Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set between S3 & S4
A/N: A little different from my usual, but the image was in my head and begged to be written. Thanks to CupcakeBean for help with a plot point.
Disclaimer: Not mine :( Title shamelessly taken from the Counting Crows song Anna Begins.
It had been a long day, exhausting really. They'd left before dawn in attempts to arrive at the scene before the rain blew in; they may have made it had they not gotten mind blowingly lost. All because his GPS - his frustratingly brilliant partner - had thought she found a short cut; it turned out to be a road that no longer existed. Booth made a mental note to purchase some newer maps.
The wipers drug across the windshield and he sighed, hiking up the heat. Two hours since they'd left the scene and he was finally starting to dry. He made a right turn, hoping he was heading in the correct direction. Between the darkness and being so horribly lost on the way to the scene, he couldn't be sure he was even in the right state anymore. A sign for route 81 loomed ahead and he smiled. Who said men were terrible navigators?
He looked over his shoulder. As had been happening more and more lately, he found himself stealing glances at his partner. Ok, so it wasn't like this was a new occurrence. There were several times in the past he'd caught himself staring at her, sending a silent prayer to God she wouldn't pick up on it and crush his skull. He knew she was more than capable of it. The problem was that lately it seemed that he spent more time staring at her than not. It could only lead to trouble.
He merged onto the highway, suppressing a smile. She was stretched across the backseat of the Tahoe, head resting against the chilly window pane. Every so often a dip or bump in the road would cause her head to bang against the glass; he didn't know how it didn't wake her. Then again, she was known to be a bit hard headed.
Actually, he wasn't sure how she was comfortable back there at all; it wasn't like the SUV was in mint condition. He shook his head remembering how she'd ended up back there in the first place. They'd been a half hour into the drive back to D.C. arguing over which lead to follow first when she dropped her cell phone and climbed over the console (he did not stare at her retreating form, thank you. Well...not much, at least.) to retrieve it. The next thing he knew she was slumped against the window, dead to the world. Realizing that she was still probably soaked to the bone, he rooted under his seat and found the blanket he stored there. Usually, it was flung over Parker as he napped on the way to or from Rebecca's. Now it was nestled - even his aim with blankets was accurate - over his partner. After all, he didn't want his Bones catching pneumonia.
The car in front of him slowed and Booth lightly tapped the brakes hoping Brennan didn't fall off the seat. He didn't want to have to deal with an infuriated anthropologist - no matter how sexy it might be. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed his suspicion that she remained sprawled across the seat and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He was on familiar roads now and felt more comfortable watching her with one eye and the road with the other. Her face was calm, relaxed in sleep, and it buoyed him more than he thought should be legal. She'd been so tense the past few weeks and a day like this in the field - arguing with local authorities and deciding what needed to be sent back to the Jeffersonian - didn't help. He was glad to see that she could find comfort somewhere. He heard her sigh and then, surprisingly, his own name fell from her lips, breathy and quiet. A shiver shot down his spine and any thought he had of waking her before they reached her apartment flew out the window. He grinned and flicked the radio on as soft as possible, intent on letting her sleep the rest of the way; some things were more important than a case.