A/N: to all you living in the US, happy 4th and fireworks and all that fun jazz. sorry we didn't have time to update much recently - jamie was busy breaking anything she came into contact with (computers, doors, etc.) and mia was putting all her effort into getting her boyfriend to wake up before noon and to go to bed before four in the morning. :) all of that was tres exhausting, but you know what? we missed you guys, and so we pushed through. xoxo
Parker's legs pumped back and forth as the swing flew higher and higher, and he grinned broadly in his father's direction. Managing a smile back, Booth watched from a park bench, a cardboard takeout cup of coffee in his hand. The weather had finally cooled enough to stomach being outside, and his son had pleaded to be allowed to go to the park.
He figured while Parker worked off some of his energy, he could work out some of his current and extremely pressing problems.
He generally spent a fair amount of his free time thinking about his partner. He often had found himself, while cooking dinner for himself or his son, or sitting down to flip through a magazine, wondering what she might be doing. He'd had fantasies of her in the shower and while asleep, and specifically, after therapy, she was often on his mind.
But over the last two weeks, she had completely and totally taken over his mind. He couldn't seem to sit still or have a moment alone without his mind drifting to their relationship, of images of them in bed and generally anything she'd said or did to confuse him further. Now, after their confrontation with Sweets, thoughts of Temperance Brennan were looping in his head on repeat.
What she'd said... He didn't know how to even begin to process it. He'd never, in the years they'd been partners, expected for her to say those words to him, even in regards to friendship. He'd certainly never expected her to blurt it out in therapy, to a kid doctor who was making them jump through hoops left and right.
She'd sounded so angry.
She didn't like to be backed into a corner, and Sweets had done that. She'd done what she thought she had to do to preserve their partnership, and hadn't just shocked him - it had moved him.
And it had pained him, because hearing those words (most likely out of context) had been like the ultimate tease to his heart. Shouted in anger to a third party as a last ditch effort wasn't exactly a love confession he'd ever dreamed of, and he wasn't so foolish to believe that she'd meant it in... that way.
At least, he was fairly certain she hadn't.
In that moment, for only a second, he'd allowed himself to believe. And in doing so, it had accessed something that he'd been trying to shove down and keep quiet for the last three years. It was as if he had a heart-shaped box in his chest that had burst open at her pronouncement, and he was having a hell of a time fitting everything back inside and closing it back up. It wasn't so much of a realization as an admittance. A part of him had always known, but he'd never been able to verbalize it. He still couldn't. Even that first time, out in the safety of the woods and away from their real lives, he'd only been able to drown in the moment, to show her what he could physically.
The options she'd presented had stung. The idea of splitting up horrified him, the idea of no longer being allowed to touch her made him ache, and the possibility of her wanting more? It made him tremble.
He was scared, plain and simple. Seeley Booth was finally petrified, and all his years of sharp-shooting and chasing dangerous criminals hadn't done a thing to prepare him for what he was suddenly up against. He couldn't bring himself to ask her to explain what she'd said, to make him understand if she'd meant it - and if she did, how she meant it.
There were a lot of different kinds of love.
Standing up from the bench, heading to collect his son, he realized there were actually two mysteries - to figure out a plan for Sweets, and to figure out Temperance Brennan.
Brennan had been dreading this call... Angela had insisted that she call later to check in, even though Brennan had assured her that suicide watch was not necessary. The artist had insisted that it was one of the cardinal rules of friendship to be completely annoying until you were one hundred percent sure your best friend was okay. She knew better than to argue with Angela's wisdom.
The phone rang several times past her friend's usually quick response. She was rehearsing what to say in the message when a slightly breathless voice answered. "Angie's secretary."
She smiled in spite of herself. "Hey, Jack."
"Dr. B," he drew out. "I'm not really Angie's secretary. Still about the bugs and slime, here. Nooooo secretarial skills needed."
"Gotcha." She had forgotten how much she missed the old Jack... the one who wasn't bitter, who joked and was delightfully narcissistic and insecure at the very same time. "Is Ange around?"
"She's in the bath right now. I can have her call you back when she's done."
"No," she said, quickly. "If you can... just tell her that... I'm okay. Still thinking of a plan."
"Alright." He paused. "Hey... I know this might be kind of one of those girl-talk things. But... Angela told me about what Sweets is trying to do. And it's just bull. The kid is full of it."
She sighed. "Thanks, Hodgins. He might be full of it. But he has all the power right now. So... we're trying to find a way to work with him."
"Did you figure anything out yet?"
No. There was nothing. Nothing that even sounded remotely like something Sweets would agree with. "Still working on it."
"Brennan, I..." There was silence for a second. "Never mind. This really isn't my business."
She nearly laughed. "Because we've all been so good about staying out of each other's business."
"Touche," she heard him chuckle. "Listen. Angela and I have been going to therapy... not with Sweets, with someone else... the person we've been seeing is really good. And one of the things she reminds us of is that she is providing a lot... her skills, her knowledge, her education, her understanding of theory and technique... but in the end, we are the experts of our own lives and our own relationship. We've been doing it since the beginning... we were there when it worked great, and when it didn't, and we put it back together when it fell apart. We are the only ones who know it, inside and out. And because of that, the solution to the problems that brought us to therapy lies in us. We have the power, and the answers. She is just there to guide us along the way."
Waiting for him to continue, she processed his words thoughtfully.
"What I'm saying is... don't let Sweets fool you into thinking he has the right answer, and you need to figure out what it is. You and Booth... you are good, man. It's a gift. Just remember that you're the experts. You know what you're good at, and what feels right to you. You just need to show Sweets that. Show him that, and I can't see how he could say no."
Experts. She hadn't felt like they were experts lately. She could barely decipher her own feelings, let alone lay a detailed plan for the future of their partnership. But she had always known, intuitively, that there was something there worth preserving. That she would give anything to preserve.
On the end table beside her couch sat several case files. Cases that she had Booth had poured everything into. Together. In her filing cabinet at work, there were hundreds more that had been closed. The fruits of their labor.
Somehow, while she and Booth were putting all their passion into their work, that passion had leaked out into other areas. They could hardly help it.
"Am I sounding like a scary shrink? I'll stop now."
She realized that she hadn't responded to him yet. "Oh. No. No, you've been... surprisingly helpful."
"Really?" He sounded pleased. "My therapist'll be proud." He cleared his throat. "Not that I care about making my therapist proud," he said gruffly.
"Of course not. Thanks for everything, Hodgins. Tell Ange things are looking up, okay?"
She hung up the phone. The first inklings of a plan came together in her mind.
She should have known they would. After all... she was the expert.
He knew before he even reached the door it was her - the rhythm of her knuckles on the door was distinctive. Hesitating for a moment, he tried to consider what could possibly bring her to his house this late at night. The last time they'd spoken, she'd been shaken up - he hadn't thought she'd come to see him.
But when he pulled the door open, she breezed past him quickly, ducking under his arm and heading towards the living room, her laptop bag over her shoulder and a stack of file folders in her arms.
"Hi...?" he asked, confusedly. "Were we supposed to meet about a case? Did you have a breakthrough with the remains you were studying?"
She shook her head, dropping quickly to the couch, and when she finally looked up at him, her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, her eyes sparkling.
"I have an idea."
"About what?" he asked cautiously.
"About what to tell Sweets - about this 'plan' he wanted from us."
His heart thumped. Sitting down next to her, he listened while she explained, flipping open multiple file folders and opening her computer. He nodded while she pointed out different facts, and the more she spoke, the more he let himself believe that there was a possibility, even if it was slim, that this just might be their answer.
"So...?" she said finally, sitting back and dropping the last file folder on top of the others on his coffee table. "What do you think?" She was trying to appear calm, he knew, but he could tell she was anxious - her fingers were twisting the fringe on a throw that was tossed over the back of the couch, keeping busy. She was both hopeful and extremely nervous.
"I think," he said slowly, "that it's worth a shot, Bones. I mean, I don't have any other ideas."
"We can do this, Booth," she insisted, leaning towards him. "I think we can. This is what we're good at - working together to solve a problem. This is who we are."
He nodded slowly. "So when do we see him?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" he asked, surprised. "You don't want to think about this a little more, to see if we come up with anything else or -"
"I think we need to trust who we are," she said slowly. "I think that's the only way this will work out." She paused, glancing at her lap, her fingers leaving the blanket she'd been tugging on to twist together. "I think maybe I've been approaching this therapy thing in the wrong way."
"How do you mean?" he asked quietly.
"I think that we've been looking for a solution to our bickering or the way we communicate," she murmured. "But I'm thinking that... maybe that's just who we are, Booth. Maybe that's the only way we can work together - to challenge each other. So it's maybe not the way we communicate that's the problem."
He nodded slowly. "So what is our problem?"
She blushed. "I'm not sure of that, yet." Sighing, she started to collect her files, returning her laptop to her bag and standing up. "I guess I'm only halfway there." She looked at him for a moment, her eyes grave. "Maybe it's..." Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.
"Maybe what?"
She shook her head, tucking the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Maybe it's what we're communicating about."
She headed towards the door, and he blinked for several moments before jumping up to follow her, catching her as she neared the door. "Bones -"
He wanted to tell her that he hoped the plan worked, that he wanted more than anything in the world for them to be allowed to do what they did best and to prove to everyone around them that they belonged together. He wanted to tell her how he felt, only he didn't have the words. He'd only ever been able to show her.
"I think we need to stop being... physical," she said suddenly, turning towards him, her hand on the knob. "We need to work together, and as amazing as this has been, maybe what everyone's saying is right, Booth. Maybe we can't just have sex. Maybe it's too complicated, and it's not an appropriate release valve."
He swallowed, his knees wobbling slightly at her words. The idea of seeing her daily, of leaning over her shoulder and being able to pick up the scent of her skin at her throat and watching the movement of her hips inside her clothing was going to be impossible.
But maybe she was right. Since they'd become intimate, little else had seemed to matter. Maybe he was losing his focus.
He nodded slowly. "You're probably right."
She took a deep breath, trying to look confident. "I should go, then."
"Yeah, okay."
But she just stood there, and he wondered if she was looking for some kind of closure, some kind of acknowledgment that they were choosing to end this aspect of their partnership, and he made a decision, bridging the distance between them and pressing his lips gently to hers. It was the best kind of goodbye he was capable of at the moment - he worried that if he tried to speak and agree with her, he wouldn't sound the least bit convincing.
When he pulled back to step away, he eyes were shimmering slightly, and then she leaned in, giving his lips a quick brush of her own - her own goodbye.
When she pulled back, the air hung between them, heavy, like the pull between two magnets, and they both leaned forward again, this time meeting in the middle. And this time, he allowed his mouth to part; this time he brought a hand up to cup the back of her head.
And this time she moaned.
The moan was soft, barely audible, but he heard it, and then her bag slid from her shoulder and eased to the floor, and he let her push him gently into the wall by the door. They kissed for several moments, their tongues finally meeting and stroking, and his whole body responded at her nearness. He couldn't possibly give this up.
It just felt so damn right.
And then they were backing down the hall, almost like a waltz, lips still meeting as they made their way awkwardly to his bedroom. He tugged her shirt over her head gently; she pulled his belt from the loops of his jeans, and before long her gasps were filling the room. He kissed her tenderly, everywhere, his hands roaming at will, and when she pulled him inside her, he thought, yes. This is who we are.
She had always been good with discipline, and structure, and self-regulation. But there was something about Seeley Booth which dodged all those qualities, left her unable to turn away from whatever it was that hung between them every time their lips parted from a kiss. This had been no exception. She had meant it, when she told him that they should discontinue the physical aspect of their relationship.
She had meant it, but she couldn't follow through with it. She had known it from the second he touched her. And an hour later, when she fell to his side, breathing hard with satisfaction, it had never seemed more clear.
Looking at him guiltily, she sighed, shuddering. "This is obviously more difficult than it sounds."
His face was flushed with the exertion of pleasing her, of pleasing them, and he reached a trembling hand over to push her hair over her shoulder. "Difficult. Impossible. Whichever."
A tinge of frustration made its way through her glow. Why? Suddenly, she felt that she might understand what it might be like, to have an addiction.
"Bones."
She glanced over at his soft voice.
"You're right. That we can't use sex as a release valve. But..." He hesitated.
"Hmm?"
"I..." He seemed to be really struggling.
"What?"
She suddenly found herself again beneath the press of his chest, but his lips were not frantic; they touched her forehead, softly.
"You're my friend, Bones. One of my best. And... I just want to show you everything that's in me, for you. I want to feel close to you. It drives me crazy, to think about not."
Her hand captured the back of his head, kept his lips close to her. "Shouldn't we be able to just go out for dinner or something?" she asked, only half-facetious.
He shook his head. "No. We don't do anything like that, in the ordinary way. We don't do our jobs like everyone else. And we don't do friendship like anyone else. We do it... more."
She turned it around in her head. "This is just us... doing things more intensely. Like we always do them."
"Yes."
"It's not a mistake." She hadn't considered that.
"Does it feel like a mistake?" The words were whispered, an inch from her own lips.
She answered by pulling him to her, hungrily. Whatever it was... it was what she wanted.
