I succumbed to the general post-HitH atmosphere that was hanging around her. I was planning on working on Unexpected, then I was planning on writing some kind of thing where Bones reminisces, and then she suddenly took over! She can be bossy...
Okay, in all seriousness, I loved this episode so much. It's slightly cliché, sure, but so much better than the usual cliché things. Also, this is unbeta'ed, unchecked, un-anything. I kinda like it, though. And I don't know how to end it differently, so the end is the end. Kimberley, dit is voor jou. Ik kende je niet, maar geloof me als ik zeg dat je gemist zal worden. RIP.
Kimberley, dit is voor jou. Ik kende je niet, maar geloof me als ik zeg dat je gemist zal worden. RIP.
It had been a reversed reality. Booth getting taken, not her. Booth hurting, Booth stuck somewhere and they didn't know where. It was everything she had never wanted to happen.
She had never really dealt with it. She hadn't asked anyone for help, she had just clung closer to what she knew, all because she didn't want to lose it again. She didn't want to even have to think about losing it again.
It hadn't even come close this time.
Then why did she feel so guilty, so bad that she wanted to spill the rarely shed tears? It had not been her stuck down there. Yes, maybe it had been someone she loved, like Angela had put it, but it hadn't been here. It was Booth who should cry, who should have these thoughts, not her. She had had them a long time ago, in another time, another universe.
So why was she standing in front of his door right now, in the dark cold, seeking comfort, while she had no reason to do so? The fact that she almost lost her partner didn't seem to mean so much when she thought of what he had almost lost. His life.
Thankfully, when she had knocked on the door without even thinking, just something her body did automatically, he didn't look surprised when he opened the door. He looked like he expected, wanted her to be there.
She stepped inside, shedding her coat as she did so. Looking at him carefully, almost automatically, to see if he was okay. She knew she was not talented in the area of reading people's body language, but this time, it was different. This time, she had some idea of what he was going through. She couldn't just be clinical this time. Her experience was involved, too.
"Hey," he finally said, not longer being able to stand the silence any longer. Silence was good, it could be heaven when it came to him and Bones, but right now the silence was pressing on his ears.
They walked into the living room together, and she saw the bottle of whiskey on the table. It was opened, but nothing had been taken from it. As if he hadn't know what to do, like his mind fought what his body wanted to do. Father against son.
She turned around, blindly, and hugged him again. She could feel his surprise, him stiffening for a moment, before he became the gentleman he always was and just held her. They both needed the contact. She needed to know he was still there, and he needed to know he wasn't alone.
When they pulled back, eventually, she noticed his eyes were red. Bloodshot.
She knew why, of course. Hadn't she been through the same? Now that she looked at him closer, she could see the telltale signs of tiredness. He needed to sleep, and he needed to do so soon, before he would collapse.
"Sleep." She was still looking at him, her blue eyes boring into his, and no matter how much he wanted to refuse, he couldn't. He knew he should sleep. Logically (he snorted at how much Bones had influenced him over the years), he knew he couldn't do much longer without sleep.
But the conversation with Hodgins kept going through his head. He had come to Booth, shortly after he had been back, warning him. Telling him he'd get nightmares, and he shouldn't be alone.
But he'd been too afraid to call anyone. To call her. It would seem stupid, and immature, and weak. He didn't want her to see him weak.
She had come to him now, offering him the solace and the peace he needed. He simply could fight no longer against his body's urges, and he nodded, walking towards the couch.
She stopped him. The contact shocked him, movement of bare hand against bare arm, but he stopped himself before he'd do anything.
"You have a perfectly good bed," she told him seriously. Then her expression changed into something more pure, something softer. "I'll be there."
She walked with him to his bed, then went back to the living room to give him some privacy to change while she grabbed a chair from the room and dragged it back into the bedroom.
He was changing into another shirt when she came back, and she tried to ignore the way his muscles flexed. Now was not the time. She waited until he had finished before she entered, even though the door was still open. She just wanted to pay him some respect.
He turned around, surprised, when he heard her lower the chair onto the floor.
"I have a perfectly good bed," he repeated her, motioning towards said bed.
She looked at him again, surprise and something else etched on her face. She really wasn't so hard to read as she thought she was.
The she nodded, resolutely, deciding that when he asked, he was serious. She moved towards the bed and went under the covers, waiting for him to do the same. A small part of her was telling her she should be happy now, she was sharing a bed with the person she loved most on the world, that she should do something, but she shushed it. She knew now was not the time, nor would tomorrow be. Other things were more important.
When he finally went it, he surprised her by holding her close, burying his head in her hair. They stayed like that for a while, no words exchanged. He wasn't sure he still had the energy to do so.
She heard his breathing even slowly and knew he had fallen asleep. Smiling, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the warmth his body gave off.