A/N Hello all! I bet you thought I forgot about 'Ramblings', didn't you!? HAHA! Just when you thought you understood the JazzyMuse and her quirky ways, she breaks out with a little surprise…
Actually, I was working on my next Aggregation chapter when this little Rambling erupted. Literally erupted.
I'm not sure how other writers keep record of various thoughts or tidbits that infiltrate their thoughts at random, often inopportune, times, but I keep a running list of ideas, phrases, thoughts, interesting facts, etc. If I'm at the office, and the JazzyMuse interrupts with a notion, or I wake up in the middle of the night with some wild-ass plot line, I grab my phone, open the document and type it.
That said, when I write a story, I have a rough outline which eventually focuses a bit more in depth until finally I filter and whittle it all down and write a coherent chapter, often letting it take on a life of its own. When I was editing down my next Aggregation chapter, I was looking for a specific idea that I wanted to insert, and I knew I'd previously written a passage that would work well. I started scrolling, searching for that one idea and my eyes eyes locked on a singular line. The time stamp on the entry was 3:17 am, more than a year ago.
The line was:
The first time she slept in his bed, Brennan's broken slumber had been agonizing.
I immediately opened a new page, copied and pasted that line and this basically wrote itself. I started this around 7:55 pm tonight. It's now 11:21 pm and I'm writing my A/N's, the final bits I do before posting… Granted it's short, but for me, this was a fast-write!
I'm gonna be honest, this thing might suck… I haven't dwelled on it like I do most of my chapters. Typically, I edit several times before finally posting (yes, it's true - even though I know you all still find errors, I read and re-read countless times!)
I've edited this one-shot twice. (And to be candid, I'm having a bit of anxiety putting it out here so quickly….)
The first edit was for POV and consistent tense, the second was for punctuation. I hope it makes some sort of sense to someone other than myself!
Disclaimer - no, I still do not own Bones. If I did, they'd be filming a Rated R movie to fill the gap created by this long-ass hiatus, after which I'd get the show picked up for cable, so we could have juicy scenes.
Alas, we have fanfic instead.
The first time she slept in his bed, Brennan's broken slumber had been agonizing.
To say the scientist's emotions were reeling in the wee hours that found her creeping quietly to Booth's darkened bedroom after Broadsky's failed attempt to take his life proved futile, would be the understatement of the century. Her brain was tormented with nightmarish visions of her favorite, most promising intern bleeding-out right before her eyes. Bright red blood pumped relentlessly from between Booth's fingers, as if it was scoffing at her partner's attempts to apply the necessary pressure to stop the life from draining out of young Vincent's chest. The sanctity of her House of Reason had been breached by the face of human evil, leaving, in its wake, anguish, turmoil and confusion as the intern's final pleas to not make him leave were tragically useless, falling on mere mortals' ears.
Yes, the events of that fateful day that led up to the moment when she slid between his warm sheets and finally into his protective embrace had been filled with pure, raw pain.
The late hour afforded them very little time to regain the much-needed semblance of balance that would allow them to face their nemesis with level heads once the daylight broke free, but that didn't stop them from trying to comfort one another in this mutual time of need. In those early hours, his strong arms had embraced her fragility, his body had wrapped around hers possessively as he dropped tiny kisses into her hair, and onto her temples, and across her forehead, all while murmuring promises to keep her safe and vows to avenge Vincent's untimely demise. His thick, calloused fingers swept her falling tears away with a tenderness that made her heart simultaneously ache and swell. His voice, hoarse and husky with his own emotional struggles, had, after what felt like hours, finally quieted the sobs that were exhausting her body.
"I've got you, Baby," he had whispered, the moniker slipping by without acknowledgment. "I know it hurts."
Brennan ignored, almost welcomed, the pet name, wondering if he even realized he'd said it. She pressed her body against his, trusting him implicitly, and once again let her grief pour from the depths of her very being.
He kissed her hair when she began apologizing for her uncontrollable tears. "Don't… It's alright to cry, Bones… Just let it out." He rocked their bodies gently, tangling his fingers into her loose hair to keep her close.
At first, Brennan couldn't remember the last time she had cried with such heartache. After a moment's reflection, however, the memory came crashing back with the force of an eighteen-wheeler plowing into her…
The first time she had slept in his bed had been much worse...so much more complicated than this time…
And she had never told him...
Booth was 'dead' for two terrible, heart-wrenching weeks…
Temperance Brennan had always prided herself for her abilities to compartmentalize, successfully avoiding emotional attachments, thus protecting herself from the personal pain that would accompany her in the wake of an inevitable abandonment. When he was shot, heroically accepting a bullet that had been aimed at her with deadly precision, that very independent resolve that she'd often bragged about crumbled into metaphorical ruins, the likes of which could only be compared to the fallen empires of the Maya people. Each morning, she put up a false bravado to the world, and to her friends, openly appearing to have accepted Booth's death with stoic solemnity. Once darkness settled over DC, however, and the lab was void of the near constant activity that had served to successfully distract her for years, she returned home, only to find herself rolled into a fetal position in the center of her bed, crying into a vacant pillow that would never have the opportunity to cradle her partner's head through the night. On several of those dark, painfully lonely nights, uncontrollable sobs caused her to become physically ill, forcing her body to regurgitate whatever meager dinner she had managed to shove down her throat. Without forethought and purposely avoiding any sort of self-analysis of her actions, she climbed into her car and drove through the inky night until she reached his apartment building. Letting herself into his place using her emergency key, she slept fitfully in his bed, surrounding herself with his familiar and soothing scent, allowing it to penetrate her senses and permanently committing it to memory. Each time, she feebly vowed 'just one last time,' all the while knowing that she had already contemplated going so far as to continue paying rent, if only to allow his belongings to remain in situ for as long as possible.
Yes, the first time she had slept in his bed, had, in fact, been riddled with the worst kind of pain… It was the agony of very personal loss… And even though she had slept in his bed multiple times during that two-week stretch, mentally, she still considered the sum of those times as a singular 'first time.'
The second time Brennan found herself completely surrounded by his clean, masculine scent, however, he was there to console her, to hold her, rub her back, and whisper promises into her ear as he dropped tiny kisses wherever his lips rested. The night Vincent died only reinforced the powerful knowledge that she'd kept hidden and suppressed for so long. It was the knowledge that if Booth had died that afternoon, instead of her precious protege, her existence as she knew it, would come to a screeching halt and her world would come crashing down around her, hundreds of times worse than it had years before.
Lifting her head from his shoulder, she saw that he, too, had wept for her young student. Although Booth never grew close to her interns, with the one exception of Wendell, he still cared for each and every one of them with a level of fondness and respect that no other Agent had ever bestowed upon them. They were every bit his team as they were hers. As a whole, they were Their Squinterns. When Brennan looked up at Booth, she saw his eyes were moist and felt her emotions swell up with an irrepressible force.
"I've been here before, Booth." She told him pointedly.
"I know, Bones." He rolled his lips before continuing. "We've lost too many people that we care about, and we've had enough bad luck to last us both a lifetime. I wish I could've saved him for you… And avoided this pain you're facing..." He ran his thumb along her jawline, his eyes skipping across her skin. "I shouldn't have handed him that damn phone…"
"No!" Brennan pushed up and away, only to turn back to him immediately, looking down into his startled brown eyes. "Booth," her hand came to rest on his chest and she fisted his t-shirt lightly. "If you hadn't handed that phone to Vincent," she swallowed thickly, ignoring the lump that had instantly developed in her throat. "You…" Her voice was strangled, terrified. "You would be dead now."
"Bo-". He wanted to stop her train of thought, but he quickly realized it was a useless endeavor.
"Listen to me," she pleaded. "Maybe this makes me a terrible person, and, believe me, I wish so much that no one had died today… But, Booth… If you had answered that phone..." Her sentence faded away and she shook her head, swallowing thickly. "I can't even…"
"Broadsky may not have had a clear shot at me…" It was a feeble response, but he felt gutted that the young man's death would be on his conscious for the rest of his life. Booth, as he had told Sweets earlier that evening, didn't blame himself, he blamed Broadsky. Nevertheless, he knew without a doubt that in his darkest hours, when his nightmares were haunting him, he'd be reminded that he alone was the one who handed the phone to Vincent...
"You don't believe that," she pushed against him, her traitorous tears starting to break free once more. "I know you don't…" She sat back on her heels as she tugged at his shirt, wanting to say so much, but suddenly unsure of where to start. "Booth…" Her whimper betrayed how truly scared she was and she almost gave up on her plan to open up, but when he reached up and cupped her neck, she let herself fall down against him again, settling alongside his body as if they'd been created to fit together perfectly.
"Booth," she whispered once she had calmed a little. "I've literally been here before… Here, in this room… Crying in your bed and knowing that even if I could fall asleep, when I woke in the morning, the pain would be still be there. So much pain..."
His hand, which had been sweeping up and down her back in a soothing motion, suddenly came to a stop. Flexing his fingers at her waist, Booth stared at the ceiling, processing her confession. Tilting his head, the agent looked down to where his partner was nestled against his shoulder.
"Bones," he licked his lips, suddenly nervous. "What are you talking about?"
Raising her flushed face from his chest, she pushed herself up by her elbow, so she could see him clearly. "When Pam Noonan shot you. And you were dead." She saw the unsettling realization light up in his eyes. "I came here to sleep a few times… Well, several times..."
"Bones," he searched her eyes, the pale gray depths revealing the painful truth of what she was telling him. "Baby, I didn't know…" His voice was soft, full of emotion.
"That's because I never told you…" She let a rueful laugh escape her lips. "I was too angry with you… And then, after I wasn't angry anymore," she shrugged half-heartedly, "it just didn't matter…"
He raised his free hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her soft, tear-streaked skin. "I wish you'd told me…"
"There was no logical reason to tell you, Booth. It couldn't change what had happened and would have only created an uncomfortable friction between us..." She leaned into his touch and flicked her eyes across his handsome, chiseled features until finally settling on the dark chocolate pools that she longed to see everyday.
Holding his breath at what he saw staring back, he tried to ignore his anxiety, afraid that he was once again misreading her signals. Swallowing hard, he inhaled slowly through his nose, savoring her unique Bonesy-scent. "You just told me, though…" His statement, a question in disguise, was whispered with barely concealed vulnerability.
"Well," she let her lips curl on one side, despite the sad occasion. "I changed my mind… I guess I've changed a lot…"
Pulling her down to him again, he cupped her jaw and pressed a tender, knowing kiss to her lips, humming in contentment when she kissed him in return. After several moments of reacquainting themselves with each other, Booth urged Brennan to her back so he could move over her body. When she acquiesced with ease, the agent knew that his partner had, indeed, changed... A lot.
"I'm glad you told me, Bones," he whispered. He brushed her bangs aside, giving him an unobstructed view of her soul-swallowing eyes. "I'll never leave you alone to deal with something like that again." He half expected his scientist to rebuke the absolute statement, but she didn't, she simply watched him. "If you'll have me, I'll always be right here."
Tears of relief sprung from the corners of Brennan's eyes. Nodding gently, she fisted the sides of Booth's shirt and pulled him down to her again, speaking against his mouth. "This is where I want you…"
Postscript A/N
So, I don't know if this was of any interest to you all, as readers, or hell, if it even made sense. But sometimes the writer-inside just takes over and it's unstoppable… Hope you didn't mind!
Please review and let me know what you thought!
peace and love, my friends,
~jazzy
