The War in the Woods, Chapter 7/8 Part 3
The War in the Woods, Chapter 7/8 Part 3
Rating: PG/T
Day Seven
Brennan
4 - 11p.m.
Booth told her the story in the early morning, a deep pink sunrise on the horizon and the others still sleeping around them. They’d long since given up on sleep themselves, but Brennan was comfortable where she was and too tired to think about what it meant, so they just talked. A couple of times over the course of the night, she’d felt his erection pressed against her, and she knew that physically she was beyond prepared for a sexual encounter. But he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t say anything, and the fact that they’d had the conversation the day before made the entire subject somehow moot.
By the time he began telling her about his first arrest, she’d decided she didn’t want to know - it was clearly deeply personal to him, and she was certain that she would say the wrong thing, somehow ruining the trust he seemed to place so easily in her hands. Obviously, though, once he began talking about it, it didn’t seem appropriate to stop him. Instead, she lay silently with her head on his chest, listening to his words.
“I told you a little about my old man, right?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Right. So, the thing is that when you grow up in a family like mine,” he said quietly, a certain tension already coloring his tone. “You learn to read people pretty early, you know?” She didn’t, actually, but she didn’t say that. It didn’t matter though, because he continued regardless.
“Like - what it means when the car door slams a certain way, or how to ask a question without setting anybody off, when it’s safe to say something and when to keep your mouth shut.”
He swallowed, and she listened to the sound of his heart and thought about the blood that coursed through his veins, the organs beneath his skin, the bones that she understood and the countless thousands of things that she did not. She lay a hand on his stomach and felt the muscles tighten at her touch, then relax.
“And when you’re a kid,” he continued, that tension still evident in his voice. “You follow the rules - you make sure the table’s set and Mom has dinner ready by five-thirty. That she’s dressed the right way, that you’re dressed the right way, that your kid brother has his homework done and there are no toys on the living room floor. You get really good at keepin’ things straight.”
He shrugged. His voice had taken on a distant quality, as though he was lost in memories Brennan suddenly wished she could erase. It was an irrational desire, but it was what she wanted nonetheless.
“So, anyway… You get older, and you start to get tired of all those rules. Start to get a little pissed off, because you see other kids who don’t walk that tight-wire every fuckin’ day and you start to think, ‘That prick. Who the hell does he think he is?’ And that's when things start to get tricky.”
She shifted, suddenly wanting to see him. A flock of seagulls was shrieking in the distance, diving headlong into the water, and it promised to be a beautiful day. She knew that they should get up - that the others would be waking soon, that Belle and Tripp were probably desperately searching for them by now, but all she wanted in that instant was to see him. To see that he’d made it through, that he wasn’t as damaged as she was sure she would have been in his place.
“How old were you when things started to get… tricky?” she asked, hoping that it wasn’t the wrong question.
He smiled grimly, never turning from her gaze. She liked that about him - other men were frequently intimidated by how direct she could be, but Booth never looked away.
“Thirteen or fourteen, I think. I’d been playing sports since I was a kid, then I started lifting weights, doing some boxing once I hit high school. I’d been sort of scrambling at home for so long, trying to make sure everything was just right so my old man didn’t get pissed off - and then all of a sudden I just kinda realized that it wasn’t working. He still got pissed off. He still…” He shook his head, didn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, it wasn’t working. So, I thought... Time to change strategies.”
They shifted so that they were lying side by side now, facing one another. He ran his thumb along her cheekbones, her forehead, her lips - it didn’t seem deliberate, and she wondered if he even knew he was doing it.
“And you began to use intimidation?” she asked, still not sure whether it was appropriate to ask questions. But he hadn’t balked at one yet, so she had to assume they were still all right.
“Pretty much, yeah,” he nodded. “Even though I had sports after school, I always tried to make sure I was home before he got there. Or at least before he started getting wound up, which usually wasn’t until eight or nine. And if he tried anything, I’d just be there to step in. I’d usually just take it on the chin, but at least it wasn’t Jared or my mom by then. I told him if he laid a hand on them anymore, he’d…” he shrugged. “Anyway, I told him. It worked, more or less. But then there was this one night - it was fall, football season. I was sixteen. There was an away game that night, so I didn’t get home until about eleven.”
He fell silent. His jaw was tensed - his whole body, in fact, was tensed. His dark eyes had taken on a distant cast, and Brennan knew that he wasn’t seeing her anymore. She wished that she knew what to do, what gesture to make or words to say to bring him back. But she didn’t, so she just waited in silence before she finally prompted him.
“What happened then?” she asked, and when he continued she knew she wouldn’t be able to bring him back until he was through.
“Something set him off while I was gone. I got home and there was nothing weird about the place, but you know how when we go to a scene sometimes, you can just… tell?”
She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.
“So, yeah... I just knew something was wrong. The kitchen was cleaned up, the dishes were done, my dad was passed out in front of the TV and Jared and my mom were both in bed. But I just had this feeling, you know? So, I started looking around - checking the cupboards. Nothing weird there. The bathroom. Nothing out of place, not so much as a hair in the sink or a spot on the tile. But, I just couldn’t get it out of my head that something had happened. So I checked the garbage.”
She waited, realized she was holding her breath in anticipation.
“There was a broken casserole dish inside, most of the casserole thrown away with it. And mixed in with it was this huge gob of wet, bloody paper towels. And it just hit me, all of a sudden, that I couldn’t keep them safe. Not unless I quit sports and never left home, or kidnapped Jared and my mom and ran away with them, or something nuts like that. There was no way. I’d been trying to get my mom to leave since I was a kid, and I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. And so I just kind of… snapped.” His voice was level as he continued, his forehead furrowed as though he was trying to sort through the details. “I took a knife from the kitchen drawer, and I went into the living room and watched him sleep for a while before I…” he trailed off.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You killed your father?”
He rolled his eyes, actually grinning at her. “No, Bones - Jesus, you think you can join the FBI if you bump off your old man at sixteen? I stuck him in the shoulder, he screamed, my mom woke up, she called the cops. They took me in and put me in a cell for the night, but they’d been out to our house enough over the years to know he had it comin’.”
“So he didn’t press charges?” she asked.
“Fuck no. He’d knocked out two of Jared’s teeth that night when Jared said he didn’t like the casserole they were having. What’s my old man gonna tell the cops when his other kid shows up with a swollen jaw and his front teeth missing? He dropped the charges. I went home the next night. Survived two more years, joined the Army when I turned eighteen.”
He continued to follow the lines of her face with his thumb, back in the present now.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she was.
“Yeah…” he shrugged. “I am too, in some ways. But in some ways…”
“You’re glad your father was an abusive alcoholic who terrorized your family?” she asked skeptically.
He actually laughed at that, which was good because it definitely hadn’t come out the way she’d intended.
“No, Bones. Geez. But… I mean, I know it’s corny but I really do sorta believe everything happens for a reason.”
“Because God has a plan,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to say it like that, Bones. But… yeah. I’m sorry, that’s what I believe. So, if my old man wasn’t a jackass, maybe I wouldn’t’ve joined the Army. Or become a sniper. Or met Rebecca, and knocked her up - which means I never would’ve had Parker. And you know I’m nuts about my kid. And if I hadn’t been a sniper, I wouldn’t have gotten into the FBI - and I love my job. And if I hadn’t landed in the FBI, I never would’ve met you.” He grinned endearingly, still not breaking eye contact. “And right now I’m kinda glad I met you, Bones.”
“Me too, Booth,” she said quietly, not sure if he understood just how much she meant it.
They got up after that, cleaned up the campsite and were reprimanded for breaking solo and then spent the day reading poorly written clues and retrieving coolers full of food. When they found the bell tower, she went up first and Booth put his hand on her behind while she was walking up and it was just a small thing, but the simple contact - doubtlessly combined with lack of proper sleep or nourishment and too much sun exposure - had been enough to make her momentarily lightheaded. She stumbled, just slightly, and he laughed at her.
“Geez, Bones - careful,” he whispered in her ear, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. “I was just coppin’ a feel, don’t pass out on me.”
She rolled her eyes, but she found it difficult to deny her quickening pulse when he touched her. With extraordinary effort, she didn’t think about what would happen once they got back to D.C. She didn’t think about what this shift meant, or what he was thinking, or what she was thinking. She definitely did not think about their partnership, or whether this meant that she should buy a bigger TV for her apartment or if he would expect her to go to baseball games or if she was supposed to begin spending time with Parker. And if she was supposed to begin spending time with Parker, what exactly were they supposed to do?
No, she definitely was not thinking about any of those things.
By the time they got back to Hurricane Island, towing their coolers and their lobsters and their bedraggled, very pungent selves, Brennan was exhausted. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, despite having circumnavigated the island in ice cold ocean waters the previous day. The flood of hormones that seemed to accompany her overnight with Booth had left her shaky and off-balance, and she suddenly felt a very keen desire to retreat. She was aware that Booth was watching her, waiting for signs that she was ‘freaking out,’ as he called it.
Thankfully, Belle handed over keys to the showers as soon as they reached the island, which gave Brennan a perfect excuse to have some time to herself.
“Fresh towels are up at the bathhouse,” Belle explained. “Just follow the trail up the hill here - it’s your first right. Don’t forget your shampoo.”
The three women went up together, none of them saying a word. It seemed suddenly to Brennan that everything had been said - they’d been together constantly for the past seven days, discussing both the most and the least significant aspects of their lives in that time. She wondered if she would ever have anything to say to any of them, ever again. That was clearly an overstatement, but at the very least she knew she didn’t have the energy to communicate with anyone just then.
The bathhouse was primitive, but it was better than the poorly ventilated, weak showers they’d taken before going to the medical clinic a few days before. The water pressure was more than adequate, and the water at least started out hot before quickly giving way to cooler and cooler temperatures. Brennan retreated to her own stall, and was surprised to find herself crying when the first spray of hot water hit her face. She did so quietly, not wanting to be heard by the others, and pressed her head against the cool tile, letting the water run through her hair, down her spine, trailing in rivers over the places where Booth had touched her, the points where their bodies had connected in the past twenty-four hours.
It wasn’t despair, she realized - that definitely wasn’t why she was crying. She had no idea how to feel about what seemed to be happening with Booth, but it seemed to her that that might be all right, for the moment. She was exhausted. Grateful for the people in her life. Moved by the ways that Booth trusted her when she’d done nothing to earn that trust; shaken by how much she cared about him, and terrified that she would do something to ruin everything that was happening, that she would push him away and the friendship would be lost.
But, despite all of those thoughts, it wasn’t despair. Just exhaustion.
She washed her hair, working to untangle the knots until the hot water was gone and the cool water was almost cold. She shaved her legs, and under her arms. She flossed and brushed her teeth. When she finally emerged, Cam and Angela were nowhere to be found and she realized she’d completely lost track of time. Still, she felt renewed - as though she’d sloughed her old skin, emerging pink and shining and reborn.
For some reason, Brennan found herself slightly surprised to learn there were other students on the island when she emerged from the showers. It seemed that their group was the only one that had to work for their dinner - everyone else apparently merely had to arrive at the designated location at the appointed time, and they’d be fed. Brennan supposed that this was because no one else’s group had broken solo, physically assaulted another member of their team, or repeatedly refused to answer the questions the instructors asked of them.
However, the other students apparently hadn’t been given access to the bathhouse, which somehow made up for the lengths they’d gone to to procure their dinner. As she made her way along the trail leading to the rocks where the rest of the students were waiting, Brennan could already smell the food grilling in the open air. A group of teenagers in matching Outward Bound t-shirts and greasy, stained bandanas greeted her with smiles and an affable ‘Hey,’ and she appreciated the lack of downcast eyes or defensive body postures.
It wasn’t as though the island was teeming with people - perhaps fifty in all, scattered in groups on the granite rocks, clutching paper plates and bright red, paper cups. A long, primitive looking grill had been set up at the edge of the woods, haphazard rows of foil-wrapped corn on the cob and baked potatoes waiting. She selected a bright red lobster and a small bowl of melted butter, baked potato, green beans and salad and corn, before she decided she could always come back if she wanted more.
After a few seconds of scanning the crowd, she spotted her group seated in a semi-circle on a rock at the water’s edge, and made a concerted effort to ignore her quickening pulse at sight of Booth. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he wore a gray Outward Bound sweatshirt that he must have purchased from the school store. Despite how much she’d scrubbed, Brennan was still wearing clothes that reeked of campfire smoke, salt, and body odor - she wished silently that she’d thought of the school store.
Once she reached the group, Booth scooted over and she sat down beside him, trying to ignore the feeling that she was somehow doing something out of the ordinary. She always sat beside Booth, she reminded herself. Nothing was different.
“I thought we’d lost you for a minute there, Bones. Ange and Cam said they didn’t think you were ever coming out.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hadn’t bathed in five days, and in case you forgot, I was forced to spend the night in an unventilated, overheated sleeping bag with someone else who hadn’t bathed for five days,” she looked pointedly at Angela, who grinned at this. Brennan breathed an internal sigh of relief - See, she thought to herself. Nothing’s different. “I deserved a long shower.”
Everyone ate too much. Laughed, told stories, talked about what they missed about home and what they were dreading upon their return. Booth told a story about protecting a diplomat who believed she was inhabited by the spirit of Jackson Pollock - the entire group burst into laughter when he admitted that the entire time, he couldn’t figure out why the woman thought she was possessed by an overpaid CPA. Booth took one look at Brennan once the story was finished and just shook his head, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Forget it, Bones. I’ll explain later.” She didn’t know why, but the intimacy of the remark - the idea that she would see him later, once dinner was over and everyone else had gone their separate ways, seemed strangely thrilling. She supposed it was the lack of sleep.
When everyone was too full to eat another bite, Tripp stood with a grin and nodded toward a building sheltered by the trees.
“All right, gang - sorry to tell you this, but you guys are actually on galley duty tonight.”
Cam groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. We’ll be up all night.”
Even Brennan didn’t miss it when Tripp rested a hand on the back of Cam’s neck, letting it linger there a little longer than seemed appropriate.
“Don’t worry - I’ll help. You guys’ll be done in no time.”
Booth got up then, offering Brennan his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Once they were face to face, he waited until the others had ventured up the trail before he stopped her with his hand on her arm.
“Hey, Bones - hang on, I got ya something. I mean - it’s nothing big, I just… you know, I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everybody, in case they thought it was weird.”
He hesitated, and Brennan wasn’t sure whether or not she was supposed to respond. So, she just stood there and he just stood there, until finally she raised her eyebrows at him in question.
“Booth? Is it… I mean, is it something… here?”
“Oh!” He came to at her question, though he seemed increasingly flustered. “Yeah - it is. But, like I said, it’s nothing big.” He rummaged through his day pack until he finally produced a sweatshirt similar to the one he was wearing, though this one was a dark blue.
“Like I said, it’s no big deal. I just figured, you know, you wouldn’t have any clean clothes until tomorrow, and this might be nice to curl up in. And if you don’t like the color you can exchange it - you just… I mean, you look kind of pretty in blue. Because of your eyes.” He took a breath, and she couldn’t help but smile - she’d never seen him like this.
He rolled his eyes. “And now you’re laughing at me. Nice. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten it.”
And then she really did laugh, because the whole thing suddenly seemed so absurd - Booth was rambling like a lunatic and she, Temperance Brennan, was the tactful one. When had that ever happened before?
“I’m not laughing at you. Well - I am, I suppose, but the shirt is very thoughtful. You didn’t have to do that.”
He sighed, but she could tell by the little twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth that he was pleased.
She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly pulled the shirt she was wearing over her head and exchanged it for the one Booth had purchased.
“Bones, what the hell are you doing?” he stepped in front of her quickly, trying to block the view should anyone happen by.
Once the sweatshirt was on, she pulled her hair from the collar and adjusted the shirt before looking at Booth. She felt awkward and strange, uncertain of what was appropriate and what was not in these uncharted waters.
“It fits,” she finally said, because she couldn’t think of anything else.
He took a step closer, straightening the collar and pulling the hem down just a bit. Over the years, she’d gotten used to feeling a certain electricity when Booth touched her - a tiny charge when he lay his hand at the small of her back or brushed a piece of lint from her shoulder, lifted her chin or put his arm around her shoulders. Now, however, just seeing him seemed to set her alight in some bizarre way that she couldn’t quite understand and was increasingly unable to ignore. He pulled her closer, so that they were suddenly just inches apart and she couldn’t seem to stop looking into his dark eyes.
“Hey!” she heard Hodgins’s voice up ahead, and the two sprang apart instantly. A moment later, he appeared on the path and looked at them curiously.
“Sorry, guys - didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know we’ll be in the galley. Whenever you’re ready to join us.”
He looked like he knew something, a slight smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. She wondered if he had seen them before he’d announced his presence.
Booth nodded, and he seemed to be avoiding looking at her. “Yeah, we’re on our way.”
They followed behind Hodgins, Brennan careful to maintain a safe distance from her partner as they walked the path to the galley. They could hear music long before the building came into view, and Booth looked at Hodgins questioningly.
“Have we got live music to serenade us while we work or what?”
“No - there’s an awesome sound system in there, though. The dude who runs the kitchen is apparently some crazy audiophile, he’s got MP3s of every song on the planet. Sweets is going nuts.”
By the time they reached the entrance to the kitchen, Brennan had been infected by the beat and the residual rush of endorphins from her near-encounter with Booth. She dashed up the steps and couldn’t help but smile when she found the rest of the group moving in time to the music as they tackled the seemingly insurmountable pile of dishes awaiting them.
The galley was large and professional looking, with a row of commercial, stainless steel ovens, walk-in refrigerator and freezer, and a somewhat forbidding looking old, commercial dishwasher. Tripp explained that in the past, when Outward Bound had dozens of courses and thousands of students each summer, a full staff oversaw the kitchen and students regularly ate in the adjacent dining hall. Now, as competitors offered more glamorous alternatives to the organization’s no-frills wilderness adventures, they had fallen on hard times. When the galley was open, volunteers oversaw operations; otherwise, the building was regularly rented out to company retreats and teambuilding exercises.
Brennan stood in front of a massive bulletin board covered with old photos, some that looked as though they dated back to the sixties. Dirty, unshaven, laughing faces stared back at her. She found herself wondering about their histories, where they were now - what they’d learned on the island, and the direction it had taken them.
But then the floor beneath her feet was shaking, the bass vibrating her eardrums and her spine and the walls around them. Booth came over and bumped her lightly in the ass with his hip, and she couldn’t help but grin.
“Come on, Bones - let’s get to it. I don’t wanna be here all night.”
She turned from the strangers’ faces without a second thought, and went to join her friends.
While Tripp sifted through the lobster carcasses for any meat that hadn’t already been picked clean and Sweets took charge of the music, the rest of the group dove into the cleaning process. There was an air of celebration about the place, with frequent dance breaks, water fights, and laughter. As soon as she heard the first strains of ‘Respect’ come on the sound system, Angela grabbed Cam and Brennan and the three women spun and danced together in the center of the kitchen while the men continued working, pretending they weren’t watching every shake and shimmy from the shapely trio.
Afterward, Brennan returned to her station out of breath and giddy from the music and excitement and, admittedly, the lack of sleep. Soon, she’d settled back into drying and putting away dishes, sandwiched between Hodgins and Booth. They had a good rhythm going, an easy air of camaraderie about the scene that made her think of her childhood, cleaning up with Russ and her parents on weeknights when she was a child.
But then the next song came on, and suddenly she wasn’t thinking about camaraderie. Or family. Or anything, really. Before she even registered what the song was, her chest tightened and her hands began to shake. She quickly set down the pan she’d been drying so that she wouldn’t drop it, and Booth looked at her. Her head swam, and she realized that she wasn’t breathing - trying not to appear overly dramatic, she quickly excused herself and hurried outside just as Cyndi Lauper launched into the chorus of a song Brennan had loved not so long ago.
The fresh air should have helped, but it didn’t seem to. Somewhere far off, she heard Booth shout for Sweets to change the song, his anger palpable. Brennan sat on the front steps, trying to concentrate on her breath, but the song kept playing in her head long after it had stopped inside the kitchen. The night came back to her, the blood on her hands and the look in Booth’s eyes and the way the woman fell, the feel of the gun in Brennan’s hand… And Booth, the light fading. Booth dying. Booth’s blood on her hands. Brennan realized she was crying, but she was too busy trying to catch her breath to worry about her tears. She remembered the dreams she’d had when he was gone, the look in his eyes when she couldn’t save him -
And then he was there. Alive. Flesh and blood, completely intact. He sat down beside her on the step, watching her intently.
“Take it easy, Bones,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly soft.
She still wasn’t breathing properly - it occurred to her that if she simply allowed herself to pass out, her body would naturally resume its normal respirations, but she didn’t know how to make herself pass out and she was getting weak, nauseas, something heavy and dark resting on her chest and the back of her shoulders. She realized that Booth was talking to her - he touched her chin, tilted her head so she was looking him in the eye.
He seemed almost unnaturally calm, and she tried to focus on that.
“Bones - hey, it’s okay. Breathe. Just watch me, okay? Like this - in through your nose, right?” He did it - inhaled slowly, and she mirrored him. “And out through your mouth.” His voice was soft, the way he got sometimes when he was talking to Parker, or a witness he didn’t want to frighten. He continued breathing this way a few more times and she breathed along, aware that her tears were still falling. She focused only on the sound of his voice, on restoring a normal breathing pattern.
She had no idea how long they sat like this, just breathing, before her heart slowed and her tears subsided.
“Better now?” he asked, when she was no longer gasping for air. She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“After I got back from the Gulf, I used to get panic attacks,” he told her, studying her as though they’d just shared something she wasn’t certain she’d meant to share.
“They’re a pain in the ass,” he said shortly. “I didn’t know you got them - does it happen much?”
She shook her head. After a moment’s silence, she finally found her voice.
“I began getting them shortly after my parents’ disappearance, and then after that I’d get them occasionally in college. They came back again last year, after - ” she stopped, but it didn’t seem to matter. He knew.
“After I got shot,” he said.
She nodded, roughly brushing away her tears before anymore could fall. “I didn’t compartmentalize very well,” she admitted.
He rolled his eyes, that tic in his jaw starting to move again. If he hadn’t already done it, Brennan was fairly certain he would have gone in and punched Sweets then and there.
“I never should’ve trusted Sweets to take care of it for me, I should’ve told you myself.”
She actually smiled at that. “Booth, that isn't even logical - you would have risked the entire operation. You couldn’t have done that - you did what made sense. There’s no way you could have known Sweets wouldn’t tell me.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t hate the way it played out.”
He took a deep breath, still watching her closely. “You think you’re okay now?”
She nodded.
“Everyone’s just about done in there - I could walk you back to the tents. Tripp said no confab ‘round the fire tonight, so you can actually get a good night’s sleep.”
She smiled at this. “You’ll be able to do the same - no reason to squeeze another person in your sleeping bag tonight, I suppose.”
He grinned, stretching and cracking his back as he stood, before he reached for her hand. When he pulled her up, he did so carefully - as though he didn’t want her to break. Once she was on her feet, they stood toe to toe and she was having trouble breathing again, though now it was for very different reasons.
“Nope, guess not. Though it’s kind of a shame - I mean, I’m all showered and shaved, I’d be a helluva lot better company in a one-man sleeping bag tonight.”
The music was quieter in the kitchen, but still going. Brennan could hear laughter, the clatter of pots and pans, the muffled voices of her friends. Booth was so close that she could feel the heat emanating from him, his hands resting on either side of her body, his eyes intent on hers. She reminded herself to breathe, and took a step back.
“I think - do you mind if I go back alone?” she asked, realizing even as she said it what it must sound like to him. He was clearly disappointed - or hurt, which certainly hadn’t been her intention. But she was exhausted, and the idea of turning Booth away at her tent door suddenly didn’t seem like something she’d have the strength of will to do when the time came.
He nodded. “Yeah - of course, Bones. No problem. I’ll just see you in the morning, then.”
The night air was cool and salty, the smell of pine and earth and ocean thick around her. Booth started to turn away, giving her a smile that she couldn’t read but that didn’t seem genuine. It certainly didn’t seem like her partner, suddenly cloaked and distant. She thought again of the night they’d spent together - of the sound of his heartbeat, the strength of his arms, the trust in his gaze. She swallowed past her fear, pushed past her reservations, and said,
“Booth - wait.”
He turned back, and before she could rethink her actions she bridged the gap between them and kissed him, hard. For one horrible moment, he didn’t respond and she thought she’d misread him - or offended him, or overstepped the strangely shifting boundaries they were just beginning to set. The moment passed quickly, however, and in the next instant she felt his arms tighten around her as he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, with a passion and hunger that had been absent the night before. She opened her mouth, felt herself begin to melt and moisten when his tongue entered, sweeping along her palate, his body pressed to her.
With a supreme effort, she pulled away after another few seconds. Breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Swallowed.
“So - I’ll just see you in the morning, then,” she said, trying to be casual, though her voice sounded noticeably strained.
Booth smirked at her, and she flashed inexplicably on the belt buckle he wore occasionally. Cocky.
“Right,” he said, but she was pleased to note that his voice was just as strained. “See ya in the morning, Bones.”
She managed to marshal her senses enough to head down the path without stumbling and was feeling quite proud of herself when she heard Booth call after her.
“Hey Bones,” he said.
She turned around, slightly annoyed to note that he was still wearing the same smirk, illuminated by the lights from the galley. She was debating whether or not to say something clever - and what, exactly, that clever thing might be - when Booth spoke again.
“The tent’s are that way,” he said, nodding in the opposite direction.
Brennan rolled her eyes, grateful that the darkness hid her blush. “I know where the tents are, Booth. I was merely getting some fresh air, before I return to the site,” she lied. “If that’s all right with you.”
His smirk turned into a grin, and he just shook his head at her. “Sure, Bones. Anything you say. Just be careful - I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded again, determinedly continuing down the wrong path without looking back, just to prove her point. Once she was under the cover of the trees, she stopped walking. Stood up straight and closed her eyes, allowing herself to revel in the memory of Booth’s lips for just a moment before she determinedly pushed the thought away and checked her watch. Eleven o’clock, and she still had to figure out how to get back to her site without backtracking or appearing lost. Sometimes, she just hated her partner.
TBC
Chapter 8, Part 1 can be found here.
Rating: PG/T
Day Seven
Brennan
4 - 11p.m.
Booth told her the story in the early morning, a deep pink sunrise on the horizon and the others still sleeping around them. They’d long since given up on sleep themselves, but Brennan was comfortable where she was and too tired to think about what it meant, so they just talked. A couple of times over the course of the night, she’d felt his erection pressed against her, and she knew that physically she was beyond prepared for a sexual encounter. But he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t say anything, and the fact that they’d had the conversation the day before made the entire subject somehow moot.
By the time he began telling her about his first arrest, she’d decided she didn’t want to know - it was clearly deeply personal to him, and she was certain that she would say the wrong thing, somehow ruining the trust he seemed to place so easily in her hands. Obviously, though, once he began talking about it, it didn’t seem appropriate to stop him. Instead, she lay silently with her head on his chest, listening to his words.
“I told you a little about my old man, right?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Right. So, the thing is that when you grow up in a family like mine,” he said quietly, a certain tension already coloring his tone. “You learn to read people pretty early, you know?” She didn’t, actually, but she didn’t say that. It didn’t matter though, because he continued regardless.
“Like - what it means when the car door slams a certain way, or how to ask a question without setting anybody off, when it’s safe to say something and when to keep your mouth shut.”
He swallowed, and she listened to the sound of his heart and thought about the blood that coursed through his veins, the organs beneath his skin, the bones that she understood and the countless thousands of things that she did not. She lay a hand on his stomach and felt the muscles tighten at her touch, then relax.
“And when you’re a kid,” he continued, that tension still evident in his voice. “You follow the rules - you make sure the table’s set and Mom has dinner ready by five-thirty. That she’s dressed the right way, that you’re dressed the right way, that your kid brother has his homework done and there are no toys on the living room floor. You get really good at keepin’ things straight.”
He shrugged. His voice had taken on a distant quality, as though he was lost in memories Brennan suddenly wished she could erase. It was an irrational desire, but it was what she wanted nonetheless.
“So, anyway… You get older, and you start to get tired of all those rules. Start to get a little pissed off, because you see other kids who don’t walk that tight-wire every fuckin’ day and you start to think, ‘That prick. Who the hell does he think he is?’ And that's when things start to get tricky.”
She shifted, suddenly wanting to see him. A flock of seagulls was shrieking in the distance, diving headlong into the water, and it promised to be a beautiful day. She knew that they should get up - that the others would be waking soon, that Belle and Tripp were probably desperately searching for them by now, but all she wanted in that instant was to see him. To see that he’d made it through, that he wasn’t as damaged as she was sure she would have been in his place.
“How old were you when things started to get… tricky?” she asked, hoping that it wasn’t the wrong question.
He smiled grimly, never turning from her gaze. She liked that about him - other men were frequently intimidated by how direct she could be, but Booth never looked away.
“Thirteen or fourteen, I think. I’d been playing sports since I was a kid, then I started lifting weights, doing some boxing once I hit high school. I’d been sort of scrambling at home for so long, trying to make sure everything was just right so my old man didn’t get pissed off - and then all of a sudden I just kinda realized that it wasn’t working. He still got pissed off. He still…” He shook his head, didn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, it wasn’t working. So, I thought... Time to change strategies.”
They shifted so that they were lying side by side now, facing one another. He ran his thumb along her cheekbones, her forehead, her lips - it didn’t seem deliberate, and she wondered if he even knew he was doing it.
“And you began to use intimidation?” she asked, still not sure whether it was appropriate to ask questions. But he hadn’t balked at one yet, so she had to assume they were still all right.
“Pretty much, yeah,” he nodded. “Even though I had sports after school, I always tried to make sure I was home before he got there. Or at least before he started getting wound up, which usually wasn’t until eight or nine. And if he tried anything, I’d just be there to step in. I’d usually just take it on the chin, but at least it wasn’t Jared or my mom by then. I told him if he laid a hand on them anymore, he’d…” he shrugged. “Anyway, I told him. It worked, more or less. But then there was this one night - it was fall, football season. I was sixteen. There was an away game that night, so I didn’t get home until about eleven.”
He fell silent. His jaw was tensed - his whole body, in fact, was tensed. His dark eyes had taken on a distant cast, and Brennan knew that he wasn’t seeing her anymore. She wished that she knew what to do, what gesture to make or words to say to bring him back. But she didn’t, so she just waited in silence before she finally prompted him.
“What happened then?” she asked, and when he continued she knew she wouldn’t be able to bring him back until he was through.
“Something set him off while I was gone. I got home and there was nothing weird about the place, but you know how when we go to a scene sometimes, you can just… tell?”
She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.
“So, yeah... I just knew something was wrong. The kitchen was cleaned up, the dishes were done, my dad was passed out in front of the TV and Jared and my mom were both in bed. But I just had this feeling, you know? So, I started looking around - checking the cupboards. Nothing weird there. The bathroom. Nothing out of place, not so much as a hair in the sink or a spot on the tile. But, I just couldn’t get it out of my head that something had happened. So I checked the garbage.”
She waited, realized she was holding her breath in anticipation.
“There was a broken casserole dish inside, most of the casserole thrown away with it. And mixed in with it was this huge gob of wet, bloody paper towels. And it just hit me, all of a sudden, that I couldn’t keep them safe. Not unless I quit sports and never left home, or kidnapped Jared and my mom and ran away with them, or something nuts like that. There was no way. I’d been trying to get my mom to leave since I was a kid, and I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. And so I just kind of… snapped.” His voice was level as he continued, his forehead furrowed as though he was trying to sort through the details. “I took a knife from the kitchen drawer, and I went into the living room and watched him sleep for a while before I…” he trailed off.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You killed your father?”
He rolled his eyes, actually grinning at her. “No, Bones - Jesus, you think you can join the FBI if you bump off your old man at sixteen? I stuck him in the shoulder, he screamed, my mom woke up, she called the cops. They took me in and put me in a cell for the night, but they’d been out to our house enough over the years to know he had it comin’.”
“So he didn’t press charges?” she asked.
“Fuck no. He’d knocked out two of Jared’s teeth that night when Jared said he didn’t like the casserole they were having. What’s my old man gonna tell the cops when his other kid shows up with a swollen jaw and his front teeth missing? He dropped the charges. I went home the next night. Survived two more years, joined the Army when I turned eighteen.”
He continued to follow the lines of her face with his thumb, back in the present now.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she was.
“Yeah…” he shrugged. “I am too, in some ways. But in some ways…”
“You’re glad your father was an abusive alcoholic who terrorized your family?” she asked skeptically.
He actually laughed at that, which was good because it definitely hadn’t come out the way she’d intended.
“No, Bones. Geez. But… I mean, I know it’s corny but I really do sorta believe everything happens for a reason.”
“Because God has a plan,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to say it like that, Bones. But… yeah. I’m sorry, that’s what I believe. So, if my old man wasn’t a jackass, maybe I wouldn’t’ve joined the Army. Or become a sniper. Or met Rebecca, and knocked her up - which means I never would’ve had Parker. And you know I’m nuts about my kid. And if I hadn’t been a sniper, I wouldn’t have gotten into the FBI - and I love my job. And if I hadn’t landed in the FBI, I never would’ve met you.” He grinned endearingly, still not breaking eye contact. “And right now I’m kinda glad I met you, Bones.”
“Me too, Booth,” she said quietly, not sure if he understood just how much she meant it.
They got up after that, cleaned up the campsite and were reprimanded for breaking solo and then spent the day reading poorly written clues and retrieving coolers full of food. When they found the bell tower, she went up first and Booth put his hand on her behind while she was walking up and it was just a small thing, but the simple contact - doubtlessly combined with lack of proper sleep or nourishment and too much sun exposure - had been enough to make her momentarily lightheaded. She stumbled, just slightly, and he laughed at her.
“Geez, Bones - careful,” he whispered in her ear, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. “I was just coppin’ a feel, don’t pass out on me.”
She rolled her eyes, but she found it difficult to deny her quickening pulse when he touched her. With extraordinary effort, she didn’t think about what would happen once they got back to D.C. She didn’t think about what this shift meant, or what he was thinking, or what she was thinking. She definitely did not think about their partnership, or whether this meant that she should buy a bigger TV for her apartment or if he would expect her to go to baseball games or if she was supposed to begin spending time with Parker. And if she was supposed to begin spending time with Parker, what exactly were they supposed to do?
No, she definitely was not thinking about any of those things.
By the time they got back to Hurricane Island, towing their coolers and their lobsters and their bedraggled, very pungent selves, Brennan was exhausted. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, despite having circumnavigated the island in ice cold ocean waters the previous day. The flood of hormones that seemed to accompany her overnight with Booth had left her shaky and off-balance, and she suddenly felt a very keen desire to retreat. She was aware that Booth was watching her, waiting for signs that she was ‘freaking out,’ as he called it.
Thankfully, Belle handed over keys to the showers as soon as they reached the island, which gave Brennan a perfect excuse to have some time to herself.
“Fresh towels are up at the bathhouse,” Belle explained. “Just follow the trail up the hill here - it’s your first right. Don’t forget your shampoo.”
The three women went up together, none of them saying a word. It seemed suddenly to Brennan that everything had been said - they’d been together constantly for the past seven days, discussing both the most and the least significant aspects of their lives in that time. She wondered if she would ever have anything to say to any of them, ever again. That was clearly an overstatement, but at the very least she knew she didn’t have the energy to communicate with anyone just then.
The bathhouse was primitive, but it was better than the poorly ventilated, weak showers they’d taken before going to the medical clinic a few days before. The water pressure was more than adequate, and the water at least started out hot before quickly giving way to cooler and cooler temperatures. Brennan retreated to her own stall, and was surprised to find herself crying when the first spray of hot water hit her face. She did so quietly, not wanting to be heard by the others, and pressed her head against the cool tile, letting the water run through her hair, down her spine, trailing in rivers over the places where Booth had touched her, the points where their bodies had connected in the past twenty-four hours.
It wasn’t despair, she realized - that definitely wasn’t why she was crying. She had no idea how to feel about what seemed to be happening with Booth, but it seemed to her that that might be all right, for the moment. She was exhausted. Grateful for the people in her life. Moved by the ways that Booth trusted her when she’d done nothing to earn that trust; shaken by how much she cared about him, and terrified that she would do something to ruin everything that was happening, that she would push him away and the friendship would be lost.
But, despite all of those thoughts, it wasn’t despair. Just exhaustion.
She washed her hair, working to untangle the knots until the hot water was gone and the cool water was almost cold. She shaved her legs, and under her arms. She flossed and brushed her teeth. When she finally emerged, Cam and Angela were nowhere to be found and she realized she’d completely lost track of time. Still, she felt renewed - as though she’d sloughed her old skin, emerging pink and shining and reborn.
For some reason, Brennan found herself slightly surprised to learn there were other students on the island when she emerged from the showers. It seemed that their group was the only one that had to work for their dinner - everyone else apparently merely had to arrive at the designated location at the appointed time, and they’d be fed. Brennan supposed that this was because no one else’s group had broken solo, physically assaulted another member of their team, or repeatedly refused to answer the questions the instructors asked of them.
However, the other students apparently hadn’t been given access to the bathhouse, which somehow made up for the lengths they’d gone to to procure their dinner. As she made her way along the trail leading to the rocks where the rest of the students were waiting, Brennan could already smell the food grilling in the open air. A group of teenagers in matching Outward Bound t-shirts and greasy, stained bandanas greeted her with smiles and an affable ‘Hey,’ and she appreciated the lack of downcast eyes or defensive body postures.
It wasn’t as though the island was teeming with people - perhaps fifty in all, scattered in groups on the granite rocks, clutching paper plates and bright red, paper cups. A long, primitive looking grill had been set up at the edge of the woods, haphazard rows of foil-wrapped corn on the cob and baked potatoes waiting. She selected a bright red lobster and a small bowl of melted butter, baked potato, green beans and salad and corn, before she decided she could always come back if she wanted more.
After a few seconds of scanning the crowd, she spotted her group seated in a semi-circle on a rock at the water’s edge, and made a concerted effort to ignore her quickening pulse at sight of Booth. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he wore a gray Outward Bound sweatshirt that he must have purchased from the school store. Despite how much she’d scrubbed, Brennan was still wearing clothes that reeked of campfire smoke, salt, and body odor - she wished silently that she’d thought of the school store.
Once she reached the group, Booth scooted over and she sat down beside him, trying to ignore the feeling that she was somehow doing something out of the ordinary. She always sat beside Booth, she reminded herself. Nothing was different.
“I thought we’d lost you for a minute there, Bones. Ange and Cam said they didn’t think you were ever coming out.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hadn’t bathed in five days, and in case you forgot, I was forced to spend the night in an unventilated, overheated sleeping bag with someone else who hadn’t bathed for five days,” she looked pointedly at Angela, who grinned at this. Brennan breathed an internal sigh of relief - See, she thought to herself. Nothing’s different. “I deserved a long shower.”
Everyone ate too much. Laughed, told stories, talked about what they missed about home and what they were dreading upon their return. Booth told a story about protecting a diplomat who believed she was inhabited by the spirit of Jackson Pollock - the entire group burst into laughter when he admitted that the entire time, he couldn’t figure out why the woman thought she was possessed by an overpaid CPA. Booth took one look at Brennan once the story was finished and just shook his head, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Forget it, Bones. I’ll explain later.” She didn’t know why, but the intimacy of the remark - the idea that she would see him later, once dinner was over and everyone else had gone their separate ways, seemed strangely thrilling. She supposed it was the lack of sleep.
When everyone was too full to eat another bite, Tripp stood with a grin and nodded toward a building sheltered by the trees.
“All right, gang - sorry to tell you this, but you guys are actually on galley duty tonight.”
Cam groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. We’ll be up all night.”
Even Brennan didn’t miss it when Tripp rested a hand on the back of Cam’s neck, letting it linger there a little longer than seemed appropriate.
“Don’t worry - I’ll help. You guys’ll be done in no time.”
Booth got up then, offering Brennan his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Once they were face to face, he waited until the others had ventured up the trail before he stopped her with his hand on her arm.
“Hey, Bones - hang on, I got ya something. I mean - it’s nothing big, I just… you know, I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everybody, in case they thought it was weird.”
He hesitated, and Brennan wasn’t sure whether or not she was supposed to respond. So, she just stood there and he just stood there, until finally she raised her eyebrows at him in question.
“Booth? Is it… I mean, is it something… here?”
“Oh!” He came to at her question, though he seemed increasingly flustered. “Yeah - it is. But, like I said, it’s nothing big.” He rummaged through his day pack until he finally produced a sweatshirt similar to the one he was wearing, though this one was a dark blue.
“Like I said, it’s no big deal. I just figured, you know, you wouldn’t have any clean clothes until tomorrow, and this might be nice to curl up in. And if you don’t like the color you can exchange it - you just… I mean, you look kind of pretty in blue. Because of your eyes.” He took a breath, and she couldn’t help but smile - she’d never seen him like this.
He rolled his eyes. “And now you’re laughing at me. Nice. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten it.”
And then she really did laugh, because the whole thing suddenly seemed so absurd - Booth was rambling like a lunatic and she, Temperance Brennan, was the tactful one. When had that ever happened before?
“I’m not laughing at you. Well - I am, I suppose, but the shirt is very thoughtful. You didn’t have to do that.”
He sighed, but she could tell by the little twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth that he was pleased.
She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly pulled the shirt she was wearing over her head and exchanged it for the one Booth had purchased.
“Bones, what the hell are you doing?” he stepped in front of her quickly, trying to block the view should anyone happen by.
Once the sweatshirt was on, she pulled her hair from the collar and adjusted the shirt before looking at Booth. She felt awkward and strange, uncertain of what was appropriate and what was not in these uncharted waters.
“It fits,” she finally said, because she couldn’t think of anything else.
He took a step closer, straightening the collar and pulling the hem down just a bit. Over the years, she’d gotten used to feeling a certain electricity when Booth touched her - a tiny charge when he lay his hand at the small of her back or brushed a piece of lint from her shoulder, lifted her chin or put his arm around her shoulders. Now, however, just seeing him seemed to set her alight in some bizarre way that she couldn’t quite understand and was increasingly unable to ignore. He pulled her closer, so that they were suddenly just inches apart and she couldn’t seem to stop looking into his dark eyes.
“Hey!” she heard Hodgins’s voice up ahead, and the two sprang apart instantly. A moment later, he appeared on the path and looked at them curiously.
“Sorry, guys - didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know we’ll be in the galley. Whenever you’re ready to join us.”
He looked like he knew something, a slight smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. She wondered if he had seen them before he’d announced his presence.
Booth nodded, and he seemed to be avoiding looking at her. “Yeah, we’re on our way.”
They followed behind Hodgins, Brennan careful to maintain a safe distance from her partner as they walked the path to the galley. They could hear music long before the building came into view, and Booth looked at Hodgins questioningly.
“Have we got live music to serenade us while we work or what?”
“No - there’s an awesome sound system in there, though. The dude who runs the kitchen is apparently some crazy audiophile, he’s got MP3s of every song on the planet. Sweets is going nuts.”
By the time they reached the entrance to the kitchen, Brennan had been infected by the beat and the residual rush of endorphins from her near-encounter with Booth. She dashed up the steps and couldn’t help but smile when she found the rest of the group moving in time to the music as they tackled the seemingly insurmountable pile of dishes awaiting them.
The galley was large and professional looking, with a row of commercial, stainless steel ovens, walk-in refrigerator and freezer, and a somewhat forbidding looking old, commercial dishwasher. Tripp explained that in the past, when Outward Bound had dozens of courses and thousands of students each summer, a full staff oversaw the kitchen and students regularly ate in the adjacent dining hall. Now, as competitors offered more glamorous alternatives to the organization’s no-frills wilderness adventures, they had fallen on hard times. When the galley was open, volunteers oversaw operations; otherwise, the building was regularly rented out to company retreats and teambuilding exercises.
Brennan stood in front of a massive bulletin board covered with old photos, some that looked as though they dated back to the sixties. Dirty, unshaven, laughing faces stared back at her. She found herself wondering about their histories, where they were now - what they’d learned on the island, and the direction it had taken them.
But then the floor beneath her feet was shaking, the bass vibrating her eardrums and her spine and the walls around them. Booth came over and bumped her lightly in the ass with his hip, and she couldn’t help but grin.
“Come on, Bones - let’s get to it. I don’t wanna be here all night.”
She turned from the strangers’ faces without a second thought, and went to join her friends.
While Tripp sifted through the lobster carcasses for any meat that hadn’t already been picked clean and Sweets took charge of the music, the rest of the group dove into the cleaning process. There was an air of celebration about the place, with frequent dance breaks, water fights, and laughter. As soon as she heard the first strains of ‘Respect’ come on the sound system, Angela grabbed Cam and Brennan and the three women spun and danced together in the center of the kitchen while the men continued working, pretending they weren’t watching every shake and shimmy from the shapely trio.
Afterward, Brennan returned to her station out of breath and giddy from the music and excitement and, admittedly, the lack of sleep. Soon, she’d settled back into drying and putting away dishes, sandwiched between Hodgins and Booth. They had a good rhythm going, an easy air of camaraderie about the scene that made her think of her childhood, cleaning up with Russ and her parents on weeknights when she was a child.
But then the next song came on, and suddenly she wasn’t thinking about camaraderie. Or family. Or anything, really. Before she even registered what the song was, her chest tightened and her hands began to shake. She quickly set down the pan she’d been drying so that she wouldn’t drop it, and Booth looked at her. Her head swam, and she realized that she wasn’t breathing - trying not to appear overly dramatic, she quickly excused herself and hurried outside just as Cyndi Lauper launched into the chorus of a song Brennan had loved not so long ago.
The fresh air should have helped, but it didn’t seem to. Somewhere far off, she heard Booth shout for Sweets to change the song, his anger palpable. Brennan sat on the front steps, trying to concentrate on her breath, but the song kept playing in her head long after it had stopped inside the kitchen. The night came back to her, the blood on her hands and the look in Booth’s eyes and the way the woman fell, the feel of the gun in Brennan’s hand… And Booth, the light fading. Booth dying. Booth’s blood on her hands. Brennan realized she was crying, but she was too busy trying to catch her breath to worry about her tears. She remembered the dreams she’d had when he was gone, the look in his eyes when she couldn’t save him -
And then he was there. Alive. Flesh and blood, completely intact. He sat down beside her on the step, watching her intently.
“Take it easy, Bones,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly soft.
She still wasn’t breathing properly - it occurred to her that if she simply allowed herself to pass out, her body would naturally resume its normal respirations, but she didn’t know how to make herself pass out and she was getting weak, nauseas, something heavy and dark resting on her chest and the back of her shoulders. She realized that Booth was talking to her - he touched her chin, tilted her head so she was looking him in the eye.
He seemed almost unnaturally calm, and she tried to focus on that.
“Bones - hey, it’s okay. Breathe. Just watch me, okay? Like this - in through your nose, right?” He did it - inhaled slowly, and she mirrored him. “And out through your mouth.” His voice was soft, the way he got sometimes when he was talking to Parker, or a witness he didn’t want to frighten. He continued breathing this way a few more times and she breathed along, aware that her tears were still falling. She focused only on the sound of his voice, on restoring a normal breathing pattern.
She had no idea how long they sat like this, just breathing, before her heart slowed and her tears subsided.
“Better now?” he asked, when she was no longer gasping for air. She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“After I got back from the Gulf, I used to get panic attacks,” he told her, studying her as though they’d just shared something she wasn’t certain she’d meant to share.
“They’re a pain in the ass,” he said shortly. “I didn’t know you got them - does it happen much?”
She shook her head. After a moment’s silence, she finally found her voice.
“I began getting them shortly after my parents’ disappearance, and then after that I’d get them occasionally in college. They came back again last year, after - ” she stopped, but it didn’t seem to matter. He knew.
“After I got shot,” he said.
She nodded, roughly brushing away her tears before anymore could fall. “I didn’t compartmentalize very well,” she admitted.
He rolled his eyes, that tic in his jaw starting to move again. If he hadn’t already done it, Brennan was fairly certain he would have gone in and punched Sweets then and there.
“I never should’ve trusted Sweets to take care of it for me, I should’ve told you myself.”
She actually smiled at that. “Booth, that isn't even logical - you would have risked the entire operation. You couldn’t have done that - you did what made sense. There’s no way you could have known Sweets wouldn’t tell me.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t hate the way it played out.”
He took a deep breath, still watching her closely. “You think you’re okay now?”
She nodded.
“Everyone’s just about done in there - I could walk you back to the tents. Tripp said no confab ‘round the fire tonight, so you can actually get a good night’s sleep.”
She smiled at this. “You’ll be able to do the same - no reason to squeeze another person in your sleeping bag tonight, I suppose.”
He grinned, stretching and cracking his back as he stood, before he reached for her hand. When he pulled her up, he did so carefully - as though he didn’t want her to break. Once she was on her feet, they stood toe to toe and she was having trouble breathing again, though now it was for very different reasons.
“Nope, guess not. Though it’s kind of a shame - I mean, I’m all showered and shaved, I’d be a helluva lot better company in a one-man sleeping bag tonight.”
The music was quieter in the kitchen, but still going. Brennan could hear laughter, the clatter of pots and pans, the muffled voices of her friends. Booth was so close that she could feel the heat emanating from him, his hands resting on either side of her body, his eyes intent on hers. She reminded herself to breathe, and took a step back.
“I think - do you mind if I go back alone?” she asked, realizing even as she said it what it must sound like to him. He was clearly disappointed - or hurt, which certainly hadn’t been her intention. But she was exhausted, and the idea of turning Booth away at her tent door suddenly didn’t seem like something she’d have the strength of will to do when the time came.
He nodded. “Yeah - of course, Bones. No problem. I’ll just see you in the morning, then.”
The night air was cool and salty, the smell of pine and earth and ocean thick around her. Booth started to turn away, giving her a smile that she couldn’t read but that didn’t seem genuine. It certainly didn’t seem like her partner, suddenly cloaked and distant. She thought again of the night they’d spent together - of the sound of his heartbeat, the strength of his arms, the trust in his gaze. She swallowed past her fear, pushed past her reservations, and said,
“Booth - wait.”
He turned back, and before she could rethink her actions she bridged the gap between them and kissed him, hard. For one horrible moment, he didn’t respond and she thought she’d misread him - or offended him, or overstepped the strangely shifting boundaries they were just beginning to set. The moment passed quickly, however, and in the next instant she felt his arms tighten around her as he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, with a passion and hunger that had been absent the night before. She opened her mouth, felt herself begin to melt and moisten when his tongue entered, sweeping along her palate, his body pressed to her.
With a supreme effort, she pulled away after another few seconds. Breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Swallowed.
“So - I’ll just see you in the morning, then,” she said, trying to be casual, though her voice sounded noticeably strained.
Booth smirked at her, and she flashed inexplicably on the belt buckle he wore occasionally. Cocky.
“Right,” he said, but she was pleased to note that his voice was just as strained. “See ya in the morning, Bones.”
She managed to marshal her senses enough to head down the path without stumbling and was feeling quite proud of herself when she heard Booth call after her.
“Hey Bones,” he said.
She turned around, slightly annoyed to note that he was still wearing the same smirk, illuminated by the lights from the galley. She was debating whether or not to say something clever - and what, exactly, that clever thing might be - when Booth spoke again.
“The tent’s are that way,” he said, nodding in the opposite direction.
Brennan rolled her eyes, grateful that the darkness hid her blush. “I know where the tents are, Booth. I was merely getting some fresh air, before I return to the site,” she lied. “If that’s all right with you.”
His smirk turned into a grin, and he just shook his head at her. “Sure, Bones. Anything you say. Just be careful - I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded again, determinedly continuing down the wrong path without looking back, just to prove her point. Once she was under the cover of the trees, she stopped walking. Stood up straight and closed her eyes, allowing herself to revel in the memory of Booth’s lips for just a moment before she determinedly pushed the thought away and checked her watch. Eleven o’clock, and she still had to figure out how to get back to her site without backtracking or appearing lost. Sometimes, she just hated her partner.
TBC
Chapter 8, Part 1 can be found here.