Author's Note: Okay, so I'm a little nervous. I've never written a scene like the one upcoming in this chapter. Something of this... caliber, I mean. I sincerely hope I did a good job, and I probably shouldn't have mentioned it here at the beginning author note because now you're all probably going to have it on your subconscious, lol. Anyways, I wasn't going to post until tomorrow or Friday, but I figured I may as well confront my fear head on and post this puppy, lol.
Enjoy! And please R&R at the end! I accept all opinions, good or bad. I don't accept bashing, but constructive criticism is totally fine. Let me know how I can improve. Thanks!
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AS ONE WE ARE ETERNAL
*
Your strength is so hard to find
I feel so much stronger now
Your words make me whole again
Those eyes cannot ever lie
You're so divine, your smile is heavenly
I don't deserve all the love that you're giving to me
Your touch makes it hard to breathe
The shiver's around me now
I'm head over heels, goddess of mine
Your curls touching my face, now I can fly
You brought my life back, the glory you found
I'm in deep debt, without you I wouldn't survive
I'm not ever alone, you're not ever alone
The heart is pumping for my life
The mind is happy and I
I will love you 'til the day I die
-Takida-
The day is bright and inviting. The sinking sun radiates warmth onto the stone steps of their porch, where he sits now. Something utterly peaceful about his atmosphere. Songbirds whistle and croon, infesting the trees. Fluttering happily. She's been watching him for some time, blue eyes waiting. She knows he's wondering when she'll join him, bathed in sunshine and exposed to the gentle late-summer wind. He's located on the topmost step, looking out at the world almost like the morning before. But different.
Everything's different. Changed.
A smile bends her lips in her study of him. Barely there, but her mind supplies the memories. The promise of new ones. Calmly, she moves for the open doorway, brushing past the jamb before arriving at the steps. She seats herself, folding almost soundlessly against him. A serene silence claims the air, both partners gazing out, cheeks sunkissed and glowing.
This is knowing. Words cannot explain the past several days. Time is irrelevant. He knows this, and she's glad they're so attuned to the other's emotions and needs. Words are not necessary–they don't need space. They need contact, something tangible. She leans against him, cheek brushing his shoulder through the freshly donned t-shirt. He returns the affection, her hair smooth and soft at his face. It's a reflection of a previous situation, but this time it's not grief that provokes the pose.
She hums a low and pretty melody, barely noticeable even in the relatively quiet day, somewhere distant on her mind. Booth smiles, bumps against her affectionately. "You're wearing my socks."
"Yes," she says. Contented, her hand seeks his out, fingers playing with his. Interphalangeal joints, metacarpals. "It's nice out here."
Together, they sit. Observing the world, their world. The life they've made for each other. He takes pleasure in her initiation of contact, still smiling. He ducks his chin to address her more directly. Always so happy to tease at her. "As opposed to inside the house–maybe we can adopt a few penguins?"
She turns her head slightly, eyes dancing over his, inches away. "Penguins are cute," she agrees with that half-smile that belongs to her. Belongs to him. He chuckles, deep in his throat, laugh lines creasing at his eyes. Sun on his face, backlighting that smile. He's perfect, she decides.
"Very cute."
"And when they waddle…" she goes on, using her flattened hand to demonstrate a penguin's flipper. Her smile grows wider, clear eyes shining. Auburn hair reflects the sun's rays. Thinking more on the ridiculous subject, a laugh escapes her lips, lighting up her face in the most extraordinary way.
She's perfect, he thinks. Not for the first time.
It's different somehow, innocent. But it's not. The acknowledgement, the understanding, is there. The deeper acceptance. He tucks her into his side with his free arm, grinning like any man in love. Turning his stubbly cheek, he whispers into her hair, "Thank you."
She initially shivers at the brush of his lips over her ear. But she knows. There's too much to say, so only the inadequate can be spoken. Her eyes slide shut against the warm tones of light, simply feeling him next to her. Where he belongs. Where she needs him to be.
Together, they've endured.
They eat together just as always, bickering and jovial. There's a slight nervousness that's sweet and easy, but no more than that.
It's later when things begin to shift.
Various bloops and bleeps rule the air, derived from the very large television at the focus of the room. They've eaten supper early, and now indulge in video games aplenty. Not knowing why, but after everything, it's a welcome respite to indulge in such childish pastime.
The length of the couch is disregarded as they nestle up against each other, despite that they're vying for dominance on the screen. Since very early this morning, the space dividing them always feels too great. So they assume as little distance as dared. The change is very definite. Noticeably obvious. The bond they share is closer still, if such a feat is possible.
Brennan laughs quietly when more points rack up on her scoreboard, their thumbs clicking away. He nudges her with an amused pout. "Hands off my fruit, lady."
Her attention transfers from the screen, and her elbow pokes his ribs. "Then stay away from my crystals," she asserts.
She's uncomfortable to let him out of her sight, a little embarrassed by her blatant attentiveness. She braves to think what it might have been like were she cognizant of his recovery after being shot. She would have insisted on moving in with him, taking care of him. She'd of insisted on cooking him meals, helping him dress the wound, everything. Watch movies with him, board games, anything to keep him occupied. Demand he rest when too far exerted. Aiding him wherever needed or requested. Not that he would ever ask for help.
She's a little disappointed, still. The painful memory of that time now fresh again in her mind. She's glad though now that she's here for this. She hesitates to speak of it, but his recovery had been and still is progressing impeccably since last night. And she's glad for this silly game.
They're rival lovers on the screen, Crash and girlfriend Tawna. Booth is always Crash. Sometimes when he calls her Bones, she responds with this nickname for him. He doesn't protest, finds it comical. She's pretty sure he likes it. It's not equal–when her nickname had been bestowed, she'd hated it. At all times, she'd demanded he desist in referring to her by it. But it had grown on her. She loves it now, responds to it always.
He's Booth, though. Will always be Booth. But sometimes he's Crash. When the mood is light and the fate of the world unimportant.
At the start of their game, his half of the divided screen immediately fills with Mr. Bandicoot himself. Most often, she would assume the identity of Coco Bandicoot, sister to the star, but today she's Tawna.
He's never a sore loser if she wins, but he does often sulk with great fervor. It's charming, and, dare she say, cute. She ponders voicing this aloud, for he'd only pout further. It's a tempting prospect…
Without warning, she's blown from the course by some foreign object. Crash speeds by, waving happily. "Sorry, honey," he says to her, speaking assumedly of her alter ego with his own. He smiles sheepishly and she finds that she can't ignore the way the gesture tugs at her. Nevertheless, she pins him with those narrowed eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare. She growls petulantly in the back of her throat before turning back to the game. It's probably the most adorable thing he's ever seen.
For some time after, it's just the sounds of the game that fill the space. Brennan shifts beside him, bringing her legs up beneath her. He watches her thumbs peck away at the controller, watches her take her lower lip between her teeth in concentration.
It's unreal. Too incredible to have happened. What had transpired surely couldn't have. He's still waiting to wake up lost again.
She's so endearingly focused on the animated competition, small furrow to her brow, that she doesn't notice the way his eyes are seeing her. He's distracted from the game, and so pays no mind when he's blown clear off the overpass. Her sweeping triumph is the result. She squeals with delight and bounces in place. "I won!" she declares, whirling to face him. "I–" Her voice catches in her throat when she finds him looking at her. Bright smile fades a little, and she ducks her head in embarrassment. Expression sweetly tentative. "Um… that's probably poor sportsmanship."
But he doesn't care about that at all. His thoughts fill with what they'd both been too afraid, too uncertain, to say. It had been too much to say before. He doesn't know what triggers it now. Something infinitesimal.
Her lack of smile makes up for the large grin rapidly blooming on his face. "The cure works," he says at last, completely devoted to the words. Utterly devoted to her.
Her breath catches and she stares at him. Finally, and it isn't long, she laughs in agreement and there's something like tears in her eyes. The smile on her stunning, brilliant face is outrageous. "Yes," she breathlessly replies.
It feels right. Impulsive, maybe. Instinctive, definitely. His lips plant themselves firmly on her cheek. Pulling away, he stares down at her excitedly, foreheads meeting in shared success. "You did it," he tells her, grin splitting his face, dimples appearing. He's proud. So proud of her.
She laughs again. They're glowing, the both of them. She can never remember him looking at her like that. So utterly committed, as if nothing and no one else in the world exists except her. This smile is different, too. It's a delayed reaction, but that isn't what's important.
Before them, though unnoticed, the screen has lit up with fireworks and balloons, signaling her victory.
He hugs her to his chest, and her face muscles are aching with the prolonged smile. It's a quiet celebration, but this is precisely what she's imagined. Just the two of them, reveling in her achievement. Together. Later, he'll recover the congratulatory champagne from the basement, and they'll share drinks, together. She isn't alone, won't ever be again. The risk of losing him is gone.
Their watches go off, but it isn't the same. The foreboding alarm doesn't hold the uniform dreaded reaction. It's going to get better soon, there's nothing to fear. They have one more milestone warning before the need to lock up is necessary, but he draws away from her now.
"I'll…" The proximity between them is very little, and he stumbles over the word. Smiles haltingly. "We can get started now–save time later, I mean, if you wanted to duplicate more samples…"
Her eyes sweep over him carefully, large and blue. She clears her throat and nods, pursing her lips. "Yes. Good idea."
Their eyes meet, and a thousand words are exchanged. Suddenly, everything is static.
Clothing shuffles against the cushions of the couch, and he gets to his feet. "Yeah, okay," he confirms quietly.
She watches him as he assumes the routine, an hour or two ahead of schedule. Cheek still pleasantly burning. She almost touches her fingers to the tingling flesh in wonder, but stops herself short.
Hesitantly, she gets to her feet, still careful of her leg, and moves upstairs to seal off the barriers on location.
Closing off the last barricade on the upper level, she makes her way back down into the living room where a wall of tangible air welcomes her. He's fastening the last deadbolt over the steel shutters.
She approaches him quietly, observing him. When he finishes, he doesn't move away from the locked structure, his posture indicating his knowledge of her presence. "We'll do more tomorrow," he decides with quiet confidence, tracing the steel bends and ridges with his hand. Deep in thought. That contemplative furrow graces his forehead, and she almost knows every line and contour of his face by heart now.
She nods, despite that he doesn't see it. Her voice is equally low. Faith shared. "I know."
Something else is different, too. She gravitates toward him until they're side by side, heart racing. Like an armada of butterflies has taken her stomach as refuge. She isn't sure what she's doing, but her thoughts are fuzzy. Brain is unquestionably in neutral.
He's alive, she's reminded. His tall, solid form is as tangible and real as ever. Not only is he alive, he's… he's Booth. Safely returned to her, because of her. But not because of her alone. Her hand finds his arm, trailing down until she finds his fingers and laces them with hers. He returns the hold, neck craning to watch her as she bares the inside of his wrist to her eyes. She traces the pads of her fingers lightly, slowly, over the black inked Kanji symbol, making him shiver.
Fate. And the other, Soul.
"How'd you know?" His husky voice breaks the silence between them. She knows exactly the context of his question. Raising her eyes to his, almost glowing in the low light, she drifts forward a few steps. He swears he can hear that beautiful melody she'd been humming before.
This is it. The moment, and the very last moment to be lost, broken, or delayed. "I listened," she whispers. It's more a breath than combination of words.
Defender of the faith. This is him, who he is. He's given her that unfailing belief, shared between each of them. Siren eyes stare up at him, clear and trusting. This is her. Ever unquestioning of him, ingenuous to consequence. He is her reason. She searches his face, hands still joined. She knows the lethal power he is capable of. If pushed far enough, brown eyes can shade nearly black with rage. She's seen it, witnessed his wrath unleashed unto enemies and monsters alike.
And yet those eyes as they look at her now shine with utmost gentleness. There's something in them she's never seen before–not this potent. Never so exposed. It's terrifying, but at the same time, it isn't. This is her partner, there is nothing to fear. She's never had to fear anything when at his side.
It means everything.
"I'm glad you're…" her small voice trails off, too much to say in one sentence. Too much to reveal. Swallowing, she struggles for her voice. Lips quiver, throat catches. "I'm glad."
He's frozen, unable to move a muscle under those eyes, that stare. Unable to take his eyes off the woman in front of him. He tries to acknowledge and reflect her words, but his throat isn't working. Their dangerous proximity is making him lightheaded. Their pulses pound within their coupled hands, creating one fervent heartbeat.
This is who they're becoming.
She can't understand this feeling. But she does understand that it has no explanation. He's taught her this. It's something purely felt. Some things are just so magnificent that they defy any and all explanation.
More things dreamt of in heaven and earth…
Honesty compels her to admit that this feeling of absolute safety while in his presence dazzles her more than his famous smile or admittedly solid structure ever has. When she looks at him now, it isn't sexual desire that stirs within her, but something more. Something far more reckless. "I can't hurt you anymore."
The words tremble in the air between them, alive and nearly corporeal. Their eyes catch fire, each unable to look away from the light shining in the other. Each sharing in the identical gray halo circling the irises of their eyes.
Partners for eternal.
Barely noticeable, but they know. Will always know of the blood and tears put into making this cure possible for humanity.
The gentle pitter-pat against the outer panes is finally heard. Ever so soft and temperate. Not a storm, by far. But a cleansing fall. Rain gives birth to moments. Each drop a chronicle of existence, a tentative reply to novel awareness. New, immaculate touch. Somehow, even her gaze is unique to him. Something different about it, looking at him differently. Her eyes shine like dual stars in a winter sky. Not static, but constantly changing, shining, beckoning.
Her hands are shaking, his heart is pounding. He leans further down, like a magnet drawn to its other half, and she can't help but do the same. The space apart becomes the space between instead.
The spark is immediate. Robbed of conscious thought upon contact.
Their lips move slowly, explore slowly, the sensation almost hypnotizing. Her breath seizes in her throat at the experience. She feels weightless, lost in him. Aware only of him. He feels the static that he's always felt between them, shifting and moving. Evolving. He's never felt anything like it. Overwhelming, incredible. He's dreaming, he must be.
He feels love in this kiss. Feels love radiating from her.
Neither needs to say it. Speaking such unconditional truth aloud would make it somehow inadequate. But knowing… sharing in that truth as one whole is perfect bliss. When words are not needed to convey such profound passion. Unspoken yet always present. They pull away when the need for air becomes necessary. He has to make a conscious effort to breathe. Exhaling, their foreheads meet, eyes locking. Reading, wondering, showing. She needs to feel that again. That magnificent, glorious feeling of flying and falling all at once.
Again, their mouths collide. Lips parting, breath mingling. Tasting victory. Tasting desperation, and trust. Unconditional trust.
He reaches up with both hands, one delving into her hair, fingers lost in the auburn. The other frames her cheek, thumb caressing away the grateful emotion slipping from her eyes. It shifts, falling to rest naturally at the small of her back. And she's missed this. Oh, has she missed this. That triggering of nerves at the base of her spine. It's them, she remembers this. It's always been this. His hand fits perfectly, where it was meant to be placed.
When he takes a step closer, she whimpers into his mouth at the shift of pressure on her injured leg. Instantly, he senses her discomfort, reacts. Strong arms circle her waist, drawing her up off her feet with effortless ease. Impulsively, her legs fold around his hips and the journey to the unused bedroom on the second floor is traveled in his arms.
It's a blur. A dream, but not.
It's real, it's them. It's perfect.
Her back sinks into the mattress, the blankets accepting her form. He smoothes the stiffness from her with gentle hands, making her tender muscles breathe with new life. His touch sends a beautiful ache throughout her being. The feeling of weightlessness returns.
His lips seek the junction between the column of her neck and shoulder. Magnificent. Soft, flawless.
She knows she must not look the finest. Makeup absent, bruised, abrasion marring her face. When she voices this though, embarrassed for what she deems unattractive, he removes his mouth from her throat to look her in the eyes. Warm and reassuring brown eyes…
"You're beautiful," he tells her seriously, voice low and emotional, and she believes him. There's a beautiful pain in her chest at his declaration, and she's gasping a sob when his mouth finds hers again.
And yes, he's handsome, and she's beautiful…
Leaning back, able to look at him again, he finally sees their future in her eyes. Twin turquoise stars show him all he needs to see. Everything. Consumed by emotion, she kisses him. Arms tangling around his neck, she draws him down to her. Enjoying the pleasant weight, the strength in his arms.
It's hungry, but not ravenous. It isn't lust she feels, no. The spreading warmth often felt in the spans of her lower belly instead blossoms strongly within her chest above her heart. This is what had been missing before in her life. Now, she feels utterly complete. Completely loved and adored. He feels it to, that perfection. That precious need.
I've stood over death with her, I've faced down death with her…
Her hair is silk under his fingertips, slipping through them like sand in an hourglass. He feels his t-shirt drawn up over his head, soft lips pressing against where the scar left by a bullet merges with the fading evidence of a dog bite. His hands work against the fastenings of her clothing. Slowly, without hurry. They have only time.
She says his name, breathless and sweet, and it's heaven. Fair, angelic skin responds to each gentle caress. Her hands explore the hard planes of his chest, the muscles of his arms and broad frame. Trace patterns on his back. The invisible burden fades from his shoulders, and for these shining moments, he forgets about all he's done. All the guilt, the suffering.
In this moment, he feels unquestionably forgiven. Overwhelmed, he blinks against the sudden rise of tears. An instant later, her gentle touch smoothes them away. Without judgment or derision.
Together, they're found. Both thinking the same thing.
Home. This feels like home. Legendary. Two souls making their mark in their own history, needing the other to truly live. Denied each other for one whole year, too afraid to take the step across that line for the four previous.
Someone you're meant to spend the rest of your life with…
Her back arcs and their fingers entwine.
Their lips seal, not an inch of space between them. Pale and tan, two imperfections creating a single flawless devotion. His words from years ago hold perfect truth, for she doesn't know where she ends and he begins.
Truly complete in match. Made for one another.
A miracle.
When daylight invades their world, their pact is broken and a new one forged.
This is who they've become.
Close your eyes
Let me give you something that is real
Close the door and leave your fears behind
Let me give you what you're giving me
You are the only thing that makes me want to live at all
When I am with you, there's no reason to pretend
When I am with you, I feel flames again
I would never ever leave you
-Flames-