Fic: Blind Situation
Title: Blind Situation
Fandom: Bones
Author: Constantine
Pairing: Brennan/Cam
Rating: R
Summary: Brennan and Cam take a chance.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. That is all.
Author’s Note: This is my first attempt at this fandom. The idea burrowed itself into my brain and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it.
Feedback: Yes, please! It’s like crack. Let me know what you think, even if you think I suck.
Brennan doesn’t look up when I walk into the lab. Instead she stares at the charred remains that used to be someone’s wife or daughter or sister. I come to a stop on the other side of the cold metal slab that holds the bodies seeking the kind of justice only my team can provide. On a good day, delivering that justice is enough to satisfy whatever parts are missing in my life, but lately, good days have been hard to come by.
“Dr. Brennan.” I speak first.
“Dr. Saroyan.” Brennan pries the burnt jaw open with her gloved fingers. It makes a sickening crack as the remaining skin and muscle stretch. She peers into Jane Doe’s throat. Her eyebrows push together and I know she sees something that doesn’t belong. She grabs the forceps and carefully slides it down the orifice in a grotesque version of Operation.
“So this is your plan of action?” I tilt my head to the side for a better view of her attempt to ignore me. Brennan raises her head and eyes me with annoyance at my seemingly stupid question.
“To take whatever is lodged in the victim’s throat out so we are better able to discern its origin, composition and intendment to this case?” If she were anyone else, a raised eyebrow would punctuate that sentence. “Yes, that is my plan of action,” she finishes. With nothing left to say, she refocuses her attention on retrieving the unidentified object.
I walk around the table and crowd her space like it belongs to me.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I say.
Brennan continues her pursuit, unhindered by my proximity. “I do not understand your continued desire to speak about a situation that is resolved.”
“Situation?” I don’t hide the smirk from my lips. I let it linger into my voice.
She hears it, stands and faces me completely. “Do you require a definition of that word?”
“Do you want to give me one?” I counter. I try not to smile as Brennan’s gaze slips to my lips before racing back up to my eyes.
Silence descends around us, thick and steamy. Brennan stares at me like a newly discovered chemical compound she’s trying to break down.
I let the smile I was trying to hide gain a hint of smugness. I step closer until a few inches are all that separate us. The dare is obvious. It has to be.
“Situation. Noun. 15th Century. The relative position or combination of circumstances at a certain moment,” Brennan hesitates when I lick my lips. When she starts speaking again, her voice glides out with a slight rasp. “A particular or striking complex of affairs at a stage in the action of a narrative or drama, a critical or--”
I close the remaining distance and stop just short of a kiss. Brennan’s breath hitches in her throat as mine hums against her lips. I slide my tongue out and slowly flick her upper lip like it’s the dripping tip of a strawberry ice. She tastes sweet and I instantly want more.
“That’s an ugly way to wake up in the morning.” Hodgins’ voice reaches my ears before he reaches the top of the platform. Brennan quickly turns away from me and refocuses on retrieving the object from the victim’s throat. She mishandles the forceps and nearly lacerates what remains of the victim’s cheek before she steadies her hand. My back blocks her retreat and her shaking hands from Hodgins’ eyes.
“I would say so, Dr. Hodgins.” I turn around and greet my resident conspiracy theorist with a tight smile. Patience is the companion of wisdom. I’ve been trying to be more Zen about life, but I don’t think it’s working since I tend to change my mantra every few hours. Last night it was shit happens. Original? No, but astoundingly true. I silently chant about the virtues of patience and wisdom while I put some distance between Brennan and myself.
“Hey, sweetie,” Angela sings as she follows Hodgins up the stairs. “Are you OK?” She looks at her best friend quizzically before her eyes register the burnt remains. “And that’s gross.”
Angela averts her eyes and acclimates herself to being at work where death and more death is our daily sustenance. I still haven’t figured out how someone like her ends up working in a place like this. A part of me never wants to know what bit of darkness ties us all together. “But seriously,” she continues, “are you OK? You look a little... weird.”
“It’s a piece of paper.” Brennan ignores Angela’s question and displays the no longer unidentified object. Immediately distracted, we all gather closer to obtain a better view.
“Why is it not burnt?” Angela looks between the three doctors surrounding her for an answer. “I mean it should be burnt, right? Like to a crisp?”
“Yes, it should,” Brennan, responds. “This body has sixth degree burns, which is enough to not only blacken the bones, but also severely damage the marrow. As you can see, the victim’s internal organs have become somewhat liquefied.”
I know it’s wrong. Believe me, I do. And I know there is probably a special place in hell just for me, but there is something about the way Brennan says certain things that have no reason on God’s green earth to sound so... hot.
“The victim’s internal organs have what?” Booth walks up to the group and stares at the body. “Oh.”
“Which means it was obviously dosed in some kind of flame retardant. I’ll take a look at it.” Hodgins reaches for the evidence, but Brennan pulls back.
“Wait.” She grabs another pair of forceps and places the small piece of paper under a magnifying glass. Like cats to catnip, we all squeeze around her in a tight circle at the discovery of a new piece of the puzzle. When my hand accidentally brushes against her hip, she nearly rips the evidence in half.
“Whoa, careful there, Bones. Maybe you should lay off the red bull.” Booth laughs at the scolding look he gets from his partner. Sometimes I think he has a daily quota to meet.
“Twenty-three.” Brennen reads the small printed numbers.
“Twenty-three what?” Booth always asks the he simple question with the difficult answers.
“I guess that is what we are going to find out.” Brennen hands the evidence over to Hodgins who accepts it like a child on Christmas morning. He walks off into his world of chemicals and particulates without a backward glance.
“So how was the conference? Did you miss me?” Booth smiles that charming smile that would be eternally annoying on anyone else, but is only occasionally annoying on him.
“Fine.” Brennen and I speak at the same time. Our voices are a little too high. The single word is somehow rushed. I put my hands into my pockets and then immediately take them out. Booth may not have a genius IQ like Zach, but he can read people frighteningly well. For that matter, so can Angela.
“Fine? You were basically on an all expense paid vacation to San Francisco for a week and all you came back with is fine?” Angela studies Brennan’s reaction to her question.
“The city and its residents offer some interesting behaviors from an anthropological standpoint, but overall it was unexciting.”
“San Francisco?” Booth puts his hands on his hips. His favorite bull belt buckle glints in the light. “Unexciting? Do you have any idea what’s in San Francisco?”
Brennan turns to him with a blank, if slightly inquisitive stare. Angela smiles like she she’s ready to humor him. And I thank God that Booth can sometimes be so easily distracted.
“The Giants?” Booth shakes his head like he doesn’t understand how his life ended up knowing the three of us. “Barry Bonds?” When we don’t show any signs of recognition, he stares at us like we’ve committed a cardinal sin. “Unbelievable.” Finished with the lot of us, Booth motions to the stairs, “Come on let’s go.”
“Where?” Brennan asks.
“We have to tie up some loose ends on the Jackson case.” Booth says the name without the playful exasperation that colored his voice a moment before. Robert Jackson killed three children in thirty days by calcifying their bones. If I know anything about Seeley Booth, it will be a challenge for him not to commit bodily harm on the worthless excuse for a human being when they get into the interrogation room.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.” I say.
“What?” Brennan and Booth do a great imitation of Brennan and me.
“I’ll be going out with you two today.” I respond.
“You’re doing what?” Angela asks.
“Why?” Brennan follows.
“Yeah, why?” Booth repeats, but with a whine any six year old would be proud of.
“Because it’s time for you annual evaluation, Dr. Brennan.” I smile at Brennan’s look of insult. Brennan has never actually had an annual Jeffersonian evaluation because she’s Dr. Brennan and well, I think that explains it all.
“Evaluation?” Brennen spits the word like it’s a contagious virus she’s trying to eradicate.
“Yes, evaluation.” I walk closer to her. I stop just outside the line I easily crossed moments ago. “Do you require a definition of that word?”
**)(**
I sit in my office signing off on paperwork that always seems to grow exponentially. I have not seen Brennan since we left the interrogation of Robert Jackson, which was just after the paramedics showed up and reset his nose. I looked, but there is no space to mark clean right hook on Brennan’s evaluation checklist.
“What’s my score?” Brennan walks into my office and waits for an answer. The door closes softly behind her.
My eyes track from the top of Brennan’s head to the bottom of her feet and back again.
A soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. It’s not a mantra I want, but it whispers itself over and over in my ear. My breath is stuck in my throat. I swallow, but it doesn’t help.
“Have you ever failed at anything in your entire life.” I ask.
“No.”
This is a pivotal moment. I can feel it weighing down on me; pushing my heart down into my stomach.
“Temperance,” I stand up and place my hands on the desk. “I--”
“Here.” Brennan places a gold band on the desk between my hands.
I don’t look down.
“My attorney can have everything finalized within one week.” Brennan looks away from me after her words tumble into the room.
“No.” The two letters pound painfully against my chest.
“Cam?” She turns back to me. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” My answer confuses me in its honesty.
“We became inebriated and had sexual intercourse. It was great sex,” she pauses and her cheeks flush. “It was really great sex, but that’s it. There is no reason to drag this out.”
“You’re forgetting about the part where we woke up married.” I pick up the gold band and walk around the desk. “That is a pretty big part to leave out, Dr. Brennan. Especially for someone so meticulously devoted to facts.”
Brennan takes a step back as I get closer. “Marriage is a religious term devised by men to control women in the eyes of whichever God they pray to and the eyes of the state.” Brennan’s back hits the door when she runs out of space to retreat and words to fuel her argument.
“Well since we’re both women, maybe we should just see what happens.” I lean in, my lips inches away from hers.
“I do not see the validity of such an experiment. Even though it is highly inappropriate for someone in a supervisory role to have sex with a subordinate, I am willing to consider a sexual relationship.”
“My subordinate?” I smile.
“That is not what I meant. I was merely--”
My lips crush into Brennan’s hot and heavy. The kiss is hungry and deep and rough. I don’t request permission. I push my tongue into Brennan’s mouth with a voracious quest for ownership. Our tongues and teeth clash. Our bodies press into one another. My hands grasp the buttons of her pants and rip them open. Before she can catch her breath I plunge my fingers underneath her panties and they slick between her folds. I rub back and forth in slow, agonizing circles.
Brennan’s breath comes hard and loud against my mouth. She can’t stop the kiss. She can’t force herself to stop rocking against me. She places her hands flat against the wall. It's a futile attempt at self control.
I pull my hand away and grab Brennan by the waist. “Three months,” I whisper against her lips. I settle my thigh between her legs. It’s an unfair tactic, but I don’t care.
“What?” My thigh involuntarily flexes at Brennan’s whimpered question.
“We’ll stay married for three months and if after that you still want a divorce... it’s all yours.”
“Why are you doing this?” I can feel the tension ripple through Brennan’s body as she uses every muscle to keep from rubbing against my thigh.
“Because I think everything happens for a reason.”
“Since when?”
“Since we got drunk, you fucked me until I passed out and we somehow woke up married.” I punctuate the statement with a soft kiss. “People like us do not do things like that, Temperance.”
“I believe your logic is flawed.” Brennan’s voice shakes as quivers run through her body.
“Maybe.” I kiss her again. This time I make sure the kiss lingers with more than lust. She pulls away, but only enough so that the smallest of words can travel between our lips.
Her eyes roam over my face. She traces the faint freckles around my eyes. The strong cut of my jaw. The curve of my lips.
Stupid risks make life worth living. My new mantra is not exactly Zen, so much as Homer... and not the one who wrote the Iliad.
“OK,” she says. She leans her head back against the door and looks at me with new eyes.
“OK,” I smile. Relief and fear create a pleasurable pain that tingles on my skin.
In the silence we stare at each other with no idea what to do next, but she is a borderline genius, so I’m pretty sure we can figure it out.
The End...?
Fandom: Bones
Author: Constantine
Pairing: Brennan/Cam
Rating: R
Summary: Brennan and Cam take a chance.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. That is all.
Author’s Note: This is my first attempt at this fandom. The idea burrowed itself into my brain and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it.
Feedback: Yes, please! It’s like crack. Let me know what you think, even if you think I suck.
Brennan doesn’t look up when I walk into the lab. Instead she stares at the charred remains that used to be someone’s wife or daughter or sister. I come to a stop on the other side of the cold metal slab that holds the bodies seeking the kind of justice only my team can provide. On a good day, delivering that justice is enough to satisfy whatever parts are missing in my life, but lately, good days have been hard to come by.
“Dr. Brennan.” I speak first.
“Dr. Saroyan.” Brennan pries the burnt jaw open with her gloved fingers. It makes a sickening crack as the remaining skin and muscle stretch. She peers into Jane Doe’s throat. Her eyebrows push together and I know she sees something that doesn’t belong. She grabs the forceps and carefully slides it down the orifice in a grotesque version of Operation.
“So this is your plan of action?” I tilt my head to the side for a better view of her attempt to ignore me. Brennan raises her head and eyes me with annoyance at my seemingly stupid question.
“To take whatever is lodged in the victim’s throat out so we are better able to discern its origin, composition and intendment to this case?” If she were anyone else, a raised eyebrow would punctuate that sentence. “Yes, that is my plan of action,” she finishes. With nothing left to say, she refocuses her attention on retrieving the unidentified object.
I walk around the table and crowd her space like it belongs to me.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I say.
Brennan continues her pursuit, unhindered by my proximity. “I do not understand your continued desire to speak about a situation that is resolved.”
“Situation?” I don’t hide the smirk from my lips. I let it linger into my voice.
She hears it, stands and faces me completely. “Do you require a definition of that word?”
“Do you want to give me one?” I counter. I try not to smile as Brennan’s gaze slips to my lips before racing back up to my eyes.
Silence descends around us, thick and steamy. Brennan stares at me like a newly discovered chemical compound she’s trying to break down.
I let the smile I was trying to hide gain a hint of smugness. I step closer until a few inches are all that separate us. The dare is obvious. It has to be.
“Situation. Noun. 15th Century. The relative position or combination of circumstances at a certain moment,” Brennan hesitates when I lick my lips. When she starts speaking again, her voice glides out with a slight rasp. “A particular or striking complex of affairs at a stage in the action of a narrative or drama, a critical or--”
I close the remaining distance and stop just short of a kiss. Brennan’s breath hitches in her throat as mine hums against her lips. I slide my tongue out and slowly flick her upper lip like it’s the dripping tip of a strawberry ice. She tastes sweet and I instantly want more.
“That’s an ugly way to wake up in the morning.” Hodgins’ voice reaches my ears before he reaches the top of the platform. Brennan quickly turns away from me and refocuses on retrieving the object from the victim’s throat. She mishandles the forceps and nearly lacerates what remains of the victim’s cheek before she steadies her hand. My back blocks her retreat and her shaking hands from Hodgins’ eyes.
“I would say so, Dr. Hodgins.” I turn around and greet my resident conspiracy theorist with a tight smile. Patience is the companion of wisdom. I’ve been trying to be more Zen about life, but I don’t think it’s working since I tend to change my mantra every few hours. Last night it was shit happens. Original? No, but astoundingly true. I silently chant about the virtues of patience and wisdom while I put some distance between Brennan and myself.
“Hey, sweetie,” Angela sings as she follows Hodgins up the stairs. “Are you OK?” She looks at her best friend quizzically before her eyes register the burnt remains. “And that’s gross.”
Angela averts her eyes and acclimates herself to being at work where death and more death is our daily sustenance. I still haven’t figured out how someone like her ends up working in a place like this. A part of me never wants to know what bit of darkness ties us all together. “But seriously,” she continues, “are you OK? You look a little... weird.”
“It’s a piece of paper.” Brennan ignores Angela’s question and displays the no longer unidentified object. Immediately distracted, we all gather closer to obtain a better view.
“Why is it not burnt?” Angela looks between the three doctors surrounding her for an answer. “I mean it should be burnt, right? Like to a crisp?”
“Yes, it should,” Brennan, responds. “This body has sixth degree burns, which is enough to not only blacken the bones, but also severely damage the marrow. As you can see, the victim’s internal organs have become somewhat liquefied.”
I know it’s wrong. Believe me, I do. And I know there is probably a special place in hell just for me, but there is something about the way Brennan says certain things that have no reason on God’s green earth to sound so... hot.
“The victim’s internal organs have what?” Booth walks up to the group and stares at the body. “Oh.”
“Which means it was obviously dosed in some kind of flame retardant. I’ll take a look at it.” Hodgins reaches for the evidence, but Brennan pulls back.
“Wait.” She grabs another pair of forceps and places the small piece of paper under a magnifying glass. Like cats to catnip, we all squeeze around her in a tight circle at the discovery of a new piece of the puzzle. When my hand accidentally brushes against her hip, she nearly rips the evidence in half.
“Whoa, careful there, Bones. Maybe you should lay off the red bull.” Booth laughs at the scolding look he gets from his partner. Sometimes I think he has a daily quota to meet.
“Twenty-three.” Brennen reads the small printed numbers.
“Twenty-three what?” Booth always asks the he simple question with the difficult answers.
“I guess that is what we are going to find out.” Brennen hands the evidence over to Hodgins who accepts it like a child on Christmas morning. He walks off into his world of chemicals and particulates without a backward glance.
“So how was the conference? Did you miss me?” Booth smiles that charming smile that would be eternally annoying on anyone else, but is only occasionally annoying on him.
“Fine.” Brennen and I speak at the same time. Our voices are a little too high. The single word is somehow rushed. I put my hands into my pockets and then immediately take them out. Booth may not have a genius IQ like Zach, but he can read people frighteningly well. For that matter, so can Angela.
“Fine? You were basically on an all expense paid vacation to San Francisco for a week and all you came back with is fine?” Angela studies Brennan’s reaction to her question.
“The city and its residents offer some interesting behaviors from an anthropological standpoint, but overall it was unexciting.”
“San Francisco?” Booth puts his hands on his hips. His favorite bull belt buckle glints in the light. “Unexciting? Do you have any idea what’s in San Francisco?”
Brennan turns to him with a blank, if slightly inquisitive stare. Angela smiles like she she’s ready to humor him. And I thank God that Booth can sometimes be so easily distracted.
“The Giants?” Booth shakes his head like he doesn’t understand how his life ended up knowing the three of us. “Barry Bonds?” When we don’t show any signs of recognition, he stares at us like we’ve committed a cardinal sin. “Unbelievable.” Finished with the lot of us, Booth motions to the stairs, “Come on let’s go.”
“Where?” Brennan asks.
“We have to tie up some loose ends on the Jackson case.” Booth says the name without the playful exasperation that colored his voice a moment before. Robert Jackson killed three children in thirty days by calcifying their bones. If I know anything about Seeley Booth, it will be a challenge for him not to commit bodily harm on the worthless excuse for a human being when they get into the interrogation room.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.” I say.
“What?” Brennan and Booth do a great imitation of Brennan and me.
“I’ll be going out with you two today.” I respond.
“You’re doing what?” Angela asks.
“Why?” Brennan follows.
“Yeah, why?” Booth repeats, but with a whine any six year old would be proud of.
“Because it’s time for you annual evaluation, Dr. Brennan.” I smile at Brennan’s look of insult. Brennan has never actually had an annual Jeffersonian evaluation because she’s Dr. Brennan and well, I think that explains it all.
“Evaluation?” Brennen spits the word like it’s a contagious virus she’s trying to eradicate.
“Yes, evaluation.” I walk closer to her. I stop just outside the line I easily crossed moments ago. “Do you require a definition of that word?”
**)(**
I sit in my office signing off on paperwork that always seems to grow exponentially. I have not seen Brennan since we left the interrogation of Robert Jackson, which was just after the paramedics showed up and reset his nose. I looked, but there is no space to mark clean right hook on Brennan’s evaluation checklist.
“What’s my score?” Brennan walks into my office and waits for an answer. The door closes softly behind her.
My eyes track from the top of Brennan’s head to the bottom of her feet and back again.
A soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. It’s not a mantra I want, but it whispers itself over and over in my ear. My breath is stuck in my throat. I swallow, but it doesn’t help.
“Have you ever failed at anything in your entire life.” I ask.
“No.”
This is a pivotal moment. I can feel it weighing down on me; pushing my heart down into my stomach.
“Temperance,” I stand up and place my hands on the desk. “I--”
“Here.” Brennan places a gold band on the desk between my hands.
I don’t look down.
“My attorney can have everything finalized within one week.” Brennan looks away from me after her words tumble into the room.
“No.” The two letters pound painfully against my chest.
“Cam?” She turns back to me. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” My answer confuses me in its honesty.
“We became inebriated and had sexual intercourse. It was great sex,” she pauses and her cheeks flush. “It was really great sex, but that’s it. There is no reason to drag this out.”
“You’re forgetting about the part where we woke up married.” I pick up the gold band and walk around the desk. “That is a pretty big part to leave out, Dr. Brennan. Especially for someone so meticulously devoted to facts.”
Brennan takes a step back as I get closer. “Marriage is a religious term devised by men to control women in the eyes of whichever God they pray to and the eyes of the state.” Brennan’s back hits the door when she runs out of space to retreat and words to fuel her argument.
“Well since we’re both women, maybe we should just see what happens.” I lean in, my lips inches away from hers.
“I do not see the validity of such an experiment. Even though it is highly inappropriate for someone in a supervisory role to have sex with a subordinate, I am willing to consider a sexual relationship.”
“My subordinate?” I smile.
“That is not what I meant. I was merely--”
My lips crush into Brennan’s hot and heavy. The kiss is hungry and deep and rough. I don’t request permission. I push my tongue into Brennan’s mouth with a voracious quest for ownership. Our tongues and teeth clash. Our bodies press into one another. My hands grasp the buttons of her pants and rip them open. Before she can catch her breath I plunge my fingers underneath her panties and they slick between her folds. I rub back and forth in slow, agonizing circles.
Brennan’s breath comes hard and loud against my mouth. She can’t stop the kiss. She can’t force herself to stop rocking against me. She places her hands flat against the wall. It's a futile attempt at self control.
I pull my hand away and grab Brennan by the waist. “Three months,” I whisper against her lips. I settle my thigh between her legs. It’s an unfair tactic, but I don’t care.
“What?” My thigh involuntarily flexes at Brennan’s whimpered question.
“We’ll stay married for three months and if after that you still want a divorce... it’s all yours.”
“Why are you doing this?” I can feel the tension ripple through Brennan’s body as she uses every muscle to keep from rubbing against my thigh.
“Because I think everything happens for a reason.”
“Since when?”
“Since we got drunk, you fucked me until I passed out and we somehow woke up married.” I punctuate the statement with a soft kiss. “People like us do not do things like that, Temperance.”
“I believe your logic is flawed.” Brennan’s voice shakes as quivers run through her body.
“Maybe.” I kiss her again. This time I make sure the kiss lingers with more than lust. She pulls away, but only enough so that the smallest of words can travel between our lips.
Her eyes roam over my face. She traces the faint freckles around my eyes. The strong cut of my jaw. The curve of my lips.
Stupid risks make life worth living. My new mantra is not exactly Zen, so much as Homer... and not the one who wrote the Iliad.
“OK,” she says. She leans her head back against the door and looks at me with new eyes.
“OK,” I smile. Relief and fear create a pleasurable pain that tingles on my skin.
In the silence we stare at each other with no idea what to do next, but she is a borderline genius, so I’m pretty sure we can figure it out.
The End...?