Thank you so much for all the positive reviews on my first fic. It made me so very happy. Without further ado, here's another story of mine.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.
There was a knock at his door.
Booth walked across the room and opened the door, coming face to face with a dripping wet Brennan. Raindrops from the raging storm snaked down her face as her drenched clothes clung to her skin.
"Bones? What are you doing outside? Didn't you hear the weather reports? This is supposed to be the worst thunderstorm of the entire year." Booth said, slightly annoyed, slightly worried. He beckoned his sopping wet partner inside.
"Reporting the weather is nothing more than guessing. It was sunny earlier so I decided to take a run. But when it started thundering, I realized I was closer to your apartment and thought it was probably safer to stop by. You don't mind, do you?" Brennan asked with a slight shiver.
"Did you really think I would mind? We haven't been partners for five years for nothing." Booth smiled before turning towards his bedroom. "Come on, you should get out of those clothes. You'll catch a cold."
"Actually, you're more likely to catch a cold if the person infected sneezes or coughs on you." Brennan called out as Booth reappeared with a ragged FBI shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.
He handed her the clothing. "These are the smallest clothes I own. I hope they're okay."
Brennan softly smiled. "Thanks, Booth."
She disappeared into the bathroom to get changed as Booth dropped back onto his couch, refocusing his attention on a random movie that was playing on TV. When he imagined Brennan wearing his clothes, he never pictured it like this. But he wasn't going to complain. More than anything, she was his best friend and an evening spent with his best friend was an evening well spent.
His bathroom door cracked open, breaking Booth's attention as Brennan's stepped out, suddenly looking much smaller in his clothes. He would call her beautiful, but he knew she would object.
Clothes that don't fit aren't beautiful, she would say. This shirt is way too big, and I can barely keep these sweatpants up.
Her wet hair was a darkened chestnut, slightly rumpled from the rain. Somehow her eyes were even bluer like they soaked up the droplets and made a lake. She wore a tired smile that only turned up the corners of her mouth, but Booth still saw it. She padded over towards where he was sitting and sat next to him. Not exactly curled into him but not too far away.
She smelled like spring and storms, flowers and cold rain, clean laundry and her. He could never figure out that scent, but he knew it was his favorite. She smiled a little bit wider when she saw that he was still looking at her, chocolate eyes meeting cobalt ones. He loved that smile too.
So beautiful.
The outside was a fit of chaos in comparison to the warm murmur of the indoors. The two partners enjoyed each other's company, making small talk about the movie and wandering thoughts. It had been a quiet week. No murders. No going into the field. Less of being together. Lots of being lonely. Booth wondered if Brennan missed him during weeks like these. He missed her. He always missed her.
But for now, he didn't have to miss her. Warmth radiated from the shirt she was wearing and a comforting brightness lived in her eyes like stars in the sky. For now, she wasn't Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian. She was his Bones. Kind, soft, caring. He wondered how many other people knew of this person.
He secretly hoped he was the only one.
And then the lights started flickering. The noise from the television stopped. Black. Black. Black. The power was gone in an instant, the thunder outside growing from rumbling to booming.
Booth pretended he didn't notice Brennan move closer to him, her fingers grazing his shirt and her head meeting his shoulder.
"Now do you trust the weathermen?" Booth laughed, catching Brennan's half-hearted glare.
Brennan rose from where she was seated, much to Booth's dismay. "Do you have any candles? It doesn't look like the storm is calming down anytime soon."
"Yeah. You stay put." Booth said, motioning to the couch. "I'll take care of it."
"Booth, I am more than capable of—"
"Bones, just think of it as me being the host and you being the guest. Let me take care of you." The words left his lips before he could do anything about it. He momentarily froze, but Brennan stayed quiet and sat back down the couch, slipping a nearby blanket around her body.
Booth dug through his kitchen, soon finding a few candles along with a box of matches. He struck a match and lit the candles, placing them on the coffee table in front of the couch. The flickering flames didn't bring much light beyond framing Brennan's face, yellow glows meeting pale skin. Booth had never seen Brennan so cozy before. It was a sight he wouldn't mind coming home to everyday.
Someday.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
Surely.
Someday.
Booth slid back down onto the couch, his teeth barely catching his tongue as Brennan curled up next to him, her arm tucked against his side and her head resting against his chest.
"'S cold," Brennan muttered.
"Do you want a sweatshirt? They won't fit, but I do have plenty." Booth offered, although he wished he didn't. This was… nice. More than nice.
"No," she breathed out, "you're warm enough."
"Just call me a human furnace," he joked, his arm falling around her shoulders.
"If I was lying on a furnace, I would get burned." Brennan retorted. She would never let a joke slide by.
"I know I'm hot, but I hope I'm not that hot." He smirked.
Brennan laughed at that. It was like music to Booth's ears. He liked making her laugh even more than he liked making her smile.
"How long do you think the storm is going to last?" Brennan asked after several seconds of silence.
"All throughout the night." He paused. "You should probably stay here. I don't want you going out into that storm."
He knew she didn't like it when he went into overprotective, alpha male mode, but he didn't care. She was his partner. To him, partners lived to protect each other. To die for each other.
But he never accounted for loving the other.
To his surprise, she didn't fight it. "You're right. That would be unsafe. I'll take the couch."
"Bones, what, no, you can take my bed."
"No, Booth, not with your back problems."
"One night on the couch is not going to destroy my back."
"But you could hurt it and leave you incapable of working and I don't want to work with any other FBI agents. Remember?"
He remembered all right. She told him that when they went ice skating. When they held hands and laughed and sometimes slipped and fell. It was a great night, despite the whole reason being so that he wouldn't fall into a coma. She was his that night. No Agent Perotta or unsolved murder cases could stand in the way of that. Just her and the ice. His two favorite homes.
"I remember." He smiled. "You know what, why don't we just share my bed? We've slept in the same bed before and unless you've started snoring recently, I think we'll be okay."
Silence. Booth hated silence. Silence meant no, silence meant—
"Okay." Brennan whispered, her eyes looking up at him.
He bit back his bottom lip to stop from letting out a noise of surprise. A twinge of anxiousness suddenly settled into his chest. Yes, he and Brennan had shared a bed before but that wouldn't make it easier. She would be inches away. Quiet and tainted with sleep and craving to be touched.
And now that he knew he was in love with her?
He should have fought harder to sleep on the couch.
They spent the rest of the night talking. Enjoying each other's presence. Loud laughter mirroring the roaring thunder outdoors. The absence of power was the furthest thing from their minds.
Booth spent over half an hour trying to get Brennan to spill some details about her latest book ("C'mon, Bones, just tell me one badass thing Agent Andy does"). Brennan kept her mouth shut ("You'll just have to buy the book, Booth." "You won't even give me a copy for free?!") much to her partner's dismay.
"Did you at least dedicate the book to me again?" Booth prodded.
"Was multiple dedications already not enough for you? You want the world to know yet again that you're the 'best'?" Brennan teased, reaching to pinch his cheek.
Booth ducked his head away, a smile claiming his lips. "I'm the best, huh?"
"Considering the amount of cases you close with my help and the fact that I am the top forensic anthropologist in America and I would only be partnered with someone of my caliber, then yes. You are the best from what I can calculate."
"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Bones."
"I can be nice," she said softly.
"I know that. You just don't give your heart enough credit." Booth rubbed her arm reassuringly.
"You mean my brain. Our emotions and personalities come from our brain, not our heart."
"Science can't explain everything, Bones. Trust me."
Science could never explain why he felt more complete when she was around. Science could never explain why he knew from the moment he met her, he knew she was the one. Science could never explain why someone so frustrating, someone so challenging, someone so opposite of him could actually be his other half.
A stifled yawn broke his thoughts. "Booth, what time do you think it is?"
Booth looked outside, seeing nothing but cold darkness. "Maybe ten or eleven. We've been talking for a long time. Are you tired?"
"No"—yawn—"Well, yes. It's been a long day for me. I was writing all day before I went for a run. And no, I'm still not going to divulge about what Agent Andy is up to."
"I'm getting tired too." Booth slid out from her grip and stood up. "I spent my whole day doing… nothing."
Brennan laughed.
He snuck into his bedroom, slipping out of his t-shirt and sweatpants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. He opened up his bedroom door, calling out, "Are you comfortable sleeping in that?"
Brennan stepped into view, walking towards him. "Yeah, this is fine." And then she stopped. Gulped. Gave a startled look over his body. "Are you sleeping like that?"
Booth looked down at his bare chest. "Um, yeah, this is how I usually sleep. Do you want me to put on a shirt?"
"No!" She said it quickly. Judging by the widening of her eyes, she said it too quickly.
He couldn't hold back his smirk as he maneuvered his way back to his bed and propped himself against the headboard. Brennan padded behind him, closing the door and settling onto her side of the bed.
The other side of the bed.
Not her side.
There were no sides.
Yet.
She was painfully far away, curling under the blankets. His navy comforter engulfed her with her head just sticking out as she pulled a pillow under her head.
"Thanks, Booth," she said.
"For what?"
"Letting me stay here."
"Bones, I would have boarded up the door if you tried to leave. There's no way I would have left you go home in that kind of weather. Partners do anything for each other, remember?"
"I remember."
Booth settled into bed, his back facing towards Brennan, deciding that it would be too torturous if he had to look at her while she slept and his mind ran wild. She was only inches away but it felt like miles. To have something so close but so far wasn't a feeling Booth used to.
Brennan was wrong. She was brilliant. But wrong. Feelings aren't fleeting. They are like waves. They pull you into the vast ocean and surely you are going to drown. You cannot make it back to shore as you fall harder and faster for the person. She is his lifeboat, but he still can't swim to it. The waves are too rough and somehow he's still swimming but someday he'll grow too tired. Maybe he'll slip under the current. Maybe she'll save him.
To his surprise, he fell asleep quickly that night.
He must of forgotten how comforting a shared bed felt.
The storm was gone when he woke up. The sun was pale and yellow and peeked through the window blinds. Lights emerged from his living room and there was a soft murmur of regained life.
His chest felt heavy. He thought it was from being tired. Or that his heart finally gave out from worrying about Brennan. But his skin felt warm and it wasn't from a blanket. He looked down and saw Brennan asleep on his chest, her arm slung across his abdomen.
If her touch was a match, then his body was a wildfire.
His mind screamed move but his heart said stay. He didn't know what her reaction would be when she woke up. Would her eyes widen in fear? Would she laugh? Would she be embarrassed?
Booth was afraid to find out. But he was also afraid to interrupt this moment. He hadn't felt something like this since his coma dream. Except this time it was real.
Waking up to his favorite person.
That was real.
She looked so beautiful asleep. Alabaster skin and soft lips. The stress of death and murder was no longer evident on her face. Tranquility made her look small. Not weak but relaxed. She did not have to fight the injustice of the world right now. Instead, she held onto him.
Booth still didn't know how this happened. Did he wrap his arms around her? Did she find her way to him first? They fell asleep back to back. He woke up to one of the most intimate moments of his life.
Intimacy wasn't only sex. It was closeness. He had never trusted someone so much in his entire life. He had proposed once. Thought he fell in love twice. But Brennan made every other relationship in his life feel nearly insignificant (with the exception of Parker and Pops). They were just another blip on his radar. When it came to her he could never articulate how he really felt. Words simply held no weight.
It was probably good that he couldn't. Or he might of have said something already and ruined the most cherished part of his life. Sweets wasn't wrong when he said that Booth and Brennan had a deep emotional connection.
He just didn't know how deep. Neither did Brennan. Booth could barely explain it either.
She never called him her best friend―no, that was Angela. But maybe they were something more. They called each other partners. It was true. However, it could never truly explain them. Partners was too vague of a word. He looked it up in the dictionary once. Partner. Noun. A person who shares or is associated with another in some action or endeavor. They did, of course, "share with another in some action". That was their everyday: discovering a set of remains, finding the killer, catching the killer, putting the killer behind bars. But that definition forgot everything else.
It forgot ice skating and going out for drinks and making each other dinner and gazing at stars. Laughing till they cried and hugging for comfort and fixing her plumbing. Accidentally letting those three words and seven letters slip and then covering it up by saying it was in an attagirl kind of way.
What was that?
And now he was even more confused as she curled against his bare chest, her soft tendrils of hair brushing against his skin. He still couldn't breathe properly. Half from the fear of waking her up, half from wondering what this all meant. He never wanted anything to change between them.
Except for one thing.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to claim her smile with his lips. He wanted to taste her, whatever that flavor was. He wanted to show her that not all relationships ended badly. He wanted to be the one.
But he could never figure out what she wanted.
She called him the people person and yet, he could never truly read her. He took pride in knowing her so well. He knew when she was sad, when she was proud of her attempt at a joke, when she just needed him to be there. But when it came to this, whatever that really was, he was lost. He betted on a lot of things in his life, but he would never bet on his relationship with her.
He thought about trying to fall back asleep. It would easier than letting his mind run so rampantly. But he also wanted to watch her. Watch how her chest rose and fell. How soft puffs of air escaped from her lips. How someone so beautiful and intelligent could be in his arms.
He wasn't sure how long he had been looking at her. Could have been seconds. Maybe minutes. Possibly an hour. They did that a lot: losing all sense of time when it was just the two of them. He was about to fall into sweet oblivion as his heart stopped racing and the warmth of her settled from a raging fire into a candle flicker.
And then she moved.
Her hand slipped off of his chest and her eyelids fluttered open, revealing her cerulean eyes.
"Booth?"
"Good morning," he croaked out. Booth was known for his confidence and cockiness but now, each syllable was like glass cutting his throat.
She began to prop herself up. Her cheek was no longer against him. Her fingers were no longer splayed across his slide. The fire was burning out. "How did I―How did we…?"
"I don't know. I woke up and we were just laying here like this."
"How long have you been awake?"
"Maybe half an hour." He squeaked.
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You looked peaceful."
Brennan still didn't jump and scream and run away from his bed like he anticipated. Her legs were still brushed against his and if he leaned forward by a few inches, he could rest his forehead against hers. Her eyes were awash with green. They always did that when she was thinking.
"Well, I did sleep surprisingly well last night." Brennan mused.
Booth wanted to scream.
"So, um," he cleared this throat. "What do you want to do? Do you want breakfast? Do you want to go to dinner or―"
Brennan cut him off. "Breakfast here would be fine."
She now watched him in amusement, he noted. She wasn't freaked out about this. It was him who was. And she probably thought it was funny. A FBI agent who has the seen the worst of worst getting scared about accidentally falling asleep so close to one another? It was the punchline to one of her ill-fated jokes.
Brennan could rationalize her way out of a situation like this and see it as nothing more than wanting to be warm at night. But Booth was wrought with emotions and feelings and what ifs.
"Sounds good." He finally said, slipping out of bed and throwing on a ragged t-shirt. Brennan followed him to the kitchen, sitting down in a chair as he pulled out ingredients for pancakes.
The apartment was quiet once again, minus a few murmurings. Booth slipped back into normal as he cracked wide smiles and let out breaths of laughter. She smiled back at him with similar joy and the urge to kiss her was stronger than ever.
Booth set a pile of pancakes before the two of them as he sat down in the chair across from her. Brennan grabbed a couple, poured on some syrup, and then dug in. He tried to focus on cutting his pancakes but couldn't help himself from watching her.
"Hey, Booth," Brennan said after her second bite.
"Yeah?"
"You know how I asked you as to how we ended up sleeping like that?"
"Mhmm…"
"It was me. I woke up in the middle of the night, felt cold, and decided to curl up next to you."
Booth nearly dropped his fork.
Expect an update within a week or two - I'll be busy soon, however. I just got accepted into screenwriting program at NYU that will occupy a lot of my time on top of being a junior in high school.
Nevertheless, hope you enjoyed this! Please review :)