Chapter 12
"The tides rolled up to crash against the shore while we sat feet from one another with the remnants of all we'd left unsaid..."
― Katherine McIntyre, By the Sea
A week. Seven days, maybe eight, two cases, back to back. No time to think about anything but work. No time alone together. It felt like they were losing ground. They shared that beautiful, intimate moment, the feel of her lips on his, the tangle of their tongues, her hips, round and soft, beneath his hands. Then, BOOM! The universe woke up and remembered it hated him, that he wasn't suppose to get that kind of happiness, not in this life, and yanked her right out of his grip.
Booth unlocked his apartment door, slipped in, and closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh specifically reserved for that moment he got home after a long, busy week. He put his gun in the wall safe in his entry way, tapping the books that hid it with his knuckles, as was his habit, and walked the few paces it took to get to his liquor cabinet. Pausing, he breathed in the rich musky smell of old hardwood and varnish blended with the lingering scent of wine and hard liquor. He needed a drink.
He put her in a cab outside the Founding Fathers less than an hour ago, got in his truck, and drove home, alone.
If you'd asked him a week ago, even a day ago, if this was how this Friday night was going to end he would've said no. He had a whole different end to the week in mind. One that picked up where the whole mess left off a little over a week and cases ago. Bones back in his arms. That's what he held onto all week, the feel of her body next to his, the need to be closer. That unspeakable drive that pushed two people to bare themselves to one another, shedding one layer at a time until there was no barriers left between them, drowning in the feel his skin pressed up against hers, every square inch of their bodies touching.
He shook off the visceral images flashing in his mind.
Something he didn't think he'd need to do as they waited for their flight to Florida in the Dulles International Airport because that's where he saw this going until one of her fans pushed their way through the crowded concourse, screaming, "Oh my God," over and over as she billowed out her name at the top of her lungs. Booth almost pulled his gun, he could do that, he was on protective duty, right? Protecting the FBI's asset, his asset.
Bringing his drink up to his lips, Booth took a long hard swallow and waited for the burn to pass before heading back to his bedroom.
Setting his drink down on his dresser, he let out a long huff of a breath. He was frustrated. It happened a couple more times before they boarded the plane, probably because that first lady was so goddamn loud she let whole airport knew Dr. Temperance Brennan, famous author, was there. And just when he thought it was safe, when they were finally settle in their seats and he was reaching for her hand, because more than anything else in that moment he felt like he needed to hold onto her, the stewardess went all fangirl on them and Bones was up out of her seat taking selfies with the lady.
It wasn't a big deal before, he ignored it for the most part. Unless someone got too close or got handsy or she looked like she was feeling uncomfortable. Then he'd take over and back the fan right up and out of her space. But it was different now, things were different now. He sat there, watching the stewardess, watching Bones, as the truth of their situation sunk in. They couldn't go anywhere without someone recognizing her.
Booth unlatched his watch, wriggling his hand, and letting it slip from his wrist into the tray he kept all his pocket chotzkies in.
The problem with being recognized was people watched everything she did and when he was with her, everything he did, hoping to catch any little thing they did together. He couldn't give her a hug, not a real one, or lay a soft kiss on her temple, he couldn't even hold her goddamn hand. None of it. It was all off limits if they wanted to keep this relationship off twitter and out of the tabloids, if they wanted to keep it a secret. It'd be a helluva way for Hacker and Cullen to find out, open up their morning paper, turn on the news with a picture of the two of them doing just what they'd been denying was happening between them for years.
Florida was a short, thank God, he made sure it was a whirlwind trip. Then they were back in DC working the case from home. Plan B. He thought that was good, that it would give them more time, maybe they could reconnect, because after holding her, after being so close, it was hard to think of anything else.
But reality leveled him with another realization, this one much closer to home. One he might have missed completely if they hadn't been bombarded on their flight to and from Florida. When they went to the places they always went, to all their usual haunts, the diner, the Founding Fathers, a short walk on the mall or jog in the park, they were never really alone. Someone from the bureau, someone from the Jeffersonian, always seemed to pop up just as they were about to lean in and take what they were quickly beginning to classify as theirs.
Cockblocking sons of bitches.
It happened again right as he was putting her in the taxi less than an hour ago. Leaning in, standing so close, only the car door separating them, and he looked, God, he looked around to see if anyone was there, if he could sneak in one kiss to remind her that this was still going to happen, that they were going to happen. Lost in the rush of his own heart and the quickness of his breath, he almost missed it, Wendell, holler out a greeting from the other side of the street, waving. His head dropped in defeat, he gave her a look that begged forgiveness, and watched as she retreated into the cab, waving out the back window as she drove away.
Index cards and pens were next, then his badge. It was all part of his routine, poker chip, lighter, money clip, dice, change, all of it landed in a jumbled pile on the tray, until his pockets were empty. Finally, hulster and another drink. Grabbing his cell phone he headed his bathroom where he pulled the shower curtain and started the water running.
Booth shrugged out a his over shirt and pulled the black t-shirt off with one hand, letting both fall to the floor. Pushing his dark jeans and boxers down together, he stepped out of the organized heap using his feet to toe off his socks at the same time. One more drink emptied the tumbler and Booth stood there, naked, leaning against the bathroom counter as he stared down at the bottom of the glass momentarily before setting it down. The pounding spray of hot water couldn't come fast enough.
Half way across the city she was going through the paces of her own night time rituals. Although, admittedly, it wasn't standard procedure for her to bathe by candlelight, tonight she needed it as she struggled to make sense of her own jumbled emotions. Sitting on the edge of the tub in nothing but her silk robe, she sipped her wine and watched the water as it cascaded from the faucet, steam already gathering on the walls and mirror. The tub was nearly full, almost ready for her to climb in and start the jets.
She understood the need for discretion, if anyone feared the potential loss of their partnership it was her. She underestimated, however, how much she'd crave his touch, and not necessarily in grand acts of physical affection, though she certainly missed those too after their brief, but passionate interlude. Case in point, after the Florida case was over, while they were out celebrating, Booth slipped her seventh grade science fair medal over her head, letting it dangle around her neck. It sat there, laying over her hair, as they talked, until Booth set his drink down and reached forward, gently gathering her hair and pulling it out from underneath the wide ribbon.
She couldn't breath, the intimacy of that moment overwhelmed her so and she found herself, over the course of the next few days, purposefully leaving her hair tucked in under her jacket when she slipped it on, waiting for him to repeat the same simple act, which he did nearly every time. It was an experiment of sorts, the results of which were hard fast and reliable. It wasn't a fluke, a one time experience driven by the newness of his touch in that way. Every time he did it, every time he tenderly freed her hair from the confines of her overcoat, the same shiver ran through her, she shuddered, filled with the same rush of, she didn't know how to describe it, it was more than lustful desire, though it certainly awakened her the desire for a romantic interlude. It was deeper than that, though, it was an act filled with care, it was protective, maybe even a little possessive. It was a feeling she wasn't accustomed to, certainly not something she ever thought she'd, not just willingly accept, but crave. And she did crave it. Her scientific mind scrambled desperately to understand.
Brennan stood, loosened the tie on her robe and slipped out of it, hanging it carefully on a hook next to her tub. The water was hot, and her feet stung for a moment when she first dipped them in. She sighed deeply as she sunk down in the water and, after such a long week, let it wrap around her, accepting it's comfort. Pulling her knees up, she rested her head on her arms, which were folded around her legs.
She and Booth had always shared a relationship that tested the boundaries of appropriateness as far as coworkers and friends were concerned, driven, no doubt, by the undercurrent of sexual tension they adamantly denied. Just partners, they told the world, and each other. Just partners. But, looking back, being honest with herself, they were always more than partners, more than friends, and these gestures were deeply rooted in the bond they shared. They were an expression of everything they denied lay between them. His hand on the small of her back, guiding her, something she'd never let anyone else in the entire world do. The way they walked arm in arm, a "guy" hug, all of them outward symbols of the trust they shared, or to be even more honest with herself, a sign of how much she trusted him.
That was significant. She didn't trust easily, but given the evidence, and she might even argue empirical evidence, evidence gathered by observation and experience rather than logic or theory; she couldn't help wonder that if this little gesture evoked such strong feelings, what would making love to him feel like.
Uncurling her body, she reached over and started the jets to her jacuzzi tub. Bubbles roared to life, hot forceful streams of water massage away at her tension, her eyes fell shut as she sank down in the water and let the possibilities of that eventuality roll over her.
Booth didn't have a fancy tub, no jet powered relaxation waiting to pound away at his sore muscles. He quickly washed himself, rinsed out the tub and put the plug in, filling his old claw foot bathtub with the hottest water he could bare. Sitting curled up, because he was too tall for a tub made when men were smaller, he watched the water fill in around him.
He nearly blew it with her on this last case.
After everything, after a night spent rehearsing the letters she wrote him, speaking them out loud, spouting all that stuff about being open and communicating with him, Sweets had to go and point out that he was lying to her. God he felt trapped, sitting next the her as she drove, Sweets behind him, yapping on and on, making things worse by the second. Lying. He cringed at the memory of it. Things were going perfectly between them, right on course, and then, BOOM, whammy number two.
Radical honest, whoever thought that up was just a dumbass. Ask their victim what he thought about it, oh wait, you can't, cuz he's dead. He lost everything, his job, his family, his life. What was it with people? Moderation, that's what the world needed, a little moderation, knowing when to spill the beans and when keep your mouth shut.
He'd tried to fix it, as best he could, with no time and no space to make things right. After they returned to the Hoover with the clown, before she went back to her lab, he pulled her into his office, closing the door.
"It's not like Sweets is making it out to be."
"It's not?" She countered quickly, he could see the flash of irritation in her fiery eyes.
"No, Bones, it's not." Holding her gaze, locked, forcing her to stay connected with him, he continued. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't talk . . . not with him right -"
Of course Sweets picked that exact moment to come barging into Booth's office complaining about that stinky sonofabitch clown. Booth clammed up, completely stopped talking but he didn't shift his gaze away from her, he held her attention. Ignoring the psychologist, he gave Bones a sharp nod, which didn't go unnoticed by Sweets, and when she didn't acknowledge it, didn't give him one back, he waited, filling the room with awkward tension until she finally relented.
"Oh boy," Sweets uttered softly.
"Oh boy, nothing." Booth barked, then pointed directly at him. "Got it?"
Sweets worked with the pair for more than three years, he knew them pretty damn well, well enough to know when not to mess with the man and this was certainly one of those times. Without missing a beat the young psychologist switched gears and reported on his interview with the clown then stepped out of the way when Dr. Brennan left the room and Booth chased her out to the elevator.
Booth sucked in a huge long breath, pulling his knees up higher so he could sink down in the hot water while it lasted.
It weighed on her, this thought that he lied to her, he saw it, sitting across from her from her in the diner, at lunch, it was still there, in her demeanor, in her beautifully stormy eyes. The two of them, alone, together, surrounded by people. He wanted to reach out across the table and give her hand a good squeeze. He wanted to pull her into his lap and explain away all the doubts Sweets stirred in her. But he couldn't. So he did what he could. He acknowledged it, asked her what was bothering her, even though he knew, and dared her to address the elephant in the room, though she called it a pachyderm, which was so her, so endearing. Leaning in, he promised to address it when they were done with the case. Promised. No lies. He let her see it in his eyes.
Lying there, surrounded by swirling water, her mind wandered through her fantasies, back to Florida, home to DC, in and out of their latest case, until it landed in the middle of the Founding Fathers, on Booth's promise to tell her a time when he lied to her. He made good on his promise. She wasn't sure what she expected, but what he said certainly wasn't it.
He appreciated her support when Hannah left, that was his lie, that he never told her how much it meant to him, that it meant the world to him. He didn't say much more than that, adding that only that it was a lie of omission, because he didn't tell her, not an overt lie. But it was enough, more than enough. Even now, hours later, she felt emotion choke her ability to breathe. It was such a confusing and emotional time, for him, certainly, but also for herself. He was so angry, so bitter, and more than ever in her life she had to rely on something other than the facts evident before her to guide her decisions and interactions with him. Faith. Booth would call it faith. She didn't like that term.
Although, maybe she could accept it with a the small caveat that faith, in this instance, was based on her years of experience which granted her confidence and trust in him, in his ability to find his way through the anger and the bitterness. If she could help that happen, if she offer him patience and extend kindness to him, if that would help him, she would do it, she would do anything for him.
Even this evening, even her hasty acceptance of his previously unspoken appreciation, the speed at which she allowed him to move on without digging too deeply into his tender heart, that was an act of trust and protection. She understood. Years of their relationship could be described in her simple reply. "Some things are better left unsaid."
Sitting up, the water rolled off her body, which chilled almost immediately in the crisp evening air, forcing her to take in a sharp breath. She never could take long baths. The inactivity always got her. She stood, grabbing a towel, stepping out of the tub, while contemplating the all the things they didn't say over the years.
Across town, in a grittier part of the city, old, though he would prefer to call it classic, full of history, he was getting out of the tub too, still lost in the replay of their evening.
She said, "some things are better left unsaid," and he agreed with her. And maybe that was okay because they were in a crowded bar and it wasn't the time or place to tell her everything, all that stood behind his confession. And she could see it, he could tell, it was in her eyes, the unspoken understanding. Still, it meant a lot to me that you were there for me when I broke up with Hannah, barely scratched the surface and the more he thought about it the more it bothered him.
Some things are better left unsaid, it echoed through him as they sat there, moving on quickly, talking about the clown who got arrested, not for the murder, for his outstanding warrant, and other clowns, clowns in general, about lotion and Mr. Bray, and he chuckled to himself, Wendell, she couldn't just call him Wendell. All these years with this group of interns and she still kept them at arm's length. Damn Zack, he did that to her, Zack and her parents and brother, Booth paused in thought, and him, he added to her walls, there was no escaping it, it was wrapped up tightly in this whole Hannah mess. The weight of that whole situation heavy on him whenever he dwelled on it for any length of time.
Things were changing, he reminded himself, and if they were going to be different they would have to be different. New habits, a new way of doing things. Reaching out for her, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back as they left the Founding Fathers.
"I was wrong, okay. I don't want things left unsaid between us, that was who we used to be, who we had to be because . . . because we weren't ready for more, but we are now and I don't want to just think about how beautiful you look or how smart you are or strong, I wanna tell you." He paused, waving to Charlie as he walked by on his way into the restaurant and bar. "Okay?" Her eyes were wide, her mouth barely open, and he waited just a moment longer, thinking she was about to say something, maybe argue with him, but she didn't. "Are you okay with that? Are you okay with me telling you those things?" She still looked shocked, stunned into silence, and he wasn't sure he'd ever said anything to her that made her pause like that. She nodded, whispering a quiet okay. "And other things, I want to say . . . I want to say other things, everything. Like it meant everything that you were there for me, not just a lot, everything. I didn't make it easy. I know that, Bones, but you . . . you . . . you didn't leave. I was hard. I said terrible things to you that night but you didn't leave . . . you stayed and . . . and . . . and you kept coming back. I saw that, I knew it, even in the middle of that . . . that darkness, I knew it, and . . . and I loved you for that."
Those beautiful eyes looked up at him, more blue than green, open and accepting, glossy with gathering tears.
"Listen, I can't take you home tonight. I want to, God, I want to more than I can . . . could ever . . . I just need a little more time, okay, Bones?"
"Of course. Yes. . . . Of course." She fumbled around, lost in the deep ocean of emotions this man constantly sent her tumbling through. And before she could say anything else he was waving down a cab and putting her in it.
Alone, he took a minute to just stand there, clearing his mind, trying to tune into the feeling that prompted his sudden change of plans. It was an unsettling realization. What if this feeling he had over the last week, over these two cases they worked so closely on, wasn't all about being in the public eye, about people watching them? What if it was more specific than that? She was gone, but that feeling of being watched, it was still there, louder. In fact, minus all the distractions, he felt it stronger than ever.
Shoving his hands down deep into his pockets, he took a long measured breath. Months had passed since they last heard from Broadsky, too long really. It was about time for him to resurface. His gut twisted. BOOM. Strike three. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was taking a page out of Hodgins' book and leaning too far toward paranoia, but he sure as hell wasn't going to risk it.
All dried off, ready for bed, Booth tucked himself in under his bedsheets, turning to grab his phone off the nightstand.
I miss you, he typed and sent before he could talk himself out of the text. He knew her, she would chuckle at his sentimental musings.
He was right, she did, shaking her head but smiling broadly.
It's only been an hour and a half, tops.
I know, he shot back. Then sent a second text in quick succession. I still miss you. Meet me at the diner tomorrow morning for breakfast 7:30am?
6:00, she countered, I have work to catch up on.
6:00? It's Saturday morning. Is nothing sacred to you?
Sacred? She was confused. You aren't Jewish, Booth.
What? LOL Not that kind of sacred, Bones. That was his brilliant scientist and he loved every literal inch of her. How about a compromise? 7:00?
7:00 works. See you then.
Rolling onto his back, he let his phone, and the hand holding it, fall heavy on his bare chest. A long heavy sigh echoed in the darkness of his apartment. He knew he needed to tell her his suspicions, warn her that Broadsky was likely back in the area. And he would, once he was sure, reasonably sure, when it was more than just a hunch. Because Bones, she had a tendency to be a little oppositional. If he told her she needed to be extra careful he was pretty damn sure she'd find some way to put herself in danger. He couldn't risk that.
He'd feel it out over the weekend and if, or more likely when, he was sure he wasn't just being oversensitive, that what his gut was telling his was true, he'd set up some surveillance. Watch the people he'd be most likely to contact, order the techs to go back through the man's finances, do a records check, see if bought he bought any new properties, maybe even stake out his girlfriend's grave.
He wasn't going to let him get ahead of him this time, Broadsky wasn't going to get the upperhand.
Author's notes: Good grief! I'm sorry this is so late and for any errors or sloppiness this chapter may contain. I didn't finish writing it until mid morning and that didn't leave much room for revisions. Special thanks, by the way, to snowybones who helped me out.
I am way behind in answering reviews and I'm sorry for that, hopefully I'll catch up here soon.
You might be wondering, why they haven't done the deed yet. For a long time I wrestled with whether or not I was going to keep the same timeline as the show. I could, if I wanted to, speed things up, have them hit that jumping off point sooner. And trust me, I went back and forth, wrestling with it for a long time. In the end I decided to stick with the timeline, adding in the missing parts (according to me) and elaborating on their emotional journey during this time.
I don't think they would have gone from absolutely nothing to sleeping together, which is why I've added in the slow progression of their relationship. I also believe that if they were already sleeping together, Bones wouldn't have been sleeping on the couch. So I purposefully put them in a state where they were hovering on the edge of the line, where it was reasonable for Booth to not want their first time to be the night her intern was killed and why he would try and do the right thing by her, the noble thing. Certainly, it's only one of a million or so possibilities. There is no right or wrong way for them to finally come together. Thankfully, we are close to that happening in this story! WooHoo!
What do you think? Did you like this chapter? Please let me know your thoughts, they're priceless to me!
Much love
~DG
