On we go...this was a bit of filler really. Thanks so much to all who reviewed or simply read. It means so much to me. Thank you.
Nope, still not mine. Maybe someday...
Three hours later the moonlight found Brennan sitting in quiet repose on her couch. One foot was drawn up under her still form while the other rested just in front of it, toes curling over the furniture's edge. Her knee was elevated and her chin was resting heavily on top of it. Her face was sombre, her eyes, inscrutable.
Her left hand was raised and was pulling, almost reflexively, on the strings of her pyjama top. Her right arm curled defensively around her upright leg.
She couldn't sleep. A rather unlikely conclusion to come to when finding someone sitting alone in an attitude such as this at half two in the morning, but that was the truth. Not that this was a particularly new development for the scientist. She often spent more hours awake than asleep. That was just her way.
It had begun in childhood, after her parents had left. She would be fearful to drift off in case they would return, if only for a few minutes. Her greatest worry was that they would find her but be unwilling to disturb her slumber and so would have to leave once more before she so much as set eyes on them. The habit persevered.
As she got older, her mind became more and more intensely occupied with her work. Not that she ever truly overcame her, she liked to think, irrational fear about her parents, it just seemed easier to disregard with the hindsight maturity bestowed upon her.
For years she had spent her sleepless hours conducting research, reviewing case studies, writing reports that weren't due for weeks…anything really. Her mind had a thirst for knowledge that never seemed to be completely quenched; her personality was one that strongly upheld the opinion that unproductive activity was one of the most useless exercises a person could engage in. She strove to fill her actions and conversations, even her thoughts, with purpose.
Seeley Booth had changed this. Almost from the day they had been partnered together, she had felt uncomfortable when she reached for a book or looked over complicated papers in the ungodly hours of the morning. It made her feel guilty, nervous and for some inane reason, disloyal. She knew that he would disapprove. Heck, he often disapproved of working past five. The idea of what his face would look like if he ever happened upon her doing something as strenuous as working when most sane people were asleep was enough to draw an unbidden chuckle from her lips.
And so, unknowingly, he had changed her nighttime patterns. Indeed, it had taken her many months to realise that it was he who had altered this long established ritual. Another four months were needed before she could finally admit it to herself.
She now found herself content to simply sit and think. Sure, her mind often probed the intricacies of certain cases or pondered how a particular body from limbo may have died. Sometimes she would engage in hours of speculation of how to phrase a specific paragraph for a new book so that the words would blend together seamlessly and would have a flow like the smoothness of progressive thought.
More recently, however, increasing amounts of her time were spent thinking of him. Of course, she rationalised with herself that this was simply musings over cases but however hard she tried to explain it, there was no two ways around it. Her partner was occupying her thoughts more than anything else. Naturally at work, barring a few indulgent seconds, sometimes even minutes, her thoughts were strictly professional. But at night… She could lose whole half hours in the reminiscing of a curl of his lips, the set of his jaw, a twinkle in his eyes or a lingering touch against her person. All of this, she knew, was completely normal behaviour between partners and so she didn't lend excessive amounts of time to worrying about it. Even so, she still wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. Just in case.
Tonight there was another reason keeping her dreams at bay. This case. This killer. Naturally, every new case that Booth came to her with presented it's own complications and tribulations…but they rarely scared her. Yes, Temperance Brennan was frightened. Many things contributed to this fear: her worry that they mightn't catch whoever it was before he struck again, the possibility that he may never be caught, the unrelenting certainty that he would strike again…and then, simply, him. Not that she felt she was in danger from the point of view of becoming one of his astrologically determined victims. No, it was more the veiled threat that she might be in a vulnerable position as she moved to bring him to justice. This unsettled her greatly and caused one of her legs to bounce helplessly with nervous energy.
She forced these thoughts from her mind with great effort. Her gaze fell on the figurine of a pig Booth had given her. Jasper. All of the memories of the countless times Booth had been there for her came crashing down around her. Whether professionally or personally, Booth was always by her side, ready to bear the weight of whatever unwanted event befell her. Finally, she had found someone she could depend on unconditionally.
Encouraged, she stretched a hand out and took the little pig in between her forefinger and thumb. She held it close to her eye and examined it. Shifting the focus to this type of distraction helped to calm her racing heart and remove the goosebumps that had coated her skin.
She would be fine. Booth would be there to support and protect her, come what may. Finally, she drifted into a deep sleep. When the morning light streamed through the windows, it was to find Dr. Brennan curled up on her couch, far away in dreamland; a hand tightly closed around the figurine, an assured and happy smile on her lips.