This must be that elusive feeling that comes with shipping the main pairing for something
Fandom: Bones
Title: Statistically, It Was Pretty Much Inevitable.
Characters/Pairings: Booth/Bones, Angela
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 3,014
Warnings: Small Spoiler for 2.12 (The Man in the Cell)
Written based on silver_fic's request (although it sort of deviated from the original concept).
Eternal thanks to sophia_helix who talked me through writing this. Without her I might not have ever gotten it finished.
Her head is throbbing as she regains consciousness. It's dark and somewhat damp. She can feel the concrete beneath her legs, but her head is elevated and on something soft. It takes her a minute to recognize it as a man's lap and identify the smell of Booth's cologne amidst the dirt and perspiration. He's muttering to himself quietly, almost a chant. She can make out the words: God, please, and her own name, along with some profanities. She opens her eyes, knowing it's somewhat futile, and tries to sit up.
Booth almost jumps as he feels her move, "Bones?" he asks, full of excitement and concern, "Oh thank God, you're awake."
The arm is not using to support her head squeezes her tightly.
"So bored you resorted to talking to yourself already?" she tries to laugh but it hurts too much, not just her head but down her side.
"I was worried."
He doesn't need to say it. His body posture and tone reveal that even to Bones, and she isn't good with people. Booth isn't people though, he's Booth and he's worried. Her fingers are sticky with blood when she touches her stomach, but further examination shows the gash to be more to the side, unlikely to have damaged anything vital. It won’t kill her, just hurt like a bitch. From the fact that his shirt is wrapped around like a bandage, he has to know this too. So why is he so panicked?
"So I'm guessing from our current location that the smugglers didn't take kindly to my threat to have them deported."
She can almost see his shocked expression that she's even mentioning that while they are locked in a basement with her bleeding all over the concrete floor, even though she can't actually see a damned thing. She almost starts to argue that it is entirely appropriate, but he's leaning in, warm breath on her chilled face.
"Jesus Bones, I..."
Booth sounds like he’s choking up, so she cuts him off. The waiting is making him stir crazy, clearly, and friends don't let friends embarrass themselves, "I take it you accessed the situation, checked for possible supplies or exits.”
"Yeah. We're trapped. The good news is they haven't moved us, so no doubt the squints will find us when we don’t show up for work on Monday, but I..."
He's worried about her. They both should know her injuries aren't life threatening, but somehow it is like he's forgotten all his technical knowledge.
"We'll be fine," she interrupts again, "They'll find us on Monday morning and the bad guys will already have disappeared past our ability to track them. We're just lucky that they were smart enough not to think they needed to add more murders to their warrant list today."
"But what if you weren’t okay?" He insists, even though he knows she hates to be fussed over. His cheek is rough against her face.
"If we are ever in that situation, clearly you will have to cannibalize me to stay alive when my time comes," she jokes; he's starting to get really wigged out and she wishes he would stop.
“How about next time you keep that overly educated mouth of yours shut, so you don’t piss off the criminals and get stabbed?”
“Why? Because, according to your archaic definitions of gender only males are allowed to be foolhardy and loudmouthed?”
"It's not funny, Bones."
"Actually I'm pretty sure it is. Besides, aren't you used to people dying around you?"
"People," he pauses, "Not you."
Booth is using that urgent tone her boyfriends always start in on when they want to break up or move in together. Why are they even having this conversation, when they both know that she will be fine? Fuck, it hurts though.
"I'm sure the F.B.I. will find you another irritating scientist to baby-sit. Maybe even a busty blonde."
"I don't want some stupid blonde scientist, Bones. I need…"
"Water. You are undoubtedly getting dehydrated and it's making you panic over ridiculous ideas. Stop wasting energy getting all worked up."
He shuts up, but he keeps holding her. He's warmer than the floor though so she decides to stay there and try and sleep through as much of this as possible. Everything really hurts and it's harder to sleep than it should be. She's drifting in an out of consciousness and he's murmuring again. She adds “love” to the list of words she can pick out, but chooses not to read anything into the ravings of a restless man, trapped.
At some point he falls asleep, because he calms, though he continues to clutch her tightly. He's still murmuring in his sleep, and she reaches up to touch him. Maybe he's feverish, despite her being the one wounded.
He grabs at her hand as she touches his face, more pressure than is strictly comfortable, and brings it to his lips. She can’t bring herself to pry his fingers off of hers. She tells herself it is because he is upset and seems to find it comforting. She tells herself she doesn’t want to wake him because he’ll start talking nonsense again and she’d rather balance equations in her head.
Time goes on and on. The rescue is somewhat of a blur, and when things finally come back into focus she's in a hospital bed. Booth is passed on in a chair next to her. He looks like he still hasn't shaved.
"He's been there since the doctors released him with instructions to hydrate himself," Angela says. She's leaning in the doorway, smiling quietly, "It's good to have you back."
"How long were we in that place?" Bones asks.
"2 and a half days. When we found you, the paramedics had a hard time prying Booth off you."
Angela seems awfully pleased with this. Bones refuses to acknowledge it though, instead she asks, "What day is it?" and finds out it is Tuesday morning.
When Booth wakes up she kicks him out of her room to go take a shower. He keeps looking at her like he has something to say, and she's relieved when he leaves at last.
He's back by sundown, bringing take-out and expectations. It's awkwardly silent in places, like he's still thinking about what to say. Bones doesn't like it, doesn't appreciate the breakdown of their comfortable repartee. Luckily it gets a little better, and some of their banter returns.
"Funny how you were the one freaking out and crying like a little girl, when I was the one with the stab wound," she needles.
"I told you. I was concerned for your welfare," he insists.
"You completely blew the whole thing out of proportion."
"Because I care, Bones. You're important to me."
"So you get irrational and debilitate your ability to help me?" she disagrees, "Booth, when Hodgins or Zack, or Angela, or even Cam is in danger you are Mr. rational and in control, take charge and all. I think you just didn't like being closed in like that."
He grabs her hand, staring at her in a way that makes her sort of uncomfortable.
"Let's cut the crap Bones. You aren't just a coworker to me…"
It's been an emotional week and she tries to head him off, "We're friends Booth, I know. I was just teasing you as is customary, within the structure of the cultural norm for that social dynamic.”
Booth smiles for the first time in the conversation, “There is nothing normal about you. Face it Bones, you’re a total freak.”
“I’d rather be a freak than freak out for no reason like you,” she retorts.
“There was a reason I was freaking out and we both know what it is,” he argues, a hint of that serious boyfriend voice creeping back in.
“Because things were out of your control and you can’t stand feeling powerless because it creates for you a sense of emasculation.”
She says this clinically but she expects him to get offended and snappy back at her. She says it to get that reaction in fact. So she’s surprised when he steamrolls right over her diversion tactic and onwards with the serious conversation theme he’s been pushing.
“No, because I realized something down there, Bones,” he corrects, sitting down next to her, “Because, you’re never quiet or helpless, and seeing you like I started thinking how I’d feel if it was serious,” he reaches down to touch her face and that look is on his again.
“Relieved?” she suggests, trying to break the somber mood that Booth seems to be so intent on.
“Full of regret,” he pauses slightly before rushing on, “Look I know we’re partners and friends and all of those lines you aren’t supposed to cross, but I’m crazy about you, Bones, and if something happened and I never told you, gave it my best shot, I’d feel like an idiot the rest of my life.”
“Booth I…”
Thirty seconds ago she’d had dozens of things to say. Now she was wades through statistics and anthropological facts trying to find something that is the least bit relevant. It isn’t like she’s never been on the receiving end of a declaration like this before. She is socially awkward, not repulsively hideous.
This is Booth though. They order take out and solve murders. He wears ridiculous ties and tries in vain to recondition her social coding. Sure she’s thought about it. Booth is competent and good looking, and maybe she’s known to a certain extent that not all their interactions are completely platonic. He is someone she trusts though, someone she relies on, and Bones’ relationships tend to be short lived and irreparable when they cross over the line between friends and more.
“I didn’t end things with Cam because a relationship with someone I work with seemed too dangerous, Bones. I did it because if I was going to risk having one I realized it should be with the person I really want, and that is, and has been, you.”
His mouth is on hers before she has a chance to realize what’s happening and he’s warm and insistent and everything that Booth should be. It’s the kind of kiss that draws the mind into indulging in fantasy.
The rustle of curtains, as the nurse approaches, cuts things off abruptly. Booth is shooed out so that Bones can be examined and when he returns Bones has her eyes closed, the appearance of sleep forcing him to heed the nurse’s insistence that visiting hours are over.
She is glad that the doctors say she will be able to go home tomorrow. She doesn’t like being stuck in the hospital, immobilized for everyone to descend upon or ignore.
Angela arrives before visiting hours, as instructed, bringing with her real clothes. She gives Bones a look that indicates she has more to say, but lets the release papers be signed and the car get on the freeway before she brings it up.
“So why the early morning escape?” She asks, as if she didn’t suspect anything in particular.
“I’m anxious to get home to my own bed. Is that so strange?”
“You didn’t tell Booth you were going,” Angela comments.
“No. I don’t see how it has anything to do with him.”
“I imagine he’s going to be pretty let down when he shows up at the hospital with breakfast and you’re already gone.”
“How do you know he’s bringing breakfast?” Bones is temporarily nervous that Angela might have told Booth or be plotting something like taking her to Booth’s instead of her own place. She doesn’t look smug or guilty enough for either, though.
“Do you really want to force me to mention what you are so desperately trying to avoid talking about? I’m trying to be nice here.”
“Fine… Booth told me he wanted us to be partners more than professionally last night.”
Bones can hear Booth’s critiquing her choice of delivery for that information. Angela looks for a moment like she’s won the lotto and Bones is afraid she’ll run them right off the road. Then the look turns to one of exasperation as she waits for Bones to elaborate.
“And?”
“He kissed me.”
“So what did you say? Was it a good kiss?” Angela is like a child with an overabundance of sugar in her system.
“Nothing. It was a tremendously good kiss,” Bones replied succinctly, giving both statements no particular weight.
“What do you mean nothing?” Angela exclaims like she’s confessed to murder.
“The nurse came in before I had a chance to come up with anything,” Bones justifies.
“So it was a fantastic kiss, but you haven’t talked to him at all since he put himself out there, and you snuck out of the hospital early so he couldn’t find you to talk about it. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I mean I don’t exactly have the best track record with these things. Dating Booth would be like playing Russian Roulette with our friendship. It would be only a matter of time before the whole thing would blow up in our faces.”
“Don’t you think he’s considered the possibility?” Angela argues, “He’s kept from saying anything for this long for a reason. Look I’m not telling you to throw your instincts out the window, just at least give him the courtesy of a conversation.”
“So you don’t think I should date Booth.”
Bones hadn’t considered that possibility. She’d assumed that Angela would want to play matchmaker to the two of them. That was something friends did, right?
“I wasn’t advocating either way, but if you want my advice, give it a chance. Remember what you told me when I asked you for advice?”
“That you and Hodgins would have a horrible date?”
“To try and see. Even though you didn’t think it would work out, you were right in thinking that if we never found out whether it would work things would stay unresolved and awkward.”
Bones walks up the stairs, thinking about the heat of Booth’s lips against hers the night before, about all the nights they’ve spent in random backwater towns and mornings laughing at the diner. She thinks about the way his eyes glaze over just a bit when he watches his son play at the park.
The hot water stings a little when she steps under the showerhead, but it feels good to wash the feeling of hospital off of her skin. She reaches for the shampoo she purchased a few weeks ago when she and Booth were in Seattle, going to a conference. She realizes that she can identify almost everything she owns in a way that ties it to Booth. It’s more intimate, somehow, than she’s felt towards all of her ex boyfriends combined.
Tired, Bones slides down the shower wall and stays leaning on the tile, the warm water rushing over her and indulges in the kind of reverie that Booth’s kiss invited. Sliding her hand up her thigh she can almost feel the calloused texture of his hand on her body. The framing of the imagery is one she’s used many times before.
They are in her office at the Jeffersonian, arguing about a case, when he interrupts her mid sentence, grabbing hold of her and pulling her frame against his, claiming her mouth, as one hand holds onto her, and the other gropes her ass, as he guides her backwards until she’s up against her desk.
She reaches her own hand up to pinch her nipple as she imagines him playing with it, she can almost feel the wetness of his mouth around the other as the spray from the shower hits it. Sometimes she makes up the way he’d probably kiss all the way down her stomach until he got down between her legs and put his tongue to good use. Tonight she’s impatient though, so they skip that and she’s unbuttoning his pants already, cloth falling around ankles so as to be out of the way.
Bones is done teasing around her perimeter as she presses her two longest fingers up inside and imagines how it might feel when Booth pushed into her. He’d keep at least one hand on her hip, right on the boundary between possessively firm and obnoxious. It’s not so much fast as deliberate, long, hard, strokes as he refuses to move his eyes from her face. She’s pressing hard now, building closer and closer to release as she imagines his cursing and grunting and finally collapsing against her.
She stays splayed on the shower floor until the water starts to get cold and she has to turn it off and wrap a towel around herself.
It’s getting dark by the time she finally puts clothes on and heads out the door. Booth’s favorite Indian place is not terribly far out of the way so she stops on the way. He’s in shorts and a wife beater when he answers the door, looking surprised to see her.
“You weren’t at the hospital.”
“I needed a shower.”
“I didn’t mean to make things weird. If you want a new FBI agent I’m sure…”
“Booth.”
He looks up from the floor and she wraps her hand around the back of his head and kisses the dejected look right off of his face. They stumble backwards into his apartment, managing to get the door closed without too much effort. Breathing heavily, Booth, gasps, “I guess this means you reevaluated the anthropological implications of my case?”
“I just remembered one very basic concept,” Bones says into his collarbone.
“What is that?”
“Ultimately, humans, like every other animal, act based on what they most desire, regardless of social taboo or possible danger. Although, their method of achieving that desire may be shaped by societal and pragmatic concerns”
With that she slides her hand down the front of Booth’s pants and he is seemingly too distracted and busy working his hands up her shirt to counter her analysis of the situation.
Title: Statistically, It Was Pretty Much Inevitable.
Characters/Pairings: Booth/Bones, Angela
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 3,014
Warnings: Small Spoiler for 2.12 (The Man in the Cell)
Written based on silver_fic's request (although it sort of deviated from the original concept).
Eternal thanks to sophia_helix who talked me through writing this. Without her I might not have ever gotten it finished.
Her head is throbbing as she regains consciousness. It's dark and somewhat damp. She can feel the concrete beneath her legs, but her head is elevated and on something soft. It takes her a minute to recognize it as a man's lap and identify the smell of Booth's cologne amidst the dirt and perspiration. He's muttering to himself quietly, almost a chant. She can make out the words: God, please, and her own name, along with some profanities. She opens her eyes, knowing it's somewhat futile, and tries to sit up.
Booth almost jumps as he feels her move, "Bones?" he asks, full of excitement and concern, "Oh thank God, you're awake."
The arm is not using to support her head squeezes her tightly.
"So bored you resorted to talking to yourself already?" she tries to laugh but it hurts too much, not just her head but down her side.
"I was worried."
He doesn't need to say it. His body posture and tone reveal that even to Bones, and she isn't good with people. Booth isn't people though, he's Booth and he's worried. Her fingers are sticky with blood when she touches her stomach, but further examination shows the gash to be more to the side, unlikely to have damaged anything vital. It won’t kill her, just hurt like a bitch. From the fact that his shirt is wrapped around like a bandage, he has to know this too. So why is he so panicked?
"So I'm guessing from our current location that the smugglers didn't take kindly to my threat to have them deported."
She can almost see his shocked expression that she's even mentioning that while they are locked in a basement with her bleeding all over the concrete floor, even though she can't actually see a damned thing. She almost starts to argue that it is entirely appropriate, but he's leaning in, warm breath on her chilled face.
"Jesus Bones, I..."
Booth sounds like he’s choking up, so she cuts him off. The waiting is making him stir crazy, clearly, and friends don't let friends embarrass themselves, "I take it you accessed the situation, checked for possible supplies or exits.”
"Yeah. We're trapped. The good news is they haven't moved us, so no doubt the squints will find us when we don’t show up for work on Monday, but I..."
He's worried about her. They both should know her injuries aren't life threatening, but somehow it is like he's forgotten all his technical knowledge.
"We'll be fine," she interrupts again, "They'll find us on Monday morning and the bad guys will already have disappeared past our ability to track them. We're just lucky that they were smart enough not to think they needed to add more murders to their warrant list today."
"But what if you weren’t okay?" He insists, even though he knows she hates to be fussed over. His cheek is rough against her face.
"If we are ever in that situation, clearly you will have to cannibalize me to stay alive when my time comes," she jokes; he's starting to get really wigged out and she wishes he would stop.
“How about next time you keep that overly educated mouth of yours shut, so you don’t piss off the criminals and get stabbed?”
“Why? Because, according to your archaic definitions of gender only males are allowed to be foolhardy and loudmouthed?”
"It's not funny, Bones."
"Actually I'm pretty sure it is. Besides, aren't you used to people dying around you?"
"People," he pauses, "Not you."
Booth is using that urgent tone her boyfriends always start in on when they want to break up or move in together. Why are they even having this conversation, when they both know that she will be fine? Fuck, it hurts though.
"I'm sure the F.B.I. will find you another irritating scientist to baby-sit. Maybe even a busty blonde."
"I don't want some stupid blonde scientist, Bones. I need…"
"Water. You are undoubtedly getting dehydrated and it's making you panic over ridiculous ideas. Stop wasting energy getting all worked up."
He shuts up, but he keeps holding her. He's warmer than the floor though so she decides to stay there and try and sleep through as much of this as possible. Everything really hurts and it's harder to sleep than it should be. She's drifting in an out of consciousness and he's murmuring again. She adds “love” to the list of words she can pick out, but chooses not to read anything into the ravings of a restless man, trapped.
At some point he falls asleep, because he calms, though he continues to clutch her tightly. He's still murmuring in his sleep, and she reaches up to touch him. Maybe he's feverish, despite her being the one wounded.
He grabs at her hand as she touches his face, more pressure than is strictly comfortable, and brings it to his lips. She can’t bring herself to pry his fingers off of hers. She tells herself it is because he is upset and seems to find it comforting. She tells herself she doesn’t want to wake him because he’ll start talking nonsense again and she’d rather balance equations in her head.
Time goes on and on. The rescue is somewhat of a blur, and when things finally come back into focus she's in a hospital bed. Booth is passed on in a chair next to her. He looks like he still hasn't shaved.
"He's been there since the doctors released him with instructions to hydrate himself," Angela says. She's leaning in the doorway, smiling quietly, "It's good to have you back."
"How long were we in that place?" Bones asks.
"2 and a half days. When we found you, the paramedics had a hard time prying Booth off you."
Angela seems awfully pleased with this. Bones refuses to acknowledge it though, instead she asks, "What day is it?" and finds out it is Tuesday morning.
When Booth wakes up she kicks him out of her room to go take a shower. He keeps looking at her like he has something to say, and she's relieved when he leaves at last.
He's back by sundown, bringing take-out and expectations. It's awkwardly silent in places, like he's still thinking about what to say. Bones doesn't like it, doesn't appreciate the breakdown of their comfortable repartee. Luckily it gets a little better, and some of their banter returns.
"Funny how you were the one freaking out and crying like a little girl, when I was the one with the stab wound," she needles.
"I told you. I was concerned for your welfare," he insists.
"You completely blew the whole thing out of proportion."
"Because I care, Bones. You're important to me."
"So you get irrational and debilitate your ability to help me?" she disagrees, "Booth, when Hodgins or Zack, or Angela, or even Cam is in danger you are Mr. rational and in control, take charge and all. I think you just didn't like being closed in like that."
He grabs her hand, staring at her in a way that makes her sort of uncomfortable.
"Let's cut the crap Bones. You aren't just a coworker to me…"
It's been an emotional week and she tries to head him off, "We're friends Booth, I know. I was just teasing you as is customary, within the structure of the cultural norm for that social dynamic.”
Booth smiles for the first time in the conversation, “There is nothing normal about you. Face it Bones, you’re a total freak.”
“I’d rather be a freak than freak out for no reason like you,” she retorts.
“There was a reason I was freaking out and we both know what it is,” he argues, a hint of that serious boyfriend voice creeping back in.
“Because things were out of your control and you can’t stand feeling powerless because it creates for you a sense of emasculation.”
She says this clinically but she expects him to get offended and snappy back at her. She says it to get that reaction in fact. So she’s surprised when he steamrolls right over her diversion tactic and onwards with the serious conversation theme he’s been pushing.
“No, because I realized something down there, Bones,” he corrects, sitting down next to her, “Because, you’re never quiet or helpless, and seeing you like I started thinking how I’d feel if it was serious,” he reaches down to touch her face and that look is on his again.
“Relieved?” she suggests, trying to break the somber mood that Booth seems to be so intent on.
“Full of regret,” he pauses slightly before rushing on, “Look I know we’re partners and friends and all of those lines you aren’t supposed to cross, but I’m crazy about you, Bones, and if something happened and I never told you, gave it my best shot, I’d feel like an idiot the rest of my life.”
“Booth I…”
Thirty seconds ago she’d had dozens of things to say. Now she was wades through statistics and anthropological facts trying to find something that is the least bit relevant. It isn’t like she’s never been on the receiving end of a declaration like this before. She is socially awkward, not repulsively hideous.
This is Booth though. They order take out and solve murders. He wears ridiculous ties and tries in vain to recondition her social coding. Sure she’s thought about it. Booth is competent and good looking, and maybe she’s known to a certain extent that not all their interactions are completely platonic. He is someone she trusts though, someone she relies on, and Bones’ relationships tend to be short lived and irreparable when they cross over the line between friends and more.
“I didn’t end things with Cam because a relationship with someone I work with seemed too dangerous, Bones. I did it because if I was going to risk having one I realized it should be with the person I really want, and that is, and has been, you.”
His mouth is on hers before she has a chance to realize what’s happening and he’s warm and insistent and everything that Booth should be. It’s the kind of kiss that draws the mind into indulging in fantasy.
The rustle of curtains, as the nurse approaches, cuts things off abruptly. Booth is shooed out so that Bones can be examined and when he returns Bones has her eyes closed, the appearance of sleep forcing him to heed the nurse’s insistence that visiting hours are over.
She is glad that the doctors say she will be able to go home tomorrow. She doesn’t like being stuck in the hospital, immobilized for everyone to descend upon or ignore.
Angela arrives before visiting hours, as instructed, bringing with her real clothes. She gives Bones a look that indicates she has more to say, but lets the release papers be signed and the car get on the freeway before she brings it up.
“So why the early morning escape?” She asks, as if she didn’t suspect anything in particular.
“I’m anxious to get home to my own bed. Is that so strange?”
“You didn’t tell Booth you were going,” Angela comments.
“No. I don’t see how it has anything to do with him.”
“I imagine he’s going to be pretty let down when he shows up at the hospital with breakfast and you’re already gone.”
“How do you know he’s bringing breakfast?” Bones is temporarily nervous that Angela might have told Booth or be plotting something like taking her to Booth’s instead of her own place. She doesn’t look smug or guilty enough for either, though.
“Do you really want to force me to mention what you are so desperately trying to avoid talking about? I’m trying to be nice here.”
“Fine… Booth told me he wanted us to be partners more than professionally last night.”
Bones can hear Booth’s critiquing her choice of delivery for that information. Angela looks for a moment like she’s won the lotto and Bones is afraid she’ll run them right off the road. Then the look turns to one of exasperation as she waits for Bones to elaborate.
“And?”
“He kissed me.”
“So what did you say? Was it a good kiss?” Angela is like a child with an overabundance of sugar in her system.
“Nothing. It was a tremendously good kiss,” Bones replied succinctly, giving both statements no particular weight.
“What do you mean nothing?” Angela exclaims like she’s confessed to murder.
“The nurse came in before I had a chance to come up with anything,” Bones justifies.
“So it was a fantastic kiss, but you haven’t talked to him at all since he put himself out there, and you snuck out of the hospital early so he couldn’t find you to talk about it. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I mean I don’t exactly have the best track record with these things. Dating Booth would be like playing Russian Roulette with our friendship. It would be only a matter of time before the whole thing would blow up in our faces.”
“Don’t you think he’s considered the possibility?” Angela argues, “He’s kept from saying anything for this long for a reason. Look I’m not telling you to throw your instincts out the window, just at least give him the courtesy of a conversation.”
“So you don’t think I should date Booth.”
Bones hadn’t considered that possibility. She’d assumed that Angela would want to play matchmaker to the two of them. That was something friends did, right?
“I wasn’t advocating either way, but if you want my advice, give it a chance. Remember what you told me when I asked you for advice?”
“That you and Hodgins would have a horrible date?”
“To try and see. Even though you didn’t think it would work out, you were right in thinking that if we never found out whether it would work things would stay unresolved and awkward.”
Bones walks up the stairs, thinking about the heat of Booth’s lips against hers the night before, about all the nights they’ve spent in random backwater towns and mornings laughing at the diner. She thinks about the way his eyes glaze over just a bit when he watches his son play at the park.
The hot water stings a little when she steps under the showerhead, but it feels good to wash the feeling of hospital off of her skin. She reaches for the shampoo she purchased a few weeks ago when she and Booth were in Seattle, going to a conference. She realizes that she can identify almost everything she owns in a way that ties it to Booth. It’s more intimate, somehow, than she’s felt towards all of her ex boyfriends combined.
Tired, Bones slides down the shower wall and stays leaning on the tile, the warm water rushing over her and indulges in the kind of reverie that Booth’s kiss invited. Sliding her hand up her thigh she can almost feel the calloused texture of his hand on her body. The framing of the imagery is one she’s used many times before.
They are in her office at the Jeffersonian, arguing about a case, when he interrupts her mid sentence, grabbing hold of her and pulling her frame against his, claiming her mouth, as one hand holds onto her, and the other gropes her ass, as he guides her backwards until she’s up against her desk.
She reaches her own hand up to pinch her nipple as she imagines him playing with it, she can almost feel the wetness of his mouth around the other as the spray from the shower hits it. Sometimes she makes up the way he’d probably kiss all the way down her stomach until he got down between her legs and put his tongue to good use. Tonight she’s impatient though, so they skip that and she’s unbuttoning his pants already, cloth falling around ankles so as to be out of the way.
Bones is done teasing around her perimeter as she presses her two longest fingers up inside and imagines how it might feel when Booth pushed into her. He’d keep at least one hand on her hip, right on the boundary between possessively firm and obnoxious. It’s not so much fast as deliberate, long, hard, strokes as he refuses to move his eyes from her face. She’s pressing hard now, building closer and closer to release as she imagines his cursing and grunting and finally collapsing against her.
She stays splayed on the shower floor until the water starts to get cold and she has to turn it off and wrap a towel around herself.
It’s getting dark by the time she finally puts clothes on and heads out the door. Booth’s favorite Indian place is not terribly far out of the way so she stops on the way. He’s in shorts and a wife beater when he answers the door, looking surprised to see her.
“You weren’t at the hospital.”
“I needed a shower.”
“I didn’t mean to make things weird. If you want a new FBI agent I’m sure…”
“Booth.”
He looks up from the floor and she wraps her hand around the back of his head and kisses the dejected look right off of his face. They stumble backwards into his apartment, managing to get the door closed without too much effort. Breathing heavily, Booth, gasps, “I guess this means you reevaluated the anthropological implications of my case?”
“I just remembered one very basic concept,” Bones says into his collarbone.
“What is that?”
“Ultimately, humans, like every other animal, act based on what they most desire, regardless of social taboo or possible danger. Although, their method of achieving that desire may be shaped by societal and pragmatic concerns”
With that she slides her hand down the front of Booth’s pants and he is seemingly too distracted and busy working his hands up her shirt to counter her analysis of the situation.