Bones Fic: writing the waiting game
writing the waiting game
they’re almost too quiet. in theory, she begins to feel the change: it rests between them, over them, and never far behind. bones. booth/brennan. post-ep for the pain in the heart. 1274 words, pg.
note: as per livlovlaugh’s request. ♥
-
They’re almost too quiet.
The stairs stay empty as she shifts her hand into his, her mouth pressing tightly as her eyes close. She’s brief though, stroking her finger along the inside of his hand as if she’s satisfying her week’s craving in the moment.
It’s hard, it’s too hard, and she still sees Zack with her eyes closed. She tightens them. She wills the picture of the hospital, the monitors, and the way he sort of willfully laid in bed, between understanding and misunderstanding. He accepted everything, in the progress of logic, way too fast. Her heart aches - it’s funny to think, overtly romantic too, but seeing him there, still seeing him in her head just breaks it all over again.
She feels Booth’s fingers - the other hand, of course - sliding quietly through her hair and brushing over her forehead. She sighs and sighs again, into his shoulder to muffle it.
“We’re going to get pie.”
She doesn’t look up, but an odd smile twists over her mouth. She keeps herself settled, selfish sure, but she’s trying.
“Pie?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You and me and pie - strawberry rhubarb is the special today.”
There’s something about wanting to laugh. Her lips tighten. Her throat dries. It’s a common reaction to a mix of grief and overwhelming - overwhelming what? She thinks a part of herself is accepting the blame, accepting the fact that she could’ve done something more. She wanted to do something more.
Sighing, she shifts up and her knee presses into his. She rubs her eyes and then turns to watching him.
“You know the pie specials?”
“I like pie,” he shrugs, “Pie’s good for the soul.”
Her mouth twists with amusement and she nods, standing up. Her hands brush along her hips and she slides them into her pockets. He’s looking up at her, a brush of affection over his mouth. They fall to the quiet again and he reaches to talk, but she shakes her head.
If anything, she can’t do it here anymore.
She wants to be angry. She needs to be angry. Her place of safety has suddenly transformed into something else. She doesn’t want to assess it into ugly, but there’s a thick layer of discomfort. The lab’s been breeched. She’s been breeched.
So she locks to Booth as he stands, offering his hand for the moment. She slides hers forward, letting him tug her back up the stairs. She half-expects him to tug her back to the others, but he pulls her along the hall, passing the open door back to the break area and where the murmurs still are.
He pulls her away.
“You think they’d let me visit?” It falls between them as they take the stairs, him in front of her like it’s always been a habit.
She’s nervous though, reaching forward and curling her hand around his shoulder. She pulls him back a little and he almost stumbles, muttering Bones with a hiss. He looks up at her and she shakes her head, stepping down next to him.
“Yeah,” he breathes as they walk again, “Sure.”
It’s too quick. She can’t pinpoint the lie. For once, though, she leaves herself with the assumption. She has connections. He has connections. It doesn’t reassure as much as she would like it too. She doesn’t want to say need either, what she needs, what she wants. It wouldn’t be fair.
They walk again. It’s never him or her, who’s following who, and she takes the little comforts that come with that.
Floor by floor, they pass doors to different areas of expertise. She tries to think if she’s seen them all, if she every fell into an inclination of wanting to see them all. Her greatest fear comes with forgetting names, faces -
Never mind, she thinks, that she’s angry.
But that’s nothing to bring up now, between what’s happened and what’s still in her mind. Sweets is right, just a little bit right, and however angry she is about the experiment, about how naked her line of processing is - it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter right now.
“I wonder if he wants me to visit,” her lips tighten. “I wonder if he wants any of us to visit. Stuff doesn’t mean anything. I - would it be too much?”
“No.”
They’re outside, suddenly, in between the offices and the entrance to the parking garage. Booth stops. Brennan rolls her eyes and she pulls the door open instead. She waits for him to follow and his hesitation only unfolds in the form of reaching for his keys. He palms them, brushes against her as he passes. There’s a rueful grin.
She swallows. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Half the time, she’s pretty sure he placates her. It’s oddly affectionate, misplaced, she has to reason, but it’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it. He really is the only person that’s honest with her. She doesn’t know how far that goes; there was a list and she goes back and forth with that. She hasn’t told him about the experiment. She doesn’t know what that means. Too much, she thinks, too much.
In the car, he looks at her.
She fumbles with her seatbelt, pulling and adjusting and trying not to get too frustrated with it. She curses under her breath and his hand covers hers, prying her fingers away gently.
“Strawberry rhubarb,” he tells her again. The seatbelt clicks as he turns up to look at her. “It’s good.”
She snorts. “All the old people eat it.”
His nose wrinkles and his mouth curls a little. He starts the car and the radio blasts on, causing her to jump. He laughs. She glares. And it’s a little bit of routine, finally, as she reaches to turn off the radio.
“I’m not old.”
Her mouth turns up. “Didn’t say that.”
They fall into it again. That kind of nervous insistence. From before. From the beginning. Her hands rise and she drops them into her hair, tugging at the ends. She can’t help it, she thinks, going back and forth between yelling and wanting to keep this in control. She’s trying to be better. But the habit, the obvious habit lingers still.
He pulls the car out of the parking garage into a dead street. There are two lights ahead of them. He pulls through one, ends up at the second, and stops to turn and look at her.
“Are you still angry?”
It’s not the first time he’s asked her. It’s not going to be the last. But the concern that writes itself across his face makes her stop. She reaches for him this time, her hand over his on the wheel.
“No,” she mumbles.
“You’re a liar.”
He scoffs and turns his hand into hers, their fingers lacing. The light’s turned green, but there’s no one behind them. She smiles a little and she shakes her head, mumbling a quick no. There are always things that she can tell him, that she wants to tell him. It’s never about needing and maybe, here, she sort of figures a bit of it out. Just a little.
She reaches for him, in a slip of vulnerability, her fingers brushing along his face. It’s too small, maybe even too soon, but she shakes her head. He mirrors her gesture and something is starting to change. Too fast, too soon, but isn’t this how it always works?
“I’m tired,” she admits.
It’s voiced. It’s out and Brennan watches him openly, too openly for her own comfort. She shakes her head.
And he sighs, “I know.”
they’re almost too quiet. in theory, she begins to feel the change: it rests between them, over them, and never far behind. bones. booth/brennan. post-ep for the pain in the heart. 1274 words, pg.
note: as per livlovlaugh’s request. ♥
-
They’re almost too quiet.
The stairs stay empty as she shifts her hand into his, her mouth pressing tightly as her eyes close. She’s brief though, stroking her finger along the inside of his hand as if she’s satisfying her week’s craving in the moment.
It’s hard, it’s too hard, and she still sees Zack with her eyes closed. She tightens them. She wills the picture of the hospital, the monitors, and the way he sort of willfully laid in bed, between understanding and misunderstanding. He accepted everything, in the progress of logic, way too fast. Her heart aches - it’s funny to think, overtly romantic too, but seeing him there, still seeing him in her head just breaks it all over again.
She feels Booth’s fingers - the other hand, of course - sliding quietly through her hair and brushing over her forehead. She sighs and sighs again, into his shoulder to muffle it.
“We’re going to get pie.”
She doesn’t look up, but an odd smile twists over her mouth. She keeps herself settled, selfish sure, but she’s trying.
“Pie?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You and me and pie - strawberry rhubarb is the special today.”
There’s something about wanting to laugh. Her lips tighten. Her throat dries. It’s a common reaction to a mix of grief and overwhelming - overwhelming what? She thinks a part of herself is accepting the blame, accepting the fact that she could’ve done something more. She wanted to do something more.
Sighing, she shifts up and her knee presses into his. She rubs her eyes and then turns to watching him.
“You know the pie specials?”
“I like pie,” he shrugs, “Pie’s good for the soul.”
Her mouth twists with amusement and she nods, standing up. Her hands brush along her hips and she slides them into her pockets. He’s looking up at her, a brush of affection over his mouth. They fall to the quiet again and he reaches to talk, but she shakes her head.
If anything, she can’t do it here anymore.
She wants to be angry. She needs to be angry. Her place of safety has suddenly transformed into something else. She doesn’t want to assess it into ugly, but there’s a thick layer of discomfort. The lab’s been breeched. She’s been breeched.
So she locks to Booth as he stands, offering his hand for the moment. She slides hers forward, letting him tug her back up the stairs. She half-expects him to tug her back to the others, but he pulls her along the hall, passing the open door back to the break area and where the murmurs still are.
He pulls her away.
“You think they’d let me visit?” It falls between them as they take the stairs, him in front of her like it’s always been a habit.
She’s nervous though, reaching forward and curling her hand around his shoulder. She pulls him back a little and he almost stumbles, muttering Bones with a hiss. He looks up at her and she shakes her head, stepping down next to him.
“Yeah,” he breathes as they walk again, “Sure.”
It’s too quick. She can’t pinpoint the lie. For once, though, she leaves herself with the assumption. She has connections. He has connections. It doesn’t reassure as much as she would like it too. She doesn’t want to say need either, what she needs, what she wants. It wouldn’t be fair.
They walk again. It’s never him or her, who’s following who, and she takes the little comforts that come with that.
Floor by floor, they pass doors to different areas of expertise. She tries to think if she’s seen them all, if she every fell into an inclination of wanting to see them all. Her greatest fear comes with forgetting names, faces -
Never mind, she thinks, that she’s angry.
But that’s nothing to bring up now, between what’s happened and what’s still in her mind. Sweets is right, just a little bit right, and however angry she is about the experiment, about how naked her line of processing is - it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter right now.
“I wonder if he wants me to visit,” her lips tighten. “I wonder if he wants any of us to visit. Stuff doesn’t mean anything. I - would it be too much?”
“No.”
They’re outside, suddenly, in between the offices and the entrance to the parking garage. Booth stops. Brennan rolls her eyes and she pulls the door open instead. She waits for him to follow and his hesitation only unfolds in the form of reaching for his keys. He palms them, brushes against her as he passes. There’s a rueful grin.
She swallows. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Half the time, she’s pretty sure he placates her. It’s oddly affectionate, misplaced, she has to reason, but it’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it. He really is the only person that’s honest with her. She doesn’t know how far that goes; there was a list and she goes back and forth with that. She hasn’t told him about the experiment. She doesn’t know what that means. Too much, she thinks, too much.
In the car, he looks at her.
She fumbles with her seatbelt, pulling and adjusting and trying not to get too frustrated with it. She curses under her breath and his hand covers hers, prying her fingers away gently.
“Strawberry rhubarb,” he tells her again. The seatbelt clicks as he turns up to look at her. “It’s good.”
She snorts. “All the old people eat it.”
His nose wrinkles and his mouth curls a little. He starts the car and the radio blasts on, causing her to jump. He laughs. She glares. And it’s a little bit of routine, finally, as she reaches to turn off the radio.
“I’m not old.”
Her mouth turns up. “Didn’t say that.”
They fall into it again. That kind of nervous insistence. From before. From the beginning. Her hands rise and she drops them into her hair, tugging at the ends. She can’t help it, she thinks, going back and forth between yelling and wanting to keep this in control. She’s trying to be better. But the habit, the obvious habit lingers still.
He pulls the car out of the parking garage into a dead street. There are two lights ahead of them. He pulls through one, ends up at the second, and stops to turn and look at her.
“Are you still angry?”
It’s not the first time he’s asked her. It’s not going to be the last. But the concern that writes itself across his face makes her stop. She reaches for him this time, her hand over his on the wheel.
“No,” she mumbles.
“You’re a liar.”
He scoffs and turns his hand into hers, their fingers lacing. The light’s turned green, but there’s no one behind them. She smiles a little and she shakes her head, mumbling a quick no. There are always things that she can tell him, that she wants to tell him. It’s never about needing and maybe, here, she sort of figures a bit of it out. Just a little.
She reaches for him, in a slip of vulnerability, her fingers brushing along his face. It’s too small, maybe even too soon, but she shakes her head. He mirrors her gesture and something is starting to change. Too fast, too soon, but isn’t this how it always works?
“I’m tired,” she admits.
It’s voiced. It’s out and Brennan watches him openly, too openly for her own comfort. She shakes her head.
And he sighs, “I know.”