Author: Digital Dork
Disclaimer: Not mine. And that sucks.
On the edge of the kitchen table sat a bottle of Pinot Grigio, whose contents were already two-thirds empty. An empty wine glass rested nearby, the Pinots legs already dried and sticky along the glass.
The knocking at the front door brought Temperance Brennan's attention to something other than the tiny steaks of light peeking through the blinds of her living room's windows.
Over that last three years she had learned the sound of this particular knock well. It was a familiar sound, recognizable by the three louder knocks, followed by the two shorter, soft knocks. Her sock clad feet wandered from the couch to the front door, where she lightly sighed before answering the door.
"Evening, Booth." Temperance Brennan's theory was correct. She smirked, silently congratulating herself of correctly guessing her visitor.
"God, it's dark in here, Bones," his eyes darted around the room and rested on the near-empty bottle of wine. "Feeling a little emo, are we?"
Booth heard a mumbled "I don't know what that means," coming from Brennan, causing a child-like smile to spread across his face. He walked to the table and picked up the bottle.
"Was 1984 a good year for this? Let me guess, your editor sent it to you. I wish my boss sent me wine."
"My editor isn't my boss. She just –"
"—Owns you," Booth playfully finished her sentence for her.
Bones slowly walked back over to the couch and resumed the same lazy position she had been in before she was interrupted from her 'pity-party' as Angela put it. In all honesty, Temperance didn't see the point for people to join together and have a party to pity themselves. It didn't seem reasonable or logical.
Booth joined her on the couch; he was obviously concerned, she usually argued with him or at least put up a fight.
"Everything alright, Bones? Stressed out with writing the book?" He nodded in the direction of her computer with a patented "I'm-Booth-and-I-can-charm-anything" smile. "You know, if you need help with some of those 'scenes', I might be able to help you out," he wagged his eyebrows for emphasis.
"If you're talking about the scenes where Kathy gets to break the wrist of an FBI Agent who asks too many questions, then be my guest, Booth." The most-welcome wine headache was beginning to set in, and closing her eyes seemed to be the most-welcome action against the pain.
Putting up his hands in mock defense, Booth scooted away from her on the couch.
"Ouch, Bones. You pain me. If you wanna talk, I'm here. But I could also not be here, if you want."
She instantly felt guily about her snappy remark, and for not being for hospitable, but they were partners and they had seen each other in bad moods before. And, she had had too much wine to drink and she wasn't worrying about whether or not Booth would judge her.
"Honestly, Booth, I'm struggling with some issues right now, and it isn't easy for me. I'm sorry for being so rude to you, although I honestly don't know why you're here currently, but I'll try to be more hospitable to you." She waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen, her free hand over her closed eyes. "Help yourself to whatever you'd like."
This was not characteristically Temperance Brennan. And if anyone knew, it was Seeley Booth. Sure, she was intoxicated, and he did drop by her house unexpected, but there was something more to the story than Bones was letting on.
"I'm here because I called the lab and Ange said that you had gone home early, that you're refusing to answer your phone, and that she wanted me to check up on you. I'm your friend and if you're going through anything, you can talk to me." He sounded like he was getting frustrated, but Booth also knew that it wasn't easy for his Bones to talk about her feelings, let alone to allow herself to be open enough with anyone to confide in them.
With that, he stood from the couch and wandered through her house on the hunt for a cup of water and a few aspirin. Finding the aspirin were harder than he had expected (they weren't in the bathroom where most people would keep them. They were in the kitchen above the spices).
Before he had reached the living room to give Bones her pain-killing cocktail, she stated, "I'm a failure."
This surprised Booth enough to make him almost drop the cup he was carrying. He offered her the pills and water before he sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.
"How could a world-famous anthropologist and best-selling author be a failure, Bones?" He didn't understand where her statement came from, let alone have any idea of what to say.
"Easily, Booth." Her eyes began to look glassy as she continued, "Yes, I'm an anthropologist, but I have no idea about the culture around me: their idioms, music, movies, etcetera, which creates a barrier with the people around me. I can't be in a serious relationship because I'm emotionally inept and it cause complications. I'm in closer relationships with bones and the diseased than I am with my best friends and family." She was beginning to get frustrated and angry with herself and how easily she was spilling her heart out to Booth.
"I can't – won't trust my father enough to even attempt to have a real relationship with him, and that's something I've always wanted to have. I've always just wanted to have some sort of connection with people, and I don't know how. Or even if I can."
Booth sat across from her, a million thoughts running through his mind. She wanted to people close to people. She wanted to be understood and appreciated. She wanted – his thoughts were interrupted when Bones began to speak again.
"I know how ridiculous this must sound, but I really do want those things. More emotional things – connections. I want to be wanted and cared for and damn," she sighed, a small, sad smile crossing her face, "sometimes I want flowers, I love daisies, or maybe even go on a nice date. And, not a date that involves dinner and a movie, and the ever-awkward 'We should do this again, sometime' speech at the end. God, I hate the 'We should do this again' line."
The conversation had defiantly taken a twist in the topic as she continued to rant. Booth didn't know if he was ready for where this might possibly lead. Was she insinuating something about their relationship? And if she were, where would that leave him? Or even them?
She realized she was beginning to rant about more than she had bargained for, and continued to play with her hands for a few moments longer before having the courage to meet her partner in the eyes. She felt embarrassed for the both of them – because she knew she had said too much, and because she knew he'd have nothing to say.
And she was right. Seeley Booth was speechless. Instead of speaking, he reached out and covered her hands with his. They were warm and soft and comforting as he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.
So many thoughts were going through his mind in that moment. He wanted to tell her how he wanted to be the man to make her feel cared for and how he wanted to take her on a date and give her a reason to feel close to someone – to him. He wanted to show her that they had that connection.
But he also knew this wasn't the time to confess this to her. This was about making her feel better, and not taking advantage of her vulnerable state.
Looking back into her hazel eyes, he took his free hand and tucked rebellious hair behind her ear.
"You'll have it, Tempe. I know you will. I know you. You're ambitious, beautiful, intelligent, and confident. There's nothing stopping you from having what you want."
For the first time that evening, her eyes met his and she began to smile.
The next morning Temperance lay in bed feeling more confident than she had the night before. And a little more hungover, for that matter.
Becoming vulnerable and honest with Booth the night before had not only brought her out of her emotional shell, but had also formed a new found trust and bond between the two partners.
She eventually pulled herself from the warmth and forced herself to join the world of the living. Walking into the kitchen, she decided starting the coffee maker would be the best way to get her day started. As the rich aroma began to fill the room, the promise of a soon forgotten headache filled her mind.
It was a Sunday. Which meant that both the newspaper's science and arts sections would be more expanded. God, Sundays were good. Expecting to see only her newspaper, her eyes widened with surprise when she opened the front door.
Instead of the daily paper on her doorway, a single white daisy greeted her. A single slip of paper – which she quickly recognized as a receipt from Wong Fu's -- read, "We should do this again sometime. –Booth"
So, what did you think? Should I continue? Let me know!!
Digital Dork
