I was supposed to work this afternoon. I did not. ; )
Brennan only relaxed when the cabin door was sealed and the pre-flight announcements squawked out over the intercom. It had been years since she'd flown coach, and she was surprisingly bothered at the proximity of her fellow travelers, but there had been no first-class tickets available. Were people normally okay with this? Being packed in like piano keys, with barely any room to put their laptops? Sighing, she leaned as far back as she could, which was only slightly more than vertical, and closed her eyes.
She didn't want to think about what she had seen, didn't want to examine the situation. She just wanted to… get away. Like Booth had told her once, and at the time she had asked 'Get away from what?' but suddenly she understood all too clearly. Just away. Put a few thousand miles between her and what she'd seen this evening. The woman at the ticket counter had thought she was crazy for purchasing multiple tickets, but didn't complain overly as soon as her credit card was accepted. And she had never been one to worry about what strangers thought of her anyway. Pulling out her phone, she dashed off a quick text to Cam before a flight attendant could catch her. Taking emergency leave of absence—personal—will advise re: my return date when determined—TB. She winced to think of Angela getting the news from Cam, but just couldn't bring herself to contact her friend quite yet. Angela was too perceptive, even over a few lines of phoned text, and would demand more information than Brennan was ready to give.
As usual, attempting not to think of something just caused her to think about it more. The sight of Booth and… whoever she was… Brennan hadn't even known he was dating anyone. She had foolishly believed that they didn't keep secrets like that from each other anymore. Not that she had any right to be informed of his personal choices. She just wished she'd known, to save herself the embarrassment of charging into his bedroom unannounced like some sort of banshee. She cringed again when she thought of how it must have looked. She was certain that her face had showed all the shock and dismay and hurt she'd felt, and Booth was too good a judge of emotions to have missed it. Now he would rightfully be wondering what the hell she was thinking to be so obviously upset when really he was the one who should be upset. He had every right to a personal life that his work partner shouldn't meddle in. He had every right. And yet…
She hadn't imagined that kiss. He'd kissed her throat, so gently, and to think of it now she almost imagined that it had never happened. Except for the awkwardness that followed, which had been excruciatingly, sensitively real. Why had he done that? Was it possible that a kiss on the neck was an acceptable form of friendly affection? She didn't think so, but she'd been wrong about these types of social mores many times before. Could it be considered a casual gesture, like a guy hug or a squeeze of a hand? She was so confused, and she wished she could ask Angela but shuddered at the thought. The truth was, they'd had a wonderful evening up until that point. As usual, Booth had eaten with gusto, and his obvious enthusiasm for her food was an even more pleasing compliment than his lavish words of praise had been. She liked having him in her home, even liked the way her furniture seemed a bit too small for him, the way her space seemed too fussy and tidy next to his boisterous charm. Everything had been going so well, and random thoughts had started flitting into her mind. That this is what it would be like if they were… together. As more than partners. It could be a random Tuesday night. She had let herself briefly get carried away with the idea, of monopolizing his time, of being more in his life than just… Bones. And then he had leaned over and kissed her, said nothing, just kissed the side of her throat so delicately that she'd felt the warmth of his breath almost more than the pressure of his lips.
It had stolen her breath away. She'd had to curl her fingers into fists to keep from grabbing the back of his head and pulling him more firmly against her. He had been so close—just a few inches up and he would be kissing her lips. Just a few inches down and his lips would be at her breast. She shivered involuntarily at the thought. She shouldn't be thinking of her partner like this. Even if his kiss had been more than a friendly gesture, it still was light years more innocent than some of the things she fantasized about doing. She had sat next to him as long as she was physically able to keep her hands to herself, and then had gotten up, attempting to find a measure of self control as she stared out at the lights of the city. Just act casual, she lectured herself. Don't let him see how pathetically needy you are—how much one innocent gesture has driven you almost crazy to touch him. But as she thought of ways to get the evening back on course, she heard the quiet click of her front door, and turned to find an empty apartment. The space itself seemed to mourn his loss, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so lonely. Why had he left without saying goodbye? She must have offended him in some way. It must have been the way she left the couch and walked away. But didn't he know by now that she wasn't like him? That she wasn't able to process her emotions as quickly as he could, that she needed space to sort through her feelings?
But even with him gone, she didn't have enough space. The coffee table still held his wine glass—a vessel that, she knew, if held to the light would still show the ghostly topography of his fingerprints. His smell still lingered faintly in the air: soapy, and the light smell of the cologne she knew he wore because he worried that the stench of dead bodies would somehow imbue itself into the fibers of his clothing. Their dishes still rested in a stack next to her sink, where she'd put them for later as she refused his offer to help clean up. This was her apartment. So why did it feel as if suddenly she wasn't enough to fill the space? When did she start feeling lonely without him? Maybe part of the problem was how quickly she'd gotten accustomed to his friendship. She'd become almost possessive of his time, his smiles, the small moments of intimacy that she didn't want anyone else to share a piece of. It was that possessive streak that she was afraid he'd seen when she invaded his bedroom. It was unhealthy, dysfunctional. Sweets would have a field date with her—was that the expression?
She resolved to be a better friend to him, as soon as she got back. No more imagining a life focused around him. No more staring at his lips when he talked. No more relying on him for every single emotional need. And definitely no more wayward fantasies of his body, his skin, the muscles across his shoulders, whether he would be gentle or forceful with her, of dropping to her knees in front of him, of nibbling on that little spot at the base of his earlobe. No more. She just needed some time, some space, to find her self control again. To get him out of her mind so that when she returned they could go back to being partners. Colleagues. She would make sure he understood that there was no need to keep his relationships secret. Not that she could handle a cozy happy hour with the possible future Mrs. Booth or anything like that, but she could be supportive. She would never invade his privacy again, never march into his bedroom in such an embarrassing way. He was a good man and he deserved to be happy. And the next time that she got a genius idea that she could possibly be the cause of his happiness, she would simply compartmentalize better. Wrap that thought in a box, tie a ribbon on it, tuck it away. The image of her last Christmas gifts from her parents floated into her mind. She thought of how many years she kept those gifts stored in the back of her closet. She was very, very good at keeping boxes stored away.
She held her boarding passes in her hand like they could ward off her pain. The first flight, to Heathrow, would be a relatively painless 8 hours. Hopefully she'd be able to sleep through the majority of it. And from there, an even breezier 6 hour journey would find her in Cairo. Al Qahira to the locals, she reminded herself. She had resisted Dr. Hawass's overtures to visit the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities for too long. Hopefully he would forgive the impulsive nature of her arrival. She'd been to Cairo once before, and the layers of life sandwiched together in the city had jostled her senses awake. To see a McDonalds sign rising directly next to an archaeological dig that dated to the time of Seti I was an unforgettable sight. To see the way the cheap motels and tourist stalls huddled at the base of the Great Pyramid of Giza like toddlers around a mother's skirt. To taste the dates in Memphis, which grew on trees that descended directly from the gardens of the pharaohs. It had been years since she'd first stood in the desert at dawn and watched the sun rise over the ancient beehive curves of the Red Pyramid. At the time, she'd never seen anything so beautiful. Maybe if she returned to that site, she could recapture the wonder she'd experienced before, when the single most important thing in her life was her work. No messy personal relationships. No disappointments. Just work.
Please don't hate me for the first chapter! I promise that Booth is going to be much better behaved from now on. He's just confused, and he needs your sympathy. He might even need a hug. Okay, and maybe just a little pinch on the ass. ; )
I'm totally not sure where to take this next, so if you have requests please drop a line! Smutty or fluffy? Angsty or happy? Paper or plastic?