[A/N: I've never seen the movie with the same title as this chapter, so I hope this bears no resemblance to it. I was originally planning to use this title for the entire story but saw that it had already been used for a number of fanfics. So I opted for the "shorter" version of the title for the entire story. Bones and Booth are both a bit lost at the moment and I'm excited about having them be "lost in translation" and finally working together again. Please let me know what you think of Bones (she scares me for reasons other than the fact that she was crazy enough to turn Booth down). Let me know if I managed to capture the interaction between Bones and Booth well enough in this chapter.
I don't own Bones or Booth (sadly), and I'm not affiliated with Fox or the TV show in any way. This is just a fun way to spend more time pondering the show.]
Chapter Four: Lost in Translation
Temperance Brennan paused in her relentless examination of the bones in Box 2546 when she felt her cell phone buzz in her lab coat pocket. Seeing Booth's name on the screen made her shiver. She hadn't really talked to him in weeks—not since that evening when everything they'd both fought so hard to hide had been thrown out on display to threaten them. Swallowing hard, she answered, "Brennan." She hoped that he couldn't hear from her voice how unsteady she felt taking his unexpected call.
"Hey Bones," Booth said, pausing uncharacteristically before deciding to dive right in to what he needed to tell her. But as he tried to continue speaking, he was struck by the effect that hearing her voice had on him. "I... Um... It's really good to hear your voice," he confessed aloud without meaning to do so. Jeez, Seeley, he winced as he realized that being that honest with her now might make things even more awkward than they were already going to be between them. Yet he just hadn't been able to help himself. He'd gotten all choked up just hearing her say her own name. Man, he had it bad.
Moving on quickly so as to minimize her discomfort, he continued in his best, professional FBI manner, "I'm calling to let you know that a call just came in. We have a new case."
The normally unflappable Temperance Brennan paused slightly, considering the fact that she was now on the verge of having to face the man she'd wounded so deeply. She still became teary-eyed every time she remembered how he had shed a few actual tears over his disappointment that she wouldn't give things between them a try. It hadn't been as if he had wept openly, but she knew that years of practice biting back tears under the undeserved blows from his father made it nearly impossible for him to weep. Allowing her to see those few sparse drops of lacrimal fluid he had brushed away quickly had cost him dearly. She hated the fact that she had been the cause of his pain even though he was the last person on the planet she'd ever want to hurt. Now that they had a case, she had to face the damage—examine his wounds in much the same way that she scrutinized remains. Booth was strong, and she knew that he'd survive this, but she also knew that she'd be able to see his discomfort clearly and sense his camouflaged pain. It had been widely acknowledged that she was terrible with people, but she had become adept at reading the subtle things about Booth. Unwilling to admit what that might mean, she asserted that she'd just spent a requisite amount of time with him to be able to predict his moods and understand his actions. She had been the only one persuaded by that argument.
Brennan's momentary pause allowed for a plethora of thoughts about many subjects. Her brilliance allowed her to think so much more quickly than anyone else could begin to understand. Even so, she'd expected to have more time to prepare for this eventuality. Because she had compartmentalized and focused on her work in order to ignore the fact that she'd just turned her back on her partner's most tender, honest plea, she wasn't prepared to face him. She simply did not feel equipped to do this. She was desperate to avoid hurting him further. As she stood there pondering possible options for buying more time, her mind raced through scenarios of greeting him and working with him and hated each of them. Fortunately for her, Booth knew her well enough to read even that miniscule pause and not to comment on it.
"I'll be over in about 20 minutes," Booth said quickly. "I can stop by the Jeffersonian on the way."
"That won't be necessary, Booth," his partner interjected, her voice at a steady yet urgent clip. "I'll need some time to put away these remains in order to store them properly." She told herself that it hadn't been a lie. Booth had no way of knowing that she had been analyzing relatively recent unidentified remains from a randomly selected file drawer from bone storage. He didn't have to know that she wasn't working on ancient remains that required special care and storage and her expert supervision. She could see no harm in misleading him under these difficult circumstances because it had been the only way she could think of to postpone seeing him a bit longer and to avoid spending time in the car with him. Their time traveling together had always been too intimate, too familiar and too often the source of their revealing things that weren't always easy to handle. She had to avoid such a risk for Booth's sake, so she told herself that she was just being a rational, concerned friend. "I can meet you there. Just send me the location. I'll meet you at the scene."
As much as he wanted to argue with her, Booth knew that she'd already made up her mind. He'd try to convince himself that she had been telling him the truth and that this had been no different than the other times they'd driven separate cars to crime scenes. His gut screamed at him that she was avoiding spending time with him. His head told his gut to shut the hell up already. His gut had done enough damage; it had betrayed them both.
"Sure. See you there. Don't forget your boots," he said quietly, clicking off the call knowing that she'd been hanging up already. After e-mailing the location to her, Booth strapped on his weapon and pulled a pair of boots out of a corner cabinet. As he laced them up, he gave himself a pep talk. This would just be Bones working with him and dealing with bones. They'd done this thousands of times. He smiled a wry smile realizing that Bones would have corrected him immediately and then told him precisely how many cases they'd worked together. He knew that she knew. He also knew that he'd stopped counting them ages ago. For Booth, it had been all about the quality and the time with her—that and catching the bad guys. Reminding himself to "man up and grow a set," Booth holstered his weapon, stuffed some gloves and a notepad into his pocket, and left the office for the scene of the crime.
Without explaining the reason for her departure or making the time to discern which of her interns she had been addressing, Dr. Brennan requested that today's intern store the bones she'd been analyzing. She walked purposefully to her office and closed the door. After locating her field kit, slipping on her boots, lacing them up slowly, and placing a packet of gloves in her pocket, Brennan sat down briefly and printed Booth's message. Shortly thereafter, she sent a brief message to Dr. Saroyan that she'd be headed out to a crime scene to help the FBI. It had been only after she had been completely prepared to leave that she paused. In that one, very long moment, she considered what would happen once she arrived at the scene. Unhappy with the way that those thoughts weighed her down, she shook her head, pulled on a jacket appropriate for work outside the lab, and left her office.
On the drive to the scene, Brennan's enormous mind had raced. She hated the fact that she had so many personal things preoccupying her mind. It was always so much simpler to focus on her work, on the remains, on clearing her mind so that she'd be able to solve the murder. Instead, she found herself immersed in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and lacking the appropriate system with which to catalogue and deal with them.
Given the fact that she was usually brutally honest and that she did not connect closely enough with most people to have need for it, the feeling of guilt that overpowered her had been asphyxiating. She'd lied to Booth. It hadn't been an enormous lie—yet she felt guilty for misleading him so that she could drive separately and minimize her time with him.
He had sounded so… wistful, relieved, and sad when he'd confessed that it had been good to hear her voice. She understood precisely how he felt because—despite her trepidation—she'd felt those same emotions when she'd taken his call. But the research materials had informed her that, as a spurned suitor, he would be feeling hurt and trying to distance himself for his own self-preservation. Booth had disturbed her by not following the protocol and by being so honest and vulnerable in greeting her despite her rejection of his offer. She wasn't certain she'd be able to deal with Booth trying to pretend that no partnership-altering words had been spoken; she knew with absolute certainty that he'd been berating himself for starting that conversation since it had happened.
Unnerved by being swamped by so many emotions, Temperance arrived at a decision to try to classify her thoughts about Booth in more clinical terms. Perhaps if she thought of facts about him as evidence instead of dwelling on the way that being with him made her feel she'd be able to analyze and deal with the situation more rationally. That was it, she decided, circumstances were making it more and more difficult to be rational about her partnership with Booth. Nothing—nothing except the thought of losing Booth as her partner and friend—terrified Temperance Brennan as much as having difficulty being rational.
As she drove safely but quickly on the route directed by her automobile's GPS system, Temperance Brennan began analyzing the case of the man, the agent, her partner. Booth was a study in both contrasts and absolutes. Anyone who saw him had always been struck by his size and his strength. He was tall and well-built as well as toned and in very good health and condition. She had seen him use his body alone to intimidate smaller, less fit people. She'd also seen the investment of time and determination he put into running, lifting weights, boxing, and practicing at the shooting range. His body was a weapon, and he was its master. She considered that, when combined with his instincts and his experience, his strength made him nearly invincible no matter the opponent. His lithe, toned body enabled him to surprise a criminal by sneaking up on him or charge him loudly and bravely and still take him down. The contrast—the surprising thing she'd come to learn--was that this man of such strength who took such meticulous care to keep his body perfectly primed had—without a moment's hesitation—thrown that very weapon, his own body, in front of a bullet to save her life. The man so hell-bent on saving others thought nothing of risking his own life to save other people. He'd done so more than once for her.
As she made a turn and re-examined the route to estimate her time of arrival, Brennan had been struck by another interesting contradiction about her partner. When she'd first met him, Booth had been extremely demanding, impatient and imposing. He had been too easily frustrated by delays and wanted to advance the cases he worked even if that meant using brute force. He'd also been easily frustrated by distractions and questions and diversions—even if they eventually proved to be the route to solving the case. He still could be all of those things, but she wasn't as frustrated by those attitudes and behaviors as she once had been. Well, she often was; perhaps she was just being sentimental at the moment. As she considered Booth's abrasiveness more carefully, she realized that the original problem had been that Booth did not use Brennan's sacred scientific process. He used a combination of brain and experience and "his gut" to learn from the evidence—that had been "Booth's process." But there were times that he arrived at the solution far more quickly than she had without using the safety and structure of the proven scientific method. At times she had found that frustrating. Other times, she had simply been in awe of his particular form of intelligence.
More times than she had expended the energy to count, she'd been amazed by watching this same man who had been terribly intolerant and abrasive at times cradle a stranger's child as tenderly as its mother would have or lift a victim—especially when it was her--up to handle so delicately that it brought tears to her eyes. He instinctively knew the times when she needed a "guy hug" and he was extremely patient with her questions about life and love and friendship. She'd expected him to tire of those discussions or to tell her to go live her life and learn from the experience like everyone else did, but he never did. He seemed to relish the role of her interpreter—her translator, and he was ever watchful, ever protective, ever there waiting patiently for her to arrive at conclusions about people and their behaviors. His patience at those times was even more remarkable because he had always long-since diagnosed those conditions she was pondering and understood them. He was able to understand people and relationships quickly as she could decipher marks left on her beloved bones. The fact that he could have such a short fuse and yet be endlessly patient with her was worth noting.
Another contradiction about Booth was his insistence upon downplaying his intelligence. While his IQ was certainly lower than her own, his "street smarts" and intuition about people more than compensated for that fact. His life experience had taught him things he'd never have learned from a book, and Brennan had watched him over time and observed that he learned very quickly—more quickly than a few of her comrades at the lab. The combination of innate and learned abilities called for her to deem Booth extremely intelligent. But she knew better than to state that openly to him. He fell so naturally into the self-deprecating role of "dumb jock" needing someone to explain things to him. At times it infuriated Brennan because he wasn't above using that tactic with his superiors, and she knew that doing so weakened their impression of him and his abilities. At other times, she knew it was just force of habit. She herself had confessed more than she'd intended in the face of that handsome man shrugging and acting as if he were confused. She knew that many women—and more than a few men—had been fooled by his practiced technique. On other occasions, she had known that he had purposefully appeared muddled and confused to ease her own pain over how she'd misread a situation or a criminal—or a man she never should have dated. As she considered this trait of her partner's, Temperance was struck with the realization that it was both a contradiction and constant. He willingly sacrificed his own ego and people's perceptions of him to solve cases and to make others feel better without regard for the view others had of him. It was eerily similar to his penchant for throwing himself in harm's way to save others.
Another contradiction Brennan seldom pondered for long stretches of time was a physical one. She had admitted her attraction to him to Angela early on and had joined in the general female adoration of his form on more than one occasion. The man was a god—strong, handsome, fit, and constantly active—and his charm and wits completed the package beautifully. Brennan had witnessed and experienced his physical strength and stamina, so she could only logically assume that he carried those strengths into his physical relationships with women. She almost hated the way that it took no effort at all for her to imagine his naked form hovering, touching, tasting…. She'd felt his tender touch and his strong grip on many occasions--she didn't need any other evidence to convince her that he'd be an incredible lover. She sighed internally with the knowledge that she'd been whisper-close to benefitting from those particular talents.
Realizing that thinking of missed opportunities wistfully could not be considered rational or beneficial, she made her body quiet down and considered other attributes that made the man attractive in other ways. Booth's "white knight syndrome" made him incredibly overprotective, and he had proven his ability to watch over and care for his friends and family. She could also only assume that he'd make a doting companion for any woman with whom he chose to spend his private time. Brennan made note of the way that her own blood pressure had vaulted as she'd again considered Booth's appearance and his overwhelmingly suitable skills as a lover and companion. She knew that it was extremely logical for her to think of sex when considering his body; any woman who saw him considered the possibility—if she were heterosexual and not his mother. Despite that fact, thinking of a relationship with Booth wasn't rational. She'd turned down his offer; therefore, considering options no longer viable was anything but rational.
Refusing to let thoughts of Booth as either a sex partner or a companion take hold, she focused on analyzing another contradiction that had brought on this whole train of thought. The man was ridiculously shy talking about sex or sexually-related matters. She suspected that it might be his Catholic upbringing, but she knew that it was more than that. Booth was so much more a "girl" about these issues. She chuckled realizing how opposed he'd be to that description. So she chose another route and considered that his views on dating and relationships and sex were simply old-fashioned. Perhaps he'd have fit in well in the 50s... he did love those old movies with their chivalrous heroes who always made romantic gestures and always got the girl. She had to admit that his hesitance to discuss overtly sexual subjects only made him more appealing. Seeing that beautifully built man blush had always been more a turn on than a problem. Pausing to wonder momentarily whether she'd feel more terrible if he never found "the girl" or if he found her and moved on, Temperance felt her nerves place a chokehold on her stomach. She had to stop thinking about Booth and their conversation and its consequences. She had to compartmentalize if she were going to survive this day.
To dull the ache in her body and the pain in her "gut," Temperance put another critical facet of Booth onto her mental examining room table. Booth was a man of action. He hardly ever sat still. He was constantly flipping a poker chip or pacing as he thought, or tapping his hands in that annoyingly loud way on the steering wheel of the car he demanded to drive. The only times he had been moderately still for more than a few moments had been when he'd been seriously wounded or when he had been talking to her about something important.
Booth was decisive and thought quickly on his feet and did more that she suspected was typical of agents to move their cases to closure quickly. As she had tried to reconcile their discussion about Sweets' conclusion about them over the last few weeks, it had bothered her that Booth had admitted that Sweets had been right. While on the surface Booth's confession that he wanted to try dating her at first seemed like a typical Booth way of taking action when he felt it was needed, she had been more struck by the fact that he'd had feelings for her and kept them hidden—perhaps the entire time she'd known him. Booth keeping something that important from her for so long just didn't fit his profile. From listening to him, she had the strong impression that he'd proposed to Rebecca immediately after learning that she'd become pregnant. The fact that he'd practically been living with Tessa showed yet another example that he wasn't a man with commitment issues, and yet he'd moved on from their relationship abruptly once it had run its course. Another decisive step. He and Dr. Saroyan had fallen quickly back into bed together and ended their fling just as quickly. She knew that Booth had been the one to call it off.
Where women were concerned, Booth took action. It didn't fit with Booth's nature for him to have had feelings for her and to have kept them hidden. She tried to rationalize his actions. Perhaps she was too difficult and demanding. Perhaps she was stunted by her life's experience and her intellect. Perhaps he—like her—was overwhelmed by a need to protect their partnership. Or perhaps he never meant to have that conversation with her at all. Perhaps he had just been momentarily dazed by Sweets' psychobabble and acted impulsively out of a sense of loneliness or concern for her or something. Or perhaps she'd just been too great a gamble—the big prize that wasn't good for him or meant for him but which was tempting for fleeting reasons related to his gambling habit. Whatever the reason, she couldn't make peace with the concept that he'd had feelings for her for so long. Booth would have acted sooner. He had passed on all of those times when their eyes had met and their faces had gravitated closer together… all those times when the air between them had crackled with electricity and she'd had to resist the urge to lick her lips—or his. He'd had many opportunities, many of which had taken her breath away and made her long for the courage to lean closer and capture his lips with her own. Booth's history on the subject had been clear and convincing. He'd have closed the distance between them long ago if he'd been sure enough that she had been worth the risk.
Temperance groaned aloud in her frustration. She should have known better than to try to analyze Booth. She was obviously impaired and could no longer just think about him objectively. The practice of analyzing a man who was so multidimensional was too near psychology—a field she abhorred now more than ever. Instead of doing the rational thing and thinking about the case or calming herself down for the encounter with Booth, she'd spent nearly an hour thinking about all of the reasons that anyone other than herself would have jumped at the chance to date the man. She smirked imagining what Dr. Sweets would have to say about that.
Thinking about Booth's body and his mind and his bravery had been the type of action a love-sick, swooning female would have taken. Temperance Brennan knew that she was not that type of woman. She'd already made her decision and now she had to deal with it effectively in order not to hurt her partner's feelings any further. She had to focus on the goal, accomplish it, and move on. She had to be a scientist—not a woman whose mind was obsessed with any man—while she worked. Grumbling quietly, she made the last turn and noted the short distance remaining to the scene. She began the process of erecting walls around herself and steeling herself for seeing her partner for the first time since she'd turned down his offer. She could do this. She was a genius. She could do anything. Besides, Booth was predictable and professional and did not appear to hold grudges unnecessarily. He'd be calm and collected and all business—he was as obsessed with doing his job well as she was. He'd also be trying to make this easier for himself, so it would be easier for both of them.
When Temperance parked her car at the murder scene, her attention was drawn as if magnetically to her partner. She'd expected to feel a twinge, some chemical reaction as she looked at him and read what she was convinced would be his barely camouflaged pain. Instead, she noticed immediately that he was angry. He was more than just angry. Pulling her bag out quickly behind her, she jogged up the path toward his tense, well-muscled body. She was too distracted to comprehend the fact that her instant urge to assist him or calm him down meant that Booth wasn't the only one of the partners with no control over the desire to protect the other from pain no matter the cost. Brennan had forgotten all of her reasons for wanting to avoid him the moment she'd seen that he'd been upset.
"This just won't cut it, Mikulski. What the hell were you thinking?! We don't have all day here. You're paid to do your job, and this…. This is not what you're paid to do. Do I need to talk to someone? Call the head of your department? You have three kids, man. Don't they need food and clothes? I'd hate for them to go without because their father was lazy and lost his job! Dr. Brennan has made is perfectly clear what should be done to prep the scene, and you haven't done any of it!"
As he ranted at the technician more loudly and angrily than he should have Booth realized that he was just blowing off steam and trying to calm himself down. But he'd gotten carried away, dammit, and the yelling felt good. He was so caught up in his verbal assault on the man that he had ignored the attempts of another FBI squint to get his attention. What the hell… the person was dead already. Whatever it was could wait.
But when that squint made the mistake of grabbing his arm, Booth had no choice but to turn and transfer his now simmering rage onto the next squint. Fine. He could do that. "What?!" he barked, only to have his oxygen supply cut entirely off as he looked straight into the startled eyes of his partner. He was moved by the concern he could read in her expression. "Oh... Sorry Bones...," he trailed off.
"Why are you yelling? What is the problem?" she asked, her ever inquiring mind needing to know even as he read her concern for him evident in her expression.
"Our genius friend Mikulski here hasn't done a damned thing to set up the scene for you. I... um... I was just reminding him how important it is for him to set everything up. You know, the way that you've requested."
"I appreciate your concern, but don't worry about it, Booth. I can handle this," she said, holding his gaze for only a moment before moving past him to examine the remains.
Now that she'd deflated his anger and left him realizing what an ass he'd been to Mikulski, Booth found himself at loose ends. He'd learned a lot, but there were certain squintish things that he didn't even want to understand. He guessed that it would take at least half an hour before Bones would have anything helpful for him. Frowning, he turned to search the park for the detective who'd called him.
"Parsons, where's the man who discovered the victims?!" Booth yelled, following the man down the hill so that he could question the person who'd stumbled across the remains.
As she observed the remains and their environs, Temperance realized why the technicians had waited for her to arrive. There was an opaque gelatinous substance covering aspects of the remains, making it nearly impossible to determine how to retrieve the bones without damaging them or losing substantial portions of the substance.
As she surveyed the scene, Mikulski immediately apologized. The man was no idiot. He'd seen Brennan verbally shred other technicians. His beat down from Booth had been awful enough. No way had the man wanted another smack down from the perfectionist in the partnership.
Brennan cut the man off before he could continue his apology. "It was appropriate for you to wait for my guidance, Mikulski. Do you have any suggestions for how best we can transport the remains and the unidentified substance back to the lab?"
Surprised and greatly relieved, the man offered a few suggestions. Then, he began working with Dr. Brennan to plan to have the remains moved.
As they were discussing the plans for lifting an enormous block of earth approximately five feet deep from the scene, Booth wandered over and peered over their shoulders. He made a face as he took in the gory scene below them. The scientists paused as Booth surveyed the scene. They all looked down at the array of bodies for a long moment. Then Booth asked Bones for her observations about the remains.
"Two adults—one male, one female. The male is in a prone position on top of the female...."
"Oh... Well, it's obvious what happened," Booth insisted.
"I was still trying to explain...."
"Come on, Bones. Jealous husbands and wives lose their minds when they stumble upon things like this."
Bones interrupted his train of thought. "The evidence doesn't begin to point to jealousy of any kind. I'm afraid you're making assumptions not supported by the evidence."
Although relieved that she was responding him in such a familiar way, Booth is nonplussed by her statement and gestured toward the crime scene, "What? They're lying like that...," he paused, gesturing dramatically and quickly becoming awkward trying to avoid discussing sex with her as he had so many times before. He paused again, trying to rid his brain of the ridiculous gesture Bones had used to try to tell him the undertaker and Hank Reilly's wife had been having sex at the wake. Finally able to compose himself, Booth continued to insinuate that the couple had been "going at it" when they had died, "Look.... It looks like he's whispering in her ear. They're...." He paused dramatically, tilted his head a bit to the side and raised his eyebrows and nodded his head slightly before whispering, "You know...." As she looked up at him over her shoulder the way she had dozens of times before, the air whooshed out of Seeley's lungs, and he had difficulty remembering that he'd been arguing with her. He stood there frozen as his mind and heart drank in the view of her. All he had been able to ponder for that moment in time was that he'd like more than anything to be somewhere private with her doing exactly what he knew these two people had been doing when they died. For a moment, Brennan had also been swept up in his gaze and the two considered each other and said nothing. Then, as quickly as the spell had been cast, Brennan broke it, finally catching on to Booth's train of thought.
"Oh!" she said with enthusiasm as she realized that she understood what he'd been implying, "You suspect that the victims were kicking shoes at one another!"
Booth had been smiling at her as she thought about what he'd said. He had been hoping that they'd reconnect—that she'd understand what he had been trying to tell her without saying the precise words. He needed to be able to communicate like that with her again. Kicking shoes? What the hell… he thought before he realized what she'd said, "What?!" But then he smiled at her and shook his head in amusement, "It's boots, Bones. Knocking boots."
She was so relieved that this situation felt so familiar that she didn't waste her time being embarrassed that he'd had to correct her. Instead, she continued as she so often had in the past, "I've never understood that expression. I prefer to take my shoes (or boots) off before intercourse. Don't you? I find that it's more sanitary as well as more comfortable while simultaneously giving one better access to the highly erogenous zones around the metatarsals and phalanges. And it seems highly unlikely that anyone would be fixated on the knocking together of their footwear during that activity. Knocking jeans or bumping boxers or undergarments would be a more apt clothing analogy, wouldn't you agree?"
Nonplussed, Booth chuckled and nodded his agreement as said a Hail Mary and recited the names of the saints to clear his mind of the images that had entered it as soon as Bones had said "erogenous zones." Did she have to talk about sex with him right off the bat like that? It was Bones. Of course, she did. "So, you guys have a plan for moving the remains to the lab?" he asked, hoping that he sounded "normal" and not entirely in need of a cold shower.
"Yes. Mick offered a very sound approach," Brennan explained, pleased when she saw Booth look up to acknowledge her proper use of the technician's nickname. Booth nodded at Mikulski and then turned to talk to Bones some more. But at that very moment, another one of the technicians slipped. In an attempt to avoid crashing on top of the remains with his heavy kit, he unintentionally crashed into the forensic anthropologist. Booth managed to catch her just before she lost her balance.
There had been no other option but to grasp her body and pull it tightly to his own. In his haste to save her, he'd slammed her firm body against his, aching with the way that it fit perfectly against his own. Booth tried to breathe as his body screamed from its proximity to her. Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving, and Booth knew that the accident wasn't the only source of those physical reactions. Overcoming the urge to pull her even closer and devour her lips with his own until she was powerless to refuse him any longer, Booth managed to help her regain her footing and took a step back for his own safety.
"Watch where you're going Larkins," Booth snapped even as the man was apologizing to his partner. Off kilter, Booth blurted out, "If you're okay, Bones, I'm just gonna go check on a few leads. Let me know if you find anything else."
As Bones turned around and started talking to the team, Booth walked closer to Mikulski and pulled him aside. "Hey, about earlier, man.... I'm sorry. Are we okay?"
"Don't sweat it, Booth," the man replied, extending his hand warmly.
"You're a good man, Mick," Booth said with a smile.
"Rough morning?" Mikulski couldn't help asking.
"Yeah. Sorry I brought it with me," Booth admitted. "Looks like you've done good work today."
"I always do good work," Mick jabbed back, teasing the agent to diffuse the tension.
"That's what all the dead guys say," Booth replied, grinning as he turned to leave them to their work.
Half an hour later, Booth had completed every single task he could dream up out at the scene. He'd even checked his messages and returned a few calls. He knew that he needed to leave Bones alone with the remains, but waiting gave him too much time to think. After wandering aimlessly for too long, he finally wandered back to where the cars were parked. Lost in thought, he leaned against the hood of Bones' car and watched them work. God, she's gorgeous, he thought as he watched her work and tried not to notice the way that all of the live men were drooling over her even as they worked carefully not to upset her. Watching her from a distance was painful. It just made him miss her more. Experienced in surveillance, Booth made sure to turn his attention to other things to hide the fact that he was staring holes through his sunglasses as he watched his partner work. He fished out his notepad and pretended to write notes. Holding onto Bones even that briefly had rattled him. He knew that he had to calm the hell down if he were going to stay there and work with her. As with so many things, knowing what he should do and actually doing it were two entirely different things.
Booth had been mentally reclassifying the names of old cases into FBI-speak and had finally become so lost in thought that he hadn't heard her approach. The fact that he had missed it must have been a divinely inspired event. Booth didn't miss things like that. He was always hyper-aware of his environment and keenly attuned to people approaching him. Years of practice as an abused child and a sniper and soldier had made those skills second nature to him. And he'd always sensed Bones presence more than most. He couldn't believe he'd missed her approach.
"They're extracting the remains now," Bones said casually, eyeing her partner carefully. She knew that his notebook was full of scribbles or nothing at all. He'd been faking those notes all afternoon. She worried that this had been too difficult for him.
"Mhmmm," he replied just as casually, afraid that if he said anything more that he'd beg her to reconsider his request that she try going out with him.
"I hate that things are awkward," Bones confessed, her eyes darting to his to see if her words had stung.
"Things are fine."
"You're okay?" she had to ask him.
He swallowed hard but tried to hide both his lie and the strain of delivering it, "I'm okay."
Upon hearing his response, Bones smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before moving and leaning against the car right beside him, so close that their shoulders were almost touching.
"Good. I was worried, Booth. I was afraid that we'd be unable to work together. Thank you."
Unable to help himself from smiling back at her earnest expression, Booth replied, "We're partners, Bones. It's what we do."
There was a long pause as both of them considered their partnership and appreciated it anew.
"How's Parker?" Brennan asked, hoping to steer the conversation to typical topics, safer ones.
"Parker's great," Booth replied instantly. Then he stood thinking for a few minutes before he confessed, "He misses you."
"He said that?" she asked, honored that Booth's son might have noticed her absence.
"Yes. Quite loudly," Booth chuckled, remembering his son's recent hysterics about calling Bones.
Bones paused for a long moment as she looked away from him. He hadn't anticipated her emotional reaction. His heart panged with need to ease her pain. She sniffed and whispered, "I miss him, too."
Dammit, thought Booth, they couldn't keep doing this…. They were wounding one another left and right just by trying too hard to behave as if nothing had changed. He had to say something, so he uttered her name to get her attention. This time his "Bones" came out more wistful and supportive than he'd intended.
Brennan nearly came unglued at his selfless attempt to comfort her given the circumstances, "Don't 'Bones' me. It's a logical, rational reaction. Anthropology tells us that people are more comfortable following norms and routines. I've spent more time with him than anyone else's child. I suppose that it's only natural that I've formed a bond with him."
Her scientific explanation for her sniffling made Booth smile and diffused the tension a bit, "He's crazy about you, too, Bones." So crazy that he drove me insane demanding to call you the other day, he thought but didn't dare say aloud. "You don't have to justify your friendship with my kid. He's irresistible—like his old man."
He'd expected his words to encourage Bones to start harassing him, but she surprised him by staring up at him intently for a long moment before whispering, "You're still you."
Booth couldn't take those looks... her guilt... He needed to do something to take their conversation somewhere safer. So instead of allowing himself to get all mushy, he looked at her funny. "Did Larkins bump your head, Bones? It's not like you to be so girly about things."
Instead of being angry with him, Temperance became even more emotional, "I'm being serious, Booth. I... I was concerned that you might be different, act unusually...." She teared up involuntarily. "I was anxious. I... don't do well with people, and I thought that I might make this too hard for you... so that you wouldn't want to work with me anymore...."
Booth sighed. Here she was again, showing her concern for someone else even though it brought her pain. He had to reassure her, "Bones, I still want to work with you." I want to do everything with you, his mind screamed. "You're right. I'm still me."
"You are," she echoed, sounding almost convinced that it was true.
Now it was Booth's turn to be attacked by his own emotions. "Yes. Bones, do you think... can we talk about this later. Somewhere else?"
She squinted at him and shrugged and she sniffed back her tears, "I don't see why. You seem to be handling it admirably. I'm the one who's obviously emotional."
"If you keep getting emotional like that, I'm either going to have to hug you or start shoving Mick around again. And these are my coworkers, Bones. We could talk about this out on the platform at the lab, if you'd be comfortable trying that later."
"No. I understand. You made your point."
"That's good because I am extremely rational," Booth said in his best impression of Bones.
She smiled at him and nudged him with her elbow.
He returned the jab, and the pair stood there in silence, their arms touching as they enjoyed the private moment alone together.
The sound of someone clearing his throat caused both of them to lurch apart as if they'd been caught doing something inappropriate, "Dr. Brennan, I think you're going to want to see this," Mick said, sincerity in his expression as he looked at hers and then apology in his glance to Booth. Without another word, Bones shoved off the car and made her way over to the remains without looking back. For the second time that day, Booth felt like using Mikulski as his personal punching bag, but when he made his own way up to the site, he realized that Mick had just been being professional.
"What is it, Bones?" Booth asked as he stood looking down at where she was moving things around at the scene.
"A third set of remains. Much more badly damaged and then burned. Placed in a standard outdoor garbage bag at the other victims' feet."
"Jeez...," was all that Booth could come up with.
As they worked on the newly discovered remains, Mikulski was surprised to find that Dr. Brennan was distracted. She'd never—not in all the years he'd worked with her—had anything pry her full attention from a set of remains. He watched in quiet amazement as she seemed to be lost in thought much of the time. Unaccustomed to working in anything but her shadow, Mick quietly took the lead and said nothing about it. He even saw her glance over her shoulder several times to look for and gaze upon Agent Booth. As he helped her ensure that they weren't corrupting the remains with the way they were being extracted, he pondered what might have happened between the partners. Booth had clearly been off his game all day. When he'd run over to talk to them earlier, he'd clearly interrupted a private moment between the two of them. Sadly, he was certain that they weren't dating—that wasn't the type of emotion that both of them seemed determined to hide yet unable to camouflage. Once, when Dr. Brennan looked back down after glancing over her shoulder, he swore that he saw her swipe her forearm as if to hide a falling tear. Wishing that it had been his place or that he had been brave enough to approach either of them about what was troubling them, Mikulski focused on the task at hand. At least he could make the case easier for both of them. He felt like doing whatever he could to take some of the burden off them.
After their work at the scene was finished, Booth walked Bones to her car and stood there awkwardly for a long moment.
Ripping off her gloves and taking off her outer layer of protective gear, Bones placed those items into a bag and handed it to one of the technicians. She paused, and, realizing that it was completely irrational, wished that she could rewind the clock to the time when her relationship with Booth had been smooth and easy. Realizing that the burden of making this easier fell on her shoulders, she spoke quietly.
"Are you coming back to the lab?" she asked, almost afraid to hear his response.
"I'll drop by in the morning," he said with a tilt of his head.
"Good. That's good," she replied. She was amazed by how emotional such simple words could now make her. She'd been afraid that he'd avoid the lab completely—that time spent with her would be too difficult for him.
Torn by the emotion he read so plainly on her face, Booth opted to bolt rather than drag them back down into that pit of turmoil again. "I'll see you then," he said quietly, walking past her to his truck and climbing in. His heart panged as she turned and waved a small wave at him before climbing into her car to head back to the city.
On the long drive back along the beltway, Booth reviewed the day's events carefully. He was relieved that he'd been able to do it—that he'd been able to handle being with Bones knowing that he wasn't ever going to be able to actually be with Bones. It had been hard as hell, and he had bungled more of it than he'd gotten right, but they'd survived. He sighed… it would get easier in time. Right? Didn't it have to?
As he was driving and thinking, his phone rang. Happy for the distraction, he picked it up without checking the caller ID.
"Hi," her voice said tentatively.
"Bones? You okay?" he asked, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.
"I'm fine, Booth. I... I just wanted to call to tell you that I... I enjoyed working with you today," she stammered, her obvious strain pulling on his heartstrings. The woman was going to drive him mad. He wanted to tell her they didn't have to talk about this, but she seemed to need to discuss it. And, as always, he couldn't deny his Bones whatever she needed. Taking a deep breath for courage, he dove in, "Yeah. Me, too. I was glad we had a case we could work together. It had been a while."
"It had. Booth, I apologize if I made today difficult for you," she stated firmly.
"You didn't."
"I... I'm just so relieved that we can still work together," she confessed, the strain evident in her tone.
"It's okay, Bones. We're partners. We'll figure it out."
"Promise?" she asked, her plea as desperate as the one she'd made that night outside Sweets' office.
"Promise." He paused. "Hey, Bones. Are you okay?" Maybe she'd talk to him about what was making this so difficult. It was obvious that she was more upset than she wanted him to know.
"I know that I'm not good with people, but I believe that traditional roles would dictate that I be the one who should be asking you that question, Booth. Are you... Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine, Bones. I'm a big tough guy, remember? You don't have to worry about me."
"But I do... I... I have always been concerned for your well being."
He smiled. Bones sure did have a way with words. He'd long since learned how to understand the difference between the words she uttered and what they meant, "Well, don't be. I'm fine."
There was a long pause.
"I owe you an apology, Booth." Dammit! This was too much. He simply had to stop her. This was killing him. He wasn't going to be able to deal with this—not without crashing his SUV into the nearest tree.
"Bones, please don't... Let's don't keep doing this, OK? It'll be fine, but we can't keep talking like this. I'm tough, but I'm not invincible," he pled with her.
"I'm not talking about turning down your offer, Booth. I can't apologize for that because I was honest with you. But I do owe you an apology about today."
"Today? You didn't do anything wrong today," he blurted out as he tried to understand what she was talking about.
"I lied to you," she confessed, fearing that he might be really angry.
"When? About the case?" he asked, having no clue what was going on.
Bones rushed her explanation. She simply had to "become clean" with him. "About the remains I was examining this morning when you called. I didn't need time to store them. They were just bones from limbo. I… I was avoiding you. And I'm sorry."
He smiled, hating the way that she could make him melt without even trying. "It's okay, Bones. I was scared as hell this morning, too."
"I told myself I was protecting you, but I wasn't. I... I was anxious about spending time with you, but I also... I don't want to do anything else to hurt you, Booth."
"Friends sometimes hurt each other, Bones. But friendships like ours survive it. Thanks for being honest with me, though. "
"I want... no, I need to be able to tell you the truth even when it's difficult... I've come to realize that I rely on you for more than just partnership, Booth. You are my friend. I'm accustomed to sharing things with you, arguing with you...."
"Me, too," he sighed in a lower voice.
Encouraged by the way the conversation had gone, Brennan continued bravely, "I... Not being able to work with you would be like losing a partner and a friend... a very good friend."
As he had so many times before, Booth had no trouble reassuring her about that critical issue, "You're not gonna lose me, Bones."
"But if I make it too hard for you... if you can't work with me...."
"There's an expression, Bones... It says that friends are the family we choose. You're my family, Bones. I've promised you before that I won't leave you. And I won't. No matter what happens. I promise."
"But if spending time with me brings you pain, I'm being selfish keeping you with me if it hurts you."
He was impressed with the degree to which she'd thought about this. He'd expected that she'd just flung herself into the lab and forgotten all about what had happened between them. Bones had obviously grown more than he'd realized, "Staying away from you would hurt more. You're my family, too, Bones. We'll get through this."
Booth heard her sniffling and wiped a tear or two. He raged at himself for being so easily moved to tears by her and for her. She cut through his barriers and affected him as nobody else could.
"Bones?"
"Yes?" she asked tentatively.
"Go on inside. It's getting late."
"But I...," she stammered, confused by his words. "How? How did you know?"
"Turn around," Booth said softly, watching as the scientist whipped her head around quickly and noticed that he had parked about three spots behind her on the street outside her apartment building. They'd both been sitting there for quite a long time at this point; neither of them had wanted to stop talking even though they'd returned to the city and Bones was just steps from her home. They'd been so focused on talking that they'd just sat there long after it had been necessary.
Moved by his presence, Brennan smiled and waved at him, "Thanks, Booth."
In typical Booth fashion, he shrugged off her gratitude, "You're my family, Bones. I had to make sure that you got home safely."
As she exited her car and crossed to the door of her apartment building, Temperance continued talking to Booth. She knew that he wouldn't pull into traffic until he assured himself that she was safely inside, "Will you... Should I come by your office tomorrow to talk about the case?"
"No, I'll come by the lab."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked, her concern for him continuing to twist her own gut and compel her to discuss their current awkwardness.
He smiled, relieved that even in the face of difficult situations, they could still be friends, "No, but you'll be there. Drag me out if I cause a scene."
"Angela doesn't know. No one else knows."
"Thanks, Bones."
"Goodnight, Booth. See you tomorrow."
"Night, Bones," he said, hating the way that some things felt as if they hadn't changed while others seemed overwhelmingly different. Exhausted but relieved to know that he could still work with his partner, the FBI agent drove home and fell asleep soundly for the first time in weeks.
[A/N: Please let me know what you think. I love comments!]
