More fluff, but this time, with an angsty, slightly smutty edge to it. It's also my first story from the point of view of one half of our dynamic duo. I had this idea to write a bit about Booth in Afghanistan, dreaming about his girl and it ended up evolving into this. It was difficult to write, but I enjoyed getting into the mind of the big guy. Enjoy the cuteness!

Do You Want Me?

"You got a girl back home, Sarge?"

I glanced up at the question, turning my eyes from the letter in my hand to focus on the kid who'd asked it. He was a new recruit. Looked about twelve to be honest. Not nearly old enough to be away from his parents, let alone killing people. I liked him well enough. A little too eager for my taste, but I knew that would fade quickly. "Yeah, I do," I told him, because I had stopped pretending I didn't a long time ago.

A couple of the other guys sitting around perked up at my admission and turned to face me. They loved talking about girls. I didn't blame them. The first time I shipped off, I thought about Rebecca constantly. Dreamed about her, wrote about her in my journal. I imagined coming home and having her jump in my arms like some scene out of a romance novel. It made it easier, thinking about that girl, sitting at home, thinking of me. And even now, over a decade later, I wasn't immune to the fantasies. But this time, it was a different girl.

I thought about Bones constantly. But it was different then when I thought about Becca. With Becca, it had been a sure thing. I had told her that I loved her and she had said it back. We had done the whole weepy goodbye thing in the airport. I'd kissed her and promised to write whenever I could. Promised to come back safe. I never doubted that when I was thinking of her, she was thinking of me. With Bones, I didn't feel so sure. I worried about her more than anything. Prayed that she was staying safe. Wondered if she ever thought of me the way I thought of her. Some days I was sure she did. Others I was sure she didn't. But it never kept me from thinking about her.

I thought about things that really happened—eating pie at the diner, watching movies at her place, hugging her when she got sad—and things that didn't, things I hoped would happen soon. I imagined coming home from work and finding her in the kitchen, cooking up some horrible vegetarian concoction. I imagined kissing her when I woke up. I imagined kissing her when I went to bed. I imagined standing beside her in front of the sink, shaving while she brushed her teeth. I imagined taking off her clothes. I imagined her body wrapped around mine. I imagined her lips against my chest. I imagined her skin, warm and soft, beneath my hands. I was no saint; I imagined those things too.

"What's she like, Sarge?"

I smiled and leaned forward, tucking the letter into my pocket. "What do you want to know?"

"Is she pretty?" They always went to that first. Why wouldn't they? They were young men in the middle of the desert who had seen a naked woman in months.

"She's very beautiful," I said.

"Nice legs?"

"Nice everything."

I earned a couple of whistles for that one. "What else?"

"She's beautiful and brilliant and keeps me in line," I said with a chuckle. "What else is there?"

"C'mon, Sarge. Don't be a stickler. At least tell us what she looks like."

I sighed and was quiet for a moment, conjuring up a picture of her in my head, a picture I thought of often.

There was this time, a few months back, when I walked into the Jeffersonian and found Bones on the platform. It was late, late enough that almost everyone else had left. She was standing, bent over a table, studying something under a magnifying glass. Her brow was furrowed, her lips slightly parted. She had that intensely focused, almost solemn expression on her face that she got when she was trying to figure something out. She was wearing a lab coat, but was dressed nicely beneath. I could just see the hem of her dress peeking from the bottom of the coat. Her legs were bare for me to admire and admire I did. From her knees straight down to the graceful curve of her ankles. She still hadn't noticed me yet, so I paused and let my eyes roam back up her body to her face. Her hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. Her lips were pink with just a hint of lipstick. Her eyes were blue and deep and beautiful.

I sensed the moment she realized she was being watched. She put down the bone she had been holding and turned towards me. Her smile was bright and uninhibited. She was happy to see me. That moment—that's the moment I picture most. Because in that moment, I didn't doubt her love for me. In that moment, I was sure.

"Well," I began, "she's tall. Auburn hair, blue eyes, great smile." I paused and glanced upwards towards the moon. The same moon she was seeing, half a world away. "Her eyes are kind of sad, haunted maybe. She doesn't smile much, but when she does, it's…breathtaking. She's quick to cry, but tries to hide it. Quick to care, but doesn't let herself go there, because she's been hurt a lot. She's smart. Way smarter than me. And kind. So kind it makes me ache." I paused again and shook my head slightly. "She's lovely," I murmured, almost to myself.

There was a moment of silence after I finished and then they all burst out into one, loud, whooping whistle. "Wow, Sarge. You're totally smitten."

I smiled and shook my head. "Shut it, Private."

"You're totally whipped. It's so cute."

"Hey, you're talking to your officer now. You better watch it," I warned, but my tone was light. They laughed, but sobered up, falling quiet again.

I shook my head, chuckling to myself and reached for the letter again. It was already worn from use even though I'd only received it yesterday. I couldn't stop reading it. The words lighted something in me that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I think it was hope.


Dear Booth,

I know it's been a while since my letter. I'm sorry if I worried you. I've noticed that you're very prone to an unnecessary amount of anxiety concerning my well-being. I wish you would stop that. I'm fine, Booth. Really, I am.

I hope you are fine, too. I find myself hoping for that a lot and wondering what I would do if you weren't. Fine, that is. I don't think I ever told you this, but the main reason I came here, setting my anthropological interests aside of course, was to put some distance between us so I could figure out who I was without you. I wanted to find myself separate from you. I feared that we had grown so close that I was losing myself. I don't think that anymore, Booth. I don't know why I ever thought that.

You told me that you knew, right from the beginning. The truth is, Booth, that I did too. I just didn't realize it. You scared me. You still scare me. You make me feel things and want things that I never dreamed I'd ever feel or want in my life. Before you came along, I thought I was happy. I had my work and I had my friends and I thought I was living a full life. It wasn't until I found you that I realized how lonely I had been. I had shut myself off. From love, from the world. For a long time, I shut myself off from you too. I shied away from your certainty. It scared me, how sure you were, because I wasn't sure at all. I'm sure now, Booth. I am. And I hope it's not too late.

This is hard for me. Even as I write this, I'm still terrified. I hope I send this before I can talk myself out of it. And if you are reading this, you have to promise me something. When I see you, I'm going to be scared. I'm going to try and push you away. I'm going to try to build that wall again. Please, don't let me. Please. This is what I want. I just might need you to convince me again.

I'll see you soon,



I don't know what I thought, but I guess I thought it wouldn't take much. I thought it would be easy to convince her. I thought I could just talk her into it and she would give in and that would be that. I didn't think it would be this hard.

She was right. She was terrified. More so than I'd ever seen her. From the first moment I saw her by that coffee cart, I could see the all-consuming fear etched, plain as day, across her face. I hugged her and held her and breathed in deep that smell that meant home and comfort and Bones. I felt her relax into me and I thought it would be easy. "Hi, Booth," she said.

"Hey, Bones," I breathed, thinking it would be easy.

I drove her home and she kept the distance between us when I walked with her up to her apartment. She didn't let me touch her. She made sure I couldn't. "Bones, about that letter," I began and she asked if I wanted a beer. I said sure and she asked if I'd like to order some take out. I said sure and dropped it.

I knew she was trying to push me away. She had warned me and I knew her well so I wasn't surprised. I just didn't think it would take much. I thought, as we sat on the couch finishing off our food, that I could scoot closer to her. I thought I could wrap my arm around her and say, "Bones, it's okay, you're okay now," and she would nod and hesitate and I would say, "It's okay," and she would nod and turn towards me with those blue eyes and say, "Booth, I'm scared," and I would say, "Don't be," and she would nod and lean into me and that would be that.

It wasn't like that. Just as I was about to set my plate aside and move towards her, she stood and said she was tired and that she'd see me in the morning. "Bones, wait," I said, standing and moving towards her.

"What is it, Booth?" she asked. She was scared out of her mind.

I swallowed and thought of how much I loved her and of how the hope had felt when her letter came and found me in the middle of the desert, unsure and worried. And I thought of how it had felt the last time I'd laid our love down and she'd said she couldn't, she just couldn't. "Sleep well," I said, my voice soft.

She nodded. She was so scared. "You too," she said.

That was a week ago. I stopped trying to talk about the letter or the hope or how scared she is. Every time I do, she just shuts down and pushes me away and I can't stand to be away from her. So I've given up and I don't know what I thought, but I guess I thought it would be easier. I thought it would be easy to just slip back into the way we were before with me loving her but trying to ignore it because it just hurt so damn much. But it's not. It's not so easy.

The thing is, out in the desert, that hope was like a drug. It was like freedom and love and joy out there in the middle of nowhere. It's a hard thing to let go. I had to do it once and it almost killed me. And the thing is, I don't really want to let it go this time. She told me it was what she wanted. She told me. How can I let that be? How can I give that up?


It was almost midnight when I heard the knock on the door. I stood from the couch and opened the door and there she was. "Hey, Bones," I said as she moved past me. "You okay?"

She wandered towards the kitchen, her back to me. "I guess you're done then," she said softly, so softly that I almost didn't hear her.

"What?" I asked, moving towards her.

She turned around and I saw tears shining in her eyes. "I guess you're done trying to convince me."

The words were like a kick in the gut. I stared at her, my mouth open, my eyes wide. My gaze fell to the ground and then swept upwards, over her legs, her hips, her breasts, her lips, her eyes. I felt the familiar ache of desire in the pit of my stomach. I thought of her letter and of how I was happy that night, out there in the desert, talking about my girl with the boys. And then I felt it. The anger. It swept up my spine in a shiver, white and hot. "How dare you," I breathed. God, I was pissed.

Her eyes widened. She didn't look at me. She was terrified and I was so angry that I could barely breathe. "How dare you," I said again. "You told me you were ready. You told me it was what you wanted. You told me."

"Yes, I told you," she said, her gaze snapping back to mine. Her voice was hard, but not quite as bitter as mine. "I told you it was what I wanted, but I also told you I would be scared. I told you to fight for me."

"I am fighting for you!" I exploded. "I am fighting with everything I've got, but you have to want it too, Bones."

"I do," she said quietly. "I do want it."

"You could've fooled me," I snapped, letting out a ragged sigh. I turned away from her. Ran a hand through my hair. Took a few steps away from her, feeling the rage soften slightly, fraying at the edges.

"Do you want me?"

"I just told you I did," I breathed, still turned away from her.

"No, Booth," she said. I could here the click of her shoes against the floor as she walked towards me. "You said you were fighting for me. You never said that you wanted me."

I turned towards her and met her gaze. I had to see if she was fucking with me or if she really didn't know. As I studied her face, the drooping line of her mouth, the wrinkle of worry between her eyebrows, I realized she didn't. She really didn't know. "Do I want you?" I said. My voice was low and still rough from the anger.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. I moved closer and she tilted her head towards me. "Do I want you?" I said again.

I moved into her, pushing her backwards until her back hit the wall. Pressed my body against her body. She let out a soft gasp and I felt the remnants of my anger turn to lust in one, swift sweep. "What do you think?" I breathed.

I leaned against her so she could feel the outline of my body, feel how much I wanted her. I dipped forward and pressed my lips to her neck, nipping softly. She sighed, her head tilting to the side. "What do you think?" I whispered into her hair.

I grabbed her wrists and lifted her arms above her head. Kissed her deep and hard on the mouth. Ran my fingers down her arms to her shoulders. Cupped her breasts in my hands, my palms shifting across her nipples. She made a soft, whimpering sound in the back of her throat and arched into my hands. "Christ, Bones," I growled, "what the fuck do you think?"

She didn't answer my question. Maybe she was beyond words, but her eyes said it all. They were dark and flickering, stirring with something primal that could've been anger or desire or devotion. Maybe it was all three.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her away from the wall, into my body. Her arms fell across my shoulders, her fingers sweeping into my hair. I kissed her and lifted her and felt her legs wind around my waist. "Bones, baby," I breathed into her lips. "God, Bones."

I carried her into my bedroom and dropped her on my bed. I wanted to see her body and feel her body and have her body. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I wanted to hold her and know how it felt to be deep inside her. I wanted to feel her come in my arms. I wanted to hear my name on her lips, the way she said it when she when beyond, the way she said it when she was falling.

I tugged the clothes away from her body, feeling something possessive, something desperate rising in me. I lowered myself against her and felt her arch into me, naked and warm and needing. "I want you," I told her, my mouth pressed to the valley between her breasts. "I want you so badly," I said.

She draped her leg over my hip. I tugged her closer. Kissed her lips and thrust into her. "I want you," I breathed, as she rocked against me, pulling me closer.

I knew she was close, as close as I was, and it didn't take long before her breathing turned her ragged, her body stilling and tensing in my arms. She tightened around me, my name a breath on her lips. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, and I felt the hope fall away, fading into something real and tangible.

As her breathing returned to normal, she lifted her head and met my eye. I lifted my hand and brushed the hair from her eyes, felt a smile rising in me that matched hers. "I want you, too," she said softly.

Let me know what you think please!