Brennan's POV
I knew as soon as Booth left to talk to Hannah that the proverbial honeymoon was over. Booth genuinely cared for Hannah, and he hated to see women in pain.
I felt a flutter of anxiety – what if he offered Hannah physical comfort in a moment of weakness?
I shoved the thought aside. Rationally speaking I had been his first choice. Besides, if I knew Hannah, she'd take my place in Zimbabwe. Like me, she was passionate about finding the truth and made a habit of flirting with danger. I decided my time would be most productively spent making an early dinner.
When I heard Booth jiggling the key in the lock I suddenly didn't know what to do with myself. Before I could decide where to stand Booth opened the door and slouched in. He was carrying the overnight bag he kept in his car for emergencies.
"Hello," I said.
He lifted his eyes to me, dropped the bag to the wood floor, and then strode forward. A moment later he wrapped both his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. The tension was flushed from my chest. I felt him take a deep breath, ribs shifting under my hands.
"You smell so good, Bones," he snuffled against my neck.
I laughed. "That tickles, Booth"
He pulled back and then cupped my face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over my cheeks.
"Zimbabwe? Really?" he said, brow furrowed.
"Yes," I answered.
He sighed. "If I ask you to never, ever go to Zimbabwe would that piss you off?" he asked.
I smiled against his palms. "What about all the other dangerous countries, Booth? Do you want me to say no if they find another mass grave in Rwanda? Or El Salvador?"
"Yeah, I know," he said. He dropped his hands. "How about this. Next time there's a mass grave, at least consider sacrificing one of the squinterns first."
I laughed. "You know Dr. Edison –"
He silenced me with a kiss.
For a moment I felt like I was spinning, Booth above me and beside me and the floor swept from beneath me. Fortunately he was there to catch me with both arms.
Then he pulled back and examined me. "Was – is that okay?" he asked.
"What?" I asked breathlessly.
"You know – kissing you," he said.
I grinned. "I assure you, you are more than adept, Booth."
He rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean the quality, Bones, I meant… is it okay. With you."
I hadn't even thought to examine my feelings on the matter. In the interest of completely and honestly answering Booth's question, I paused and focused on the sensations. A warm, giddy feeling in my stomach. Relaxed shoulders. The novel experience of momentarily being without thought.
"Yes," I answered. "in fact your kisses seem to have the effect of soothing my emotional discomfort."
"Emotional discomfort?" he prompted, grinning a little.
"Yes, I…" I slipped from between his arms under the pretense of checking the oven. "For the past few weeks I've experienced an elevated stress level and other… emotional distress." I pulled the macaroni and cheese from the oven and set it on the counter.
Suddenly Booth was behind me, hands on the counter on either side of me.
"I know, Temperance," he said. I felt him lay his head against my back. "I'm sorry."
Then he leaned over my shoulder and gave a dramatic sniff.
"Is that mac and cheese?" he asked, lightening the tone.
"Excellent observation, Agent Booth," I said. I slipped away once again and carried the casserole dish to the table. "Although I don't want you to have any expectation that I will assume a traditional gender role as a consequence of our relationship, I found comfort in a physical demonstration of my desire to – take care of you," I said. I stuck a spoon in the cheesy noodles and smoothed the napkins I had set. "I know I'm not – I'm not Hannah or Rebecca, but I want you to know I'm going to try. I'm going to try and provide the emotional support you need." I realized the heat on my cheeks was a blush. "Although, admittedly, sometimes physical demonstrations such as mac and cheese will be the best I can do."
"Hey," he said, sitting down, "mac and cheese always goes a long way in my book, Bones. Plus, you have the magic fingers." I focused on dishing noodles onto his plate, still not looking at him. "But thank you, Bones." Then he titled my chin and kissed me again, swift and sweet. When I opened my eyes I saw his were glittering. "It's going to be a long time before I get tired of that," he said.
He leaned back and took a bite of his mac and cheese. "Oh, God," he said, still chewing. "Please, Bones, tell me you'll still make this for me in thirty or forty years."
His question was light, joking, but my answer was serious despite the banter: "I hope to, Booth."