Title: Seeing the City from Above
Author: Sara (singsongyylove)
Rating: K... Clean, but rather angsty. And there's one line that creates an image that even as the author, grosses me out.
Summary: What if Booth had indeed called Brennan during that two weeks- and it happened to be at the most inconvenient moment? Post Wannabe, again.
A/N: Okay, so this story is my little season three mix-up-fix-up thing. I wanted to get this out before the season 4 premiere (which, by the by, I don't think I'm going to be home to see- stupid, stupid, stupid- thank you Fox for episodes online). Yeah, so it takes place in the two weeks when Booth is "dead".
The wind whipped her hair and the sharp ends stung her face like tiny shards of glass. Stinging, biting, freezing, even though it was early summer, it was so cold that Temperance imagined her tears turning to ice the moment that they spilled from her lashes. Just like her hair, the t-shirt that was way too big billowed and flapped around her tiny form. Through the darkness, she could see every light in the city, but she couldn't even see the concrete looming thirty feet below. She could see the Washington monument, the light reflecting off of it like a white beacon sticking out of the non-existent skyline. Remembering one evening when she had sat staring at that white beacon with her partner, another tear rolled down her cheek.
She should have been inside, sleeping, Brennan scolded herself. She should have been doing what she did best: blocking things out. Temperance Brennan, queen compartmentalizer, should have been inside, convincing herself that she would be fine without him.
But the fact was she wasn't. She was standing out on her balcony with the wind stirring everything up around her. Actually, she was standing out on the railing of her balcony, one hand gripping a column tightly. It was beyond unreasonable. It was beyond irrational. It, quite frankly, was idiotic. She was not inside sleeping and she was not at all convinced that she would be fine. In fact, looking objectively at the situation, she was almost certain that she would not be fine without him.
But for some reason, it felt good to be thirty feet of darkness away from the ground, looking out through blurred vision at a sea of national monuments, and feeling as if she could simply blow away if she let go. It was refreshing, feeling powerless. She was always in control, but where had that gotten her? It was her fault that her partner was dead. So maybe, just for this once, she could enjoy the feeling of being out of control.
She had no intention of jumping. None at all. Yes, it was hard to imagine continuing her work without him. Yes, she hated living with the guilt that that bullet was meant for her. But people had left her before and she had gone on and been just fine. And she was a world-famous forensic anthropologist. What about all those families she had given a loved one back to and all the ones whom she would identify in the future, just the way she had with her own mother? Brennan had always tried to convince Booth that she wasn't weak. Just because he was gone didn't mean she should go back on her word. She would not kill herself. She would not be a coward.
But maybe if she happened to slip and fall? The thought didn't bother her. Was that wrong that her instinct for self-preservation seemed to have disappeared? Temperance Brennan was sure that she had never been so illogical in her entire life, but she didn't care. Objective, compartmentalizing, calculating Dr. Brennan would be hard at work tomorrow in the lab. But right now, powerless Temperance didn't care either way if she lived or died because it was much simpler not to mind.
Inside the apartment which emanated a soft, yellow light and welcoming warmth, the telephone rang. Most likely Angela calling to see if I'm okay, she thought to herself, if only she knew. She waited as it rang once, twice, five times, eight times, and then her own voice rang out. It beeped and there was a suspended moment when she waited for Angela's smooth words to come, but instead she heard a most unusual thing.
"Bones, I'm not supposed to be calling you, but I just… had to," Temperance stared at the blinking machine with horror. Impossible. Yes, that was it; she was definitely and irrevocably not going to be okay. But even in that moment when Brennan knew that Booth was not actually calling her, that he was, in fact, dead, and that her mind was playing tricks on her, she wanted to indulge. Just as she knew it was idiotic to be standing precariously out on her balcony, but did it anyways, she was not in the mood for rational. She wanted to answer the phone, even if the conversation was a hallucination or a delusion, because maybe for one more moment, Booth could be alive. Temperance moved to leap off of the railing and bound in through the sliding door, but knew the moment that her hand left the column that she would not make it there. One foot slipped immediately and uncontrollably, and within a split second, she found her stomach leaping into her chest. And the only thought that Brennan could find during the second that she fell was that this was not a delusion, hallucination or dream. This is really happening. I'm about to die. And the last thing she felt was her shoulder blades cracking firmly against the ground.
Temperance's eyes pulled open with strenuous difficulty. Her vision felt glazed, but the first thing she saw was a pair of brown eyes that could only belong to one person.
"Am I dead?" she asked her partner.
"No, Bones. You're alive. We're both alive."
Temperance Brennan was not sure she believed him when he said that they were alive. But for that moment, she chose to accept it as the truth, because it was simpler not to mind. She chose to assume that both she and Seeley Booth were living creatures, because in that moment, she wanted to indulge this strange delusion, this powerless freedom from rationality. She wanted to believe that those were really her partner's deep, brown eyes.
This story is kind of a weird thing. The end is like, perfectly set up for me to continue, but I like for all of you to just believe what you want to believe. But one more chapter might be nice. I don't know, you tell me.
Every moment that you stare at the review button without clicking it is almost as painful as every moment that Booth and Brennan lean closer and closer without kissing. Please, save me the agony. Just kiss. Oh... or... no, just review.