Well, the response to my last chapter was overwhelming. I really, really appreciate everyone's comments. I am so happy to see so many people on alert and to see my story favorited. Thank you so much! It is very encouraging.
Without further ado, here it is. It's quite angsty, to balance out the cotton candy that made up the last chapter. (:
I do sincerely hope you enjoy it.
Hanna
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Later that night, lying in her bed, she tried to make sense of what had happened. It didn't help matters much knowing that he was sleeping literally thirty feet away. It also didn't help that between the two of them, they'd consumed the entire bottle of wine.
She never would've guessed that he had been writing things down about her, just as she did about him so often.
She marveled at the things running through her head at the moment. She had admitted before that Booth was very sexually appealing man, physically, and an ideal partner. But she had never been as intensely attracted to him as she felt when his face was inches from hers across the kitchen, or even more so after he'd shown her that receipt and pulled her in for a hug. She had buried her face in his chest, deeply breathing in the smell of him, clutching his shirt, listening to his heart beat. She had wanted to maintain that position forever. It felt so perfect, melting into him. She wished she could memorize his scent, and the feel of her hand in her hair. Even now, as inexplicable tears were streaming down her face, she took a deep breath and thought of the way they fit together so nicely, and how reluctant they both were to pull away from each other. What is this feeling?
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More than ever, he wished he could see inside her brain. He had thought this before, but never more fervently than now. He had no idea how she was feeling or what she was thinking. On the other hand, she probably didn't either. He considered this. It was probably best to leave her alone for awhile, let her mull things over before trying to talk to her about it. He knew of her tendency to retreat into herself, to shut everyone else out.
What had happened? They had crossed that line, no doubt about that. He thought about why he had drawn that line in the first place. Everything had blurred so much since then, and he wished he could pinpoint exactly when that had happened.
Earlier, in the kitchen, he had wanted nothing more than to lean into her, to close the space between their faces and kiss her deeply. In fact, if she had moved even half an inch closer to his face, he would've done it. As it was, she broke the moment, and he should probably be grateful for that. He wondered how long he had been lying to himself, pretending the only things he felt about her were respect, friendship, and a concern for her safety. Of course, he did respect her, did value her friendship, did care deeply about her safety. But now he was beginning to understand how much deeper it was, how much more there was below the surface. They'd been partners for four years now. Four years to cultivate a relationship that he knew now was everything to him. Without her, his world would shatter. He had always been attracted to her, always cared about her very much, but this was different. The only thing he wanted to do right now was barge into her bedroom, tell her what she meant to him, and finally give into the mutual attraction they felt. He believed it was mutual- if the way she looked at him tonight was any indication, anyway.
He was overwhelmed by her show of trust earlier that evening. She had them, too? He still couldn't believe it. He wanted nothing more than to read them, study her familiar handwriting, see little snippets of how she felt about him. But after she had read what he'd written on the back of that receipt, they had shared a pleasant moment, and then abruptly she said, "I need to go to bed. Talk to you in the morning." she nodded at him, not waiting for a response, and then disappeared into her room, snapping the door shut behind her. He had stared at the door for a full five minutes in silence before turning slowly and regretfully retreating into his own room. Now here he was, hours later, traces of dawn appearing, not knowing how to sleep, or move, or do anything but think about her.