Chapter 9

"We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep."

William James

Gripping the counter with both hands she stood over Booth's kitchen sink, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she struggled to breathe. It was dark, the middle of the night, and all she wanted was to be home, in her own apartment, not here, not like this. Damn blizzard. Still trembling, she reached for a glass and filled it with water, cringing at every sound her movements made. It all seemed louder in the quiet of the night. Closing her eyes, she hoped it didn't wake him. Glass of water in hand, she turned and leaned up against the counter. Slow even breaths, she reminded herself, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She counted them out, one...two...three...one….

"You okay?"

Letting out an audible gasp, her whole body jerked, she dropped the glass which shattered when it hit the floor. Her eyes fell shut in defeat. She didn't even hear him at first, she was too busy talking over him, apologizing. Of course, he didn't hear her either, trying to get her to stop moving before she cut herself on the broken glass. Fawning over her, insisting she stand still and not move until he could deal with it. Finally, she complied, standing there with her hands up by her shoulders, heart racing in double speed, her bare feet covered in water and tiny shards of glass.

He had thick soled slippers on, which he was quick to remind her. During the winter he didn't walk around the house without them, the cold caused the old injuries in his feet terrible pain. And it was cold, sometime during the night the power went out again and the only heat in the apartment was a quickly dying fire in the fireplace.

"Okay, Bones, I'm going to pick you up and move you over there, ready?"

"No." Protesting, she folded her arms tightly across her chest and shot him a look of aggravation. "Booth, I'm just fine. Plus, you'll hurt your back."

"Not if you help." Answering quickly, he didn't leave room for her to argue. "Come on, put your arms around my neck." One strong arm was already wrapping around her waist. Wary, her eyes pleaded with him, but it was too late, his other arm was under her knees and lifting her before she could say anything else. Taking a deep breath she drapped his arms around his neck.

"Stay here." Setting her down right outside the kitchen, he brushed past her, gathering a few candles they used earlier in the evening and relit them, pooling just enough light to clean up the broken glass. She stood in the doorway watching him.

"Check your feet." He gave her a nod once he had her attention, she looked bewildered for a moment. "For glass," he clarified.

"Oh, Okay." Nodding as she bent down, she gave her feet a cursory examination. "I can do that, Booth, you shouldn't have to." She felt bad about waking him, about breaking the glass, it wasn't her intention.

"In your big ole mukluks?" He chuckled at the thought, she shook her head a little acknowledging how silly she'd look. Pausing with dustpan in hand, he looked up at her, his smile comforting. "I've got it. Don't worry about it."

Her boots were perfect for traipsing through the snow, which they did once they freed themselves from the elevator. Walking a little less than a mile down streets still piled with snow to capture Tariq Grazdani and back to Booth's apartment after the DC police drove them from the hospital, dropping them a couple blocks from his apartment, the closest they could get because of road closures. Her eyes darted back and forth between the boots and Booth. Letting out a big sigh, she watched as he stood, dumping the dustpan full of glass in the trash.

"I'm sorry I woke you. I didn't me-"

"You didn't wake me." Interrupting to correct her, he froze for a moment, catching her gaze. "I was awake, I was...I came out to get a drink." Reaching back up to the cupboard he pulled down a short glass tumbler, wiggling it a little to make his point.

She watched him carefully, mindful of the uneasy tone in his voice. Resting one strong hand gently on her shoulder, he turned her around, and guided her back over to the couch. She sat, craning her neck around to watch as he continued on behind her to his liquor cabinet.

Out of bed, that was always the first order of business for him, out of the dream, out of bed. It was the one time he didn't mind the way his feet hurt when he stood up after being off them for awhile. The searing pain helped ground him, separating him from whatever twisted terror his subconscious happened to serve up, giving him a physical tie back to reality.

Out of the dream, out of bed, out of the room, that was the way he did things, usually followed by a stiff drink to calm his nerves. But when he stumbled out of the room he found only a rumpled pile of sheets and blankets. She wasn't where she should be, asleep on the couch, which set his mind to worrying. Then he heard the cabinet door close in the kitchen and headed toward the sound. When he got there he knew immediately something was wrong. He saw obvious signs of distress, the tremble in her hands, her deliberate measured breaths, her tense posture.

Drink in hand he came back over to where she sat in the middle of the couch. He didn't say anything, just set his drink down on the coffee table and went back around to stoke the fire. Adding a couple split logs sent bursts of tiny embers dancing in the back of the fireplace. Taking a breath, he turned his attention back to her, motioning to the spot next to her on the couch. She nodded her approval and he sat down, letting out a long sigh through billowed cheeks before taking a drink.

"Nightmare?" She asked quietly. He only nodded his answer. "Me too." She confessed.

It wasn't surprising. Two people with troubled pasts spent the day locked in a small enclosed space. Regardless of distractions: a pressing case, childhood memories, relationship issues, the day was bound to catch up with them. This was exactly why she wanted to go home, why she argued with him earlier in the evening as she tried to figure out a way to make it happen. She knew she'd have nightmares, it was inevitable, she just didn't want to have them here. He would feel responsible, she knew that, and she did want him to carry that burden.

Without saying a word he passed her the tumbler of scotch. Two tortured souls, what a pair they made. She took a swallow, holding her breath through the unexpected burn before handing it back.

He, on the other hand, was glad she was there with him. Glad that when he jarred himself awake he could come out and see she was okay, not have to wonder or wait, debating whether to call her in the middle of the night just to hear her voice. Booth let out another long sigh.

"Hey, I'm...um...I'm sorry about today." Confused, she followed his gaze until she realized he was staring at the stadium seats. Her heart sank, he was still feeling guilt over those chairs.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." She said firmly.

"Yeah, yeah there is. If I hadn't been so hellbent on getting those stadium seats we wouldn't have spent all day stuck in that stupid elevator cage." Booth looked down at this hands, both wrapped tightly around the glass he was holding, and let out a loud huff of a breath. His implication was clear, being trapped in that cage all day was certainly a trigger, and not just for him, for both of them, he knew that, too many traumatic experiences where she was held captive against her will. He felt responsible for her nightmares.

"It's not your fault, Booth, it's not anyone's fault." Her voice was confident and sure. "You couldn't predict the power outage anymore than you could've predicted the blizzard, no one could. The weathermen didn't even get it right." She chuckled soft and low, pulling his attention back up to her. It was a beautiful sound, a sound he loved, a sound he'd missed. He gave her a slight smile, his warm eyes grateful for the way she jumped to his defense, his partner, his friend, always standing right beside him. "And," she paused for a second, holding his gaze, "like I told you earlier this evening, the chairs are important. They were worth it."

They sat in silence, Booth didn't respond, just looked back down at his hands, rolled the glass, watching the last bit of liquor travel in circles at the bottom of the tumbler.

"Okay." He finally conceded. "Okay." But she could still feel the tension in him. This wasn't all about the stadium seats, about their long day, or guilt. Closing her eyes against the rising tension, she waited, forcing herself to breath evenly.

Booth wanted to talk to her about her nightmare, but wasn't sure how to broach the subject. He felt very much like he was still working his way back to a place of trust with her. It might be him, she might not feel that way at all, but his absence in her life, the way they left things when they went their separate ways, how they were with each other when they came back to their lives in DC, after all that, how could she trust him? But, he wanted her to, needed her to, for things between them to continue to progress.

It was time for him to take some of his own advice. When they started working together as partners, one of the first things he taught her was to offer something of herself up. Partners share, he told her, it builds trust. Taking a deep fortifying breath, he was determined to show her she could trust him.

"I was in a junkyard, you know the kind that are filled with old cars, rows and rows, countless, endless rows of them." Wide with a mix of confusion and worry, her eyes darted across his features. Waiting for him to continue, she found herself holding her breath. "In my dream...in...in my nightmare."

Swallowing thickly, she nodded in acknowledgement.

"I was running from car to car banging on the trunks." Her shoulders fell, her head tilted, and he watched as sadness filled her whole being. She wasn't expecting that, but she knew the minute he said it, his nightmare was about her. It shouldn't have been, it should've been about him, about being a prisoner of war, being held against his will, tortured, not about her.

"Booth."

"I couldn't find you." He confessed, a rough tremble in his voice, an undertone of desperation she wasn't prepared for, but she could see it, she could feel roll off of him. "I called out for you, screamed your name, over and over, while I pounded on trunk after trunk, there were so many, as far as I could see, but you didn't answer."

Scooting closer, she reached over and took the tumbler out of his hand. He watched, silent, his eyes following as she set it on the table. This woman was everything to him and looking at her now, her love expressed in each deliberate move she made, he didn't know how she could ever think she wasn't enough. Why couldn't she see what her love did for him? How it settled him.

Leaning back against the couch, she let her arm twist in behind his catching his gaze and holding it as her hand ran down his forearm. She could feel the strength of his muscles twitch under her fingers and watched his chest rise sharply with each breath. A warm and tender show of support, her hand found its way to his. Grabbing it firmly, she squeezed tight, giving him one small nod to let him know she was ready for him to continue.

"Then I saw this one car, an old car, blue, Dodge, like from the 1970s or 80s, it was huge, you know, the kind that were as long as a boat. It was all rusted out and there was something falling from the back of it. I got closer and it looked like dirt. Dirt. It was falling from the back, you know, where the trunk closes, and under the taillights, from the wheel wells." His voice was building in intensity, cracking as he fought to hid the frantic feeling his nightmare inspired. "Little trickles of dirt were falling, not a lot, just barely enough to see, to know it was happening, and I knew you were in there, just knew it.

"It took awhile to pry the trunk open, I had to find something I could use like a crowbar, I had to force it open, but I kept talking to you, begging you to hang on, telling you I was coming. You didn't answer. God, I was so afraid that by the time I got to you, you'd...you'd be…" he couldn't bring himself to say it, even though she was sitting next to him, even though he knew she was safe and alive, he couldn't say that he thought she was dead, couldn't put that out there into the universe.

"Finally I got it open and it was filled with dirt. God, it was horrible. I started to shovel it out with my hands, but I wasn't fast enough, it was like shoveling sand, the more I dug, the more there was. I wasn't making any progress, it took forever to move enough of the damned stuff away to, you know, to see you, just your hip, just part of your legs. I was still trying to talk to you, I never stopped, Bones, but you didn't move, not even a little. That's when I woke up. I never got you out of there."

"I'm so sorry, Booth." Letting her head rest on his shoulder, she reached with her other hand, using both her hands to hold his firmly. Her two small hands barely covering his larger one. All of her attention focused on where their hands met, where they connected.

"It was just a dream, right, and you're here, you're...you're okay, so...it's okay."

"I am. I'm right here." She reaffirmed, patting his hand lightly, then squeezing it again, holding it tight between her own. "Some dreams are so real, it's hard to tell, hard to separate them...from...from," pausing to breathe, "from reality. They just feel real."

Booth leaned his head down, letting it fall against hers, where it still rested on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he let himself get momentarily lost in the feel of her touch, the way her soft hands felt against his skin, the brush of her thumb as she moved it across his. It soothed him.

"Right." Her body moved with his as he took a sharp, deep breath, rising and falling together. "You're right."

He wouldn't ask her to tell him about her dream, she knew that, and part of her was happy to let the moment pass, let silence fill the room, just for a second, hoping their conversation would move onto something else, anything else. But she remembered a time when she stood in Sweets' office sharing the very story that inspired his night terror, the experience of being locked in the trunk of a car for two days at the hands of an abusive foster family. And even though he didn't want to, even though she could see it nearly killed him, he shared something from his own past so she wouldn't be alone in her vulnerability. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes. She didn't want him to be alone in his vulnerability, not tonight.

"You are familiar with the Hindu Kush mountain range in Afghanistan? The caves and tunnels there?" Of course he was, a high ranking soldier who served in Afghanistan, it was only natural he would be familiar with the area, but he didn't say anything, just nodded. "I visited there once, traveled the passes they suspect Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan traveled, took tours of the caves and tunnels, saw the Buddhas of Bamiyan."

He didn't know where she was going with this, but felt her unease grow and held her hand a little tighter. Another long breath, another pause before she started talking again. "I...I've had this dream before, though, admittedly not since I returned from Maluku." Swallowing thickly, she found her pulse starting to race just thinking about it. She needed to get it out, get it over with as quickly as possible, so she stammered on. "It's...it's always the same. I find myself running through those tunnels, endless tunnels, and I can hear you crying out in pain, you need help but your voice is echoing through the passageways and caverns and I can't tell where the sound is coming from. I stop and listen, I try, I...I...I keep running and doubling back, looking."

"Bones." He whispered, but she talked right over him, she couldn't stop, she just needed to say it.

"You need me, Booth, you need my help, and I can't find you, I can't help you. I can hear them torturing you, but I can't do anything about it. I keep running, searching, but I never find you." He didn't know if she was done telling him about the nightmare and didn't wait to find out.

"You've had this dream before?"

"Yes."

"When I was in Afghanistan and you were in Maluku?"

"Yes...many times."

"Before that?"

"No." Her answer hung in the air, he didn't know what to say. For god's sakes, why didn't she write or call, he just didn't understand. She didn't need to worry like that, he could have told her he wasn't in that kind of danger, could've saved her so much anxiety and grief.

"I was in Marjah." His voice low but strong, "spent some time in Kandahar. I was never that far north, Bones, never up in the mountains or the caves, never in that kind of danger."

"You were in an active warzone, Booth, you were always in that kind of danger."

Booth moved, pulling his hand from hers, forcing her to sit up, and causing her to panic momentarily because she could feel his withdraw. Maybe she'd said the wrong thing, maybe he took it the wrong way. But when she caught his eyes, they were tender, full of concern, and he opened his arms to her.

"C'mere." He motioned to her, inviting her into his arms. Hesitating, she looked like she wanted to accept his invitation, but wasn't sure of herself or him, he couldn't tell.

"Is this a guy hug?" She asked quietly.

"No...no it isn't." He watched her chest rise and fall rapidly as she took short little breaths, considering his offer. "It's a friend hug," he clarified.

"A friend hug?" This was new, this friend status, with new friend rules she wasn't well acquainted with.

"Yes, friend hugs are better than guy hugs." Motioning again, he encouraged her to come to him, then caught her elbow and tugged lightly. She let herself fall into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him, pulling herself in tight against his chest. It felt safe there, shielded from the darkness of the night. She found the strength of his embrace calming as he held her protectively. "Guy hugs are short, you know, but friend hugs, they last as long as they need to."

Bringing one hand up, he brushed her bangs aside and pressed a solid kiss to her forehead.

There in security of his arms, the steady beat of his heart in her ear, the warmth of his body next to hers, she fell asleep. He didn't have the heart or desire to move her, so he didn't, he held her, fighting to keep his own vigilant watch over her until he couldn't stay awake any longer himself. Somewhere in what little remained of the night they wiggled down, their bodies tangled loosely together, until they shared the bed he made for her on the couch.

There were no more nightmares that night, just peaceful sleep. She didn't wake until bright morning light peeked through his blinds and the loud scraping sound of the roads being cleared filled her ears. Stirring, she felt Booth's arms tighten around her, his rough protesting grumble made her smile. She should get up, she knew that, it was time to wake him, she thought, but couldn't resist the need to steal just a little more time with him just the way they were. He felt her burrow in, tucking herself along his body, holding onto him, fighting to keep this moment with him, and smiled when she stilled herself rather than getting up to go on about her day.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I need to give a shoutout to mspteach, because I really did forget it was Thursday. What a crazy week!

I am so excited about the next two chapters that I actually considered dumping this one, snowybones talked me out of it, reminded me to be patient, which was good. There are some moments that this chapter was built around that I dearly love.

What do you think? What were your favorite moments?