I just posted TWO chapters, guys, so if this seems like it's starting in the middle of nowhere, go check the one before it. ;) I think I am going to be too busy to post one tomorrow.
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Consciousness came to him slowly, like the lights in an old gymnasium. They're dim when you first turn them on, but grow brighter so steadily that you don't really notice the change until you're standing in full light. His senses flickered on one by one, each growing in intensity until his brain was forced to acknowledge them.
Smell. The first thing he noticed was her scent, sweet and flowery and fresh. He turned his face further into the pillow and inhaled deeply. Her smell was intoxicating, his drug of choice. Hannah had smelled good, too, of course. Clean and perfume-y. But not like Brennan. No one else smelled like his Bones. It was familiar and comforting and exhilarating at the same time, and he just couldn't get enough of her.
Touch. He shifted his leg beneath the sheets. They were cool and smooth atop the luxurious mattress. Brennan spared no expense when it came to her bedding, and Booth took every opportunity to tease her about it. Every time she wrinkled her nose at the prospect of staying in some shady motel, Booth would quip that they probably had sheets with only a half a million thread count. But honestly, Booth thought that she deserved the best that money could buy. He couldn't imagine her soft skin on the scratchy sort of sheets that were stretched over his own bed. No, Bones was as close to royalty as they come, and she deserved a bed fit for a queen.
Taste. His mouth tasted like the stale remnant of the drink he had used to wash away his pain. Memories of the night before crashed into his brief euphoria, driving him to grip her pillow even tighter and burrow his face into its comforting softness. He took several deep, measured breaths. Once the essence of her had once again quieted his demons, Booth opened his eyes
Sight. Pure light fell in through the sheer white curtains over her windows, illuminating the rest of the room. He smiled at her odd collection of archaeological trophies that she had displayed in shadow boxes. A hand-woven tapestry with an Aztec-looking pattern hung on the wall next to her vanity. Her closet door was partially open, revealing hints of the familiar blouses and dresses he had come to love so much. He could't help but chuckle when he realized that she had not only organized her clothes by type, but by color as well.
This wasn't the fist he had been in her room. In fact, he had been there several times before...
The first time had been shortly after their relationship morphed from a partnership to a friendship. Booth had come to pick her up for work in the morning. She answered the door with wet hair, smiling at the coffee and bagels he held in his hand. He followed her through the apartment as they talked, but stopped suddenly when the reached the doorway to her bedroom. Brennan kept right on talking as she turned into the attached master bathroom, not realizing that Booth wasn't following. She poked her head back out and laughingly invited him in. Booth entered awkwardly. He was secretly thrilled that she offered him a glimpse into such an intimate space. The alluring smell of her soap wafted out of the bathroom.
He sat tentatively on the edge of her plushy bed, not quite able to contain the urge to run his hands over the silky bedding and bounce up and down on the pillow-top mattress.
"Damn, Bones, this is better than a hotel!" he said before flopping back with his arms sprawled out. Brennan's laugh floated out of her bathroom.
"I would hope so," she had chortled. "I sleep in my bed far more often than a hotel."
...
The next time was much like the first, except this time Booth didn't hesitate at her doorway. As she bustled around, choosing earrings and smoothing out her hair, Booth walked right to her bed. The covers were still pulled back on one side (the opposite of where I sleep, he noted with a smile). She must have slept soundly the night before, hardly disrupting the blankets, because the rest of the bed was still smooth. He pulled the sheets back up to the top of the bed, shivering slightly at their softness. He longed to grab his partner and pull her to himself in between those sheets. He pulled the bedding taut and straightened her pillows on top of them.
"You don't have to do that," Brennan had muttered, a little embarrassed.
"Oh, yes I do. I'm a military man, Bones, remember? I can't just let a bed go unmade."
...
The next time he was in her room, he was protecting her.
Booth had dropped her off at the door of her building, only to receive a call moments later. Someone had broken into her apartment, leaving the door jam splintered. He ran back up the steps and searched every part of her home with his gun drawn. He could recall vividly his pounding heart and the feel of the feel of her clothes as he pushed them aside in her closet and the fresh smell of her shower as he pulled the curtain back. Needless to say, he stayed on her couch that night. He wished he could have slept next to her in her bed, holding her tight and defending her from the world, but he had to settle for watching her doorway.
...
He did get a chance to sleep on her bed, eventually. He came over one morning, just to hang out. He knocked, but she texted him to let himself in. There she was, bathed in sunlight and sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by piles of paper. She was typing furiously, caught in a storm of inspiration. Her mouth hung open slightly as if she were shocked by the river of words pouring forth from her mind onto the page. He napped next to her as she wrote her novel, content to simply be in her presence.
Little did he know that Brennan wrote almost every Agent Andy scene for the book that day. Something about the way his well-muscled chest rose and fell with each breath made it hard for her to focus on anything else.
...
And here he was now, stretched out between her sheets, engulfed in everything Temperance Brennan. He was glad that she had insisted that he sleep in her bed. Normally, Booth would have refused her offer and slept in the guest room instead, but that morning he had only protested weakly as she pushed him into her room and pulled the door shut behind him. He knew that it was a way for her to hold him, to be close to him, without actually holding him. She allowed him the intimacy that he craved while still maintaining their careful standoff. And, God, he was grateful. Booth couldn't imagine spending the night in his own bed, smelling Hannah's perfume lingering on his pillow, reminding him with each breath that she had left, just like every other woman in his life.
Well, except Bones. She was still here.
Another sense sparked to life.
Hearing. Booth could hear her moving around in the kitchen. The coffee pot whirred. A delightful sizzling sound, paired with a delicious smell through the air told him what she was cooking: bacon. His heart swelled with affection. Not only did Brennan choose not to eat bacon, but she hated the smell as well. He was touched that she would suffer through making one of his favorite treats simply because it made him happy.
Booth stood and quickly made the bed. He reached into the small bag that she had packed for him and was pleased to find a few sets of clothes and his toiletries. Pulling out his toothbrush, he stretched his arms above his head and sauntered into the bathroom. He squeezed some of her peppermint toothpaste onto the bristles, wondering if her mouth would taste like peppermint, too, and not tequila or gum. There was something achingly intimate about sleeping in her bed and freshening up at her sink... Tasting the same toothpaste and smelling her fragrance clinging to his skin...
Just as he was exiting her bathroom, a soft knock sounded on the door. Brennan pushed the door open slowly.
"Booth?" she called gently.
He walked to the door and pulled it open the rest of the way, smiling tenderly at the woman that he couldn't stop loving.
"Hey," he said shyly, fully aware of the fact that he had just crawled out of her bed. He didn't miss the way that her eyes sparkled briefly as they met his own, like sunlight on the water. His stomach twisted as he remembered the tears that had fallen from those same eyes just twelve hours before. He hated himself for hurting her like that.
"I made breakfast, if you're hungry," she said, carefully looking anywhere except for his bare torso.
"Bacon." He grinned, letting her see his delight. "I can smell it. But I don't think we can call it breakfast when it's past noon."
She nodded, acquiescing his point. "How are you doing?" she asked sensitively.
Booth turned, walking the short distance to the foot of the bed and withdrawing a t-shirt from of his duffle bag. He pulled it quickly over his head as he thought about how to respond to her question.
"I'm... okay, Bones. Really." She studied his face carefully. He walked back over to the door, facing her again. "Thank you for... you know. Even after..." He was struggling to say the words, as though they were too heavy for his tongue. He hoped his eyes conveyed what he couldn't say with his voice.
Brennan dipped her head slightly and nodded. She understood.
"I'm glad you were there, Bones." When she looked back up to him, her eyes were moist with the beginnings of tears.
"I'm sorry, Booth. I can't help but feel at least partly responsible for the demise of your relationship."
"Hey, hey..." He couldn't bear to see her cry for the third time in the span of a day. He grabbed her elbow, pulling her closer to him for a hug. "It was on the way out, anyway, you know?" He inhaled the wonderful, familiar scent of her hair. It comforted him and gave him courage. He was upset about Hannah, but he had to fix his relationship with Brennan first. His own pity party could wait. "I'm honestly more upset about our conversation." He could feel her holding her breath in his arms. He pulled back to look at her face. "I'm sorry, Bones."
"I understand your reaction," she said, meeting his eyes boldly. "You don't have to apologize." But Booth could hear what she wasn't saying. He saw the struggle written in the crease between her eyebrows, knowing that she had probably been chewing on the situation all morning. How could he explain his actions? How did his love for Hannah fit with the undying, unquellable love that he felt for Brennan?
"You know that it was real, don't you? What I felt for you? Before Hannah?" She didn't answer, but just blinked up at him, trying to process what he was saying. "That doesn't change because I fell in love with someone else." Booth said each word slowly, deliberately, trying to work his way through the twisting maze of her emotions to the center of her heart. He knew what conclusions she must have drawn when he came back with another woman.
"If anything," he continued, "loving Hannah only proved to me that I love you more, that what we have is the real-est love I've ever known. But I couldn't just abandon her. Hannah. I made a commitment to her. I never wanted to hurt you, and I'm sorry that I did anyway."
Brennan was silent and nearly motionless through all of this, but he could see her brain working on overdrive behind the cool blue pools of her eyes.
"'Real-est' isn't a word," she said quietly.
Booth smiled slightly, knowing that she had heard what he was saying, but needed time to process it further. "Do you have a dictionary?" he asked, teasingly, running his thumbs up and down the sides of her arms where he was holding on to her.
"I don't need a dictionary to tell you that you will not find 'real-est' in there."
"It's the real-est word there is, Bones."
She rolled her eyes, unable to suppress the small smile that was pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Your bacon is getting cold, Booth."
With a final squeeze, he released her from his grip. "I know you hate how it smells."
She wrinkled her nose adorably, and said, "It's not too bad."
"Thanks, Bones." Warmth flooded from his deep brown eyes, catching her briefly in a wave of tenderness. He knew that she knew that he was talking about more than bacon.
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