Bones: Fic - I Need You So Much Closer (6)
Title: I Need You So Much Closer (6)
Characters: Brennan / Booth
Word Count: 638
Spoilers: none
Summary: Future-fic. Old habits die hard, if ever at all.
Sometimes, on very rare and special occasions, Brennan recognizes that she’s gone too far, pushed too hard, and that she’s going to pay for it.
I’m so tired. She thinks as she stumbles into her bathroom counter, holding her towel ends in one hand and wiping the steam from the mirror with the other. This is how she knows, really, that she’s exhausted. Fifteen minutes ago she couldn’t remember to flip on the fan; and now she cannot be bothered to care about the dried streaks her fingertips will leave.
Brennan picks to ignore her raccoon eyes (a combination of running mascara and overtime at the lab), opting to brush her teeth while leaning against the door for support. She runs a hand through her wet hair, shuddering away from the thought of drying it.
So instead she curls up in her bed, wrapping her comforter around her and letting her eyes fall shut.
She wakes up to the smell of pancakes.
Untwisting herself from her sheets, Brennan rubs her eyes and examines the odd shape her hair dried itself in, an amorphous curling monster of frizz. She tames it with an elastic band, finds clothes, and washes her face as if on autopilot.
Her head aches, in the abstract way that comes when you don’t do anything you should for days and days.
There’s coffee in the kitchen, piping hot and waiting just for her. Then there are the pancakes, stacked high on colorful plates and smelling far too wonderful to be real.
But they are, and so is he.
Because of course, there’s Booth, one hand absentmindedly twirling his empty mug as he flips a page of the paper with the other.
“Morning,” he says, too cheerily for her tastes.
Brennan grunts her response, lurching clumsily toward the coffeepot.
“Oh, I’m sorry, should that have been ‘good morning, beautiful?’”
“I hardly think I’m very beautiful right now.”
His bemused smile says a lot of things, including yes, you are and also I told you so, but she doesn’t want to hear it at the moment, so she looks away.
“You got back late,” she notes, after a moment.
“You went to bed early,”
She can’t remember what time it was, not that it matters. She sits down next to him at the counter; he pushes the pancakes toward her and hands her a fork.
“Cam sent me home,” she confesses, taking a bite.
“I came to the lab to drag you out of it; she mentioned that she’d saved me the trouble.”
“I got…” she pauses, thinking.
“Wrapped up?”
“That.”
Her plate is suddenly empty, but even the most delightful coffee she’s ever tasted cannot inspire her to do the dishes. Booth stacks them up in the sink, then takes her hand and leads her to the couch. He flops down, leaving her standing.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching him stretch out.
“Relaxing. It’s Saturday, Bones.” Booth meets her stare with even eyes.
“I thought you wanted to repaint that extra bedroom?” She’s confused, he bought the paint, said she could help if she wanted.
He shrugs, “It can wait. Come on…we can just hang out, watch a movie, take a nap.”
“I just woke up.”
But she finds herself drawn down, stretching out beside him on the far-too-comfortable cushions. And she closes her eyes, because Booth promises that people nap all the time on Saturday almost-afternoons, and because he doesn’t say I warned you, Bones even though he wants to, very, very badly.
Sometimes, on very rare occasions, she takes a moment to think about how lucky she really is, and how loved she’s been. And even though she knows that these things can be explained as meaningless coincidences; she wonders, in her heart of hearts, what she did to deserve this life.
---------------------------
In a weird mood. Day one of The Job That Hopefully Becomes Something Real. Still looking for the Job That Will Pay Me While I Wait for That to Happen.
Characters: Brennan / Booth
Word Count: 638
Spoilers: none
Summary: Future-fic. Old habits die hard, if ever at all.
Sometimes, on very rare and special occasions, Brennan recognizes that she’s gone too far, pushed too hard, and that she’s going to pay for it.
I’m so tired. She thinks as she stumbles into her bathroom counter, holding her towel ends in one hand and wiping the steam from the mirror with the other. This is how she knows, really, that she’s exhausted. Fifteen minutes ago she couldn’t remember to flip on the fan; and now she cannot be bothered to care about the dried streaks her fingertips will leave.
Brennan picks to ignore her raccoon eyes (a combination of running mascara and overtime at the lab), opting to brush her teeth while leaning against the door for support. She runs a hand through her wet hair, shuddering away from the thought of drying it.
So instead she curls up in her bed, wrapping her comforter around her and letting her eyes fall shut.
She wakes up to the smell of pancakes.
Untwisting herself from her sheets, Brennan rubs her eyes and examines the odd shape her hair dried itself in, an amorphous curling monster of frizz. She tames it with an elastic band, finds clothes, and washes her face as if on autopilot.
Her head aches, in the abstract way that comes when you don’t do anything you should for days and days.
There’s coffee in the kitchen, piping hot and waiting just for her. Then there are the pancakes, stacked high on colorful plates and smelling far too wonderful to be real.
But they are, and so is he.
Because of course, there’s Booth, one hand absentmindedly twirling his empty mug as he flips a page of the paper with the other.
“Morning,” he says, too cheerily for her tastes.
Brennan grunts her response, lurching clumsily toward the coffeepot.
“Oh, I’m sorry, should that have been ‘good morning, beautiful?’”
“I hardly think I’m very beautiful right now.”
His bemused smile says a lot of things, including yes, you are and also I told you so, but she doesn’t want to hear it at the moment, so she looks away.
“You got back late,” she notes, after a moment.
“You went to bed early,”
She can’t remember what time it was, not that it matters. She sits down next to him at the counter; he pushes the pancakes toward her and hands her a fork.
“Cam sent me home,” she confesses, taking a bite.
“I came to the lab to drag you out of it; she mentioned that she’d saved me the trouble.”
“I got…” she pauses, thinking.
“Wrapped up?”
“That.”
Her plate is suddenly empty, but even the most delightful coffee she’s ever tasted cannot inspire her to do the dishes. Booth stacks them up in the sink, then takes her hand and leads her to the couch. He flops down, leaving her standing.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching him stretch out.
“Relaxing. It’s Saturday, Bones.” Booth meets her stare with even eyes.
“I thought you wanted to repaint that extra bedroom?” She’s confused, he bought the paint, said she could help if she wanted.
He shrugs, “It can wait. Come on…we can just hang out, watch a movie, take a nap.”
“I just woke up.”
But she finds herself drawn down, stretching out beside him on the far-too-comfortable cushions. And she closes her eyes, because Booth promises that people nap all the time on Saturday almost-afternoons, and because he doesn’t say I warned you, Bones even though he wants to, very, very badly.
Sometimes, on very rare occasions, she takes a moment to think about how lucky she really is, and how loved she’s been. And even though she knows that these things can be explained as meaningless coincidences; she wonders, in her heart of hearts, what she did to deserve this life.
---------------------------
In a weird mood. Day one of The Job That Hopefully Becomes Something Real. Still looking for the Job That Will Pay Me While I Wait for That to Happen.