A/N: Many thanks to my fantabulous betas – TemperTemper and ForAReason: this whole process would be impossible without you guys. xxx Also many thanks to all the awesome reviewers – sorry I haven't been keeping up with my replies lately, will try to do better. :)
Disclaimer: Concept of Bones + Characters of Bones + Anything you recognize ARE NOT MINE.
He watched her pull at the smooth metal handle several times, knowing all along it was futile. They were locked out.
And just to put an exclamation point on the situation, bright flashes of lightning and loud rumbles of thunder were becoming more and more frequent and intense.
"Dammit, Booth! You couldn't read the sign?"
"What sign? I didn't see…"
She cut him off. "The sign on the door saying not to let it close completely because the lock engages automatically?" She tugged again. "Dammit!"
"Bones, I didn't see a sign." Trying to stay calm, Booth wondered if he'd ever seen his cool, rational partner freak out quite like this.
Flash. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three- … Rumble.
"Well, what were you doing, Booth? It takes all of your focus to walk up a flight of stairs?"
So much for calm – he could feel himself losing that tenuous hold.
When my focus was on your gorgeous ass, yeah.
Her eyes widened.
Did I say that out loud?
Fuck.
"What did you-" And she stopped, but he could see the smirk rising to her lips. He was so busted. She turned as if to walk away and he assumed she was taking a few steps to clear her head.
Recovering from the shock of what he'd blurted, and yeah, that couldn't have gone down much worse, Booth stepped forward to grab the door handle himself. Maybe brute force would do the trick. They needed off this roof - NOW.
He jerked with all his might and still nothing.
Suddenly, without warning, she was behind him… pressed against his back, her hands at the waist of his jeans. "Bones?"
"Booth, you have something I need…" He could feel her breath, hot on his neck.
"I- Bones, I thought we discussed this-"
Her hands moved nimbly towards the front of his jeans, her thumbs lifting the hem of his shirt and sliding along the belt-loops. And as her flesh fleetingly grazed his, he couldn't stop the twitch between his legs any more than he could stop the impending foul weather.
Before he could even think, her fingers had snaked into both of his pockets, finding and removing his keys from the right one… and then she was gone, striding away from him across the rooftop; leaving him in the assumed position – legs slightly spread and palms flat against the door – of a man in trouble.
Flash. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thou… Rumble.
--
They say knowledge is power.
And Temperance Brennan was brimming with knowledge. She could contribute intelligent conversation about almost anything anyone could ever fathom to discuss… at least about things worth discussing. Facts, statistics, worthwhile discoveries, theories… she could hold her own with the best of them. Hell, she was the best of them.
But tonight, Temperance had just come upon a whole new facet of knowledge.
The knowledge that her partner wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
Her confident stride across the rooftop never faltered. She twirled his keys around her fingers and only slowed once she reached the first brick wall demarcating the units. Pulling up her skirt, she nimbly stepped on top and over the wall.
She could hear her partner approaching behind her. "Bones, what are you doing? Where are you going?" A grunt as he hoisted himself over the low wall. "And with my keys?!"
Brennan came to a halt at the roof's edge and looked over. She could see her balcony about fifteen feet below. Metal rungs were attached to the side of the building and would lead them to their salvation. The storm clouds were moving in fast.
She looked down at the keys in her hand, and began flipping through the set, looking for the one to her apartment in the dim light. She flipped past a keychain reading World's Greatest Dad and couldn't help but chuckle when she encountered a flat disc with an etched skull and crossbones.
"This is not anatomically correct, Booth."
"Um, no… it's not," he agreed, reaching out to try and snatch his keys back from her. She pulled her hand away and his fingers gripped her wrist instead, pulling her a step away from the edge and back towards him. The look in his eyes as her shoulder brushed along his chest nearly scalded her.
Just then, the skies opened up and warm summer rain began to fall. They both looked up into the blackness, as if acknowledging it would make the situation better. They only succeeded in getting their faces wet. Booth released his grip on her wrist and stepped forward.
This storm was coming whether they were ready for it or not.
Flash. One-one-thousand. Two- … Rumble.
--
Looking to the fire escape, Booth conceded, "Fine, but I'm going first…" He didn't have to finish his sentence or even fully see her expression in the dim light to know that her "alpha-male scowl" was firmly in place.
He shifted past her to the wall and threw his leg over, resting his bare foot on the first rung. "These are going to get slippery fast, Bones. We need to hurry, but we also need to…" looking straight in her eyes, "…Be. Careful."
"Climb, Booth," she responded. The I can take care of myself was hidden by an especially loud crack of thunder, but he knew all the same.
Gripping the ledge, he began to alternate feet down the fire escape until his head was just about level with the roof's edge. Glancing up to tell her to get ready, he watched with wide-eyed interest as she gathered her dark skirt up to the side and tied a knot with the excess material. This turned a rather demure garment into… well, a much shorter, much more revealing article of clothing.
And yes, he'd been seeing her legs all night. At moments, she'd exposed more than what he knew she'd intended. But that was before she'd kissed him; before he'd kissed her back. Before he'd felt how soft the fabric of that skirt was, bunched under his fingertips, a thin layer between him and the supple skin of her thigh…
"Booth, are you going?"
"Yeah… going," to Hell, his seemingly ever-present inner voice added as he snapped his mind out of that dangerous memory and back onto the task at hand. They, along with the metal bars, were being pelted quite regularly with the now-steady rain.
When he was about halfway down, Brennan gripped the roof-ledge tightly and swung her leg over to rest her bare foot on the metal rung. She allowed the ring of his keys to slip over her thumb to hold them in place as best as she could. The last thing they needed was for her to drop them to the sidewalk fifty-plus feet below.
Booth had almost made it to the balcony railing when he chanced a look up to see how his partner was faring. Holy Mother of… He really did have a first-rate view up her skirt. And it really was a miracle he didn't fall off the side of the damn building. Only the cumulating factors of the dimness of the night, which prohibited him from seeing quite as much, and the rain that was incessantly striking his face worked together to save him; by forcing him to look away and concentrate on the remaining distance to safety.
Finally reaching the railing, he hooked his leg over and hopped onto the balcony.
Looking back up to his partner, he cleared the large lump out of his throat and called, "Careful Bones, you're almost here."
When she was well-within reaching distance, he leaned over the railing and gripped her waist to steady her as she climbed over, feeling the dampness of her thin shirt under his fingers. And beneath that…
Flash. One-one-thou… Rumble.
Once she was safely beside him on the balcony, Brennan moved to unlock the glass-paned door. As she drove the key home, Booth turned to look around the elevated space and suddenly felt his chest constrict.
Oh, what, you heading for the balcony, Howie? Hope you can fly, cause that's about a fifty foot drop…
He let his fingers drag along the iron railing as he relived that defining moment in his life.
Look who the killer is now, Agent Booth.
A little help here, Bones? I got nothing but dead weight here. Help… me.
"Booth?" she questioned now, laying a hand upon his shoulder, the material of his dampened tee made a few shades darker by the heavy raindrops. He didn't respond, his eyes looking over the rail to the concrete below.
Are you saying you don't want me dead?
Yeah, I'm not you.
Oh, really? You're not thinking of the world with me still in it? Going after Dr. Brennan, your son-
I'm not you.
"Fifty," he whispered, gripping the rail with both hands, clenching until his knuckles were white and prominent. He wanted to rip the damn thing off the side of her building. "He was a real piece of shit."
"And yet, you would have saved him in a heartbeat. Because you're not."
He pulled back on the rail a bit, flexing his back and neck and letting his head hang down. Then with a deep breath, he stood straight and released the rain-cooled iron, brushing his hands together as if ridding himself of something dirty.
Turning to face her, it astounded him how beautiful she really was. Her hair was damp again, this time from the rain, and tendrils fell from the ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was watching him and her eyes sparkled – like they did when she'd made some new discovery and was excited to share it with him. Had she? Was she? Would she?
Her cheeks were still lightly flushed from their climb down the fire escape – and maybe something more. Her lips were full and dusky pink in the dim light - slightly parted, soft breaths escaping.
Flash. Rumble.
They were standing on a metal balcony, in a thunder storm, likely to be fried by lightning at any moment, but he was like a magpie with a shiny bauble; he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. When he looked at her, he saw life – vibrant, abundant, beautiful. One would think, spending nearly every waking moment with this woman, both of them immersed in death, destruction, deceit… that one would become synonymous with the other. That when he thought of his partner, his mind would flash with skeletons, murderers and decay.
But that couldn't be farther from the truth. Because she was also his friend, his partner, and his… what? Confidante? Temptation? Downfall? Salvation?
Everything?
Suddenly filled with a mental exhaustion he was too tired to fight, he reached out a slightly trembling finger to graze along her cheek. Tracing down the line of her neck, pushing along a wayward strand of dampened hair, he spoke softly, "When is the toll on us too much, Bones?"
At his touch, her eyes had betrayed her with a slow blink and her breath had caught. But at his words, her gaze was locked to his, the spark of curiosity and concern shining like a lighthouse beacon searching for a wayward sailor. She didn't speak; for once, simply listened, her eyes silently urging him to go on.
"I mean, how many decapitated heads, exploding bodies, hacked and dismembered corpses will it take before we break?" His eyes shifted focus to her shoulder, following the trail of his trembling fingertips as he explored her wet skin. "We chose this job. And every day we have to choose it again; renew that commitment."
His gaze locked with hers, momentarily letting the sound of raindrops pinging on metal reign supreme. But his fingers never stilled until they had moved to slide down her arm and encircle her slender wrist, slowly curling into her palm. "What happens on the day that we don't… or can't?"
--
Brennan was fascinated by the powerful emotions clearly affecting her partner right now. What she thought was pain and confusion were etched into the lines of his face, the furrow of his brow. The flashback to their experience with Epps on this same balcony had evoked feelings that she - that neither of them would have expected.
She knew what she wanted. Him – all of him. And though his touch was eliciting bodily responses from her that were beyond her control, it could not be sexual right now. She needed to be his partner, his friend… and yet, she craved more.
She raised her free hand to lightly trace along the deep lines in his brow, left awe-struck as she watched them begin to dissipate.
I'm talking about being there for him. Knowing when a simple touch is enough.
Angela's voice echoed in her head, those sentiments from so long ago. A simpler time? Maybe, maybe not. She thought things were finally starting to become clear to her. Crystal, in fact.
"What are you saying, Booth?"
"I don't know what I'm saying… maybe, nothing," he said softly, then raising his eyes to hers, "Maybe everything."
And in that moment, she knew it was no longer about Howard Epps, no longer about the last three weeks. It was about the last three years… about them. Their past, present and future. About a choice they were getting ready to make right now that would affect everything.
He was scared. And, truth be told, so was she. But when had Temperance Brennan ever let fear stop her? When had Seeley Booth – until now?
She had to try.
"We're both head-strong, stubborn people. Fighters. Wouldn't you agree?"
He nodded, a slight smile gracing his lips – she knew that most of the time her stubbornness could annoy him like no other. But she suspected it was also one of the traits he would never change about her.
"So, let's fight for this. For us."
She felt his hand release hers and she thought for a moment that he would pull away, this would be it. They could still move on from this… the line that had momentarily faded could be redrawn and heavily highlighted. Reinforced with bright yellow crime-scene tape and Day-Glo orange cones, if need be.
She would eventually forget the taste of him. Forget the feel of his hand on her thigh. The slide of his tongue in her mouth. His breath on her lips.
Her eyes closed as her body tingled from the memory. She'd forget… it just wouldn't be soon.
--
Booth's heart was in the right place. Finally.
His mind seemed to have caught up in the last few minutes and flipped the switch inside him that awakened the voice that was now chastising him for his previous actions. Yes, idiot, this is your work partner. But she is also the most amazing woman you've ever met, not to mention brilliant, sexy and your BEST FRIEND. So, what's the problem?
He didn't think he knew any longer. This was not how it was supposed to happen. But he now knew, in his heart, it was supposed to happen. He'd never realized that he was such a "planner" before; he always thought of himself as a free-spirit, go-with-the-flow kinda guy. But, maybe that was BB – Before Bones. Lord knows, she could throw a wrench into any well-laid plans.
So, he realized, he needed to prove himself adaptable; able to adjust and cope with whatever she threw at him… same as in their work partnership. Bob-and-weave, and occasionally butt heads, until it worked.
"So, let's fight for this. For us," she had said.
And he knew that of everything worth fighting for in this life: freedom, justice, peace – and yes, love – she was deserving of every ounce of commitment, loyalty, trust, and yes, love, that a man could give.
Could he be that man for her? He wanted to be, he yearned to be… did he deserve to be? His self-doubt pulled at his chest, he physically ached with it.
He needed to see her eyes – she had closed her eyes when he released her hand – he needed her to open them. To look at him and show him what her words were telling him.
He placed his hands on each side of her face, his palms gently resting on her cheeks and his fingers threading into her wet hair. Her head upturned and her eyes opened - claiming his, and his hers… both searching, analyzing, acknowledging… finding.
And this time, when their lips met, some would say it was like coming home; but it was no home that either of them had ever experienced before. It was new, but at the same time familiar. It was different, but it was comfortable. And it was hot… damn hot.
Before he knew what had happened, he had her pinned against the cool, wet glass of the door, his hands slipping her hair from its confines and entangling there. Her fingertips were gliding underneath his clinging shirt, sliding over and kneading the toned muscles of his back, pulling him closer into her, unwilling to let him go this time.
He pressed his hips into hers, allowing her to feel what she did to him and how well they fit together in this most intimate of ways. Her gasp against his lips was the break he needed to move across her damp cheekbone and down her neck, the taste of rain and sweet surrender on his tongue. His fingers deftly moved the strap of her wet, and now very see-through, tank down her shoulder, blazing the way and leaving a trail of gooseflesh, like breadcrumbs in his wake.
For a moment, his mouth released her, and he rested his forehead against the wet pane of the door, chuckling as he said, "We are really good at fighting."
Brennan shook her head, panting a little, out of breath. "We don't fight, we bicker."
"For this," and he pulled back to look deep in her eyes. "We fight."
TBC.
Thanks for reading!
Also, I think I had initially said three chapters - yeah, better make that four... unless you guys just want me to stop it here? o.O
