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Disclaimer: Bones, strangely enough, still isn't mine. Huh.
The Hindrance in the Helper
She doesn't need to be psychic to see that something has changed between Seeley and his partner. She sees the change subtly, like in the way he dresses and the way he talks. Since she's known him, he's dressed in more conservative colors—dark ties, black socks. Now, all of a sudden, he wears bright red ties and purple-striped socks in the oddest combinations. She doesn't know what this has to do with his partner, but she knows it has something to do with Doctor Temperance Brennan because she caught him in his sock drawer one morning trying to remember which pairs 'Bones' likes best, the green ones or the blue ones. And now when he talks, he drifts a little more than usual into topics about his partner.
She knows something's changed. She just can't figure out what.
It can't be her, can it? No, she thinks she's doing the best she can. She's giving him space when he needs it and company when he needs it. She respects the hours he puts into the job, just like he respects the hours she puts into hers. She knows she isn't too bad in bed, and she's been as kind, as understanding, as she knows how to. He tells her all the time he loves her, but somehow, she feels like he's slipping. She's losing him.
Is she?
One night he comes home with a huge—outrageous, really—bouquet of flowers and a cake celebrating their two-month anniversary since returning to D.C. And she decides right then and there that she's definitely over-thinking this, because there's no way a man gets on his knee and sings a love song completely off key for a girl he isn't completely into.
She's definitely not losing him.
Is she?
No, no, no, she isn't. Because Seeley is a man of his word, and he hasn't got a bad bone in his body. If he is even slightly drawn away—if he even feels like he's in danger of straying—he'd tell her. Because that's who he is. She's absolutely sure that he's the type of man who's die-hard loyal. Whatever's going on between him and his partner, it isn't sex. She's sure of that.
She's sure.
Why does he call his partner Bones, though? She remembers reading somewhere that nicknames are a product of increased intimacy, and it makes a pang of unease shoot through her. But no, that can't be right because according to…well, everybody, Seeley has called his partner Bones since the beginning of time. So it's probably just a partner thing. Nothing to it. They're friends, obviously. How can a man spend time with a woman for six years without becoming her friend? So he and his partner are just doing friendly things. Completely normal.
Right?
Sitting at her desk, she sighs heavily and tries to focus on the paper she's writing, but the words seem to just blink in and out of her vision without sticking in her mind. She has an article due the next day and she's written barely a paragraph of it, but she can't stop thinking about the only thing that really matters to her at the moment—her boyfriend.
She can't be losing him. She's given up everything for him, for the chance to have the fairy tale she's always wanted. She's had boyfriends in the past, of course, but they've always been fleeting. They don't put up with her love of travel and adventure, and she'd started to think that her mother was right, that she'd never have her happily-ever-after in the end. But then Seeley had shown up, and she'd seen it then: the glimpse of happiness, true love. She'd seen in him from the very beginning that he was the type who stayed. The type you make a happily-ever-after with.
I can't give up on this, she thinks stubbornly, staring out the window at the busy street beyond. She has a chance here, and she'll fight for it with everything she's got.
"Hannah. Hannah."
She snaps to attention at the familiar voice to find Seeley standing at the edge of her desk, his eyebrows raised.
"Hey," she says, smiling widely. "What are you doing here?"
"You don't remember? Lunch at one." He pretends to be hurt, but his eyes give him away. After a moment, he loses the fight to keep a straight face and breaks out in a grin.
Lunch. Right. "Let me just get my stuff," she says hurriedly, saving her (nonexistent) progress and shoving some of her papers into their correct files. Picking up her coat, she leans over her chair to shut down her computer and turns back to face him. "Okay, let's go."
"Hang on." He smiles mischievously and brings his left hand out from behind his back. In his fingers is a beautiful white flower, obviously wild, with a purity and simplicity that makes her breath catch.
"It's beautiful," she breathes, reaching out to touch it.
He hands it to her, his smile widening. "It's yours. I was walking up to your building and saw it growing next to the sidewalk. Made me think of you."
And she decides right then and there that she's definitely over-thinking this, because there's no way a man does things like that for a woman he isn't completely into.
They take a quick walk to the diner just across from her workplace, Seeley taking her hand in his. "You're cold," he says, rubbing her hand between his.
"Have a lot on my mind," she tells him truthfully.
"Work?" he asks, opening the door to the diner for her.
She shrugs. "And other things."
He smiles. "Busy week, huh? Tell me about it."
She finds a seat at a booth next to the window and waits for him to take off his coat and sit across from her. She figures they'll order their usual, but Seeley looks at the menu a little longer than he usually does, his brow furrowed.
"Can't decide which wine to get?" she teases him wryly. "There isn't exactly a huge selection, Seeley."
He seems to notice her staring at him and clears his throat. "What? No, I was just…uh, nothing."
The waitress comes over before she can ask him what's the matter. They both order the usual, but Seeley says at the end, "How's the pie here?"
The waitress smiles. "Best pie in this part of town. We've got awards too, if you want to see them."
He smiles. "Then give me a piece of apple pie please." He hands the menu back to the waitress before hesitating, obviously torn about something. The waitress takes their menus and starts to walk away. Hannah watches indecision furrow Seeley's face for a long moment before he finally calls after the waitress, "Hey, about that pie? Forget it. Thanks."
No pie? Even though he's never had pie before, he doesn't seem like the type of guy who'd agonize over a dessert. She eyes him curiously. "You counting calories, Seeley?"
He rolls his eyes at her amusement. "No, it's just…yeah, I don't feel like pie right now."
She shrugs, having learned long ago to roll with his quirks. "Okay." Crossing her arms and leaning her elbows on the table, she smiles and says, "Want to hear about the day I've had?"
He nods and smiles back. "Yeah, sure. Can't be much worse than mine, though."
She raises her eyebrows. "Was that a challenge, Seeley Booth?"
He leans forward further, his breath tickling her lips. He looks at her with that intense gaze of his and breathes, "You bet it is, Hannah Burley."
With a quiet chuckle, she lifts her head to meet his lips, her eyes closing. He presses closer to her, his kiss warm and gentle. She's completely over-thinking this, definitely, because there's no way a man kisses a woman like that without being completely—
"Booth?"
Seeley pulls away from her quickly, his eyes flying wide. Both of them turn in surprise to find his partner standing just in front of their table, a pile of cases in her arms and a smile spread across her face.
"Bones?" Seeley clears his throat, leaning back in his seat. If Hannah hadn't been watching, she would have never noticed the slight flush that rises to his cheeks. But she is watching, and she does notice. He coughs again and asks, "What are you doing here?"
Doctor Temperance Brennan's smile doesn't waver. "I've been trying to call you for twenty minutes now, Booth. There have been new developments in the case, and I wanted to tell you some of the details."
He glances at his partner, then back at her, clearly reluctant to part with either of them. "Bones…can this wait? Hannah and I are kind of in the middle of something here…"
Temperance's smile still doesn't disappear, but it hardens. Hannah notices it interestedly, wondering what it means.
"Of course," the doctor says after a minute, more brightly than Hannah thinks is necessary. "I'll leave some of the files with you, Booth." She slides the topmost file from her pile and sets it on the table.
Hannah smiles at her and suggests, "Why don't you eat lunch with us, Temperance? You look hassled."
She doesn't notice the way Booth's eyes light up at the idea. "Yeah, Bones," he says eagerly, "join us. Here, I'll scoot over."
Temperance is already shaking her head, her smile rueful. "I wish I could, but I promised Cam I'd be back to the lab as soon as possible. I have remains to identify outside of the case we're working on."
"You can't spare a second? Not even a second?" Seeley asks, flashing her a wide smile, his charm smile. Hannah can't help but smile too at the sight of it; she's always loved the way his entire face brightens, the way his eyes gleam, when he smiles like that.
Temperance shakes his head. "I'd rather not intrude." Both Hannah and Seeley make to protest, but the doctor speaks over them. "I'm actually very busy today. I have a new set of remains being shipped back from Maluku. They've agreed to still involve me in the project even though I'm not on-site. It's quite exciting, actually."
Leaning back in his seat, Seeley smiles. "Hey, that's great, Bones! So you get everything, don't you? Your job at the Jeffersonian catching murderers and involvement in the Mapupi project."
"Maluku," Temperance corrects with a wry smile. "And it's hardly everything, Booth. I don't get to be on-site and present at the moment of discovery, which is always gratifying. I also won't be the first to handle the bones found. They send me the discoveries merely for secondary analysis to confirm their findings."
"Better than nothing," he says with a shrug.
She smiles. "Yes. Better than nothing." She stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment before nodding abruptly to both of them. "Well, I'll be going now."
She turns on her heel, and at that moment, a man carrying a steaming cup of coffee slams into her, sending all her case files flying and all the coffee sloshing down the front of her shirt. Hannah's eyes widen in shock as she watches Doctor Brennan stumble back, throwing out her arms as her shoes slip in the puddle of spilled coffee. It's like watching two trains collide; she knows it's going to be a disaster.
Seeley moves so quickly she barely catches his movement. One moment he's sitting across from her, and the next, he's lunging for his partner, grabbing her arm to steady her. But they're both off-balance, and they stumble backwards, Booth trying to pull his partner to safety as she careens backwards. Hannah fights the urge to cover her eyes and instead leaps to her feet, reaching out to both of them.
Somehow, by some lucky stroke, Seeley manages to catch himself with one hand on the table behind Doctor Brennan, his other hand clenching tight around his partner's waist to keep her from hitting her back hard against the edge of the table. They balance like that for a long moment, the entire diner motionless and silent as they all hold their breaths. Hannah just stands and stares, wondering what on earth she's supposed to do other than gape in astonishment.
And then Doctor Brennan unfreezes, pulling the front of her shirt away with a quiet gasp. Seeley straightens immediately, withdrawing his hand almost like he's been burned. But just as quickly, he touches her again, demanding, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Doctor Brennan mutters, but she winces as she shakes the front of her shirt slightly. The coffee, obviously boiling hot, has stained the entire front of her white shirt, probably giving her a painful time of it. Hannah winces in sympathy, moving automatically for napkins.
Seeley growls a curse under his breath and whirls. The man who hit Doctor Brennan stands in shock in the puddle of coffee, his eyes wide.
"Hey," Seeley snaps, his eyes narrowing, "watch where you're going, idiot!"
The man shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. I just…I didn't see her…"
"Be careful," Seeley repeats, his voice harsh. "You're lucky she didn't fall and break something, or I swear, I'd—"
He cuts off when he notices the man staring past his shoulder. Hannah follows the man's gaze and finds, not to her surprise but definitely to her horror, that Doctor Brennan's soaked white shirt is quickly turning see-through. Seeley seems to reach the conclusion in the same instant, and he mutters another curse under his breath, turning to grab his coat from the booth. He tosses it around his partner's shoulders quickly, his expression dark.
"Thank you," Temperance mutters, a flush pinking her cheeks. Hannah moves forward with the napkins, wishing she could do more. Doctor Brennan takes the papers with a small, grateful nod and wipes off her hands and some of her shirt under Booth's jacket.
"I'm so sorry," the man repeats, sounding horrified. He holds his empty coffee cup in his hand uncertainly, obviously wondering whether he should help or just step back. Booth glares at him, obviously wondering if he should restrain himself or just snap out abuses at the poor guy. By the way his eyes harden, he's clearly deciding on the latter.
"My files," Temperance says worriedly, dropping heavily to her knees before either can say anything. She reaches awkwardly for the scattered papers, her cast impeding her way as she tries to pull the papers together.
"Don't," Seeley says, his voice still hard but gentle at the same time. "Don't worry about those, Bones, it's fine."
"It's not!" Doctor Brennan pulls the papers toward her, trying to keep them out of the spreading puddle of coffee. "These are copies of x-rays sent by the Maluku project, and my notes on the case are in here." She snatches a page from the puddle and shakes it out, but the ink's already running, leaving unintelligible smears on the paper.
Not knowing what else to do, Hannah drops to her knees too and gathers together what papers she can. After another moment, Booth and the other man do the same, reaching for the papers flung everywhere. They manage to salvage most of the pages into a thick stack, and when they finish, Doctor Brennan sighs.
"It's not too bad," Seeley reassures her. "Look, we got most of the pages."
"I'll have to reorganize them," his partner says in exasperation, "and it's going to set me behind schedule. Cam wanted a preliminary analysis by three o'clock."
"I'm sorry," the man mutters again, his face red. "I should've looked, I should've seen you…"
"Damn straight," Seeley mutters under his breath, so quietly only Hannah hears it.
With another sigh, Doctor Brennan struggles to her feet, the stack of papers in her arms. Hannah doesn't miss the way Seeley hurriedly grabs her arm and helps her up, his expression worried.
"You okay?" he asks softly, his eyes on Doctor Brennan's. Hannah feels suddenly, illogically, that she's a stranger looking in.
"I'm fine, Booth." The forensic anthropologist brushes off his hands, shaking her head.
Seeley doesn't let up, as always. "The coffee—did it burn you? Are you okay? Do you need me to drive you home? Should I—"
"Stop it," she says, almost sharply. "Stop it, Booth. I'm fine. Just enjoy your lunch."
"Bones—"
Doctor Brennan doesn't give him a chance to say anything more. Before either Hannah or Booth can get in a word, she's already gone, pushing the doors of the diner open, her stride quick and measured.
"Bones," Seeley murmurs, clearly torn. He wants to go after his partner, Hannah can see, but he wants to stay with her too. Which one of them is more important? Logically, she should be letting him go because his partner being burned is more important than lunch any day. But she doesn't because she realizes suddenly that she isn't sure of how solid her claim on Booth is. She sees that look in his eyes as he looks after his partner, and she wonders if she's imagining it. She must be imagining it, because that's the sort of look that says things only girlfriends are supposed to hear. Things only she should hear.
And she thinks that maybe he's slipping after all, slipping like so much sand through her hands. And just like with sand, she feels helpless to stop it. Maybe, she thinks in despair, maybe one day, she'll wake up and her fairy tale will have gone down the drain. Maybe she'll wake up and her hands will be empty, and Seeley Booth will be gone from her life just as abruptly as he came into it.
She goes straight home from the diner, not only because the shirt is bothering her but also because she needs to get herself under control before she sees anyone. She unlocks her door quickly and steps inside, swallowing as she sets the stack of damp pages down on the coffee table in her living room.
God. That look Booth had given her. Why—why—won't he stop looking at her like that? It confuses her, makes her angry, makes her feel. That look coupled with the way he grabbed her waist in the diner, his touch both firm and gentle…She was overwhelmed. She is overwhelmed. It's been too long since a man has touched her like that—softly but solidly—that it surprised her. Still surprises her. Almost—almost—for a moment there, she wanted to kiss him so badly her hands nearly moved of their own accord. The intensity of the desire scares her. She'd been so sure she had herself under control. She'd been so sure that all it would take was a few more months, and she'd have buried even the memory of her feelings for Booth. But this moment has shown her quite the opposite—that she isn't anywhere close to moving on, and that it might be getting worse.
Worse. How can she possibly be falling deeper in love for a man who will never reciprocate those feelings? For a man who has always operated in a different sphere than hers, separated by level of intellect and social values? For her partner?
Because there's a line. Booth drew it in the early days of their partnership, and even though he broke it himself, it's always been there. It's still there, and now that Hannah has become a part of Booth's life, the figurative line is thicker now. They're still partners, still friends, but it's more distant now. Booth makes an effort, she can tell, and she appreciates it, but it isn't the same.
She wonders if it makes her a horrible person for wishing for Hannah and Booth's relationship to fail. She wonders if it makes her selfish and terrible.
She wonders what it means if she doesn't care. She doesn't care if it makes her an awful person. She just wants…
What does she want?
With a quiet sigh, she strips off her clothes and slips into the shower. She turns on the water low to keep from agitating the slightly tender skin on her chest and stomach, and wishes she could wash her confusion right down the drain.
"Okay, ew."
"Yes, I find this scene slightly disturbing also."
Booth wrinkles his nose and steps back. "We've been working crimes for over six years now, and I've never seen anything like this."
Bones grimaces as she reaches for a finger. "Yes, generally, the bodies don't have as much flesh."
"And they aren't cut up into fifteen parts," Booth says, his brow furrowing. "This is gross."
Bones, as usual, doesn't seem affected by the cut-up body parts scattered in the field, marked by yellow folded placards. Jeez, what the hell rattles her? He clicks his pen in agitation and says, "Anything on the cause of death?"
Bones levels a look on him, the one that tells him his question was a stupid one. "Even I'm not skilled enough to be able to tell the cause of death without reconstructing the body. It's difficult to tell whether the body was dismembered post-mortem or before. Cam needs to examine what flesh evidence we have before I strip the bones and do a more thorough analysis."
Booth sighs. "Okay." It's going to be a long case, he can already tell. He sighs again and asks, "So is there anything more you can do here?"
She stands and shakes her head, gazing at the body parts strewn throughout the area. "No. Just have the remains sent to the lab, and I'll start from there."
"All right." He calls one of the assistants over and instructs him to pack up the body and to try not to touch anything because Doctor Brennan is particular about who touches her bones. The man nods solemnly and gathers the crew to help. Booth turns back to Bones in time to witness her wince as she bends over to reach for something on the ground.
He bends over hurriedly and scoops up the object on the ground for her and looks up, his expression anxious. "You okay, Bones?"
She nods, straightening. He doesn't miss the way her eyes tighten in pain, and he frowns. "Did the coffee burn you that badly? Do you need to see a doctor or something?"
She shakes her head dismissively. "The burn was very minor and occurred nearly three days ago, Booth. I'm fine."
"Liar," he accuses. "You're in pain about something."
She sighs and tries to strip off the glove on her left hand with the hand in her cast. For a long moment, he watches her struggle with it before catching her wrist and pulling it off for her.
"Thank you," she mutters. "This cast is very inconvenient. I'm behind on a large amount of paperwork because I can't write legibly."
He raises his eyebrow. "You're still trying to write, Bones? Jeez, usually a broken arm means you take a vacation. You know, watch some TV, use your arm as an excuse…"
She shakes her head. "I'm behind already, Booth. I can't afford to fall behind anymore now that my workload is heavier." She heads back toward the SUV, and he follows her, tossing the glove into the trash can on the way there. "I may have to ask Cam or Angela to stay late tonight to help me transcribe some of my notes on the case." Her brow furrows and she amends, "Perhaps Cam would be better. Angela has her baby and Hodgins to take care of."
Cam? Angela? What about him?
He has the sudden urge to spend the night with her, working into the dusky hours of dawn just like the old times again. Just him and her in their own little world, alone in each other's company until morning rose and the Jeffersonian filled up again.
So he grins at her appealingly. "Why not me? I might not have that great of handwriting, but I have better handwriting than you at this moment."
She looks at him in surprise, like she'd never even considered him. "But you have Hannah."
"Cam has Michelle," he counters. "That has nothing to do with it. Let me help, Bones."
She frowns. "What about Hannah?"
Booth shrugs. "She's working late today. Some great story about congressmen or something. She said she might even sleep at the office. I'm off all night."
She gives him a doubtful look. "Well, I suppose…"
He flashes her his suck-up smile, the one that almost always guarantees him success, no matter who he uses it on. "Come on, Bones. I'll bring Thai…"
Her eyes light up in the way he'd known they would. "Thai?"
Pulling open his car door, he laughs at her expression. "Yes, Thai. Hooked you with that one, didn't I? You can't resist Thai at midnight in your office."
She rolls her eyes and gets into the car. "Fine, I'll let you help me."
He pretends to be offended. "Let me? You'll let me? Come on, Bones, we all know who's letting who. It's a privilege to have me helping you, you know."
She rolls her eyes again. "Yes, Booth, if it'll make you feel better, I'll allow you to say that." He tries to chime in smugly, but she continues, "However, you do understand that feeling the need to stroke your own ego is a sign of insecurity?"
Of course she turns it around to insult him somehow. He groans. "It's not a sign of insecurity, Bones. What sort of guy wears a Cocky belt-buckle without being totally secure?"
"That, if anything, further proves your insecurity," she reasons. "If you feel the need to declare just how proficient you think you are sexually, your insecurity is clear. Otherwise, you would perform well in bed without having to openly declare your skill in such an obvious way."
"You think I'm not proficient in bed?" he says incredulously, so distracted for a moment that he nearly blows through a red light.
She shakes her head. "No, considering how many sexual partners you've had, I would assume that you are quite proficient in bed; otherwise, your learning curve would be doubtful at best. What I'm saying is that you are insecure about how you perform sexually."
He tries not to choke on his spit. How the hell have they gotten to talking about sex, of all things?
"I'm not insecure!" he protests. "I'm perfectly confident about my…my…"
"Sexual performance?" she fills in. She glances at him and grins widely. "I find it quite amusing that you find it difficult to even say the word sex, let alone speak about it."
Hell yeah, he has trouble saying that word around her. It's not because of his Christian values or innocence or something like that, but because every time they broach the subject of sex around Bones, he inevitably gets the mental image of Bones lying naked in his bed. And that never turns out well.
He groans. "Yeah, I find it difficult. So let's not talk about it, okay?"
Thankfully, she rolls her eyes and says, "Fine."
Somehow, he gets the feeling that it isn't the end of this conversation.
It's ten by the time he pops his head into Bones's office, a bag of steaming Thai in one hand and some case files in the other.
"Hey, Bones," he calls, grinning. "Ready to be your scribe. And I brought dinner."
She glances up and smiles when she spots him hovering in her doorway. "Good, you're right on time. I'm ready to detail some reports, and I want you to type it out for me. It'll be faster than writing."
He shrugs. "Sure. Let's just eat first, and we'll worry about work later." He takes out the cartons of noodles and chopsticks and lays them out on her table after moving some files out of the way. A packet of papers catch his eye, and he picks it up curiously. "Is this what I think it is?"
She's too busy opening the steaming carton of food to look up. "What?"
He flips the first page, and his grin widens. "Is this the first chapter to your new book?"
Her head snaps up, and her eyes are wide. "Booth!"
He skips back out of her reach, flipping straight to the dedication page. '"Dedicated to my partner Seeley Booth,"' he reads with a grin, '"who taught me and teaches me still about the ways of the heart.' Aw, Bones, I'm touched. Really."
He doesn't have to look to know she's flushing in that adorable way she has. She rounds the table and lunges for him. "Booth!"
"What's so bad about me reading it?" he teases, turning to the next page. "I'll read it anyway when it comes out."
She glares at him, her lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. "Booth, please. I haven't sent it to my editor, and it really is a poor chapter. I intended to rewrite it when I had the time."
He laughs. "It can't be that bad, Bones. You're a great writer." So saying, he looks down to read the first line, and at that moment, Bones leaps at him and snatches the stack from his hands.
"Don't do that," she says, very nearly pouting. "I'll let you read finished products, but I would prefer my unedited chapters to be read only by my editor."
"Why?" he teases. "Is there something embarrassing in there?"
He'd just been fishing, but by the way she flushes all of a sudden, he's hit the nail on the head. His eyes widen as he repeats, "There's something embarrassing in there?" What on earth could embarrass Bones? She's unshakeable!
"No," she mutters, turning and sliding the chapter into the filing cabinet under her desk. "I just don't like that chapter very much."
Liar. But he figures he's had enough of teasing Bones for the moment, and he can always weasel the chapter out of her sooner or later. So he just sits in the chair opposite her desk and picks up his chopsticks to dig in. They eat mostly in silence, and he keeps his eyes pointedly away from her lips, specifically the way she licks her lips, because he's afraid of how he'll react. Thankfully, he makes it through the whole carton without once wanting to kiss Bones, and to him, that's progress.
"I missed this," he says, leaning back in his chair feeling pleasantly full.
She pauses. "What?"
"This," he says. "Us. Eating Thai late into the night and working on cases. It's our time, you know? It's special."
"Special," she repeats slowly. A tentative smile spreads across her face as she says, "Yes, it's our time. I…missed it too."
He smiles broadly at her words. She missed this? She missed spending time with him? She, Doctor Temperance 'I-don't-need-anybody' Brennan, missed him, Seeley Booth. Well, damn if that doesn't make him puff up a bit in pride.
"I'm glad I'm here," he says, taking a drink from the water bottle he'd brought. "I mean, I'm glad we're doing this again." After a moment, he asks, more seriously, "We're still friends, right, Bones?"
Startled, she looks at him sharply. "Of course we are, Booth. We've always been friends."
"I don't know." He leans his elbows on the table and looks at her thoughtfully. "It feels…more distant now, don't you think?"
"You have Hannah now," she answers. "Of course it feels more distant. You have to spend time with her, which means you proportionally spend less time with me." At his troubled look, she adds, "I don't have any problem with it, of course. Friendships wax and wane, Booth. It's completely natural."
Wax and wane. Like friendships are something scientific and explainable, not a special relationship between two people. He shakes his head. "I don't want us to be natural, Bones. I want us to be friends forever."
"Forever is extremely vague."
"Forever," he repeats firmly. He reaches out and grabs her uninjured hand gently, looking her in the eyes. "Let's always be friends, Bones. Even if we don't stay partners forever, let's always be friends."
She looks right back at him with those blue, blue eyes of hers. He can't read her gaze at the moment, something that mystifies him. There's some strange emotion there, something he can't identify, something he's never seen in her eyes before. He wonders what she's thinking.
"Yes," she says at last, quietly. "I would like that."
He smiles, a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying easing off his chest. A promise to remain friends, no matter what. It's a good thing, especially with a woman like Bones, someone who constantly surprises him. At least this way, he'll have the reassurance that they'll always look to each other as partners of a sort.
"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "what about those reports you wanted me to type up?"
She rises from her chair behind her desk. "Right. Come sit over here in front of my computer and hand me those files there. I'll tell you what to type."
They switch places, and she flips open the first file. "This is the report on the case we did two weeks ago."
"The Carmichaels," he remembers. "That was a quick one."
With a nod, she starts to talk, and he types it out for her. He has to stop every once in a while so she can spell out whatever high-level terminology she's using, but it goes smoothly. Before long, they've finished three files and are moving on to the fourth.
"We're making good progress," Bones remarks. "It's only one-thirty."
Only. He snorts. She really has no clue what normal working hours are. He's been yawning for the past thirty minutes now, and she still looks as fresh as if she'd just rolled out of bed. With a soft groan, he stretches his arms out above his head and leans back into the chair.
She looks up at him questioningly. "Is your back hurting?"
He shakes his head. "No." Not yet.
"Are your muscles cramping then? Because I am quite adept at massages."
Oh God yes. He pretends he doesn't have an ulterior motive (even the thought of her hands on him makes him shiver) beyond relieving his muscles and says, "Sure, Bones. If you don't mind."
She sets the files down on the table and crosses over to his side of the desk. He tries not to shiver as she places her hands on his shoulders and begins to rub in sweeping circles. God, she's warm. Hot, almost. Her touch sends thrill right through him, from his head to the tip of his toes and everywhere in between. He tries not to think too much on what that means and instead focuses on how she works methodically up and down his shoulders, finding the knots and soothing them in wide sweeps.
He groans and closes his eyes. "That feels great, Bones."
"You've been sitting at a desk for hours," she replies. "Your muscles are extremely tense." She works her way up his neck and back down before saying, "Lean your head forward a little. I have to reach your occipital ridge."
He leans his head forward at an almost comical angle, mainly because he has no idea what she's trying to reach, and she gently pulls his head in the right position as her fingers continue to work their magic. He groans again as a warm tingle spreads throughout him. "Bones, you've got to have a degree in massaging or something. You're the best at this."
"I just have an extensive knowledge of the muscles and prime locations for knots," she answers. "Any doctor would be able to do the same, if not better."
Not better, he thinks, his eyes closed. Definitely not better. No way a doctor can make him as relaxed as she does. He's practically putty in her hands.
"Is there anything you aren't good at?" he demands. "You're a best-selling writer, a famous forensic anthropologist, an amazing masseuse…"
"I'm not adept at many sports," she puts in. "And you already know about the state of my social skills."
"You're not that bad," he muses. Besides, the fact that she's gorgeous usually makes up for it.
No. No. Bones is not gorgeous. He is not thinking about her that way, no. Even though her hands on him are making it extremely difficult to think any other way…
Stop it, Seeley. Get a grip.
He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Clearing his throat, he says reluctantly, "Okay, Bones, I think I'm good."
She pauses but doesn't remove her hands. "Are you sure? I haven't finished relaxing all of your muscles yet."
"Yeah, Bones, I'm sure." He pulls away from her slightly, unable to stop the pang of disappointment that shoots through him as she removes her hands. He wants immediately to ask her to please finish up her routine or whatever, but he knows that having her hands on him for much longer will probably (definitely) kill his self control. So, with a breath, he turns back to the computer. "What's next?"
She crosses quickly back to her side of the desk and flips open the next file. "Next is…the case we had last week. Victim was twenty-seven year-old Rosa Ellen, stabbed to death by her husband."
"Because she cheated on him," he says, recalling the details.
"Yes, because she claimed he was not a high performer in bed." She looks up from the file and says, "Like your belief."
"What?" He shoots her an incredulous look. Honestly, the way her thoughts run sometimes makes his head spin. "I do not think I'm a bad performer in bed!"
"We already discussed this," she says with a shrug. "You wear the Cocky belt-buckle to declare your sexual proficiency because you lack the confidence to let people assume otherwise."
"I am not insecure!" he exclaims, his eyes narrowing. "The Cocky belt-buckle—you bought it for me in the first place!"
"Only because you like it so much," she counters. "I'm not saying you're a poor performer in bed, as I have no experience, but I'm talking about your belief that you are."
Good God. "For the last time," he growls, "I think—I know I'm perfectly fine in bed! In fact, I'm probably better than any of the guys you've ever had!"
"Really?" she challenges, raising her eyebrow. "That would be quite an aspiration."
"Really," he repeats mulishly.
"Well, I believe you're a high performer," she says solemnly. He's about to let out a growl of victory when she adds, "But that still doesn't change the fact that your belt-buckle is a sign of self-doubt."
He can't take it anymore. Somewhere between the start of the conversation and the end, the logical side of his mind has taken a leave-of-absence. All that's left is the side that makes him growl, "I'll prove it to you," in an almost-whisper. All that's left is the side that makes him lean forward impulsively and crush his lips to hers.
He knows a mistake when he makes one. He knows it, and he'll own up to it, too, because that's the way he is. But the problem is, this doesn't feel like a mistake. It feels…right. Right in a way he's never had it with any other woman before.
While what little sense he has left is screaming, What the hell are you doing? in absolute horror, the rest of him is giddy drunk—drunk on Bones, the smell of her, the taste of her, the sheer gorgeousness of her. God, she's beautiful. And a damn good kisser too. He's half-surprised that she lets him kiss her like this without throwing him headfirst from the third floor of the Jeffersonian, but he definitely isn't complaining. How could anyone complain about having the most gorgeous woman on earth groaning against his lips?
Her hands trail a line of fire up his chest and grip the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer. He closes his eyes and presses in closer to her, groaning softly against her as she runs her tongue out onto his lips. He reaches his hands across the table to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, her soft, soft skin. There's fire between them; the sparks from before have ignited into full-out flame. He feels hot and cool all at once, happy and horrified and incredulous. A thousand emotions rush through him, a thousand thoughts too, but all it takes is Bones's quiet gasp against his lips to wipe his mind blank. He can't think. He can't speak. He can only feel.
Not that he minds. God, she makes him feel so much he feels like he's about to explode from the intensity of it all. Why is she so damn gorgeous?
"Booth," she whispers against him, taking a sharp breath.
He doesn't let her talk again because he knows that all that will come out of her is logic, and he can't handle logic right now. Instead, he crushes his lips to hers again and kisses her for all he's worth and more. God, he loves this woman.
And then he feels, with a rush of disappointment, the end coming. He feels her pull back slightly, her lips parting from his, her breath caught in her throat. He feels all his senses returning in a rush to him, and his horror skyrockets, effectively drowning out any giddiness he'd been feeling. He feels the return of reality hit them both across the face like a hard, cruel slap.
Bones releases his lapels like she's been burned and takes a huge step back, her eyes wide. She looks about as horrified as he feels.
"Bones…" he starts. But he doesn't know what to say. What can he say? Nothing—nothing—will ever make this right.
"No, Booth," she says, her eyes as big as dinner plates. "No."
And she sounds almost angry. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He's screwed up royally. Damn it!
"No?" he repeats dumbly, wondering what it means.
They stare at each other, both at a loss, for what feels like an eternity. Booth's thoughts chase each other around his head, but he can't focus on anything. He can only stand there in her office, his tie slightly crooked, shock nailing him in place. She stares back at him, just as stunned as he is. They give each other a look that wordlessly says, How do we fix this?
The answer? We don't. He sees the resolve solidifying in her eyes almost as soon as he makes the decision himself. They look at each other and know, know that what happened in this office will stay here, that when they walk out the doors, it'll be like nothing ever happened.
They'll bury it, he thinks, half-relieved, half-bitter. They'll go on like nothing's ever happened, like they hadn't collided with all the force of an explosion. They'll pretend, because in their partnership, that's one thing they're experts at—pretending to make it all go away.
"I…"
"Yeah," he agrees quickly. He grabs his coat from her desk, waits for a moment as she shuts off her computer, and helps her throw away the cartons of Thai sitting on her desk. She shuts off the lights, and for a moment, they just stand there, listening to each other's breaths in the darkness. Then they walk together in tense silence to the doors, both lost in their own thoughts, and exit into the quiet night outside.
She turns on her heel the instant they get outside and heads for her car, not even looking back at him. His heart tears a little at the sight of her striding purposefully away from him. He knows he's broken something in their partnership. He knows suddenly that no matter how much they pretend this time, it won't ever be the same again.
"Bones," he can't help but call out to her. He doesn't move from where he is, afraid that if he does, he'll be grabbing her into a tight hug. He doesn't trust himself enough to take his hands out of his pockets, so he just stands there, breath pluming into the calm night.
She doesn't turn around, but she stops. He licks his lips (remembering hers on his) and says, almost hopelessly, "I didn't…that didn't change anything, did it?"
She laughs softly, and he can't for the life of him tell what that means. "What do you mean?"
He doesn't know. What does he mean? That can they still be partners? That can they still be friends? He doesn't know. He doesn't know what he's broken or how to fix it. He only wishes he did.
"I don't know," he says at last, helplessly. "I just…Will I see you tomorrow?" Or will you be gone, hopped on the next plane to Maluku because I'm such a stupid idiot?
She's silent for a long moment, a moment in which he holds his breath like her next words will be life and death for him. And who knows? They might be, because he sure as hell isn't going to live with himself, knowing he's screwed up the best partnership—the best friendship—of his life. So what is it? Has he irreversibly trampled the line? Or has he just nudged it a little, just a little, so that they can draw it all over again? Can they pretend like they have before, ignore it and hope it goes away?
She takes a deep breath, and he clenches his fists in his pockets.
"Yes, Booth," she says at last, quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He lets out his breath in a long whoosh, the relief hitting him like an airbag to the chest. "Okay...good. Then I'll…I'll see you tomorrow, Bones."
"Tomorrow," she repeats, making it real. She doesn't turn to look back at him as she continues to her car, unlocking it and sliding inside. He doesn't move until he watches her turn out of the parking lot, pull onto the street safely, and disappear around the corner. Only then does he unfreeze from his spot, crossing the empty parking lot to his SUV. He opens the door and sits inside, waiting for the car to warm up, staring out at the cold night and gleaming stars.
Trying to forget the feel of her lips pressed against his.
Am I moving too quickly? Thoughts?