It's six in the morning on a Saturday, and she's sleeping on her couch again with the door shut. That's the third time this week. It looks like she changed her clothes from last night, but that doesn't mean anything. She keeps clothes here in case the bodies are messy, and I know she's slept here and used the decontam shower before changing and getting right back to work. She was practically silent, yesterday, when I'd come by a lunchtime, though she was clearly telling the truth when she said she wasn't mad at me for anything. But she wouldn't be drawn out, and I could tell she was going to throw me out if I pressed, so I left after grumbling at her for the sake of appearances.
Her forehead's all scrunched up, too, like it was that time she fell asleep in the car on the way back from McVicker's pig farm. Or when she slept here the whole week after the Gravedigger, even after I'd keep taking her home at the end of the day. I wish she'd just tell me what's wrong. Doesn't she get tired of me nagging her? Or does she really, honestly believe it's either not worth sharing, or too burdensome? As much as I understand her, I just don't get how she can be so confident about some things, and react like a kicked puppy to others.
Hmm. Her forehead's getting scrunchier. Maybe it's time to wake her up. Whatever she's dreaming about, it doesn't look good. Plus, I've been standing here for ten minutes now, she could probably get a restraining order on that fact alone.
"Hey, Bones." No response. More scrunching.
"Bones, hey, wake up." Okay, now she's mumbling in what is that, Spanish? Time for bold and decisive action by the Great Coward, Seeley Booth-- actually touching her without acting like a thirteen year old. I'm an idiot.
"Bones, hey, Bones, wake up, there." Okay, the shoulder shaking thing isn't working either. She's mumbling more. Hmm. Sometimes she wakes up when I sit down on the couch next to her. Okay, I'm sitting, it's not working, she's still mumbling, even more forehead-scrunching.
"Temperance," I said, then leant forward to shake her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open, a look of panic in them, and before I knew it she'd grabbed me by the arm, pulled her legs up, and flipped me over her onto the floor to the side the couch. Shit. That really hurt.
"Bones!" Ow. I'm going to have a bruise on my ass for a week. She's sitting, at least-- but she's still got that look on her face. Is she even awake?
"Temperance, snap out of it." Okay, the hand in front of the face thing isn't working, either. She's not here, and I don't like the idea of wherever she is that's got her looking even more terrified than that time with Kenton. But she might flip me again if I try to touch her. I got up, came around back in front to crouch in front of her.
"Bones, hey, you've got to wake up, come on, snap out of it." Still no response. Shit. I don't want to slap her, but I had a buddy after Kosovo who did this occasionally, and sometimes it was the only thing that worked. One more try, though-- the guy hug/face touch thing sometimes works. Guy hug, yeah, right. I reached out for her face, and she stared at me, eyes still seeing something besides what was in front of her-- and she flinched, backing away until she'd practically climbed out of the couch. Jesus. Where the hell are you, Bones? Shit. This next part was probably going to hurt.
I stood and grabbed her, pulled her up and off the couch and into my chest, thinking if I could just get my arms around her she might relax, or wake up-- but instead of punching me, she let out such a cry of fear that I practically dropped her.
"Bones, goddamnit, come on, wake up!" If she screamed like that again, Security would be in here in a second, even though I'd closed the door again when I came in to check-- I wasn't sure how she'd react to more company, if one was bad enough. I braced myself, and winced as I slapped her. But that did it-- God, Bones, I'm sorry-- and she sagged, so sudden I nearly dropped her again. She looked up at me, dazed, so I pulled her in closer.
"Bones, hey, shhh. You were having a bad dream, you wouldn't wake up. Here, sit." I let go for a second, I swear, just long enough to push her toward the couch, but she just folded up onto the floor, curled up into a ball. Not good.
"Bones, Temperance." No response. I picked her up, then, settled her in my lap on the couch as I got my arms around her. She was shuddering, her head tucked in to my chest, and wouldn't look up. She was practically hyperventilating.
"Temperance, it's okay, you're here, at the lab, it's just me, it's okay, you're awake, it's okay," I repeated, running one hand in circles on her back as she continued to shudder. She'd been totally silent all this time, except for that scream that I knew all too well was not the product of just a bad dream-- it never is, when someone screams like that. I reached over to wrap the throw she'd discarded when she flipped me around her, and tried to keep talking to her as I rubbed her back. Slowly, her shuddering stopped, her breathing merely ragged, but she was still curled into a ball, her head still pressed into my chest, facing away from me.
"Come on, Bones, what is it?" She shook her head. "Bones, it's okay. Really. Whatever it is. You can tell me." Again with the headshaking.
"Temperance. Do you honestly think I would think less of you after all the time we've been working together? I won't say anything, but whatever it is, you need to get it out. You can't be having those dreams like that, you just can't. I know. Come on, you have to tell someone if they're going to stop." Yeah. Good one, Seeley. Try taking your own advice every once in a while, why don't you?
No headshake this time, just ragged breathing and the occasional small shiver. She shifted, then, one arm uncurling and slipping behind me, so I shifted and pulled her closer again, until her soft-- okay, really not the time for this-- until she was pressed more securely against me. Still not looking up, she started to talk, her voice so quiet I almost couldn't hear her.
"Five years ago yesterday, I was at a site in Guatemala. The locals had sent out police, who were supposed to be watching out for the faction who'd been the cause of the local unrest, as well as the grave I was recovering. Except it turned out that the local chief was actually brothers with the leader of the local faction's cell, and five of them including the chief..."
I just listened, never stopped rubbing her back as she told me the rest of the story, every horrifying, disgusting, completely believable detail of the three day ordeal, until she finished, and sighed-- a long, shaky exhalation that at least was better than how she'd been breathing before.
"Bones. Thank you for telling me that. I'm sorry it happened. It shouldn't have. You already know it wasn't anything you could have stopped." She nodded, but kept her head down, still, until I started to feel wetness soaking through my shirt. I shifted again, so I could pull her closer, my shirt getting wetter by the minute. She never sobbed, never made a noise except the sound of her breathing—she just kept leaking tears until I was soaked from neck to waist as I circled my hand on her back and repeated the same meaningless reassurances as before, until her breathing slowed again, sounding almost normal.
I pulled back, then, tipped up her face until she was looking at me. "Here, you should sleep in a real bed. Am I going to sit on my couch or yours while you do that?"
"I don't know," she said, her eyes red and swollen, her face pale and exhausted.
"Well, let's go anyway, I'll decide on the way." She nodded, and pushed herself back up to standing, then gathered her things.
My hand at her back, I steered her out to the car, then got in after shutting her door and coming around. Her hand was lying on her leg, so I reached out and took it, rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand as I pulled out of the lot. Looking over, I saw she'd laid her head on the seatback, her eyes closed.
She was fast asleep when I stopped the car, having decided my place was closer, and in any event, at least different from whatever meant she wasn't happy sleeping at her place. I came around to her side and opened the door. "Hey, Bones." No response. Well, that makes it easier. I undid her seatbelt, got her out and into my arms, then headed up to the house. She didn't murmur or shift at all, even as I leant down to move the covers, put her down, and remove her shoes. She really was wiped out-- so after pulling the covers up, I did what I'd do for Parker.
"Sweet dreams, Bones," I said, pressing a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her filling my nose. Okay, Seeley boy, stop. She's sleeping. No hair sniffing right now. Turn and leave. Somehow, I managed to do it.
- - -
Four hours later, her footsteps carried down the hall, and I looked up from the research I'd been doing on my laptop. She was rubbing her face, and looking a lot better, but to forestall any attempt she might make to apologize, I shot her a charm smile, and said, "I'm starving for breakfast. Diner okay?"
"Sure. I'll be right back." I heard the bathroom door shut, water running, and then she returned, shod, and face washed. "All set."
"Great. I want pancakes. And french fries. And pie."
"That's disgusting."
"You betcha."
- - - -
She was standing at the top of the tramway between the plane and the gate. I'd been gone less than a week, to take care of some unfinished business, and had been lucky enough to wrap it up early, but even so, the return connections had been a pain in the ass. I wasn't too surprised to see her there, though I wondered how she got past security without a badge. I shifted my bag on my shoulder as I took the last few steps toward her.
Her expression was serious, but she didn't look angry, or upset. A not angry, not upset Bones, I can deal with. When I stopped in front of her, she looked up at me, eyes deep blue with emotion.
Instead of speaking, though, she handed me a small piece of paper, folded. I took it, and opened it, and read. It was a newspaper clipping from the international wire service, reporting the midnight delivery three days ago of five corpses to the front stairs of the ministry of justice, one of whom was a local police chief long suspected of being allied with the other four men, guerillas who still held a rural province far from the capital. One of the guerrillas was the chief's brother. It was unknown how the corpses had ended up on the front stairs, as the ministry was surrounded by a heavily patrolled fence. I folded it, put it in my pocket, then looked back at her.
Her hand came up to my face, pulled me down until our lips were nearly touching, then said, "I love you, too." The kiss she gave me then left no room for doubt. As I kissed her back, with all the force I could muster, I decided. Those five are not on my list. She responded again, her arms wrapped around me, and I decided again, just to be sure. Not on the list, no doubt. None, whatsoever.