Watch Me Unfold, a bones fanfic

Hello all

A/N: Hello all. This is my first shot at a Bones fic but I've written for years, just never really published my stuff. I'm one half English major and I'll let you guess the other half. But I don't believe that just cause I study this stuff, it makes me any better of a writer or better than anyone else. So, of course criticism/compliments/concerns etc. are welcomed. I'd like to think that I could become a better writer from it, so it your feedback would be awesome. Last thing, I don't own Bones and or Marie Digby's "Unfold" (amazing acoustic version, which is the one I have in mind here). So why don't I own? Sadly, I'm a broke college kid that only owns this particular imagination and machine I'm typing away on. Enjoy! [EDIT: I have now uploaded a complete spell-checked version. I read a few mistakes here and there but I guess that's what happens when you write at 4 AM.]

Quick intro into said one-shot: Begins with our favorite forensic anthropologist at the place she feels most comfortable in and then heading home and recounting a string of memories that are loosely interconnected within the song and it's lyrics.

Watch Me Unfold

After what seems to be quite a substantial amount of time leaning on the cold metal table, reconstructing what I had originally believed to be a skeleton of a approximately twenty to thirty year old male… I felt a throbbing pain in my both my temples. Attempting to ignore it, I recounted the facts. This particular male was most likely of meso American indigenous decent, whom I was told was found in a cave in Belize. Judging by all my previous findings I concluded that he died of natural causes which still bothered me considering his age, solid bone structure and no indications of poor health on his bones. That I could read, anyways. Sighing, I felt slightly frustrated; my gut was telling me this was wrong. I couldn't let my partner find out I even had one to begin with. I can't help but feel my lips tug into a smile when I imagine the scenario of his impish grin and possible victory dance if he were to ever find out.

Putting my hand back to my right temple I felt my eyes shut and the waves of pain begin to take hold of me. Wincing, I straightened myself and put the remains back in their rightful place before heading to my office to take some ibuprofen I had stored in my desk.

Grabbing hold of the water bottle I had left there previously, I plopped the ibuprofen into my mouth and took a swift swig of the water. In need to wash it down immediately to rid myself of the pain that was both aggravating and exhausting. Sinking into my chair, I realize that again, I am the last one in tonight. Perhaps it would be a wise idea to go home and get some sleep—I'd been having a few restless nights from the previous case Booth and I worked on. It was particularly hard, working on another case with children in the foster care system. But like every other instance, Booth was right behind me, ready to catch me should it prove to be overly emotional for me. I sigh again and pick up my belongings. I pause when I find a burnt CD with a bright purple post-it note attached, scrawled with Angela's characteristically unique but neat handwriting. For the past couple of weeks she'd been trying to get me to listen to music that was 'different'. She said I needed more musically stimulating things in my i-pod and repeatedly left me a new CD every week and would quiz me the next day to see if I had bothered listening to it.

Carefully putting it into my bag, I walk to my car and drive home. Like any other late night drive, it is uneventful and quiet—perfect for unwinding from a long day of working on said body from limbo. Coming into my apartment, I take great care in putting my things away, remembering Ange's CD and placing it next to my cell phone on the dining room table. Finally, rummaging through my refrigerator I coming face to face with two cartons of Wong-Fu's and a post-it note with Booth's haphazard yet strangely readable handwriting saying something about how he figured I'd be home late and left me some Wong-Fu's after taking the liberty to eat his meal in my apartment.

I shake my head in wonderment, how popular have post-it's become? I'm sure if Booth were here, he would throw some pop culture reference my way that I would not be able to comprehend. I shake my head and remind myself to yell at him tomorrow for abusing his power to use my key and come in when I am not home. Heating up the food and beginning to let it and my favorite imported beer wash down my esophagus, I feel the contentment my stomach seems to communicate to me. I find myself staring at the CD Angela burned for me and open my lap top that I had left on my dining room table this morning when working on a few ideas for my next book.

Turning it on, I decide that it would be best to get it over with. My stomach has not properly digested the food it has just acquired, so it would be wise to what is the phrase? Get in a quick listen? No? Perhaps. Well, listen to it before I settle down and finish reading the article in Anthropology Today. Popping it into the machine, I open up itunes and burn the CD into my already growing list of songs, partly thanks to Angela's doing. Skipping through a few songs I cannot help but stop at an acoustic song, the singer having a soft yet feminine feel to her voice. I rest my hand on my lap and begin to listen:

What I can remember
Is a lot like water
Trickling down a page
Of the most beautiful colors
I can't quite put my finger down
On the moment that I became like this

The lyrics at first seem to resonate with me, reminding me of my own past. My own debilitating moments of hurt throughout life and in the early years, the moments of happiness. The image of water, trickling down a page of colors was slightly irrational—for I really could not see this happening in reality but it certainly did make for beautiful imagery. Or was it really irrational? The flashing memory of Russ and I as children, with our parents the one year we went on vacation to the Jersey Shore. He bought me a booklet of multi-colored construction paper because I had wanted to make my own card for our parent's anniversary that was coming up. Yet, he accidentally dropped his glass of water on the book soaking it entirely and the sheets of white paper underneath the booklet had soaked up the water that was now a colorful array on the wet, white paper. I remember being angry but then using the water-stained paper when dry to make my card which my parents loved. My heart swelled a little and it took me a few seconds to breathe.

You see, I'm the bravest girl
You'll ever come to meet
Yet, I shrink down to nothing
At the thought of someone really seeing me
I think my heart is wrapped around
And tangled up in winding weeds

Remembering is always hard; there is an inner battle between my own rational mind that knows there is no point to dwelling on the past. And yet, I find myself listening to my 'heart'. The part inside of me that for some reason longs to remember… yet also is pained by the very same thing. I recall being twelve and that there was a boy who lived two blocks away from our house and went to the private school a few miles away from mine. That summer, we had become particularly close. His friends were all on vacation and I was having a rather boring summer while Russ was out with his friends. His name was Charlie Beckett and one day he held my hand when we walked through a thicket of trees exploring the untouched land surrounding the park. I remember he had kissed me that day, my first kiss. I was unprepared and unsure of what was going on. I recall feeling elated afterwards, replaying the sudden memory in my head for days. A few weeks later, Charlie and I went back to school and never spoke after that. We were too immersed in our own separate worlds. After that, I found it hard to hold a boy's hand with the same trusting innocence that I did with Charlie Beckett. Who would have known that a few years later my heart would wrap itself up in more protective layers from the blows it had taken, and the loneliness it felt.

But, I don't wanna go on living
Being so afraid of showing
Someone else my imperfections
And even though my feet are trembling
Every word I say comes stumbling
I will bare it all
Watch me unfold
Unfold, unfold

…But I am contradicting myself slightly. There is someone who's hand I can hold, or "guy hug" I can accept and have that same child-like trusting innocence I once had. Granted, the man is my partner but he knows how to make someone feel safe. Holding me close as I sob for the mother I have lost, had lost since I was fifteen but have physically lost for good. Never quite knowing what she was like and what she became after she and my father had left us. I recall just a few weeks ago, Booth and I went to the Jersey Shore, to work on a case about a waitress being run over by a truck. Her remains deposited just a few miles from the very store Russ bought me the multi-colored construction paper. It was hard just to be there but Booth somehow made it seem to go away when he reassuringly grabbed my hand and instructed me to roll up my pant legs and walk with him into the cold water. My feet trembled as the chilly liquid sloshed up to my knees and even more by his other hand snaking up to my waist to hold me while I almost lost balance from laughing and trying to kick the water. Too busy laughing, I was unable to formulate a 'thank you' but breathed it out as one single incomprehensible word. It was not something characteristic with my naturally composed nature but I must admit it was fun. Childish as it was, I felt myself revert to the Temperance who held Charlie Beckett's hand trustingly as we made our way through the trees when we were twelve.

These hands that I hold behind my back
Are bound and broken from my own doing
And I can't feel anything anymore
I need a touch to remind me
I'm still real

In the years of our partnership, we have grown more accustomed to each other's physical touch. We have made our way through murder scenes and many dangerous scenarios, trusting each other completely. We have come a long way since the beginning of our partnership; oftentimes comfortable being face to face with one another—faces only inches apart. There are times where I have had the urge to look past my beliefs and indulge in the idea monogamy, relationships and yes, even marriage can work within a society. And yes, perhaps with the right person as a mate, it could potentially work. Yet, I must remind myself that I have set these beliefs in motion for a reason—to avoid that kind of pain again. Something cannot hurt me if I do not let it near me. And yet, even when I have these beliefs and thoughts and the strict mentality of what I want my life to be… he comes in and undoes it in shambles. With just a touch, by putting his hand on my lower back or pulling my chin upwards to meet his…it all makes my defenses collapse in an instant. And then I must wait until he leaves to recreate it, over again.

'Cause, I don't wanna go on living
Being so afraid of showing
Someone else my imperfections
And even though my feet are trembling
Every word I say comes stumbling
I will bare it all
Watch me unfold
Unfold, unfold

I had never told anyone about my high school experience involving said Smurfette that I never received. Yet, I told my partner and yes, at first he laughed. But although his story was not embarrassing like my own, it somehow brought me comfort. And when he gave me Brainy Smurf, just to prove that it was more like the person I am and was, and in his eyes better than Smurfette, I found myself touched and not angry. Just last week he told me some embarrassing story about himself and his brother Jared during their childhood. Then he told me of his first kiss. I told him of Charlie Beckett, unsure of why I did so. He just gave me his charm smile and pulled me into a quick hug and reassured me that I would once again have that feeling with another person who was meant to be with me for eternity. The concept of being with another person for eternity makes no logical sense. But yet, I found myself believing him.

My soul
It's dying to be free
I can't live the rest of my life so guarded
It's dying to be free
It's up to me to choose
What kind of life I lead

Yesterday, he came to my apartment. Furious because Parker had gotten in trouble with a bully at school and the fact that Rebecca had not told him about his son's altercation until the following week. Furious and frustrated he plopped onto my couch, burying his head in his hands. I knew he wished he could have more time with his son. Knew that what he needed was a friend but I am horrible at these things. He is the one in tune with others emotions, his own and even if I would not like to admit it, my own. And yet, somehow I instinctively put my hand in his and pulled him into a hug. I recounted my experience at Jersey Shore with my brother and the card that I had wanted to make for my parents. For some reason I had left that part out in my story when we were there a few weeks ago. I reminded him that all I wanted as a child was for my family to be happy, regardless of the circumstances. Whether we were at the Jersey Shore or back in our home for the summer all I had wanted was the happiness of my family and I was sure that Parker wanted the same. I was unsure of where all these words came from and my ability to make his tense shoulders relax after I had touched him. I so badly wanted to kiss him. I knew that deep down it was not just a physical desire. That I did not just want to have sex with the man for the sake of my own biological urges. If only I could just kiss him again like that Christmas. Except, this time it would be without the prying eyes of a puckish attorney. And without the need of that mistletoe that served as the perfect excuse.

This then made it two days in a row that he'd come to my apartment. Perhaps, he really wanted the company and was still upset over Parker. He had called me on the phone earlier, sounding slightly upset by the fact that I could not meet him at the diner later. My reason was because I had far too much work to do, which was true. Perhaps, I should have met with him. I felt a pang of guilt hit me. For some reason both our words could not tumble out of our mouths while we were on the phone. It felt as if we were struggling with something to say but it just could not be said. He had said he had wanted to see me. I wonder why? Maybe he felt the same thing I did last night? Could he have wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss him? Bringing my hand to my lips, it hit me. What man brings take out to another woman's house while she is not around, knowing she would not be home but in hopes he would find her there anyways? There was no rationality or logic to that statement but I could not help what came next. …my heart skipped a beat and I grabbed my bag and keys.

I will allow someone to love me

I drive in my car, letting the last line of the song sink in. Granted it is not a song I would have initially listened to, it is more of Angela's taste than mine. But it had a profound effect on me that was irrational and undeniable—much like my feelings for Booth. Driving to his place, I parked my car and found my way up to his apartment. Knocking on his door, finally realizing that it was well past visiting hours, I feel a lump in my throat form. He opens the door cautiously, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and no shirt. His face immediately turns to one of worry and he lets me step inside. I feel the warmth of his apartment create warmth in my chest that soothes me. Suddenly, I speak:

"Do you remember how I told you about my first kiss last week? And you told me that one day I would find that person that I would spend eternity with…even if the concept is illogical?" I managed to say.

"Yes Bones—I remember that. And if you came all this way to ask me if I meant it or if I believe it the answer is, yeah I do." He said guiding me to the couch sitting near me, watching me.

"Well I'm not sure I can accept the concept of spending my life with someone for eternity, well…just yet anyways. But I do believe that I would like to have that feeling again, the feeling of safety and child-like innocence you said. And maybe, maybe even that feeling of having that first kiss with someone who you feel like you can trust completely." I explained.

"Yeah…" He said slowly, cautiously.

"And I think," I gulped. "I think I want to experience that with you."

Before I can try to get up or move away from him to give us space, he captured his mouth in mine and I felt myself gasp and sigh at the same time. It was uncharacteristic of me but I do not care anymore. What is that saying? Just let go? It seems quite fitting and I seem to understand its concept. Perhaps I will reconsider and not yell at him over coming over whenever he pleases just to leave me food.

Fin.

-Jeline.