"Maybe you could float me up the stairs," Brennan said. She stood at the bottom and looked up, towards where she assumed Booth's apartment was.
"I'll carry you," he said. placing her suitcase next to them.
She was ready to protest, but he scooped her into his arms before she had the chance.
"Comfortable?' he asked.
Hell, no, she wasn't comfortable. Her brain might not remember him, but her body surely did. And despite the fact that she was a long way from recovered, she couldn't stop the images of the man wearing a few less clothes.
"Yeah," she managed to choke out. "I'm fine."
She'd lost weight, he thought, as he carefully maneuvered his way up the stairs. But she was solid and alive. A few days of home cooked food would help.
He tried to carry into the bedroom, but she stopped him. "I've spent more time in a hospital bed than I care to think about. The couch will be fine for now."
So he carefully moved her until her feet touched the floor again. He helped her sit down, grabbing a throw from the back of the couch to throw over her legs. From her position on the couch, she watched him leave the apartment to retrieve her things.
It was odd, but she felt like she was home. She didn't remember the man, but Brennan knew if she dug around in the cupboard to the left of the fridge, there were some of the snacks she liked to eat. And in the back of the freezer would be a carton of her favorite ice cream.
Booth called Angela quickly while he was gone, to let her know they'd arrived back at his place. She promised to stay away until tomorrow, giving time for Brennan to settle in. Hurrying to grab her things, Booth ran up the stairs, not wanting to leave her alone for too long. The potential for trouble seemed endless.
Her eyes were closed as she relaxed on the couch, and Booth was sure she was asleep. Brennan opened her eyes as he closed the door behind him.
"It's okay," he said softly. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest."
She shook her head. "In a minute. Tell me a story."
"A story?" he echoed. "Like a bedtime story?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Tell me something about us."
He opened his mouth to argue, but Brennan beat him to it. "I'm sure it won't hurt. And it might help."
"Okay," he said. She was stretched out on the couch, so he sat in the chair at her feet. It was easier to see her face from there.
Brennan watched him patiently. After a moment, he thought of something he didn't think would lead to any upsetting questions. "I've got one."
"I'm sure you have more than one," she corrected. "But I understand the vernacular."
"It's not really a story. More of something we do together, a lot."
"Go on," she encouraged, even though her eyes were closing. She hoped it was a short story.
"We like to eat lunch at the diner together. I always order a little extra because you tend to steal things off my plate."
"Like your fries?" she said, her voice slurring as she fell asleep.
"Yeah," he agreed, knowing she wouldn't hear him. But those three words renewed his hope. The memories were clearly there and would come back in their own time. She remembered bits and pieces of this and that, like stolen fries and conversations had in offices.
Bones didn't remember the big things, yet. But he was sure she would.
And that's what worried him the most.
