Disclaimer: I'm so tired. It's late. Do I really need to spell it out?
Here's the next chapter. It's quite a bit longer than the others, I think. You all better review, I'm getting discouraged with the odd disparity between the number of reviews and the people I know are reading it. I may have to wrap this up soon if you guys aren't that interested. It's a shame, too, 'cause I have some great stuff up my sleeve. And yes, this is as close as I'll get to begging.
As always, thanks to my wonderful beta, FauxMaven.
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When Booth woke up, it was to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was screwed. There was no other way to put it, no sugar coating, no bright side. He had messed up and he knew it. Lying on his back in bed, he crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. It still confused him, and he had spent half the night trying to sort things out. Bones had flirted with him all evening, and when he finally went to her, it felt good. Amazingly good. There was the relief of finally having done something about his attraction to her, but then a new hunger had risen within him. He'd had a taste and wanted more.
He rolled over onto his side, stuffing his hands under his pillow. But then he had panicked. Thoughts of the dangers of their jobs and of ruining their partnership invaded his head. In hindsight, he knew he shouldn't have acted so rashly. Temperance had taken it as an insult, and he hadn't had time to explain himself. If they weren't in the middle of the case, he could have given her a few days to cool off, but that wasn't an option. Damn.
Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. He rubbed his stubbled face, trying to wake himself up properly. He'd have to give her a call. Booth knew that if he tried to talk to her in person, she'd refuse to listen to him. Better to call and leave a message, then give her some time to process what he said. He also needed to let her know what the plan was for today, as he hadn't been able to the night before.
He picked up his cell phone, his index finger hovering over the memory key. Maybe he should call her office, where she was less likely to pick up. He promised himself he wasn't being a coward and dialed the number. Voicemail picked up after a few rings and he took a deep breath.
"Hey, Bones, uh, Temperance, it's me. Listen, about last night, I really want to apologize. I don't think, uh, I didn't mean that the way, you know, it sounded. It's not that I don't, well, I mean, I want—" he sighed. This was not going the right way. He should have written something down beforehand.
"Okay, well, maybe we can talk about it later? Anyway, I didn't get a chance to tell you last night, but we need to go onto the AT. I've talked to Cullen and Cam about it."
He knew it was stupid, but he cringed at having to mention Cam. He wasn't sure how she really felt about his history with Cam and he preferred to err on the side of caution.
"If we leave here before lunch, we can make it onto the Trail and to a shelter by nightfall, then in the morning we can continue on to where Hodgins says Lessard might have been attacked. So, if you have hiking gear, I can pick you up at your place around noon. If not, call and let me know, we can go buy what you need. So, this is pretty much the longest message ever. Um, yeah. So, call me if that isn't okay, otherwise I'll see you at noon."
He disconnected the call and groaned. What an idiot.
His shower was quick and perfunctory, as he had showered before going to Brennan's. After he dried off, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and set about finishing up the rest of his packing. He had gotten most of it done during his bout of insomnia the night before, but still had a few odds and ends to cram inside the backpack. He was still debating whether he really needed to bring a tent—it would mean a trip to the sporting goods store, as his old one had been damaged, and they were planning on staying in shelters the two nights that they would be on the trail. Well, he could decide later.
He ate his breakfast at the breakfast counter in his kitchen. As he spooned cereal into his mouth, he went through his plans for the day. He could swing by the office for an hour or two to check on a few things, but then he was scheduled to meet with Gordon Gordon at ten o'clock. He should be out of there in an hour, which would give him time to stop by the store to pick up some groceries before heading to Brennan's apartment. He was dreading both his appointment with his psychiatrist and meeting up with Brennan later. He had a feeling that neither would go well.
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Ten o'clock found Booth knocking on the door of Dr. Gordon Wyatt's home. The flowers surrounding his patio were abundant with blooms, and their heady scents laced the air. It was warm outside and he hoped that Dr. Wyatt would conduct their session outdoors. He shifted his weight, fidgeting in impatience for the doctor to answer the door. Finally, through the glass, Booth spotted him approaching, carrying a tray of coffee and muffins. Booth tried the doorknob and found it unlocked; he pushed the door open and stepped aside to let the older man through.
"Thank you, Agent Booth. Most kind of you."
"Sure, doc."
They settled themselves at the patio table and Booth helped himself to a cup of weak coffee and a buttery cranberry muffin. Dr. Wyatt still hadn't gotten the hang of preparing coffee, but he frequented one of the best bakeries in town. It made for a balance that Booth was willing to live with. They chatted amiably for a few moments before getting down to business.
Dr. Wyatt asked how work was going and if they had made any progress on the case. Booth filled him in on a few of the details, pleased to have a safe topic to discuss. But then Dr. Wyatt asked about Brennan, and before he even had a chance to answer, the doctor raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in a movement that Booth had grown to recognize as trouble.
"Listen, everything's fine with Bones. We don't need to talk about that, everything will work itself out."
"Everything will work itself out? What, exactly, needs to be worked out?"
"What? No, nothing needs to be worked out. I just said everything's fine," Booth protested.
"I beg to differ, Agent Booth. You just told me that everything will work itself out. That indicates that something is amiss between you and your partner."
Booth shook his head. There were some things he preferred not to talk about—he was never one to kiss and tell. "We really don't need to discuss my personal life. You're here to help me, you know, not shoot at trucks."
"Your personal life? I daresay that greatly affects your work life. So, you and Dr. Brennan have, ah...?" he quirked his eyebrows.
"No, we haven't. Definitely not."
Dr. Wyatt leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in front of him. "You say that as if it were an impossibility."
"Well, yeah, you know, there are some people you can't just sleep with. And, uh, she's probably furious at me, so I'm the last guy she wants to see," Booth mumbled.
"So you were thinking of just sleeping with her, then? I was under the impression she meant rather more to you than that."
"No, no, I didn't think it'd be just sex. Bones, you know, she's not someone I would have just had a fling with."
Dr. Wyatt nodded and gazed absently at his cup of coffee. He crossed one leg over the other, then took a sip of his drink. Booth couldn't read his facial expression, which drove him just a little crazy.
"Okay, so, I kissed her. We didn't sleep together, and won't," he confessed.
"Why not?" asked Dr. Wyatt, looking up from his cup.
"Because she's mad at me. I mean, she has every right to be, you know. I panicked."
The psychiatrist only quirked an eyebrow in response and Booth sighed, slumping his shoulders.
"While we were, you know, kissing, I started worrying about everything that could go wrong, and then I told her we needed to stop. She flipped out and took off before I could explain."
"Hardly surprising, don't you think?"
He nodded. "I guess."
Ringing from Booth's cell phone interrupted the silence that had fallen and he checked the caller ID. It was Angela, only marginally better than if Brennan had called herself. He knew that the women shared pretty much everything and sincerely hoped he wasn't about to get yelled at. But then again, it could be about the case, or maybe something was wrong with Brennan.
"I'm sorry, I have to get this," he told Dr. Wyatt. The older man rose and headed towards his house, causing Booth to roll his eyes. He pushed the little green button on his phone.
"Booth."
Angela's voice, coming through the phone, was louder than necessary and clearly pissed.
"What did you do, Booth?" she demanded.
"Angela? I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't think it would work, but it was worth a shot.
"Don't give me that crap. She's completely humiliated, though she won't tell me that. To me, she's just pretending that she's beyond angry. I promised her I wouldn't call you. But Booth, seriously, what were you thinking?"
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was really not in the mood for this. "Angela, listen, I left her a voicemail explaining everything. Did she get it?"
"A voicemail? Real smooth of you," she commented, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Yeah, I heard it, and that hardly counts as an explanation. You didn't actually say anything."
That's right. How could he have forgot his moronic babbling earlier? Well, it should have meant something to her. At least clued her in to the fact that he was maybe just confused.
"I'm in the middle of an appointment with my psychiatrist. Do you think maybe we can do this later?" he groused.
"Fine, fine. Tell him to knock some sense into you," she muttered. "And to think that I had just convinced her to stop worrying so much and take a chance on you. Now she'll never listen to my advice." A click signaled that Angela had ended the call.
Booth stared at his phone in disbelief. What was that supposed to mean? Brennan had been worrying about their relationship? And she had decided to make the first move? The dull ache in his head that had persisted all morning grew quite suddenly into a full blown choke-hold on his brain.
The door to the house opened and out stepped Dr. Wyatt. It was uncanny how he did that, always coming back the moment he was off the phone. The doctor chuckled when he saw Booth and resumed his seat.
"Not good news, I take it," he commented.
Booth rolled his eyes and grumbled. "No. That was Bones' best friend chewing me out."
"Ah, yes, Angela. Lovely woman," Dr. Wyatt smiled.
He snorted. "Yeah, so long as you don't get on her bad side."
Dr. Wyatt rubbed his hands together. "Well, let's get on with it, shall we? Why don't you tell me what you're so worried about with Dr. Brennan?"
"It's a lot of things, I guess. Our jobs aren't exactly low risk, you know. And being in a relationship, those sorts of feelings can cloud your judgement. Then before you know it, you're taking risks you shouldn't be," Booth shrugged.
"So you're worried about poor judgement and risk-taking, then?" Dr. Wyatt questioned. At Booth's nod, he continued, "Then you've never done something rash, something risky, for Dr. Brennan?"
New Orleans popped into his head, where he removed evidence from the scene of a crime. Poor judgement, maybe. And he left the hospital too soon after getting blown up so he could rescue Brennan, even when there were dozens of other perfectly competent agents able to handle it. Yeah, that counted as risky.
Booth shrugged sheepishly. "No, I guess I have."
"Let me ask you something else then. What if Dr. Brennan were to get hurt or, God forbid, killed while chasing this serial killer of yours?"
The mere thought sent shudders down his spine and a profound sense of despair welled up within him. His chest hurt as he imagined the regret he would feel at never having the chance to tell Brennan how he truly felt. To show her.
"Okay, I get it," he said quietly.
The doctor hummed. "Yes, I thought you would," he smiled.
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The black SUV sat in front of Brennan's apartment with Booth still hiding inside. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, stalling. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to say when he saw her and he had no idea how she was going to act towards him. His full pack was in the backseat, already stuffed with his share of the groceries. Brennan's share sat beside him, neatly organized in a shopping bag. The directions to the point of access for the Trail were tucked above his visor. The gas tank was full and he had already checked in with his office and with Cam. Those phone calls had been more or less unnecessary, but he had been trying to waste time. There was nothing left to do but pick up his partner. He sighed.
Once inside, he hesitated before knocking. The handles of the grocery bag itched in his sweaty palm and he shifted it to the other hand. Well, no sense in delaying any further. He took a deep breath and knocked. As he waited, the thought occurred to him that maybe she wasn't there. Maybe she had decided not to go at all and hadn't wanted to tell him.
But then the door opened.
"I was in the other room, sorry," Brennan said.
She averted her gaze as he stepped through the door. Booth thought he had felt badly about hurting her feelings before, but when they were apart, it had been easier to underestimate the issue. Now, standing before her, he fully realized the impact of his hasty actions the night before. He wanted to say something to her, to apologize, to tell her that he wanted nothing more than to carry her off to her bedroom, forget the case, and spend all afternoon, hell, all of eternity showing her how much he wanted her. His mouth opened and then closed. No words came.
She gave a small sigh and a barely noticeable nod.
"I'll get my things."
He stood around uselessly while she shoved the groceries into her pack, hands in his pockets. They loaded his SUV in near silence, neither saying more than absolutely necessary. Booth felt as though the moment to apologize had passed, that anything he said now would be met with utter disbelief. It felt wrong to leave things this way, but he couldn't figure out a way to start the conversation. He ran through countless openings in his head but all of them sounded too sappy, too arrogant, or just plain forced.
It wasn't until a half hour into their silent drive that he gave up on finding the perfect words.
"Hey, um, Bones?"
Brennan, who was facing the passenger window, hummed.
"I'm an idiot."
Another hum from Brennan, then a pause. "Go on."
Well, at least that was something.
"Haven't you ever just totally panicked? Even when what you were panicking about was, you know, a really good thing?"
"Not really. Panicking isn't very productive. It's a biological response to threatening stimuli, though it almost never actually helps the situation," Brennan shrugged.
"Well, that's helpful information right there, Bones. Thanks."
"You asked me a question. Don't get angry at me for answering it," she retorted.
Booth sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. He didn't know why he was snapping at her when he was the one who needed to apologize.
"You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bit your head off. And I'm sorry about last night, too. I know rational people don't panic, but I guess I'm not rational. It didn't have anything to do with you at all," he told her.
"That doesn't make sense. Of course it had to do with me, I was the person you were kissing, remember?"
He felt like hitting something. This woman was so infuriating, so contrary, how could he possibly feel the way he did about her? Why did he have to fall for a difficult, complicated woman? But he had fallen for her; even if he was still conflicted about what to do about that, he needed to set things right.
"Okay, that was a stupid thing for me to say. You're right, of course you were involved. But I don't want you to think that I didn't enjoy, uh, last night. You didn't do anything wrong."
Several minutes passed in silence. He wanted to give her time to think, to absorb what he said. He tried to focus fully on driving, but there was little traffic and he couldn't stop himself from thinking about this crazy situation he had gotten himself into. He wanted her to say something, and finally he couldn't resist any longer.
"What do I need to do so that you're not pissed off at me anymore?" he asked, trying not to sound too whiny.
"I'm not angry with you," she said quietly.
"You're not? Why?"
"Can we stop talking about this? Let's focus on the case and we can figure this out later."
"Alright," Booth grudgingly agreed.
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The trip had been shorter than expected and Booth was immensely grateful to be out of the car. After their conversation, the silence had changed from tense to just slightly awkward, but it still wasn't the best way to spend forty-five minutes. He stretched his arms behind his back, surveying the small parking area where they would leave the SUV while they hiked. When they got off the trail further north, they would have a cab bring them back here. He had already called a local cab company to let them know roughly when they might be needing a ride.
He turned to Brennan and grinned. It felt so much better being out of the city, with fresh air and the clean smell of pine instead of haziness and engine exhaust. She gave him a smile in return and opened the back door where their gear was stowed.
"Want me to help you get your pack on, Bones?" he offered.
"No thanks, I can handle it."
And indeed she could. He was impressed with her familiarity with her pack and all the dangling straps and attachments. Their packs weighed close to forty pounds—they had been able to leave out some camping gear since they wouldn't be out here long, but had filled the leftover space with necessary items from her forensics field kit. She lifted the pack easily, and he couldn't help feeling proud of her.
Once on the Trail, they quickly found their rhythm. Thankfully, they were both in shape and the terrain wasn't that difficult. Before long the awkwardness faded and they were able to joke around almost as usual. He found when they stopped for breaks, though, the conversation lulled and they almost seemed shy around each other. He believed her when she said she wasn't angry—it was just as if they didn't really know how to act around each other when there wasn't anything to distract them.
It was after such a break that Booth found himself searching for a way to get their conversation back on track.
"Hey, my dad told me about this mummy at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. There's some big deal about giving it a CT scan. He said it was all over the news a week or two ago," he told her.
"I read about it. The mummy dates to the Ptolemaic Dynasty. It was originally thought that the child was about 8 years old at death, but they discovered it was closer to 3 to 5 years old."
"Yeah, that's what he said. He thought it was funny that the CT was done at the Children's Hospital," he grinned.
Brennan smiled at him. "It is an amusing coincidence, but I'm sure that had little to do with why they chose those facilities. Oh, this looks like fun," she grumbled.
They halted in front of an enormous pine that had fallen across the path, its bare branches sticking up at odd angles, looking more than a little intimidating. To the left, the Trail gave way to a steep drop, leaving no room for negotiating around the tree on that side. Unluckily, the other side proved just as unpassable, as Booth painfully found when he tried to push through the brambles lining the path there.
With a grumble, he told Brennan, "I guess we're going over."
She moved to go first, but he held out a hand. "No, let me go first. I'll help you over when I'm across."
"Booth, I'm perfectly capable of climing over a tree."
"Will you just humor me for once?" he sighed exasperatedly.
Booth surveyed the tree, trying to find a route least likely to get him impaled on a spindly branch. He thought of trying to shove his pack ahead of him, but there was expensive equipment in there. This was not going to be easy. He found a good foothold and pushed himself up the side of the trunk. He sidestepped between several branches, barely fitting through some of the spaces. Finally he was able to hop down off the tree, albeit awkwardly. He turned to Brennan.
"Now, I know I made it look like a piece of cake, but it's harder than it looks," he grinned.
She rolled her eyes at him but smiled nonetheless. Using the same foothold Booth had, she easily pulled herself up onto the tree. He scowled at her agility but was able to convince himself it was because she weighed considerably less than he did. She moved between the branches and was nearly ready to hop down when her foot caught and she came down hard on one knee.
"Bones!" Booth exclaimed, reaching out towards her to help her up. His hand found hers and he briefly marveled at its warmth and softness. She protested but still used his hand to pull herself up. Within moments, she was off the tree, looking grateful to be back on solid ground. She dropped her pack and Booth did the same.
"Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Let me see your knee," he insisted.
"No, my knee's fine, probably just a little bruised. I think I got scraped here, though," she muttered. She pulled up the edge of her shirt, peering down at a small gash on her stomach. "My shirt must've gotten yanked up when I fell."
Booth cringed. "Let me get my first aid kit." He knelt in front of his pack and began rummaging through it. He was glad for the distraction from the pale, supple skin of her abdomen. "Does it hurt much?"
"It stings," she shrugged.
When he found the kit, he instructed her to hold up her shirt for him so he could tend to the gash. She surprised him by complying. Crouching before her, he tore open an alcohol wipe packet and swabbed the blood away. When he blew gently across her skin to ease the burning, she visibly stiffened. He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry, habit. I do that for Parker, he says it helps."
She nodded in understanding, then mumbled, "It does."
He bowed his head, ostensibly to resume his work, but also to hide the wide grin that spread across his face. After applying some triple ointment cream and a bandage, he stood and brushed himself off.
"Do you think you can go on, or do I need to carry you back to the car?" he teased.
Brennan gave him a playful shove on the shoulder and moved to pick up her pack. When she lifted it, she winced. Booth was at her side in an instant and took the pack from her, helping ease it onto her shoulders.
"If it hurts too much to carry your pack, let me know. We can ditch some of the stuff and I can carry the rest," he told her.
"I'll be fine, Booth."
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They reached shelter well before nightfall. Brennan had brought her tent but they decided that they should both sleep in the shelter, especially since there could very well be a serial killer in the woods with them. Brennan set about arranging their ground covers and sleeping bags while Booth set up the stove. He was pulling out the plastic bags of food when she emerged from the shelter and sat down beside him.
"What's for dinner?" she asked. "I'm starving."
"The trail mix wasn't enough for you, huh?"
"It was good, but I worked up an appetite. Aren't you hungry?"
"Famished," he grinned.
After the pot of water began boiling, Booth poured a bag of sun-dried tomatoes and dried mushrooms into the water. He let that cook for a few minutes, then added noodles and a dribble of olive oil from plastic bottle.
"You brought olive oil?" asked Brennan incredulously.
Booth shrugged. "Might as well do it right. If you put some in a little bottle like this, it's not as bad as carrying around a big glass jar."
"How long until it's ready?"
"Patience, Bones, patience. Maybe ten minutes?" he guessed.
They sat quietly, enjoying the tranquility of the mountains. So far they were the only ones at the shelter, and Booth was selfishly hoping it would stay that way. He didn't relish having to make small talk with strangers when he was trying to fix what had gone wrong between him and his partner. Glancing over at Brennan, he wondered why he was having such a hard time just letting go of his worries. Everything that Gordon Gordon had said earlier was right, but it was one thing to know something in your head and another to fully believe it. He realized that he was being crazy, that to have a woman like Temperance Brennan be interested in him was a stroke of luck, and he should just go for it. God knew he spent enough time dreaming about her.
Booth pulled himself out of his reverie and tested the noodles. Perfect. He drained the liquid into a separate pot to be buried well away from the shelter. He poured some more olive oil into the pot, tossed it, then emptied a little bag of basil, oregano, and parmesan cheese on top of the noodles. He tossed the contents again, then presented it for Brennan's approval.
"Voila, my famous pasta with tomatoes and mushrooms."
"Famous, huh?"
"Well, kind of." He paused. "Okay, not really. Try it, though."
Booth divided the meal onto their plates and he watched as she took a tentative bite. He was pleased to see her face light up.
"This is great, Booth. Thanks for cooking."
He gave her his most charming smile. "I live to serve," he winked.
Halfway through their meal, they heard voices on the Trail and before long another pair of hikers came into view. Booth sighed inwardly. They seemed like a nice enough couple, though, both in their early thirties, Booth guessed, and fit. The woman introduced herself as Danielle and the man, she indicated, was her husband, Rob. They set about preparing their dinner with practiced efficiency and Booth was grateful that they at least knew Trail etiquette.
Brennan watched them openly and though he was probably imagining it, he thought he saw flashes of envy in her eyes as Danielle affectionately teased Rob and as they both used strange pet names for each other. When Rob leaned in to give his wife a quick kiss, Booth stood.
"Let's go filter our water before it gets dark," he suggested.
They gathered their water bottles and filter and headed off towards the water source. As they walked, Booth hesitantly placed his hand at the small of Brennan's back, not sure if she'd allow it. When she didn't protest, he slid his arm up around her shoulder, pulling her close to his side. She glanced up at him and smiled, and he grinned back. Maybe this was worth the risk.
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Later that night, Booth and Brennan lay half-covered in their sleeping bags next to each other. The evening had turned out more pleasantly than he had expected. They had gotten along well with the other couple; conversation had flowed easily and they all shared snacks they had brought along. After cleaning their pots and dishes and suspending their food high in a tree well into the woods, they had all taken turns changing behind the shelter. Booth had discreetly placed the gun from his ankle holster under his sleeping bag—he didn't really think the killer would show up in the middle of the night and attack them, but better safe than sorry.
Now in the darkness, they listened to the sounds of the forest around them, both lost in their thoughts. He knew he would tell Brennan how he felt about her, hopefully soon. Maybe if the opportunity presented itself on the trail tomorrow, if not, maybe he would take her out to dinner when they got back. Either way, he was ready to quit fooling around.
He reached across the space between them and found her hand. Her skin felt chilly in the night air and he covered her hand with his. The squeeze she gave him in return told him that she would wait until he was ready.