AN: Ok. This takes place in a sort of "post Two Bodies In The Lab" world…an idea of something that could happen if the events of that episode continued, ignoring episodes that have happened since. Does that make sense:) Also, this is my first Bones fanfic, so be gentle! And you should know that I meant for it to be mostly humorous, but somewhere along the way it sort of sank into near-angst. Anyhow, I hope you like it!
And special thanks to my beta, s. rosa!
PS: Yes, I have been accused of Billy Joel addiction. I'm unapologetic ;)
Listen, boy, I don't wanna see you let a good thing slip away.
You know I don't like watching anybody make the same mistakes I made.
She's a real nice girl and she's always there for you,
But a nice girl wouldn't tell you what you should do.
Listen, boy, I'm sure that you think you've got it all under control.
You don't want somebody tellin' you the way to stay in someone's soul.
You're a big boy now, and you'll never let her go,
But that's just the kind of thing she ought to know.
Tell her about it.
Tell her everything you feel.
Give her every reason to accept that you're for real.
Tell her about it.
Tell her all your crazy dreams.
Let her know you need her, let her know how much she means.
Listen, boy, it's not automatically a certain guarantee.
To ensure yourself you've got to provide communication constantly.
When you love someone, you're always insecure,
And there's only one good way to reassure.
Tell her about it,
Let her know how much you care,
When she can't be with you, tell her you wish you were there.
Tell her about it.
Every day before you leave
Pay her some attention, give her something to believe.
'Cause now and then she'll get to worrying,
Just because you haven't spoken for so long.
And though you may not have done anything,
Well I fear your consolation when she's gone.
Listen, boy, it's good information from a man who's made mistakes.
Just a word or two that she gets from you could be the difference that it makes.
She's a trusting soul; she's put her trust in you,
But a girl like that won't tell you what you should do.
-"Tell Her About It" by Billy Joel
Part I
I can't BELIEVE I let them talk me into this, Dr. Temperance Brennan, better known as 'Bones,' thought blackly as she waited backstage. Traipsing around in front of men like some kind of prehistoric sex slave about to be sold off. Honestly, the whole thing's barbaric, even if it IS for charity.
Really, she reflected, it was mostly Angela's fault. Temperance had made the mistake of telling her friend about being asked to participate in a "celebrity" auction for a charity, and Angela had not only felt the need to tell everyone at the Jeffersonian about it, she'd decided to make it her personal mission in life to get Temperance to actually go. She'd finally agreed, in a fit of weakness following a nearly sleepless week helping the FBI solve a murder.
Temperance was one of the last people to be 'sold.' A speaker in the corner of the room projected the auctioneer's voice, so the anxious participants could hear what they were going for without seeing who was bidding on them. She had been sitting quietly in a corner, but when she heard the announcer read her name and a short bio, she stood up to pace the room nervously.
"We'll begin the bidding at $300. Do I hear $300?"
Personally, Temperance thought that the buyers were paying ridiculous amounts of money just to spend a few hours with someone famous. But then, they had been invited simply because they were rich enough not to notice a thousand or so dollars missing for a good cause. Which meant that Angela, whom Temperance had dragged along for moral support, was practically the only one in the audience that she knew.
"I see a hand in the back for 300. Do I hear $400? The gentleman in the front bids $400. Do I hear $450?" The bidding continued, to Temperance's increasing concern. At least, after all these FBI cases, I know exactly how to kill Angela without getting caught.
The bidding finally tapered off at $1,500, a respectably high amount (although a local news anchor had gone for $2,000, and a handsome young politician for $2,700). Now, Temperance knew, she would have to go out and meet the person she was obligated to go to dinner with the following night. She smoothed her dress where it skimmed her hips. It was a plain black cocktail dress, with demurely off-the-shoulder straps, but it had a generous slit up the side and Angela had bullied her into adding long black opera gloves and high heels. The whole effect, Temperance felt, was disgustingly trendy—the kind of mass-produced quality that appealed to the population's unconscious desire for conformity and acceptance. But, to be honest, she couldn't blame the whole night on Angela. A small part of her had been flattered to receive the invitation—an affirmation of her status in their community. An even smaller part of her wanted to prove, if only for one night, that she could really fit in.
Not that the one person she most wanted to realize this was even here. But he'd hear about it.
Temperance slowed her breathing and walked calmly onto the stage at the program director's signal. Lights were glaring down brightly, backlighting both the emcee and her unknown date to the point that they were unrecognizable until she had crossed all the way over to where they stood.
"Dr. Brennan," the auctioneer said, "may I present Dr. James Winchester." The man who had just purchased an evening of her company reached out to shake her hand. He was tall, she saw, and good-looking in an aristocratic way: thin without being skinny, with regular, well-defined bone structure in his face. Pale skin (He must not spend much time outdoors), black hair with the lightest of silver touches at the temples, and blue eyes helped him project an air of quiet watchfulness.
Once they'd been ushered offstage, Temperance asked him what his field was. "Medical research," he answered. "I started Aritech Pharmaceuticals several years ago. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
Temprance nodded. One of the fastest-growing pharmaceutical manufactures in the country, Aritech had a reputation for being the good guy in its field—their prices were consistently much lower than their competitors', and often of better quality. She was relieved. As two scientists, the chances were good they'd be able to find something to talk about over dinner.
Special Agent Seeley Booth glowered at his coffee and sighed impatiently. It was Monday morning at the Jeffersonian Institute and Bones was late. She was never late. In fact, she was never even 'on time'—she was always early. And he had a sneaking, distasteful suspicion that her delayed arrival had something to do with that damn charity auction thing Angela had been telling him about on Friday.
He knew he had no right to be upset that she'd had a date, and he had been trying really hard since he'd found out about it to NOT show that he was. He could mask his jealousy last time with an "online dating isn't safe" spiel, but this? The guy was practically the poster-child for every woman's dream.
Because Booth had checked.
He had used every resource at his professional disposal for the thoroughly un-professional purpose of making sure Bones wasn't off to dinner with some psychopath. Which Winchester clearly was not. The guy had more accolades that Mother Theresa and not so much as a parking ticket on his record.
Which put Booth in a black mood.
Because it left no other reason for the horrible feeling in his gut than play, old-fashioned jealousy of the romantic variety. Which, in turn, scared the proverbial shit out of him.
At first he hadn't really even liked Bones. He'd only liked ruffling her feathers—hence the nickname that she'd hated. Once she'd earned his respect, it had become more of a nickname. Temperance and Dr. Brennan were both pretty big mouthfuls, after all. Then she'd gained his loyalty and trust and he'd begun thinking of her as a friend. And just when he'd started getting used to that he'd gone and noticed that she was a woman. An amazingly attractive woman. So now 'Bones' was practically an endearment.
And that was a problem. Because their relationship was already so deep that he couldn't just shrug off the sexual attraction and go pick up someone in a bar.
Or whatever.
But he couldn't ask her out himself because:
a. they worked together and if it didn't work out it'd get weird
b. they were friends and if it didn't work out it'd get weird
and
c. what if she said no?
Booth wasn't a man who normally agonized over fear of rejection, but with Bones? Well…he checked the clock and sighed again, torn between worries that she'd been in an accident or gotten sick, and the fear that she'd spent the night with Winchester—the ass. Such was his mood that Booth didn't really care that the man was, by all accounts, a pillar of the community. He was just the ass that was dating Bones.
The sound of her brisk walk finally reached his ears and Booth looked up. Shoving away from the wall he'd been leaning against, he directed his surly expression at his—yes, damnit, his, if only in the professional context—forensic anthropologist. She looked at him curiously.
"What's up?" she asked innocently, which only served to worsen his mood.
"Where the hell have you been," he snapped back. Her expression darkened almost imperceptibly.
She glanced at her watch. "It's 8:05, Booth. So I'm five minutes late. I'd hardly call that cause for anger."
"Yeah, but for you that's like 45 minutes late. I was started to think you'd been in an accident or something."
Bones unlocked her office door and he followed her inside. "Well, traffic was heavier than usual."
She was giving him strange looks, so Booth decided to change tactics. "Although I suppose that you might've been late cause of your hot date this weekend. How'd that go, anyway?" He asked, voice deceptively light.
His tone was teasing but something in his eyes wasn't. Temperance mentally glared at herself. Since when had she started 'reading people?' Since I started hanging around with Mr. Psychology here, she admitted. He was rubbing off on her, and she wasn't sure that it was a good thing.
And speaking of acting weird, what was he upset about, anway?
"You know, for someone who's always telling me what a work addict I am, you seem awfully concerned that I might have relaxed a little."
"It's workaholic, Bones. And don't try to dodge the question, or I'll go ask Angela and she'll tell me whatever sordid details you told her," he said, still teasing. Whatever it was was gone from his expression now. Temperance wondered if maybe she'd been imagining things. This is why subjective sciences are unreliable.
"Booth, did you ever stop to consider that my social life isn't really your business?" She turned from pulling a lab coat out of her closet to see that whatever it was flashing across his face again. The thought crossed her mind—not for the first time—that it might be kind of nice if her social life were Booth's business.
It was an idea that popped up almost every time she saw him, but every time it did Temperance firmly shoved it to the back of her mind. No, she would tell herself, It would never work. We're too different. And besides, he barely even thinks of me as a friend—
"C'mon, Bones," he wheedled. "Friends tell each other their dirt. It's a bonding experience."
Okay, maybe not. "I don't know what you mean by dirt, but I had a very nice time with Dr. Winchester—James, I mean. We have a lot in common. In fact," she punctuated her sentence by shutting her closet door, almost defiantly, "we're going out again Friday night."
Booth made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "No offense, Bones, but in my experience, when a woman says 'we have a lot in common,' she's getting ready to add 'and I really hope we can stay friends, but this isn't working out.'"
Temperance glared at him. "Then they very clearly didn't have anything in common with you. Now did you just come here to grill me or do you have something for me to do?"
He sighed. "Fine. You're no fun. Follow me—new case," he said, turning and walking toward the lab.
She watched him for a minute, wishing he wouldn't try to talk her out of dating all the time. It was too confusing. Just when she started to think that maybe he was a little too interested, that maybe he was even the slightest bit jealous, he withdrew.
And that's the proof, Temperance realized with a wave of regret that was surprisingly intense. If he felt anything for me, Booth would say something. He knows I'm horrible at subtlety.
So he must not be interested, she let herself think before pushing the whole idea back where it belonged: her unconscious.
"So how's it going with Dr. Winchester?" Angela asked a few weeks later. She, Temperance, and Booth were at their usual bar, having their usual Friday night drink. It had been a long week, and they were all very pointedly not talking about work.
Unfortunately Temperance had another nagging concern on her mind, and Angela had just brought it up. "He's a really nice man," she said, hedging.
Angela, of course, pounced. "That doesn't exactly sound like a blazing love affair."
Booth, Temperance noticed, was watching her intently. Too intently…it was like he was trying to see inside her head. She carefully looked at Angela instead. "Just because I'm not burning with lust doesn't mean I can't have a meaningful and fulfilling relationship with him. I can tell he really likes me. I mean," she added in response to her friend's skeptical look, "isn't it better to base something on mutual respect and understanding than something that will be gone as soon as the passion burns itself out? I've had enough short-term affairs. I think I'm ready for something serious, and I think James is a good candidate."
"Jesus, Bones, you sound like you're shopping for a car, not a boyfriend."
Temperance ignored Booth. Angela just looked at her. "Sweetie, I'm sure he's a great guy, and judging by the number of bouquets that have been sent to your office lately, I know he's into you. It's just that you don't seen all that into him."
Temperance took a drink. "First Booth, now you. Why is everyone trying so hard to talk me out of this?"
"Because you're not happy. You haven't been the same since that asshole almost killed you. Something's wrong, Temperance, and you're trying to hide behind this new relationship to make it right."
Slamming her glass down on the worn bar with uncharacteristic force, Temperance stood up. "That's funny, I thought we were coming here to wind down, not attack my personal life."
"She's right, Bones," Booth said quietly, but she cut him off.
"You know what? Stay out of it. Both of you. I'm a responsible adult, and believe it or not I am capable of handling my own life." Throwing some money next to her glass she turned to leave, missing the look that passed between her two companions. Preoccupied as she was, she didn't notice she wasn't alone until she was outside. "What are you doing," she snapped.
"Walking you to your car," Booth answered. "Where are you in such a hurry to get to anyway?"
Away from you, she almost said, but managed to bite her tongue. "I need to get home. James is taking me to dinner—not that it's any of your business." Digging in her oversized purse for her keys, Temperance heard Booth sigh. He leaned back against her car and was silent. She unlocked her door and had almost managed to ignore him when he started to speak.
"What…what if it was my business, Bones?"
Temperance's head snapped up while the rest of her body froze. The sickly feeling of déjà vu began to seep over her—hadn't she imagined him saying that very thing a thousand times? Was she hallucinating now?
"What…" she began softly, but he put up his hand to stop her.
"No, just listen." He sighed and looked off at the sunset as if to find the right words. "I wasn't gonna tell you this, Bones," he continued a moment later, "at least not for a long time yet, but…I dunno, I just can't let you go off to that guy not knowing…not knowing that the way I see you—the way I feel about you—it's not professional, and it's not friendly anymore. It's—" he finally met her eyes—"I'm this close to falling in love with you, Bones. In fact," his voice dropped almost to a whisper, "I think I already have."
Temperance just stood there, half inside her car, mind blank. His eyes, she could see, were guarded, as though he expected her to lash out at him. She couldn't think, couldn't form the words, couldn't do anything but repeat the phrase, numbly, inside her head: I can't lose him, too.
They stared at each other.
Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you
And how you needed me too
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Maybe this won't last very long
But you feel so right
And I could be wrong
Maybe I've been hoping too hard
But I've gone this far
And it's more that I hoped for
Who knows how much further we'll go on
Maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone
I'll take my chances
I forgot how nice romance is
I haven't been there for the longest time
I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself
Hold on to your heart
Now I know the woman that you are
You're wonderful so far
And it's more that I hoped for
I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for
The longest time
-"The Longest Time" by Billy Joel
Part II
James' explanation of his company's latest innovation in HIV-suppressing drug research trailed off. Temperance tried to think of something intelligent to say, but to be honest she hadn't been paying much attention. She couldn't stop thinking about Booth, and the look on his face when she'd gotten silently into her car and driven away.
About what he'd said.
Booth likes me.
James cleared his throat. "So, Temperance, have you come across any, uh, interesting specimens lately?"
Booth loves me?
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
He put down his fork and twined his fingers under his chin. "I just asked about your work. Temperance, are you all right? You seem distracted tonight."
And I just left him there. How could I do that to him? Why didn't I answer? What would I have said?
She shook her head slightly and faked a brief smile. "It's nothing. I just…something one of my colleagues said has me a little concerned."
If this were the other way around there's no way Booth would fall for that.
But James just shrugged and went back to his fish. He tried twice more to start up a conversation, but Temperance merely stared at the space above his right shoulder and gave minimal answers to his questions. Finally they lapsed into uncomfortable silence.
What is 'love' anyway? A biological phenomenon developed via evolution to encourage family groups, thereby increasing the ease of raising children and the likelihood that they would survive to adulthood. Her thoughts were brisk and professional until another quieter voice broke in. A side of her personality Temperance hadn't felt for a long time.
That doesn't mean it's not real, she thought.
You're too different, the professional side of her screamed. It would never work out! Booth will get tired of you and leave, just like everyone else! Just like Michael and Anthony and Jake and Stephen and all the rest. Only it will hurt more because…
Because you love him? But do you? Or is it just a physical attraction that will fade?
Temperance took a deep breath and looked directly at James. James: so perfect for her and yet…something was missing. He was saying something vague about the excellence of the food, trying awkwardly to break the silence. She couldn't figure out what was bothering her. Physically, he was just as good-looking as Booth (well, nearly, anyway); he was interested in many of the same things she was; he was intellectually stimulating, a pleasant conversationalist whom it was challenging to debate with. So why was she—how had Angela put it? Oh yes—"not into him?"
"…don't you think?" he finished whatever it was he'd been talking about. And then it hit her.
I don't have to talk to Booth to enjoy his company. We can just sit or work together without being awkward or uncomfortable. He teases me and jokes around and says things I don't understand, but I never really get mad at him. He knows me…I don't know how, since I've never told him, but he knows me. The real me.
She sat up straighter and grabbed her purse from under the table. Suddenly, it was imperative that she see Booth—NOW. "I'm sorry, James," she said, "but I don't think this is going to work out, and there's somewhere I need to be. Thank you for dinner," she added over her shoulder on the way to the door. James was standing up, gaping at her across the restaurant.
Booth parked his SUV as far away from his apartment as he could. It was raining and given his current mood, he relished a good soaking. The sky reflected his feelings perfectly; maybe being out in the elements for a minute would give him some peace, or at least clarity.
He'd stood in the parking lot of the bar and watched her drive away. She hadn't said anything; hadn't moved; her face just closed off before she'd left. That was the only way he could think to describe it: closed off. Like a curtain had passed between her emotions and her expression, leaving only a frozen face that revealed nothing, even to him.
Several minutes later, he'd found himself back inside, ordering another, stiffer drink and paying no attention to Angela, who was chattering aimlessly.
"At least you went after her," she'd said, clearly a little drunk. "That's the only thing I hate about movies—the hero never goes after the heroine when he should."
He'd laughed bitterly and stared down into his glass. "Maybe there's a reason for that."
But by that time Angela had been gone, off to chat up some poor, unsuspecting fellow. So Booth had sat at the bar, alone, wondering what he'd done. He hadn't gotten drunk, though…as appealing as the thought of oblivion was at the moment, he had to drive home.
Once there, he sat and listened to the rain beating against the roof for almost an hour before getting out. He walked slowly, hands in pockets, so distracted that he didn't notice the shadowy figure on the steps until he almost tripped over it. Not interested in any kind of conversation, he started to move past the person until he heard his name.
Booth looked down incredulously as the figure got to its—her—feet. "Bones?" He whipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. "What the hell are you doing, sitting out in the rain? How long have you been here?" Hastily unlocking and opening the door, he pulled her inside towards his apartment. His previous self-pity was forgotten in a rush of concern for his partner. "Jesus, Bones, it's the middle of February!"
"I needed to talk to you. It's not my fault you weren't here."
"Then why the hell didn't you call me from someplace dry?" Their familiar bickering was so comfortable he almost forgot just what it was that she was probably there to talk about.
"I took a cab from the restaurant; I didn't have any way to get home."
"What, you mean you just left Winchester there alone?" He motioned for her to sit down on his couch and went to rummage through a closet. "Hold on, I think Tessa left some stuff here that might fit you. You can't sit around in that dress, it's soaked," he said, glad of something to do that didn't require looking at her. Bedraggled as she was, being so close only made it harder.
"It's okay, really—"
"No, it's not. Think of it as a desire to preserve the upholstery of my sofa, okay? Anyway, Bones," he broke off to lift down a dusty box of clothes. Throwing a sweatshirt her direction, he started rambling. "While I appreciate you wanting to let me down gently in person, it really wasn't necessary to interrupt your date. I mean, ideally you would have actually said something at the time, thus preventing the total destruction of my ego but hey, I'm a pretty well-adjusted guy, I'll probably get over it, eventually…"
"Shut up, Booth."
He whipped his head out of the closet to look at her. She shot a pointed glance at his hands and he realized he was holding a pale pink lace bra. He quickly hurled it back into the depths of storage.
Bones cleared her throat and stood up. "He wasn't you," she said quietly. The mask was gone from her face and he could see, finally, what it was she'd been hiding from him: fear. Something that felt suspiciously like a butterfly started moving in his chest. "I was just sitting there," she continued, twisting the sweatshirt in her hands, "and all of a sudden it hit me: he isn't Booth. And then I started thinking about it and I realized that since I started working with you, every other man I've known just sort of…faded. Every man I've met since, too."
She paused. "Bones," he began, a smile starting to cross his face, but she interrupted him again.
"No, wait, I need to tell you this," she said, so he settled for crossing to stand in front of her. "Every relationship I've ever had had ended badly. And, Booth, I care so much more about you than I ever did about them, but that just means that it's going to hurt that much more when you leave." She looked up and he could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes.
He pulled her into his arms and was incredibly relieved when she tentatively wrapped hers around his waist and pressed her face against his shoulder. "Shh," he said, "I'm not going anywhere."
"You don't know that," she said, voice muffled. "Things happen, Booth. Even if you don't get tired of me, you have a dangerous job. Statistically speaking, one of these days you're going to get shot or stabbed or beaten up…"
He maneuvered them until they were sitting down, Bones curled against his side and still in his arms. "Your faith in my ability is touching." Was it his imagination or was that a slight snicker? "And anyway, I'm in much more immediate danger of having a heart attack the next time you go running into some dangerous situation."
She raised her head. "That's another thing. This completely changes our professional relationship."
He could tell she had a whole speech just waiting to burst out, so he stopped her before she could get rolling by kissing her. "C'mon," he said with a grin, "I really think you need to get out of those wet clothes…"