Day Five

Brennan woke as the first trickle of dawn light began to enter the room, and was instantly ashamed and embarrassed as she recalled Booth waking her and her utter loss of control in the face of his knowledge of what she was dreaming. It was her unconscious mind-- how on earth could he know that, too? At the same time that she mourned her own weakness, though, the realization struck that she was completely enfolded by him-- physically. She was lying on her back, and he had one arm beneath her neck, his hand curled along the side of her head, his fingers laced through her hair and his face pressed into her hair and neck. His other arm was slung across her waist, his body turned so that he was almost lying on his stomach, his chest pressed into and shielding most of her own. One leg was slung across both of hers. In all, she was pinned to the bed by his limbs and his weight, literally preventing her from running away from her reflections.

Not that his mere physical presence here meant anything different, in the long run. He always got around to making her deal with things she'd rather not think about. As much as she loathed the fact that she had allowed herself to continue to be so bothered by something she knew, rationally, was now resolved, it had taken him telling her that it was over until she could believe it. The storm of relief and anguish that swept over her as she thought about how it could happen again, had overwhelmed her, even as she realized that at least if it happened again, she would have known more about him than she'd ever thought possible. His presence was lulling her, though, as it had last night, and the flush of her embarrassment yielded to the heat of him and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling against hers. She never thought she wanted to allow herself to be lulled, and yet, here she was. She surrendered-- she was too tired not to let him.

- - - - - -

Thankfully, the damned phone didn't wake him up. Instead, it was simply the sun coming in the windows that woke him, and his own body finally catching up on some of the sleep he'd lost the last week and more. His own nightmares about Nunan's bullet finding its intended target stopped as soon as he saw her again. It was the sheer and simple exhaustion of staying up too long while working the case from the appearance of the mandible to the horrible conclusion that had been wearing him down. Sleeping with Bones was better than any sleeping pill, though, and he felt more refreshed in these last four days than he had in the whole two weeks when he did literally nothing in that safe house. Of course, he always felt better around Bones, even when she annoyed or worried him, because no matter what mood either of them was in, she always took him at face value. His reputation as a tough agent, or freakishly good marksman meant most people were afraid of him, in one way or the other. They were either outright intimidated or puppyishly overawed-- when the macho ones weren't trying to out-compete him. But she was never afraid of him, which was probably the realization that started his falling in love with her.

She was still sleeping beneath him, her face still and untroubled. She wasn't wearing the small smile she wore when she slept the first few times after their loving, but he had time, and untroubled was better than the upset she'd shown last night. He was furious for her, at all the people who'd ignored how deeply she felt things, and hurt her, but another part of him swelled with pride that she was willing to let her guard down around him, and trust him, when she wouldn't trust anyone else.

He hesitated about whether to leave her alone in the bed again, but he was fairly sure the storm had passed, and the mental list he'd prepared as he held her last night demanded some attention. Sliding his arms out from around her, he pulled the covers more firmly over her, and took his phone from the bedside. Time to get to work.

"Booth, hi," Angela answered, her voice reflecting surprise both at the early hour and at the caller's identity. "Is something the matter with Bren?"

Good. He'd started in the right place, he realized. That was the first and right question she should ask, if he was the one calling her. "No, Ange, not in the sense that you mean. She's perfectly fine, really."

She sighed a little. "That's good. I was surprised to see you convinced her to go out with you guys last night. Although she does like Parker, you know." Her voice made it sound like a bit of a secret.

"Well, that's good," he said, wondering where to start. Well, with normal social pleasantries first, before he indulged in his obsession. "I have him this weekend after all, maybe Jack would be willing to give him a rock show." Her laugh bubbled up, and he smiled.

"I'll mention it. I think it would make him happy. Thanks."

"You could come too, you know," he said, realizing he meant it. He often tended to think of "his" squints in their supporting scientific roles, but if he was being honest with himself, they'd become friends, too, often more understanding and accepting than some of the Bureau and Army buddies he did things with, occasionally. Not that his job left a hell of a lot of time for socializing, and not that he'd done much to begin with since he started working at the Bureau, even before he came to prefer Bones' company over pretty much anyone else's.

"That would be nice. What about Bren?" Her voice was curious, and he knew he'd have to tread lightly around her, at least until they made it clear that though they were now involved, they would refuse to work with anyone else, professionally. Angela had clearly decided a long time ago that he and Bones should be together, and while he didn't disagree with her, she could be a bit too persistent sometimes. He didn't want her prompting suspicions until he and Bones figured everything out.

"She said it sounded fun. Look, Ange... if you don't feel comfortable talking with me about this, I'll understand, but I've been worried about Bones and something Sweets said the other day made me wonder. Did she get any sleep at all, those two weeks?"

Angela inhaled. He supposed she was surprised that he'd even brought it up, after everything else that had happened, but he needed to know. "You know," she said, "she mostly slept at the lab. I made her go home one day to get clothes to change into, but mostly, she'd take a nap for two hours, max, then get up again and get back to work. She wouldn't eat anything, either, though I suppose you'd have figured that out for yourself. I tried, but honestly, she'd have two or three bites of something, then gaze off into space before hopping right back up to work. You know how she is when she's got that freight train look in her eyes." He did. Even he found it hard to break her focus when she was in one of those moods. He didn't blame Angela for not succeeding, and had been pretty sure before now that she'd tried to do what she could for Bones. Hearing her say it reassured him that someone had tried to take care of her, even as the information about the two hour naps made him certain she'd been putting up with those nightmares the entire time.

"Did... ah... did Sweets ever come around to see how people were doing?"

"You know, it's funny," she said, musing. "Now that you mention it, it was a little odd. He did come around, and tried to make himself available, although honestly, I just don't know what I think about him, but he was asking a lot about Bren. I don't think he ever talked to her directly, though." His gut clenched. He was treating her like a microbe under a microscope. That little mind-fucker.

"So you're telling me that the only person he didn't try to console was the one person who was actually his patient?" He bit out the question, managing to keep the highly colorful epithets he wanted to use to describe the little rat bastard behind his teeth.

"Basically," she replied. "Why, what's going on? Are you sure she's okay, Booth?"

"I think she's fine now, actually," he said, "I just stepped in it bad, you know, not calling her myself, and I want to tie up any loose ends remaining, that's all." Angela didn't need to know about the way Bones had reacted over the past few days as he'd deliberately poked and prodded at her, and it was true enough what he'd said, though there was more to it than he'd admit to Angela. But that was their business, no one else's.

"Well," said Angela softly, "she may not admit it, but she missed you, Booth. If you ever do something like that again, though, I'll kill you myself."

He chuckled-- she was a good friend, indeed, to threaten to kill Booth. "I'm sure you will, and I'll do my best to avoid it, okay?"

"It's a deal," she replied.

"Thanks, Angela. And... take care of yourself, not just the bug man, okay?"

There was a pause, and then she said, "Same for you, Booth. Talk to you later." With that, she rang off.

- - - - - - - - - -

Closing his phone, he went over his list of things to do, sorting which needed working on now, and which could wait until later. He'd been gone ten minutes, and was worried about leaving her sleeping alone again, so he went back in her room to check on her. Thankfully, she seemed to still be sleeping peacefully, and he couldn't deny himself the urge to get back into bed with her and feel her against him. As he brought her to him, she sighed, unresisting as he pulled her to lie on his chest, then mumbled and snugged herself against him. He didn't ever want to go back to work.

He idly played with the strands of her hair, letting their silk slide through his fingers. In sleep, she looked younger, and he marveled again at what a front she showed to the world. The Bones he knew, his Bones, was sly and silly, provocative and passionate, analytical and ironic all at once-- she'd always been that way with him, after their first few cases. Every time he defended her to people who never bothered to get to know her, he didn't wonder why she was so guarded around others. Most people were too intimidated by her fierce brilliance, that stare she had when people got in the way of her finding the truth, and assumed she was arrogant, rather than just... more focused than anyone else they'd ever encounter in their lives.

He'd found it not impossible to suppress the twinges of lust he had when they first started working together, but after the case with Charlie Cook, he realized that the stunning body shielded not only the most frighteningly bright mind he'd ever met, but a ferocious passion for the same things he held dear. Sometimes even more so-- he'd gotten cynical over the years, and while it never affected the intensity he brought to his cases, her hot sense of purpose to solve their cases never wavered, no matter how tired she got. She doubted herself outside of work, but she'd never yet doubted the importance of closing each case. Each one was as important to her as the rest, no matter how heartsore she was at the end. Once he realized that, the words "sexy" and "gorgeous" were only as arousing in combination with "brilliant" and "fierce." Then, it wasn't lust anymore.

- - - - - - - -

Brennan woke again slowly, her first awareness that he was still with her. Replacing her old and more usual awareness that she was alone. Still. But now, she wasn't. One arm curled under her, his hand splayed lightly and possessively across her hip, while the other played with her hair. He'd always been incredible tactile, even when they were "just partners," always touching her or invading her personal space, but she'd let him invade it, almost from the start. When they'd argued that first case at the gun range, he literally got in her face, but instead of punching him as she might have to some other male, she invaded his space right back. He was tactile, too, with his son, holding the boy, or roughhousing, or just reaching out to ruffle his curls or tap his hand to get his attention. To a lesser degree, he was tactile with the team-- holding the door for Cam or Angela, clapping Jack and even, occasionally, Dr. Sweets, on the shoulder-- but he never, ever, initiated or reciprocated touch with business colleagues or strangers. He was physically imposing, of course, and he used it to his advantage when questioning suspects and witnesses, but she was beginning to realize that to him, touch of any kind was an extremely intimate act, and that he only allowed himself to be touched by people he cared for-- and even then, he was on guard with many people he would admit were his friends. He was intensely private, in the end. Of anyone she'd ever seen him interact with, she was the one he touched most, and she was the only one he let touch back. If her mind had been open to what her eyes had observed and noted, perhaps she'd have realized how much she meant to him, and how much she would miss his touch, his physical presence, when she thought he was gone.

"Stop thinking and kiss me," he said softly, one finger caressing her cheek. She'd lain with her eyes closed, thinking, and enjoying his warmth.

"Maybe I wasn't," she teased.

"Bones, please. I can hear every gear in that head of yours. You're shamefully neglecting me by not immediately kissing me the instant you're awake. You don't want to hurt my feelings now, do you?"

"Well, I was thinking about you," she said, as she tipped her head up to look at him, "and I was thinking about how nice it is that you're here." A slow, sweet smile spread on his face, and she shifted enough to place a soft kiss on his chin.

"Okay, then, you're forgiven, he said, warming all over at her solemn and earnest expression. "But you're only allowed to either kiss me immediately or think nice things about me first thing in the morning," he teased, then bent his head to her upturned face to kiss her.

"Deal," she said with a smile, when he released his lips from hers.

"What do you want to do today, Bones?"

"This is nice," she replied, sighing softly and laying her head back on his chest.

"Nuh-unh, Bones," he said. "I know for a fact that the only time you left the house yesterday was when we had dinner, and as much as I'd love to spend the whole day in bed with you, we should get out and get some sunshine."

She wrinkled her face. "I don't tan, Booth."

He poked her, lightly. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Someone will get murdered soon enough, and then it'll be 3 am telephone calls and midnight takeout and the only time either of us will see daylight is if we're out at a dig or on our way in to question somebody. Or chasing a perp down an alley. It's sunny out, and we are going outside." His tone was light, but he was serious. She was too dedicated to work, sometimes. Everyone at the Bureau called him a workaholic, so when he thought she'd been working too much, it was definitely time for her to get out.

She grumbled, but didn't resist when he got out of bed and pulled her up after him, then dragged her into the shower. He resisted the strong urge to make love to her against the bathroom wall again, but if he was going to act on the plan that formed in his mind as he played with her hair while she slept, then he needed to get them both going. She laughingly offered him her razor again, and he swatted her on her behind when she started fighting him for mirror space. She reflected that with other lovers, it had still been an intrusion, one she tolerated. Sharing with him felt right. He finished before her, and when she emerged, hair dried and makeup in place, he was already dressed and piling some of her clothes into the duffel, even as he left some of the things he'd brought for himself onto her unmade bed.

"Where are we going?"

"Just for a night or two," he replied, with a smile that made clear he wouldn't tell her anything more. "No place we can't drive back from, if needed, and nothing fancy," he continued, "so just get whatever girly stuff you want to bring for the next two days." He dove back into the duffel, and pulled out two sets of her skimpiest lingerie. "I already packed your underwear, see?"

"If that's my underwear, then I don't suppose I'm wearing my pajamas, other than this," she said, waving her arm at her own naked form.

"You got it in one, Bones. I always knew you were bright." Amused, she went back to get the kit she always kept ready, and handed it to him along with her hairdryer.

"Of course you have something ready to go," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, if a certain Special Agent wasn't always hauling me off with less than a few hours' notice, then maybe I could be a little less organized."

"Enough back-talk," he said. "Dress. Stop taunting me with your delectable nakedness."

- - - - - - - -

They had a quick breakfast again at her local coffeeshop, then returned to the truck, since they'd already brought everything down. Each made their calls to their bosses and friends who might be looking for them, each relieved to get voice mails that only required them to say they'd be out of town, and available by cell phone as needed. Both deleted new messages from Dr. Sweets on their work phones. Brennan reflected on how Booth's jaw had also clenched, the night before, when she played her home answering machine, only to find another message from the psychologist. She found it hard to pity the boy when Booth got around to venting his anger. She knew whatever he would do would be justified, and after her own outflow of emotion last night, she found herself recalling Booth's earlier words about 'psychological torture," and felt less inclined to let the young man's actions pass without further confrontation.

As she thought further about it, she became increasingly angry. She was certain the psychologist's actions were geared toward exploring her psyche, in particular, and while that was Booth's basis for anger, the boy's actions had been as potentially harmful to Booth as herself. The young man had no idea of the depth of Booth's intellect, or his sensitivity. He tended to treat Booth as a typical alpha-male, without perceiving the underlying passions that drove Booth. But had Sweets succeeded in causing a rift between them, then he would have deprived Booth of the one person in whom he confided, to whom he showed weakness-- his best friend, as she knew that she was even before she sorted out the rest of her feelings for him. It had been hard to muster anger on her own behalf, but now she was furious at how the manipulation endangered one of the foundations Booth's strength rested upon. That it happened to be her was irrelevant.

"What's up, Bones? I can hear those gears grinding again," he asked, after watching her expression pass from thoughtful to angry.

"What's the expression? Idle hands are the devil's playground?" She looked at him, waiting for his confirmation or correction. He nodded, and she continued. "I was just thinking about our therapist's too-idle hands. He probably thought it would be interesting to see if I would either be so angry or... something, that I might not speak to you again. He has no idea who we are, Booth. He especially has no idea who you are. I can't believe he would thing that it would only hurt me, and not you."

As he spoke, her voice became heated, her eyes firey, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the truck over to the side of the road and make love to her right then and there. She was angry for him. That little shit had twisted her into pieces, and she was angry for him.

"Well, Bones, you are going to punch him first, before I beat him up, right?"

She snorted, but her face was still angry. "That's too good for him. No, I'll think of something appropriate," she said, her voice almost purring the last word as her face became not thoughtful, but vengeful-looking. He was somewhat surprised, but only somewhat. Zack, of all people, had told him, "Dr. Brennan worked effectively with her father while you were missing, Agent Booth," and while he knew she would never act as her father did, the small but deep flashes of anger she occasionally displayed during their cases left him no doubt that when motivated, she could and would play mind games, too. He wouldn't press her on it further. They worked well together. If she decided to do something, he'd back her up on it, whatever it was. When her face cleared again, to merely amused, he drew her hand over and kissed it.

"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Precisely," she said, a feral grin on her face. "He has no idea how complementary we are." Her full-throated laugh made Booth smile. What was the phrase? "The female of the species is more deadly than the male." Exactly.

- - - - - - - - -

"It's lovely," she said, as he parked outside the small and charming Victorian inn at their destination, a small town on the Eastern Delaware seashore that was a popular, but small, summer destination.

"Mid-week rates, too," he joked.

She snorted. "Seeley Booth. Romantic, and budget-minded."

He pulled their bag from the trunk and they walked in. The innkeeper was glad to see them-- it was still the start of the summer season, and mid-week, and the rest of the inn was empty. He showed them up to their room, then offered to go over the sights with them when they were ready to go out again.

"Thank you," said Booth, hefting the bag up onto the bed. "It was a bit of a drive, but we'll definitely want to know about someplace for supper." The innkeeper left with a smile, closing the door behind him. She went out on the small porch adjoining their room, watching the waves roll up onto the beach. "Master suite, eh, Bones? We should play hooky more often," he said, coming to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist. She leaned into him, smiling at how quiet it was, but for the waves' roaring.

"Seeley, it's lovely," she repeated, her hands on his pulling his arms tighter. "Why this particular town, though?"

He hugged her tighter. "That's a surprise, Bones, you'll see first thing tomorrow."

She turned her head up to look at him, enjoying the silly and self-satisfied grin he wore. If it made him happy to think about it, she was sure she would like it, too, whatever it was.

He nuzzled her neck a bit, unable to stop himself, until a couple walking the beach passed by not too far away and waved at them, breaking the moment. They waved back, and then Booth straightened. "Okay, Bones, I said sunshine. Let's go." She allowed him to push her back into the room, and she pulled her phone and wallet out of her bag, stuffing them in the pockets of the windbreaker he insisted she bring.

- - - - - - - - -

They spent their afternoon idly, walking the boardwalk, stopping in the arcade to play skeeball and airhockey, and holding hands like new lovers, because there was no one they knew likely to see them. He teased her into a game of miniature golf, only to get his ass kicked after she mastered the 'basic physical principles involved in the shots around the obstacles imposed by the course makers.' They had an early dinner, because they'd skipped lunch, at a little place recommended by the innkeeper, and were practically the only patrons, assuring them quick service and hot food. She teased him for ordering his steak and potatoes, and he quipped about her 'rabbit food' entree, and they held hands for most of the meal.

They skipped dessert for another walk on the boardwalk, his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, until they reached the bandstand. A flock of older year-round residents had gathered, to listen from their lawn chairs as the big band played old jazz and popular standards, and the two of them sat on a bench at the edge of the park, listening. He hummed along with some of the tunes his parents liked to listen to, and she watched him, enjoying his enjoyment. It was early in the season, and they were the youngest there by at least twenty years, but he laughingly pulled her up from the bench when the band began to play "Our Love is Here to Stay," singing her the words as she laughed and let him twirl and dip her as the oldsters looked on and sighed, then began to get up and dance themselves. "In time the Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may crumble, they're only made of clay, but our love is here to stay," he sang in her ear as the stars came out and couples who'd been married longer than they'd lived danced around them. The band continued to play dance-worthy songs, and as with before, once they started dancing, neither wanted to stop, so they continued until the band wrapped up its rehash of every Sinatra and Miller and Fitzgerald and Armstrong hit. She was surprised, but only somewhat, to find that he knew most of the words to most of the songs. The ones he didn't know, the couples now dancing around them supplied the words to. When the band stopped playing at ten, they made their way back to the inn, letting themselves in with the the key the innkeeper gave them, saying, "I tend to go to bed early, but you two feel free to come and go as you please."

The moon was out as they danced and walked back to the inn, and was visible over the water from the windows facing onto the porch. After they'd turned off the lights, undressed for bed, and drawn open the curtains to let the moonlight in, he teasingly claimed he hadn't danced with her enough at the bandstand, because "all those old people didn't move fast enough," so he tuned the alarm clock radio to some station playing more pld standards, and they danced some more, until she laughed herself silly at all his ridiculous attempts to turn every instrumental seque into an opportunity to dip her and pepper kisses up her neck.

He loved hearing her laugh, and seeing her smile, so he was intentionally ridiculous-- it made him deliriously happy to see her drop her usual reserve, and just give in to enjoying herself. As she smiled and let him lead, twirl and dip her in their room, their naked bodies touching as they danced and the moon shone in from the beach, he reflected that the only comparable happy moment in his life except these past few days had been when he held Parker the first time-- but as much as he loved his son, Bones was an equal, and while she let him take care of her, the simple fact was, she took care of him, too, in her own way.

Eventually, their dancing and laughing gave way to more serious embraces, and neither minded when the dancing naturally led to pulling the covers back on the bed and settling, together, onto the sheets. "This was a good idea," she said softly, as she lay next to him and traced her fingers across the line of each defined muscle, as he did the same with each muscle and soft feminine curve.

"Are you giving me credit for something, Temperance?"" he asked, laughingly, as he rolled on top of her and began nipping at her curves with his mouth.

"Is that so rare?" she said, smiling up at him as she reached between them and grasped him, stroking him firmly.

"Well, now that you mention it," he replied, "you could give me a little more credit, sometimes." He gasped, then, as she stroked him hard with her small but strong hands.

She smirked, and repeated the motion. "I did say I finally knew why you were a Special Agent, Seeley."

He laughed aloud, then growled, "I'll show you what's special, Temperance," and then, proceeded to do so.