Trigger Warning: Very mild references to/hints about past abuse, as well as quite a bit of smoking and drinking. If you'd like an amended copy, just let me know! There will be more reference to B&B's (adapted) backstories in future chapters, but if you're comfortable letting me know about anything that would be triggering for you, I will do my utmost to write you a story that you can enjoy.
Rich, deep, low, sweet… Angela sipped her cranberry cocktail and whirled onto the dancefloor, expertly levelling her drink with one hand as the rest of her body swayed to the music. Every now and then, she cast her eyes towards her friend, then forced herself to look away.
I'm not a babysitter, Angela told herself. She noticed another woman, a blonde, looking in her direction. She smiled, just a little, and continued to dance. Before long, the blonde was beside her, and after another few moments, with her. Angela took another sip of the cocktail and felt the alcohol burbling in her chest.
"Mm," she said softly, enjoying the blonde's reaction.
"I'm Roxie," her new friend breathed. Angela hummed in appreciation.
BREAK
"How does she do that?" Tempe mused. Booth followed her gaze to Angela, who was now dancing in the arms of a gorgeous blonde.
"Do what?" Booth asked. "Dance?"
"Seduce," Tempe said. "She's like a magnet."
There was a clear implication that Tempe did not believe herself to be magnetic. Booth disagreed, silently, but emphatically.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked, raising the volume of his voice to be heard over the music.
Tempe looked uncertain.
"Or get some air, maybe?" Booth suggested.
She nodded to this, thinking she might feel better away from the crowd.
The terrace was deserted. Deserted and cold. Tempe shivered. Booth shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to her.
"If one of us has to be cold, it should be the one who chose not to bring a jacket," Tempe told him.
"We can go back in," Booth said.
"No," Tempe told him, looking up at the night sky. "I want to be here."
Booth set his jacket on a bench. "Then I'll be cold with you."
"That's idiotic."
Booth shrugged. "Then I'm an idiot."
Tempe chuckled. "But a charming idiot."
He winked. "I'll take that."
He reached for his cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply.
"Idiot," Tempe repeated.
Booth moved to lean against the railing. Tempe joined him.
"Are you gonna give me a lecture about lung cancer?" he asked.
Tempe shook her head. "If you're addicted, lectures won't help. You know, I've never tried a cigarette. You would think I would have, considering. But I never did."
Booth held his out to her. "Want to try now?"
A week ago, Tempe would have declined as easily as breathing, as easily as breathing fresh, clean air that didn't contain cancerous chemicals and deposit tar in her lungs, but as she looked at Booth, as she watched the tendrils of smoke float up from the end of the cigarette and out into the night, she wanted.
Wanted to smoke, wanted to drink, wanted to dance, wanted to break the rules. Wanted him. She took the cigarette.
Booth watched her, fascinated. She was so smart, so ordered, so controlled, and yet, utterly unpredictable.
Tempe brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaled slowly, like a movie star, and promptly dissolved into a fit of coughing. Booth shook his head at her, grinning. Tempe, determined not to be beaten, recovered her breath and tried again. She managed not to cough this time, but she couldn't hide her disgusted grimace at the taste.
"This is pleasurable for you?" she asked.
Booth shrugged. "Sure. What did you mean, considering?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said, I'd think you would have tried smoking, considering. Considering what?"
"Oh. Nothing." She looked away.
"You're a terrible liar," Booth told her.
"I know," Tempe said, shamefaced. She took another drag of the cigarette as a distraction, forgot herself, and coughed again.
"Why don't you want to tell me?"
"I don't want you to look at me differently," Tempe admitted.
"And why do you think I will?"
"Because you will. Everybody does."
"I bet you a dollar."
"I don't understand."
"I bet you a dollar I won't look at you differently. This is how I look at you now," Booth said pointedly, staring right at her.
There was a significant pause.
"So tell me, then I'll look again, and if I look at you differently, I owe you a dollar."
"I don't need a dollar."
"That's not the point."
Tempe tried the cigarette again. It was getting easier.
"Twenty dollars," she said.
"Twenty? What if I look at you the same? You don't want to give me twenty dollars. You don't have twenty dollars."
"Sure I do."
Booth looked her up and down. "Where?"
Tempe grinned, her eyes flicking over him as if to say, Wouldn't you like to know.
"I won't give you twenty dollars," she told him. "You still get what you want. Either I tell you and you look at me differently, which you will, and you give me twenty dollars, or I tell you and you look at me the same, and you got what you wanted and I don't give you anything, because I already gave you something by telling you."
"That's the worst bet I've ever heard of. How about, I look at you differently, twenty bucks. I look at you the same, you put my jacket on."
Tempe finished the cigarette, dropped the butt, and crushed it under the toe of her shoe. Booth watched the manoeuvre, enthralled.
"I grew up in foster care," Tempe said. "From when I was ten."
Booth took a step closer to her, looked her dead in the eyes with nothing but the same respect, admiration, and desire he'd shown her moments ago. He waited. Slowly, Tempe reached for his jacket, picked it up off the bench, and wrapped it around herself.
Their faces were inches apart, smoky breath and hooded eyes, and they stood that way for hours, or maybe it was seconds, or weeks.
Booth felt pressure building in his chest, in his stomach, pressure that couldn't be ignored. He let it out in a slow, quiet breath. "My Dad was a drunk."
Without breaking eye contact, Tempe slid out of the jacket and stood up on tiptoe to drape it over his shoulders.
"I'd like to dance now," she said, taking his hand in hers.
Booth held the hand she offered. Turning away from each other to walk inside was relief and agony simultaneously. Booth felt his breath catch in his throat, then Tempe squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, and then they were on the dancefloor and the music pulled together, together and round and round..
Tempe knew she was moving. And breathing, because she could smell Booth, warm and clean and smoky and tall.
Tall isn't a smell, her brain protested.
In all this, that's what you come up with? she demanded.
"What are you thinking?" Booth asked her.
"That you smell tall," Tempe said without thinking.
Booth grinned. "Is that a compliment?"
Tempe grinned back. "No. It's not even possible."
Booth's grin widened. "I think you just told me you think I'm miraculous."
"I did no such thing!"
"How else could I smell tall?"
"You can't. That's the point."
"But you said I did."
"No, I said I was thinking you did."
"Same thing."
"Very different things."
Booth leaned in and, very deliberately, sniffed Tempe.
"You smell… purple," he told her.
"You're ridiculous."
"You started it. Smelling tall, whatever next?"
"Smelling purple," Tempe pointed out. "Why purple? Why not yellow?"
"No, you definitely don't smell yellow. Yellow would be all wrong. That would be like saying I smelled short."
Tempe had no retort, so the topic was closed, and they continued dancing. After a while, they approached the bar.
"What would you like?" Booth asked.
"Whisky. Neat." Tempe decided.
"Excellent woman," Booth told her as she knocked it back in one and slammed the glass back onto the bar. He followed suit with his own drink, then ordered another round, to sip this time.
Tempe didn't drink and dance, so they sat on opposite sides of a table, doing nothing but looking, sipping their drinks, and looking again.
When the drinks were finished, they went back to the terrace. Booth offered his jacket, Tempe refused, and it was returned to the bench. Booth gave Tempe her own cigarette this time. She contemplated it for a long time.
"Why do people so often feel inclined to self-destruct?" she wondered aloud.
"I can't speak for people," Booth replied, "but I can tell you why I smoke."
Tempe accepted the light he offered her. "Please."
"It's bad," Booth said. "But it's my choice of bad. I can start it, stop it, hurt myself, or not hurt myself, as I choose. I enjoy having the choice."
Tempe felt there was more to what he said than the words he used. She replayed them in her head, thinking.
"I can see you evaluating that," Booth told her. "Are you going to call me an idiot again?"
Tempe shook her head. "No. I wasn't evaluating, I was… I was indulging in psychology. But I dislike psychology, so I'll stop."
Booth finished his cigarette and flicked it over the railing. Tempe watched him, the shape of his shoulders, the darkness in his eyes, then, to her own surprise as much as his, pulled him into a tight, desperate hug.
Head pressed against his chest, Tempe noticed, to her horror, that her cheeks were wet with tears. She hugged tighter, clinging to him. She couldn't for the life of her explain what she was trying so hard to hold on to. Booth seemed to understand, though, and held her just as close as she held him.
BREAK
Roxie was in the bathroom, and Angela finally remembered to check on Tempe, but Tempe was nowhere to be seen. Angela peered in the booths, then tried the terrace. And there they were. Hugging. Angela shivered, then spied a jacket on a bench and put it on. She poked Tempe on the shoulder.
"Brennan," she said in a loud whisper, an evident slur in her voice. "You're gonna turn into an icicle."
Slowly, Booth and Tempe detangled themselves and faced Angela.
"Why do you both look so guilty?" she demanded.
"I smoked," Tempe blurted out.
"Weed?" Angela asked, looking around as if she might see some for herself.
"A cigarette. Two cigarettes. Well, one and a half, to be exact. Three, between us."
Angela sighed. "And that's all?" she asked, clearly disappointed.
"We were about to indulge in far more significant debauchery, but you interrupted us," Booth defended. Angela laughed.
"You're funny. You're a funny, funny man, and I need another," she hiccuped, "drink."
"Water?" Booth suggested.
Angela wobbled slightly as she nodded. They trooped inside and ordered three bottles of water, then sat in silence until these were finished.
Angela felt vastly better after the water, then Roxie reappeared. Angela dragged Tempe aside.
"Brennan," she said, "I have a plan."
She held out her clutch. "I would like to go to Roxie's. I want you to take this, use the money in there for a cab, and take Booth back to our place."
Tempe realised she hadn't even considered where Booth was going to sleep. She wondered if he had. He'd had far too much to drink to drive back to Chicago, and a cab fare would be astronomical. Her heart fluttered, then raced, at the idea that he might spend the night.
"Or," Angela said, "If you don't want him to stay, take the cab back to ours on your own. He's a big boy. He'll figure things out."
Tempe nodded.
"Do you want him to stay?" Angela asked her, narrowing her eyes, suddenly seeming very sober.
"Do you think he wants to stay?"
Angela smiled. "Sweetie, look at you. Of course he wants to stay. Not to reduce your relationship to the physical, because it seems all deep and intense and thoughtful and I am all about that. But," she looked over at Roxie, "some things are all about animal instinct."
Tempe didn't disagree. She looked at Booth, then took the clutch. "Okay," she said. "If I don't hear from you by 5PM tomorrow, I'm calling the cops."
"You're a good friend, Brennan. Have fun. Seriously. But not serious at all, you know?"
And with that, Angela twirled into Roxie's arms and out of the club. She was still wearing Booth's jacket. He couldn't bring himself to care.
"And then there were two," Tempe said softly. Booth took her hand and led her back to the dance floor. They danced in silence, letting their bodies explore what words could not. Tempe allowed her confidence to build with the music, then asked, without faltering,
"Where do you intend to sleep, Booth?"
Booth stopped dancing and looked right at Tempe, wanting to be clear.
"Wherever you tell me to," he told her.