A/N: I don't like posting multi-chapter fics because I end up leaving them unfinished for months at a time. So now, instead of keeping people waiting for eons, I post all the chapters at once. I apologize if this irritates anyone with me on their favorites list. Anyway I hope you enjoy this, I did my best to channel my inner Brennan, and I hope I did her justice. – MC
It's an addiction.
I can admit that now.
It wasn't easy for me to come to this conclusion, but at a certain point a scientist such as myself must relent when presented with the facts. And the facts added up to this: I, Temperance Brennan, was addicted to sleeping with Seeley Booth.
Not sexually, at least not at the time. That's not to say that it would never happen. But no, I mean addicted to sleeping next to him, beside him, entangled in him. With my head on his chest, listening to his steady heart rhythm and his easy respirations.
Feeling the heat of his body against mine. His arms around my waist, cinching me to him, protecting me even in the deepest sleep. I think that this means something, though I couldn't say just what. Perhaps I'll talk to Sweets.
The first time it happened there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why the two of us were sharing the same bed. It was when we were working the case of the conjoined twins, in Texas. Going undercover with the trailer that the FBI had lent us, there was only one bed. A relatively small bed, in retrospect; probably built for a single occupant.
He'd tried to be a gentleman the first night, as Booth always does. I was sitting in bed reading, and he was at the table pretending to be going over a report, when in reality he was rather obviously looking at my upper thighs, where my pajama shorts had started to ride up.
It was getting late; I could hear the crickets singing outside, and the sounds of the last few stragglers heading into their trailers for the night. I remember it was really hot out, even for the late hour. Beads of perspiration were starting to collect on my chest. I remember this because I remember Booth was looking at that, too. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn't really reading either. I was watching him, watching me.
I don't think I have to describe the physiological effects that were taking place in my body at that moment; I should think it would be rather obvious. I'm sure we can all guess what was going on with Booth as well. After a while he really did start reading his report, perhaps to distract himself from our proximity. I kept watching him.
Eventually he got up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes the way he does when he's tired, and said, "Well Bones, I think I'm gonna call it a night. Hand me that pillow?"
"What do you need a pillow for?" I asked; but I had an inclination as to what he was suggesting.
"I'm taking the floor, Bones, no big deal."
I laughed at him. I think he enjoys it when I laugh. I say this because I've noticed that every time I do, he smiles. "Booth, that's ridiculous. It's a bit of a tight fit, but there's room enough for both of us up here."
"Bones, really, it's okay," he insisted. I never could understand these old-fashioned notions of his. Most people don't live by the same set of moral standards our society once did. Hardly anyone abides by the codes of chivalry, for instance, I myself agreeing that the principles are somewhat antiquated. But then perhaps that's not a good thing. Perhaps that's why, despite the fact that I don't like many people, I do like Booth.
"Booth, you're being completely irrational. Why would you sleep on the cold, hard floor, when there's a perfectly comfortable bed right here?" I leaned over and grabbed the pillow from him, throwing it down beside me.
"Fine, Bones, fine. But we'll sleep head-to-toe, alright?"
I snorted this time, and he smiled again. "Booth, what difference does it make? If you're going by the fact that we're the opposite sex and we're sleeping in the same bed, sleeping head-to-toe would make no difference. Our genitals would still be aligned."
"Bones, alright! Enough! Just cool it, you win."
I can never seem to remember how difficult it is for him to hear about anything referencing basic human anatomy. I assume it has something to do with his catholic upbringing, but he doesn't let me talk about that either.
He went to lock the trailer and brush his teeth, stripping down to his boxers and a muscle shirt. Even though I had won the discussion, I could see from his stance and the rigid way that he was moving that he was feeling tense. That's something else I like about Booth; he allows himself to be in situations in which he feels out of his own element. I did my best to reassure him, though I would not consider reassurance to be one of my specialties.
"Booth, honestly, it's perfectly fine. You're my best friend, I think can trust you not to do anything I wouldn't want you to."
He looked at me from the bathroom, and there was a strange emotion on his face that I could not identify. Perhaps it was a strange choice of words. He finished brushing his teeth and walked over to the bed, staring down at me with his arms crossed. It made me feel rather tense, the way he was looking. Then he smiled and said, "Ahh, Bones, but can I trust you?"
I had to scoff at that. "Uh, I think I'll be able to control myself Booth."
"Oh really?" he asked, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was going to be unpredictable. "You really think so?"
was afraid to answer, but I did so, cautiously. "…Yes." I was
looking at him suspiciously, waiting. That's when he leapt on me,
pinned me with one hand, and began to tickle me. I must say, being
tickled is an unusual sensation. It's exciting and fun, and awful
all at the same time. I hadn't experienced it since childhood, and
admittedly I found it quite enjoyable. I've since pondered the idea
of tickling Booth, but I'm unsure as to how to assess which is an
appropriate time. I also find myself having difficulty with figuring
out how to initiate it. Nevertheless, Booth seemed to have no problem
initiating it this particular time.
As he pinched at my sides I was astonished at the shrieks of laughter that were coming out of my own mouth, and the uncontrollable flailing of my body as I attempted to fight off his attack. It's not often that I'm not in complete control of my own body. Normally I would have found it disconcerting, but I was with Booth. I was pushing at his chest with one hand, and I'd managed to catch hold of one of his wrists with the other, attempting to keep it away through my peals of laughter.
I was becoming acutely aware of the exquisite definition of his pectorals under my fingers, but before I could take any detailed inventory he exclaimed, "Ah, see that Bones? I knew you couldn't resist me! So much for being in control!" Attempting to tell him that I was merely touching him to keep him off me was pointless, because I could barely catch my breath enough to scream his name before I was laughing again. My sides were beginning to ache.
After approximately forty-five seconds of this, though it felt like longer, someone yelled for us to quiet down, at which point he finally ceased. I was panting, trying to smother my giggles when he hissed at me, "See Bones? Now you got us in trouble with the carnies!"
I was on my back and he was still pinning me down, with his arms on either side of me. "Me!? You're the one that—"
He put his hand over my mouth, and I felt an uncomfortable jolt through my stomach. Booth would have called it having "the butterflies". "Shhh Bones, you're going to get us in trouble again." I gave him my best glare, but he just smiled again and took his hand away. His face became serious, and he asked me quietly, "Bones, am I really your best friend?"
hadn't really been aware of the fact that I'd said it, but as
soon as I thought about it I knew it to be true. I was careful about
my answer, though. I looked at him for a few moments before replying,
"Well, if you look at it objectively; I spend a great deal of my
time with you, you know more about me than anyone, and I trust you
with my life. I'd say that if there was a concrete definition for
the term 'best friend' then you would definitely meet the
criteria." He looked at me for a while, and then he said, "You're
my best friend too, Bones."
When he said that I felt as though something moved deep within me. Something important. I don't know what that means.
He seemed to realize that he was holding me down then, and quickly released me, sitting back against the pillows. "Well, best buddy, we should get some sleep, we've got an early morning."
"Yes," I agreed, "we still have to practice our act."
"And you know, do some actual police work," he reminded me.
"Of course," I answered, lying back against the pillows. The space was so limited that our bodies were pushed right up against each other. I could feel the length of him pressing against me all the way to my feet. With anyone else this would have been exceedingly uncomfortable, but with Booth things are always different. Frankly, I enjoyed having him at such a close proximity. He leaned over me and flicked off the light, and I wanted to reach out to him and put my face against his. But I didn't.
As we settled in to sleep I could see the stars shining through the slits in the venetian blinds, and feel the warm night wind cooling my hot skin. Booth was awake beside me in the dark, his breathing gave him away. Maybe he wanted to press his face against mine too, at that moment.
I don't know when I fell asleep. I had lain there for some time, just enjoying the quiet with Booth beside me. I do remember when I woke up, however. It was 4:27am in the morning. I know this because, as I sat bolt upright, the blurred image of the illuminated red numbers on the digital clock swam into view.
I must have made some sort of noise, a gasp perhaps, because instantly Booth was beside me, holding me tightly against him. My breathing was ragged, and I was in the uncertain state of mind whereupon you're trying to figure out whether a dream actually occurred or not. Booth was whispering into my hair, telling me everything was okay, and I was holding onto his arms as though they were keeping me from drowning.
After a few moments he asked, "What were you dreaming about, Bones?"
I don't believe dreams have any real significance. I don't believe that they are a map of the human psyche. But still, sometimes when I dream, it makes me wonder for a moment if there may not be some small modicum of truth in the theory. If I hadn't been half asleep I probably wouldn't have told him what I dreamed of. But I did.
"I was…in a room. It was dark. I knew you were there too, but I couldn't see you. I could hear you calling for me, Booth, and we couldn't find each other. And we weren't alone in the room, there were others. They wanted to keep us from finding each other, they were holding me back, covering my mouth. I could hear you calling but I couldn't answer."
I was still panting a little. I have very vivid dreams, and the feeling of those cold, clammy hands holding me in the darkness would stay with me for days. As would the sound of his voice, lost in the black, searching for me.
He held me tighter, rocking me gently with his face pressed against mine, just like I'd wanted. Shh, I'm here, Bones," he whispered, "we're right here, we're together." I nodded against him, my breathing calming, and he pulled me down with him onto the pillows. I didn't want him to let me go, and he didn't. He held me against him on his chest, stroking my hair. I could hear the sound of his heart beating against my ear, and it made me feel very…safe. I held him tightly as I lay there, taking comfort in his solidity, his realness. He thought I was asleep when he kissed my forehead.
The second time it happened was the very next night.
Our first show had gone off without any problems, in fact I think we proved ourselves to be very skilled circus performers. I myself am very adept on the high wire, though I didn't get the opportunity to showcase my skills. Booth was an extraordinary knife thrower. To perform with him was exhilarating.
As we climbed into the trailer that night, we were both exhausted. We took turns showering and changing. I was reading when he crawled into bed beside me, and as he flipped open a report and began to read, I lay my head against him. I don't know what made me do it. But for all the times I've said or done the wrong thing in a situation, I don't think that this was one of them.
The most satisfying part of it was that he just put his arm around me and held me closer, like we'd been doing it for ten years. I fell asleep reading my book and woke when he was pulling it from my hands. When he turned out the light and went to sleep, I curled my arms around him, buried my head so tightly in the crook of his neck I could feel his pulse against my face. I can honestly say that at that moment, I was completely happy.
And the next day, I was completely the opposite.
We had figured out what had happened to the twins. We had solved the case. It was the first time that I had ever been sad about that. But I still had one more night with him. The case had ended late, there was no point in packing up the trailer at such a late hour, it was only logical that we stay one more night.
I think I held onto him the closest that night. Because I knew that after that, I would be alone again. And he wouldn't be there to save me from the fingers clawing at me in the night. I did my best to memorize everything about the way it felt to be held by him. The way my body just fit against his like that's what it had been made for. I took the feeling of his skin on mine, his breath against my cheek, the way it felt to have him slide his hands around me and pull me tighter against him; and I committed them all to memory.
Early the next morning as I lay sprawled, unconscious, across his chest, the phone rang. He quickly reached for it so it wouldn't wake me, and answered softly, "Booth."
I'm not usually a very deep sleeper, so I woke to hear an agent chattering to him across the line. Something about being picked up later that day. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, and felt foolish; but I hadn't actually opened them yet, so Booth didn't notice.
He hung up after a moment, and with eyes still closed I asked in a voice thick with sleep, and emotion, "What was that about?"
He ran his fingers up and down my vertebrae, and answered, "Nothing, Bones. It's early, go back to sleep."
"M'kay," was all I had the energy to say, as I tightened my grip on him and enjoyed the last few hours of what I can now admit to as some of the best nights of my life.