinating tie now absent from his deep blue dress shirt, the top few buttons undone. It was late, and though his clothing and air about him still conveyed that he could snap back into the proficient agent everyone (especially himself) knew he was, should duty call – the strain and length of the day still shown in the slight rumple of his shirt and the fatigue in his face. His eyes, however, still sparkled with intelligence and a bit of mischief as he stared at his partner.
"Bones," he admonished gently, "I know you're all about 'staying at it 'til the job is done' and everything…but this is getting ridiculous. I mean, why pay rent for an apartment? You should just install a kitchenette, haul your clothes over here to your office…get it over with."
Brennan turned in her chair to face the tall, cocky agent – who was now gazing gently at her with a bemusedly concerned look. His dark eyes seemed to bore holes in her soul, as they always did when he was worrying about her.
Brennan replied, tilting her head, "There's a kitchenette down the hall for employee use. And even though my clothing couture isn't as extravagant as say… Angela's… I doubt there is sufficient closet space here."
"I was kidding Bones."
She blinked once. Booth's tone was still soft, yet his expression wasn't as mirthful as she expected. "Oh."
Seeing that he'd caught her off-guard, Booth smiled tiredly, shaking his head at the look on her face. It was a true 'Bones' look – one that told him his mock-serious jibe about her giving in to the fact that she lived at the lab, flew right over his partner's head. And…he couldn't help the thought that tickled his senses, that she was just too cute with that oblivious, slightly naїve 'oh!-I-knew-that' expression. Booth pushed that unpartner-ish thought to the back of his mind, grudgingly.
Hands shoved into his pockets, he looked over Brennan's shoulder. "Oh…starting on your new book? Can I see?" He asked with renewed enthusiasm.
Ever since he'd snuck a glace at Bones' finished manuscript, and had seen – much to his surprise and heart-warming delight, that it had been dedicated to him…Booth wanted to know if Bones had let anything else about him slip into her new work.
"Nope," Brennan said succinctly, turning to click her monitor off and saved her information.
"Aw, c'mon Bones! Just a little…oh… oh, okay... then let me read your finished book." Booth started to reach for her manuscript mid-plead, but she snatched it out of his grasp and locked it in a desk drawer. "Jeeze! You let David read it!" He'd strung out David's name, as though it were the title of some indescribably stupid sub-species of human. A tone that did not go unnoticed by Brennan.
"I said it before Booth, leave it alone," she said in exasperation. "You'll get to see it when it comes out."
Booth narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving upward. "You've already started out your new book with some incredibly sexy scene with my character, haven't ya? Huh?"
Brennan rolled her eyes, hoping the small blush creeping into her cheeks would come out looking like frustration, more than that fact that Booth had hit the nail on the head. Again.
"You are so full of-…it's not your character, Booth!" She said, trying to feign more frustration. The smile spreading over her partner's face was making that very hard, however.
Booth beamed. "Uh-huh. Right." He shifted his weight, leaning a hand on Brennan's desk, and looking over at her with a brow raised. "On a scale of one to ten…how good was I? My character…in your latest sex scene? A nine? Nine and a half?"
Brennan sighed and rose, beginning to gather her things together to leave before Booth embarrassed her into a flame-blushing idiot.
"Ten...?" Booth's eyes grew wide, now wondering exactly what kind of scene Brennan had in mind for, what was clearly HIS character, which was causing her to visibly squirm. And blush. 'A very attractive reaction', his mind chirped.
"Is there a reason you are here this late?" Bones said finally, fixing him with a glare.
Booth swallowed the chuckle that was threatening, "I wanted to come check on you, Bones." At Brennan's subtle shift of weight, slightly unnerved, he quickly added, "Ah-and to take you to eat. At Wong Foo's. Whata'ya say?"
As he watched Brennan vacillate from accepting to refusing, looking around her office for some other work-related excuse to shut herself off from the world (and him), Booth sighed deeply. He'd spilled the truth in the beginning; he was there to check on her. His partner had invaded his thoughts almost non-stop since they'd worked on her mother's case. He'd seen Temperance Brennan more vulnerable then, than any other time since they met. Even after he'd saved her life in that warehouse, and she'd clung to him like he was her only lifeline, she hadn't seemed this exposed. Brennan's beliefs about who she was had been shaken to the core - her tightly constructed, ordered world had come tumbling down about her – and she'd nearly lost herself. Truthfully, it had scared the hell out of Booth. He'd hated seeing her hurting, but what scared him the most was the thought that he might not be able to protect her from whatever ugly truth was behind her parent's past.
And protecting his partner had become an overwhelming instinct lately for Booth. He couldn't bear the thought of Brennan dangling on the end of a rope of memories and painful revelations – without anyone there to grab her hand. Without him there to scoop her up, and carry her to safety.
'She brings out that White-Knight complex in you, big time,' that annoying voice in his head murmured.
He didn't care. She'd been there for him when he needed it – an experience burned into his soul for the rest of his life – and even if she resisted his help, he'd still move heaven and earth to be there for her. It was his nature.
"Bones," he said softly again, stepping around her desk to face her, "You need to get out of here. You've been staying here at your office almost constantly, since Russ left your place. You need to get out and socialize again…get your mind off…things." He finished lamely.
He followed Brennan's down-cast eyes to an object on her desk. A small, rusty belt buckle carved in the shape of a graceful dolphin sat near the edge of the desk. Images and conversations of her mother's case rushed through Brennan's mind like a torrent. She closed her eyes at the renewed pain, and Booth struggled to find lighter words, around the lump that had found its way to his throat.
Brennan looked back up at her partner, his eyes revealing shared sadness and worry, his brows furrowed.
"I guess I could eat. But still, Chinese this late at night again? You really are trying to make me fat, Booth."
Booth's face melted into his aptly named 'charm smile', ducking his head somewhat as he sidled up beside her.
"Never gonna' happen, Bones."
Brennan eyed him with a small smile, as they made their way to the door.
"C'mon. A brew…some noodles…what better way to end the day?" He said, as his arm wound around behind her, his hand finding its customary place at the small of her back, gently guiding her with him.
A small shiver rippled up Brennan's back at that touch – a tiny prick of intrigue accompanying it.
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Wong Foo's was dimly lit with little paper lanterns stung on light strings, reds and golds throwing splashes of color across the mahogany wood of the bar and tables. Despite the late hour, Wong Foo's always seemed to attract a few of the night owls – mostly those who worked for the government. Only four or five people populated a table and a booth at that hour, content to ignore the world for their own conversations and drink – when Booth and Brennan walked in.
Sid, the barrel-chested owner and bar tender greeted his two regulars – immediately bringing them their drinks of choice: a beer for Booth, red wine for Brennan. Famous for knowing exactly what his customers need, what they're best food choice should be without asking – Sid eyed the two war-weary partners for a moment, figuring that they both had been through the wringer lately, and shuffled off to get their meals. Before he disappeared, however, Sid stole a glance at Booth and Brennan, seated on their favorite stools, both with their coats slung over the chair backs. He noticed how Mister Stone-Cold-Badass-FBI was sneaking concerned glances at the lovely Bones-lady – and grinned. Yep, he knew it.
'Partners ONLY, my ass,' Sid thought as he went to the kitchen.
The food was hot and spicy, and the wine was smooth. Brennan found herself grateful Booth had maneuvered her into accepting his dinner offer. She hadn't realized how hungry she was, and as she sipped her wine – she was a tiny-bit surprised that she couldn't remember the last time she ate! Maybe Booth was right, maybe she had been working too hard.
But it hadn't all been about her parents, though. After they'd finalized the paperwork on McVicker as responsible for her mother's death, and the chills of the ghostly voice of her father and his cryptic warning had subsided – life had pretty much went on as usual. New cases came in, other remains were identified…endless mounds of paperwork, and not to mention…her new book that had to be started. She was busy, that's all. Shouldn't Booth be happy for her, that she was able to move on with her work and not linger over things that couldn't be changed right now? Besides, if she let herself think about it too much, Brennan knew she'd loose herself in the abyss of trying to find her father…and the sorrow their lies brought bubbling to the surface.
Booth could see that the wine and food was doing Brennan some good. Her shoulders seemed less tense, and the lines around her brows smoothed. The beer wasn't hurting him either, after all tedium of paperwork, with the odd case here and there thrown in. Feeling more inclined to talk, he tried to engage Brennan in some idle chat for a while, though most of it inevitably circled right back around to work.
"So…," He said, after the plates had been removed, and he stretched his arms, giving Bones an impressive display of his well-built biceps through his dress shirt, "Heard from Russ since he got back home?"
Brennan toyed with the stem of her wine glass. "Twice. He's been busy finding jobs that require his mechanical skills, and …he's got his girlfriend."
Booth noted how her voice seemed to dip somewhat when she mentioned that Russ had someone to share his life with. There was an almost imperceptible envious tint to it – and he nodded, looking back to his beer.
"Well that's good. I mean, it's good that he's got his girlfriend to keep an eye on him." He fumbled.
Brennan looked up. "Why would he need her to keep an eye on him? It's not as if he's not a grown man."
Booth quirked a smile, giving her a look that was trying to lighten the mood – get her to open up a bit. "Aw, you know what I mean, Bones. It's nice to have someone who's there for you, when you come in from a hard day. Or when something bad has happened," his face fell somber, pinning her with a meaningful gaze, "And you need someone to lean on."
Brennan balked from the gaze first, trying to hide the lump in her throat by swallowing some wine. So, that is what he was getting at with all the innocuous chatter. He was trying to see if she was somehow still a wreck after the events of her mother's case.
'Apparently, he doesn't think you can recover from an instance of vulnerability. We caught the guy who killed my mother, for the love of God! You move on! I can't do anything about my father right now anyway…what does Booth want of me! To breakdown into some psychosomatic puddle of weakness? As if there aren't other victims out there who need my help in identifying?'
Brennan felt the sting of the wounds on her heart from misplaced trust, and even though she seemed to be rebuilding a connection with her brother, she would continue to guard her feelings as much as possible. Even when it came to Booth. Or perhaps, especially when it came to her partner – who was watching her with depthless empathy. She couldn't appear weak in front of him again…not so soon. She wasn't some pitiful maid, dependant on others for her emotional support all the time. And besides, if Booth was hinting she needed to get herself a man…she had David, didn't she?
Fixing her emotions behind her practiced mask, Brennan turned back to Booth and said, "Having to constantly look for approval and support from others, instead of finding it within you, doesn't make for a strong character, Booth. If Russ needs that, it's fine. Life goes on -you deal…its-its fine." Her voice was stony, but it was her next sentence that cut through Booth's chest like an ice-pick. "Besides, if you are hinting that I need to get out and find myself someone to come home to…to lean on, as you say, like Russ, I already have. I'm seeing David."
As the words slipped from her mouth, Brennan was shocked by the display of emotions that washed across her partner and friend's face. She'd hurt him. Badly.
Booth felt like he'd been gut-punched. He'd been trying to get her to open up emotionally to him, even more than she had those nights at her apartment over Chinese during the case. He wanted to know that she was healing on the inside, not just the front she was putting up by diving head-long back into her work. More than that, Booth had wanted her to know that if she did need someone, to tell her feelings to, or to lean on when things looked hopeless, that he was there for her. She could trust him.
But this scathing backlash was not what he'd bargained for. He knew Bones well enough to expect her to tell him 'everything was fine, not to worry' – he was prepared for that. But to be told she considered him replaced… and by that boring little piss-ant David, during a time when he was the only one who understood what she was going through, who knew the case… Who knew Temperance the way he did! Booth felt like a sniper bullet had just ripped through his heart.
Swallowing thickly, he nodded slowly, and tried to huff a small, nonchalant laugh. It came out more strangled, rather than unaffected.
"I…uh…I see. Sounds like you, uh…you got it all handled then." Booth shifted away from her, making ready to leave. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened as he stared straight ahead.
Brennan's eyes widened in dismay, realizing the impact of her words. God, she was such an idiot! "Booth…I…"
"You'd better get home. Wouldn't want David to worry." Booth all but growled.
Brennan knew she'd screwed up. Here was a man, who cared about her, probably more than she realized or understood, who had just laid out the welcoming mat her to open herself up to – and she'd reached in and slammed the door back in his face. What was worse, bringing David into it was a lie. She only saw him off and on, and wasn't sure you could call that "dating". He didn't know much about her mother's case, or any others for that matter. In truth, David was the last person she'd confide in about case work…or her past. Booth knew it all already. She could trust him with her life (and had on more than one occasion)… so why couldn't she bring herself to trust him with her emotions?
"Booth wait." Her voice was stronger now, pleading.
He paused, still unable to look at her; the pain he knew was showing was too raw right now.
"God, I'm sorry Booth. I didn't mean it like that. It's just…I'm trying really hard to move on after my mother's case. After all those years of not knowing…wondering why they did what they did, then to have all their lies thrown back in my face. I don't…." she struggled, "I didn't know how to deal with it. So I went back to work. It's what I know…it works for me. I would have never found my mother's murderer or any of the information about my parents…without you, Booth. It means more to me than you'll ever know."
Booth listened to the sincerity in her voice, bringing himself around finally to face her. He saw her struggling with herself, her eyes telling volumes about the pain and fatigue the last few weeks had wrought on her. The anger and stinging hurt began to melt away as he realized, this was her way of letting him get a glimpse inside Temperance Brennan. He could work with that.
"And as for David," she started, noticing the tension in the muscles of Booth's broad shoulders at the sound of the name, "I barely ever see him. He's not waiting at home for me. In fact, he told me once that he should get used to not even waiting by the phone for me to call. Something about how you seemed to be able to snatch me away for days at a time."
Booth grinned softly, a touch of self-satisfied smugness tinting the smile. 'At least the guy was starting to learn Who was running things and which guy had rightful claim on Bones' time…' the macho-testosterone soaked side of his brain said.
Bones missed the cockiness returning to her partner, as she looked away in thought for a moment. "I don't know what he meant by that though, he knows my work often entails days of investigation, testing, identifying evidence on bodies…you and I interrogating suspects."
"Uh, I do the interrogating, Bones. I let you tag along…remember?" Booth interjected.
"And sometimes," she continued as Booth gathered his coat up, helping Brennan on with hers, "We get caught up in following leads that might take us out of town for a while, but that's all part of putting the bad guys away."
"Uhm…Bones? Actually …I put them away, you just ID the evidence, remember?" He tried again.
"We cuff them and stump them." Brennan said with a confident smile. "All part of the job!"
Booth snorted that time, guiding her toward the door, "That's 'Cuff 'em and Stuff 'em' Bones…and, seriously…you don't do that. I'm the one with the cuffs. And the gun…" He tilted his head toward her, as she glowered up at him while he corrected her. "And the badge." He added with a wink.
"You take conceited joy in throwing that all back in my face, don't you?"
"Why… yes I do, Bones." Booth said jovially, grateful for the return to their normal banter.
His hand stole around her again, resting on her back.
Brennan felt it, warm and strong. This time she allowed the spark of intrigue grow as she analyzed this type of touch. Booth had always done this with her, guiding her with his hand, on her back or shoulder – but she'd never really taken time to think about it. It was a constant. A shielding and possessive act, meant for only her. Scientifically, Brennan knew that this was a subtle dominant male way of staking claim – showing others that she, in essence, belonged to him. That thought tickled a more primitive area of Brennan's psyche – the part that liked the idea of a big, strong, alpha male showing through a physical action, that she was special to him.
The more practical side said this was just Booth's way of being friendly. But, after everything that had happened lately, this gesture seemed to have a more intimate feel – a small way for Booth to let Brennan know 'I'm here, beside you. And I always will be'.
Brennan shooed that thought away as being a bit too schmaltzy for her. It was just a way for him to solidify his presence to her. Stolid. Protective.
She smiled to herself as Booth navigated the huge SUV through traffic to bring her home. Those were good descriptions of Seeley Booth. Predictably, Bones' mind clicked back into logical-scientist mode, running over what she'd learned so far about the act of touch between two partners.
But, if the simple act of his hand on her lower back could mean so much…what could all the others indicate?
TBC…in Part II
Part II should be up in a day or so. Any good? How did I do with my first foray into the world of Bones? Worth more? Let me know! Reviews feed the author's soul!