Chapter 7

"Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away." ― Sarah Kay

She was sleeping, she was sure of it, dreaming. Booth's strong hand rested on her shoulder, she could feel the weight of it, his fingers rubbing soft even circles along her arm. Something was playing in the background, exaggerated voices, thick East Coast accents booming loudly in her ears. Then his hand moved stroking her hair, tucking it gently behind her ear. She could feel the callouses on his fingertips brush against her neck. It was soothing and so real, but it had to be a dream. This wasn't them, this wasn't the way they were with one another.

And since it was a dream, a comforting, happy dream, a wonderful reprieve to her normal fanfare of disturbing nightmares, there seemed to be no reason to wake up. Humming in satisfaction, she nuzzled further into her pillow and let herself drift in the solace of what she hoped they could be someday.

It was the rapid gun fire that jarred her awake, set her heart pounding in her chest. Bolting upright, she gasped for air as her frantic eyes tried to make sense of unfamiliar surroundings. It took too long to figure it out and when she did, she was even more confused.

"It's okay, Bones, it's not real, just the show, remember?" His hand was on her back, rubbing large circles, trying to calm her, but it wasn't working. "It's okay, you're okay." Whipping her head around she caught his eyes. Genuinely scared, he could see the raw panic in them.

"No." She pleaded as she became less scared and more desperate with each iteration. Over and over she said the simple word as she stood backing away from him until she hit the bookcase where his TV was still blasting, rattling the whole assembly. She reached out and Booth wasn't sure if she was steadying herself or trying to keep his TV and nicknacks from falling.

Those eyes, her gorgeous, expressive, storyteller eyes, always honest, just like her, never lied. What he saw in them now worried him, he knew this look, cornered, ready to run. This adjustment in their partnership was hard, after all, he was trying to get them back to what they were before. Consistently back, not just glimpses, moments where he saw it, felt it, then watched it slip through his fingers again, lost in more than a year of mistakes and regret. Tonight felt like one of those nights, he felt like they were lost, fighting their way to the surface for air.

Her frightened eyes were a sharp contrast to those sparkling blue eyes, those daring, competitive eyes that claimed victory on their morning jog just days ago and demanded he buy her coffee. He wanted to be back in that moment, the one he orchestrated when he woke up early Saturday morning, looked at the time, and knew exactly where to find her jogging in Rock Creek Park. Ponytail swaying, long graceful stride, so strong and beautiful, he just watched for a moment before running to catch up. Morning light pooled around her, wisps of hair forming a golden halo framing her face, pure Bones, very little makeup, no pretense. She was so her that morning, all science and confidence.

If he couldn't have those eyes he'd settle for her apologetic eyes, such honest regret over missing the lecture Booth was going to attend with her on the Peloponnesian War. They were doing what they do best, standing over another dead body. He wanted those eyes back because these eyes, the one staring back at him, were stormy, more green than blue, like the ocean, and he felt them being sucked back into the powerful undertow which seemed to be continually threatening them.

Standing, he reached for her shoulders to steady her, to try and calm her, but it only seemed to upset her.

"Bones, what's going on here, talk to me, okay? Tell me what's bothering you. Did you have a nightmare?" She wasn't answering, just shaking her head back and forth as she gathered her belongings and headed for the door. "The gunshots weren't real, just the show, a documentary on Al Capone, remember?"

She remembered, she remembered the bar and drinks, not celebratory, they didn't close the case, didn't catch Broadsky. They talked, he'd been mad at her, it seemed like the whole case and she didn't know why. It was a miscommunication. They didn't used to have those, not really, never. Booth invited her over to watch a Biography Channel documentary on Al Capone and the Valentine's Day Massacre. A thank you for her special gift to him.

She remembered sitting next to him on the couch, not too close, sharing popcorn and talking. The narrator's deep voice was so relaxing. Sleepy, emotionally and physically exhausted from this last case, she must have dozed off, but she didn't remember laying down, certainly didn't remember putting her head in Booth's lap. Embarrassed, her cheeks burning, arms full, she headed straight for the door, with Booth right behind her begging her to stay.

"Bones, stop, please, just stop and talk to me, just for a minute, okay? Then you can go, I won't stop you, just talk to me first, okay, tell me what's going on, why you're so...nothing happened, nothing between us, okay, I wasn't...I hope you don't think I…"

Well, not nothing, he thought but didn't say that. Something happened, something so comforting and natural that he didn't fight it, just let her slip with ease into his lap. Catching a glimpse of what could be between them turned into a moment of clarity for him. This was why he asked Hannah to marry him, not because he thought she would say yes, not because he wanted a life with her, not at all. He did it because he knew Hannah would say no, on some elemental level he knew. And he knew it would free him so he could pursue this, so he could have this moment with this woman.

His hand hovered over her shoulder for a long time before he let it rest there and he didn't even realize the patterns his fingers drew in lazy repetition along her arm until she turned her head. Settling into his lap, her beautiful dark locks fell across her face. It was tickling her, he could tell by the way she wiggled her nose, and he didn't want her to wake, didn't want this dream, his waking dream, to end. So, he carefully tucked those unruly bits back behind her ear, letting his fingers drag along her neck.

The rattle of the door knob startled him, arms still full, her awkward attempts to open it lost in her frenzied attempt to leave. He just wanted her to stop so he could talk to her. Desperate, he came up right behind her, reaching over her shoulders he pushed against the door with both hands. It fell closed with a loud thud. Her whole body jerked. She was trapped between him and the door. His strong arms on either side of her, she stared at his hands, his fingers nervously twitching, adjusting against the dark wood.

Finally processing what he was saying, she shook her head slightly side to side. No, she didn't think he was out of bounds, that didn't even occur to her.

"Booth." Tired, an undertone of defeat whispered through his name as she exhaled it against the door.

"Just talk to me, Bones. Just...just...tell me...tell me what's going on."

"It doesn't matter." Eyes glued to his hands, she didn't turn around, didn't dare, for fear she'd cave under the effect of those tender brown eyes she knew were waiting for her.

"Partners don't say it doesn't matter," he whispered, "it's like saying forget it." Shifting her weight back and forth, she let her shoulders fall in defeat, and turned around. "It does matter, Bones, whatever it is does matter."

They were so close, dangerously close. Eyes darting back and forth across one another until they locked and held. The documentary on Al Capone was still playing in the background, filling the silence between them. He let it, waiting for her to answer.

"I...I..." Squaring her shoulders, she stood up a little talker, took a deep breath for fortitude, and closed her eyes. She couldn't look at him, she just needed to say it. "I don't want a new FBI guy." Confused, he shook his head slightly. What she was saying didn't make any sense to him and he wondered why she would even think that.

"What? Bones, I don't understand."

"You said I had two choices. You...you...said…," the pained look in her eyes nearly broke him, but when he moved to reach out to her, she flinched and jerked backward, hitting the door. So, he pulled back, taking a step or two to give her some space. "That night, you said that I could stay and have a drink with you, as your partner, only your partner, or I could leave and you would find me a new partner, those were my only options. That...that..." motioning towards the couch, she swallowed hard, "that wasn't…partners don't do that. I don't want a new FBI guy, Booth, I don't want a new partner."

He forgot about that. There were so many things about that night he regretted, big, overwhelming things, he never even thought twice about this thing. But, Bones, she was different, of course she would latch onto something like that, hard-and-fast lines, definitions, rules, structure, semantics, anything and everything that could be taken as an absolute, something solid, she would cling to it, stake her life on it.

"I was drunk." Looking away, he lowered his head until he was staring at floor and talked softly. "I was drunk, Bones, I was...that whole thing with Hannah, it had just happened. I didn't mean...I never meant...I was just so angry."

He couldn't say the rest aloud, couldn't bring himself to, but he thought it. He was angry and drunk and stupid, emphasis on stupid. If he wasn't drunk he would never say half the things he said to her that night, more than half.

"Are you still angry?"

It wasn't just Hannah he was angry at that night, she knew it, remembered it vividly. Looking past him, she stared across his living room replaying the whole painful interaction like a movie in her head. His words still burned, etched into her memory. She felt her heart clench in her chest as she waited for his answer.

"I'm better, I mean, I'm working on it, you know." Swallowing hard, he sought her eyes, wanting to connect. "I'm not as angry. I'm better." Switching his focus he looked over at the couch. "That, right there, you just fell asleep, it wasn't, we're still partners, we're good, there's nothing, I'm not going to find you a new partner, Bones, I don't want a new partner. I want you, you're the only partner I've ever wanted."

Her head tilted and he swore he heard a catch in her breath.

"Stay, okay? Stay and we'll finish the show." She looked back and forth from Booth to the couch, eventually letting her eyes fall shut as she thought. She couldn't leave, not the way things were, leaving would drive them farther apart, she knew it. When she finally answered, it was a simple nod, growing in strength and confidence until her nod turned into a one word answer.

"Okay."

Shrugging off her bag, dropping her boots, letting her overcoat slip off her arm, she let it all fall to the floor where she stood. Booth let out a long sigh of relief following her back to the couch. They sat on opposite ends, staring straight ahead at the television, stiff, anxious, occasionally stealing glances in one another's direction. She looked hesitant, but she stayed and that meant the world to him. He wasn't alone in his desire to work this out between them, she wanted it too.

No more running.

Booth took a long deep breath, holding it. This case was hard, reopening old wounds while he was still dealing with fresh ones. An old friend, well, used to be friend, he corrected himself, a former brother in arms. It wasn't just the Gravedigger, Broadsky killing again meant it wasn't an isolated incident, this new victim set a pattern. Booth spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out what changed in Broadsky, what snapped causing him to spin off in this destructive direction. All while coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to stop until Booth stopped him. That was a heavy load.

Only made worse by the way Bones looked at him, those eyes, those beautiful eyes seemed to stand in judgement, constantly comparing him to Jake Broadsky. Every clue, every bit of information, every interaction, every comparison she made, added to the horrible weight and guilt he carried. She knew him, better than anyone else in the world she knew him. How could she think taking a life meant nothing to him the way it meant nothing to Broadsky? He thought that during the case, about a million times. It broke him in a way he couldn't explain.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught her moving a little closer to him, reaching for the bowl of pistachios and grabbing a few. Glancing up at him, their eyes met, she smiled briefly, then turned back toward the television. He saw trust there, not like they used to share, but it was something, a beginning, enough for where they were in their relationship. The look she gave him mirrored the look she gave him in the bar, which was still fresh in his mind.

"I'm standing right beside you, Booth, like always, like I always will."

All week he thought she was judging him, thought she was saying that he and Broadsky were the same. But, he admitted to himself, he may have gotten that wrong. He couldn't help but wonder if he was so worried about what she thought of him that he missed the most important story her eyes were telling, one of support.

Scooting a little closer to her, he forced himself to sink back into the couch. Grabbing a few of the small nuts he fiddled with them, pinching them between his fingers, cracking the shells, turning them over and over in his hands, before popping the kernels in his mouth one at a time. It was a nervous twitch, a fidget. His mind weaving it's way back to the case, their partnership. He told Sweets they didn't talk about personal stuff like Broadsky, like her judgements, his feelings, not anymore. That wasn't strictly true, but saying it aloud made him realize it was truer than he wanted it to be.

"We're not just partners, you know." Booth spoke into the flashing light and shadows from the TV screen, he didn't look up, his eyes glued to the pistachio shells tumbling between his fingers as her full attention turned toward him. "I mean, we've been partners for five years, more than five years, right? That's a long of time, you know, I mean, we're not just partners, we're friends, right?" There was a pained desperation in his voice, he needed to know she still considered him a friend as much as he needed her to know their friendship was important to him.

Turning to face her, their eyes caught, and he watched as she nodded her approval. Her voice strained as she tried to speak against the emotion she felt welling up in her.

"Yes, of course, friends."

"Not just friends, you know, good friends, close friends." They were both nodding now, agreeing with each other. "So, that thing, you know, that happened earlier, you don't have to worry about that because it wasn't a partner thing, you know, it was a friend thing." He caught the tiny catch in her breath, her soft smile, her giving eyes signalling her approval.

"A friend thing, yes."

With that, they both turned their attention back to the documentary, feigning interest as George E.Q. Johnson's son talked at length about how his father's experience as the lead prosecutor in Al Capone's tax evasion case.

Without warning Booth reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a little squeeze and when she didn't pull away he just kept holding it, letting his thumb rub even circles over hers.

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A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. I haven't had much time this week. Real life is being a pain in the...well, you know. I will try to catch up this weekend on answering reviews. In the meantime, THANK YOU! To all you who have taken the time to read and give feedback, it means so much to me and makes this escape such a rewarding one for me. And to those who sign in as guest, I wish I could answer each of your thoughtful reviews. Since I can't, for the most part, please accept a collective thank you and some warm virtual hugs!

I'm off to a busy day, but I'll be holding my breath and checking email on my phone for review notifications. I'm anxious for your thoughts about this chapter!

Much love,

~DG