Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. I just worship it.
Summary: He doesn't think of her. Not too often. AU.
Rating: K+
Once, Years Ago
She has silky hair and bright eyes. A broad smile. Her feet are small and she gets cold at night, curls up into his side. Her perfume is on his dresser and her shoes clutter the floor.
He can feel her sinking into his skin, adhering slowly. He likes that. He likes their connection, made under the sound of gunfire.
"He saved your life."
Yes. Yes, he did and she saved his, though she doesn't know how. He likes her. He loves her; her presence. She's a little crazy and wickedly smart and reckless. She doesn't agree with everything he says—not even the important stuff. She doesn't need his protection and she is easy for him to figure out.
But not right now. Not at 2:30 a.m., just back from the bar. Her hair is kissed with cigarette smoke and she's kicking off her shoes.
"I've been wondering," she is saying. "About you and Temperance."
"About you and Temperance."
He's drunk, he realizes. Drunk and not ready to think about Bones, if he ever is.
"Me and Bones?"
Hannah makes a face, and he realizes that his unconscious familiarity, normally amusing to her, is not welcome in this conversation.
"Temperance," he corrects gently. "What are you wondering?"
"Did you ever…did you two ever..."
Hannah is faltering, a rarity for her. But he gets it. He sees all of her questions in her eyes, which are clear and trusting and nervous.
"Did you ever think you'd date?"
Hannah is gorgeous, he thinks suddenly. Gorgeous. He can't come up with another word. Her gorgeousness is like her personality—in your face and competent. She is not mysterious. Maybe dangerous, but not mysterious. But Bones….the thought catches him. Bones is so beautiful it makes his chest constrict. She has those deep, deep eyes that spin into him and don't let go. She is always the same and always different. He never knows everything about her, no matter how hard he tries. He can still see her, peering out the window of the taxi, her wide eyes and flushed skin.
They missed it. They had their moment, and it slipped by.
When he's this drunk, he lets himself remember how badly he wishes it hadn't.
So he pauses. Just barely. One of those half-seconds when he makes a choice. It's the sniper in him.
"Once," he says. He shrugs and it's like his shoulders are weighted down. "Years ago."
He looks Hannah in the eye, tilting his head. The perfect picture of confusion.
"Why?"
She smiles. The twist of her lips isn't full, and he feels an empty sort of dread. It's the smile she gets during interviews when people won't give her every truth.
"I just wondered."
He smiles. She smiles back. He takes off his shoes and she takes off her dress and pushes the covers back.
As light pierces the shades Booth is still awake. He is thinking of Bones. He is thinking of the feel of her lips on his that first night, of her messy hair, of the smile it took forever to earn back. He is wondering if she is at the lab. He is wondering if she ate dinner; she's been looking slimmer lately. He is wondering if she is happy, and he's wondering if he really is. But he is sobering up fast and the thoughts are fading. His right hand is starting to slip through Hannah's hair, which gleams in the half-light.
"Did you ever think you'd date?"
He thought they'd get married, Booth thinks. But that was a long time ago.
The alarm goes off and he gets out of bed. Hannah grabs his pillow, murmuring. He smiles. She's cute when she sleeps.
"The love thing? Oh, that conclusion that we are in love? I don't care about that."
Kissing Bones. Feeling whole. The rejection. She was The One, but how could that matter when she didn't want to be?
"He saved your life."
And Hannah saved his.