Blood, Sweat, and Fears
"How? I mean I know how, but, no, how? You're always so careful." Angela marveled happily aloud. Dr. Temperance Brennan was the most exact person she knew. For her to have gotten pregnant without a plan, flow charts, a string of carefully analyzed test results, and within her first month of dating Booth was inconceivable.
Bren ran her hands down the sides of her skirt smoothing it as she slowly let out a long measured breath. She knew the night, well it was one of two, after that they'd been very careful. Maybe three, there was another time but that was much later in the month and not at all likely to have caused her pregnancy. She was sure it was one of the first two. There was no planning in those first two nights, no thought, just raw emotion and need. Their passion was as loud and fierce as the pain. Maybe three days, depending on how she counted them, definitely more than three times on those three days.
Her mind wandered to the much safer topic of math. The night Mr. Nigel-Murray was killed, the day they caught Broadsky, that night when they sent her young intern's body off and after, when they went home, and the morning following. It was all one long blur to her. One long day instead of several days distinct and separate.
Clearing her throat she pulled her lip nervously between her teeth. "You know Booth is very private. He doesn't want me to share that kind of-"
"I feel like a cow, Bren. I'm constantly nursing, I've got sore nipples, and I'm exhausted. Just wait, it'll be your turn soon enough. Let me live vicariously through you just a little." She laughed at herself and Bren's attempts to hide her sudden look of terror. "I need this, sweetie. I mean, I really need it."
Her pitiful appeal pulled on Brennan's heart strings. Angela watched as her look of fear turned to a slight smirk and a sparkle in her eyes. Clearly flooded by the memories Angela wanted to hear all about. Angela could tell she wanted, at least on some level, to tell her. They'd always shared their sexual exploits before, often in great detail as they laughed and talked. Though this was different and Bren considered it carefully. This was about Booth, it was theirs, hers and his. She'd held it greedily close to her chest this whole time, sharing almost nothing with Angela. And, she reminded herself, they all worked together. It wasn't some stranger Angela would most likely never meet, it was Booth.
Angela dangled the half eaten package of crackers in front of her letting them swing in the air. "You owe me, okay? For keeping this pregnancy from me for a whole month." Then she flopped back and waited.
Grabbing the crackers from her hand Bren settled back on her office couch and began nibbling on one. Angela knew about that first time, though Bren had purposefully kept details at a minimum. She didn't want to share more of that night. It was sacred to her, a coupling like she'd never experienced, so much more than the physical touch. So unique she wasn't sure she could put it into words if she tried. She would tell her about the second time they made love. After they'd sent Mr. Nigel-Murray's body off from the loading docks of the Jeffersonian. After she'd come to stand next to Booth slipping her arm through his. After they'd finally made their way home after such a long and stressful day.
There'd been no time to talk about what had happened between them, not that morning, not all day. Leaving them both torn as they juggled the sudden and unexpected change in their relationship. Her mind had bounced all day. The memories of being with Booth, the feel of his touch, the sound of his comforting words, his heavy breath on her skin, the magic of making love to him, it had been hard to push away. But she had to. She had to make sure Booth had every advantage in his battle with Broadsky. She couldn't risk losing him, especially not now. Wedged in between were her own anxieties and worries about what the future held for them. Had this moment been the beginning of them trying to be together? Was he ready? Was she?
Her anxieties started early in the day. Making their drive to the Jeffersonian quiet as they both tried to process what had happened between them and stay focused on catching Vincent's killer. She remembered watching Booth's hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, each vein, each sinewy ligament, tendon, and muscle. She knew them all, every name, each point of connection to the bone. But seeing them now, seeing him as he kept re-adjusting his grip, stretching out his hands then wrapping them back around that wheel and tensing them again made her forget the science of it all. Each movement taunted her as the memory of those hands on her body stole her ability to think. She fidgeted endlessly in her seat unable to settle.
What little had been said between them was half words and short phrases, a clear avoidance of what they really needed to talk about. There wasn't time, starting and not finishing that conversation would be worse. They agreed they needed to talk later and to be professional, above all else. Especially this day, they needed to stay focused on work. Without complete focus this day could be deadly for them, especially Booth. And tell no one, they agreed they needed to talk to each other about what happened before they talked to anyone else. They needed time to think and make a plan.
Getting to the Jeffersonian parking lot had been a relief. She'd been on her way out of the truck when she turned quickly to Booth her eyes aching with pain and worry.
"Don't you dare die today." Before he could answer she'd already started moving, leaving. Grabbing her hand, holding her back, he answered.
"I won't." It had been an empty promise. She knew that. He knew that. One meant solely to provide comfort. Pretending that he had some control over the danger he faced made them both feel a little better. "I won't." He sounded strong and sure as he squeezed her hand. Holding onto her hand tightly as long as he could and she let him, until they slipped apart amidst promises of case updates and keeping each other apprised of progress.
Clearing her throat loudly Angela brought Bren's attention back to their conversation. "I'm waiting." She folded her arms across her chest.
"Sorry." Suddenly serious, it seemed impossible to speak of this time without having all the complicated emotions resurface with great power and force. "It was after we gathered here to send off Mr. Nigel-Murray." She paused in the futile hope that her brief statement would be enough to satisfy Angela.
"And." Bren laughed at Angela's excitement.
"And I wanted to stay and work on the paperwork. Booth didn't. He was insistent that we go home."
"Good for him."
"We argued and at first he left." That surprised Angela, her eyebrows shot up in shock and disappointment.
"It was my fault, Ange, I told him to leave. I told him that just because we'd made love didn't mean we could neglect our work."
"Sweetie."
"He didn't even make it out of the lab before he turned back." Bren had a look Angela had never seen before, a sense of security and satisfaction. "He said I was right and that he would help me but he wanted us to take the paperwork back to his apartment."
Booth confided in her later that he came back when he realized she'd just told him they'd made love, not engaged in coitus, not intercourse, not some other crazy anthropological scientific distancing name for it. His Bones had just told him that she recognized what had happened between them had been love. In her own terms they'd made love. After that he couldn't leave. He'd come back and watched her for a minute before tapping softly on her office door and making his proposal.
It was so strong, what they felt for each other, and yet so unknown which made it scary. Because they hadn't talked she didn't know where he stood, he didn't know where she stood. Afraid to talk, afraid not to talk, they were stuck in between, dancing an awkward dance around each other.
"We went back to the apartment and worked for a little while but I was so tired and tense. I asked if I could take a shower to relax."
Angela sighed and giggled already sure she was going to love this story. "Showers are nice."
"Alone, I was going to take a shower alone. He has an old apartment, Ange." She looked almost apologetic. "And the water from the shower head sprayed out when I turned it on. It was freezing cold and when it hit my bare skin I squealed."
"Squealed?"
Bren swallowed hard, here was the tricky part. Knowing how much to share had always been hard for her. Booth always said she shared too much, especially when the topic was sex.
"Screamed, squealed. It surprised me. Either way, Booth burst through the door." Both women looked at each other and giggled. "I was completely naked, Ange."
She laughed at it now but then, at the moment, there had been such intensity between her and Booth. She didn't know how to say it or if she wanted to say it but the night before, in his bed, in the dark, it had all been about touch and feel. Now she stood completely bare in front of him, fully lit. The rise and fall of her chest accelerated quickly as his eyes moved from hers slowly down her body. She wasn't shy. She stood strong and tall, squaring her shoulders. Stepping closer he'd try to explain.
"I thought you were hurt or something."
"The water." She pointed at the shower. "Cold. It was cold and it sprayed." A chill shuddered through her.
He'd stepped in just a bit more. "It does that." Almost timidly he brought his hand up and let it hover momentarily before he wiped some of the droplets from her shoulder. How could a man with so much strength and power have a touch so tender?
"Bren, Sweetie, you can't stop there!"
"He was worried about me." Coy, almost defensively, she justified Booth's intrusion.
"And…" She was getting impatient, Bren could tell.
"I was cold so he held me while the water heated up." Holding her, his hands drifted lightly over her body as she leaned in, chasing, desperately wanting more of his touch.
"How very noble of him."
"Yes, Booth is very noble." Bren's dreamy eyes swooned and Angela was sure she blushed just a little. "And strong, very strong."
He'd held her loosely at first, their cheeks brushed, then lips, until they caught each other in a kiss. Their bodies willing to have the conversation they feared, sure and confident of the outcome. Before long they were both bare, stepping into the shower, letting the warmth and their closeness comfort them.
"So it was shower sex?" Angela goaded. "I knew it."
Bren only smiled, hemmed and hawed. "Yes and no. Though it certainly started there, in the shower, I mean."
"More, sweetie, more, as in all the sweaty details."
"Angela." She shook her head. "You know how Booth is abo-"
"How's Booth about what?" He appeared at the perfect moment with Sweets trailing a few feet behind him. He was trying be light hearted but the weight of their current case had them all stretched and tense. "Hey, Ange, you're looking great." She stood, quickly filling the office with stories of Michael Vincent to pull the conversation and attention away from what these two best friends had been talking about. In the excitement over the baby news the crackers were stashed quickly under a pillow.
It was plain old saltines that had betrayed her in the first place. Angela had come into the lab to pick Hodgins up from work. Hoping to spend a few minutes with Bren she'd stopped by her office only to find it uncharacteristically messy and empty. Bren never ate refined flours, whole grains, organic yes, but saltines were none of those things. These were plain old fashioned white flour saltines in a long white plastic wrapper. Perfect for morning sickness or the flu and not much else. Angela had taken the package planning to catch Bren just as she had today.
Angela gave Booth a hug before excusing herself and looking back over her shoulder at Bren. "More later, okay? I insist." A sly look, a laugh, a wink and she was off leaving her alone with Booth and Sweets, both of which were eyeing her suspiciously for very different reasons. Sweets' natural curiosity wanted to know what they'd walked in on. Booth was fairly sure he knew what they walked in on and wanted to know how much she'd shared.
Neither of them would be satisfied at the moment. There were more pressing matters.
"Caroline got the warrant."
"What? How?" It had been the subject of much discussion between them. This complicated case seemed to be posing more questions than answers. The stress was oppressive. She felt so helpless as she watched Booth struggle with the weight of it. The bodies of two young boys had been found and linked to the same killer. A third body, more recently killed and another abduction left them scrambling for answers.
"The right judge, Bones, she knows her judges. She knew which one would grant it."
"We have no evidence Booth, it was all just supposition." Despite her protests she'd helped him prepare the brief for Caroline.
"It was enough and that's all that matters." There was markable tension in his voice. "Besides since when does my gut mean nothing, huh? Don't you trust me?"
"I trust you. I do. But you know how I feel about supposition and conjecture."
"Yeah, well, we don't have time to wait for evidence. I'll take my gut over nothing anyday." They both knew it was true. The race to find the latest victim was taking it's toll. She watched him call Parker every night. He talked a little longer, told him he loved him more frequently than normal. Booth reminded him each night about strangers and safety. His attempts to sound calm and fatherly but were only thinly veiled attempts to ease his worries. Parker was old enough to understand that now. This case hit too close to home.
"So, come on Bones, chop, chop, lets go serve the warrant." He tried to sound casual and everyday about it. It didn't work. Sweets watched with interest as they vollied back and forth.
"Maybe I should stay here, go back over the bones, see if I can find anything I may have missed."
"You didn't miss anything, Bones, you never miss anything."
"You don't need me. You have him." She pointed accusingly at Sweets. "You need me at the lab."
"He's going too. But I need you there so you can do that anthropology thing you do. Like in the case, you know the one, where you were kidnapped by Kenton." Booth was tired and stressed and flustered. He hadn't slept well in days. "That key thing you did."
"Booth, that was Goodman. He's the one that told you which keys were most important, which to look at first."
"Yeah, but you could do the same thing. Bones, I know this is our guy. I need your eyes and your brains there in his apartment."
They went back and forth while Sweets watched. His eyes darting from one to the other as they vollied effortlessly. They'd miss a therapy session this week, the case was far too important to take them away from it. But this was even better. He was watching their dynamic play out first hand, unguarded because of their exhaustion and raw emotions.
"Booth."
"Are you saying Goodman was better than you? Smarter? Because he wasn't. You were the one that figured out what he used the keys for, you figured out the crimilations."
"Crenelation. Cren el a tions." He had her coat and she already had one arm in it before she'd finished correcting what she knew had been a purposeful mispronunciation of the word.
There was something so unique about the way these two worked that Sweets wished they could see, a unity present even in their intensely oppositional moments. He smiled as he watched their bickering turn so naturally into singular purpose and direction. Booth straightened her jacket on her shoulders, gently pulled her hair from beneath her collar, as she slipped her messenger bag over her shoulder. There was an ease these two had with one another that Sweets could see returning after its brief and disturbing forced nature during Hannah's presence.
He followed them out of Dr. Brennan's office musing to himself. Maybe this was the balance they needed. Booth's devotion and unanswered affections. Dr. Brennan was obviously comfortable with this level of commitment. This was the conclusion he'd come to when they left his office last. Agent Booth's hand low in the small of her back, then adjusted up between her shoulder blades. Booth accommodated her. Anything that stepped beyond the point with which she was comfortable or required her to give back what Agent Booth gave her seemed to send her running. Her part of the balance was to let him, in the most minimalistic ways, show he loved her. For the briefest moment he considered letting them be. This was, after all, the state they seemed to function best in. If he left it alone they would probably go forever like this, more than partners, great friends, not lovers. But Sweets considered it only for the briefest moment.
In many ways Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth reminded him of his adoptive parents. Two people who shouldn't work but did, who'd given so much to each other and to him. They held so much happiness and love between them. He wanted that for these two. He would find a way, working on the theory that if he pushed Dr. Brennan, through therapeutic technique, she wouldn't run whereas if Agent Booth pushed her she would be back in Maluku in a heartbeat.
Happily remembering a small cut on her palm Booth seized the opportunity to grab her hand. Pretending to briefly examine it, holding onto it just a little longer than needed while he glanced between the road and her wound while driving. She played along, finding the need to be connected to him most irresistible after her talk with Angela, past mixing tantalizingly with the present. She forced herself back into the case by going over each detailed bit of evidence they'd found on each victim.
Wound tracks were all vastly different, particulates somewhat different but enough similarities to connect the cases, none of it added up to anything consistent or recognizable in pattern. While Booth was interested and questioning and Sweets focused on what the suspects answers meant she was looking for something, anything that might fit the evidence, a missing piece to the puzzle.
Old chipped cement slabs held up by metal framework,sloped and bent from years of use, led up to an apartment. Somewhat isolated, it was the last in a long row, the two apartments next to it were vacant. According to the manager they had been for a long time. Built over a string of garages, meant there were no neighbors below either. Every detail noted and catalogued as they approached the door. Each to be considered an important detail, though they often looked individually insignificant years had proven that what appeared to be nothing separately proved significant when combined with all the other details.
They were greeted by a hesitant young man, in his late twenties, lean in build, with shaggy unkempt hair. He could have easily passed as a college student. Unsure, his eyes darted between Booth and his companions as Booth gave his normal spiel. He was good at sounding official yet casual, setting people at ease in a way that made this, what they were doing, seem so everyday. In turn they were likely to share more than they had intended.
"Emmett Madison." The younger man answered in return. Booth rarely revealed his hand all at once, Bones attributed it to being a reformed gambler. He held his cards close to the chest choosing not to tell Emmett about the warrant. "Come in."
Layers of holey sheets were hung on the front window as curtains had been visible from the outside of the apartment. Leaving her surprised by the relative cleanliness of the inside of the small apartment and shocked by some of the finer items. There was a flat screen television on the wall and a couple of different game players she'd recently become acquainted with because of Booth and Parker. Games were stacked on the floor towering up from old shag carpet. An old saggy couch and easy chair where they came to sit, made it clear that toys were his financial priority. Her eyes drifted from the far right where she could see nearly all of the apartment's kitchen to the left where an open door revealed what must be a bedroom.
Booth led the way questioning interests, whereabouts, connections to the victims. She was paying attention and was sure that if asked she could repeat verbatim the conversation but her attention was focused on trying to make out what appeared to be an odd collection on the wall of the suspects bedroom. Bright and colorful it stood out even against the dimly lit background but the shapes were oddly formed - each piece unique and different. At the end of her cognitive abilities she stood and started drifting towards the bedroom.
"What are those?" Interrupting, everyone stopped and turned to her then looked where she was pointing. She paused pulling out her black nitrile gloves and started to put them on.
"You, you can't go in there, right? She can't." His protests quickly becoming incoherent. It stopped her movement short. "Make her stop. Make her stop." He rambled in obvious panic and resistance which only served to make himself look more suspicious. That's when Booth chose to pull out the warrant.
"Actually, we have a warrant right here that says she can go in there and she will." She started moving again only to be halted by the man's frantic explanation.
"Legos, they're just legos."
"Legos?" Sweets and Booth echoed in unison.
"Lego weapons. I make them. They're just legos." He thought it would satisfy them but it only served to pique her curiosity. The irregularity of the wound tracks, bits of colored hard plastics, solvents that didn't make sense before but now completely fit, used to change the molecules of the ABS plastic allowing them to fuse together.
"Booth." She started moving with intent only to be jerked back. Emmett Madison grabbed and twisted her around as she crossed in front of him. "I think those are the murder weapon." She grunted out, startled by the sudden change in her situation she acted instinctually, they all did. Booth had his gun drawn and trained on the man immediately. Sweets frantically tried to talk the man down and get him to release Dr. Brennan while she fought. Chaos, everyone's reactions overlapping until she became suddenly still. stretching forward, arching her back as far as she could. Booth knew in that moment the suspect had something, some weapon of some kind pressed into her back.
There was a wild look in Booth's eye, controlled rage, as he secured his stance and adjusted his grip. She knew he would take the shot as soon as he could. Locking eyes for a just a moment he willed her to stay still, to watch for his cues, to not goad the serial killer. He willed her to know he loved her and would get her out of this while he kicked himself for bringing her in the first place. He'd have to be more careful. He couldn't lose her, he couldn't bare the thought. If something happened to her or the baby he'd never forgive himself.
"He's a perfect shot, a decorated Army Ranger, a sniper." She blurted. "He doesn't miss." Booth cringed. Clearly she had no plans to be cautious at all so he'd have to be careful enough for all of them.
Babbling, confessing, Emmett Madison moved towards the door in an attempt to escape with Bones as a hostage. It couldn't happen, she knew enough to know she couldn't let that happen. Taking a deep breath she decided to fight.
On his report Sweets was at a loss for what to write. Even to the trained observer it was a blur of activity. Tangled bodies, she elbowed Madison, punched, and kicked until the man shoved her away sending her headlong into a coffee table. The thud of her body as it rolled limp onto the floor still echoed in his ears. Booth took the shot. As she promised, he didn't miss.
"Sweets, call it in!" The suspect dropped. "Damn it, Sweets, call it in!" It jolted Sweets into action talking over Agent Booth's mad pleas and consolations to Dr. Brennan. She regained consciousness fast enough but blood continued to pour down her forehead from a cut along her hairline. Agent Booth quickly checked her for other injuries. The two were already embroiled in a heated back and forth over whether she needed to go to the hospital.
Sweets had turned away from the pair in order to concentrate on his conversation with dispatch and turned back when he was off the phone.
"You have to go, Bones, you need stitches and to be checked out. You need to be checked out." Dr. Brennan was in the least rational place Dr. Sweets had ever seen her. She begged for Booth to take her back to the lab and promised to be attended to there, by Cam, desperately she whispered.
"I can't, I can't." Over and over again as she shook her head, begging for him not to push her. Hospitals had never been kind to her. Horrible memories of her years in foster care were louder than logic or better judgement.
"You can, baby, I'll be right there, okay? I won't leave you. I won't leave your side the whole time, okay? I promise, It'll be alright, I promise, okay? I'll be right with you the whole time." He kissed her forehead, again and again, like punctuation, one hand cradling her face one hand rubbed gently, intimately, low on her stomach in an act of belated protection.
Their unguarded moment taken in by a stunned Sweets. Their therapist, their colleague, their friend, looked down on them. Booth looked up. Caught. A silent agreement forged, they wouldn't speak of it, not right now. Instead, Sweets squatted down next to Dr. Brennan offering his own reassurances that Booth was right she needed to go to the hospital.
"Dr. Brennan, you're bleeding, You passed out. You need to go. The fact that you're trying to get out of it only proves more that you need to go because, dude, you're not acting like yourself at all." He was trying to lighten the mood, opening the door for her to make some jab at his youthfulness or psychology. She didn't. Letting her body fall into Booth's she fisted his shirt and held on.
Amidst her protests Sweets promised to stay at the scene. He'd supervise backup and the tech teams so that Booth could go with her to the hospital. It wasn't helping. In fact, she seemed more agitated. Excusing himself to go wait for the ambulance leaving the pair alone to talk as he stepped over Emmett Madison's body, out of the apartment, onto the cement landing. Leaning on the rail Sweets took a deep breath. He'd missed it, totally and entirely missed it. It wasn't just Booth, it was her too, he was sure of it now. There was a definite change in their relationship, marked by the ease with which Dr. Brennan accepted Agent Booth's affections. The way she confided in him, begged him, clung to him. Was it the intensity of this moment? Her raw need? Her fear?
He didn't even have time to consider it. The wail of sirens, the flash of lights, in an instant the scene was overrun by law enforcement and emergency personnel. An endless flurry of activity that demanded his whole attention and lasted for hours. He barely caught a glimpse of Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth leaving in the ambulance, red lights reflecting off of the rain soaked roads.
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A/N Hello! Sorry this chapter took sooooooo long to get written. I had all these parts but they never seemed to settle into the "right" order. It was ridiculous but at least is settled and I was able to finish it finally!
Thank you for all the support in reading, favoriting, following and especially reviewing - I love hearing what people thought about each chapter and what they think of the story. Your reviews help me grow as a writer and let me know what works and what doesn't. Reviews are the best reward :)
Thank you also to Craftyjhawk and Snowybones for all their help and support in calming my frantic over thinking mind as I fret my way through every chapter LOL
Okay...I am off to write the next chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one!