It's late because real life is pushy, but I really wanted to do this tag for Daredevil in the Mold.
This one is for a few people for different reasons. MrsxEdwardxCullen, for putting up with my shocking reply skills. Don'tCallMeNymphadora4, for brightening up my day...I hope this brings a smile to your face :) and to eitoph, because I feel bad for not running this one past you and just posting. Lol.
I've only done one read through, so point out any typo's to me, please :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. Hell, I don't even like coffee.
The Simplicity of Coffee
Life sucks sometimes and the way he's going, he knows it pretty well at this point. He raises another shot to his lips and tips his head back, relishing in the hot burn of the amber liquid as it slides down his throat. It's not about the taste of the alcohol anymore, he's long given up on that; it's about the feel of the fire as it hits the ice of his belly and rolls around with it before succumbing to the coolness and settling, sending a feeling of emptiness to every limb and reach of his body.
Sending the desire for another shot to every cell of his tired and worn out self.
He doesn't have to turn around when she sits down, "I'm not a drunk."
But she already knows that.
He tirades on about how angry he is and he's madder at her for not fighting back. He wants an excuse to yell, he'll take anything on. Instead, she lets his words wash over her and she takes a drink with him. She drinks with him until he knows he can't stand without her support because for once he wants the attention, he wants to be the one who's allowed to be hurt and confused and he damn well wants her to understand what her rejection has done to him. It doesn't matter that months later she's back pedalled and finally realised her regrets, the damage is done and he wants her to feel the guilt. Even if it tears them apart. In his drunken mind it makes him feel better.
He feels rather than sees or hears the rain as she guides him from the cab to his building. He thinks bitterly of Hannah and how her makeup would be running in this weather and how her hair would first frizz and then matt to her scalp. He turns to Brennan as she helps him up the stairs and notices how the rain actually makes her look more radiant.
His breath is hot and insistent against her lips as she presses him inside his apartment. He knows the guidelines he's set out, partners, nothing more, nothing less, but it is physically hurting him to not kiss her right now.
She sees the desperation in his eyes and knows this could be so wrong for them, but before she has a chance to pull away she is locked in a clumsy, yet firm kiss. He turns them roughly, pushing the door closed and pushing her up against it in a frenzy. Any doubts about this action are quickly stifled as he becomes more insistent, kissing a path down her neck, his hands running rampant along her arms, her sides, her breasts, anywhere he can reach.
She pulls his mouth back to hers, tasting the rain on his lips, wanting so much more of him.
And then she pulls back.
"We can't do this."
An anger like no other flares within his very core. He can't handle this anymore, he can't handle the rejection. He's reached his wits end. He turns from her, not even bothering with a, "good night." He figures she knows the way out of his apartment and out of his life; she needs no help getting there.
But then a warm hand tugs him back and a soft kiss is planted on his forehead and he realises that she sees him better than anyone else ever has. She knows what he has been wanting the whole night. She knows that he needs to be taken care of for once.
"Tonight, Booth. It can't happen tonight."
He nods and knows she is right.
It feels too early when he wakes up, but the sounding of his alarm proves that he should be halfway to the shower by now.
It's a struggle, but he finds all his clothing and pulls it on in order, making sure he looks alright in the mirror before heading downstairs to hail a cab. He tries to calculate how much he drank the night before, but finds that his mental attention is doing little for his mathematics skills today. He has a feeling it has something to do with the niggling sense in the back of his mind that something meaningful happened last night.
His heart was shattered less than 12 hours prior and yet he doesn't feel completely lost and broken as he thought he might after being turned down for a third time by a woman who he truly loved.
He pays the taxi driver and heads into work, the fluorescent lights all at once too much for his already pounding head. His mind again flicks to the events of last night, trying to calculate how many drinks he had. He's never had this feeling of still being drunk while simultaneously receiving hangover symptoms before and he'd like to avoid it in the future.
He passes through the bullpen without having to talk to a single person and he's grateful for small miracles.
As his mind starts to put together the events of the previous night he makes his way into his office only to be assaulted by an onslaught of memories and feelings about the night before. He remembers the kiss, he remembers his ultimatum, he remembers the feel of her delicate skin under his rough touch. He remembers her saying good night.
She steps toward him as he stares at her. She is unsure whether his dumbfounded reaction is based on her being in his office without notice after such an eventful night or the fact that he couldn't be feeling quite well standing on his feet after the consumption of a vast amount of alcohol the night before. At any rate, she came here with only one thing on her mind and that was to deliver coffee.
Without a word she holds his latte out to him and he smiles as he takes it from her. She knows him.
There is an air of hope surrounding them.
It's not much, but it's coffee.
And it might just be the beginning of their forever.
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