The Man in the Morgue

It's a long plane ride home and she totally sacks out on my shoulder, and doesn't make a peep the whole flight. I'm hardly going to complain about being her pillow-- she smells like honey and the best apple pie in the world and some other thing that's just Bones-- and though I'm sure she'll tell me to mind my own business, those dark circles under her eyes told me she hadn't slept much the last three days. Not that anyone would. Of course, she insists on going straight to the lab, and bluffs her way through all that memory loss. Voodoo? Maybe not. But more things on heaven and earth? That's for sure. I would laugh at the look on her face when I hold up that earring, except her lip is still split, that bruise is still livid, and that splint on her wrist reminds me all over again of what a close call it was. Damnable stone-faced big-hearted woman goes on vacation to a disaster area, and then runs afoul of a voodoo murderer. I'll be damned if she goes on vacation again without me.

I call her later, though, and she doesn't pick up her house phone. Probably asleep. I hope. So I call her cell phone, and she doesn't answer that either, though she said once she usually keeps it on the nightstand. Still no answer. Damnit. She has that concussion, and she was kind of out of it when I woke her up on the landing approach. Damned woman, thinks she has to make up for our own government's failures like she's doing penance for something, and gets herself hurt and practically rips my heart out of my chest all the way down until I can make sure she's basically okay again. That "no sign of sexual activity, forced or otherwise" was a relief, yeah, but somebody still tried to kill her.

I give her another ten minutes to answer my messages, then figure what the hell. She'll probably forgive me my alpha-male tendencies if I check in on her just once-- even she's got to be grateful for the fact that I just put my career on the line and stole evidence for her-- though I'd do it again, over and over. I know her. I knew she didn't do it.

I let myself in with the key she grudgingly gave me right before her fridge blew me up, and which she'd never asked me to give back to her, trying to keep quiet in case she's actually sleeping. Thank God, she is, but she's totally sacked out on her couch and all twisted around. She's going to have a hell of a crick in her neck if she keeps sleeping like that, and her couch isn't really where she should be sleeping, what with nearly being murdered and all. So I scope out her room and come back, then scoop her up without a peep out of her.

God, she doesn't weigh very much-- guess just her personality comes down like a ton of bricks. Stubborn woman-- she should have had Angela stay with her, I mean, she has a concussion for Christ's sake, and yeah, it's been a few days, but that shit is tricky. Someone should be taking care of her until she's got a week under her belt with no wonky vision or more memory blackouts. And no voodoo shit on her pillow, either. Well, at least it's Friday. Even she won't go into work this weekend. Right? Maybe not.

Wow. King size bed and real linen sheets-- guess she puts all that book money into private luxuries, she's not exactly parading around in Armani at work. But hey, why the hell not, she deserves a good rest-- nothing but the best for my Bones. She doesn't make any peep again when I juggle her and pull back her covers, and just flops back when I set her down. Geez. She's really out of it. Well, I'll tuck her in and go chill on her couch for a bit, check back in an hour or two and see how she's doing.

I'm just deciding to get up and go check on her when I hear it. A whimper. Like a kicked puppy, but louder, and sounding like Bones. She's tossing and turning and making more kicked puppy noises when I stick my head into her room, then lets out a scared-sounding mumble. That's enough for me.

"Bones, hey, Bones, wake up there, okay?" I say, shaking her shoulder.

She flings me off the bed before I even know what hit me. Christ, no wonder she got away if she can go all kung fu when she's still basically sleeping. That fucking hurt. Except she's staring at me in that "I'm not awake because I'm still in my nightmare" look Parks gets sometimes.

"Temperance? Bones? Wake up, hey," I try again, and she shakes her head and looks at me, completely confused.

"Booth?" she says. "What..." Her voice doesn't sound quite right-- and then I know why it sounds weird-- she sounds scared. My poor Bones.

"Just thought I'd check on you when you didn't answer your phone, and came in at the wrong time."

She looks around, puzzled. "Thought I fell 'sleep on my couch."

I see my chance. I'm an ass for lying to her, but hey, I've got her best interests at heart.

"I dunno Bones, sleepwalking? That's no good. Maybe you should call someone to stay with you."

She shakes her head again, mumbling an answer. "Mmm. 'M fine. Ange's left fr'th weekend 'nyway. 'Salright."

She swings her legs over the side of the bed like she's going get up, and gets halfway up when she gets crosseyed and sits back down again. I'm squatting in front of her, checking her pupils before she can swat me away, and her "I'm fine" sounds decidedly less strong.

"Fine, my ass, Bones. You go back to sleep, I'm gonna grab a beer and watch your TV. I'll check back on you in an hour."

She shakes her head, more confused than anything now. "Nnn- you've got Parker or something. 'M fine. You-- you have family things," she says, looking both confused and resigned. Jesus-- that's a fucking stab through the heart. She gets the crap kicked out of her, gets suspected of murder, solves a murder, and now she thinks she has to spend the weekend alone.

"Nah. Becs has him off to see her parents this weekend. You go back to sleep, I'm going to start in on the beer in your fridge."

I push her back toward her pillow, and it's a sign of how tired and confused she is that she lets me tuck her back into bed, her eyes blinking shut. My poor Bones.

Of course, a half hour later I'm watching the ball game on low and just starting to really enjoy my beer when I hear that whimpering again, except louder. All that shit's catching up with her-- or it's why she doesn't look like she's slept a wink since I first got down there. She won't appreciate me waking her up again, though, I decide to stay put a bit and see how it goes. It dies down for a bit, and then she lets out this bloodcurdling shriek that curls every hair on my head.

I go in cautiously, not sure if she's going to go all kung fu on my ass again, but she's still asleep and the poor thing's sweating up a storm and definitely doing the kicked puppy thing again. Why's she got to think she's all alone in the world? It's not true.

"Hey, Bones, come on, wake up," I try, but she's not having any of the waking up thing this time.

Before I know it she's crying and I'm holding her in my lap like she's Parker and then she's awake and sobbing except she doesn't know why because "ann--ann--thro-pol-logically sp-speaking once the fl-flight or f-ff-f-ight st-st-mlus is gone the-the-the it- should be better. BBbb-ut it-it-it's hasn't stop-stopped y-yet."

And I know, suddenly, that she's been doing this every single goddamned night since it all started and that's why she looks like a ghost. A beat-up ghost. An unbelievably gorgeous beat-up ghost. And I just want to make her feel better, so I kiss her meaning to just give her a comforting peck, except of course it's Bones, so it's way less like a peck and way more like a "let me make love to you until you never need to cry any more because you know I'll always protect you" kind of kiss. And she kisses me back like she's drowning.

All of a sudden she's naked, and gorgeous, and gasping, and holding onto me while I practically smother her in kisses while I taste every inch of her skin, cup those incredible breasts, murmur comforting words in her ear about how gorgeous she is and how I'm not going anywhere in between kisses and sucks and tastes of her skin and her mouth and her breasts, until I get to her core and she lets out this sigh like she's just had a long drink of water after three days in the desert. She smells like heaven, tastes like it too, feels so incredible under my hands and my tongue in the heart of her, and she's bucking and squirming and calling my name until she comes like a lightning bolt hit her. Her fantastic juices taste even better, though it should be impossible because she already tastes better than the best I've ever had. Christ, she's so unbelievable, and she's still holding onto me like she never wants to let go when I slide into her-- and she's perfect. Hot, wet, and home.

She's calling my name as I stroke her, bringing her higher, and kissing me back like I've never been kissed, and then it's not long before until she can't even talk any more, I'm making it that good for her, right up to the point where I keep stroking into her faster and reach down between us to coax her orgasm from her. And then she comes, pulling me in she's gripping me so hard, and screaming "Oh, Booth, I love you!" which makes me come with a roar and then I start shouting...

"Fuck!"

Goddamnitall to hell. Jesus Christ, this is killing me. Angry for-God's-sake-do-what-I-tell-you sex dreams, yeah, that's fine. Really. '

Cathartic we-both-nearly-died sex dreams? I can deal with those too.

But this one? Hoo boy.

Ok. The "I'll protect you thing" I get, not like that hasn't happened in the other dreams, too. And of course and hot damn she's gorgeous. But... my poor Bones? My Bones at all? Goddamnit. And... home? And "Oh, Booth, I love you!"

I don't need to still be asleep to know what I was going to say next if I hadn't woken up just now. "Bones, I love you too?"

When the fuckdid that happen? And what the hell am I going to do?

There's only one situation I can deal with right now, and that's the one saluting me through my shorts despite the holy-fuck-I'm-so-screwed realization that I'm falling in love with my partner. Shit. I'm falling in love with my partner. Somehow that thought only makes me harder, though I ought to be running for the goddamned hills right about now.

Goddamnit, I think, then lie back and take hold as I think about the way she tasted and sounded the first time she came in my dream.

It does the trick, but it's not the same. Not at all.