A Very Bad Idea
By: dharmamonkey & Lesera128
Rated: M
Disclaimer: Ummm, nope, we still don't own anything. We have, however, apparently become squatters in the sandbox that we crashed... so, umm... yeah. There we go.
A/N: Where did we leave them? Oh, yes—in Brennan's bed, after she just woke up from a strange dream of the very GUH variety. What the hell happened? Why are they in bed together? What's going on? (Arrgh!) And how is Brennan going to face Booth after waking up from a dream like that? This chapter begins to answer some of those questions.
Unf Alert: Right. This chapter, like, um, all the other ones before it (at least in this scenario), has some serious unfness going on. The kind you like and look forward to reading about. If you don't like that kind of thing, or shouldn't be reading it, don't. The authors hereby disclaim all liability, whether arising in contract, tort, warranty or strict liablity, for burst blood vessels in your eyes, unexplained facial flushing, inconvenient perspiration, or early labor for late-term pregnant readers. Enjoy!
VII. Pyrite, Part III
Pertinent Details on Scenario #7: Set sometime between the episode 5x22- "The Beginning in the End" and 6x8- "The Doctor in the Photo."
As Booth leaned in once more towards her, Brennan couldn't help herself when she tensed as she felt his lips gently graze hers for a second time.. A sense of groggy disorientation made the world spin a bit as she tried to get her bearings―and for a few crucial seconds, Brennan wasn't certain if she felt the way she was feeling was because of the overwhelming disorientation she felt or the fact that Booth's lips were on hers once more.
She felt slightly nauseous as she tried to piece together where she was, with whom, and why. The first two questions were easy enough to answer. She was in her apartment...in her bedroom...in her bed. She was in her bed, apparently having just awakened...to find her partner of more than five years staring back at her with a worried look in his eyes and his lips all over hers.
She was in bed...with her partner. She was in bed with Booth.
But, try as she might, she couldn't figure out an answer to the third question―the all important why. The only things she did know was that the more she thought about it, the more she felt the pounding in her head become more and more pronounced. She winced as she realized she'd woken up with one hell of a headache.
What in the hell happened to me? a voice echoed in her head..
For his part, Booth seemed to sense that something was off with Brennan as he drew back once more and stared at her. Tilting his head as he looked at her, he asked quietly, "You okay, Bones?"
As she considered his words, she instinctively opened her mouth to speak, but found herself at a loss for what to say or how to even to begin to answer such a simple question. However, as Booth looked at her expectantly, Brennan found herself compelled to offer something. At last, she said, "My head...it hurts."
"Awww," he said with a gentle, intimate sensitivity in his voice that Brennan didn't think she'd ever really heard before―and, if the fact that she was in bed with her partner kissing her hadn't panicked her, his demeanor in and of itself was more than enough to make her feel even more agitated than she'd been just a couple of minutes before when he woke her up. While all of this swirled in her head, Brennan could only blink at Booth in anticipation of his next action. At last, an easy smile broke on to his handsome face as he reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind one of her ears. "Who knew champagne could pack such a punch and knock us on our asses, huh?" he chuckled in sympathy. He paused and then asked, "You want me to get you something for it?"
Swallowing once, even as he spoke, Brennan suddenly realized how dry and disagreeable her mouth felt. As soon as he'd spoken the word 'champagne,' something clicked in her mind as the faint taste of the beverage seemed to linger in her mouth. Making a face, she slowly nodded at Booth. "Advil?" she asked. "In the medicine cabinet?"
"Sure," he said as he leaned over and placed another very gentle kiss on her forehead before he threw the sheet and duvet off of his legs. Kicking them over the side of the bed, he stood up and began to walk to the bathroom. However, he called over his shoulder as he padded towards the bathroom, "I'll get some water for us, too. That should help with the dehydration, right?"
"Ummm, yes," Brennan managed to croak, although only one thing drew her focus in that moment.
She suddenly found herself unable to pay attention to anything more than the fact that Booth was naked as he strode into her bathroom. She stared wide-eyed as his well-developed, muscular ass disappeared into the bathroom, finally allowing her to think for a minute. It was then that her realization that Booth was naked in her bed finally connected with one other small detail of which Brennan had been ignorant until that very moment―not only was Booth naked, but apparently, she was, too.
Brennan wasn't sure which fact was more bewildering―that seemingly, she'd somehow gone from a moment in time where she'd been full of hate and rage and resentment and self-loathing and abject loneliness in the Jeffersonian's parking substructure...to a point where she was in her own bedroom, laying in her own bed, naked with a significant headache, while her equally naked partner gazed back at her with loving, caring eyes.
What in the hell happened to me? she wondered. I-I...I just...what...happened?
As she heard Booth rummaging around in her bathroom, she tried to piece together what she knew to be factual and true. First, she was hungover for some reason, apparently caused by the fact that she and Booth had consumed significant amounts of champagne the previous night. Second, somehow they'd ended up in bed together and had sex. The latter point was confirmed by the fact that they were both still naked and her inner thigh muscles ached in a way that she hadn't felt since she'd overdone her overstretched her muscles when she attempted to hold one of the more advanced yoga poses that she'd been told in spite of the warning from her instructor not to push herself too far before she was ready. So, yes, they'd had sex at least once, but from the way her thigh and upper leg muscles ached, it was probably more than once. Third, and most curiously, instead of looking at her with the contempt and derision and anger that had fueled his terse words and blunt actions in the garage, Booth seemed to be full of warmth and concern for her.
What the hell? Brennan thought again, her confusion growing with each few seconds that passed. What happened...and why can't I remember any of it?
Brennan heard the tap in the bathroom turn on, and her eyes darted toward the bathroom door as she realized that she didn't have much time before Booth would return to the bedroom. Quickly, she scanned the room, trying to uncover some clue as to what had happened to her. Darting around the room, she felt another of flash of panic well up in her as her eyes bounced around and found nothing that offered any hints that might enable to her to figure out the answer to her all important third query. Then, at last, just she was about to give up, her eyes fell upon a spot on the far side of the room where she saw her large black suitcase and brown shoulder bag situated in the corner. On the ground, next to it, sat a vaguely familiar dark green duffel bag. She blinked several times as she stared at it, but as soon as Brennan saw the luggage, it was as if the elusive key to the puzzle that she'd been trying to solve had finally been provided to her and things clicked into place.
The haze that surrounded her mind―consisting of once vivid memories of a rainy night full of such negative emotions, and even more hurtful actions in the Jeffersonian's parking garage―faded away as she latched onto something more concrete in her mind's eye.
Dulles, she thought, as her brain raced to put the pieces of her discombobulated and foggy memories back together in some semblance of order that actually made sense to her. We were all saying goodbye in the terminal, right by the ticket counter, and I was getting ready to leave with Ms. Wick for Maluku and then...Booth...
Dulles.
Maluku.
Afghanistan.
Booth.
A question.
An agreement.
A killer grin.
And...then...
Champagne.
Lots and lots and lots of champagne.
Suddenly, she remembered what had happened:
Her stomach felt as if it were tied into a thousand tiny knots that became tighter each time she said goodbye to one more of her friends. Hodgins, Cam, and Angela―in some ways, Brennan had thought that perhaps Angela would be the hardest to say goodbye to as she stood in front of the ticketing counter at Dulles International Airport.
That is, I can think that now since Booth isn't here, because―as bad as it is to say goodbye to Angela for a year, I think if I'd to say goodbye to himhere...well... She narrowed her eyes at the thought. Well, I think it might be so hard that I don't know if I could actually do it, the morose thought echoed in her head as Angela wished her luck and gave her one final hug. But, at least…at least I won't have to do that―at least, last night, we said our goodbyes in private. And, even if I didn't say what I really wished I could've said last night, at least―at least it's done. As bad as it was last night, as painful as it was last night, at least that's one more thing I don't have to do here while everyone's watching me. Because, if he were here right now, I don't think I could do this. Damn it. I mean, I think―I don't want to do this now, and he's not even here. But, I know I have to go. Going―it's the right thing to do. I'm sure of it. I…I-I…I just wish I didn't have to go.
The hustle and bustle of the airport exacerbated the pressures and feelings of anxious dread that Brennan had been feeling since she'd begun packing her bags a week before―feelings that had only continued to grow worse with each passing day, with each hour that she came closer to getting on the flight that would take her thousands of miles away from her home, her family, her friends, her work…and away from Booth.
Why didn't he ask me to stay? she asked herself, the errant thought echoing in Brennan's head, just as it had since that night some weeks before when she'd first told him of the offer she'd gotten to head up the project in Indonesia. If he'd just asked…even said just a single word. Something...anything…a sign of some sort. Anything to let me know that he didn't want me to go―that he'd wanted me to stay. But, he didn't. Why didn't he? I-I...I don't understand. Why couldn't he ask me to stay? Why didn't he stop me from leaving? Was I not...was what we might have not worth it? Did I hurt him that badly? Does he really think that what might've been between us is gone because of some stupid damn mistake I made out in front of the Hoover a couple of months ago? God, Booth…why didn't you stop me? All you had to do is stop me...even just try to stop me, and I wouldn't be getting on this plane. I wouldn't be going so far away from everything...from everyone. I wouldn't be leaving D.C. I swear it. I wouldn't be leaving you. I wouldn't be leaving us.
As Brennan continued to mentally torture herself―much as she'd spent the last few weeks since the day she'd formally accepted the position of the head of the Maluku Islands Research Initiative Project―a scratchy and tinny, but decidedly female voice, with what sounded like an English accent, echoed over the airport's PA system. "Attention, please―first-class passengers on Flight 318 to Jakarta may now begin to board."
Realizing that she'd reached the point of no return, Brennan didn't need to hear Daisy Wick's annoying verbalization as a reminder of that painful fact, but she tried to remain civil when the intern spoke. "Dr. Brennan, we really have to go."
Turning to her, Brennan gave a curt nod as she cleared her throat and then replied, "Yes."
Bending down, she started to adjust the handle on her rolling suitcase when she suddenly could feel something so strongly that she knew she must be imagining it.
No, it can't be, a small voice whispered in her ear. You're imagining things. He can't be here...can he? That makes no sense. It's not logical, it's not rational. After what we said last night...he wouldn't come here...would he? That...that would be insane...unless he cares about me. Right?
Slowly raising her head, Brennan looked up, searching briefly through the swarm of people who milled about, their luggage-laden bodies forming a vague and nebulous crowd in the terminal. It didn't take her long before her eyes sought and found the one thing that―if she'd believed in a supreme prime mover―she would've said was an answer to the unspoken prayers that she'd been muttering all morning...really, all night and morning, since Booth had left her apartment the previous evening.
Dr. Camille Saroyan, however, summed up the situation best when she saw Brennan freeze and then followed the forensic anthropologist's eyes as they found and remained fixed on a very familiar form that continued to move with purposeful and deliberate steps closer and closer towards Brennan. "Oh, my God," Cam breathed in a low voice, causing everyone but Brennan to stop moving. Instead, Cam's words had the complete opposite effect on Brennan, and they seemed almost as if they'd released her to steadily walk towards him as if he was a magnet and she was a piece of steel drawn towards him―whether it was of her own volition to be pulled in towards the direction in which he stood or not.
At last, when they'd each closed some of the distance that separated them and finally met each other halfway, Brennan looked up at him in wonderment. Booth gave her a sheepish smile as he finally broke the silence between them.
"Sorry I'm late," he told her simply. "But I had to come say goodbye."
"But―" Brennan said, her voice suddenly taking on an incredibly vulnerable tone as a matching look washed over her face. "We said goodbye," Brennan told him softly. The vulnerable look quickly transitioned to one of confusion as she added, "I thought we agreed...last night. That would be it, and we wouldn't..." Her voice cracked as her words trailed off because a horrible thought had suddenly occurred to her. "Oh, God, Booth, please don't do this to me. Don't make me say goodbye twice, because I don't think I can do it."
He stared at her for a moment and then shook his head. "Okay, I lied," he said with as firm and comforting a smile as he could manage. "I'm not here to say goodbye..." Brennan stared at him, pain and confusion writ clearly on her face. "I'm not―I swear it," he told her. He stopped and then paused for a long moment before his brow furrowed and he continued, "Oh, God, Bones―I know what you said yesterday about how much it was hurting you to do this. Fact is, that's one of the reasons I'm here. I just couldn't get those words outta my head. It's been like this constant loop in my head for the last fourteen hours. And, the look you had on your face―you were in so much pain. God, it was killing me. So...I wouldn't―I couldn't do that to you. I promise...no, I swear. Knowing what that would do to you, I wouldn't come here to make you feel bad like that―"
"Then…what are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you were on your way to Fort Bragg, Booth."
"I didn't go," he said with a nod and a gesture to the faded, acid-washed jeans and charcoal gray button-down shirt he wore. "I was…but I..." He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced down at his sneakers, obviously nervous.
"You didn't go AWOL, did you?" Brennan asked, concern evident on her face. "Please tell me that you didn't―"
"No," he said with another shake of his head as he quickly looked up at her. "I didn't go AWOL, Bones."
"But, then, I don't understand," Brennan replied, the look of confusion on her face growing with each thing he told her. "That doesn't make any sense. You reported for induction this morning. How can that be?"
Raising a hand to the back of his head, Booth gestured at his hair. "I was at the MEPS station this morning, right? I'd gotten my physical and drug test, and I was about to sign the final re-enlistment paperwork." He shrugged. "It was weird. I was standing in one of the offices that I know I've been in a thousand times before, even if I've only been there once―you know what I mean?―and the paperwork was sitting on the desk in front of me…and as I stared at the terms of my enlistment, I raised my hand to the back of my head to run my fingers through my hair, and―"
"You do that a lot, Booth," Brennan unintentionally interrupted. "You do it when you're thinking about something that you're perplexed or confused about," she explained.
"I do?" he blinked in surprise.
Nodding, Brennan added, "Yes…you've doing it for at least as long as I've known you―probably even longer than that, if I had to guess. It's almost like a tic."
"Oh," he said, clearly perplexed by her observation. "I-I, uhh, I guess... I didn't realize, that is I didn't know that." He stopped and then shook his head again as he tried to refocus his thoughts. "Anyway, I was feeling how long my hair was, and realizing how short it would be when I got it buzzed in a high and tight after induction, and it was at that moment that I suddenly knew it, Bones. I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't sign the damn paperwork."
"But, why?" she asked instantly, too afraid to hope to hear the answer to her question, but at the same time knowing that she needed to hear his response almost as badly as she needed air in that moment to survive.
Taking a step towards her, he reached out and gently cupped her jaw. Brennan felt the world spin and she heard a rushing in her ears as soon as his calloused thumb began to stroke the softness of her skin. "Do you really have to ask me that?" he whispered. "You know why."
"I-I...I―"
"Don't go, Bones," he said as he continued to stroke her cheek in a strong and steady rhythmic pattern. "We―both of us, we're about to make two of the biggest mistakes I think we could ever make…and so, I'm here. I didn't sign the re-enlistment paperwork. I walked out of that MEPS station, and I didn't even think twice about doing it, Bones. I didn't look back, because it was the right thing to do, and the reason why has nothing to do with Parker, or work, or hell…anything but one really damn good reason."
"What's that?" she dared to breathe.
"You," he said quietly as he held her gaze intently and with a silent plea. "Just you. Don't you know how important you are to me? It's always been you, Bones―right from the very beginning. So, please don't…don't…don't run. Don't waste this chance that we've got. Don't go. Stay with me...don't go. God, please don't leave me. Just...don't go."
As she stared at his gaze, she saw a look full of longing, love, fearful hope, and a desperation that Brennan knew all too well staring back at her. And, in that moment, she knew that she could only give him one answer.
Tilting her head, she smiled slightly as she felt her eyes water, and she nodded at him. "Okay," she responded after a moment that was heavy with a pregnant pause. "Okay."
They'd left the airport without so much as a backward glance at the squint squad who'd watched them in shocked awe. Brennan ignored the Daisy Wick's high pitched squeals that they needed to get to their gate to make their flight. They ignored everything but one another as they exited the airport, hailed a cab, and finally acknowledged another person when the cabbie asked them where they wanted to go. Brennan looked to Booth with an easy smile as she nodded at him since the answer had been simplistic enough: they both wanted to go someplace to celebrate.
The coherent memories started to become a bit more discontinuous after that point in her recollection.
She knew they'd run by Booth's apartment so that he could change his clothes and retrieve what gear he'd need to spend some significant uninterrupted time with Brennan. They'd then gone to her apartment, dumped her luggage and his bag in her bedroom while Brennan quickly changed into something less anthropologically appropriate, but definitely more suitable towards spending a night on the town with the man she'd come to realize that she loved...even if she hadn't said it out loud. Another cab ride later, they'd found themselves at a slightly upscale bistro restaurant where no one knew them. When their server had asked them if they were celebrating something, given how happy and carefree they seemed as the hostess sat them, Brennan had nodded yes and ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon.
From that point on, the memories went from scattered to downright muddled... and that was if she was being generous in her assessment of the blurriness of her recollection. But, somehow in between the bottles of champagne―a second one had followed the first, and they'd taken a third one 'to go'―and another cab ride back to her apartment, at some point their clothes had started disappearing, hands had started roaming, and somehow they'd ended up in her bed.
As she listened to Booth fumbling around in her bathroom―no doubt looking for her bottle of Advil gelcaps―the sound of him opening and closing the medicine cabinet dislodged another chunk of memory, suddenly relatively clear in her recall, of what had happened the night before that had culminated with them naked and in her bed.
"You got it?" she asked him as he held the third bottle of champagne in his hand and loosened the wire cage over the cork.
"Yeah, Bones," he grinned. "I got it." He pulled off the wire cage and tossed it carelessly on the granite kitchen counter, then turned the bottle slightly as he held onto the cork until they heard a sharp pop and a little bit of the chilled, frothy wine dribbled onto the tile floor. "Get the glasses," he laughed as he quickly brought the bottle upright.
Brennan retrieved the two flutes from the counter and tried to hold them steadily―not an easy feat since she was more than a bit tipsy, as Booth poured the champagne. "I'm glad we took the third bottle to go," she said as he handed her one of the glasses.
"Me, too," he said, his voice dropping a half-octave from his usual voice. He held the stem of the flute loosely in his hand and stared into her eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He tilted his head, and his gaze soaked in the features of her face, skimming over her cheekbones, her slender pink lips, her slightly square jaw, and her deep blue eyes. He'd spent the last five years seemingly drowning in the depths of those eyes, and he felt his heart race a little as he saw her pupils pulse as they stared back at him. "I'm glad we stayed, Bones," he said quietly, glancing into his flute as he raised it to his lips and then, hesitating, brought it down again.
"Me, too, Booth," she replied.
He leaned back against the counter, bracing himself with his hand as he gently swirled the champagne in the glass. He looked once more into her eyes and said, "I'm glad we didn't..." His voice trailed off as his mind raced with a dozen thoughts. He stood there, silently sorting through them, then he closed his eyes for a moment, shrugged, then opened them again. "The moment I saw you, standing there in the terminal with your bags, I knew I couldn't do it. I just couldn't let you leave. I couldn't let you go," he said. "Not again. Not after..." He stood there for another moment, silent and still as he looked again into his glass. "I love you, Bones."
She blinked at him for a minute and then said, "I don't think I knew for certain until after I'd sent the formal acceptance to take over the project in Maluku, but...I-I...that's all I ever wanted from you, Booth. I just wanted you to...I didn't want you to let me go. I wanted you...I-I...I just wanted you."
Booth couldn't suppress his smile. "You wanted me to tell you not to go?" he asked. "Thank God I didn't outsmart myself, then, huh? When I was on my way to Dulles, and I was thinking the whole time, I kept wondering if I was making a mistake—not because I doubted that I wanted you to stay, but because..." He sighed and shook his head. "Because I kept thinking you were going to get all independent-woman, hear me roar on me, you know." He laughed softly. "I had this voice in the back of my head that told me you'd hate me for asking you to stay. But..." He ran his hand through his hair with a toothy grin. "I'm glad I didn't listen to that dumb voice."
"Me, too," she smiled at him. "I-I...I just...do you really?" Brennan suddenly asked, her voice a bit more timid as she spoke. "Do you really...love me?"
"Of course, Bones," he replied, a thread of incredulity in his voice. "I've...look, Bones—I've loved you for a long time. It's just...it's just that it took me a long time to figure out it was okay to tell you that I loved you." His eyebrows knit low for a moment, then flew up again. "It's okay, right, that I told you? I don't...we've spent long enough outsmarting ourselves, Bones. I don't wanna do that anymore."
She slowly nodded at him. "You know...right? You know...I may not have said it before because I don't think I necessarily knew what it was, but you know how I feel about you, right? You know...you know that I love you, don't you?"
Booth swallowed, the tips of his ears flushing at hearing her admission. "Well, ummm," he mumbled, an awkward smile breaking across his lips. "I'd always hoped, you know, that you felt...well...for me the way I felt about you. But..." He pressed his lips together firmly as he nodded his head, unable in that moment to say anything more perfect than the words he'd heard her say. "Hey," he said, suddenly brightening as he grinned at her. "I've got an idea. Have you ever done that thing where you cross arms when you drink the bubbly?" he asked.
Brennan arched an eyebrow as she looked down at her own glass. "I have no idea what you're talking about Booth," she said, her words coming slowly and slightly slurred as they passed from her mouth. "What are you―?"
"I'll show you," he chuckled. "It's for good luck, and I don't know about you, Bones, but I think we need to stockpile all the luck we can get―whether you believe in it or not, humor me, huh? It's really easy. Just go like this..." He demonstrated by holding his glass out in front of him. She hesitated, then did likewise. He moved his arm forward, curling it around hers as he brought his flute closer to his lips, encouraging her to to the same with a slight jerk of his chin. "Yeah," he whispered as she hooked her arm around his and held her glass an inch or so in front of her mouth. "That's it. That's good. Uhhh, so...cheers, Bones," he said, his voice catching a bit in his throat as he inhaled a deep breath of her scent that made his already light head begin to spin again, and he knew as it happened that it had nothing to do with the alcohol that they'd drank. "To staying."
"To staying," she repeated with a smile as they both brought their glasses to their mouths and sipped the dry champagne. The tiny bubbles that hissed and popped on the surface of the straw-colored wine tickled her nose and made her laugh. As she laughed, Booth's eyes widened and he, too, began to laugh. No sooner had the two of them collapsed into bubbly-induced giggles when his glass tipped just a bit too far, spilling half of the contents down the front of Brennan's royal purple silk button-down blouse.
"Oh, fuck," he coughed. "I'm sorry, Bones. Really...I-I―just...shit."
For her part, Brennan wasn't fazed in the least as she blinked at the cold liquid that tickled her skin as it dripped down the cleft in between her breasts. Instead, she merely leaned back against the counter as she looked down and saw that a small amount of Dom Perignon had pooled in her cleavage. Setting her glass on the counter, she gave him a curious look before she spoke again. " S'okay, Booth," she muttered quickly as she reached forward to grab a handful of his shirt and pulled him towards her. He barely had enough time to set his own glass hastily back on the counter without breaking the stem as he immediately felt her press tightly against him. "As long as you take responsibility for your mess and clean it up."
"Mmmmm," he murmured as he found himself suddenly flush up against her body. "I think I can handle that," he whispered as he bent his head over and nuzzled his face into her chest. She gasped as she felt his tongue dart out and flick against her skin as he lapped up the ounce of bubbly from her chest. "Mmmmm..."
Brennan sucked in a breath as his tongue continued to explore her chest, tracing the silky skin along the edge where her soft flesh spilled over the top of her bra. She threaded her fingers through his spiky hair as he murmured unintelligible syllables against her skin, the vibration of which made her laugh again.
"Booth," she whispered, cupping her hands against his head as she lifted his face to hers. For a fleeting moment, he resisted her, insistently kissing her decolletage, then a faint rumble sounded from deep in his chest as he raised his face to hers.
"Bones," he said, his lips brushing against hers for a moment before their mouths crashed together in a fervent kiss. She opened her lips to his kiss instantly, and soon she was lost in the sensation of his embrace, his mouth pressing against hers, his tongue sliding against hers as their mouths grasped hungrily for one another. "God, I want you," he moaned as their mouths pulled apart, his hands moving up to the place that had garnered so much of his mouth's attentions just moments earlier.
"I want you, too," Brennan said huskily as she leaned her head to the side, exposing the curve of her neck to him as he began to unbutton her blouse. "God, I want you, Booth," she said, a demanding edge to her voice as her hands traveled down the long plane of his muscular back. "And, I'm so tired of living with that want. Please...do something about it. Do something. Do it...please do something to me. Please."
He needed no further invitation as his fingers made fast work of her blouse. No sooner had she shrugged out of her blouse then his hands curled around her hips as he kissed her again. For a moment, she was sure the room was spinning around her, which didn't surprise her in the least, because the way he tasted, and the way his tongue tangled with hers as he kissed her, she nearly felt her legs give out on her―but when she felt her back bump against the door to her pantry, and the clack sound of the latch closing behind her as he leaned into her with his hips.
"Mmmnnnggth," she murmured as she reached for his belt buckle, quickly unfastening it and thumbing open the top button of his jeans in a way that more than slightly impressed her given how fumbly she'd been certain the alcohol would've made her actions. She opened her mouth to say something, but found herself silenced by another one of his clutching, insistent kisses as he reached around and unzipped her skirt, which fell to the floor unceremoniously. She stepped out of her skirt, toeing out of her pumps as she turned her head from her kiss, smiling as she heard him grunt in frustration. She unzipped his fly, yanking his shirt out of his pants as she slid her hands between his waistband and the soft, warm skin of his hips.
"You..." she sighed. "Oh, God...now...right now, you―" Between the numerous glasses of fine, strong champagne that were coursing through her veins, and the dizzying want that was swirling in her mind, she was no longer capable or interested in articulating her thoughts. She hooked her thumbs over the waistband of his jeans and pushed his pants and boxers down his hips as his hands tugged at her panties.
"God, Bones," he groaned as he leaned against the pantry door with one hand as he gently batted her hand away and shoved his pants down his thighs with the other. Brennan quickly shimmied out of her lilac-colored string bikini as she looked down at his arousal, her eyes glittering with want and interest.
Booth's eyes narrowed as he considered taking off his shirt, shoes, and pants, but in his blackened eyes Brennan saw that his desire was as intense and unstoppable as her own in that moment, and as soon as his pants had been shoved below his knees, he leaned into her again. She reached for him, her slender fingers wrapping around his rigid, swollen length as he leaned his head back and sucked in a hard breath, squeezing his eyes shut as she pumped him in her hand a couple of times before releasing him.
A low grunt sounded from him as he looked into her eyes, hooking his arm under her thigh and pulling it up as bent his knees slightly and entered her. He hadn't bothered to touch her to see if she was ready for him. It was as if, between the way her pale eyes had darkened and the ragged irregularity of her breathing, he already knew she was ready for him. He slid into her easily, withdrawing slightly before pressing all the way into her and holding himself there as he gazed deep into her eyes.
"Boooooooth," she moaned as her mouth fell open at the mind-numbing sensation of feeling him inside of her at long last. She palmed his ass as he began to thrust up and into her, again and again, filling her up each time he moved as he looked into her eyes.
"Bones," he whispered as he drew himself up and into her. "Bones...Bones...Bones..."
With each stroke, Brennan found herself spinning faster and faster towards oblivion. So powerful and all-encompassing was the cacophony of sensations―the way he filled her up with each stroke, so hard and hot and thick, each time; the way he smelled, the musky swirl of his sweat and the old-fashioned sandalwood aftershave he used; the way he murmured into her ear as his lips brushed against the side of her neck and the tiny hairs in her ear stood straight up on end; the way his salty sweat tasted when she kissed the side of his neck―that she didn't even realize the way her back was being rubbed up against the coarse grain of the pantry's heavy wooden door. Brennan could feel the sweat pooling in the crook of his arm, as it chafed slightly against the delicate skin on the inside of her thigh. She felt the muscles of his ass working as he rolled his hips back and forth to drive his strokes, and somehow, amid it all, the awareness of his strength and power finally tipped her over the edge as she felt herself begin to free-fall.
"Ohhhh..." she moaned. "Ohhhhhh...ohhhh...ohhhhh..."
Booth raised his head and gazed deep into her eyes. She saw his cheek twitch and his pupils dilate as his mouth fell open in a long, heavy sigh. Brennan felt his muscles tense under her fingertips as her own muscles clenched around him. She heard herself cry out, her voice peaking as she called out his name at the very moment she broke apart, and a moment later she felt him drive into her one last time, his low voice murmuring her name as his release pulsed into her.
"Bones...Bones...Bones..."
Brennan waited for a minute, glad he was supporting her weight, because she doubted that she'd be strong enough to stay upright if she was expected to stand on her own two feet in that moment. At last, her head lulled to the side until it was resting on the curve of his shoulder, his skin warm and reassuring and nothing but comforting to her. She opened her mouth, and her lips moved, but no sound came out the first time she attempted to speak. Her brow furrowed as she realized her throat had become a bit hoarse at some point―whether from the way they'd consumed the champagne, the way she'd apparently moaned and groaned and screamed his name as they'd had sex, or some combination of the two. Taking a deep breath, which she slowly exhaled against the crook of his neck in a warm puff of air, she tried again to speak. This time, she had a better result than her first attempt, but her voice was still raw and came out sounding much more throaty than normal as she spoke in what was no more than a whisper―more from necessity's sake than her attempt to be alluring.
"All I wanted was this," she told him quietly. "Just you...just this...just us."
Booth unhooked his arm and let Brennan finally put both feet back on the ground after what seemed like an eternity. His eyes scanned her face, and he smiled, then leaned in to kiss her.
"Bedroom," he whispered, reaching for her hand. She looked down at his hand as his fingers closed around her palm, then she nodded. "It's not like we need anymore champagne, huh?" he added with a laugh.
"Here," Booth said, suddenly drawing Brennan's attention away from the memory as the smile in her memory was shortly replaced with the real thing as he walked in with a glass of water in one hand and four caplets in the palm of his other hand. Brennan blinked away the memory of the night before as she looked at him standing naked before her. He raised his eyebrows, creasing his forehead as he held out his hand in offer to her. She accepted two of the caplets and reached for the glass of water, throwing the pills back and washing them down with a couple of healthy gulps of water.
"Thanks," she said softly as she handed him the glass so he could take his own pills.
As he watched her pop the Advil he'd given her, Booth watched in clear concern as he studied her face, looking for some hint of what was going through her mind. After a minute, during which he noticed she still clasped the flat sheet to her chest, she reached out and handed him the empty glass that had contained the water he'd brought her.
"Better?" he asked, his voice gentle and full of worry as he took the glass and set it down on her nightstand.
"Yes," Brennan said slowly. "I would nod, but until the pain relievers take effect, or the water I just drank starts to lessen my hangover as I become re-hydrated, I think it a pertinent course of action to remain as still as possible."
Booth couldn't help but smile as he stared at her.
"Can I get you anything else?" he asked. "What can I do to make you feel better?"
She considered his words and then said, "Just...sit with me for a few minutes?"
"Sure," he said, scooting a bit closer to her on the bed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. "That's easy, you know, 'cause I'm not going anywhere, Bones." He noticed as he spoke that her eyes dart to look over at him, and her body tensed a bit. Swallowing back a frown, he asked quietly, "You okay?"
"I think―I think I will be," she eventually managed to answer. She stopped and then made a face as she added, "I don't think I realized how disgusting the aftertaste of champagne can be until it's been combined with morning breath and allowed to ferment for several hours while one's hangover grows."
Unable to help himself, a small chuckle rumbled in Booth's throat. "Okay, that's pretty gross, Bones."
"I concur," she said. "But, nonetheless, it's a true and accurate statement."
"So," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully in mock suspicion. "You do know that this means before I kiss you again I'm gonna make you brush your teeth? I think that..."
As Booth's glance fell upon his partner, he saw that her brow furrowed and her body tensed again. It all happened in less than the span of a couple of seconds, but it was enough for him to have seen it. Again, he felt the urge to frown, and this time he wasn't able to keep himself from doing it.
Reaching for her hand, he asked quietly, "What is it, Bones?"
She looked down at where he'd reached for her hand and started to gently rub comforting circles on the back of it with his thumb. The intimacy of the simple gesture tugged at her metaphoric heart strings, particularly as she recalled the painful words of truth that he'd so painfully made her listen to in what she was now coming to realize had just been a dream...some warped manifestation of almost every insecurity her subconscious mind had ever had.
"But when it came to actually making a move, making a fucking move and doing something other than letting a lifetime's worth of fucking excuses rattle around the inside of your damn skull or diddling yourself to a mindless, dripping oblivion, you were all talk and no game. And that's what kills you the most, huh? You've been burning for me for fucking years. Control me? You can't control me. You can't even control your fucking self. You can't control shit, Bones. Control? What a fucking joke."
"I mean, that's what you do...what you've always done, isn't it? You take good men, take advantage of them, kick the shit out of them once they love you until nothing's left and they're nice and docile for you to play with when you can squeeze 'em in for a quick fuck on a rainy day."
"You're problem is, you don't trust. And, I understand why...God, I do. But, this thing between us...it's never gonna work if you don't trust me."
The last words, perhaps the ones that affected her the most, were the ones that caused her to feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears begin to blur her field of vision at the corners of each eye.
"Damn it," she sniffled, moving her free hand to her face as she quickly swiped at her eyes. "I-I...I didn't mean to start crying again."
"Bones―"
"I hate crying," she said, although even as she spoke, her sniffling increased. "I hate it. I just fucking hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate how it makes you feel emotionally, because there's no way anyone can ever cry and not feel emotionally overwhelmed and completely drained once it's over. And, I hate how the physical sensations manifest. I hate how the eyes get watery and itchy and you can't see straight. And, I hate how you start to produce too much mucus so you can't take a deep breath through your nose because your sinuses are clogged. I hate how the skin of your face gets raw and chapped from the tears running down your face―I just hate it all. I hate it!"
She spoke the last words with such emphasis that Booth longed to reach out and pull her into his arms, but something stilled him. Instead, he reluctantly contented himself with still holding her hand. A part of him was quite pleased that she hadn't pulled away.
"Bones," he tried again, his voice calm and gentle as he spoke. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"I-I..."
"You can tell me," he soothed her. His own eyes began to glisten with feeling as he watched her struggle to contain her tears, and he closed his fingers around her hand, cocking his head to the side and trying to meet her glance as she averted her gaze. Booth rolled his lips together and squeezed her hand, wanting nothing more in that moment than to wash away the pain he felt rolling off of her in waves. "Whatever it is...you can tell me."
She met his gaze for a long minute and then the earlier words in her dream reasserted themselves with a vengeance as he stared at her and waited for a response.
"Now...now all there's time for is trust. Trust me...and trust yourself."
"I know that," she eventually managed to tell him, her decision made. "I know that, Booth. I do. I swear I do. I-I trust you―I trust us."
"Then, tell me," he coaxed her. "Tell me what it is." He watched as her brow furrowed, and she battled with her thoughts. After a minute, he gently prodded her, "What is it, Bones? Was it...was it your dream?"
Slowly, Brennan lifted her shining gaze to meet his, not certain how he could know, but thankful and unsurprised that he did. Although she slowly nodded her head to confirm his suspicions, she remained quiet unable to to find the words to tell him. Eventually, Booth's heart cracked, and he reached out and gently ran his fingers through her disheveled hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
"Ohh, Bones, baby," he whispered. "It's okay. You know that, right? It's okay. You're here, I'm here, and everything's going to be okay because it was just a bad dream." She blinked at him, wanting to believe him, but clearly very nervous to do so. Wanting to do nothing in that moment but make her feel better, Booth asked softly, "What...Bones...what was it? The dreams...was it one of the old ones? The ones...was it one of the ones about the Gravedigger?"
Again, Brennan could only mutely shake her head.
"Your parents?" he tried a second time, somewhat relieved that the specter of Heather Taffet wasn't choosing to rear its ugly head on what should be such a happy morning. He then racked his brain again for what might have been the fear that had left Brennan in tears even as she slept safely and contented in his arms. "Was it about your mom and dad and Russ leaving you?"
For a third time, Brennan shook her head.
Exhaling slowly, Booth looked at her and said, "I-I...you gotta help me out a bit here, Bones. I'm sorta at a loss. You gotta give me something, huh? I'll do whatever I need to do to make it better, but I can't do that if you don't tell me what it was."
At last, Brennan finally found her voice. It was no more than a whisper, but at last she spoke as she gave Booth the answer he needed.
"It was you, Booth," she breathed. "My dream...my nightmare? It was all about you."
He stared at her for a moment, not certain what to say. As he looked into her eyes, he saw a pain there that he desperately eased to ache. He wanted to make it all go away. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to make her feel safe. He wanted to make her happy. And he felt a stab of frustration when he realized that he couldn't do that if he didn't know what was making her feel so badly.
Finally, he took a breath, and asked in as gentle a tone as he could manage, "Tell me."
Brennan swallowed once, flushed with embarrassment as she thought about the the myriad of explicit images and even more lewd words that had been shared between the pair within her dream. She looked away and was silent for a moment. Then, slowly she opened her mouth and began to speak, her voice soft and slow as she opened up to him.
"It was raining," she began slowly. "It was at night, and it was raining, and there was this case. It was work, but it was a case that I'd had to work mostly by myself. I can't...I-I don't remember a lot of the details, but I remember in the dream, the victim, she was a lot like me. She was a single, successful, intelligent woman. But, she wasn't someone that was easy to get close to because she tried to keep herself isolated. It was her way from getting hurt. And, she died before she could find someone who wanted to be with her, wanted to love her, and she felt she was strong enough to be with him, to let him love her without her feeling like she was losing herself."
Booth was quiet, his warm skin paling at hearing her words. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes as his mouth fell open slightly. His brown eyes held her gaze before he licked his lips and shook his head with a vague sadness and said, "Do you think...do you think that if you love me and let me love you that you'll lose yourself, Bones?" He stroked his thumb over the side of her hand. "Because you won't. You...you know that, right?"
Realizing as soon as she'd spoken that he'd possibly misconstrued her words, she reached out and touched the back of her hand to his cheek. "Yes, of course," she tried to assure him. "Of course I know that. It's just that...well, in the dream...I-I...I'm not sure how to explain this, but the doctor in the dream. She wasn't the important part...I mean, not really. But, the important part was that when I was investigating her death, I'd had to go to this really bad part of town, and you weren't with me. I had to go by myself and...well, things are a bit fuzzy, but I think I almost got hit by a car, and I probably would've died... if you hadn't pulled me out of the way at the last minute."
"Okay, wait," Booth said, his brow furrowing as he tried to comprehend her words. "I'm...well, maybe I'm a bit slow on the uptake because my head's still sorta pounding like some drumline to the bass beat of an Eminem song, but I, uhhh, I'm...I don't know what you're saying, Bones."
Licking her lips, Brennan sighed and tried to figure out a way to put her thoughts in order. Taking another breath, she said, "In my dream...it. It's difficult to describe, Booth. And, I'm trying—I swear I am. But, it's like it was this really long movie...and I think I've already forgotten some of the really important parts. I do remember, though, that we...we were having some problems working together. We were still partners, but...but things had changed between us. They weren't...things—they weren't like they should be between us."
"Why?" Booth asked. Brennan hesitated, and Booth could tell she was on the edge of telling him something that she didn't want to tell him, and so he knew it was even more important in that moment that he press her. "Come on, Bones...I can't—if you don't tell me what's wrong, and I don't understand it, then there's no way I can make it better."
"It's a little hazy," Brennan said with her voice small. "Like I said, I've already started to forget parts of it...but, in the dream...it was in the future. You'd gone to Afghanistan...I'd gone to Maluku, and when we came back...you'd done it." Her voice trailed off with the last word, catching in her throat as she spoke.
"Did what?" Booth asked, his voice heavy with grim anticipation. Oh God, he thought. What did I do to you, Bones? He felt a wave of nausea pass through him as he waited for her to say the words he knew were hanging there, waiting to be said. A hard lump formed in his throat as he heard the sadness in her voice.
"Moved on," she said, her voice low as she answered his question. "You did what you said you'd do that night at the Hoover—y-you...y-you d-didn't love me anymore and you found someone else. You found someone else and moved on and left me, Booth. You left me, and I'd lost you, and it was such a mess. Everything was so screwed up, I can't even accurately describe it. But, the one thing I do know is that I was such a mess—"
"Bones," Booth said softly, his gut clenching at hearing the pain on the ragged edges of her voice. "I-I...Bones, I...what I said that night..." He swallowed and shook his head. "The fact is, Bones, I don't think I could ever really move on, ya know, from you. You know that, right?"
"I know, rationally, you're telling me that, but apparently my subconscious doesn't have as much trust in it because...in my dream, you had. You'd moved on, and replaced me...and it was so awful. Months went by, and we tried to make things work. But, you'd moved in with this other woman, and it was like I didn't even know who you were anymore, and when I lost my sense of who you were, I started to lose my sense of self."
"I'm sorry, Bones," he said, his head and heart both suddenly heavy at the thought of the pain that his dream-self had caused her, and even more so at the thought, which he physically shook off with a roll of his shoulder, that perhaps, had they not come to their senses soon enough, one or both of them might have done just that—moved on. No...it would never...no, I couldn't have ever...No. "I mean, that...you know, that..." His stammering trailed off as he read the anguish in her eyes.
"I know," she said quickly. "I know it's not your fault. And, I'm not blaming you. I promise—that's not why I'm telling you this. I don't blame you...I'm not. It's just...that's what'd had happened before...well—" her voice again trailed off. "Believe it or not, this isn't why I was crying."
Booth stared at her for a moment and then blinked as he wondered what type of cinematic masterpieces Brennan's brain could put together as she slept. My dreams, he thought with a faint, fleeting smile, are like Die Hard, Pulp Fiction, or, maybe, Legends of the Fall. I'm a simple guy. Even in my dreams, I'm not really complicated. But Bones? Hell, hers are probably crazy complicated, like her. Complex period pieces with soaring soundtracks, four or five expansive, intertwining plots. Like Braveheart or Gone with the Wind or The French Connection, except without the all the action sequences and explosions. Action sequences... He blinked away a thought of a fantasy he'd once about taking her in an ammo room and fucking her senseless against a stack of wooden ammunition crates. She'd probably never let me get near her again if I ever told her about that one.
"Okay," Booth nodded simply. "I believe that," he told her. "So...what's next then?"
"Well, all of that is sort of what you need to understand preceded what happened when I was...err, when I was dreaming my dream," Brennan told him, knowing she wasn't being very clear or specific.
"Oh, Bones." He shook his head. Fuck, he thought. The only thing that could possibly be worse than trying to make up for fucking something up and making her feel shitty is trying to make up for something I did to her in a dream. Awwwww, hell. I have a feeling I'm really, really screwed here. Like seriously screwed. He bit the inside of his lip and tried to recenter his focus as he pushed away the anxious nervousness he was now suddenly feeling. "So, in your dream, I was an asshole to you? What happened? Tell me."
"You brought me back to the Jeffersonian," she said vaguely, looking away from him. "We were riding back in the SUV and...then I don't know why I did it."
Booth's eyes narrowed. It? Something happened between us, didn't it? Something heavy. I can hear it in her voice. "What do you mean 'it,' Bones. What did you do?"
"I-I...I'd finally told you how I really felt," she murmured, feeling the embarrassment that she'd felt while sitting cold and wet and so alone in the seat next to him wash all over her once again. "I'd told you what I should've told you that night when you asked me to give us a chance, and that I'd run away from how I felt about you."
Booth felt a trapdoor suddenly open up in his gut, and all the feelings he'd had two nights earlier, sitting in living room saying their goodbyes, and the swirl of feelings—guilt, regret, and second-guessed hope—weighed heavily on him as he felt the blood drain from his face. After a moment, the full gravity of her words began to percolate through the layers of his hungover mind—"how I felt about you"—and he felt some of the darkness in his gut displaced by a flush of warmth.
"Bones," he said softly, reaching over placing his hand on her knee. "I shouldn't have pushed you that night. I made a mistake. I should've been more patient with you. That night—well, I fucked up. I did. I made a huge mistake. I let Sweets manipulate me in that shrinky way that he's so good at, and I...I made a mistake...not that I didn't want us to try to make something, but that I did it the way I did it, and when I said it. It was..." He took a deep breath and squeezed her knee gently. He reached up and stroked his forefingers over her sleep-mussed hair, tucking a strand behind her ear with a gentle smile. "I'm sorry, Bones," he whispered. "You know I never wanted to hurt you. You've gotta know that by now, right? God, I'd rather do anything else in the world than hurt you because of how I feel about you. I love you."
Booth could see her eyes blinking and her lips moving, and he knew she was thinking, grinding away at something the way he'd seen her do a thousand times before. She's gotta talk about it, he told himself. Otherwise, she's gonna keep spinning and chewing herself up. He looked down into his lap with a shrug, feeling like he needed to bring the conversation back onto the road from where it'd veered off onto the sloped shoulder, precariously close to a ditch, he tried another approach. "What did I say to you in the car, Bones?" he asked.
She again flushed at his question. I don't want to do this again, a voice echoed in her head. I really don't. But, I know I have to...I have to trust him...trust us...and that starts by telling him. By being open...and honest. So, I have to—I have to tell him.
After another moment, she sighed and said quietly, "I-I...suffice to say, you made it clear that while you were sympathetic to my realization, you'd moved on and...and that it didn't matter. I'd made my choice, so to speak...and so that was that."
Sensing that there was a lot more to this story than what she was telling him, he gently pressed her again. "Okay. Fine. But, I know there's more to it than that...so what happened then? What happened next, Bones?"
She stared at him for another intense moment before she finally found the voice to answer his question. "I had to get away from you," she breathed, letting out a deep exhale of breath that she didn't even know that she'd been holding deep down in her chest. "I-I...I was so embarrassed...so...I can't even describe it. I-I...just had to get away from you. I didn't want to see you or be near you. I just wanted to be away. But...I couldn't get away from you. You followed me into the Jeffersonian, and I tried to stay one step ahead of you, but you followed me into the Jeffersonian's employee parking substructure. And, you...you caught up with me before I could get into my car and leave."
"Oh," Booth whispered, his heart sinking at the concept that she would want to get away from him, especially after she'd come so close to doing just that.
Damn, baby, he thought. I wouldn't let you go, would I? I didn't let you go yesterday. And, God help me, I'll never let you go so long as there's a breath in my body. I can't lose you. I can't let you go. Not again. Not after we salvaged what we have—what we are, you and me. No. You've gotta know that. Right?
"In the dream, what happened next? That is...why did I follow you?"
"I don't know the answer to that," Brennan said truthfully. "I-I...I don't know. I just know that you did, and you wouldn't go away, and the longer you stayed and kept me from leaving the less embarrassed I felt and the more...angry I got."
"You asked me to leave, but I refused?" he asked, struggling to understand. "But why—what did you say to me?"
Brennan flushed at the memory. She sighed, looking away from him, before she said, "I don't remember everything, but we'd started arguing." She stopped and then added, "I think it may be the worst fight we've ever had. It was so raw...and I was hurting so much...and the longer you stayed there, the more I wanted to make you feel like I felt. I wanted to make you hurt." She paused again and then shook her head, "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. It was just a stupid dream, Booth...a horrible, painful, stupid dream."
Booth's eyes widened at the admission. "Bones," he whispered. "You woke up crying. This dream, it affected you enough that you were crying in your sleep. If it...look, if you've had a dream that was that powerful, and made you feel that raw, I want to understand." He paused as he struggled to find the words to help her...to make things better for her. "I want to understand so I can help you understand that what was in that dream—that's not how things are between us. That's not who we are." He sighed. "That probably doesn't make any sense, does it?"
"No, it does...but, Booth. It's just so embarrassing," she said, her nostrils flaring a bit as she considered his words. "It's...I know you want to understand, but it frustrates me so much that I was so weak to have something like this happen...especially after last night." She stopped and then looked up at him for the first time in some minutes as she gave him a small smile. "If I was dreaming of you after last night, it should've been something more romantic and fulfilling given what happened to us before I went to sleep."
"I don't think it always works like that, Bones," he said with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know—I mean, I know you don't put a lot of stock in psychology, but dreams are like the mind's rinse cycle. It's the way the brain flushes out all the bad stuff, or the stuff we have trouble figuring out in our conscious minds, so dreams don't always follow a logical path."
"You can say that again," she muttered under her breath as she looked away again.
"Which part?" he said with a faint smile.
"Ummm..." she sighed a bit abashed. "The last part. It was...it wasn't, my dream that is, it wasn't logical at all."
Booth shrugged. "You're right, but...what else happened in your dream? What happened after I followed you back to the Jeffersonian garage and you got pissed at me?"
The image of Brennan pressing herself against Booth before she'd stripped him naked, tossed him on top of her Mercedes, and crawled on top of him in nothing but her bra flashed in her mind.
"Uhhh—"
Booth observed the way her cheeks flushed. "Come on, Bones," he said in a low voice, climbing all the way onto the bed and taking his place next to her. "You can tell me. It was just a dream—none of it's real anyway, right?"
She looked away from him again as she said vaguely, "Well, it certainly felt real...and—"
"What felt real, Bones?" Booth asked her, seizing on her comment. "Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad, right? So just tell me. What happened after you got mad at me? Did you give me one of your epic squint smackdowns?" he smiled at her again in encouragement. "Did ya?"
"You have no idea," she said suddenly told him. "I-I...okay," she stopped and said. "I'll tell you, but do you...err, do you promise not to...well, not to hold it against me?"
Booth quirked an eyebrow. She's blushing, he noted. The woman who is, by her own proud admission, shameless. We've shared almost everything between us—successes, failures, triumphs, tragedies, and now, after last night—everything else that was left. What could it be that she's so hesitant about? he wondered. That's making her blush. Bones blushing is like a solar eclipse during leap year. Very rare, and worth paying attention to, especially if it's got her this worked up. She knows I won't judge her, right? After all the things I've done? Hell, I'd be the last person who should judge her.
"I promise," he said. "But," he added with a faint grin, "I can't deny that you've piqued my interest with a precondition like that."
"There...it was sort of...well, okay, I told you it was raining, right?" she asked him, trying to figure out a way to begin to answer his question.
"Yeah," he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It was raining, sure."
"I was drenched," Brennan said. "And so I wanted to get warm. I was tired of being cold...I was so cold, and I was so tired of it. And, so...you weren't quite as soaked as I was because you were wearing your khaki trenchcoat, and so I demanded it. I made you give it to me."
"Okay," he said with a chuckle. "So now we know it's a dream, right? Because you never take me up on the offer of borrowing my jacket, even when you're cold."
She avoided rolling her eyes at him, and then said, "Not funny."
"Well, it was a little funny," he said with a sheepish grin. "But, anyway, so I gave you my coat. Then what happened?"
"I...err...sortofcameontoyou," she muttered, quickly looking away from him as the words rolled off her tongue in a tumble.
"What?" he coughed. Wait a minute—what did she just say? He scrunched his eyebrows as he tried to determine if she'd actually said what she thought he had. She was pissed at me...drenched from the rain...demanded my coat...and then she...what?
"I said," she repeated, still looking away from him. "I might've...came onto...you."
A/N:
For those who may feel you've seen part of this chapter before, you aren't going crazy. It's because a chunk was previously seen, in modified form, in chapter 34 of Lesera128's "What I Wish I Could've Said." Just FYI.
Ah, yes, there's the Booth and Brennan we all know and love. After Parts I and II, most of you were like, "Who is this man, and what did you do with our beloved Booth?" But he's back, baby! And so is our beloved Brennan, with all of her vulnerabilities (every one of which melts that little Boothy heart in bed next to her).
But now, he's pressing her to spill the details of that dream because he wants her to get all that angst off her chest. That dream in which both of them said things to each other that would peel the wallpaper off of walls. And the things they did to each other in that dream! Is Brennan gonna have the nerve to fess up to the details of the dream? And how's Booth gonna react when he hears them? ::nibbles fingernails nervously::
Wouldn't you like to know?
You know what to do. Motivate us by leaving a review ::wink::
Promotional moment: For those of you who like the TV series Angel, we posted a oneshot called "Toe to Toe" that is the first in a series of four Bones/Angel crossovers (Dharmasera's first foray outside of the Bones fandom). Warning: if you thought the VBI pieces were M-rated, "Toe to Toe" and its sequels will singe your eyelashes. Very hot, and very edgy. If you don't like the notion of violence or murder, skip this one. Because, oh, there's no Angel in "Toe to Toe"—it's Angelus. Angel's dark, evil, soulless, horny-as-hell predecessor. Sex without moral constraints? Do the math, peeps. "Toe to Toe" posted under Lesera128's profile, so go check it out.
In any case, we really can't wait to know what you folks thought of this latest installment. We know you'll love Part IV. (You know you will. It's the happy ending.) Go ahead and click on that sparkly blue button there and let us know how we did on this one. In the meantime, we'll be working on getting Part IV ready for you folks.
Thanks!