This is my first Bones fanfic, it came to me when I was at home, feeling ill, but when you have to write, you have to write, there's not much you can do about it!
It's from Bones' POV, I tried to make it as 'Bones-ish' as possible, but it's quite hard to get inside her head.
Sadly, I don't own Bones, believe me I wish I did, but it belongs to FOX and a few other people whose names I can't quite remember at the moment.
I shifted my gaze to the left femur, noting the jagged fracture near the middle of it. Sighing and stepping back from the examination table, I closed my eyes and let the murder scene unravel in my mind, momentarily forgetting the young girls' body lying in front of me.
Our biological stress response is a natural process which is called 'fight or flight'. The hypothalamus prepares the body for action, the pupils of the eyes become dilated, the heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline rushes through you body. This is why, when you are scared you are able to fun away faster than you would have thought possible.
This girl fought back. She fought back from her position on the ground, with her attacker sitting on top of her legs. She fought back so hard her bones snapped.
I opened my eyes and compartmentalised my emotions carefully, before resuming my work.
Let's see, what other damage was there?
The skull showed signs of head trauma, and there was a slight indentation on the frontal lobe.
She was probably hit on the head with a blunt object, say a-
'Hey, Bones!' I heard Booths' voice resonate through the area. I rolled my eyes.
Does he not get that this is a workplace? That it has to be a quiet environment to ensure maximum concentration?
I looked at him from underneath my eyelids and scowled half-heartedly.
'Boy, aren't you glad to see me!' Booth teased as he swiped his way through security.
'I'm not a boy, and I would really appreciate it if you could refrain from-'
'It's an expression, Bones. And I was being sarcastic. You look about as pleased to see me as a cat does when it sees a dog.' He raised his eyebrows in a manner which looked apologetic. Well, I wasn't sure whether the average human being would consider it an apologetic look, but I did, and I knew it was.
But does he even realise he's doing that? That it's his way of apologising?
When a male raises his eyebrows at a female, it could mean a number of things. He could be implying that he wants to participate in sexual activities with her, or even that he has been hurt by a comment she has made. Not many males use eyebrow gesticulation indicating an apology.
So why did I know for sure that that was what Booth was doing?
I know him too well. Like I know the palm of my hand. Like I know every single bone in the human body.
Booth had now moved beside me to inspect the bones I had been identifying.
'So, how's the victim holding up?'
'The victim is dead, Booth.'
'Yah, I know that, Bones. I was merely giving you a hint so that you'd tell me what you'd found.'
I rolled my eyes at his strange logic. 'Well…' I relayed all my findings to him, and we discussed possible suspects and murder weapons for quite a while afterwards. I found myself feeling a lot lighter by the end of the conversation; this was a regular occurrence after a conversation with Booth. Talking with him about the case made me feel much more confident about solving it. I found myself wanting to talk to him a bit more instead of focusing again on my work, something that was bizarre. It just wasn't rational.
Am I saying that the relationship- the best friends, caring for each other thing- is irrational?
Isn't love meant to be irrational?
I sighed, figuring I must be really tired if my thoughts were about me being in love with my partner.
My mind must be de-compartmentalising itself. Not good.
'Lets go and eat out, I'm starving.'
Booth looked at me as though there was something wrong with me. I slowly raised my hand to my hair, wondering if it was sticking up at the back or something. No, nothing was wrong. I concluded that me must have found my suggestion offensive in some way. I was more than slightly disappointed about this.
'Or maybe not. I just wanted to-'
'Bones, you okay?' Booths' expression had changed to one of worry.
Oh no. Not 'the worried' expression. That expression means that he's going to rub my arm comfortingly, or tilt my chin up with his finger and thumb so that he can look in my eyes and I, inevitably, into his…
Those dark, caring, beautiful eyes…
Wow, Tempe. You're tired.
I half-smiled at him and then, knowing that I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all him, I let out what had been bothering me.
'Why would someone do something like this?' I indicated to the body. I knew that there wasn't an explanation, but I still wanted one. I tried to say something else, but I couldn't quite form a coherent sentence in my brain.
My damn traitorous brain. It's definitely de-compartmentalising.
'I don't know,' Booth replied softly.
'She was only fourteen!' I managed to splutter, looking around the lab, trying to focus my eyes on anything but those bones. 'There is no good reason as to why someone would want to do this to her.'
It's not logical. Not rational.
Booth shifted his hand so that it was resting right next to mine on the table, our little fingers almost touching. Still frowning in frustration, I looked up at him. His handsome face was tense, tired.
We looked at each other, our eyes locked in silent conversation. I took in his worries silently; he didn't have to tell me them. I could feel he was doing the same thing with mine. A small, small but genuine smile began to creep up across my face, mirroring his own.
It's amazing how we can help each other out with just a look. This is how we work. We deal with worries together.
We do everything together.
I started in embarrassment.
Well, not everything, obviously.
'Let's go, Bones!' Booth grabbed my arm and dragged me to my office, chuckling.
'What?' I asked curiously.
'Your brain has started to compartmentalise again, am I right, or am I right?'
I gasped. 'What? How do you know? That is purely guess work, I am sure,' I scoffed.
He knows me too well, too.
He started to help me with my coat. ''Cause you just came up with some logical thought or another, I can tell.'
'Fine, you're right,' I huffed, glaring at him humorously. 'But I bet you can't tell me what the logical thought was, can you, Mr. Smart-Bum?'
'It's 'smart-arse', Bones,' he grinned wolfishly at me, and I forgot the sarcastic remark that I had been going to reply with.
Is it normal for one human beings' smile to have such a profound effect on another human being?
All I could do was stare at him.
That stupid, handsome smile.
That Cheshire cat grin that melts something inside me every time it shows itself.
When I see it, I am sure that I want to see it every day for the rest of my life.
It was making me feel irrational things. It was making me think irrational thoughts.
Because feeling like everything is right with the world, that's irrational, right?
Feeling that everything is going to turn out just fine, that's silly, isn't it?
Feeling, knowing, that sometimes the only things that matter in the whole universe are him and me, and that absolutely nothing will come between us, that together we make one person, like two halves make a whole- that can never happen, can it?
And I suddenly found myself smiling back at him, with the biggest smile I have ever smiled, whilst he leads me to the SUV with his hand on the small of my back.
His smile-that smile, was my smile.
I feel warm.
Maybe some of those thoughts aren't so irrational after all.