[A/N: I had no idea when I started writing this story that I'd get so busy that I wouldn't have time to write. So very sorry for the lengthy delay. Really didn't mean to disappear mid-story. Hope this is worthy of the wait. Not sure when I'll finish the next chapter, but my brain won't let this story go, so I hope to keep working on it!
I do very much appreciate the time you've invested reading here. Thanks for your questions and your comments. Keep them coming!]
Chapter 3: Being a Man Means Rolling with the Punches
"Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other." -Joseph Joubert
Joe didn't remember much of what happened that night he was injured or even the next day, but he would be haunted by the absence of those memories for the rest of his life. Even though Joe had no memories of that night, nobody else who had been there would ever forget what they'd seen that night or what had happened afterward. With the exuberant crowds of people in the stands suddenly deathly quiet—as silent as if there had been nobody there to observe the quarterback's injury at all, the medical staff had loaded his limp, unresponsive body onto a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance for the trip across town.
Everything seemed to be frozen in time. Hardly anyone aside from those too frightened to do anything but follow the flashing lights and blaring siren moved at all for a long moment. Terrified, Hank and Martha had rushed from the stands and straight to their car, a teary-eyed Maggie catching up with them and running with them as they made their way frantically to follow the ambulance to the hospital, praying harder with every step they took.
Jennifer and Gabby had fallen silent the moment Joe had hit the ground looking as if he had to be badly injured. Both girls had then looked on in horror as players piled roughly upon him. Tears falling instantly, a grief-stricken Jenny had made her way down from the stands with her friend. She was so distraught and out of it that she didn't even remember her parents showing up and leading her out to their car. She didn't hear the words of encouragement they whispered. She couldn't feel anything at all—it was as if she were hollowed out inside. She felt cold and empty. But even her own numbness and fear wouldn't really register with her. Not right then. She couldn't think of anything but Joe and how hurt he might be. She had to get to him. She had to be there for him.
The abrupt turn of events in the game had been so earth-shattering that the officials and the opposing team gave the Eagles' coaches a few minutes to pull themselves and their stunned team back together. Anyone who knew anything about football realized that this team had just suffered a devastating loss at the worst of times. One of the assistant coaches had left to ride in the ambulance with Joe, but the remaining crew slowly pulled their team together and rallied them to fight for their fallen leader. One of the coaches focused all of his attention on trying to shake the stunned backup quarterback—the one who'd only thrown passes during practice—into being able to walk out onto that field with the weight of the playoff game suddenly hoisted upon his shoulders.
The Eagles still had the ball. Joe's body had been broken badly, but even though his body had failed him, he still hadn't fumbled. Miraculously, he'd tucked the ball down and landed upon it, saving his team from even further devastation. He'd made a painful sacrifice, but even in so doing, he'd done what he could to help his team.
Joe's friend Craig swallowed his own fear and his worry for his best friend and pulled the team into a tight huddle. He knew that it was up to him to make sure that they didn't fall apart now. It's what Joe would have done. Joe had given everything he had to bring them this far. They all owed him the same—they had to fight with everything in them to bring this one home.
Craig looked directly at the new young quarterback and told him to throw the ball to him whether he was open or not. Then he looked his teammates in the eye one by one. "This one's for Joe. We're winning this game for him, dammit!" And then, with a passion and determination appropriate for their fallen comrade, the team yelled three rounds of repeating, "Who's this for? Joe! Who are we fighting for? Joe! Who are we gonna win for? Joe!" before breaking the huddle.
Hearing the team chant inspired the crowd back into action. The crowd started cheering "Win it for Joe! Win it for Joe!" It was the kind of scene you'd see in a movie. The kind that made all who saw it-even the people who had no clue about sports—cry as if it were their favorite pastime.
On the wings of the crowd's chant and in fear of letting everyone down, the stand-in quarterback croaked out the call for play and set it in motion. Not even breathing, he took a few steps back quickly and lofted his first slightly wobbly pass toward Craig. The crowd fell silent again instantly, nobody making a sound or able to breathe—least of all the young man who'd thrown the ball. Seeing the ball headed his direction, Craig leapt farther than his body should have been able to take him. Outreaching the defender, he pulled down the reception cleanly and somehow managed to remain on his feet. Then he ran as fast as he could, eventually falling into the end zone to score what would be the game's winning touchdown. Cheering wildly and continuing with "Win it for Joe!" the crowd celebrated.
The Eagles' defense held their opponents to only one more touchdown and the offense ran the ball conservatively and took time off the clock. Eventually, the buzzer sounded, signaling that the Eagles won the game. The victory had come at a large price, however, and nearly everyone's thoughts returned instantly toward the hospital where their hero lay wounded.
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After close examination, the doctors determined the next day that Joe had suffered a very serious concussion-one that the doctors said meant the end of his football career. Risking a repeat of that injury would mean a strong likelihood of brain damage—very possibly the irreparable kind. Joe's leg had also been badly broken, and he required surgery to set the break before they put him in a full-length leg cast. He spent a week in traction in the hospital, medicated heavily as much for his emotional well-being as to give his body time to heal.
He was still pretty much out of it the following Friday night when his team lost its next game in the first round of the playoffs. They had all tried their best and played hard, but the emotional toll of losing their leader combined with the fact that the new quarterback caved under the immense pressure of learning to play during the playoffs had just been too much for them.
Joe never even considered blaming his teammates for losing their chance at their dream. He placed all the blame for their untimely loss on his own shoulders. He'd let them down. They'd needed him and he hadn't come through for them. The weight of that reality bore down on him with more intensity than the player who'd originally caused his injury had. Most of the time, it was hard for Joe to breathe, impossible for him to imagine how he'd ever put the disappointment behind him.
Predictably, Joe initially balked at the news that his football career was over. He'd insisted that his leg would heal and he'd be back in top shape before colleges finished recruiting. He'd be able to show that his team had won with him and lost when he'd gotten hurt—showing that he was integral to their success. He ignored the warnings of the doctors and his parents. He didn't want to face the reality that his sports career had been cut far too short.
Crowds of students and teachers and coaches and players and neighbors and customers from his father's and his uncle's stores and from his church sent cards and flowers and tried to visit. Joe's parents interacted with most of them, apologizing but saying that Joe just needed time to cope with his injuries. Joe spent some time with Craig and a few other guys, but those visits now were awkward. Although they were close friends, their original bond had been sports and with Joe not being able to talk about that and the guys trying desperately to talk about other subjects they'd never focused on for long, the visits proved more painful than cathartic.
Although he'd endured more visits from her than from anyone else except his family, Joe had also pushed Jenny away. Seeing her reminded him of all he'd had, all he'd been, and thinking about that hurt too much. Despite his sometimes hostile greetings, Jenny had come faithfully to the hospital daily and to his house once he'd been sent home. When he'd let her in at all, she brought him cards, read his poems back to him even when he pretended to be sleeping, and held his hand and told him that she was there for him and would do whatever he needed. Biting back tears, she bravely stood beside him even when he resented her for being there. With her presence and the way she ignored his brush offs, she told him that she was immovable in his life and that she wasn't going to let him push her away. It wasn't easy, but she wore him down and made it clear that he might have lost many things, but she wasn't among them.
After he got past the initial frustration, he admitted to himself in quiet moments that her presence had been the thing that had most helped him survive that dark time. She was the constant his faith no longer was, the help he did not want from others, the love he could barely remember feeling for anyone, the life he could hardly remember wanting to live. He made a vow to himself to make it up to her and to be the kind of guy she deserved—even if he wasn't sure how to turn himself into that guy without sports in the picture.
Although it was clearly temporary, Joe hated being an invalid. He'd never had to let other people do things for him. He felt his manhood assaulted every time someone else had to help him with simple tasks he should have been able to do himself. Feeling vulnerable and unhappy, he had turned his friends away after their first few visits, too. Seeing them whole and happy and still able to play was painful for him. He'd never have wished this upon anyone—especially not any of them, but they were all too visible a reminder of what he'd had and lost. He just couldn't face them and pretend that everything was okay. Everything wasn't okay. He thought it probably never would be again. He wasn't mopey and didn't feel sorry for himself. He was just mad at the world and the hand fate or God or simple rotten luck had dealt him.
A few weeks after he'd been allowed to go home, Joe went back to school. He'd stalled until his doctors had told his parents he'd need a psychologist's excuse to miss any more school. Well, his body had been broken, but Joe had said there was no way in hell he was letting someone poke around in his brain. He'd even said 'hell' in front of his mother. She'd flinched but accepted him at his word. He was too miserable even to care that he'd disappointed her by using foul language.
Secretly, Joe knew that any shrink worth his salt would have seen right through him into the blackness and completeness of his despair. He wasn't ready to face anyone who knew the truth of his isolation and pain. He wasn't even able to face them himself.
When he had finally agreed to go back to school, doing so had been humiliating. His parents or Craig had to drive him, and he hated the scene that always unfolded as he had to be helped out of the car and into a wheelchair, or later, onto crutches. He dealt with the whispers as he made his way down the crowded hallway by ignoring them for the most part. He had a more difficult time ignoring the visible efforts of those who had never been his close friends trying to "help" him or to console him about his injuries. Maggie, Jenny, and Craig ran interference for him often, and he hoped they knew how much that meant. He thought about telling them, but he felt tears welling up when he thought about the right words to say and opted not to say anything at all to them. He might be a broken man, but he sure wasn't going to go around crying about everything.
Joe had good days and dark days. It was a very long time before the good ones outnumbered the darker ones.
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Tiptoeing up the stairs and trying to keep Jared's sobbing muffled, Seeley felt more cowardly with every step he took. He was fourteen now, and he'd finally stood up to his father. Something different should have happened this time. He shouldn't still be slinking up the stairs to hide with his little brother while leaving his mother downstairs with the monster his father had become once again.
Something had to change. He was going to have to do something. This had to stop. Seeley had listened for too long to the sounds of fists connecting with the bones and the soft tissue of his mother's battered body. He'd listened to the horrible names his father called his mother. He'd hated the man inflicting the physical and emotional wounds on her more than he ever imagined possible. His father had done this for years—even before he'd understood what was happening. The accumulated damage and anger now left Seeley unable to sit back anymore. His mother might be accustomed to staying quiet and taking it, but he'd be damned if he would for much longer.
That night, Seeley had broken the routine in a way that should have told his father things were changing. He had actually confronted his father tonight and told him to leave. He'd moved quickly to stand in front of his mother—eager to take the beating neither of them deserved. He'd been terrified, but he supposed he'd built up a tolerance for being frightened out of his mind. He'd felt that way for years—every single time something set his father off. It was now part of him—an instinct, a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.
Only tonight, he'd tried to do something different. He was becoming a man, and in his mind, that meant he could no longer be content to cling to his mother and accept some of the blows that deflected off of her onto him. This time, unlike every time before, Seeley had ignored his mother's pleas, her demands that he leave and take Jared somewhere safe. He'd stared into the cold, dark eyes of his father and been prepared to take him on. He wasn't yet quite as big as his father, but they were now pretty evenly matched. Football and weightlifting were helping him fill out early, and he didn't mind the increase in size and strength one bit. He knew he'd probably end up on the short end of things, but at least he stood a fighting chance if he really tried to stand in his father's way. He'd give the man a fair fight for once. He was pretty sure he was angry enough to at least cause the man some pain, hopefully lots of it.
His mother had simply become far too willing to just take what his old man dished out. His father had beaten the fight out of her years before. Seeley ached with the knowledge that she'd learned how long to push back and when to just lie there and let the man use her as a punching bag.
Seeley hated the way that her eyes wouldn't quite meet his for weeks after such an incident. He hated the guilt and the worry he saw there. But what he hated even more was her acceptance of the situation and the way that she became almost silent and subservient to her husband after he manhandled her. After Joe hurt her, she'd be patient and kind and almost pitiful in the way that she accommodated the man. For all too brief a time, his father would be overly nice to all of them for a while, and she seemed to find hope in that falsehood. She pretended to believe it. Hell, maybe she really did believe it. There had been a day when these violent events were seldom and seemed to be exceptions to the norm. But Seeley knew now that that time was no longer. This was full on abuse and showed no signs of stopping and all signs of heading toward the most horrible of endings. Maybe his mother really was a fool for the man. Maybe she couldn't allow herself to believe that her life had turned into a miserable, violent, bad made-for-TV movie.
Seeley knew that his mother was angry and scared. And he also knew that she put up with the man—that she willingly took his crap and allowed him to humiliate her—to protect him and his brother. Yet accepting her sacrifice was becoming too difficult. It was now requiring him to put on the same mask of acceptance and forgiveness that she'd worn far too long. He just wasn't able to stomach that. Not anymore.
So, for the first time ever, Seeley had tried to intervene. He could no longer pretend to be the crying kid who begged his dad to stop and who promised he'd be a better boy. He couldn't be the child who apologized profusely and asked his father to watch the baseball game with him to distract him from his angry outburst. Tonight, when he'd walked in and found his father pounding his fist into his mother's stomach, Seeley had become a man.
Without even realizing he'd yelled, he'd roared at his father so loudly that Joe had actually stopped hitting his mother. Scurrying out of reach the way she'd practiced over the years, Jenny had crossed the room and been shocked to see her son move quickly to stand bravely in front of her. Instantly grabbing her son's flexed biceps and pulling him toward the back door, she pled with him to stand down. The thought of what might happen if the two actually fought was staggering. She couldn't allow Seeley to face such a risk. She had to get him out of there. Furious and barely controlling his rage, Seeley had ignored her, yanking his arm free so that he could face his father.
The eerie silence during their stare down was noisier than a school cafeteria or a crowd at a football game. Exchanging thoughts without saying a word, the son had given his father notice that things had to change, and the man had told his son that he wasn't afraid of him one bit. Neither man had moved a muscle; if one had the collision that would have ensued might have been the end of one or both of them. Realizing the danger and determined to do something about it, Jenny had whispered frantically to Seeley to beg him to walk away.
He'd eventually given in and listened to his mother. He'd turned away and left her there—defenseless and now willing to take whatever Joe threw at her. He'd felt cowardly and despised himself for his inaction. But he'd always had trouble saying 'no' to his mother, and part of him realized that letting her control what he did gave her some control over something—otherwise she wouldn't have had control over anything at all except her decision to stay and suffer great pain for it.
He'd hated that he hadn't finally done something to make a difference—to stop the cycle that seemed endless these days. But it had been his mother's tearful plea that had been his undoing. When she'd begged him, when she'd whispered that he'd cause more harm by intervening, when she'd pled with him to take Jared upstairs to safety—he'd acquiesced. It seemed in that moment that all his mother had left was his undying devotion. He hadn't been able to rip that away from her, too.
His gut rolled and churned as he listened to the now-muffled sounds of his father taking his anger out on his mother once again. He lie there sleepless for hours, finally breathing when he heard the back door slam and his father stomp out into the darkness. He thought about getting up and checking on his mother, but before he could do so, she opened the door and crack and told him that she was fine—that she was going to bed. Something in her expression told him she was proud of him and that he'd been brave. Knowing she felt that way when he'd let her down again was humiliating. Tears burning their way down his cheeks, he lay there hating the situation and blaming himself for letting it continue.
As he'd done so many times before, Seeley blamed himself for being just as spineless and accepting of the situation as his mother. But, fueled by the memory of the way his father had looked at him and convinced that he was now ready to change things for good, he stayed up all night long strategizing and developing a plan for what he'd do the next time this happened—knowing with certainty that "next time" wasn't going to be too far away.
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The situation had been almost eerie in its predictability, but Seeley couldn't stop himself from doing anything he'd done. When he'd found the senior wrestler manhandling his girlfriend under the bleachers after school one day a few weeks later, he'd simply snapped.
He didn't remember physically separating the pair and telling the girl to leave.
He didn't remember tossing his jacket over her shoulders to help cover her torn clothing and her wounds.
He didn't remember whirling and calling the jerk every terrible name he'd ever heard.
He didn't remember the guy's obnoxious smirk or his reference to the fact that his girlfriend "liked it" when he roughed her up.
He didn't remember knocking the guy to the ground or pummeling him until they were both bleeding and the guy's face was hardly recognizable.
He didn't remember deciding on purpose to hit him where it would show—where everyone would see what had happened.
He didn't feel his friends prying him off or the coach throwing him into his office.
He didn't hear the principal's words or even the coach's defense of his actions.
He didn't feel humiliated or worried or sad or scared.
He didn't even feel the ache he should have felt from his own injuries.
He didn't see the scenery passing by as the coach drove him home.
He didn't see the understanding dawning in his mother's eyes as she heard what had happened.
He didn't hear her crying as the coach told her he'd been suspended from school for fighting.
He didn't see the pain in her face as she turned to look at him after the coach had left.
He didn't feel guilt or sadness or regret or anything.
Something deep within the young man had snapped and was beyond repair. He didn't care that he'd been suspended. He didn't care that he'd miss the next game. He didn't care that his hand was swelling up and might even be broken. All he could think or feel or do or consider was that he was not going to allow the unfair circle of violence to continue—not now, not ever again.
With an almost sinister sense of foreboding, he lay on his bed that night and kept his mind clear. His father would come home, hear the news, and lose his temper. Only this time, the outcome would be different. This time, he was ready to stand up to the man and fight back.
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"Booth, please stop. Your constant hovering is becoming annoying—not merely distracting," Temperance insisted as she nudged her boyfriend out of her personal space again.
"I just need to know that you're okay, Bones," a concerned Booth replied as he continued to scrutinize her shoulder.
"You are not qualified to determine whether my physical condition is satisfactory, Booth. You are not a doctor and have no formal medical training. I, however, can say that I do not feel pain or any physical discomfort. I am a credible source, and I assure you, that I am fine. I was not injured. You should stop worrying needlessly or you will develop medical problems of your own."
"Your shoulder has to hurt, Bones. I didn't mean to bump into you so hard with that box. There's a bruise. You're pregnant. I worry."
Temperance smiled and chuckled as she looked at her partner, "You realize that those things are not at all logically related."
Pulling her gently toward him, Booth smiled in return, "You're wrong, Bones. They're all related. I'm the common denominator. And I worry about you all the time—especially when I'm the reason that you're injured." He kissed her nose and pulled her into a hug, saying a prayer of gratitude that she really did seem okay.
Temperance embraced him and searched for words to ease his worry, reassure him that she was fine, "Booth, it was an accident. You have never knowingly hurt me. You can't be so hard on yourself about an accident."
He sat up against the headboard of the bed and pulled her body to his but didn't respond. Temperance gave him time to think and hoped she'd find the right response to console him. Not convinced that she would, she waited, hoping that he'd tell her something or give her a clue about how to respond to him.
"I love you, Bones," he whispered some time later.
Sitting up, she turned to face him, searching his face for clues that would help her ease his concerns. "I love you. But I do not feel irrationally concerned for your well-being. Does that mean that I don't love you as much as you love me?"
"No," he replied with a half-smile, kissing her forehead for reassurance.
"Tell me what's really wrong, Booth," she implored him.
Without realizing he was doing it, Booth distanced himself from her physically and looked anywhere but into her brilliantly curious eyes. She read the signs of stress and allowed him the space he needed.
"Remember the Schenfield case?" he finally asked her.
Temperance was disturbed by the reference to the case of the poor abused girl they'd recently help reunite with her loving parents and her stuffed bunny. "Of course, I do. That was a recent case, and it stirred deep emotions for both of us. I told you that I do not have a head injury, Booth. Why wouldn't I remember that case?"
"It's an expression, Bones. It's the way that non-geniuses shift the topic of conversation to a common reference point," he snipped without realizing it.
"I detect frustration in your tone. Am I being too literal?" she asked earnestly.
"A bit," he replied.
She looked over at him encouragingly, "Tell me what you meant… about the Schenfield case."
Booth sat for a long moment, his eyes stormy and his jaw twitching slightly as he considered whether to talk to her or just to avoid the topic once again. Glancing up into her brilliantly inquisitive eyes and finding more support than curiosity there, he found himself finally willing to risk revealing some of his deepest secrets.
"He wasn't ever held accountable," he half-whispered, half-grunted. Talking about this with anyone was just about the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"What? Booth, he is being prosecuted and will in all likelihood spend a significant proportion of his remaining life being incarcerated. As will his wife." But as she glanced up and noticed the sheer torment in her lover's expression, even Temperance understood without explanation. "You're speaking about your father," she divulged, saving him from having to voice his past problems.
"Yeah."
"You are not your father, Booth," she whispered. She kissed him lightly and then melded her body with his. She allowed him to pull her even closer, and then felt his heartbeat slow steadily as some of the tension drained from his taut body. She hoped she was helping. Seeing Booth tormented by his past reminded her just how deeply childhood wounds could cut.
"He never took responsibility," Booth confessed in a voice tinged with hurt, regret, and blazing anger. "It was as if he thought that the booze gave him a free pass. He wasn't the one hitting…," he paused as his voice wavered again, "beating… my mom… Jared… me."
She clung to him, realizing how fortunate she was to be the only person he'd ever spoken with about the abuse his family had suffered.
"I'm like him, Bones. I get angry and lose my temper. I can be intolerant and mean when I'm mad. I lose my temper and then… getting physical… it feels good."
"Booth…," she began, aching to stop him, ease his pain.
"No, Bones," he interrupted before continuing. "That temper, that angry loss of control… it's in me. He… he beat it into me when he was hitting my mom and Jared." He paused, and swallowed hard before speaking again, "I… I just don't want to be like him. I want to keep my temper in check… avoid losing control like that. And I want… I need to be held accountable for anything I ever do to hurt you… or our baby… or anyone else…."
"Okay," she whispered, the brevity of her response and her absolute support of him flooring him. She hugged him tightly, and his heart swelled with appreciation for the true friend he still had in her.
"That's why I can't rest. I can't relax knowing that I hurt your shoulder. I don't ever want to hurt you, Bones…, even when it's not on purpose."
She allowed him to hold her a few moments before breaking from their embrace. "I love you, Booth, and I know that you love me. I do not share your concern about the potential for you to be violently angry—not with me or with our child... or Parker… or anyone else who's not a criminal. But, I will, if you want me to, hold you accountable for any harm you inflict—purposefully or otherwise."
"You will?" he asked.
"I will," she said with a smile. Had they been making vows of more lifelong significance, he doubted he could have been any happier. He felt relieved and slightly unburdened for the first time since they'd confessed their love and decided to become lovers as well as partners.
"Thanks, Bones," he replied, "It means a lot to me that you will help me. This… not being like my dad… it's really important to me," his voice dropping slightly in that emotional way she found delightfully arousing.
As usual, Temperance didn't linger in the moment the way that most people would have, her genius mind was already several steps ahead of him. She knew he wanted to put these memories of that dark time away and not to dwell on them longer than necessary, and she knew just the way to distract him.
"Well, because you asked me to hold you accountable… there's actually more to my physical well-being than just the injury from the box," she confessed.
"Oh… God, Bones… are you okay?" he asked, his voice dripping with concern and with guilt and his eyes and hands roaming over her the way they had been earlier. He had smacked into her pretty hard, and he was convinced that she was downplaying the cut and the bruise just for his sake.
"I feel…," Temperance began, a wicked smirk on her face, "that there are a number of places on my body," she continue as she rolled onto her back and looked up at him, waiting for her implication to register. "Several places that should now benefit from your rapt attention and tender loving care."
Booth halted his search for injuries abruptly and turned to stare into her eyes. Seeing the suggestion there, one corner of his mouth shot up and then his whole face erupted into one of those devilish smiles that had always affected her physically.
"Teasing me already, Bones? See if I confess any more of my secrets to you," he teased back.
"Well, you set the precedent. Remember the time you…," he cut off her reminder with a searing kiss.
"Several places, huh?" he asked in a dangerously low voice as he slipped closer to her and started searching her body again, this time in a much more deliberately tempting way.
"Mhmmm…," she responded, already benefitting from his skilled touch.
"Well, I'm all about atoning for my sins…," he whispered as their lips met.
Quite a while later, the couple lie blissfully sated, her head in its now customary spot in the crook of his neck, and his hands still gently caressing her warm body.
"Booth?" she whispered, breaking the companionable silence filling the room and encapsulating the lovers.
"Yeah, Baby?" he husked, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She squinted at him hard, so he offered another endearment, "Yes, Sweetheart." Content with the change, she placed her head upon his shoulder again.
"I think that I shall enjoy holding you accountable," she smiled as she spoke into his well-muscled chest.
"You will?" he replied with a similarly heady smile.
"You were rather generous and attentive in making love to me just now, and I find myself compelled to engender that behavioral response from you again soon."
"My rocking YOUR world was NOT a mere behavioral response," he scoffed with enthusiasm.
"You know that it is physically impossible to rock someone's world," she retorted quickly, "The Earth's mass…"
"Are you sure about that?" he threatened playfully, rolling atop her with the promise of doing what she'd sworn wasn't possible.
"I'm not sure it would be possible without some sort of violent force," she dared again to tease him.
"I know you can kick my ass if you need to, Bones," he confessed before grinning a smile too cocky not to forecast his thoughts about the inevitable. "But I also know that I have ways of making sure you don't remember how to do it."
"Is that a threat? Threats are unacceptable. I should…" she started to reprimand him but he cut her off.
"Not a threat, Bones. I promise you won't want to stop me."
"I…," she began, but then she moaned instead.
"Told you," he teased before rocking her world again.