Note: Thanks to those who reviewed, I love hearing what you think.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
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"How did you find out where I live?"
Brennan realized the answer the second she blurted out the question, but Booth answered anyway. "FBI, Bones, that's what we do."
He took a step forward and, almost involuntarily, she stepped back, allowing him in to her apartment. "The question, Bones, is why you haven't been returning my calls."
Brennan shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. "I didn't think we had anything to talk about."
The door clicked shut behind him, the quiet sound emphasizing how alone they were. She took another step back.
"You didn't think we had anything to talk about." His voice was unnaturally calm, the words measured and deliberate. She stepped back again and her legs hit the back of her couch. "We slept together, Bones."
She shrugged. "I'm aware of that."
He stepped forward, trapping her against the couch. "Didn't that mean anything to you?"
Her chin went up defiantly. "It meant we had sex. You were very good. Above average, I'd say. Is that what you want to know?"
She watched, fascinated, as his lips thinned and a muscle twitched in his temple. His hands – the same hands that had held her as she drifted off to sleep, the ones that had made her feel so safe – clenched at his sides.
His eyes searched hers, looking in vain for a sign that she wanted him there. It was difficult to accept that she didn't feel the attraction, the connection he did, but her eyes were shuttered, her arms crossed against her chest as if she needed to protect herself from him.
"Right", he said. "Sorry to disturb you, Bones. I'll be going. It's been a long day."
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When she'd moved in to her apartment, she'd owned nothing more than some clothes, a couple of towels, an imperfect yet common artifact she'd found on her first dig, and a box of kitchen things – one pot, three plates, a few pieces of cutlery, and two mismatched coffee mugs.
Over the years, she'd bought furniture, acquired ancient artifacts from around the world, and purchased top-of-the-line cookware. She'd spent countless evenings listening to music while catching up on the work she never seemed to be able to finish during the day. Last weekend, Angela had insisted on coming over to help her pick out an outfit for an upcoming benefactors' dinner, and they'd spent an afternoon talking and laughing. She loved her home – the serenity, the comfort, the knowledge that it belonged to her.
It wasn't until Booth left her alone that she realized how empty it really was.
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Two days after his disastrous visit to her apartment, she sent her weird assistant over with the box of evidence. It was unnerving, the way the kid stared at him, and it was almost a relief when he blurted out, "It was unprofessional of you to engage in coitus with Dr. Brennan."
Booth's hand reflexively went to his gun, but he forced it to drop to his side as he stepped menacingly towards the kid. "Excuse me?"
The kid was brave – or stupid – enough to look him in the eyes as he continued, "It was immensely stupid of you to fire us." Booth struggled to control his temper as Zach set the box on the desk and fled.
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"Hire it back." Caroline's order was a relief.
He told himself he was just doing his job, that the case – the victim – needed him to work with her again, but he knew he was kidding himself. He wanted to see her, and by the time he walked into the Jeffersonian, he had convinced himself she wanted to see him, too.
Her impassive reaction, her claim that she'd moved on, and her refusal to go with him to watch them search the judge's car made it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him. If he hadn't convinced Dr. Goodman to force her to go with him, she would have sent that geeky grad student and they probably would have never identified the tiny ear bone that they found in the lock.
The judge would have walked, and it would have been his fault.
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He was so kind to the victim's mother. He listened attentively as she talked, murmured reassuring yet factually inaccurate phrases about the victim's death being painless, and made sure that she knew she could call him at any time as the case went to trial.
Brennan had dealt with cops before, and she knew they weren't always so sympathetic and understanding.
He was a good man – a man who deserved more than she could give. He needed someone who was good with the living, not the dead. Based on the small shoes by his front door, he had at least one child. She'd never wanted children to be part of her life.
She'd made the right decision.
A few months in Guatemala was just what she needed – a break from Booth and a chance to participate in an important dig. The Jeffersonian's investors liked things like that, and Dr. Goodman liked it when the investors were happy.
She finished her travel request and hit send.
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I believe there will be one more chapter. Let me know what you think of this so far!