A/N: We are almost at the end. Only one more chapter after this one.
Again, thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites.
The day was long and Booth fought the need to go knock on her door again. She'd asked for space and he gave it to her.
Things were better. And she'd asked some interesting questions up on the that hill. Which made him wonder: exactly what she was working toward?
Was she going to agree to be only his partner again? Or, did he dare hope she was also working her way toward accepting him on another level.
He would follow her, wherever she decided go. He could only hope they were headed toward the same place.
For lunch, he finished off what was left of the pizza. It proved to be unsatisfying and he knew he was going to have to leave to get food soon.
Did he dare ask her to dinner? Or was the reunion too fresh? The dance was a complicated one and Booth wasn't sure what the next step should be.
He tried not to watch the clock, wondering when she'd make a reappearance. Or how long he should give her before knocking on the door again and demanding entrance.
He hadn't been sure he was making any progress, until the question about only wanting her to return as a partner. Then, she'd stepped into his arms. If he'd wanted to hold on a little longer, that was only natural, he told himself. It had been six months since he'd been able to give her a guy hug and he'd missed it.
Booth was no longer sure it was wrong of him to want more. More than a simple hug between friends. He'd tried to forget her, at least, Booth thought he had. But six months had done little to dull what he felt for her.
And when he'd implied such a thing to her, she'd shied away. Or asked for some time back in that damn house she'd been hiding in. Disappointed in himself for saying anything before she was ready for it, Booth walked to the door and opened it again. The road between their houses was empty, as it had been the last five times he'd checked.
So he waited. Attempted to read the only book he'd brought. One of hers, of course. The story was so familiar, he could recite some paragraphs from memory.
And if he found himself fantasizing during certain portions, well who would know?
Booth had made a deal with himself to give her one more hour when the bang came from his front door. More than a knock, demanding in sound, he hurried to open it.
And found Bones standing on his steps with a bag over one shoulder and a casserole dish in her hands.
She'd come to him. Thank God.
He reached out to help her, but she pulled away. "Hot, Booth. Tell me where to set it down."
"That way," he motioned with his hand, closing the door behind her.
The smell had him drooling before she took off the cover. "Is that mac and cheese?" he demanded, leaning over the pan for a better look. "Our mac and cheese?"
He wouldn't analyze what it meant, the she had made his favorite dish. And brought it over so they could eat together.
"You need to eat," she said simply. "I wasn't sure what you had over here so I brought plates, and silverware and glasses. And wine," she added, pulling everything out of the bag.
Reaching out to take the bottle, he closed his hand over hers. "Why, Bones?" he asked. His tone let her know this wasn't a question he wanted an easy answer to. "After the last two days and the last six months, why did you do this for me?"
Pulling her hand free, she moved to open the bottle. "I decided I needed to know. All of it. What happened, what didn't happen." She sighed. "I know my part of it. I need to know yours. And I'm not very good with this sort of thing, but I thought that this wouldn't be fun, for either of this. So I made us something we could enjoy. And…," she continued after a breath, "I wanted to make something for you."
She hadn't looked at him during the entire confession. He knuckled her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "You're better at this than you give yourself credit for, Bones." He pulled back to grab the plates. "Let's dish up the food and I'll tell you."
So he told her. About waking up after surgery to find several agents in his room. About the drug induced haze he was in, that made the plan sound like a good one.
How he'd insisted she be told before the pain medicine sent him under again.
"When I was stable, they sent me to a safe house with a visiting nurse. It sucked," he said simply, scooping out a second helping of food. "Despite what you think, I didn't have easy access to a phone." Using his fork, he pushed the food around on his plate. "I probably could have managed to get my hands on one."
"The doctor came out at 11:57 in the evening and informed us of your death. Based on your information, he beat the FBI agents to me. He wouldn't let me see your body," she shuddered and pushed her plate away. "Family only, he insisted. So, I left the premises."
"And went to my apartment," he said, pushing her plate back toward her. She needed to eat.
The comment about her dinner died on her lips. "How did you know that?"
"Eat, Bones," he said, scooping up a bite as an example. "Angela figured it out. And," he added, pausing to eat, "you answered the door in one of my shirts. One I never gave you."
"You didn't need it," she grumbled, before giving in and continuing to eat. She studied her plate to avoid the look of satisfaction she was sure Booth wore. "The funeral, Booth," she prodded when he continued to eat. "Tell me that part."
"You were on my list, Bones," Booth said. "I insisted they tell you and you were on the list."
Her blue eyes met his. "It wasn't your fault, Booth. The doctor beat the FBI agents, as apparently did I. You can't notify someone if you can't find them." She pushed her plate away again. "We could spend hours talking about where all of this went wrong. Tell me about your funeral."
There wasn't much left of the food, or the bottle of wine, by the time he reached the end. And as hard as he tried, Booth couldn't tell it without emotion. His anger with Angela leaked through, as well as his frustration with some of the choices Brennan made.
She'd interrupted once or twice to ask questions, but remained silent for most of it. Booth could see the thoughts racing and wished for her to share them.
"You know the rest, Bones. I waited outside that post office for two days then spent half the afternoon trying to decide what to say to you. Didn't go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped." There was acceptance in his voice. "Not that I expected it to go well."
Rising, Brennan took the now empty dish to the sink. "Angela was unnecessarily cruel to you. I was the one who chose to leave."
Booth watched her from his own seat. "Her first loyalty is always to you, Bones. She'll never feel the need to protect me as she does you."
Her hands were wrist deep in soapy water, but Booth could see her shoulders shaking. "You okay, Bones?"
He thought she might have nodded, but the move so subtle, he wasn't sure. Rising, Booth came to stand behind her, reaching out to pull her hands from the water. "Talk to me, Bones."
Turning, she freed her hands to wipe at her eyes, mixing water and soap with the tears on her cheeks. "I really made a mess of this, Booth." Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "And I'm done crying over it," she declared. "Booth, I'm sorry."
"I don't care," he muttered. Reaching out, he hauled her against him, the hug as tight as the one he'd given her under the trees that morning. And for the first time, she didn't pull away when he initiated the touch. "I meant what I said. I don't want your apologies, Bones. Or your tears. Or the guilt you obviously feel."
"Then what do you want?" she asked, her voice muffled. The back of his shirt grew damp, where her hands rested against it. "I hurt you, too, Booth. I hurt all of my friends by leaving. How do I fix that?"
He ran his hands up and down her back. "You tell them you're sorry, Bones. They love you. They'll forgive you."
Booth moved just enough to see her eyes. "As for what I want? I want you to come home. I want you, Bones, as my partner, or friend, or whatever way you'll take me."
"I missed you," she said. "I wished for this to happen a thousand times. But it's not supposed to happen outside of a story."
"Stop, Bones," he said softly. "It's okay. We're okay. You'll come home and we'll be okay."
"Yes," she agreed. Letting go, she put some items back in the bag, to give her hands something to do. "We'll go home. It will take me a few days to wrap up some things here. Then we can go."
Leaning casually against the counter, Booth let out the breath he'd been holding since he arrived. "I've got six weeks. A few days won't make a difference."
She glanced at him. "Six weeks? They gave you six weeks off work?"
He grimaced. "I haven't been a lot of fun to be around," he mumbled.
"No," she said, familiar with his moods, "I'm sure you haven't been." She went back to the sink to finish the dishes. With Booth's assistance it took less than ten minutes to clean everything up.
"I'll walk you back to your place," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
"Booth, I'm more than capable of carrying the bag back."
"Not while I'm here," he said, motioning toward the door. "Lead the way, Bones."
She huffed but did as he said. There was no way he was giving that bag to her and she knew it.
"I have coffee at my place," she offered, settling into an easy pace next to him.
He looked down at her. "I already know it's better than anything I can get around here, so I'll take it."
Chuckling, she was forced to agree with his assessment. "I had to drive for some time to find anything worth purchasing. And it's still not as good as our cart in DC."
"I haven't been there, since, well since…" he trailed off as she opened her door.
"Since I left?" she asked, motioning him inside.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Since then." He watched her compact movements as she retrieved the tools she needed to make a fresh cup of coffee. "I have some cases for you to look at."
She hummed, and glanced at him. "How many is some?" she asked. "That's a very unspecific number."
"Two. Maybe three. I did manage to solve the rest."
"We'll solve those two or three, as well," she promised.
Booth enjoyed the sound of the word we, ignoring the rest. He wasn't worried about solving cases when she came back to town. They were a great team after all.
They sat in companionable silence, talking about everything and nothing. Old friends catching up after too much time spent apart. And when he stood up to leave, she reached out and put a hand on his arm.
"I want you to stay," she whispered, biting her lip.
He hoped his eyes didn't reflect his sudden desire as he looked at her. "Bones…"
"To sleep, for now," she clarified. "I'm just tired of being alone. Of the nightmares…," she said, trailing off without finishing.
"Oh," he said. And ignored the sudden lust that rushed through him at her implication that they'd be more than partners soon. He could understand her desire not to be alone. "I can stay the night on the couch," he offered.
But she shook her head. "That's bad for your back. And there is a guest bedroom with a queen bed. I thought perhaps you could sleep there. Unless you don't want to," she added quickly.
"I'll stay," he said. "Just let me go back and get some clothes to sleep in."
She chuckled and shook her head. "That won't be necessary, Booth." She stepped away from him to go toward the back of the house. Booth watched her, thankful she'd asked him to stay. He still woke several times each night, wondering if she'd be there when dawn broke.
There was a pair of shorts and a shirt in her hand when she returned. "I didn't just take a shirt," she admitted, without a hint of guilt.
"Why did you steal my stuff, Bones?" he asked, taking the items from her.
"You talked to me. I don't believe in that, so I found other ways."
"Shit, Bones," he said, oddly touched. "Show me where this room is so I can settle in."
This room was directly across from hers. He'd closed the door, at first, but as darkness settled over the house, he reopened the door.
He tried to tell himself it was because he was in an unfamiliar home or some other ridiculous reason. Booth knew he simply needed to be as close to her as possible. Even a closed door between them was too much.
When he found that she had done the same, he paused for only a moment before walking across the hall into her room.
Her back was to him and he watched her sleep for several minutes before her voice broke the silence.
"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked him without rolling over.
"Sorry, Bones," he said, stepping back. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"I haven't slept," she admitted. Brennan allowed the battle to wage in her head for several minutes before she rolled to look at the man standing in the doorway.
Six months she'd thought he was dead. Tried to find a way to move on without him. Now that she had a chance, was she really too much of a coward to take it?
"I forgive you, Booth," she said.
Booth leaned against the door frame and closed his eyes, thankful she couldn't see him clearly in the dark. Her words weren't what he'd expected. "Thanks, Bones," he said, his voice rough. "I wasn't sure…" he started, before his voice faded away again.
She sat up in bed and stared across the darkness. "Logically, I know that everything that happened was a combination of bad timing and poor choices. On both on parts," Brennan said.
"And logically," she continued, not giving him a chance to speak. "Logically, I know that we can't go back to DC and still be angry with each other."
"I'm not angry with you, Bones. Not anymore."
She nodded, not sure if he could see it. "That's good, Booth. Because I don't think I'm angry anymore either."
Continuing to lean against the frame, arms across his chest, Booth waited for her to work herself up to whatever she wanted to say. "What are you then, Bones?" he asked, when she didn't offer any more.
Her eyes lifted and in the darkness they almost glowed. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "It's all jumbled up and I'm having trouble making sense of it." She sighed, knowing that of all the people that knew her, he was the most likely to understand. "What I am right now, is tired. But I still fear that I'll open my eyes and you won't be here in the morning."
"I'll be right next door, Bones," he said. Motioning across the hall, he took a step back toward his own room. "I'll keep the door open so you can call for me, if you want."
"Booth, wait," she said. Licking her lips, he heard her inhale and waited to see what she'd say. "I think we'd both sleep better if you joined me, Booth."
His eyes met hers, despite the darkness. Did she understand exactly what she was offering him? "I can't do this and go back, Bones."
"Good," she said, her voice calm and steady. "Because I don't think I could lose you a second time." She threw the blanket back on the bed. He caught a glimpse of bare leg and swallowed heavily. "Your choice, Booth," she said. "I've made mine."
So had he, a long time ago. He'd just been waiting for her.
He came forward until he reached the side of the bed. "Are you coming home?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "If my friends will take me back," she said, looking down and picking at the blanket nervously. "And if they don't, I'll find a new place," she said, but the tremor in her voice hinted at her nerves.
He sat and placed his hand over hers. "I promise they'll take you back, Bones. Don't worry." Turning, he fell into bed next her and waited for her to make the next move. If she only wanted to sleep next to him, on the opposite side of the bed, that's what they'd do.
But she didn't hesitate to move so her head rested on his shoulder, one leg flung over his. She snuggled impossibly closer, until one hand rested on the bare skin beneath his shirt.
Her smooth fingers rubbed over the scar from the gunshot. Reaching up, Booth trapped it beneath his own hand. "It's okay, Bones. You did what you needed to do. The physical wound healed a long time ago."
She wasn't sure why he referred to it that way and decided she didn't want to ask. It was enough that he was there with her. "You're warm," she mumbled, relaxing further into him. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
He pressed a kiss against her hair. "Go to sleep, Bones. I'll be here as long as you want me."