Author's note: And voila, some darkness for you...
As always thanks to "my team": M, Amasayda and Addictt.
Chapter Seven - Passion Can Pass for Less
Friday June 1st 2007 -- 02:13 a.m.
They sat, shoulder to shoulder, linked by their laced fingers, on the cold bathroom floor. Neither of them was dressed for this, but the shivers running up and down their spines making the hairs on their arms stand on end went unnoticed by the pair. They were both too wrapped up in their memories.
Booth turned his head that was resting against the wall to the side. "You're not the only one who's been having nightmares."
---°---
Tuesday May 8th 2007 -- 03:42 a.m.
He splashed cold water onto his face to wash the fatigue and horrible images away. Blinking because of the water dripping into his eyes, he blindly reached for a towel. He stared at himself as he dabbed his face dry. It was the middle of the night. The stubble grazing his chin and cheeks and the rather pale look of his skin were normal at this hour, but he still thought he looked like hell. Booth grimaced, fixing his gaze on the large bandage wrapped around his shoulder. He had gone through hell, as a matter of fact. He had every right to look like a ghost, like a person who had been dead for several hours. After putting the towel back where it belonged, Booth retraced his steps to his bed. It was such a mess it looked like World War II had been fought in it. He came to a stop at the foot of the bed and stared at the bundle of wrinkled sheets. Then he ran a hand over his face, sighed, and turned away. The nightmare would return---he could feel it. There was no use going back to bed when he knew he'd wake up in cold sweat fifteen minutes later.
Booth wandered through his apartment in search of something to occupy himself with until the sun decided to wake the world up. He ignored his stereo---listening to music at this ungodly hour would only earn him a pair of annoyed neighbors. Grabbing a bite to eat wasn't an option either since his stomach felt like it could regurgitate its contents any second. He deliberately passed his cell phone without picking it up; there was no one to call at this time of night. Instead he walked over to the large window of his living room. One of his hands found its way to the pockets of his black track pants as he silently stared out at the quiet streets. Even though it hurt like hell, he firmly pressed his fingers down on the bandage to massage his sore shoulder. The pain he was feeling was maybe one third of what his partner must have felt; he was sure of it.
It had been two days since he had driven her home. In the two days that she had left the hospital, his nightmares had intensified. He was well aware that Brennan could take care of herself and that she was probably just fine, but he couldn't shake the thought that she was home alone---vulnerable to all kinds of danger. When she had been at the hospital, he had been assured that if something happened, a team of nurses and doctors would take care of her. But now? What if her wound suddenly reopened and she bled to death? He shook his head fiercely. I'm being overprotective. She's fine. Still he couldn't forget the flashes of his dream---Brennan lying curled up in the middle of her apartment, bathed in the moonlight and a puddle of blood.
Booth placed one hand on the cold surface of the window. Hanging his head, he did the only thing he could to ease his mind, despite the fact that it would not be well-received by his partner. Five minutes later he left his home fully dressed and with his car keys dangling from his fingers. Pulling his front door closed, the chill night air slid over his skin. The echo of his footsteps accompanied him all the way to his car parked on his driveway. Even as he climbed into the SUV, he hesitated, aware of the illogical thing he was about to do and mocking himself for it. The engine roared to life after a swift turn of the key. Checking his rear-view mirror, Booth pulled out of his parking spot and drove off into the night. The typical sights of four in the morning ---a couple of teens partying in their car, one or two junkies hiding in filthy alleys, a homeless vet pushing his cart filled with empty cans---passed in a blur. As the yellowish glow of the streetlights was thrown on him every ten yards, guilt grabbed him in a deadly vice. If he had been just a tad faster, he wouldn't have had to soak his hands in her blood. If he hadn't removed her Kevlar vest, it would've protected her from that stray bullet and she wouldn't have had a gaping hole in her abdomen. If he hadn't allowed her to go with them, she wouldn't have been stabbed and shot in the first place. Reminiscing how her body had shook under his touch, he pulled up to her building ten minutes later.
Preferring the stairs over the elevator, he climbed the steps to the fifth floor, each one ricocheting off the empty stairwell. Halting at apartment 5B, he drew in a deep breath. She was going to kick his ass. Even though she was still recovering, she was still going to kick his ass so hard his head would spin. Despite knowing this, he knocked on the door in a gentle rap. No answer. He frowned and knocked again, this time a bit firmer. In the silence that followed, he heard nothing that indicated she was awake. Apparently, she didn't have any trouble sleeping. Since knocking didn't do the trick, he decided to try something a bit louder. His finger found the doorbell while he rolled his shoulders to loosen up the knots in his neck. He shifted around uncomfortably when Brennan didn't answer his persistent ringing.
"Bones?" he said in a low voice, trying the doorknob at the same time. The door was locked and there was no trace of movement inside---just what his already frayed nerves needed. "Hey, Bones, open up, will you?" Now the silence was really beginning to get to him. What did she do? Take a whole bottle of sleeping pills?
He felt for his phone, but didn't find it. Booth groaned in frustration. Forgetting his phone was proof enough of how tired he actually was. If he had been clearheaded, he would have never left home without it. He stared at the closed door, debating whether or not to turn around and just leave his partner be. Having reached the conclusion that he couldn't, he felt his pockets for the spare key she had given a while ago. He groaned when he came up empty-handed. Running a hand over his face, Booth mentally slapped himself for forgetting his key ring along with his cell phone. Was there anything he hadn't forgotten? Like his sanity?
His nightmares replaying in his head, he studied the solid wooden door, contemplating if it was appropriate to break it down. The mental image of his hands covered in blood spatters caused his head to roll back---eyes shut and breath shallow. There was no way he could leave without verifying she wasn't hurt. But what could he do, besides set up camp in her hallway? He couldn't take out a credit card and use his black ops techniques on Brennan's door, nor could he bother her neighbors to ask for Brennan's key. He doubted any of them had a key anyway. Sighing deeply, he turned and descended all five floors again. The only option he had left was drive back home to get his key ring along with his spare key. Once he had reached and unlocked the SUV, he felt like banging his head against the car door. On the passenger seat---in plain sight---were the items he had been looking for. Not wasting another minute, he grabbed his keys and phone and once again went up to Brennan's door. He rang the doorbell one more time and since Brennan still didn't answer, he slid his key into the lock and swiftly entered her apartment.
His worry led him straight to her bedroom and had him calling out her name several times on the way. The echo of his words hung in the air as he came to a stop at her empty bed. The covers were thrown back and the pillow was lying balled up near the nightstand. Evidence that she hadn't had an easy night either, but she clearly wasn't around. Raking his fingers through his hair, Booth debated his next move. Judging by the state of her bedroom, it was safe to say that she too had sought to escape whatever had disturbed her sleep. The abandoned bed left him guessing at her exact whereabouts. It would be madness to drive around D.C. in the search of his partner. Staying at her place like some sort of creepy stalker wasn't a bright idea either, but he couldn't seem to command his feet to walk away. After everything the past two weeks, he was worried about her---worried beyond words. Then Booth realized he didn't have to search the city for her. Unlike him Brennan would surely remember to take her cell phone with her. Without further thought he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed her cell number. It rang twice before a tired voice answered.
"Brennan."
"Why aren't you at your apartment?"
"I believe the more relevant question is why aren't you at your apartment?" she quickly returned.
All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place---the mystery of her unknown location solved. Brennan, his place, safe and breathing---six words that made him sigh in relief. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."
---°---
Friday June 1st 2007 -- 02:17 a.m.
Brennan turned her head to the side as well to meet his gaze. "My nightmares drove me out of my home straight to yours," she quietly admitted.
He nodded in understanding while tightening his grip on her hand. "Dreams make you reach out."
Letting his words sink in, she relaxed one of her legs, stretching it out to get rid of a nagging cramp, before drawing it back to her chest. She was slowly becoming aware of the cold penetrating the thin layers of her clothes and the irregular wall forcing her spine in an unnatural position. Cold was settling in every warm corner of her body, seemingly turning her blood into a stream of ice. She wanted to get out of this bathroom that resembled a large fridge, but the thought of crawling back under the covers made her rapidly suppress the need for warmth.
Booth watched her stifle a yawn. She was obviously tired, but refused to fall asleep. Following his protective instincts, he nudged her side and said, "You should go back to bed, Bones. I'm sure you're freezing your ass off."
"My ass is just fine," she mumbled, ignoring his nudging and leaning heavily against him, seeking the warmth and safety radiating from him.
"Don't I know it..." Booth murmured under his breath. Against better judgment, he moved his arm around her shoulders---having come to the conclusion that she wasn't going to budge from her spot and that it was therefore for the best that he kept her warm somehow.
Brennan snuggled into his embrace vaguely remembering how she had once found it obtrusive of him to invade her personal space, but now welcomed it with open arms. It crossed her mind that Booth was being protective again. Only this time he wasn't putting his career on the line like he had done in New Orleans, but his own health. She shifted around, trying to find a place that didn't hurt to let her head rest on. Brennan was done questioning what he was offering her. He was there that was all that mattered. "You should go back to bed, Booth," she mocked him. "I'm sure your ass is freezing off."
A rush of warm air slid over her hair, meaning he was softly chuckling. "Like I care, Bones. I'm staying here. That way both our asses will freeze off." His grip on her frame tightened, he slightly turned her so that her head wasn't resting on his injury and his chin came to rest on top of her hair. In an apologetic voice, like he was trying to explain his spontaneous actions, "You once gave up a date to stay with me at the hospital. Consider this payback."
Brennan smiled into his shirt. "Well, payback or not, we should get out of here. I'd like to still have my ass in the morning." They both chuckled before getting up and heading to the couch in Brennan's room. Brennan eased herself down and frowned as Booth flopped down beside her. "You don't have to stay, Booth."
"I know," Booth calmly replied. "But I want to."
Now that wasn't that dark, hm?
