(FYI- The story was written to follow the format of the song (mentioned in chapter one) so a few things may seem out of place or character, but I left them like that because I love this song.)
Disclaimer still applies. As always, read, review, and enjoy!
CHAPTER THREE
Booth downed his tenth straight shot in the past five minutes. It had become his routine. When he was not at work, he was at a bar. It was his way of numbing the pain; the constant throbbing pain he had been unable to get rid of ever since Bones had rejected him, again. He was not used to rejection, let alone so many times, so he was in close proximity to his breaking point. He could not avoid her altogether because the only thing more painful than seeing her everyday and being unable to reach her, would be not seeing her everyday. She was his partner and the best anthropologist in the world, not to mention a vital part of his job. But that did not diminish the pain he felt every time he saw her. Although he could not do anything to ease the suffering at work, he could eviscerate his pain after hours. So he came here to cope, after hours. He always managed to keep his work and personal problems separate; although he would occasionally he would show up to work with a strong hangover, when his hand slipped and he downed one too many drinks. Today was especially hard, it being his birthday and all, which added unnecessary weight to his pain. Ever since they became partners, he had spent every birthday and important occasion with Bones. Alcohol seemed to numb his pain and help him forget eh good times, so he kept the drinks going all night, until he started to faze out. He loses track of the time and of his surroundings.
From a distance, he can see the bartender talking to him but he cannot understand what he is saying. Everything is a distant blur. Finally, the bartender leaves him alone. Awhile later, he hears a familiar voice. He looks up to see Bones talking with the bartender. He smiles when he sees her coming towards him and slurs, "Hey. You're here. Are you my present?"
She does not answer but speaks to him soothingly as she helps him up from his barstool.
"Wow. You look amazing." He slurs drunkenly.
She is wearing a thin emerald cotton tank top and jeans. He leans against her bare arms as she helps him to the car and his mind immediately drifts to the soft touch of her creamy skin. Once he is safely inside, she goes around to the other side and climbs in the driver's seat. As she drives back to her house, she keeps glancing at him to make sure he is okay. He has fallen asleep in the passengers' seat, smiling and in that moment, a thought crosses her mind. It is similar to other thoughts she has been unable to control for a while.
This time it is about his smile. When they first met, she immediately knew he attractive, although he had some underlying irksome qualities, which she later discovered when they became partners. He could be cocky and even arrogant sometimes, but when he smiled at her all her senses seemed to leave her body momentarily. A smile from him could melt away all her anger and resentment in a matter of seconds. He had an unusual effect on her, something she was still trying to explain to herself. She had heard some people describe it as "butterflies in the stomach" but that did not make any logical sense, although she understood the labeling of the phrase.