The day is like any other day. There's the alarm in the morning. The shower, the breakfast, the drive, the office. There's the skeletal remains found in the woods. The disbelieving discoverers. The lab, the squints. There's Bones.
But this day is also different.
This day, she is different.
She is still at home when he calls to tell her about the new case. She is still in her pajamas when he knocks on the door.
"Come in," she had said, "I'm sorry, I got distracted, I'm still getting ready."
"It's no problem, the bones aren't going anywhere."
And then she had just looked at him and her eyes where so dark and so full of something that he could think of nothing else to say. Then it was gone. She turned.
"I'll hurry."
He wondered what could distract Temperance Brennan.
The victim was male. Thirty to forty years of age. That's what she had said, squatting there among the trees. African American, judging by the nasal passage. She inspected the throat area. She pressed her fingers to the skull. Her eyes swept over the lower body. She ran her hand through the dirt and leaves along the body. When she brought it up she had wiggled her fingers, letting what had collected there slip through the cracks. She said nothing. She stared, almost transfixed.
"So, everything back to the Jeffersonian?" He had finally asked.
She had tilted her face up to the sky so there was a pattern of light and shade across her face. She had sighed.
"Yes." She brought her head down and stood. "To the Jeffersonian."
She's tired.
The lab had bustled as usual. Squints had scurried. The bones were lain out anatomically. Jack had made a joke. Angela had grimaced. Cam had cast a reproving look. Brennan was still in her office. Booth had turned to look for her and caught her figure. She was just staring at them through the open doorway. When she realized his eyes on her she averted her gaze and turned to lift her lab coat off the chair. Then she was with them.
But she had just stood there. No remarks on professionalism. No anthropological observations. No orders to interns. Just a slow blink, like she was looking at something that wasn't really there. Jack had frowned. Cam had looked questioningly at Booth. Booth had looked away. Angela had spoken up.
"You okay, Sweetie?"
She seemed to wake up, leaning over to pull some gloves from a box.
"I'm fine, Angela."
The gloves snapped around her wrists.
"Let's get started."
She had bent closer to the skeleton and as she did she had looked up and caught Booth's eyes. Once again they were so full that he forgot to breathe for a minute. Then the intern had made an observation about something on the foot. Her eyes had closed then, just for a moment and another sigh escaped her. She turned to the foot.
She's just so tired.
There had been searches and interrogations. There had been lies and confessions. There had been arrests. But Bones had stayed in the lab, lingering around the platform, seemingly satisfied with accepting evidence and affirmations second-hand. And then it had been done. Case closed. He had told her she had done good. She had smiled a small half-smile. It was the saddest smile in the world.
And so now here they were, silent in his SUV, on the way to her apartment to drop her off. She just stares ahead through the windshield. He tries to do the same, but his eyes keep sliding to her.
"Thank you," she says suddenly, "For driving me."
"It's no problem, Bones." He turned to give her a smile and found her already looking at him. His smile faded, just like her eyes had seemed to. "You doing something tonight, Bones?"
She turned her head back to the window. "No."
"You want to stop by my place first then? You know, get something to eat, maybe watch some TV and wind down a little? I can drop you after."
She hesitates a moment. "Alright."
He doesn't say anything, just turns the wheels in the direction of his house at the next street. He doesn't know why, but he feels like if he lets her leave him tonight in this funk he just may never see her again. It was irrational, as she would say, but it was his gut.
Dinner consists of burritos from his freezer, five-minute rice from the cupboard and beer from the fridge. Seinfeld is on TV. It's the Pez dispenser episode. They eat and watch. Booth is surprised that Brennan is actually taking note of the show. As it goes into commercial break she says, "This is actually quite funny."
He smiled. "Pez dispensers make you laugh, Bones?"
She chuckled, "They will now."
"I can't believe you even know what a Pez dispenser is."
"I'm not oblivious to everything. For example, I noticed that nobody cares much about the Kramer character barging through the door the way he does. It's very contrasting with our society's mores that emphasize privacy and the traditionally customary action of knocking."
He sat his beer on the table. "Yada, yada, yada."
"I don't know what that means."
"There's the Bones I know."
"It's from the situational comedy, isn't it?"
He just started laughing. He couldn't help it. It was like all the tension in him from the day just broke and overtook him in the form of laughter. His eyes started to water. Then, amazingly, she was laughing too, just as hard as him. Every time they looked at each other or tried to speak another bout overtook them.
Finally it started to die down, until they both were just taking short ragged breaths. They're eyes met at the same time and he could see melancholy and confusion in hers just as sure as she could see them in his.
"I'm tired." She said.
"I know." Her eyes fell to the table, but he couldn't tear his away from her. "Come on," he said, standing and reaching his hand out to her, "You can stay here tonight, sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch."
"Booth…"
"Come on, it's fine."
"But I'm still in my work clothes."
"I'll find you something."
She sighed and took his proffered hand, allowing him to help her off the couch. She followed him to the bedroom and went to turn on the bathroom light as he went in search of pajamas. He came up with an old black wifebeater and a pair of basketball shorts. She was going to swim in them.
When he held them out to her she only took the shirt. He raised his eyebrow.
"It'll be like a dress on me." She said. He nodded and put the shorts away as she disappeared into the bathroom.
When she came out he was pulling down the bedspread. "It's clean," he said, "So you don't have to worry about that. You inspired me." She smiled, but when she didn't say anything he took it as his cue to leave. "Alright, you get some rest; I'll see you in the morning." He said as he backed toward the door. She crossed the room to the bed. She was right; his shirt was like a dress on her, albeit a very short dress. He couldn't help but notice that her legs went on forever.
"You have a queen-sized bed, Booth; it was designed for more than one person."
"Are you saying I don't have to sleep on the couch?"
"I was making a statement about your bed, but indirectly, yes, I suppose you could infer that."
"But you have a queen bed too, Bones, and I sleep on the couch at your place."
"This is different, it's your house."
"Are you sure, Bones?" The bed was sounding much more comfortable than the couch after this day. Bones being there didn't hurt things either.
"I'm tired." She said, and with that she lay down on her side and pulled the cover over her.
He stared at her for a minute, making up his mind. Then he left the room and went back to the living room. He turned off the TV and took the dishes to the kitchen sink. He went to the laundry room and stripped down to his boxers. He hung his suit and shirt on the dirty rack. His socks went in the hamper. He eyed the spare blankets on the shelf above the washer and dryer. He switched off the light. He made his way back to his bedroom in the dark. There was still light coming from under the door. She was just as he had left her when he came in. Maybe she wanted to sleep with the light on. He slipped into the other side of the bed and put his hands behind his head. He would probably fall asleep faster if he stared at the ceiling instead of her.
"Goodnight, Bones." He said.
"Yada, yada, yada." She said, reaching over to switch off the lamp.
He smiled and wondered if there were any pig Pez dispensers.