(no subject)
Title: Partners of a Different Kind
Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm making no profit from this venture etc..
Spoilers: Mild, but up through Judas on a Pole
Pairing: B/B
Summary: In the end, after all of the dancing and the denial, it was easy.
Author's note: This is my first post to this community, and it came about because I was randomly inspired to write a fic (which, trust me, doesn't happen very often). I'd appreciate comments if people can be bothered (and I'm not afraid of honesty). Apart from that, I say a collective hello to my fellow Bones fans, and may the 24th come quickly!
Partners of a Different Kind
In the end, it was easy. There was a case (there was always a case, she thought) and she was at home and working late and he drove by and saw her light on.
He brought Thai food. They sat on her couch and ate with chopsticks (and competed over who could use them better) and laughed and joked and were together; as partners, as family.
There was nothing special about the night, or the case, or them. Time passed quickly (it always did when they were together, even when they wanted to shoot each other), and soon the cartons were empty; she was sprawled on the couch in her track pants and he’d stretched his legs out, arms crossed over his t-shirt.
Later, when she thought about it (and he’d known what she was thinking and told her to stop, and when she protested he swallowed her words with his mouth) she couldn’t remember how it had started. She’d said something - or maybe he had - and suddenly the air was charged and they were looking at each other like the world had stopped.
And then his mouth was on hers and her arms were around his neck and they’d fallen backwards, a food carton clattering to the floor, unnoticed. She’d run her fingers through his hair (not gelled, for once, and she’d wondered briefly why before the thought was swept away) and he’d brought his mouth to the pulse point on her neck, and for the first time in her life Temperance Brennan had stopped thinking.
They’d made it to the bedroom, somehow, clothes littering the hallway where they’d been hastily discarded. When she reflected on it later, their first time together, she only saw fragments - her hands, pale and smooth on his tanned chest; his arms, toned and strong, and encircling her not to entrap, but to protect. She marveled at the way his presence was a comfort after it was all over; when they lay sweaty and sated together and she wanted nothing more than to keep him close, instead of sending him away like all the others.
He had fallen asleep before she did, and she watched him as her eyes began to shut. She thought it would be awkward in the morning, when her logic returned and overruled the (emotion) chemistry between them. She was wrong; he’d risen early, surprised to find her awake and alert (and she said she always got up so that she was early into work, and he’d chuckled and said “That’s my Bones,”). And she was; his Bones, still, and they went to work in separate cars and made no plans, but she knew he’d be back with more food that night.
He broke up with Cam that day. He didn’t say anything; she knew anyway. Maybe she was oblivious to the world, but she wasn’t oblivious to him, and when he left the pathologist’s office he looked at her and that told her everything she needed to know. He was hers, now, (and he forgave her for not realizing he always had been).
It didn’t change anything, not really. Maybe they looked at each other (like the world could have ended and they wouldn’t care) a little longer; he touched her more often and she allowed it (from her, that meant something, and he knew it and was thankful) and at the end of the day they took one car, instead of two. But they were still Booth and Brennan (she’d never been into public displays of affection anyway and they’d been them for so much longer than they realized that at first nobody saw the change); she was still his Bones, and he was still her knight in FBI-issued armor, and they were still partners who solved crimes and argued and bickered while doing it (and occasionally wanted to shoot each other, but she still didn’t have a gun.)
And at the end of the day, when they went home together, and lived together, and laughed together (and loved together she thought but didn’t say) they were partners then, too; just partners of a different kind.
(And she didn’t believe in fairytales or Santa Claus or God, but he taught her to believe in happily ever after, and in the end, that was easy, too.)
Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm making no profit from this venture etc..
Spoilers: Mild, but up through Judas on a Pole
Pairing: B/B
Summary: In the end, after all of the dancing and the denial, it was easy.
Author's note: This is my first post to this community, and it came about because I was randomly inspired to write a fic (which, trust me, doesn't happen very often). I'd appreciate comments if people can be bothered (and I'm not afraid of honesty). Apart from that, I say a collective hello to my fellow Bones fans, and may the 24th come quickly!
Partners of a Different Kind
In the end, it was easy. There was a case (there was always a case, she thought) and she was at home and working late and he drove by and saw her light on.
He brought Thai food. They sat on her couch and ate with chopsticks (and competed over who could use them better) and laughed and joked and were together; as partners, as family.
There was nothing special about the night, or the case, or them. Time passed quickly (it always did when they were together, even when they wanted to shoot each other), and soon the cartons were empty; she was sprawled on the couch in her track pants and he’d stretched his legs out, arms crossed over his t-shirt.
Later, when she thought about it (and he’d known what she was thinking and told her to stop, and when she protested he swallowed her words with his mouth) she couldn’t remember how it had started. She’d said something - or maybe he had - and suddenly the air was charged and they were looking at each other like the world had stopped.
And then his mouth was on hers and her arms were around his neck and they’d fallen backwards, a food carton clattering to the floor, unnoticed. She’d run her fingers through his hair (not gelled, for once, and she’d wondered briefly why before the thought was swept away) and he’d brought his mouth to the pulse point on her neck, and for the first time in her life Temperance Brennan had stopped thinking.
They’d made it to the bedroom, somehow, clothes littering the hallway where they’d been hastily discarded. When she reflected on it later, their first time together, she only saw fragments - her hands, pale and smooth on his tanned chest; his arms, toned and strong, and encircling her not to entrap, but to protect. She marveled at the way his presence was a comfort after it was all over; when they lay sweaty and sated together and she wanted nothing more than to keep him close, instead of sending him away like all the others.
He had fallen asleep before she did, and she watched him as her eyes began to shut. She thought it would be awkward in the morning, when her logic returned and overruled the (emotion) chemistry between them. She was wrong; he’d risen early, surprised to find her awake and alert (and she said she always got up so that she was early into work, and he’d chuckled and said “That’s my Bones,”). And she was; his Bones, still, and they went to work in separate cars and made no plans, but she knew he’d be back with more food that night.
He broke up with Cam that day. He didn’t say anything; she knew anyway. Maybe she was oblivious to the world, but she wasn’t oblivious to him, and when he left the pathologist’s office he looked at her and that told her everything she needed to know. He was hers, now, (and he forgave her for not realizing he always had been).
It didn’t change anything, not really. Maybe they looked at each other (like the world could have ended and they wouldn’t care) a little longer; he touched her more often and she allowed it (from her, that meant something, and he knew it and was thankful) and at the end of the day they took one car, instead of two. But they were still Booth and Brennan (she’d never been into public displays of affection anyway and they’d been them for so much longer than they realized that at first nobody saw the change); she was still his Bones, and he was still her knight in FBI-issued armor, and they were still partners who solved crimes and argued and bickered while doing it (and occasionally wanted to shoot each other, but she still didn’t have a gun.)
And at the end of the day, when they went home together, and lived together, and laughed together (and loved together she thought but didn’t say) they were partners then, too; just partners of a different kind.
(And she didn’t believe in fairytales or Santa Claus or God, but he taught her to believe in happily ever after, and in the end, that was easy, too.)