TW: See previous chapter, plus references to suicidal thoughts.
"Wherever you tell me to," he told her.
Tempe replied by pressing her body to his.
It's just a dance, she thought, but she didn't really think it was just anything. It was so much more than just could ever be, and just was justice and justice was right, and Tempe knew that what she was doing now, with her hips, with her eyes, with her hands, there was no justice in that. It was unreserved, underserved, unrestrained by morality.
Booth breathed deeply, tried to focus past the whisky. Who was this witchy woman in front of him, with dark hair and a dark dress and impossible shoes and impossible eyes? How had he come to be here, spellbound by her science? And how would he ever leave her?
His body moved with hers and he shuddered. He felt attraction, of course, but there was more, something deeper, something he couldn't understand but couldn't bear the thought of losing.
"Would you like to get some coffee?" All of a sudden, Tempe was still, straining her voice against the music, speaking into his ear.
"Sure," he said. He realised as he spoke that she could have asked him to run away to Guam, to abseil down the monument, to give her his left arm, and he would have said yes.
She led the way out of the club. The alcohol numbed them to the cold, at least to begin with. Booth vaguely recalled the fate of his jacket, disappearing moments ago, or was it eons ago, with Angela. His cigarettes were rolled into the sleeve of his t-shirt. He held one out to Tempe. She took it, thoughtfully.
"I will never do this again," she told him.
"Do what?" he asked.
Tempe leaned in to light the cigarette from the lighter he now held out to her.
"Smoke," she elaborated. "I don't want to die."
"Tonight, neither do I," Booth said, not thinking it through.
"Your syntax suggests that you do want to die at other times," Tempe said, sobering with concern.
"I…" Booth paused. "I didn't mean that I want to die. Of course I don't. But… There have been times when… When I…" he trailed off.
Tempe stopped, placed the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette on his shoulder, and looked into his eyes, looked so hard he wished he could look away.
"Why?" she murmured.
"I told you about my Dad," he said.
Tempe nodded. "He was an alcoholic."
Booth jerked his head by way of confirmation. "He could get… Violent."
"Toward you?"
Another jerk. Tempe said nothing for a long time. Booth stood, looking at her, looking at her looking at him looking at her.
"Shit," Tempe said.
"I'm fine now, it wasn't really so-"
"Stop!" She almost yelled it, she seemed furious.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't do that, don't say it wasn't so bad. Don't do it because it's a lie, and don't do it because you deserve to be allowed to tell the truth about it. And if you think I want you to tell me anything but the truth then you don't know me at all!"
"You're magnificent when you're angry," Booth told her.
"We were talking about you-"
"We're done, now. You're right. It was bad. But I'm not there, now, I'm here, with you, and there's no place I'd rather be. So let's not go anyplace else."
Tempe moved aside so they could continue walking.
"So, coffee?" Booth asked, after a significant pause.
"Coffee," Tempe agreed.
They located a McDonalds with a 24 hour drive through and a friendly attendant who served them two black coffees. Then they sat on a wall and shivered, drinking in near silence.
"I caught Rebecca in bed with another man," Booth said, more into the night than to Tempe. She seemed to realise this, and didn't respond. "I heard them through the door," Booth continued. "She doesn't know I know. I feel like an idiot, I should have known! Here I was, feeling bad for even thinking about… And she was seeing him, doing a lot more than see him, all along."
Tempe let the words settle, then stood up, finished her coffee, and threw the cup into a nearby trash can.
"I am cold," she told him. "I propose that we walk back to the main road, signal a cab, and continue this conversation in my room. However, and Angela has informed me that I should be very clear about this, I no longer believe that we should have intercourse."
"What do you mean, no longer?"
Tempe turned away from him to hide her disappointment. Perhaps that had been all he was looking for after all.
"I understand you must be disappointed. But I will not be persuaded, and if you cannot accept this, I would ask that you do not accompany me."
He stood, trying to catch her eye, to explain himself. "No, I understand, I accept, no, uh, intercourse. I meant… No longer implies you did believe, at one point, that we should."
Tempe allowed herself to look at him, and realised she believed him. Trusted him.
"When we were dancing," she admitted. "But I was heavily influenced by alcohol. And your… Demeanor."
Booth threw away his own cup and offered Tempe his hand.
"For balance," he explained. "Let's go find a cab."
She took it for practicality's sake, and they walked.
"What were you feeling bad for thinking about?" Tempe asked.
"Huh?"
"You said Rebecca was seeing another man all along, while you were feeling bad for thinking about something, but you didn't say what it was."
"Oh."
"What do you mean by oh?"
"Look, a cab!" Booth deflected, and waved at it, not letting go of Tempe. It stopped, swerved over to them, and they got in. Tempe gave her address, then turned to Booth.
"What do you mean by oh?" she asked again.
Booth glanced at the driver. "Can I tell you when we get to yours?"
Tempe sighed. "Fine."
She leaned back into the seat, her body tingling as it warmed up, feeling the world spinning around her. Actually, she corrected, the world was spinning no differently from the way it usually spun. Rather, the alcohol she had consumed was affecting the densities of the fluids in her semicircular canals and distorting the movements of her ampullary cupulae, which in turn were stimulating the hair cells which communicated to her brain via the vestibulocochlear nerve.
"Did you know that human beings actually have far more than five senses?" Tempe asked, largely to keep herself awake.
"No," Booth said, surprised she was talking. He'd thought she might be asleep.
"Yup. Proprioception, for example, tells us where we are in space. And our vestibular sense, which does balancing. Neither of those are working particularly well for me right now, but they're there."
"Proprio-what now?"
"Proprioception," Tempe said slowly, only slurring slightly.
"And what is it, exactly?"
"It's…" Tempe sat up a little, trying to find the right words. "It's how you know that right now, you're in a car, your feet are on the floor and you can feel them, you can feel your body on a seat and you know we're moving and on a road through Evanston and you can understand where you are in relation to all of that and to me, and also where parts of you are in relation to other parts of you."
"Huh. Proprioception," Booth said. "Parker would like learning about that."
They were outside the dorm. Tempe paid the driver and they got out of the cab, then entered the dorm. Booth followed Tempe, feeling out of his element. She led the way to her room, unlocked it, went inside, and promptly closed the door in Booth's face.
With Booth safely outside, Tempe removed Angela's dress and shoes, and pulled on leggings, sweatpants, a long sleeved t-shirt, two sweaters, and thick fuzzy socks. Then she opened the door.
"You can come in now," she said.
Booth grinned when he saw her. She'd looked gorgeous in the dress, but she looked even better now. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and-
"Would you like a sweater?" Tempe offered.
Booth wanted to say no, but the gooseflesh on his arms betrayed him. Tempe handed him a sweater. It said Northwestern University and smelled like fabric softener. It fit him pretty well. He took off his shoes to reveal wet socks, which he removed, too. Tempe handed him a replacement pair.
"Pink?"
"Gender stereotypes are a social construct. And in fact, until fairly recently, pink was considered a masculine colour."
Booth rolled his eyes and put them on. "You have an answer for everything."
"No. Perhaps more things than you have answers for. But not everything."
There was a beautiful twinkle in her eyes as she said this. She was teasing him. She sat on one of the beds, Booth could tell by the decor it was definitely hers, and patted the space beside her. He bounced on with such enthusiasm that Tempe also bounced, then tumbled into him. He let them fall, lying back so she was next to him with her head on his chest. She fitted there so well. He said a silent prayer that she wouldn't move, at least not right away.
"Do you want to tell me what you felt bad for thinking about?" Tempe asked. Booth took a moment to remember what she was talking about.
"Wanting to be with you," Booth said quietly.
"Be with as in sex?"
"You don't hold back, do you?"
"Why should I? Conversations work far better when people say what they think. I wish more people would."
"Be with as in everything. Talking, dancing, sitting. Sure, sex too," Booth said, expecting to feel more uncomfortable than he did. Tempe was tracing the letters on his borrowed sweater with her finger.
"Do you still feel bad?" she asked.
Booth paused. Tempe listened to his heart beat, felt the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek.
"Yes," he admitted. "I believe in the sanctity of marriage."
"Marriage is archaic and ridiculous."
"Maybe, but you believe in honesty, right? We, Rebecca and I, we made a promise, and we've broken it."
"Does being my friend make you feel bad?" Tempe asked in a very small voice.
Booth put his arm around her and held on tight.
"Being your friend is one of the very few things that makes me feel good," he told her. "Now it's your turn. What changed your mind about wanting to have sex with me?"
"Tonight," Tempe corrected. "Wanting to have sex with you tonight. And… I realised I find you too interesting."
"You find me too interesting to have sex with me?" He was incredulous.
"Yes. Sex satisfies a physical need. When we were dancing, I felt we were physically compatible, and I am sure sex between us would be enjoyable. But as we walked, as we talked, I felt something I have never felt before. Something… Different. And I don't want to have sex with you until I know what that is."
Booth moved his hand up to stroke her hair. "Do you ever say anything other than exactly what you think?" he asked.
"Almost always."
"I thought you always told the truth!"
"I do. But I hardly ever say exactly, or all of, what I think. It would take too long. And people would hate me. More than they do already," she added.
"I don't hate you."
"You're a fascinating exception."
"Tell me something you think, exactly, all of, whatever. I bet you I can take it."
"What do you bet?"
"A kiss."
"A kiss if who wins?"
"If I can take it, I'll kiss you to prove it. If I can't, I'll hate you, according to you, and I'll have to sleep in the hall."
Tempe paused, then got up from the bed. Booth sat up to meet her eyes.
"I want you to kiss me before I say anything," she said. "Because I truly believe, if you knew even a fraction of what I think, you would run as fast as you could in the opposite direction. I think you're a wonderful, beautiful person with a kind, strong heart and an admirable sense of morality, far better than mine. I think you're significantly flawed, in terms of your limited education, and the smoking, of course, and I think that getting married so young was utterly idiotic. I think you're aggravating and irritating and the best person I know, and looking at you makes my chest hurt. I've thought about you every waking minute since we met. I want to know everything about you, I want to climb inside your brain and find out exactly what makes you who you are, what makes me feel the way I do when I'm with you. But most of all, I want to make you disappear, so you never existed in my life, because before I met you I knew where it was going to go. I knew what I was going to do, who I was going to be. And I could do it, because I knew I couldn't have anything better. But you've disproved it, all of it. You've given me a glimpse, a glimmer of hope, and when I look at you and feel my heart rate accelerate and my lungs start to ache, I hate you."
Booth stood up, and Tempe closed her eyes, causing the tears which had built up in them to spill out. She didn't want to watch him leave. She listened for his footsteps, for the sound of the door, but heard nothing. Then she felt the lightest of brushes against her cheek.
"You really are an excellent person, Temperance Brennan."
She opened her eyes. Booth stood in front of her. The brush had been a kiss.
"You've told me that before," she murmured, thinking she must be dreaming.
"How does it feel to be wrong?" Booth asked, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.
Tempe wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him. "I hate this," she mumbled.
Booth hugged her back and thought about everything she had said. He'd never been called a glimmer of hope before. He couldn't remember being called beautiful or wonderful either.
"If you really want me to go, if you really think that's best, I will," he said, sounding more vulnerable than he'd intended.
Tempe pulled away and looked up at him, willing him to understand. "No," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I hate that I need you. But I need you."
Drunk, exhausted, and emotionally drained, Tempe was suddenly desperate for sleep. She took Booth's hand, squeezed it, then looked around the room for her washbag.
"I need to brush my teeth and get some water," she said. "Are you coming?"
"I've got your six," Booth told her.
"I don't know what that means."
"It means I'm watching your back, I'm behind you," he explained, smiling. Tempe watched him, smiling at her like she hadn't just told him she hated him and wanted him to disappear.
"How do you do that?"
"Well, I wait for you to walk, then I walk after you."
"No, how do you… How do you not care, about everything I said?"
"I care. But in a good way. I like what you said."
"I said I hate you."
"You said you hate me because I give you hope for something better. I don't know your past, Brennan, but I know enough to know that hope for something better is definitely something you deserve, and I'm honoured to be a part of that. Even if it means you hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"I know."
They stood in the bathroom. Tempe brushed her teeth. Then she offered Booth the brush.
"It's covered in bacteria," she said. "But I don't appear to be sick, and I don't have any mouth ulcers."
Booth rinsed it under the tap. "There. Good as new."
"Totally inaccurate."
Booth added some toothpaste and put it in his mouth. ""No worse than if I'd kissed you properly," he said around the brush.
"Why didn't you?"
Booth brushed for a full minute, spat out the toothpaste, then caught Tempe's eye in the mirror.
"Because, Brennan, when I really kiss you for the first time, it'll be because I want to, and you want to, and all bets will be off."