Disclaimer: Bones is still not mine. Title found in Faith Hill's Wish For You.
Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in future; Booth and Brennan are in an established relationship.
A/N: A huge, enormous thanks to Jess (CupcakeBean) for helping me get past the horrible writer's block I had with this story by letting me bounce ideas off her and offering suggestions
She twisted in the sheets, listening as the hail assaulted the window to her right. Nothing was working. All her usual methods - the silent repetition of all two hundred and six bones, reviewing the details of their current case, the steadiness of his breath beside her - were failing. Miserably. Rain she could handle. It lulled her to sleep, but this - this was some new sort of torture.
Resignedly, she swung out of bed and wrapped herself in the first piece of clothing she found: his dress shirt. The light scent of his cologne mingling with his shampoo and something distinctly him washed over her. It was almost enough to drive her back to the warmth she'd just left.
*Plink plink plink*
*Plink plink*
*Plink plink plink plink plink*
How was it possible that the hail was falling faster?!It continued to pick up, pounding against the building and erasing any thought that the mere comfort of his shirt could allow her rest.
She buttoned the shirt halfway and padded out to the kitchen, smiling as thoughts of earlier in the evening ran through her head. They'd gone out to dinner with Cam and her latest beau before returning to her apartment. She had feared dinner might be awkward given the, uh, tangled past between the three of them, but it was actually quite pleasant. Good food, friendly non-work related conversation. She was surprised to find that she wouldn't mind doing it again in the future.
Something had come over Booth once they were alone in the Tahoe though. He was constantly reaching across the console, running his hand up and down her thigh. She tried to admonish him - after all, one should keep both hands on the wheel at all times - but, after the third or fourth time, she found herself unable to.
By the time they'd reached the door to her bedroom he'd had her out of her shoes and shirt. He, on the other hand, was still fully clothed. This, then, might explain why she was so busy unbuttoning the front of his shirt - the same one now cocooning her from the cool November air - that she completely forget about the cuffs in the process. The image of him standing there bare chested, shirt hanging off him inside out, laughing as she fumbled with the cuffs caused her to flush once more.
"Ow!" It escaped her mouth in a whisper. She'd made it to the kitchen and proceeded to walk right into one of the counters. If he were awake to witness it he'd shake his head in amusement before inquiring about whether she was all right. She leaned over for a moment rubbing her toes before straightening and flicking on the lights.
*Plink plink plink*
*Plink plink plink plink*
The hail continued its assault. Tea was definitely in order. She turned on the kettle, hoping she could reach it before it fully boiled and woke him. She let out a quiet laugh; if he was sleeping through this she doubted a whistling teapot would rouse him.
The light from the kitchen threw a warm glow over the living room and she sighed, taking in all the marks of him that had accumulated over the past few months. It wasn't just the flashy ties and crazy socks thrown here and there. It was the extra suit jacket flung across the love seat, some of Parker's books littering the table, and the 52" monstrosity of a television - nowhere near the 103" he'd pushed for - filling almost the entire wall. Anthropologically, she recognized them for what they were: little assertions of ownership here in her apartment. In the past, she'd rebelled against them, but this was Booth and, somehow, that made it all right. Wonderful even.
The water began to boil and she rose to turn off the burner. She immersed the chamomile tea bag, letting it steep as she watched the hail catch in the moonlight. Figuring the tea was strong enough, she pressed the bag to the side of the mug, turned, and almost spilled the warm liquid down her front. Booth stood in the doorway: pajama bottoms slung low across his hips, arms folded across his chest, an amused smile lighting his face.
"Why are you awake?"
"I woke up and you weren't in bed."
"Me not being in bed wakes you up, but you sleep through this infernal racket?!" She gestured to the window before setting her barely drunk mug of tea in the sink.
"You not being in bed for a prolonged period of time." He moved into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. "And, yes."
She turned to face him, forehead furrowing in confusion. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did my absence in bed wake you up when the hail didn't?"
He shook his head, pulled her into his chest, and swept his lips across hers. "Your not being there just sets me off balance." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I notice it even in my sleep."
She closed her eyes and nodded against his chest. The storm raging outside was the only sound for several minutes until she finally found her voice again, letting out a soft 'oh' once she did.
He smiled and turned off the lights. "Come on, let's go back to bed." She found herself nodding again, not wanting to break the moment as his hand settled on her hip, leading her back to the bedroom; hail instantly fading into the background.