Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Summary: They'll never have different and they'll never have better, and so it's enough… It has to be. (Post-3x16, Supernatural/Bones crossover. Follow-up to "All The World Is Waiting For The Sun")

Rating: R (Probably doesn't really require it at all, but it deals with slightly mature themes, so I'm gonna go ahead and make sure I cover my ass)

Author's Note: Another Sam Winchester/Temperance Brennan fic. Because I was listening to Temposhark and they sparked an idea… This is a follow-up to my previous fic, "All The World Is Waiting For The Sun"... I wasn't entirely sure where to put this one, because where the previous one was in Sam's point of view, this one's kind of in both and I can't decide whose voice is more prominent… But I eventually decided on here, so… yeah. Enjoy!

Lyrics and title from "Not That Big" by Temposhark (feat. Imogen Heap). Why…? Because EVERYONE should know Temposhark. And Darren Hayes, but, you know, that's not really relevant here, so…

I daren't speak of what I'm wishing uselessly:

I don't ask, for everything we've done has passed

Who cares if we will meet again?

It's obvious that we're not friends

It's little more than desperation. It rarely goes beyond touch. There are no whispers of love. No meeting of gaze…

It's quick and it's dirty and it's more than a little satisfying, but there are hints of hatred there, and neither are sure how to feel about that… because they have both convinced themselves that this is it; that there's nothing more, whether it's beyond the other or beyond the bedroom, they'll never have different and they'll never have better, and so it's enough…

Because -- well, it has to be.

There was a time, a time before he had accepted his destiny and before she had shut herself off to the world, that there had been crazy fancies of love and life and happiness… But then, when your name's Winchester or Brennan (or, you know, technically Kennan), there's really not a lot of hope for something so mystically impossible…

And so here they are, lost, alone, and desperately wishing to let out all of those feelings they've hammered down to nothing that beg for freedom with every passing moment they spend in one another's arms… That's why she leaves the moment it's over. She dresses and she glances at him with something akin to shame swimming in her eyes (and still they never actually meet his own), and before he can let himself break, she's gone and he's fighting the urge to cry or scream, or take down a fucking wall, because he's still lost and alone, and he has nothing but these moments to hold onto, but they're not enough -- they're not enough because there's still a whispering darkness there, in his mind, and he's trying to fight it, but he's losing with every damn missed opportunity --

And she's no better. She closes that door, and she instantly stops and melts back against it as she tries to hold herself up on shaky legs. She knows it needs to stop, but she has nothing else, and it is this that has her fighting to keep up those walls as she gathers her bearings against his motel room door -- and maybe, just maybe she wants to hear something; tears, a breakdown… something. Because she wants to feel it and she wants to let it out, but she can't and so she wonders and she waits for just a moment after every visit… because maybe -- just maybe -- he's breaking right along with her…

And yet somehow she is unprepared for the shattering she hears, as what she assumes is the mirror sings it's way to the tiled floor in a rush of soft, almost musical sound that only the shattering of glass can call out… It shocks her, but it shouldn't, because he's Sam, and he's quiet and reserved, and little could break that exterior, but a silent breakdown, the only victim a tacky mirror and his wounded pride? That should have been exactly what she had expected. But then, making assumptions about Sam Winchester had never proven the most intelligent move.

For a moment, she wants to go back.

It passes.

For when commitment is a dirty word

You can't afford to ever slip or let down your guard

It's not long before she's back. She's looking for a fight. Nothing new. This is their game. She calls, she's angry, next thing he knows, she's on his doorstep, pissed and looking for a fight…

It's their foreplay.

Lasts long enough for her to angry-rant her way into his shut-up kisses, and it takes less than moments for clothes to be shed (if they even bother) before they find their way to the bed… or the wall… or occasionally the table. Honestly, they've found a shockingly high number of usable surfaces in the rarely pleasant motel rooms he frequents…

And just like every other time, it's desperate and dirty, and neither can even look at the other as they dress and she flees --

Just like always…

Except this time it's different. Because when she takes her moment against the door, he's pulling it open, and she's nearly tumbling backwards, and he catches her, because, really, they both know damn well that he's known from their first encounter that this is exactly where she stays… Not for long, but long enough…

And yet, somehow, he's lost the courage, lost himself, and suddenly he looks like a damn deer caught in the headlights, and she knows she does, too, but he doesn't know what to say, and so he just looks at her for a moment, gaze softening as he tries his best to push it all into that expressive gaze. And she knows, and she sees -- and it doesn't surprise her, because this is Sam, and he's always held his heart on his sleeve and it leaks out through those damn eyes -- and he wants her to stay, but it's not enough, and they both know it never will be, so she shakes her head -- so gentle and small, she's not sure he even picks it up… before she's running.

I can't wait to come around to raise the stakes

I truly love a fight that's won before it's started; so much fun

I can't stay in case I read your inner page

Don't tell me I'm a right that's wrong

I'd better put my jeans back on

It doesn't take long before they're both wondering how to end it -- but then, they had wondered the same from the moment it had started…

But there's something here, now, that makes them believe that it has to end. Because they can't go on like this. And honestly, neither is sure whether they're pretending or not anymore. Could they possibly have fallen so far apart that it simply didn't matter?

He wonders how long it will be before this darkness blackens his soul beyond recognition, and he can't pull her into that -- and yet, it seems she's the only one keeping him from succumbing, and that makes him want to hold on, so desperately….

She wonders why she is unable to open herself up to emotion and caring and everything else she's just not sure how to feel, because she imagines it could be her destruction here, in this cold world…

He knows she sees it….

She knows there's something dark in him -- cold, empty. Something she would never have associated with the man she had once known only as the bright eyed student with the shy smiles and nervous laughter.

She assumes it's his guilt at the death of his brother… She's still not sure how to feel about his story -- because on one hand, it's ten kinds of crazy, but on the other, this is Sam, and she may not be good at reading people, but she's always been good at reading him.

And when he tells her he didn't do it, she believes him. And that's ridiculous and irrational --

But he's Sam.

And it's crazy, and she doesn't even believe in it, really, but somehow she thinks she loves him.

Because he's Sam.

I daren't speak of what I'm wishing uselessly

My stupid vision clears to see a sugar mountain melt in me

The next time they meet, he's different. He opens the door as if he doesn't want her there -- does his best to block her view into the room, keep her outside. It's suspicious and she's instantly worried, and it's only when she hears a woman's voice from inside that she realizes what's going on.

The shattering heartbreak (something she had previously believed herself immune to) hits instantly, and she's fighting back a flood of tears that only he could bring on…

And the instant he sees it, he regrets the choice to bring the girl back here. She's pretty and she's young and she's not exactly the most intelligent girl in the world, and he had known damn well that she was exactly the kind of girl that Brennan would have ripped into instantly -- in that oblivious way she had in which he was never sure whether or not she fully comprehended how offensive some of her statements could be -- and that had been exactly his reasoning for bringing the girl back here… God, he doesn't even know her name…

But then, she's not actually here because he wants her to be -- she's here because this was the only way he could think that he might actually be able to end the damn train wreck he and Brennan have started up again…

But he hadn't imagined she would be so hurt. Hadn't imagined she would care for more than a moment.

But he had been wrong, and it only takes a moment before his eyes are falling in shame and regret and he's nearly stumbling back into the motel room, because he just has to shut her out -- has to let this -- them -- go…

But she's already halfway gone -- not physically, but he knows her, and he knows she's shutting down and she's seconds from walking away from him for good… Which is exactly what he had wanted.

But he's not so sure now…

She surprises him when she lifts his chin, presses a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. The type of kiss he had forgotten she knew how to give -- exactly the same as the kisses they had shared on that night not so terribly long ago when he had broken down and she had let him in.

I can cut my heart out just like you do

And I can suck the life out of it just like you do

I'm gonna pick myself up and pull myself together; never revel in recovery mode

He wishes, for a moment that they could have this forever.

She wishes the same.

It passes.

I daren't speak of what I'm wishing uselessly

'Cause you're not big in my life

Not big in my life, not big in my life at all