Spoilers/Timeline: None/Booth and Brennan are in an established relationship.
A/N: Much love to Alanna1231 and hpaich for tossing ideas around with me and to Cupcakebean for look overs & yelling at me to "stop being paranoid".
Disclaimer: Bones does not belong to me. Title found in Miranda Lambert's Makin' Plans.
Her fingers tapped across the keys and she closed her eyes, pausing to recall the next argument she wanted to present.
It wasn't coming.
Trying to be productive wasn't working.
Sighing, she began plunking away again, wondering why she'd agreed to stay at the apartment when Booth was called to sign off on some last minute paperwork pertaining to a previous case.
Well, it was only bureaucratic forms after all; they could resume their plans for the day as soon as he returned in an hour. Two, tops.
Besides, there was no reason for her to sit in his office watching him initial form after form when she could be working on her article for Anthropology Now - without him there to pester and pry as she wrote.
Glancing back at her last sentence, she groaned. She'd left out the field example she'd intended to include and had spelled manubrium incorrectly. How was his not being there to distract her distracting in and of itself?
Realizing she wasn't going to make any more progress, she closed the document and stood. There was plenty she could do, like organizing the coffee table covered in case files, sports magazines, and conference schedules. It didn't take long though and she soon found herself wandering, attempting to decide what deserved her attention next.
A wayward tree branch banged against the dining room window, reminding her of last night when they'd been caught in a downpour. The clothes they'd peeled off - plus the pile that had been heaped on the floor - were probably still in the dryer.
Relieved to have found an activity that would keep her occupied, she shuffled down the hall, opened the dryer, and... hit the wall in frustration; he must have emptied it while she was showering earlier.
She leaned against the machine, cursing his thoughtfulness. Now not only was she without something to do, but her underwear was probably organized incorrectly, too.
That was it.
She was out of options. (Well, except for rearranging her panties... she wasn't that desperate.... yet...)
Maybe she could find an intriguing program on TV. Somehow, with the way the morning was unfolding as a whole, she doubted it.
A chill swept over her as she started back towards the living room and she pushed open the bathroom door, grabbing her ratty, old robe - the one she wore only when she was sick - from the hook.
The lingering scent of his shower gel wafted up, invading her senses and she inhaled deeply again, allowing it to wash over her. Yes, she was cold, but it was more than that. She needed this relaxation... this... comfort....
Pulling the material closer to her body, she cinched the belt and settled on the couch, her eyes landing on the IKEA instruction manual as she turned the television on.
This was what they were supposed to be doing today: constructing their new bed, discovering which nut went where and fighting over who got to use the ridiculously small allen wrench.
Booth had said he'd put it together while she was visiting her father the previous weekend, but she'd insisted on helping. She was intrigued to see how the pieces of furniture assembled to make a whole; was it like bones fitting together to complete a skeleton?
Besides, this was going to be their bed. Not his, not hers. Theirs.
Maybe she could get started while she waited for him to return.
Or... not...
She knew, objectively, that she was smart. A genius even, but furniture was a whole new experiment for her and whoever had penned the instructions was obviously lacking in the ability to write clear directions.
"Well, that was a waste of-" His keys missed the hook they usually rested on, dropping to the floor as he took in her hunched form, robe splayed over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, wrapped in warmth, absorbed in whatever she was reading, but...
Shrugging out of his coat quickly, he crossed the room and settled on the couch next to her. "What's wrong?"
"Hmm?" She looked up from the booklet she was still studying, eyebrow quirking at the look of concern apparent on his face. "Oh, I wasn't going to do too much without you, Booth. I promise. I just thought I could comprehend the process while I waited for you to return. It turns out, however," she took a deep breath, leaning against him, "that the person responsible for composing the directions never learned the importance of clarity. I don't even know what tools we need to use when!"
He let out a deep laugh and pulled her closer as she thrust the manual in his lap. "I'm not worried about that. I've completed projects on far less direction in the past." He smoothed her hair, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "Remember last year when Parker was supposed to 'devise an experiment utilizing an egg'? That was all we had to go on and he still managed to get an A."
"That's because I helped."
"It sure is; the point is though, we figured it out and we'll figure this out." He turned his body towards hers, their knees brushing as his eyes swept over her. "What I'm more concerned about is why you're wearing your robe in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. Are you feeling ok? You seemed fine when I left earlier..."
It was her turn to laugh, low and light as she bumped her shoulder against his. "I am fine. I was just cold, that's all."
"Are you sure? You look a little flushed." Eyes narrowing, he angled his head as she nodded and dropped her gaze to where his hand rested high on her thigh. Oh. "It can't just be from that."
"It's December. I was cold so I put my robe on." She paused, considering for a moment as her thumb traced over his knuckles. "And, truthfully, I found myself needing some comfort, wanting to be close to you and the robe hangs in our bathroom, it smells like you so..."
"Oh, Bones." He crushed her to him, lips pressing fiercely against hers as her hands clutched his shirt, pulling him as close as possible. She sighed, their tongues meeting as his fingers swept up her spine, settling on the nape of her neck.
She leaned into him, sucking at his bottom lip in time with the rhythm his fingers were tapping against her skin before pulling away and letting her head fall against his shoulder. "Come on," she retrieved the instructions from where they had fallen on the floor and handed them to him, "let's go put our bed together. The sooner we have it assembled," she stood, tugging at his wrist as she brushed her lips across his, "the sooner we can test it out."
He grinned and began steering her down the hall, "I'll go get the extra strong bolts."