Chapter 11
"She is made up of depths even the ocean couldn't fathom."
― Jessica Katoff
"Booth?" There was an element of surprise in her voice as she swung her front door open.
"Hey." He looked, something, arms folded tightly across his chest, a couple steps back from the door, rocking back and forth a little on his heels. Things were good between them and his serious demeanor worried her. "Can I?" He nodded towards the inside of her apartment as he looked over her shoulder.
"Of course." Stepping back, she made room for him to slip in. "Did something happen? Do we have a case?" Cell phone in hand, she was already checking to see if she missed a call or message from him when she heard his answer.
"No, no we don't have a case." She was having a hard time reading him which was in turn making her anxious. "I just, can we...can we just sit for a..."
"Yes." She answered, taking up the spot in the corner of her couch where she was sitting and working before he knocked on her door.
Booth looked at her, surrounded by her work. Books and papers stacked neatly in piles for easy reference on her coffee table, glass of wine on the end table next to her, her laptop open in the middle of the couch between them. His eyes darted from item to item, then back to her. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit coat he pulled out the letters she sent over by courier. Her eyes went wide. She sent the letters late in the day, sure he'd be long gone by the time they were delivered to his office, thinking he would get then in the morning. Eyes darting frantically about, she took a deep breath and held it.
"Uh . . . I wanted to . . . um . . . bring these back and . . . you know . . . tell you thank you for sharing them with me." They weren't nearly as neat as when he pulled them out of the package she sent them in, each one was opened, read, folded back up, stacked together. The whole bundle loosely tied together with a sloppy, lopsided bow. Booth leaned forward and set them on the table in front of him.
She only nodded. There was more, she could feel it, so she waited, but Booth didn't say anything, just sat there staring at them.
"You're not happy." Whispering softly, she swallowed hard against the lump of nervousness lodged in her throat.
Booth cleared his throat and took another sharp breath. It wasn't that, it wasn't that he wasn't happy. He actually enjoyed the letters, sat in the quiet of his office and read every one of them, some of them twice, some parts three or four times. Just as he predicted, they were so much more than nothing. A deep ache settled into the center of his chest as he sat there alone, the bullpen dark, nearly empty at the end of a long day, thinking of how things would've been different if he'd gotten even one of these letters. And he knew, really knew, he needed to talk to her about that. He just didn't know how.
"I'm happy." He offered, trying to reassure her, adding a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes and she looked unconvinced. He was making it worse, which wasn't his intention. Then he had an idea. "Hey, can I?" Motioning to her open laptop, he gathered it up in his lap before she could even protest.
Clearing her throat, she sat up straight and squared her shoulders.
"It's password protected, Booth, you won't be able to open it."
His eyes flashed, full of mischief and challenge. "I can." He set about typing in his couple fingered search and destroy method as she continued to protest.
"It's not Jupiter or daffodil or daisy, not any of those."
Looking up, he paused in the middle of entering the password.
"I know."
"I changed it."
"I figured you would. I'm counting on it," looking down at the keyboard, he paused for a moment, re-finding his place, and went back to work. Dramatically hitting the sign in button when he was finished. There was obvious surprise in her expression, a huff of disbelief, as the laptop sprung to life and the document she was typing filled the screen.
Whacking his arm lightly with the back of her hand, she protested. "That's impossible." She reached past him, took the laptop from him, and closed it quickly.
The sparkle in his eyes, that broad confident smile, and deep rich chuckle eased her tension.
"How?' She protested. "How did you do that?" Shaking her head in disbelief, she remembered with fondness a similar interaction deep in their shared history, then opened her laptop back up, and entered her password again to make sure it was the same as she remembered it. Baffled, she looked over at him.
"I know you." His mood rapidly changed from playful to solemn. "After our talk, you know, that night, I knew you would change your password." She gave him a sceptical sideways glance riddled with disbelief.
"You cheated, you must've looked when I was picking my date." She said confidently then stopped, he was shaking his head, gloating just a little, lightening the mood again. "No?"
"I didn't. Okay, maybe I pretended like I was looking, but I didn't see anything, I swear." He sat back, relishing his victory for a moment before explaining. "I know you, it's that simple. I asked you to pick a date for us, you know, for us to be ready to start something new, together, a new beginning, and you are a very rational person, Bones. September 10th is the day we first met, the day we started working our first case together, that was a beginning, our beginning, and this, you know, would be a beginning, so, September 10th of this year, that's the date you wrote down, right?" She nodded, her eyes wide with vulnerability. Booth paused, looking over at her and locking eyes. "I know you." Booth reached for the letters and pulled one out opening it up and clearing his throat before he started reading.
"It's monsoon season here, which has slowed our work considerably. We've been on the outskirts of most of the storms making them inconvenient more than anything else, but this one has hit the island particularly hard. Most of our activities have centered around protecting the dig site from runoff and flooding. We've been stuck inside the tents for days now with no indication that the storm will break any time soon.
"I find I do not tolerate inactivity well. In addition to complicating work it's made it impossible for supplies to make it to the island. The cook has resorted to bushmeat, which is a nice way of saying any kind of rodent or animal which can be caught and killed in our environs. I do believe it might even make you consider becoming a vegetarian. Unfortunately, with my vegetarian diet and no supplies I am reduced to eating mainly taro which is found in abundance here on the island. It is a fibrous root and tastes somewhat like a very fibrous starchy potato. I prefer potatoes.
"I miss the diner."
Booth let out a long sigh.
"You know what this says to me?" Eyes wide, heart pounding, she waited. Booth looked down at the fragile paper, her beautiful, exact handwriting spread across the page in neat even rows and back up to her. She looked delicate, like the paper he held in his hands. Her eyes nearly begging him to leave her inner thoughts unspoken. "You missed me." Catching her eyes, not letting them go. "You . . . you . . . were thinking about our meals at the diner, the food, sure, but it wasn't just about food. No, I mean, you know, I'm sure you missed the food there, especially, especially with nothing good to eat, but this was about us, this was about missing our work together, the intensity, the fast pace, about sitting across from each other at our table and talking about a case or some crazy tradition of some newly discovered tribe you read about in one of your fancy anthropologist magazines and how it challenges every principle we believe in here, as a culture, and telling me I shouldn't eat so much meat or pie and . . . and . . . and, you know," he looked back down, studying his own hands, "stealing my fries."
"Booth." His name was barely audible, soft and low on her lips.
"Right?" She didn't answer, but he wasn't waiting for an answer. He set that letter down, still open, and grabbed another.
"The project has yielded no measurable success. It's been months and I haven't made one significant or even semi-significant find. I try to remind myself that these things take time. I hear your voice tell me this is a marathon, not a sprint, and we, I, have to approach it as such. Every morning when I drink my coffee I listen to you. Every morning you tell me to slow down and take a breath. I fear I am more of a sprint person by nature, I suppose I thought that was all I'd ever be, then you taught me I could be a marathon person."
The pile of open letters was growing bigger. Booth was moving through them faster and faster.
"I believe Ms. Wick is finally over her hero worship. Living in such close proximity has made her keenly aware of my fallibility, which, she has been quite vocal in pointing out, taking every opportunity to point out ways in which she has decided I fail. Not professionally, obviously, or intellectually, I am unquestionably superior in those aspects of my life. My personal life seems to be her focus, especially interpersonal relationships, which I have never claimed to have any particular skill at. It's good, I would prefer she makes her own decision regarding her life rather than do what she thinks I might do or would have done in the past."
"And this." Booth let out a particularly long sigh. "I have discovered I am no longer afraid of snakes. I believe I have encountered every size and variation the island has to offer. In my tent, sitting down at meal time, coiled up in one of my shoes, in the latrine and shower numerous times, in each and every vehicle the project has available, in my bags and other possessions, even in my bed. At first I turned and looked for you, a natural reflex I suppose, but, of course, you were not there. Now, I find I am not in the least bit afraid. It is not the only change. I have grown to not only tolerate Ms. Wick, but feel some affection toward her. I believe I am more patient with people's inabilities and/or shortcomings and I'm more generous with compliments. Also, I cut my hair."
After reading that last part he turned to her and, scooting closer, reached up to tuck a thick lock behind her ear, then tenderly brush it behind her shoulder. A shiver ran through her, one she couldn't hide and he watched as she let out a long breath and her shoulders dropped.
"It's grown a lot since we got back." Speaking softly, he stayed close, leaning in just a little bit closer. "I like it . . . longer . . . it's pretty." There was a catch in her breath, a sharp intake of air when he reached for her hand and held it. These little intimacies were happening more frequently. They were comfort in the storm of emotions and passions that raged between them.
This was not an easy transition, not at all like she'd imagine it. For some reason she thought it would be like Sweets always proffered, like a dam breaking. One step over the line would be akin to opening the floodgates and they'd tumble over the edge. It would all change at once, not this long drawn out, often painful, process. A single kiss would lead to sex, right then, and they would go from having nothing to everything.
But they kissed and the dam didn't break.
It wasn't lacking, not in any way. It was, it was, everything. She felt connected to Booth in a way that she didn't anticipate and couldn't begin to articulate. It was more than their first kiss on that first case they worked together. That was pure passion, a lustful kiss, full of so much potential it scared her. And the second time, well, the second time was stolen, ripped from his lips under mistletoe. And it felt stolen, like it could never be enough.
This latest kiss was, well, it was years of friendship and desire wrapped into one singular event. It wasn't an end, it didn't feel done, it was a beginning, the first of many, she was sure of it.
Booth rocked her from her reverie bumping her shoulder lightly. "You changed." He kept his voice low, just a little playful. "You told me once you couldn't, you know, change, that you didn't know how and I think what you wanted me to know when you wrote this letter was that you found a way, you learned how, and that if you could change all these other things, you know, you could find a way for us to be together." Booth paused, taking a sharp deep breath.
This conversation was stripping her, leaving her emotionally bare, he could feel it in her, which wasn't his intention. Wanting her to feel safe, protected by what they shared together, he pushed aside everything on the corner of her coffee table as she sat there, watching, her stormy eyes darting across him as he worked. Then he moved, sitting directly in front of her. His hands, big and strong and warm, came to rest lightly on the top of her knees, fidgeting nervously until they drifted around her legs and tucked up under her knees.
He tugged, pulling her a little closer, leaving his hands gripping the tops of her calves. Her tiny gasp, her quickened breath, the way she closed her eyes and let her lips fall just a little open, he could barely resist kissing her right then, but he'd come so far, too far to not finish. Letting his forehead press lightly against hers, he spoke in a low whisper.
"I thought I lost you, you know, when I didn't hear from you, I thought . . . I . . . I, God, I thought you didn't wa-" He stopped, mid word, unable to say it out loud. "It hurt, you know, I thought it meant something that you didn't write, that you never called. I mean, I know now, I knew when I saw that letter at your place and when I read these. God, Bones, I get it now, I understand."
The slight twitch of his fingers pulled her attention, she focused it on it, on the his grip, he was holding onto her, physically, emotionally, and she waited, barely moving, waiting for him to finish his thoughts.
"In all these letters, everything you said, everything you thought you didn't say, you know what's missing?"
Barely breathing, she sat still, and didn't answer.
"There's not one question about me, not one about what I'm doing or how I'm doing. Not one. Not in any of these letters." There was no anger in his voice, it was tender, full of understanding and she wasn't sure but she thought that made his words strike deeper, hurt more. It wasn't that she didn't want to know about his life in Afghanistan, she did, but it was complicated and she wasn't sure she could explain, still, she needed to try.
"I . . . I . . . I never finished them, the letters, I threw them away before I finis-" Stuttering, tripping over her words, she fell silent when she felt the palm of his hand tuck in along her cheek and his thumb drift across her lips.
"You don't have to explain, I already know. You were afraid of the answer, you were afraid I might be hurt or injured . . . or worse. I was like that cat. If you didn't ask then I was just the same as I was when you left me at the airport . . . I was Schneider's cat."
"Schrodingers'." She whispered, unable to resist correcting him. Her warm breath drifted across his lips and she leaned in just a little leaving them painfully close. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their mingled breath between them. Then she spoke, softly. "I know what it feels like to . . . to . . . to lose you." Swallowing hard, she fought to keep control of her emotions. "I . . . remember." The emotion behind her simple words, the power and intensity of what she felt, left him momentarily speechless.
Thumping loudly, her heart pounded in her chest until it was all she could hear. Each beat flashing painful memories of the days she thought he was dead. Blood seeping through her fingers, the desperate look in his eyes, her own pained voice begging him to stay, official notification of his death, the loneliness, the sense of abandonment, the emptiness.
They never talked about it, not past her passionate rant in his bathroom, a little the next day when he found out Sweets chose not to tell her. It was overshadowed by the explosion in the lab, Zach's terrible accident, her horrifying discovery. Her beloved intern was Gormogon's apprentice.
And really, back then he didn't get it, he didn't understand, after all, he knew he wasn't dead. He didn't realize everything he'd come to mean to her. But now, feeling the forcefulness of her pain, how real and present it was, watching her tears fall, hearing the tremble in her voice, he understood, for the first time, how deeply it affected her.
"God, I'm so sorry, Bones." Tenderly, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, holding her close.
She sniffled, pulling in a deep breath. Shaking her head, still unable to speak. She didn't want him to be sorry, she didn't want him to feel bad, she just wanted him to understand. On her long list of regrets, not contacting him, not communicating with him while they were apart seemed to edging its way higher and higher by the day.
Booth stopped, took a minute to breathe, gave her a minute to do the same.
"I know it's scary. I know that even though you're being brave and strong, that this, this that we're starting, between us, is scary for you. I know that because I'm scared too, okay? But, we're going to do this, you and me, we both know it, it's coming, it's so close, and I need to know that I won't lose you again, I need to know that you won't run, because I can't lose you, not like when we left DC, not ever again. I can't. I . . . I . . . I need you, Bones."
"I know." She spoke as she nodded, just slightly, her forehead moving against his. "I won't shut you out, Booth, I promised myself awhile ago I'd never do that again."
"Okay, okay." He repeated, but his words were empty, his mind and body lost.
She was so close, so strong, leaning in, not shrinking away, she didn't run, like he feared she would, and he couldn't resist the pull, the soft brush of her lips, the overwhelming need to connect with her, to be closer. "I think I'm . . . I think I'm gonna k . . ." Their lips caught and they fell into a kiss. Then another because that first one wasn't enough, and a third, more open, more desperate, only made the his yearning worse. The tip of her tongue dragged along his bottom lip, lightly, driving him crazy with need. Their bodies collided, crashing together. He lost all control. Books and papers fell to the floor, the thin letters floated, scattering as they fell.
In one fluid move, he was back on the couch and she was on top of him, over him. His hands fell low on her hips and he couldn't resist the deep pleasured moan that echoed through her apartment. Short heavy breaths, pounding hearts, busy hands, all moving in concert, all ceased abruptly when the insistent vibrations and muffled ring of his cell phone was chased by hers, louder, buzzing against the hardwood of her coffee table. They fell back on each other, groaning in disbelief. And while the desire to ignore the blasted interruption was there, neither of them could. She slipped off his lap, reaching for hers while he reached beneath him, pulling his out of his back pocket.
"Florida?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he grumbled. They had a case. God, hot sticky, swampland, Florida, he wasn't a fan of this one time they went to Florida for a case, well, last time he didn't go, she ended up partnering with Sully, bastard.
"Yes. Florida." She sighed. He should have ignored it, the call, because this would have to wait, they would have to wait, because it wasn't happening now and it sure as hell wasn't happening in Florida.
Still a little breathless, he watched as she blushed and looked away, her eyes darting, barely landing on him before jumping off to somewhere else momentarily, then back to him. She seemed, almost shy. He stepped closer.
"You okay?" He asked softly, his hand coming up to her arm, rubbing softly.
When it happened it was so natural, so easy fall into him like that, to be with him like that, and she was ready for it, she waited for so long, but now, standing there, talking about work, a case, she realized this would take some juggling, some intense compartmentalization to transition from one to the other without either aspect of her life suffering because of the other.
"Yes, of course." Bold now, firm and composed, Booth smiled. That was his girl. "I will pack and meet you at the airport." Looking down at her watch she paused for a moment. "In an hour?"
"Yeah, sounds good. But, we probably need to talk, you know, about . . . this . . . I mean . . . we can't . . . when we're working a case . . . we can't . . . not when we're at, you know, work." He chuckled softly, looking back at her couch. She was nodding in agreement.
"Yes. Professionalism."
"Right." Booth cleared his throat. "And, you know, I'm not ready to, I just want it to be us for a while, you know, just ours."
"Yes. I agree. Ours."
"Good, we'll keep it private then."
"Yes."
Leaning in, he gave her a quick kiss, something to hold onto, something to let her know this was happening, that he wasn't back tracking or pulling away, then stepped back and smiled broadly.
"I'll see you in an hour then," and he left. "Florida," he grumbled as he made his way down the hall from her apartment. "Why Florida?"
ooooo0ooooo
Author's note: Sorry for posting this so late. This chapter gave me grief. Not when I wrote it. It actually came together fairly easily. It was after. Every time I went to work on it, I'd edit a little here, a little there, changing something else. It's just never felt done. In fact, right up to about 10 minutes before I posted I was still changing things. Hopefully, it ended well. You fine readers, deserve only the very best, you have been so absolutely wonderful to me!
Also, I have officially posted all my buffer chapters. A moderate flare (autoimmune disease) turned into a wicked flare and I got no real writing done this last couple weeks. That's okay, I'm better and about half way through the next chapter, so my posting schedule should not be affected.
So many of you guys asked about the content of the letters and now that they're out there, I'm dying to hear what you thought about them.
Much Love
DG
PS Thank you Boneslover7566! I totally thought I posted this but I didn't actually hit post...details...they do make a difference!
