A/N: This wasn't the story that I had planned on writing when I sat down last night, but why waste a seemingly good idea? :)
Sometimes when a person falls asleep, neurons in their brain fire off random signals and play out scenarios inspired by the events in our lives and the people we're around: sometimes amusing, sometimes drab or even frightening. The brain is an amazing organ; uninfluenced by the waking psyche, it will potentially fire off some pretty creative dreams. I once dreamt about circus clowns in a grocery store, and my partner shot it and it turned into a horse that he and I rode together. I found it amusing; he told me that it was a nightmare.
Dreams only make up a part of the sleep cycle that is composed of four stages. When one is in stage IV of the sleep cycle, theoretically a person could sleep through storms or earthquakes or even being hit in the head with a wooden board (although, such a venture would be ill-advised from medical and legal standpoints). They are almost comatose. Dreamless nights or "sleeping hard", as certain FBI agents would put it, involve longer periods of time spent Stage IV.
Many people wouldn't believe it, except Booth as he can always tell when I lie or tell the truth, but I am a very vivid dreamer. Perhaps it is all that I have seen and experienced in this world, or it may be that people just don't give me enough credit in the creativity department, despite being a best-selling author. It is only after long cases or too much wine that I "sleep hard". Last night was Stage IV kind of night.
I was pulled quite reluctantly from sleep. I remember thinking that it reminded me of coming out from anesthesia: you know that you're waking up and you don't have any control whether you want to or not. What woke me, I suppose was unbelievable comfort. Quite ironic, I know, but that's the truth. I rarely lie. Incredible warmth was pressed all along my back and rear and tangled with my legs. Without opening my eyes I felt the coverlet and noted that it was not my coverlet. Okay, I thought, this isn't the first time you've woken up in a strange bed. I tried to think of how I ended up in a strange bed. And whose is it?
I tried in vain to recount what happened yesterday. All I could remember was that Booth and I closed a case and the lab was going out to celebrate. But leaving the lab was very vaguely the last thing I remember; I could be confusing memories of leaving the lab. I could remember the sparkle that always seems to be present in his eyes whether or not a good light source is available; I remember Good job Bones…and the feeling of his hand between my scapulae. But that's all…
I wonder where Booth was? He usually knows when to cut me off, and vice versa…But then again, I usually know when enough is enough. Except when the cases are particularly heinous. Was the last case that bad? I can't even recall the case details, and I don't forget those lightly…
My internal monologue stopped when that warm spot on my back huffed out a familiar sigh against my neck and an arm that apparently encircled me pulled me closer and more tightly. My eyes snapped open only long enough for me to recognize my surroundings as Booth's apartment before a splitting headache was induced by the bright morning light. I squeezed my eyes shut again and tried to recall last night's events and how on earth I ended up here!
But all I could think about was how flush he held me. More than half of those vivid dreams I had were about moments like these, where he held me so tight. The sheer number of bedroom scenes and scenarios at times could be so kinky and red-hot that the trashy romance novel section at Barnes in Noble would burst into flames. He was still fast asleep and each exhale he made sent shivers and goose-bumps down the length of my body and settling into intimate areas I had only fantasized about him satisfying. Oh wait, I realized. That was his leg that was tucked so deftly between mine that blackout-drunk Brennan had latched onto for dear life it seemed. My ankles are even crossed to keep him there! I realized suddenly the pain I felt in all my joints because of not moving one inch in the last 5 hours. I also tend to be one of those sleepers that thrash around all night. My previous lovers all seemed to find that annoying. How is that Booth managed to get me to stay put for the entire night?
Temperance indeed, I thought, biting back the irony.
Joints aching and a throbbing head-ache. I knew that the few hangovers I have experienced in life tended to involve nausea and I couldn't imagine that it was too far behind the other symptoms. Sigh There it was again. The flesh at my neck pricked up again instantaneously and stimulated all my senses again that impending vomiting and body aches were suddenly bottom of my priorities. I was once again so incredibly comfortable; dare I say that I basked in this pleasure of being so close to him for once. A small smile spread across my face as I thought: Maybe Booth is the cure to this hangover…the dirty, irrational side of my mind mused.
Until I tasted that awful aftertaste of tequila from last night in my mouth. Booth or no Booth, my eyes flew open and I jumped up from the bed very wobbly, disoriented, and determined to find the nearest waste receptacle. The bathroom was closer than kitchen trash can. What felt like all my internal organs came up and assaulted all five senses, maybe even a sixth (although that is in no way possible, but I was too hung-over to rationalize those feelings). I rested against the toilet, my throbbing head pressed to the cool porcelain trying to collect my thoughts.
Sudden irrational and blind fury overtook me (talk about a moody morning!). I needed answers and he better well answer them. I quickly flushed away that vileness and rinsed my mouth out before I stormed back into his bedroom.
"Booth!!" I yelled, even though it hurt my pounding head. "What the hell?? Why am I here spooning with you and the most painful hangover to my memory??"
"Ow! Jesus, Bones…stop yelling my head hurts too, you know…."
"No, actually I don't know. Did you get me drunk so that you could bring me here and-and…take advantage of me?? I have significant memory loss as well. I can't recall details after lunch yesterday! Did you roofie me too??"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Bones…slow down," he sat himself up on the bed, rubbing his face in frustration and pain. This definitely wasn't the way he had planned on being awoken evidently. He kept his eyes covered against the light (he must be hung-over too). "First of all, Bones, I am a goddamn FBI agent and your friend. I could never ever conceive the idea of slipping drugs into your drinks and then raping you. Especially when your squint squad can bust a moron like that quicker than you can say flash-fried-tuna-cakes."
"Secondly: have you seen how you're dressed this fine morning??" He added in ill humor, looking at me with squinty eyes.
I looked down at my outfit. My complete outfit. I was fully clothed including a chunky necklace, my leather blazer, and to-the-knee 3-inch high boots. All I was missing was a handbag. My mind shifted to pondering how I possibly had been so comfortable all night. Curse you tequila…
"Oh," was all I said, feeling quite ashamed for such a display of anger. Booth was clearly feeling as crappy as I was and probably just as much a victim in this strange situation. "I am sorry to have disturbed you."
He sighed heavily and sank back into his bed. "It's alright, Bones…I can't remember what happened last night either."
I felt stupid just standing there, and my headache was getting worse by the second. If only that light would stop. I strode over to the window where his blinds were folded open to let in the 11:30 am light. I twisted the rod until cool, peaceful darkness enveloped the room.
"Would you like some ibuprofen, Booth?" I asked more quietly than when I had first accosted him.
"If by that you mean the little brown pills, please." He let out meekly.
Quickly I returned with four pills and a glass of water. I handed him two and we drank from the same glass. That irrational side of me took slight pleasure in knowing our lips touched the same glass and drank the same liquid.
I undid my necklace, took off my jacket and boots and lay down next to him again.
"What are you doing, Bones?" Booth asked me half-heartedly as I snuggled up to his side, my head resting on his shoulder and arm across his chest; instinctively, almost like a reflex, our legs tangled themselves together. I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, to be honest, but it seemed as though my body liked to be near him, in more ways that just sexual ways.
"If we're both nursing blackout hangovers, we may as well be comfortable." I breathed into his neck, the need for rest overtaking me. I pressed my lips to his neck, feeling his pulse with the tip of my nose. I could feel the goose-bumps raise up on his skin and perhaps he even shivered. He sighed very contently, pulled me closer and pressed a warm kiss on my forehead.
Intertwined with him so perfectly, I began to not really care how we ended up in such a situation. I was simply thrilled with the idea of seeming nightmare dissolving into the perfect dream. As he sighed in my hair and goose-bumps cascaded down and in and around my body and mind I remembered with pleasure that this is real.