Chapter 2
His body seemed to be moving before his conscious mind told it to do so. In the space of a heartbeat, he was at her side, standing next to her bed and looking down in confusion. Her body twisted violently in her sheets, and her right arm swung out wildly as if trying to hit some unseen offender. He took a quick breath and forced his heart rate to slow. Booth had assumed someone was attacking her, perhaps that Peter had found a way in again. He looked down at his own hands as he numbly registered that he had grabbed his gun off of the bedside table without even realizing it. Carefully checking that the safety was still on, he placed it on her nightstand, knelt next to the bed, and tried to wake her up.
"Bones… Come on, Bones, wake up. You're ok. You're safe, no one's hurting you"
She was breathing heavily, clearly terrified and still asleep. Her screams had quieted to sobs, and the sound of it was heart-wrenching. He carefully placed a hand on her forehead, taking care to dodge her arm as it swung outward again. Within seconds, she stilled and quieted. Booth ran his hand gently upward over her hair, smoothing it away from her face and shushing her.
"That's good, Bones, come on. Wake up for me. You're ok…"
Brennan's eyes opened slowly then snapped quickly to his face. Her breathing was still a bit labored as she looked at him in confusion.
"Booth?"
"Yeah. It's ok, you had a nightmare. You were screaming," he told her. "Scared the shit out of me, by the way." His tone was meant to be teasing, but his heart was still beating wildly at the adrenaline rush.
"Oh… I'm sorry I woke you," she said. He smiled at her and belatedly realized his hand was still stroking her hair. He pulled it back awkwardly.
"No worries. I'm prone to them myself. Plus the doctor said sleep disturbances are common with concussions, right?" Booth was trying to put her at ease, and though she was thankful for his efforts, she felt unsure of herself. As she mentally shook off the effects of the dream and moved to sit up in bed, she heard his quiet intake of breath and looked at him quickly. His eyes were fixed to her torso, and she remembered instantly that her pajamas were quite a bit more revealing than what she would have chosen had she known he would be in her room in the middle of the night. Oops.
She pulled the sheet modestly over herself, and they avoided one another's eyes for a moment. Booth didn't know what he had expected her to sleep in, but it wasn't that, and even in the dim moonlight coming through her window, he could see her plainly. She had stripped down to a sports bra and a pair of soft cotton shorts that he could tell were very short, even if she were still sitting in bed. He mentally chastised his body for its natural response to the sight of her, and kept talking nervously.
"Do you want something to drink? It's been long enough that you can have some more medicine…"
"Yes, but I'll get it," she replied. Her head did still ache quite a bit, and her body's adrenaline response to her dream hadn't helped matters.
"No," he said quickly, then looked embarrassed. The last thing he needed was to see her walking around her apartment dressed like she was. As much as he might want to see that, it would only make his arousal more uncomfortable. She looked puzzled at his response, and he rushed to explain. "I mean… I'll get it, there's no need for you to get up. That's why I'm here, right?" He flashed his charm smile at her and stood to leave the room.
He didn't quite turn his body quickly enough, and she saw the slight bulge in his boxers. Brennan blushed and kept uncharacteristically silent as he left the room. The man wore Scooby-Doo boxers? Booth had been wearing his suit at the hospital, she recalled. They hadn't stopped at his place to pick up extra clothing, so it made sense that he had simply made himself as comfortable as possible when he had gone to bed. She told herself that it was perfectly logical for him to sleep in only his boxers and a wife-beater that must have been concealed under his dress shirt. Still, she thought as she took another deep and calming breath , it's a nice surprise. And she allowed her mind to drift a bit, imagining what his skin might feel like under her fingers, what his strong arms might feel like around her...
While Brennan was dealing with her own physical response to the sight of his body, Booth stood in the kitchen and took several cleansing breaths until he had himself under control. He could only imagine what she would think if she knew that the mere sight of her scantily-clad body had made him hard. He felt like a teenager again and shook his head in derision. Get it together, Seeley, he told himself. She has a damned concussion, and even if she didn't, the last thing she needs is you making the moves on her right now. He inhaled deeply again, feeling a bit more in-control of himself, then he grabbed a bottle of water and a couple of pills before heading back to her bedroom.
"Here you go," he told her with an awkward smile. Brennan nodded in thanks and knocked back the medicine with a swig of water.
"Thank you, Booth. You can go back to bed, I'm sorry for waking you."
"It's ok," he said reassuringly. "Do you...want to talk about it?" She looked at him curiously, certain that he couldn't mean what she thought he meant. "Your dream, I mean."
"Oh. No, Booth, there's no need to trouble yourself. Go back to sleep." She softened the instruction with a gentle smile, and he returned it. Booth hesitated a moment, but then shrugged. He knew he couldn't push her to share the details with him. He moved to leave the room and was nearly to the door when her bedside lamp was switched on. He turned back to look at her, eyes blinking spastically as they tried to adjust to the light change. She was reaching for her laptop.
"What are you doing?"
"I won't be able to sleep again any time soon. May as well get some work done." She spoke the words with certainty, knowing her that her mind never let her simply go back to sleep after a dream like that. And he heard the conviction in her statement, wondering if she had nightmares very often.
"You really should try, Bones." She shot him a frustrated look at the use of his nickname for her, but said nothing. "You and I both know that you will heal faster if you rest like you're supposed to. I know nightmares are a pain in the ass, and they mess with your head. But you need to be resting, not looking at a computer screen."
"I'll be fine," she responded automatically. At the exasperated look he gave her, she sighed and continued, "I just want to answer a few emails that I didn't get to earlier. It shouldn't take long. There's no need for your concern."
He drew himself up in determination and prepared himself mentally for an argument before saying, "Fine. But I'm staying in here with you then, until you fall asleep." She looked startled at his words, and he continued before she could speak, "I promised your doctor that I'd keep an eye on you overnight, and that's what I'm going to do."
Her mouth gaped open and closed a couple of times as she watched him circle to the other side of her bed and sit next to her, on top of the blankets.
"Booth, that's completely unnecessary. I'm an adult, I can look after myself," she worked to maintain the appropriate degree of disapproval in her voice. But in reality, the last thing she wanted after reliving that horrible experience in her dream was to be alone. She shuddered as the memory of it swept over her again.
"I know you can, Bones. I do. I know you can take care of yourself, but the problem is that you don't. You skip meals, skip sleep, and run yourself ragged to do your job." He looked directly into her eyes and continued, "Don't get me wrong, your dedication is admirable. But your well-being is just as important as the work you do. Undervaluing one undervalues the other."
And for once, Brennan didn't argue with him. His reasoning was sound, and she knew that she had a tendency to forget everything but her work sometimes. It wasn't unusual for her to go days without sleeping, eating very little, because she was hyper-focused on a set of remains. He wasn't the first to tell her that she neglected herself in favor of her work. She gave a small sigh in resignation, and simply nodded.
He was pleased that she didn't argue with him and took it as a good sign. She needed someone to watch out for her, and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't mind if that person was him. He knew immediately in that moment, as he looked into her beautiful pale eyes, that he wanted the job. The certainty of it made him feel simultaneously warm and nervous.
Brennan looked back to her laptop and answered an email from Hodgins about the case. She showed Booth what he had written and they theorized back and forth a bit about how the particulates in question might have ended up where they did. As they talked and debated, she slowly realized that she felt different around him. If it were any other man sitting next to her in bed, there was really only one reason he would be there. And even then, Brennan would make certain that she was alone again before relaxing enough to fall asleep.
Not that she wasn't attracted to Booth in that way as well, but she had never before been so at ease around a man. She felt...safe. The clarity of that quiet revelation stunned her, and when he spoke again, she realized that she had been silent for several minutes.
"Bones? You ok?" He had been watching her, and it was plain on her face that she was deep in thought, working something out that was most likely leaps and bounds beyond anything he could understand. He assumed that she was thinking about the case, but then he saw her skin flush as her attention returned to him again. Though he didn't know what it meant, he couldn't help but feel encouraged by it somehow.
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, my mind was wandering I suppose." She looked down at her hands self-consciously.
"It's ok… Want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"About whatever's bothering you."
"Why would anything be bothering me?" she asked, not realizing that she was admitting to feeling content in his presence; that being next to him in her bed didn't bother her. But he understood the subtext perfectly well and smiled in response. His smile grew a bit wider as he realized that she had let her nickname slip by several times without admonishing him.
"No reason I guess, I just didn't know if maybe your nightmare was still upsetting you," he shrugged.
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, and he saw her eyes become guarded again before saying, "Of course not. It's really not a big deal, Booth."
He gazed at her quietly for a few moments, taking in her dismissive tone and an expression that told him she was in fact still a bit shaken.
"You know, Bones, it's ok to open up to people once in a while. Partners…they share things. Builds trust."
"Since when are we partners?" This brought him up short, and he looked a little saddened at her question before looking away.
"I apologize for the assumption."
She immediately felt guilty for putting that expression on his face. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, she was just surprised at his sudden use of the label. Brennan thought carefully for a moment, trying to think of a way to erase the disappointment she saw in his handsome features.
"I'm sorry," she said gently, placing her hand on his arm tentatively to encourage him to look at her. "I didn't mean to imply that I dislike the term or the idea of working with you again after this case… I wasn't aware that you thought of me that way, and it caught me off-guard. That's all."
"It's ok. I know we haven't discussed it yet, but… I like working with you. Even if you do make me a little crazy," he said with a note of teasing clear in his voice. They smiled at each other, and she didn't need to tell him that the feeling was mutual. She gazed at him speculatively, then made a decision. He watched her lean over to put her laptop away and turn back to him.
Brennan took a deep breath and scooted down in the bed to lay her injured head back on her pillow. He was uncomfortable for a moment, unsure if she wanted him to leave so she could sleep. But before he could decide one way or the other, she spoke again.
"I don't have nightmares often. Which, all things considered, is fairly surprising I guess. But I've noticed that when I fall asleep with a headache, I nearly always wake from bad dreams." She wasn't looking at him as she spoke, studying her fingernails instead. But he could tell she had more to say, so he kept silent and waited. He was not disappointed.
"I was in El Salvador three years ago. Identifying victims of the Death Squads... I was in a tent set up by one of the grave sites. I was working with the remains of a young girl, maybe thirteen. She'd been shot in the head and dumped into a well." She paused, remembering, but she still avoided his gaze. "This cop shows up, and he might've been a soldier...it's not easy to tell. I thought he was there to guard me, but he told me to stop. When I refused, he called in two others. They put a bag over my head and tossed me into a cell with a dirt floor and no windows."
Booth had stopped breathing, his entire body rigid and his eyes wide with stress. Brennan noticed the sudden absence of the sound of his breathing and finally looked at him. They locked eyes for a few moments, and he released the breath he'd been holding.
"For how long?" he asked in a quiet voice that did nothing to hide his shock.
"Later I found out it was three days. But… I thought it was a week, maybe more. He came in every day and made me believe I was going to die. He said that he'd shoot me and toss me into a well and that no one would ever know who I was or what became of me. And I might not have been so afraid of him if I hadn't known that he was absolutely right. I had no one to wonder what happened to me…" She trailed off, remembering the feeling of complete terror washing over her as the man held his gun to her temple and cocked it threateningly. She shuddered, but continued. As difficult as it might be to admit that vulnerability to him, she knew that both he and Angela had been correct with their advice. If she expected to learn more about him, to work with him as his partner in the future, she needed to offer up something of herself.
He was still quiet, sensing that she wasn't finished speaking, but it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her or at the very least grasp her hand. He was no stranger to the kind of fear she was describing, and he knew full well the havoc it could wreak on a person's mind. But he remained still, afraid to rock the boat now that she was being so open with him.
"The mass grave site I worked on in Guatemala wasn't far from the El-Salvadoran border, and local politics haven't changed all that much. I wasn't held captive this time, but there were...less than subtle threats that our team would be...disposed of...if we continued working."
Booth listened in horror and incredulity that she would willingly place herself in that kind of danger for a bunch of dead bodies. He couldn't hold back his questions any longer at that point.
"Why didn't you have security in a place like that?" he asked in disbelief. Places, he mentally corrected. She had done this more than once.
Brennan felt mildly offended at the question and thought he was being condescending to assume that she would be stupid enough to go into hostile territory without any kind of protection. She scowled a bit as she answered.
"We did have security, of course. Better in Guatemala than in El Salvador; I learned my lesson." He didn't miss the offended tone of her voice, and for some reason it irritated him. If she'd really learned her lesson then why would she ever take the risk again?
"Sorry, I just…" he paused, searching for the words he wanted. "Why on earth would you put yourself in that kind of danger for a bunch of bones?" Booth ran a hand through his hair, thinking with a chill that she could have easily died before he'd even had the chance to know her. The thought nauseated him.
Her forehead creased in confusion. "I do it for the same reason that you undoubtedly put yourself at risk in the military, and now in the FBI. Because it's the right thing to do." He looked at her in surprise that she would compare her actions to his, and she continued, "You put your particular skills to good use every day with the goals of seeing justice done, of saving innocent lives. It's no different in my case, at least as far as my motivations are concerned. This is what I can do. I can give these people back to their families, provide closure and answers to those who might never have it otherwise. By giving them back their identities and telling their story, I can help to make sure those responsible for their deaths are held accountable. How is that so different than what you do?"
He stared at her, stunned at her words, and couldn't come up with the words to respond. He remembered that the desire for justice was something that he'd already known about her, but he hadn't realized that it went beyond simply identifying a body here and there for the FBI. Booth found himself feeling no small degree of amazement at her courage and dedication. Sure, he took similar risks, maybe even bigger ones, in his line of work. But he'd been trained for that. He'd been a soldier, a Ranger. A sniper. He had served justice himself more times than he wanted to recall.
But however admirable her principles may be, Brennan's behavior quite simply terrified him. He knew, of course, that she probably had many more stories like this one, and he tried not to think about how many times she might have put herself in that kind of danger. As he looked at her stubborn expression, Booth was reminded again of his promise to his boss that he would be responsible for her. He had taken on the task without hesitation, because he was, at his core, a protector. It had never crossed his mind to refuse. But he knew now that he would keep her safe whether his boss had asked him to or not, and it certainly went farther than simply watching her back when he took her into the field.
He breathed another sigh as he considered her with a growing affection. She's such a good person, he thought. And she was extremely misunderstood. His co-workers wouldn't avoid her or gossip about her like they did if any of them really knew her. They thought her to be cold and uncaring, and the contrast between perception and reality was glaring. He resolved to put a stop to that too. Someone needed to stand up for her at the Bureau, and he was damned sure going to make sure she got the credit she deserved.
Brennan watched him cautiously, as he was clearly deep in thought, processing what she had told him. She was pleased with herself that he hadn't continued to argue with the logic she had laid out for him. Though she couldn't quite decipher the expression on his face, he still looked troubled. She wanted to be done talking about herself, feeling suddenly exposed as she realized just how much she had 'offered up.'
"You said earlier that you knew how troublesome nightmares can be," she said tentatively. "It sounded like you were speaking from experience. Are yours about your time in the army?"
He didn't really want to talk about that, but he realized with pride that she had followed his advice about opening up. And if nothing else, he owed her the courtesy of reciprocation.
"I served in the Gulf War, kind of all over: Iraq, Kuwait, some other places I can't talk about…" He paused, realizing that the words he'd chosen made it sound like he was refusing to be honest with her, and he rushed on. "Not that I don't want you to know or anything, just… it's classified." She nodded astutely that she did indeed understand, and he relaxed. He had her full attention and her interest was more than merely polite. His back had started to ache, however, and he reclined backward next to her as he continued to speak.
"I, uh… I was held prisoner too for a while. Our unit was ambushed on return from a covert op, and more than half of us were killed. The rest of us were held as prisoners of war until the army tracked us down and pulled us out." He looked at her carefully, measuring her expression. "It was… a bit worse than what happened to you. And we were held for weeks rather than days." He trailed off again, unsure how much detail he could really bare to give her.
"I noticed the pain in your feet," she said simply, cutting right to the chase. "Beating the soles of the feet with… pipes or rubber hoses is a common method of torture in the Middle East."
He regarded her carefully. "How could you possibly know that? About the pain, I mean."
"One of my doctorates is in kinesiology, and you have clear kinetic markers which indicate you suffer from severe pain in your feet, as well as lower back pain, and some residual pain from a knee injury that probably happened in adolescence."
He was impressed, though he supposed he really shouldn't have been. She was a genius, after all. "Yeah, I have some disc degeneration-"
"In your lumbar region."
"Yeah," he smiled indulgently at her. "And I blew out my knee in high school, playing basketball."
She smiled back at him, a little teasingly. "Were you any good?" His grin widened appreciatively, and he adopted a playfully wounded expression.
"Hell yeah, I was. Starting point guard, baby. I had a scholarship all lined up for Penn State; I would've gone all the way!"
"I don't know what that means," she said in confusion. She had registered the new moniker and wondered if he'd even known he used it. What didn't cross her mind was why she'd allowed it.
"What what means?"
"'All the way?' All the way to what?"
"It's just an expression, Bones. I meant that I had a full ride to Penn State, could've played through my college years and maybe even have gone pro after that…" He trailed off a bit dejectedly. "Things might've been a lot different. I might not have gone into the army at all."
"Why did you choose that path then?" He glanced back at her to see that she was genuinely interested.
"I guess it's just like you said. I wanted to make a difference in the world, see justice done, fight for what's right." Their eyes met in mutual understanding.
"Do you feel like you've succeeded?" She watched his expression become a bit darker and wondered if she had overstepped a boundary.
"At the time, I certainly felt like I was doing the right thing. Though in retrospect, I'm not sure… I was a sniper," he admitted quietly. "The lines are blurred in my mind now, you know? Even though I know the people I took out were evil and that their deaths saved dozens, maybe hundreds, of innocent lives… It still just feels like murder to me."
She considers his words for a moment, understanding more than she probably would had she been listening to the same speech from anyone else.
"I understand your logic for feeling that way… but I disagree with your conclusion. You didn't decide to kill anyone on your own. You followed orders from those in charge who presumably knew more about the circumstances than you did. You shouldn't hold yourself to some impossible standard when you were merely doing the job you were assigned. And you shouldn't feel guilty for doing your job well; if someone less skilled had been pulling the trigger rather than you, more innocent lives might have been lost."
Her sentiments were nothing he hadn't heard before, mostly from his grandfather and his priest. But to hear her admonish him for his guilt was surprising. She barely knew him, but her acceptance of his past and his faults was given seemingly without hesitation. He smiled at her warmly, his eyes thanking her for her compassion more than any words ever could.
"Thanks, Bones." It came out in a whisper, and she smiled back as her eyes began to drift shut. He took the opportunity to really look at her, his eyes tracing the fine contours of her face until he felt he would never forget what she looked like, even if he lived to be a hundred. He smiled fondly at her again and smoothed her hair gently away from her face. Booth briefly considered that he should probably return to the guest room, but he found her presence somehow intoxicating. And he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and enjoy her scent and the sound of her even breathing so near to him. He reached over her to switch off the bedside lamp and lay back down.
He was still laying on top of the blankets, he reassured himself. It was perfectly innocent.
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Brennan was the first to wake the next morning. The blankets were tangled around her feet, and her alarm hadn't gone off yet, but something had pulled her out of sleep a little early. She lay quietly for a moment, trying to decide if she cared enough to figure out what it was, and as she inhaled deeply, she belatedly recognized the pressure of arms around her. The memory of the previous night came back to her in a torrent, and she realized that they must have dozed off and somehow gravitated toward each other in their sleep.
It was an incredibly pleasant feeling, and Brennan had no desire to move just then. Booth was stretched out behind her, one arm under her head and the other wrapped around her abdomen. His legs were pressed against hers as well, and she could feel his breath ghosting over the skin on her neck. He smelled amazing. It was part aftershave, part soap, and part Booth. Just then, he shifted a bit and something else became obvious to her. She smirked to herself. Apparently she wasn't the only one enjoying the embrace. She moved her hips a tiny bit and was rewarded with the feel of his sizable morning arousal pressed against her backside.
She took care to stay still, not wanting to admit to herself that she was not only thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his arms around her, but also trying like hell to ignore the warm ache that had begun at her core. It's just a natural biological reaction to pheromones, nothing more, she told herself firmly. She couldn't imagine how he could possibly find her attractive after the last 24 hours. She'd been in pain for most of the day, said the wrong things to the victim's parents, and had to endure the indignity of an ER visit in his company. It was ridiculous to think that his body's natural morning state had anything to do with her.
Booth woke several minutes afterward. Even before he was fully lucid, he recognized the delicious feeling of a woman in his arms. He squeezed her a bit tighter, held her a bit closer, and inhaled deeply. But then he froze. He knew that scent. It had taunted him since he had picked her up from the airport a few days earlier, and now it seemed to infiltrate every atom of his being. Bones.
His eyes opened cautiously, realizing that not only did he have his arms around her, but that other parts of his anatomy were enjoying her proximity just a little too much. Embarrassed, he tried to determine whether or not she was still asleep. Her breathing was deep and even, and he hoped that meant she was asleep. He awkwardly attempted to withdraw his arm from beneath her head in order to escape to the bathroom, but as he moved she rolled over to face him. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue that he was coming to recognize usually indicated that her brain was in overdrive.
"Hi," she said, breaking the tension.
"Hi." There was no doubt that she had felt his arousal, but she didn't comment on it. He had lifted the arm that had been draped over her waist, but the other was still pinned beneath her. They were very, very close, their lips mere inches apart. He tried not to look at her smirking mouth or wonder how she might react if he closed the distance between them.
"How are you feeling?" he asked instead. "Head still hurt?"
Her uncertainty showed a little more in her expression. "Just a little. It's much better than last night."
"Good. We should probably get up then…" She nodded but didn't move. Instead they communicated in silent challenges with their eyes. She knew full well that he couldn't get out of bed without embarrassing himself even more, and he knew that she knew it. After nearly a full minute of what Angela would undoubtedly call 'eye sex,' Brennan sighed a little and got up from the bed, heading for the shower.
"You're welcome to use the shower in the guest bathroom," she said over her shoulder.
"Uh...ok. Thanks."
As soon as the bathroom door closed behind her, he jumped quickly from the bed and headed off to the guest bathroom. He wasn't sure there was enough icy water in the world to chill the heat that seared through him at the moment, but he was sure as hell going to try. His arms tingled in the places where they had touched her, as if a real electrical charge had passed between them. Her scent seemed to be imprinted in his senses, and he had grown impossibly harder as he'd watched her cross the room in her poor excuse for pajamas. What the hell is wrong with me? She's a co-worker. If this case went well, she would be more than that. A partner. A work partner, he corrected himself.
Maybe there had been a moment during their last case that they could have been more, but he had royally screwed that up. And nothing he could do or say would unring that bell. He had no business lusting after her now. His guilt amped up a bit more as he recalled how she had opened up to him the night before. She was incredible woman, and she deserved better than him, even if their relationship wasn't centered around work.
Frustrated with himself, he reached into the shower stall and set the water temperature as low as his aching feet could stand it.
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Brennan was having a similar crisis of conscience. What the hell is wrong with me? She wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and frowned at her reflection. There was no way she could get involved with him. Their first case had proven that, hadn't it? Admitting an attraction was one thing, acting on it in spite of their complicating circumstances was another. That was the logical conclusion that indicated how she should behave.
So why then had she found herself wanting nothing more than to press her lips to his, to see if he tasted the way she remembered? Why hadn't she pulled out of his arms immediately when she'd awoken? Why had she been admiring his physique and fine features every time they'd been together?
She huffed in frustration and entered the bedroom to get dressed. She had no answers to those questions other than that she had been weak. With any other man, she would have simply informed the man in question of her attraction and asked if it was mutual. She would have no qualms about finding a way to facilitate a hormonal release to satisfy her biological urges.
But this was Booth. Her usual tactics would be inappropriate due to their working relationship. Not to mention, she was sure that he must think her too weak even to handle her own safety or care for herself after an injury. It hadn't seemed to matter how many times she argued the case of her self-sufficiency, he hadn't relented. Damned alpha-male. She hoped that, at the very least, their discussion had proven to him that she was a strong person-someone worthy of being his partner.
She carefully chose a rather low cut camisole and a blue button down shirt to go over it, choosing to ignore the fact that she was interested in seeing Booth's reaction to her clothing. She quickly pulled on a pair of dark jeans, socks, and boots. Brennan didn't generally wear a lot of makeup, but today she chose to enhance her eyes and lips a little. She again reassured herself that it had nothing to do with Booth. Once her hair was dried, she left the bedroom, tilting her head to secure her earrings.
Booth had finished showering quickly and dressed in the suit he had worn yesterday. Brennan found him in her kitchen, making coffee. He looked up as she came into view, and his eyes widened a bit. The tank top she'd chosen was cut even lower than the one she'd been wearing the other day. He forced himself to look away quickly and hoped she hadn't noticed him gawking.
Brennan was looking instead at the coffee in surprise. She wasn't sure whether to feel irritated by his casual behavior or thankful that she would get her caffeine sooner rather than later. Remembering their discussion the night before though, she settled on thankful. She had shared more details of her life with him than she had with any man in years. Even Angela didn't know about what had happened to her in El Salvador.
"I'll need to stop by my place on the way to the lab and change into a fresh suit, but we probably have time to eat a quick breakfast before we go," Booth informed her pleasantly. His tone compensated for his lack of eye contact. Cold shower or not, if he was going to get through the day with her, he needed to focus his eyes on something else.
"I don't like to eat this early," she said. "And even if I did, I don't have much food here, remember?"
"Oh, right. Sorry." He glanced quickly at her, then away again and focused on what she was adding to her coffee. "Well, I can grab something at my place then."
She nodded and began to gather her things into the shoulder bag that, not so long ago, had held a decomposed skull. He followed her out the door, fidgeting with the items in his pockets as he watched her lock it from the outside.
"You sure your headache is better, Bones? I could give you a ride to the lab, it won't take me long to change."
She opened her mouth to tell him not to call her 'Bones,' but swallowed the words almost immediately. The nickname reminded her of the intimacy she'd felt during their conversation the night before. It was that feeling of safety again, and she enjoyed it too much to push it away just now.
Instead, she said, "No, that's all right. I have a busy morning, and my headache is much more manageable today."
They rode the elevator down in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Booth had finally given up trying not to look at her and settled for trying to only look at her face instead. It was a challenge.
As the elevator doors opened, she walked out first and began to walk in the direction of her vehicle when his voice made her look back.
"See ya later, Bones. I'll give you a call or stop by if there's any progress on the case?" He ended the statement as a question, checking to make sure she was ok with that arrangement.
"That's fine. And I'll let you know when we have something else too." She hesitated and took a few steps back toward him. "I'm not sure I thanked you for last night," she said awkwardly. "I don't always convey my feelings appropriately, but I do appreciate your kindness."
He grinned that charming smile again, and she was powerless to stop her lips from curving upward in return. "Don't mention it, Bones. I'll talk to you later."
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As Booth headed toward his apartment, Brennan decided to make a quick stop on her way to the lab. Her mind was focused on the case now, and while the evidence they'd collected so far was compelling, it still wasn't enough. She was going to have to take this to the next level, and she had a pretty good idea how to do it.
She approached Senator Bethlehem as he crossed the vaulted lobby of the Senatorial offices building. His assistant, Ken Something, she thought, followed him obligingly. When a simple request for a DNA sample proved unfruitful, she quickly swiped the Senator's chewing gum from the trash can instead. Ken Something tried to stop her from leaving with it, but he was easily dealt with. As she walked out the doors, she pulled an evidence bag from her jacket pocket and sealed the gum inside. With any luck, they could match the DNA in his saliva to that of the fetal bones they'd found.
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"Don't be nice to me after I got you in trouble."
"Your heart was in the right place."
"No, I'm not a heart person, you're a heart person. I'm a brain person," she argued. "You vouched for me."
"Forget it…"
"No. I won't," she said with determination. "You think it was the Senator?" He gazed at her a moment before answering.
"Look, the Senator has had sex with a dozen of those interns, and he hasn't killed any of them. Our best bet is still the stalker." His use of the word 'our' didn't escape her. He didn't care whether Cullen had told her to go back to her lab for good or not. He wanted her with him.
"You want to check him out? We can...I don't know, what do you call it… roost him?" she asked with barely concealed enthusiasm.
"Rouse," Booth corrected, grinning fondly at her.
"Rouse. Well the murderer snatched a Bronze Star from Cleo's neck, so…"
"I've got twelve hours before this case is over and I'm off it, so… Let's go rouse."
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"Okay, Bones, you go knock on his door. I'm gonna go around the back."
"Why?" she asked in surprise.
"Because there's no way he's gonna talk to you once he knows why you're here." Brennan was still a bit confused, but nodded and got out of the car.
She knocked and was greeted by a man's face, slightly obscured by the security chain on his door.
"Mr. Laurier, we have a warrant to search your apartment-" The door slammed abruptly in her face, and she could hear Booth speaking on the other side before it opened again. Booth had the man face down on the floor, and Brennan couldn't help but be impressed at his efficiency.
A short while later, Booth was poking around the apartment as Laurier read the warrant.
"You're looking for a Bronze Star?" Laurier asked Brennan. "Like the one Cleo wore?"
"Exactly like that one," she replied.
"I don't have it."
"Stalkers sometimes retain keepsakes." She knew this from a bit of personal experience, and she knew she was right when Booth nodded approvingly.
Booth watched and listened as Laurier trash-talked Ken Thompson and Senator Bethlehem, proclaimed his love for Cleo, and eyed Brennan with an interest that seemed to make her uncomfortable. He glared at Laurier, who had the good sense took away. It seemed that Laurier had discovered a new object of infatuation, and Booth found himself compelled to smack that dreamy look right off the man's face.
As they walked back to the car, Booth's hand came to rest protectively on the small of Brennan's back. She registered the contact pleasantly.
"What a creep," he said tersely.
"I concur. Angela just texted. She finished recreating the murder scenario."
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Booth watched the simulation play out on the Angelator with some degree of skepticism. He knew these people were brilliant and extremely competent, but he just wasn't sure if this was going to be enough. He listened as the squints completed each other's thoughts aloud and drew to the scenario to its conclusion.
"You expect me to declare war on a United States Senator based on your little holographic crystal ball?" The question came out a bit more harsh than he'd intended, and Brennan quickly argued back.
"It's not magic. It's a logical recreation of events based on evidence."
"No more valid than my gut," he insisted stubbornly.
"A good hypothesis withstands testing, that's what makes it a good hypothesis," said Zack.
"It's not a hypothesis. You have a dead girl and a United States Senator, plus a nifty magic and lights show. It will never hold up in the real world."
Brennan glared at him in irritation and addressed the rest of the squints, "Come on, we're done here."
After they had filed out, Booth stood alone with Angela, feeling a bit guilty. "Wow. Touchy…" Angela didn't see the guilt in his expression and replied a bit testily.
"You must know about her family. Both parents vanish when she's fifteen? She knows plenty about 'the real world.'"
"Yeah… I know the story, read the file. Cops never found anything."
"Yeah," Angela said sadly. "Brennan figures that if maybe somebody like her had been there…"
Booth shook his head with a sigh. "For someone who hates psychology, she sure has a lot of it."
"Tell me about it," she commiserated. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to thank you for taking her to the ER and all that. I didn't know what was going on until you called." Booth didn't miss the trace of bitterness in Angela's voice. Apparently Brennan hadn't shared the encounter with Peter with her best friend, and Angela seemed hurt but unsurprised. Booth wondered if Brennan would have ever told her anything had he not insisted she get medical treatment.
"It was no problem," he answered. He was tempted to fill Angela in on the details but kept silent. Brennan had confided in him more than he'd ever expected the night before, and he didn't want to betray that confidence even in good intention. When she wanted Angela to know what had happened, she would tell her. Or Angela would wheedle it out of her, he thought with a wry grin. He got the impression that Angela was a forced to be reckoned with when she wanted to be.
Booth looked for Brennan in her office but found it empty. Dodging a glare from Zack on his way out, he made his way out of the lab and back to his car. He had a pretty good idea where she'd gone. He was coming to realize that they had a lot more in common than it had first appeared. She was frustrated. And if he was still a gambling man, he'd bet his next paycheck that she had gone exactly where he would go to blow off some steam.