Author's Note: This is something that has been following me around for a while, so I decided to exorcise it by letting it out into the world. Just because no one else seems to have had the same idea, and I thought it sort of fit.
I hope you enjoy it. I definitely enjoyed writing it.
Timeline: Some time in season 4. Spoilers for Wannabe in the Weeds and Pain in the Heart.
Disclaimer: Wish they were mine.
ETA: I've tidied up a few sentences here and there in order to clear out clumsy bits and to "Americanize" the spelling, but it's exactly the same story.
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TIME BEFORE AND TIME AFTER
Seeley Booth was even more distracted than usual by his partner. Or driven to distraction, he thought, as he heard the familiar opening rounds for one of their arguments. What's new? My head's killing me, his brain helpfully supplied, but he had little time or inclination to indulge in the thought, as his partner made it clear that she was going to speak her mind.
"Booth, you're tired. Go home. I'll come with you, pick up the file, and take a cab..."
"I'm not tired, Bones."
"If you insist on driving me home, I'll send you out into the field with one of the interns for at least a month."
"I'm not tired, Bones. And, for the record, you don't send me out into the field," he replied, making inverted commas with his fingers.
"Keep your hands on the wheel, Booth. I object to what I see as a truly inane way to die."
Yep. That's my girl – never listening to what other people are saying.
"What's wrong with driving you home?" he asked with an air of innocence, making sure that his hands gripped the wheel in a perfect ten-to-two position.
"Despite what you may think, I can find my way home by myself. The fact that I'm a woman and you're a man doesn't mean that you should always assume that I'm incapable of doing the simplest things. Anthropologically speaking, women have been..."
His raised hand stopped her in mid-flow.
"Booth, I told you! Keep your hands on the wheel!"
He winced at the sharp pain. My head's really killing me.
"OK, Bones, you win. Anything you want, as long as you don't lecture me on anthropological inevitabilities right now."
"So you are tired", she smiled.
"No, I'm not. I'm just... not in the mood."
"You know, Booth, if you listened more carefully, you might actually find anthropology both interesting and useful."
Nope. No bait-taking right now.
"Let's just... Let's just sit in silence until we get there, OK?"
"As long as 'there' means your flat, and I take a cab, then it's fine with me."
"As if I'd expect anything less", he muttered.
At least they did spend the rest of the short car ride in silence. Thank God for small mercies.
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He bounded up the stairs towards his flat, Brennan just ahead of him. Always the perfect gentleman, Seel. Ladies first, said one appreciative, smooth voice inside his head. She'd kick your ass to kingdom come if only she knew, the voice continued.
He reached his apartment, took out the keys and opened the door, letting Brennan in first. His hand started to reach for the light switch, when she stopped. He collided with her and came to a halt.
"Sorry, Bones".
She paid no attention to him and just stood there, seemingly frozen to the spot. She was breathing slowly, as if she were measuring every intake of breath, and he could feel her whole body tense. Swiftly casting aside the latest incongruous thought in a line of many – this time, it had to do with feeling her body heat raising in waves against his own body – he looked around, his hand poised to take out his gun, his reflexes on full alert.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. No more gentlemanly behaviour. From now on, you go in first and check that the coast is clear.
The flat was dark and silent, and he could hear the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The living room was bathed in the orange glow from the lamp posts outside, and he could see the bulky shape of the couch between the door and the window. He couldn't make out any strange smells or sounds, but the hairs at the back of his neck began to stand up in anticipation of danger.
He started to take out his gun, preparing for a quick reconnaissance, when instinct prompted him to take another look at Brennan. She was standing perfectly still, as if straining to listen to something only she could hear.
The pounding in his head got louder, drowning out the sound of her measured breath.
"What's wrong, Bones?", he whispered.
"Shhh", she said, and began to move towards the window. She looked outside very briefly, as if what she saw only confirmed what she expected. She turned around and came towards him, still rooted in the same spot in the doorway.
Then she grabbed his hand and started to drag him towards the bedroom.
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I must be dreaming. Yep, that's it. I'm dreaming. He was about to pinch himself surreptitiously, when the sharp throbbing in his head spared him the effort. I can't be dreaming - not with the mother of all headaches. Despite steady pounding, his head felt as if it were filled with cotton wool. He realised that his ears must have been somehow covered as well, because he couldn't hear anything any more, not even the steady sound of her breath. His consciousness was drawn back into the dreamscape, and he couldn't help expecting to wake up and see the daylight filtering through the drapes.
He stepped noiselessly in the dark, following Brennan's urgent tug of his hand.
She entered the bedroom, coming to an abrupt halt. He'd left the drapes open in the morning, and he could see that she had stopped near the bed, turning her head around slowly. Although he couldn't see her face clearly, he was unaccountably certain that she had that intense expression that he'd seen so many times before when she was presented with some irrefutable evidence. Most often, it had to do with some arcane snippet of knowledge that would help them close a case. Rarely – even more rarely in the past few months, he'd noticed – it was prompted by some long-forgotten feeling, some distant connection that helped her decipher who she was to herself and to other people.
He waited, rubbing gentle circles on her hand with his thumb.
"I was here", she whispered.
"What is it, Bones? What's wrong?"
He kept his voice low, unwilling to break the spell, to push them back over the line, away from the dreamscape and into the harsh light of consciousness.
"I was here", she repeated softly. She started looking around, her eyes scanning the bed, the armchair near the window, the closet with the neatly-hung shirts gleaming white in the darkness.
"Bones, what are you talking about? You've been here before, you know that. Tell me, what's going on?"
She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself against her own emotions.
"I think... I think I was looking for you," she said, drawing out the words a little indistinctly.
Her hand tightened around his, and he increased his hold on hers instinctively.
"I'm here, Bones. I'm here."
She moved hesitantly towards the window and curled herself in the armchair, her hand never leaving his. He perched on the armrest, looking at her, waiting, willing his headache to recede and his breath to synchronize with hers.
She turned her head, looking through the window and into the street. He could see her face clearly now in the soft light of the lamp post outside. All of a sudden, the rush of adrenaline returned, his blood moving through his body swiftly, his legs weak, his breath trapped in his chest.
"You're remembering something", he stated slowly, decisively.
She remained silent.
"What do you remember, Bones?", he pressed gently.
She started talking slowly, hesitantly, sifting through memories and images as if she were uncovering evidence in her lab.
"I came here, looking for you. But I couldn't find you. So I... I just sat here for a while. I think I fell asleep. I remember that now."
He forced himself to breathe steadily against the hammering of his heart.
"When, Bones? When did you come here looking for me?"
She looked at him, bringing her other hand up as if she wanted to touch his cheek, but then letting it slide back into her lap.
"You're here now. It doesn't matter."
"No", he replied, authoritative, pleading. "It matters. Tell me. I have to know. Please, Bones. Tell me."
She drew her hand from his and looked down, intertwining the fingers of both hands in a slow, repetitive movement. She frowned in concentration, a familiar crease forming between her eyebrows.
"Bones, it's just me and you here. Please. Be honest with me."
Her face cleared, as if she had taken a decision. She's going to stand up and go now, he thought, and I won't be able to stop her.
Instead, her shoulders slumped tiredly and she sat back in the armchair, looking away from him and outside into the street once again. She started speaking – so softly that he had to lean towards her to hear, her hair lightly brushing his face as she formed the words a little hesitantly at first, then increasingly with her usual precision.
"I didn't remember. I thought that I'd lost those two weeks."
"The weeks after me getting shot?", he asked, but he already knew the answer.
"Yes."
He waited for her to continue until finally, after what seemed like countless breaths later, she did.
"I told you what everyone else told me. It was the rational thing to do – the only proof that I had about what happened during those weeks was what Angela and Cam and Sweets and the others told me. They told me that I was able to compartmentalize and get on with my work. They told me that I kept going, that I was always at the lab, and that I refused to discuss what happened with anyone. It was the overwhelming consensus. I went along with it, since I had no evidence to tell me otherwise."
"But you couldn't remember," he prompted.
"I could remember some things. I remembered you getting shot, but not much afterwards. I don't remember the ambulance, or the hospital, or being told that you were dead. In fact, the next thing that I did remember was the day of the funeral, when Sweets and Angela were trying to convince me to go. I... I didn't want to."
She paused and he held his breath.
"I was able to piece together some of the things that I did at work during those weeks. I looked at the paperwork. But I couldn't remember anything else. It was as if... as if there was a time before what happened, and a time after. But nothing in between."
Time to let old arguments, bruised egos and hurt feelings go. He touched her face lightly with one finger, turning her head towards him.
"I'm so sorry, Bones. I should have called you, I should have let you know. I'm so sorry."
She lifted her chin and looked at him, a flash of her trademark belligerence animating her features once again.
"You know, you can punch me again, if you want", he smiled, his light tone belying his anxiety.
She looked him straight into the eyes, unblinking.
Come on, Bones. Be angry with me. Punch me. Use your martial arts thing on me. Anything. Just don't be disappointed with me again.
"You don't understand".
That's my girl.
"I wanted to take that bullet for you," she enunciated in that characteristic, matter-of-fact way of hers that still took him aback occasionally.
"No", he stated flatly.
"...and I did. I did take that bullet," she continued, not hearing him.
She had said it with so much conviction that, with a sharp intake of breath, he was briefly immersed into an alternative universe, a surreal reality that encapsulated his deepest fears and his darkest nightmares. He stared at her wordlessly, his head starting to pound again, seemingly in tune with his heart.
Then, it hit him.
"You're right, Bones. You did take that bullet. I'm sorry you had to go through this. I'm sorry we had to go through this."
"You don't understand", she repeated fiercely, her breath caressing his face. "I see this as my pact with an... arguably non-existent God. If there were a higher being – and I'm not saying there is..."
She stopped, waiting for him to contradict her. When he didn't, she went on, carefully laying out her argument as she laid the bones on her examination table.
"... if this higher being told me that, in order to have you back, I'd have to go through those two weeks, I'd take that deal without a second thought. This was my bullet to take. And I took it. I kept my side of the pact, and I got you back. That's all."
His hand rose to capture a soft strand of her hair. It felt as if his heart (and his soul) hovered indecisively between sinking at the thought of her hurting and soaring at the thought that he did matter to her after all.
"I guess... I guess this makes us even", he whispered, trying to keep his voice from breaking a little.
"It does", she acknowledged quietly.
She relaxed fully into the armchair, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. She looked back into the street, her breath steadying and the lines in her face smoothing. Slowly, the ghost of a smile started to play on her lips.
"However... there is one more thing that I distinctly remember. Something that I wanted to do instead of punching you, but I couldn't, because I was too... divided between being angry and being happy."
"Anything, Bones. Anything at all," he smiled, his headache gone and forgotten.
"It's just that... you're here. And I'm happy that you are".
And with that, she kissed him.
Yes. We're even.
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The title of the story - and the inspiration for it - came from Burnt Norton, a poem by TS Eliot that, for some bizarre reason, kept playing in my head after seeing Pain in the Heart. The fragment that I couldn't seem to be able to get rid of goes something like this:
...human kind
cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
This is my first foray into the world of fan fiction, so please be kind!
Feedback and reviews are more than treasured.