During the night, they'd slipped all the way down on the couch. Tangled in each other, they started to stir when the warm light of dawn peeked over the horizon, flooding her living room. His lips reached her forehead and pressed gently against her, pure, innocent. Languid and sleepy, they stretched against each other in that magical space between night and morning, between dreaming and consciousness.
Pulled quickly across the border when their cell phones both blasted annoying ringtones. She scrambled to climb off of him. It was a case. He went home to change, she'd already excused herself to get ready. He tried to chase her to talk, just for a minute, but she wouldn't have it.
"You're a good friend, Booth." Her eyes told a different story, one that saddened him, worried him. She disappeared into her bathroom, he left.
A good friend, it played in his mind. Is that what this was, all it was? The drive home was on autopilot, he didn't even remember it or climbing the stairs or getting his keys out. But, he'd never forget the look on Hannah's face as he walked up behind her, crumpled and creased from the night on Bones' couch wearing exactly what he'd been wearing when he dropped her off at the hotel. She'd been trying to rouse him and was just sliding the key in the lock to let herself in when he cleared his throat and took over.
"I told you, you have to wiggle it, then kick." Looking over the man, his calm demeanor in conflict with everything about his appearance. "Hey, I have a case, so I can't stay this morning." I can't stay, you can't stay, that's what he really meant.
"So, you're just getting home? You dropped me off hours ago, Seeley."
He let out a long tired sigh. He didn't have time for this, didn't want to face it right now. "I stopped by to help Bones with all that paperwork." After a long pause, he added. "I fell asleep on her couch."
A silent acceptance, a slow nod, another question. "She didn't wake you up?" She laughed lightly, awkwardly. "Send you home?"
"It was just paperwork, Hannah, we've done it a million times before and if I fall asleep, she usually just lets me sleep." That really wasn't true. Usually she'd make a grade A fuss about his back and force him to crash in her guestroom. Of course, normally, she wouldn't be asleep in his arms. His arms that ached to hold her again, to be back on that couch, to protect her from the pain he was causing her. "Look, I have to go. I have a crime scene to get to, Hannah. I just stopped by to change."
"Yes, of course." Bubbly as always, she covered well. Bounced through good mornings and goodbyes and promised to call later. He closed the door and let his head fall back with a sharp crack then pushed off and went to change. Why did everything in his life have to be so damned complicated?
His consternation showed when he got to the crime scene. "Nice of you to show up, Seeley." Camille jumped instantly down his throat. Looking around, FBI techs were all over, Angela was taking pictures, and Fisher, tall, lanky Fisher seemed to be assisting Cam. No Bones.
"Where's Bones?" She never let her interns out in the field, never, just didn't happen. If one weaseled their way out of the lab, it was only under her tight, almost oppressive, supervision. Cam rolled her eyes. "It's a relatively routine crime scene-"
"Really, Cam, because jumping maggots don't seem very routine to me?" Sarcasm dripped from every word. She ignored him and continued.
"She assured me that Fisher was ready and she needed some time in the lab this morning." Truth, it didn't get that far. Camille Saroyan was sensitive to the situation between her anthropologist and special agent. She'd heard about Hannah, met her briefly, listened, at length, to Angela rant about it. If Dr. Brennan didn't want to come to the crime scene, she'd accommodate her.
Fisher yawned. Booth rolled his eyes.
It was falling apart faster than he thought, last case he worked more heavily with Sweets than ever before. It was a little awkward with Bones, but that was to be expected. He knew things would have to change in some ways, but he'd kept working with her when she'd turned him down last year. Honestly, how was this any different? He excused himself to get a cup of coffee. Several feet away, he pulled out his cell phone. Angela shot a knowing look to Cam, who raised her eyebrows and shook her head in reply.
"Brennan." She sounded business like, crisp, clear, professional.
"I'm missing a partner. Beautiful morning, beautiful ocean, no beautiful partner." There was a defining silence, long, painful, then she cleared her throat.
"I got tied up with something else. Is there a problem with Fisher? I can be out there in an hour, if need be."
"Yeah, there's a problem with Fisher. Fisher's not my partner!" His irritation just as clear and crisp as her professionalism. Once again, dead air filled the line as she calculated each response carefully.
"If that's your only problem with him, I won't waste the time or resources of the Jeffersonian to join you at the crime scene." He, on the other hand, answered immediately, his frustration abundantly apparent.
"Be ready to go, I'm leaving now to pick you up. The vic had a wallet on him, no waiting for the ID." He hung up before she could respond and went to get that coffee.
The crime scene dragged on forever. Long enough to cancel a lunch with Hannah which, today, was a good thing. A long drive back to the Jeffersonian, rock n roll blasted through the SUV speakers, and the day seemed to be turning around. He felt his mood finally start to even out. He was genuinely in a good place when Bones climbed into the truck and closed the door. She asked questions, he filled her in, which took all of about ten minutes, but it felt normal, like them before Afghanistan, before Hannah. This could be normal, they could be normal, he told himself.
The drive back to the Jersey Shore was filled with her observations about the "Guido tribe" and excitement for the opportunity to see them in their natural habitat. Terminology, habits, and rituals as well as tribe dynamics excitedly shared as they drove. He loved seeing her like this, he'd listen to crazy-ass boring facts all day if she was excited about it, if she found pleasure in it, he did too. Booth relaxed, this was them, old them. He'd consoled her last night, that was all, consoled her and himself over the loss of something that would never be between them. And today, today got off to a rocky start, but they'd found their groove and moved on.
The breeze blowing her hair, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as they walked along the shore line. Hannah called and it was okay. Bones, said hi to her, Hannah said hi back. This might work afterall. In passing, Hannah mentioned switching hotels. In passing, Booth invited her to move in. When the call was finished, everything seemed a bit more precarious, quiet.
Brennan expressed her concern that the ritual transpired with far too little fanfare, Hannah, might feel gypped by Booth's lack of formality. He saw it then, she was deep into her role as an anthropologist. Things weren't normal between them, they were buried. Every step, every observation, a shovel full of dirt. She was just an observer, of this case, of her own life, of his life, removed. A temporary quietness fell over them, quickly replaced by the discovery of the beach house they'd been looking for and relief.
She adopted the language and mannerisms of "the tribe" as she called them, over interpreted their actions, explained them like a translator on the National Geographic channel shows that Parker watched. It was almost too much. Her exaggerated acceptance of their new situation, "the tribes" over exaggerated reaction to Ritchie's death. He welcomed the quiet as they settled into the truck and headed back to DC. Welcomed it until it dragged on and on. She looked out the window silently, never reacting to his rubber neck darting between her and the road. She answered questions with short one word answers or merely nodded her agreement or disagreement. When he asked what was wrong, she shrugged or mumbled.
"Nothing."
"I'm fine."
"Just tired."
Until his frustration level was so high, his nerves so shot, he pulled the truck over in the middle of nowhere and let it come to a jarring stop.
"Booth!" She was outraged.
He was already out of the truck and halfway around to her door. He wasn't going to get the upper hand here, she wouldn't allow it. Exiting the SUV, she slammed the door and took on an instantly defensive stance, then waited. Hands on his hips, he paced back and forth in the dirt shoulder, muttering to himself. Then turned sharply to her and began to rant.
"You turned me down. You, do you remember that? I said I wanted to give it a try and you told me no, remember?" He hated the fear he saw in her eyes, masked thinly by her false bravado. "You turned me down and I told you, I told you, I would have to move on. You agreed, you agreed that I had to move on, right?" She stared coldly catching him straight in the eye. "Right, so I did, I moved on and suddenly, I'm the bad guy." He nodded his head affirming himself then turned away. The woosh of passing traffic was the only sound as they stood there, neither one of them willing to face the other at the moment. He felt sick to his stomach, queasy, and held his breath until he heard her voice strong, stubborn, then turned to listen.
"I never said that you were, Booth, never treated you like you were. I have been nothing but polite. I, I have expressed my happiness for you, for your relationship, to everyone. Even, even when they wanted me to be upset, to be angry at you, to hate Hannah. I have told them all that this is what you need to have, peace and fulfillment and that I want that for you." Tears overflowed and beaded on her cheeks, she ignored them. "I never asked you to come over last night. In fact, I tried to spare you this. I didn't want to let you in. I asked you to leave, but you didn't leave. You wouldn't leave."
There was the most painful part, right there, thrown out into the air, into the world. He didn't leave, he wouldn't leave. The one person who didn't leave her, that wouldn't leave her, she couldn't have. It didn't matter whether it was her joy or her tears, her happiness or her pain. Whatever she felt was tied directly to his heart. It made him fly or fall so hard there was no recovery. Closing the gap between them, he silently reached out to wipe her tears, she jerked.
"You're right, you didn't do this, I'm sorry, you're right." His heart was twisted in knots.
"I will adapt, Booth. I just need…" She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as he gently wiped at her tears. "I just need some time." She was working so hard to pull it all back together, he could see that. "Just some time." She looked up at him as she tried to straighten herself, collect everything and cram it back under control. "It's just more difficult than I expected." Taking a step back, she took over the management of her own tears. Another breath, another step, until she leaned back against the truck. He joined her, standing right beside her.
"We're going to be okay, right?" Nudging her shoulder, she smiled, forced but believable, and nodded.
"Yes."
"We've made it through worse." It was affirmation, though, at the moment, he couldn't think of anything worse. Her hands deep in the pockets of her trench coat for warmth she nodded, considering his statement. She wanted to believe they would make it through this. She couldn't imagine losing all of him when losing the potential of something more hurt this badly. That would be devastating.
"Yes."
He turned so quickly that she gasped at his closeness, standing over and around her, her back still pressed against the side of the truck. He held his hands out motioning for hers, he wanted to hold her hands. She looked painfully into his eyes, but produced her hands placing them gently in his.
"Promise me, promise me we'll make it work." He squeezed her hands, gentle but firm. "Promise me."
"Okay." Letting out a long breath, she tried to focus anywhere but his eyes. "I promise." It was easier than she thought, captivated by their hands, his bigger hands played with her fingers. "I promise."
"Good." He pulled her up. "Because, your hands are freezing, which means you probably are, too. You need to get back in the truck and I need to put the heater on to warm you up."
"Booth." She whined and shook her head at his protective nature, but happily got back in the truck. This was hard, possibly the hardest thing she'd ever done, but underneath all of this confusing and distasteful emotion, they were still them. He was still Booth. She'd seen glimpses of that, glimpses that gave her hope, enough hope to hold on.
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A/N Thank you so much for supporting and encouraging my distraction! It has completely swept me away. Don't worry though, I will have the next chapter of Need up soon. )
In the meantime...what do you think of chapter 2? I saw a picture recently of a tip jar - it said that reviews were the writers tips! That's so true, it's the feedback that makes it all worth it!