Set during Season 6, Episode 22, 'The Hole in the Heart'.
M rating - more for topic than graphic nature.
She sobbed, and he held her.
Fleetingly recognizing to himself that had today's events not happened, she would never have climbed onto his bed. Climbed onto him.
She sobbed with an intensity he hadn't witnessed before. Like her entire world was ending.
This was something he couldn't fix.
He hoped his words had offered some small relief, but he couldn't be sure. She had looked like she wanted to believe him though. Desperately so.
Arms tight around her, absorbing the sobs as they wracked her body.
His own tears leaking freely. Partly for Vincent. Partly for her. Partly in guilt.
Making her his anchor, as if she wasn't that already.
She's shaking still. But less.
He shifts slightly, looking to bring her impossibly closer. Feels the cold air around them & realizes she's stopped crying.
She's shivering.
A hand running down her back in a futile attempt to send some warmth through her sweatshirt.
"You're freezing, Bones."
Sniffles are all he gets in response.
He desperately needs her to stay. The weight of her reassures him. Lulls him, not into a false sense of security, but of belonging. He wants only to remain here holding her tight for the foreseeable.
Grasping in the dark for the duvet edge. He pulls it smoothly over the pair of them. Cocooned.
Hoping she'll see it for what it is. Warmth. Safety. Belonging. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Can I… stay here?"
That small voice again, hesitant.
A shaky exhale, on his part.
A kiss pressed to the top of her head. Instinctive.
"As long as you want." Muffled by her hair.
But she hears.
Burrows closer.
Stills.
She's quiet for so long he thinks she may have drifted off to sleep.
"I'm sorry about your tshirt."
He hadn't even realized the front of it was a sodden mess until now.
"Honestly not a problem, Bones."
Her palm flattens and she feels his warmth radiating.
Drifts it to rest over his right pectoral, remembering another shot.
He knows where her mind has gone to. Accepts that he might know her too well.
Her head raises slightly, searches his face.
Both tear-streaked.
"Temperance."
Murmured, not in warning, but hesitation not to explore that particular rabbit hole.
Surprisingly clear eyes watching him.
Captivating.
Deciding.
"You can take it off." Notably less hesitant.
Him stalled, processing.
"Your t-shirt," she continues. "If you want."
Hand still lingering, her eyes holding his, waiting.
He's frozen in indecision. Knows what he wants to do, but terrified of overstepping. Stood on a precipice.
He's acutely aware of her wording… not to 'change it', but 'take it off'.
"Ok." He whispers, moving to sit upright again and displacing her in the process.
She sits back, but not completely. Can't entirely explain in her own mind why she can't allow herself to part from him. Can't rationalize the fact that she's practically straddling him.
The t-shirt is removed in seconds, before he has a chance to change his mind and backtrack.
Knows he was right the moment her eyes lock on his scar. Teeth worrying her lower lip.
He moves his hand up, hesitates, before brushing some errant strands of hair back behind her right ear. Fingertips playing with the ends.
Jolts slightly and drops the strands as he feels her own fingers graze his puckered skin.
"It was a long time ago," he murmurs, searching her shadowed face.
A shuddered breath, followed by;
"It was my fault though."
Disbelief. His heart breaking open.
"Bones it's not…"
He takes a shuddering breath to steady himself. Grips her left hand with his right one, holding it in place.
Head dipped to catch her gaze, eyes filled with a combination of old and new tears.
"Bones, it was my own stupid fault for not taking Sweets seriously enough."
They've never spoken about this properly, but he thought she knew. Thought she understood he's never blamed her.
Steady eyes watching him for signs that he's placating her.
Knowing they're too far past that.
Her voice is fragile when she speaks, her tongue feeling around the cracks in her sentences, forcing them forward into the small space between them.
"When I thought you were dead, I didn't… handle it very well."
He nods slightly, still not forgiving himself completely for failing to double, triple, quadruple check she was on the list.
"I can't stop thinking that that call today was meant for you, Booth."
He breaks their gaze, head dropping between them, hand gripping hers tighter.
"If you'd have died today I really don't think I'd be capable of functioning."
A choked back sob, and neither is sure which one made the sound.
"Bones if…" head still bowed, he's aware of her settling on his thighs more substantially, leaning in to hear him properly. "If Vincent hadn't been on the platform today, I would have passed my phone to you."
"Booth." She tries to halt him, free hand brought up to cup his cheek, caressing the familiar structure.
"If I'd," his voice cracks. "If I'd been the reason…"
"Stop it." Sounding stronger than she feels.
"I couldn't…"
Gently slipping her left hand from his chest and bringing it up to his opposite cheek. Tilting up. Brushing a tear away with the pad of a thumb.
His eyes are still closed, anguish taking over. The hand that had held onto hers so tightly, now landed in their lap, running back to grip her knee.
A puff of warm air on his left cheek is quickly chased by her lips, catching his next tear.
An intake of breath, catching.
Her lingering.
His eyes opening and making contact.
The pull of them.
Neither is sure who actually made the move, although there was very little space to traverse.
Both are caught off guard by the gentle brushing of lips, meeting, exploring this new territory.
Once, twice, three times.
Steadying herself on one of his perfect acromion.
Shuddering as his palm runs back up her legging-clad thigh.
It's a world away from tequila or mistletoe, and laced with the overwhelming feeling that they're finally on the same page.
He pulls back slightly, some remote vestige of self preservation clinging to him.
"Bones, are you sure you're…"
"Ready?" she interrupts, the back of her index finger tracing delicately along the lower edge of his mandible. "Are you?"
Wide eyes watching him, expectant.
"More than I can…" he starts, getting cut off again.
"Well then we both are." Simply stated. Measured, balanced and spoken deliberately. A paradigm shifting.
He gulps as she traces her fingers down the column of his throat, hand flattening as it continues south, coming to rest atop his heart.
Racing.
Solid.
Booth.
She brings her eyes back up to his and falters under his gaze, processing the intensity. Recognizing the ghosts of glances long past. Finally understanding.
"I…" she whispers, and there are at least fifteen different ways to continue. Her thoughts more jumbled in that instant than she could remember.
When she kisses him again it's insistent. A tsunami of emotion urging her forward. Hand sliding around the back of his neck, fingers raking the short hairs at his nape. Pulling him closer.
He groans audibly when she catches his lower lip with her teeth. Both his hands sliding forward to grip her ass and pulling her to him properly. Gasping at the contact through their clothes. Feeling her rock forward just enough.
A hot tongue revisiting the path she'd traced on his mandible.
Gently tugging on his earlobe with her teeth.
A growl.
Hot breath in his ear.
"Help me break the laws of Physics?"
I was never puzzled by the TV canon, but always wondered how these two faced up to their emotions in that moment and converted tragedy and guilt into… them.
Interested to hear any thoughts on this… thanks for reading :)