|A Dangerous Aficionado
Author: Pereybere PM
Temperance Brennan has acquired herself a fan she’d rather not have. And maybe a bodyguard is required! This story is now complete!Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 26 - Words: 36,753 - Reviews: 529 - Favs: 172 - Follows: 49 - Updated: 05-26-06 - Published: 05-12-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2936097
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: A Dangerous Aficionado
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Fox.
Rating: The story is rated M.
A/N: So my story is now complete. I have totally loved writing this. I hope you have liked reading it just as much. Thank you to every single person who reviewed this. I wouldn't have done it, had it not been for you guys.
An EMT checks out my cuts and bruises and comments that, compares to Booth, I got off with few injuries.
"He's fractured his rib," I hear one of them say, looking harassed. "Judging by his shoulder, he was shot recently, too." I drop my eyes to the ground, recalling his words. I know now, that it wasn't true. But the hurt I had felt when he said it almost crushed me. I felt as though someone was squeezing their fist around my heart.
I see him, passing his hand over his rib cage and I wonder at how much love I feel for him. He saved my life. Our life. How many times does he have to do this?
I see a body bag, carried from the warehouse and I speculate as to why I feel no sorrow for the dead man inside. Instead of feeling remorse for Booth taking his life, I feel relief and a small amount of satisfaction. I hope it doesn't make me a bad person.
The EMT presses a stethoscope to my chest, and listens, to my ribs, to my back and finally pulls away. "You're both so lucky to be alive," he says, dropping the stethoscope into his bag. I nod.
"I know. But you're right, Booth got it worse than me." The man looks at me, and smiles a little. "Are we done here?" I slip out of the ambulance and move across the parking lot to where Booth stands, his shirt pulled up to expose the violent bruising beneath.
He looks up at me, then drops his gaze immediately. I see the pain there. I know he had to say what he said, but it doesn't stop the shock reverberating through by body. He never told me he did love me. But I had always assumed…
"Hi," he says, dropping his shirt.
"You okay?" I slip my hand beneath the cloth, passing my fingertips over his ribcage. He winces, his grasping my wrist. I stiffen.
"Hurts…" he says. "Look… Bones…" I shake my head.
"It doesn't matter," I say dismissively. He stares at me now, his mouth a grim line. I mentally recall everything we've went through, every moment he's been at my apartment and I wonder, now that it's over, where do we go from here? Are my nights of comfort over? I've never experienced sex like I have with Booth. He's passionate and considerate and I don't want to let it go.
"Yes it does," he replies, slipping his arm around my waist. He pulls me against him, and I hear his sharp intake of breath when my ribs bang his. "It matters so damn much," he murmurs into my hair. My arms snake around him, and I inhale him. I need him - like I've never need someone before. There's no one watching me now, and yet I still need his protection.
"Yes…" I agree softly. "It does." I open my mouth to speak, again, but Booth slips away from me. When I turn, one of the FBI agents is walking towards us, carrying an evidence bag with a wallet inside.
He stops before us, and holds it up for Booth's inspection. "His name was Trevor Irvin. Check out his address," he points to the ID card, nestled inside the open wallet. Booth and I stare at it for a long time, and I feel a new wave of sickness.
"He lived across the street!" Booth growls, snatching the bag from the agent's hand. "The whole time, the bastard was looking through you're window?" I inhale, willing the nausea away. It's over now. Over.
When we're alone, I turn to Booth, who clutches the plastic bag with white knuckles. He stares at me for a long moment, then sets it aside. When he touches me, I know everything will be alright. His fingers stroke my hair, caked in dirt and blood. Around us, federal agents, EMTs and policemen buzz, and in the far distance, workers that had heard the gunshot have congregated, intrigued. But he doesn't move away, and he isn't embarrassed by how we receive curious stares. I choose to be oblivious, because I want him to hold me.
He brushes his lips over mine, mumbling illegible words. I lean into him, as his tongue probes my mouth. He tastes a million times better than I remember. And he only kissed me this morning. His hands move over my back, his fingers stroking the hair at the base of my neck. I tremble against him.
"Bones…?" I ignore him, clinging to him, kissing him as though it's the most important thing in my life. I think at this moment, it is. He is. "Bones, I didn't mean it…" I nod, barely acknowledging his words. "I really do… I do…" He bundles me into the tightest embrace, and all the technicalities disappear. Where do we go from now? How can our relationship survive? What if he dies?
I stop questioning, for the first time in my life. I stop analysing. I just exist.
"I know," I whisper. "I do too."
And now Booth and I can finally begin.
What am I going to write about now? I guess I will have to start brain-storming! Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you liked it.