Thanks for the reviews, guys! I was really happy when I read them. Really, really happy. It makes the pain of waiting for next Thursday (how dramatic!), or Friday in my case, a bit less painful.
Now, as for this chapter...
This may just be writer's insecurity speaking, but I feel like it doesn't quite 'flow', not like the first chapter. However, I'll let you guys be the judge... Enjoy, anyway!
When he wakes up, it is light outside and Brennan is still lying on his chest. It takes him less than a second to remember everything, and once he does he wishes he didn't. He wants to be able to enjoy this moment just a bit longer.
So he lies on his bed with her in his arms, even though his back is starting to hurt from being in the same position for too long. It doesn't matter, because at least she's still asleep, and he'll endure a storm if it means she gets to forget a little longer.
Eventually, though, she does wake up, and as she disentangles herself from him there is no awkwardness. Instead, he feels… calm, and one look at her tells him that either she's too sleepy to care, or she feels just like him.
The devastating sadness of the night before has passed, and it has left grief in its wake, but the grief feels deeper. More like a dull pain than a sharp, aching one.
They lie on his bed together, neither of them feeling the urge to get up. The numbers on his alarm clock tell him it's a little past nine in the morning; far later than he usually gets up, but then again, nothing is usual about this day.
"How're you feeling, Bones?" He hates the question, hates how he sounds like a shrink, but he needs to ask it.
She turns to him, one arm propped under her head. Any moment now, he expects her to panic and leave the bed, but she stays right where she is. Over her shoulder, the glint of the photo frame catches his eye. The frame with their picture in it.
"I don't know," she says quietly. He knows she's telling the truth from the look in her eyes. "It's - he was gone so fast, Booth. I just can't believe –" Something clouds her eyes and though he knows it's not the emotions of last night, he still looks at her a little worriedly.
"I know," he says equally quietly. "Life can be so short…" It's a thought that had kept him up many nights, pondering his own mortality. It had taken him a long time to accept that his life, just as any other, could be over in the blink of an eye.
He looks at Brennan in front of him, so close he can practically count the tiny freckles on her nose. She's close enough for him to touch her, to kiss her.
She's so beautiful, he thinks as he takes her in. Her eyes are still a bit red and her mascara is smudged, but she is still breathtakingly beautiful. He could die a happy man if his last view would be of her.
He reaches out tenderly to brush a lock of hair from her face and she makes a startled movement. The yearning to touch her suddenly overwhelms him, and he cannot help but move closer to her, hold her against his chest – she freezes for the tiniest of moments before she relaxes in his arms and slowly, slowly, they lie down again.
Her face is on his chest again and it's such a glorious feeling, to hold her like this, that all dark thoughts are banished to the background for a while. He just feels her body against his, feels her curves and the deep intakes of breath and is strangely at peace with their positions.
"Booth?" Her voice is small and muffled by his shirt, but he can still hear the hesitation. "Is it strange that we're lying like this?"
He knew the question would come, eventually, but he doesn't want to go into it now; doesn't want to delve deep into his feelings and their relationship. He just wants to hold her, to feel her and to forget.
"It's alright," he breathes into her hair. "We're okay, Bones."
She doesn't reply to that and after a while, her slow, deep breaths tell her she's fallen asleep again.
He can't fall asleep again, can't close his eyes, fearing to miss even one moment. He is reminded of Aerosmith's famous song: Don't wanna close my eyes, don't wanna fall asleep because I'd miss you baby… and almost snorts at the cliché. But it's the truth.
He couldn't bear to miss even one moment of her.
She wakes up again around half past ten and then, finally, they do get out of bed. He makes them both a coffee almost mechanically, the movements calming his suddenly worried mind. Now, in the broad daylight, away from his bedroom, he wonders what she thinks of this night. How does she view her breaking down? How does she feel about spending the night in her partner's arms?
"I don't think I'll go to the Jeffersonian today," she tells him as he hands her a mug of coffee. "I don't think – I don't think anyone's going to be there."
He nods, holding his mug with both hands. "I'm not going in, either." The lack of phone calls tells him that the FBI has most likely granted him a day off, anyway; he's not going to work when he doesn't have to. Not now.
"Maybe we can spend the day together," she suggests hesitantly, and he's so surprised he almost drops the mug. They've spent several days before outside of work, but he doesn't think she's ever been the one who made the suggestion.
It would be nice, though. Very nice. He's not quite ready to let go of the Brennan he's had in his arms yet.
"Sure," he agrees casually. "What do you wanna do?" On some level, he is aware that it is not the right question to ask, not when one of her interns has died just the day before; but, if he's read her well, he knows she just wants to forget the event for now. Knows that she wants to forget the face in front of her, a face that had probably visited her in her dreams as well.
"I don't know," she shrugs. "What do you usually do on a day off?"
Think about you. He bites back the reflective response.
"Well, you know, sometimes I have Parker, so I spend the day with him… or do the laundry or something… Or go to you," he says with an impish grin. She grins back.
Suddenly, he claps in his hands. "I've got it," he says, a little louder in his enthusiasm than necessary. "We're going to the movies, Bones," he tells her. Her face remains neutral, but his own heart certainly speeds up at the thought of being with her in a dark movie theatre. Not the time, he reminds himself, but the images play through his head anyway – hey, he's a man, isn't he?
They finally settle on 'Water for Elephants' and he insists on buying popcorn, because he wants her to have the full movie-experience – sticky popcorn and all.
During the movie, he doesn't really take in the story despite his best intentions, and one quick look at his side tells him she isn't, either. She's looking at the screen, sure, but her eyes are distant.
She's just as surprised as he is when the movie is over and they sit in silence for a while as the crowd slowly files out.
"C'mon," he finally says, offering her his hand to pull her upright, "let's find someplace to eat." He's always hungry after going to the movies, and this time is no different.
She follows him without a word, and soon they find themselves in a small diner. He watches as she twirls the straw in her drink (organic orange juice, of course) and he hates the darkness that has came back over her, over them.
He doesn't want to tell her it's going to be alright again; he doesn't want to give her one of those empty promises. So instead he puts his hand over hers on the table and when she looks up at him, he knows she understands.
They leave the diner soon after that and head back to his apartment, because her stuff is still there and because they –or he, at least– aren't quite ready to say goodbye yet. She doesn't seem to be either, judging by the way she lingers in his apartment after she's collected her stuff.
Now, for the first time, there's a tinge of awkwardness. Neither of them is ready to be alone yet, but they can't find a reason to stay together, either. He searches his mind for something to say. He wants to give her some profound advice, telling her how to deal with her intern's death and maybe with the change between them as well, but his mind is coming up empty.
"Booth?" Her voice interrupts his thought. She's leaning against the couch and he is standing a bit away from her, but the tone in her voice propels him to move closer.
"I'm becoming stronger every day."
He freezes in his movements, knowing exactly what she is talking about, and suddenly their eyes lock and he can't tear his face away, not even if he wants to.
They look at each other and he's sure they're both thinking the same thing. She could stay here.
Eventually, though, she is the one who walks towards the door. She steps outside with a soft 'bye' and he is left to stare at the door.
She becomes stronger every day.
Alright, so what's your opinion? Please tell me!
By the way, this is my 100th story here! How awesomely fitting... :)