Chapter 14
"[The waves] move across a faint horizon, the rush of love and the surge of grief, the respite of peace and then fear again, the heart that beats and then lies still, the rise and fall and rise and fall of all of it, the incoming and the outgoing, the infinite procession of life. And the ocean wraps the earth, a reminder. The mysteries come forward in waves."
― Susan Casey, The Wave: In Pursuit of the Rogues, Freaks, and Giants of the Ocean
In his arms, his quiet consolations seemed distant, far away as she felt the strength of his heartbeat vibrating through her. Closing her eyes, she let herself get lost in the rhythmic sound. There was a peace to the loud pounding that expressed itself in tears, tears carrying all the jumbled emotion of such a horrible and traumatic day. They sucked her under and threatened to overtake her. But, Booth was there holding onto her, tethering her to him.
And he was happy to do it, he'd waited all day for this, to feel her body safe next to his, just like this. When they said their goodnights and he closed his bedroom door, separating them for the night, he thought it wasn't going to happen, he thought he'd just have to bear the emptiness he felt alone because she didn't need what he needed, or at least it felt that way. That hurt, he thought they were farther along than that, but he understood.
Thank God he was wrong.
Letting out a long sigh, he blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, letting his hands drift along the old soft grey sweatshirt that shrouded her shoulder and back, his touch firm but tender. She still needed that, his strength to ground her, remind her that she was safe and he would protect her. He could feel the resistance in her as she fought for control of her emotions. Booth understood, his own mind still racing through the day.
Broadsky was spotted putting flowers on his girlfriend's grave.
A text, one simple sentence that changed everything. All those seemingly unrelated clues spread out across the last couple weeks, his phantom feelings of being watched, every concern he expressed in looks and quiet conversations, his overly protective gestures and text messages, they all came together and knotted themselves into a terrible sense of dread. It shook him, the look in her eyes when he stood up from their table at the diner. He saw it, watched as her sweet, excited laughter died, her expression darkened, and worry overshadowed her. Pausing momentarily, he shared a brief unspoken exchange with her. Be careful her eyes pleaded, begged. I will, his answered.
A couple slight nods from her and he was gone.
Leaving her there in the diner was one of the hardest things he'd done in a long time. His gut churning, screaming a warning. Comforting himself, he let his heightened state of alert be his guide. He was careful, stayed in close contact, checked in on her at the lab. She's safer there, he told himself, though part of him wanted her close. Booth couldn't help the slight jerk in his body as the thought made him shudder, she reacted by gripping him tighter. Safer at the lab. God, if he'd known then what he knew now. Hindsight, right? Clear but pointless because there had been no way to know what was coming, no way.
Swallowing hard, he pulled her a little closer, continuing his quiet consolations. "I'm here." He whispered. "It's hard, I know, I've been there." And he did know, she knew he did, present at the death of more than one comrade, who, just like Mr. Nigel-Murray, died as he tried desperately to save them. "It's okay to cry, Temperance, I've got you now. I'm right here."
He used the intimacy of her given name and it stole her breath away, her shuddered gasp told him so. Pressing a firm kiss to her forehead, he let his lips linger, soft but strong, wisps of his warm breath falling across her face. It was okay to cry. His words echoed through her and letting go, she sobbed. Her body, wracked with the pain of loss, filled with guilt and fear of what could have been, what still could be, jerked in his arms.
"Tighter." She begged him. "Hold me tighter." She wanted to remember this, etch it permanently in her mind in case he left to chase Brodsky and never came back.
It was real for her, the possibility of losing him. It happened before. Even though it had turned out to be a ruse, she hadn't known that at the time, and even when it was clear he was alive, the loss of him had still felt so painfully real. That night, in that stupid club, singing that stupid song, his death became a reality that lingered, always on the edge of her consciousness. Once she tasted the pain and emptiness it would bring, she knew it was something she'd never forget, could never escape.
But if she could hold onto this, the feeling of being in his arms, the connection, the safety she felt, the security, tucked away from the darkness of life, then maybe the memory of it would give her something to hang onto. It wouldn't be enough if she lost him, she knew that, but it would be something.
"Tighter." She whispered and he pulled her in closer, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her, until she stopped crying, until her body calmed, until one breath at a time she relaxed into him.
"Come on. C'mere," maneuvering them both, he settled them in the middle of his bed underneath the covers, speaking softly, encouraging her. "That's it. That's better, right?"
And it was better, it felt permanent, not temporary, not fleeting, like she could slip through his arms and disappear at any moment. She hummed her quiet approval as she nodded against his chest. Reaching out, her delicate hand clenched around a fist full of his t-shirt in a quiet act of possession and for a moment he could breathe again. Such a simple gesture, but it meant everything to him. Releasing some of the heavy tension he had carried all day, he let out a long sigh. His muscles, relaxing, fell weighted around her body and another sweet sigh of approval slipped from her lips. He was comforted by her need to cling to him, it meant he wasn't alone, she felt it too.
But the loud, almost deafening recollection of events chased them, the echo of every word spoken, every nuance played on a constant loop in his head, and from the waves of tension that rolled off of her, it was chasing her too. For him, it was the look in her young intern's eyes, bright and vibrant, then pleading, then dim, until there was nothing at all. In desperation, his attention was divided between her and the boy until it was only her. And he wanted to pull her into his arms, right then, right there, to protect her, to shield her from the invading chaos. But she was already lost, the lab, her lab, her sanctuary breached. Paramedics, agents, crime scene techs, all familiar to her, and yet they all seemed like strangers ambushing her privacy. He watched her systematically shut down.
And he got it, he understood, it was about survival and she did what she had to do, what worked for her. The tender woman who tearfully begged her intern to understand that he was loved, that he could stay, was gone. She was all science, no emotion, her full on clinical self. It was her coping mechanism, he expected that, but once they were home, in his apartment, just them, she didn't have to keep up appearances, not with him. She should know better, she should know she could be herself with him, she could cry or scream or do whatever she needed to deal and he would be there for her.
But she didn't.
Maintaining that same sciencey distance, she kept him at arm's length, her eyes begging him not to get too close, not to push her. And he honored that, setting aside his own longing. Hours he tossed and turned, listening, hoping he'd hear her if she needed him, that damned door, separating them.
She wanted her privacy, he reminded himself, for whatever reason she wasn't ready to let him into her grief and he was going to have to be okay with that, she'd come get him if something changed, at least he hoped so. And if she didn't come, but he heard her restlessness or a strangled sob through his bedroom door or that old transom window hanging open above it, then going to check on her, well, that would be justified, right? It would be an act of concern.
So he laid there, listening, until he fell asleep.
Thank God she came to him when she was ready, when she couldn't bear it alone anymore and she asked to stay with him, in his bed, in his arms. It was a relief. Letting his hand drift up, he gently brushed her cheek, holding her close, placing a firm kiss on the top of her head.
She took a deep breath, a solid one, not shuddered, not followed by more tears, and then another, and another, until her hand relaxed, letting go of his t-shirt, smoothing it out across his chest until she felt the faint ridges of a scar, one of many on this man who fought all his life for every scrap of peace and happiness he ever found. Circling lightly, her fingers traced the old wound in a smooth even pattern.
She was still on the surface as the wave of raw emotion ebbed, giving way to active thought so loud he could almost hear it. He could feel the pull of an obvious undertow threatening to swallow her up. Closing his eyes he pulled her in closer, held her tighter knowing that even here, tucked in his arms, she could slip away from him, knowing these were the moments she was most prone to run.
Racing thoughts, one memory chased by another, every time she almost lost Booth, every opportunity she wasted because she was too busy protecting her vulnerable heart. A long daisy chain of regret strung together until it wrapped around her, choking her. No more regrets, she promised herself that, and him, she promised him too.
"It . . . it could've . . . it could've been you." Her voice, small and shaky, cut through the silence carrying so much pain. Tension squeezed her words, which felt entirely insufficient to her, they couldn't begin to convey the depth of her feelings.
Afterall, how could she make him understand that every time she closed her eyes she was kneeling over his body, not Mr. Nigel-Murray's. Booth's blood seeping through her fingers, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. And she didn't have to imagine, just remember. Even telling him, even saying the words, didn't diminish the need she felt, her desperate urge to be closer to him, to hear his heartbeat, to feel the warmth of his body next to hers, which was completely irrational because she knew he was alive, he was there with her, his arms holding her close, his strong hands moving against her, her body rising and falling with each breath he took, but it wasn't enough.
"Bones." His voice rough with emotion because he knew she was wrong. It wouldn't have been him, it would've been her. Without Vincent there she would've reached for the phone and he would've handed it to her. It would've been her, he knew it would've been her. She felt the tension course through his body and let her hand round his chest, tucking in beneath him, drawing him in closer, holding him tighter until he finally took a breath. "I'm here, okay? It wasn't me. I'm right here, baby, right here."
Taking in a deep breath, she held it and he couldn't help holding his too, waiting for her to breathe for what seemed like forever. Anxious, she closed her eyes, gathering courage to say what she knew she had to say.
"I love you." Loud and clear and strong, her voice poured out, filling the room. "I love you, Booth." She felt his sharp intake of air, heard his heart pounding faster and harder in her ear. "I need to you to know that….I just need you to know that I love you...before...before..."
He rolled them before she could finish, so they were laying on their sides. He wanted to see her face, to look in her eyes, to connect. But, she didn't like the movement and panicked momentarily, thinking he was pulling away. Clinging to him she rolled them further, settling on her back and pulling him nearly on top of her, using all her strength to hold him there. Dark, soft curls framed her face, splayed out across Booth's white linens where her head sunk deep into his pillow. And those stormy blue eyes, pure, honest, revealing, called up to him. The weight of his body fell on her side. It felt so good, was such a relief, so safe, to be surrounded by him in this way. His fingers wound their way through her hair, his palm resting on her jaw, and his beautiful eyes, those dark, warm eyes, always the calm to her storm, knotted and bound them together.
His voice quivered, overwhelmed by the words he thought he'd never hear pass her lips. "God, Bones, I...I...love you too." Thick with emotion, he stuttered, lost for a moment in the feel of her hand pressed firmly on his back, holding him close as he tried to maneuver onto one elbow so he could see her better. "I'm not leaving, I swear, I...I just..." With the lightest touch he swept her tousled hair out of her face, behind her ear, light kisses replaced the few tears that came with her bold confession. "I just...God, I love you so much." He whispered, his forehead leaning lightly against hers.
Pulling away just a little he was taken by the sight of her, soft eyes, lips slightly parted, short shallow breaths, and he couldn't resist. He was leaning in to kiss her when she met him halfway capturing his lips and pulling him down on her. It was beautiful and natural, light at first, hesitant but needy, then stronger as their bodies pressed together. The more they moved the closer they got, the closer they got the stronger and more overwhelming the hunger for more became. Tangled, cleaving to one another, twisted in the reality of almost losing one another, the vivid memories of what could have been, the reprieve they were given, survival, life, another chance, motivated each kiss, each touch, each act of affection. Raw, senses heightened, they felt it all with great intensity.
Even so, it wasn't enough, none of it felt like enough.
She tugged and pulled, wiggling until he fell cradled between her legs. The intimate contact sent a deep, pleasured moan vibrating through her where his mouth lay open against her neck, tucked beneath the base of her ear. Rising up involuntarily, her shoulder crowded his nuzzling lips, then stretched out afraid she'd discourage him by pinching him off.
This is what she needed from him, this closeness, the intimacy, the connection, and for a moment it satisfied, for a moment, but then her hand caught bare skin on the small of his back and her need rose up demanding more. His hips rocked into her, his mouth drifted lazily down her neck kissing and suckling, until he felt her hands gather his t-shirt and cold night air hit his bare skin, traveling up his back as she pulled his shirt up and off. He stopped long enough to help, shedding the soft, black t-shirt and settling back down in her arms.
It was a dream, her expert hands, the ones he studied and watched, that held him mesmerized all these years, captured him from the very beginning, they were working, tracing, memorizing him. He shivered as they ran smoothly up his arms and across his shoulders, rounding, falling down to his chest, tenderly tracing each scar as she went until they paused. Her eyes darted between the one she'd been tracing earlier in the night and his deep, chocolate eyes. She'd seen it before, but not like this. Letting her other hand drift across his chest, he watched as it stopped slightly above his left breast, where her young intern was shot.
She lingered, lost in what could have been a different night for her. The catch in her breath, the pain swallowing up her whole expression, her whole being, he ached for her. Her attention drifted back to the old wound. Replacing her fingers with her lips, she pulled herself up and kissed it.
"It wasn't me." He whispered, "I'm right here and I'm not leaving, okay? It wasn't me."
She fell back and let her hands continue their journey, wanting more than ever to get lost in how alive he really was. Desperate for evidence. Down his sides, over the edge of his sleep pants slung low on his hips, her hands drawn to where their bodies met, his pressing against hers, then making their way back up. Constantly moving, traveling the well defined length of every muscle, the cuffs of the old grey sweatshirt he leant her lightly brushing against him as they went. And then she caught his eyes, holding them captive as she crossed her arms, reaching for the frayed edge at the bottom of the sweatshirt and began to pull it up. His breath loud, harder and faster, his large hand, following, skimming along her pale flesh until he helped to pull it over her head.
He collapsed on her, covering her completely, overwhelmed by the feel of his bare chest pressed firmly against her own, she welcomed him. This was Booth, her Booth, her protector, shielding her in the most intimate of way. Hooking her arms under his, she spread her hands out along the back of his shoulders, her fingers wide to hold him close, allowing herself to be sheltered by this man she'd loved for so long.
She felt his muscles bunch under her hands as he rose up, lifting the bulk of his weight, looking down on her he shifted, his eyes wandering. God, she was beautiful, far more than he'd ever imagined. She watched him carefully, longing for him to touch her, to feel the slight roughness of his hands against her skin. Closing her eyes momentarily, she felt his fingers trace the edge of her collarbone trailing their way down her sternum, the back of his hand against the swell of her breast, his palm rounding, cupping. There was a reverence to his touch she found too light, it left her aching for more, a deeper, firmer touch and she arched her body up against his open palm in a silent plea, adding a deep hum of relief.
It was all he needed.
It was a blur, after that, their bodies never lost contact. They were lost in a symphony of sound, of breath and passion and desperation, an expression of shared history and love. His lips burning a trail along her skin, following each graceful curve, each soft plane. And she answered each gift of touch with one of her own, exploring, cataloguing, giving until her greedy hands pushed at the waistband of his pants, frustrated by their lack of movement, until he reached between them and pulled the tie loose. Her hands pushing the garment away, traveling as far down his legs as she could, his pleasured moans tickling her ear. Hers came off easier, both kicked and pushed down to the bottom of the bed, wedged between the sheets with all the other remnants of their clothes.
Bare, coiled together, hearts pounding, they paused, panting, trying to catch their breath. Grey light was beginning to pour in between the cracks in his blinds, dawn was coming, a new day. Their eyes caught, her lip rolled between her teeth, then slipped as quickly back out. The back of his hand followed the sensitive slope of inside of her thigh, and she nodded, slight, barely negligible at first, then stronger, encouraging, beseeching. And when his fingers reached between them, lightly pressing, testing, and her hips rose up to meet him, he collapsed, recapturing her mouth, declaring his love between kisses, rocking, barely pressing into her.
Her pleasured gasp, the stifled flinch of her body, caused him to pause, to slow down. He didn't want to hurt her. Slow, steady pushes, a little farther with each swing of his hips, he set an even rhythm. It was beautiful torture. And she could hear the tension building in his voice as he talked to her, his lips still worshiping against her skin.
"I love you, Temperance. God, I've always loved you. I always will."
She couldn't respond, couldn't think, couldn't speak, just nodded, her eyes darting across his fine features, her hands pulling at his hips, forcing him all the way in as relief flooded her entire body. This was what she needed to fill the aching emptiness that chased her all day. She needed him, all of him, to complete her, fill her up, and the feel of him moving within her brought her a peace far beyond any pleasure she'd ever known with any man. Harder and faster he moved, their pace naturally picking up speed as their bodies raced, the tension and pleasure building until they broke apart, shattering, splintering, more than hormones, she felt connected to Booth. They were one, alive and whole.
"I love you too," she breathed out, cradling his body in hers. "I love you too."
ooooo0ooooo
A/N: I am so sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter done and out there. Real life rose up and knocked me a little sideways and then my own frustrations in writing kept me running in circles with this chapter. I had a very specific goal with it. I wanted it to be intense and raw, their coupling driven by that need that comes from almost losing someone you love. I think they both felt that that fateful night. Special thanks to snowybones and chosenname who saved my sanity with this chapter!
I'll try to get back to posting regularly, hopefully life will cooperate! I'm excited for the next chapter, lots of big plans. Okay, I'll give you a hint...bathtub...I know, I know, I have a bit of an obsession with them. It's a temptation I just can't resist.
I'm also participating in the Bonesology's Secret Santa Gift Exchange and I really LOVE the gift request I received!
Anyway, I'd love to know if you think I hit the mark with this chapter. Your thoughts and insights are always cherished! Thank you again!
Much love
DG
