Thank you for all the really supportive and encouraging reviews, even the ones that called me all kind of evil! This is going to be kind of a long note, I do apologise, although I will continue at the end of this chapter.
This chapter wasn't planned for - it wrote itself in the wee small hours of the morning as my muse wouldn't let me be. My muse is an elf called Eldred, and he is officially evil, stopping me from sleeping. The moral of the tale is that this story is now 22 chapters long.
Chapter 11 – Denial
The torrent of warm water that poured out of the shower was as near to heaven as Booth thought he could be at that particular moment in time, the water soothing his skin and easingmuscles that were beginning to ache after the stresses of the past few days. Bones obviously liked her showers; the one she had had installed was a state of the art power shower and he could almost believe that hundreds of tiny hands were massaging his body, such was the pressure of the water. The corner cubicle was one of the larger models, big enough for two, he noticed, and he wondered if Bones had ever shared it with anyone else. He imagined her being in here now with him and grinned at the notion, thinking of how she might be. He imagined her to have a bit of a wild side underneath that cool, impersonal persona. He laughed out loud at the thoughts he was having. This was ridiculous! These fantasies were going to remain just that unless he actually did something about them. He wondered how she would react if he went to kiss her; there had been moments, he knew when it wouldn't have been unnatural to have done so; he just worried for his life if her reaction wasn't good. Still, he resolved, the next time an opportunity arose, he would grab it – with both hands.
He turned off the shower and reached for one of the towels that Bones had left out for him to use, wrapping himself in the white fluffiness, and ignoring the throbbing going on in his calf. His thoughts drifted to the case they were working on and he cursed with frustration when he thought about how Cullen was being reluctant to investigate inside the courtyard. He was sure that something was there, maybe the cleaning fluid that had been used to clean the bones up, or maybe something else that would help them discover who was doing this.
He tied the towel around his waist and opened the door, finding the clothes that Bones had promised folded neatly outside of it. He grinned as he picked them up. The t-shirt was an old college one, the printed slogan peeling off from the material, and the jogging pants had clearly seen better days more than a few years ago. He closed the door, not bothering to lock it. If Bones should walk in then he wouldn't be too upset, quite the opposite in fact.
He looked around her bathroom, noticing the small collection of perfumes that were on a shelf, and the rather expensive looking assortment of creams and lotions. He picked one up; exfoliating facial wash. That sounded painful. He opened the cupboard that was above the shelf and noticed something he was familiar with; hair gel. Taking it down, he unscrewed the lid and took it over to the mirror, applying it as he would do in his own home, styling his hair with care.
He pulled on the t-shirt, noticing that it was too big, even for him, although the jogging bottoms were fine, if a little on the short side. He hung the towels neatly over the bath, a habit developed by living alone and not having anyone to pick up after him, and then he left the room, popping his head in Bones' bedroom and seeing her lay on her stomach on her bed, head buried in a book, and wearing the same robe he had seen her in before.
For a brief moment he felt like he had come home. She looked so relaxed; lay there on the large bed, engrossed in her story. He desperately wanted to go and sit next to her, move the hair away from her face or gently massage her shoulder; it would seem like such a natural thing to do. She was more than his partner, he knew that, and probably had done for some time. If there was no case he found an excuse to see her, or to call her. If she wasn't paying him any attention he would seek it like a boy in the playground would, although he hadn't gone as far yet as pulling her hair.
And now she lay there, oblivious to the fact that he was watching her. It felt like he should be there as more than a partner, more than a friend, and he knew, more than a lover also. He stepped into the bedroom and sat down next to her on the bed, as he had pictured. She was still, her breathing slow and relaxed, her features calm and serene. He kept his hands on his knees, not knowing quite how far to go.
"Hey," he said quietly. She turned onto her side like a large cat and looked up at him.
"Hey," she whispered back. He knew that if Angela were here now she would have scuttled out of the room, telling anybody she saw about the unbelievable sexual tension between them. Her eyes were fixed on his, he wondered what she was thinking, if the same thoughts were in her mind that were plaguing his.
"What are you reading?" He asked. Lame, he thought, what a lame thing to say.
"Some trashy hen lit thing Angela told me to read," she explained, moving her eyes from his and looking at the front cover. "Ange said I should identify with the situation of the protagonist."
"I think you mean 'chick lit'. And do you identify with the protagonist?" He stretched out, lying next to her, hands itching to touch.
"Well, Dina, is attracted to a man who she works with, Liam, and they basically have a lot of unresolved tension between them Inevitably, they will get together and have sex, and then confess to being in love," she shrugged.
"Why are you reading it if you know what happens?" He said with a confused laugh.
She shrugged again. "I guess it's got me hooked," she answered. "It's mindless – there's nothing to learn from it, no great revelations made by the author about society. It's just Mills and Boon under a different name."
"My mom used to read Mills and Boon," Booth reminisced. "She would get all gooey eyed and glare at us if we interrupted her when she got to the 'best bit'. I read one once just to find out what the 'best bit' was."
Bones put the book faced down, adding to a number of folds in the spine. "What was the best bit in your opinion?" She said with a smile.
Booth laughed, leaning on one arm, facing her. "Have you ever read any Mills and Boon?"
She nodded.
"I'm surprised, Bones."
"Why? I would think many teenaged girls read them. They give an insight into idealised love, and the patterns of courtship," she frowned back at him.
"I don't see you as being the average teenaged girl," he said softly, interested in her and not wanting to antagonise her at all.
"I suppose I wasn't," she said quietly. "I read two or three of them when I shared a room in a home with a girl named Emma. She read so many of them. She had a deep need to be loved, and the books must have given her that feeling when she placed herself in the position of the main character."
His arm relaxed and his head dropped down to rest on the covers. His other arm went to her waist. He knew that she didn't share things about her childhood, and in one sense she still wasn't, she was talking about books; but never had she been this relaxed with anyone else that he had seen. She didn't flinch from his touch, but neither did she return it. "That's very psychological, Tempe," he said, using her first name, feeling that the conversation and where they were warranted it.
She smiled. "Societies are based on a need for love, both familial and erotic. Books, movies, other sources, can provide a placebo, or supply material for people to practise those feelings without fear of being hurt or abandoned."
"So why's Angela reading books like that, then?" He asked, lightening the conversation. "She practises those feelings on real people, quite often."
Bones laughed, the sound making Booth's heart ache. "But she isn't in love," Bones replied. "And that's what she's searching for – someone to share the mundane stuff with, as well as being a…a … beast in the bedroom," she looked confused at the adjective.
"You're quoting her, aren't you?" He said with a grin.
"Why, did I get the word wrong?"
"Knowing Angela I'd say you were spot on," he nodded, looking up at her. She was still leaning on one arm, barely a few inches away from him. Her robe gaped at the top, exposing enough flesh to let him know that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. He hoped she didn't notice the effect that she was having on him.
"So what did you think of the 'best bit'?" She said, giving him a smile that could be taken as flirtatious.
He laughed, rolling onto his back. "It gave me a few pointers," he admitted. "In terms of how to take a woman out, and make sure she was going to come back for more."
She laughed, the sound almost drowned out by the pounding of rain on the window. The room felt cosy and safe, and he knew that except from having Parker somewhere in the building with them, there was no one else he'd rather be with, and no place else he'd rather be.
For a minute there was silence between them although their eyes were telling stories themselves, ones he dared not try to read for fears of building up his hopes. The hand that had been on her waist travelled up to her face and moved away a lock of hair that had fallen out of the tie. One finger gently ran down her cheek and the hand fell back on the bed, not daring to continue its journey.
He looked at her; scared to move his eyes away should she escape. Her expression was serious, consumed by something, either this thing between them, or thoughts of places she'd rather be.
"Why are you still reading that book?" He asked softly, not having the guts to move over and kiss her, like he was desperate to.
"I want to know how they eventually get together, I suppose," she answered after giving it some thought.
"Maybe you're projecting your feelings onto the male lead, and you want your own feelings to be resolved," he said, taking hiding in his usual antagonistic tone. "You know, like between the FBI guy in your books and the forensic anthropologist."
"That's way too much psychology, Booth," she responded. "And I've told you before; those characters are not based on anybody!"
Booth gave a deep chuckle as if he knew differently. He knew he had blown it. The relaxed atmosphere had gone as soon as he had accused her of projecting feelings. He hadn't been confident enough to kiss her, and now she was getting off the bed, slim, bare legs exposed by the short robe, and heading to the bathroom.
He jumped up off the bed, not liking this sense of failure. "Bones!" He called her. She stopped in the door way, turning back round to her. He made the two strides over to where she was and took a deep breath. He still remembered some of the scenes from his mom's books.
His hands went to her shoulders and he pulled her to him, bending down quickly and putting his lips to hers. To his surprise her arms went round his neck and she returned the kiss. His hands slipped round her waist, and on to the small of her back, pressing her close to his body. He felt his heart pounding with the force of the kiss as well as with the nerves he had had in the split second before it had happened. Her body felt small against his, but she returned the kiss with as much power as he did. He felt the kiss become deeper, more intense, and noticed that she was now leaning against the wall, her hand at the back of his neck, controlling the depth of it.
A fire burnt inside him as the kiss became softer, his lips moving away from hers and then returning, hungrily wanting more. Her hands were becoming demanding, nails digging into his shoulders, stopping him from moving away, not that he wanted to, not that he ever wanted to leave her grasp or have her stop touching him.
She began to slow the kiss, eventually breaking it. Her hands were on his shoulders, her face flushed and hair wild from where he hand been running his hands through it, the tie long since undone.
"Booth," she said, a little breathlessly. He braced himself for what was coming next. "What are we doing?"
"Kissing, Bones," he gave her a weak grin, his heart rate speeding up, not wanting to lose this moment, but knowing that it was somehow inevitable.
"We can't be," she began to reason.
"We just did," his hands stayed round her waist, savouring the feeling, in case she backed far away from him and he never got the chance to hold her again.
"We're – we're partners, Booth. I don't think this should be happening," he felt his heart sink. He removed his hands away from her and took a step back.
"It happened, Bones. God knows how you actually managed to let someone get close enough to kiss you, but you did, and you know, I'm sorry if you're now regretting it, but I'm not gonna," he made himself walk out of the room and walk downstairs, feeling a hurt that he hadn't thought possible after just one kiss.
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Brennan waited to hear the click of the door as he opened it to leave, but it never came. She sat on the edge of the bed, and rubbed her face, images of the skeleton in the field and Booth's face as she had broken the kiss flashing through her head. She forced herself to stand up and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She dropped the robe on the floor and entered the shower cubicle, turning the shower on full force and feeling the water whip against her skin, warming her body that had been left cold by Booth's departure.
She didn't understand what she had said and done. It had been irrational - but then, the kiss had been irrational. She had seen it coming while they had been lay on the bed, taking about romance and books, and she had been leaning into him, he had been lying below her, letting her dominate, showing her a softer, less competitive side. She had been disappointed when he hadn't tried to kiss her, and then when he had gotten up, and grabbed her, pressing his lips onto hers she had heard a singing in her ears that had deafened her senses and obliterated anything else but the feel of him against her, her heart pounding against his.
It had felt safe in his arms, safe and exciting and a multitude of other things that she had thought she wouldn't experience having dived into her work to avoid such emotion ties. Because when it came to Booth she knew that the chemistry that Angela went on about was more than that, and any attempt at pacifying that chemistry would open Pandora's Box. There was more there than pure lust. Lust she could deal with; lust was something that could be solved for recreational purposes, like with Michael, like with Stuart if Booth hadn't have interrupted.
Booth wasn't just lust.
She knew he would die for her, he had already proved that. She knew he irritated the hell out of her too, but that was part of the attraction. She could banter with him; he didn't pretend to have the same knowledge as she did about science, but in other ways he was far more intelligent. She had learnt from him, and not many men could say that she had learnt something from them. Booth was her opposite, her balance, and she had no doubt that had things continued in her bedroom she would also have had the best sex of her life, with both of them battling for dominance, and he would let her battle, and not let her win unfairly, because he was her equal, her sparring partner, her antidote to being a miserable, lonely, anti-social scientist, who spent the rest of her days in the lab locked up with skeletons until she became one herself. Although she doubted that Angela would ever let that happen.
She could have something with Booth, and that was what she was scared of. These very raw, real feelings could develop into something she didn't know how to handle, something unpractised and unperfected.
She tipped her head back and let the water rinse her hair of the conditioner she had put on it, the water relaxing her slightly. She had moved away from him because she was scared. Yes, the work situation was not convenient, but they were both professionals, and she knew that anything that happened between them would not affect their ability to work together.
Nerves flew around in her stomach like butterflies. She stopped the shower and opened the door, grabbing a towel and noticing the one that Booth had used folded neatly over the bath. She closed her eyes in exasperation at herself. If she was Booth she would have gone now, driven away into the arms of some gorgeous blonde, who had the sense to recognise someone who would give her all her tomorrows.
She dried herself, automatically reaching for the moisturiser, wondering what she was going to say to Booth when she saw him. Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the bathroom window a tad, noticing the pouring rain. His car was still there, parked behind hers. A feeling of excited anticipation grew through her, and she felt her cheeks flush, thinking about him. I'm sorry if you're now regretting it, but I'm not gonna, he had said. He had wanted to kiss her, and now she had hurt him.
She buried herself into the robe and went into her bedroom, looking at the bed with the memories of what had passed there fresh in her mind, as she knew they would be for sometime. She searched through her drawers, eventually finding a pair of clean jeans and a black top to put on.
Feeling downcast she headed downstairs, aware that Booth was still there, hearing clanging in the kitchen. Apprehension like she had never felt before hit her as she saw him, armed with a chopping board and onions, slicing for his life. Seeing him stood there, in Mark's old clothing, doing such a menial task made her long for him to be a permanent fixture.
He looked up, aware of her standing there. No smile appeared, although she managed one for him. Instead he seemed to chop a little harder at the onions.
"Booth," she began, searching for the words that would adequately express what she felt, without bombarding him with science.
"Leave it, Tempe," he shook his head, not looking up from what he was cooking. Her rarely used first name hit her like a dagger in the chest, and she felt her eyes well up with tears. Fighting them back she entered the kitchen area, separated from the dining part by a breakfast bar where Booth was. She began to get out place mats, setting the table, feeling like part of couple that had just had a row, and were getting on with normality at the same time as refusing to smile.
She looked at him from the top of a low cupboard door, peering over. Physically he was almost perfect, he was intelligent, smart, caring, trustworthy, all kinds of positive adjectives. He was a good dad, and suddenly, for no logical reason whatsoever and because of every anthropological and biology reason she knew, that was important.
She sat down, her back against the cupboard door, unable to move or comprehend the innate knowledge her body had provided her with. Booth turned round, putting down the knife and the carrot he was now slicing.
"Bones?" He crouched next to her. "What's the matter?" His hand went to her forehead, probably instinctively to check her temperature. She knew that her eyes had welled again, like clouds about to burst with the release of rain. "Hey," he said soothingly, pulling her up into his arms, his glaring eyes, and 'leave it, Tempe' expression vanished.
He kept hold of her, and she found herself crying into the old, scruffy t-shirt he was wearing. "It's okay," she heard him whisper softly into her hair, relishing being held by him. This didn't happen; she didn't show weakness in front of anyone, let alone Seeley Booth, but somehow this didn't feel strange.
Her tears slowed and he guided her over to a chair by the table. "What's the matter?" He asked, still holding one of her hands.
Fear shot through her. She couldn't tell him that she had gotten all emotion because she was thinking what a good father he was and how some irrational, ridiculously normal feelings had suffocated her. She fought the urge to run away from him and hide, burying her head in the sand and forgetting that he ever existed.
"Tempe, what is it?" He continued. She wanted to scream at him to go, get out of her house, but the small part of her that remembered his look upstairs when she had pulled away from the kiss stopped her.
"This case, it's getting to me," she half lied. It was upsetting her; David was still missing, she now had another unidentified skeleton waiting for herwhen shegot into work tomorrow.
"It's a bad one," he said. He had squatted down beside her, making her taller than him. She knew it was a subconscious way of making her feel as if she was in control; being higher gave her a better advantage. "But without you, we won't get this guy," he comforted. He watched her for a minute. "Bones, why don't you go read your book, or give Angela a call, while I cook us dinner?" He stood up, returning to his work station.
"Booth," she started, breaking the silence. "Why are you still here?"
"You want me to go?" He gestured to the door, a look of childlike worry on his face.
"No, I want you to stay," she said, surprised at the resolve in her voice.
"Then I'll stay," he said, seriously. She wondered if they were going to discuss talking about what had happened upstairs, and hoped not. Although she knew that the issue would not resolve itself.
She watched as he cooked, seemingly knowing what he was doing. He had found the wine and poured glasses for them both, sipping as he went along with his cooking, buried deep with concentration. Every so often he would glance up at her, still not smiling. His eyes were filled with hurt, and the thought that she had caused it was making her feel like the lowest of the low.
He opened the oven which he had already pre-heated, put in the glass dish that contained their dinner,and came and sat by her, carrying his wine.
"So, Bones," he said as he sat down. "What do you want to talk about that will keep us as far as away as possible from the topic of 'us'." A tinge of sarcasm was leant to his tone.
"The weather," she answered, looking him in the eye. "Let's talk about the weather."
"The weather," he repeated. "I guess it's a bit like us. One minute it's all shiny and bright and full of heat, the next minute someone's poured cold water over it."
She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Bones. That was uncalled for," he apologised. "I have feelings for you," he began to explain. "Clearly now is not the time to talk about them."
She stayed silent, not sure what she should say. The rain drummed harder on the window.
"Booth," she said.
"Bones?"
"What's you favourite colour?"
"Your going to give me some anthropological reason for it aren't you."
"Maybe."
"Then I'm not telling."
She felt the tone lighten, and the smell from the over grew more delicious, and somehow, they began to talk their way out of the situation they were in, with both of her feet firmly remaining in a different river than the one they had been in recently.
Right. I'd better justify her response before I get flamed! I don't see Brennan falling into his arms, she would kick up a stink and fight it first. Don't worry - you know I'm a fluff bunny, and this story will have a happy ending, but remember that its only half way through - another eleven chapters -at least -to go.
I figured that as she is probably well read, she'd be familiar with Mills and Boon. I know she's useless with pop culture, butI thought that that would be one thing she would have been aware of with it being literary.
Booth seems to be a very 'new man'. In the episodes I've seen when he's with Tessa, he appears very tender. I think he would understand his feelings and be more open with them than the average fella.
I hope this chapter works, as I wrote it kinda obsessively late at night. Please let me know through that review button.
Send a little inspiration my way. You could send Danny Messer too, but he might be kinda hard to come by. (thankfully my hubby looks a little like him - if I close my eyes!)
Please review!
Sarah x
