Carmen's Quill

Complete Fic List

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:16:51 GMT

I should have done this aeons ago. Below is a by-fandom list of the fics housed here at carmens_quill. Enjoy!

24

At Dawn (Tony/Michelle)

Alias

Sydney/Sark

Put to the Test
Defenses Down
Proclivity (drabble)
There Is But Fire; Part 1, Part 1b; Part 2; Part 2b; Part 3; Part 3b

Sydney/Vaughn
We need to take it slow (Drabble)
Facing Forward (6-part series; Sydney/Vaughn; Sark/Lauren; Jack; Weiss)
Surfacing

Other

Her Secrets, His Lies (Jack/Nadia)
57 N, 122 W (Sydney/Weiss)

Bones

Booth/Brennan
Intimate Intention (very mild R) (lists posts in reverse order...I still need to finish the last bit of this one day)
Eventuality (R)
And Then (angst)
Precision and Distance
Pros and Cons (PG)
Testing
At the Office

Other

Not Quite Ordinary (Camille/Hodgins)
Within Reach (Camille/Hodgins)
Men's Work (Gen; implied Angela/Hodgins)
Observations (Camille/Zack)
Mirror (Camille)
Focus (Camille; Camille/Booth)

Firefly

Fear/Desire (Mal/Inara; R)
Five Things That Never Happened to Inara Serra (Inara, Mal/Inara; PG)
Fragile Things (Mal/Inara)
Crashed (Mal/Inara)
Speak (Mal/Inara)
Discretion (Mal/Inara)
Which I Have to Give (Mal/Inara)

Gilmore Girls

Blueberry Pancakes (crossover with West Wing)

Heroes

Five Things That Never Happened to Elle Bishop (PG; Elle, Sylar, and others)

West Wing

His Office (CJ; angst)
The taxpayers want me to eat spinach (Josh/Donna)
One Night in Iowa (Josh/Donna)

Five Things that Never Happened to Elle Bishop (Heroes; 1/1)

Tue, 09 Dec 2008 17:23:21 GMT

Title: Five Things that Never Happened to Elle Bishop
Characters: Elle, Sylar, and others.
Rating: PG
Summary: Just like the title says.
Feedback: Is gratefully received. Although this is far from my first fic, it is my first Heroes fic and my first fic of any kind in a long time, so constructive criticism is appreciated.

i.

“What, Bennett, you have a thing for guys with stupid glasses?” From her perch in the passenger seat of Noah Bennett’s company van, she doesn’t need to look up from the files – his files – to know that he’s approaching. She also doesn’t need to guess at his attitude.

“Step out, Elle. You’re not assigned to me this week.” He snatches the folder from her hands, snapping it closed over the glossy three-by-five of Gabriel Gray’s face.

“Says you.” She complies, adjusts her jacket as she shuts the door behind her. “Daddy’s orders,” she adds, smirking up at him with all the confidence of the height she doesn’t have.

He smirks back. “Change of plans. Eden’s coming with me instead.”

She tut-tuts her disapproval. “We gals are all interchangeable to you, aren’t we?”

“Hardly.” He moves past her and drops his case through the open passenger side window. “You’re being transferred to surveillance.”

“Seriously?” Her hands are on her hips now. “You know, Bob doesn’t take too kindly to people demoting his daughter-”

“High-profile has to be earned, Elle,” he interrupts. “Get through a week without short-circuiting and we’ll see.”

“Come on, Mugsy, let me in on the action. What’s this Gray guy got that you want?”

He straightens, looking back at her for a moment as though contemplating her more than her question. Finally he turns, reaching back for his case and pulling out a file.

A smug expression begins to form on her face, but it’s short-lived when instead of Gabriel Gray, the name Peter Petrelli stares back at her. She scoffs.

“Oh come on.”

“Crawl before you can walk.”

“I’ve done plenty of crawling already, or haven’t you noticed?”

“Petrelli could be important. We just don’t know how.” He fixes his tie. “You’re going to find out.”

He’s halfway to the driver’s side before she can respond again. “This guy doesn’t even have powers. He’s a nobody.”

“Surely even a nobody deserves some attention now and again, Elle. I’m sure you’d agree.”

She’s glaring back at him, one hand slightly raised as she considers how much she wants to push the antagonism.

“And besides,” he adds, “if he’s really a nobody, you’ll find out soon enough. And if he’s not, well...time will tell. And you’re going to do the telling.”

"We'll see about that."

* * * * *

ii.

It’s not supposed to happen like this.

She’s supposed to get her blaze of glory, going down in service while proving herself once and for all.

It’s not supposed to be here, in her father’s chair, with the psychopath she created, her powers on the fritz thanks to Sylar’s ingenuity with a bucket of water.

He’s looking at her in the way she’s seen him do with everyone else, every single one of his kills. She isn’t what he wants, it’s only the power inside. As if the pain wasn’t enough, now she’s been reduced to one final experiment. Mustering everything she’s got left, she lets out one final charge before being slammed back against the chair, and her thoughts scatter. Her life is supposed to be flashing before her eyes, and yet there’s nothing she can grasp onto.

There should be something more than this, she thinks.

He lifts his hand.

* * * * *

iii.

“Nervous?” Peter’s there in the doorway, his new suit still a little stiff around his shoulders.

She runs her hands over her skirt, fussing at wrinkles that aren’t there. “You could say that.”

“Don’t be. You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” he says, then chuckles at his own words. “All right, I almost had it, you have to admit.”

Elle steps away from the mirror, facing him as he approaches. “Good effort, but I still don’t buy it.” She lets her arms settle around him as he folds her inside his. “I’m pretty convinced your mother still hates me.”

“The worst is over, Elle. Sylar’s gone, everything is done. We can move on now.”

She shifts one hand away and looks at her watch. “Make a note of the exact moment you said that. Irony can be murder, sometimes extremely literally.”

“My mother will love you. So will Nathan, though he might be a little busy saving his own ass to bother with anyone else.”

Elle lets her hands rest around his neck this time, smiling a genuine smile. “You can hardly blame him for being a little jealous. You’re the one with the power to do anything, and he’s the one stuck being some superhero-politician’s assistant.”

“Hey, I told him the chief of staff job is his as soon as I make it past the State. The rest is his problem.”

“Sure it is, Governor Petrelli.”

In response Peter only leans in to kiss her, his lips warm against hers and the smile they’re both fighting. “With you next to me we can’t lose.”

She takes both of her hands in his, the diamond gleaming on her left ring finger. “I was about to say the same thing.”

“Let’s go win an election.”

“You took the words out of my mouth.”

* * * * *

iv.

The front door swings open before she can finish packing completely, and by the time she makes it to the back entrance he’s there. Her duffel bag swings from one shoulder.

He doesn’t need to see her face to know that it’s her. “I killed you,” he says, confusion and anger blending with something she would like to think is something approaching remorse.

“So I hear,” she answers, one hand still on the doorknob.

“Elle,” he insists, taking a few more steps towards her.

“That timeline can be a bitch to straighten out sometimes, I thought you were an expert on that.”

He stops for a moment, letting himself admit what he’d suspected since tracking her down. “Nakamura. He got to you.”

“Sure did. Nothing beats a last-minute rescue.”

“Why?” It comes out more as a demand than a question.

She turns slightly, looking him in the eye for the first time in months. “You don’t know?”

His anger is still flaring beneath the surface, and she feels the air around her starting to change in her own response.

A laugh escapes her then, brief but genuine as she realizes she might actually be better at subterfuge than she thinks. “Either your sources are shittier than you need them to be, or mine are just way, way better. I figured the day you showed up at my door it would be because you found out.”

Patience hasn’t been Sylar’s forte in years. “Enough with the stalling, just tell me-” He stops short upon reaching her, his hand clasped around her arm as he stares.

It’s ten seconds too long for her preference, and she straightens her arm only to send a charged stream that knocks him back against the wall. She drops the duffel bag, facing him with the confident defiance that comes with the momentary upper hand. Her black leather jacket doesn’t hide as much as it used to.

His own jacket is looking pretty damned singed after just one jolt, but he stands again. “When?”

“You know perfectly well when.” She watches as he does the calculation in his head, knowing he can count back seven months as well as she can. Her hand moves instinctively to her belly and she cringes at her own movements, at anything that looks like weakness in front of him.

She’s ready to fire again even as he steps towards her once more, but he’s still reconciling this new information and it’s enough to make her pause.

“Why do this?” He asks. “You didn’t need to keep it, surely you considered that, too.”

Elle only stiffens in response, in confirmation.

“So, why, then? I deserve an explanation.”

She straightens her shoulders, furiously trying to shake off her hesitation. He shouldn’t be here, not like this. “Well, I figured since this kid saved my life, I owed her the same in return.”

His expression changes, and immediately she wishes she’d chosen her words differently. His presence here is already too much. “Her?” He asks. “It’s a girl?”

“The only reason Hiro pulled me off that beach was so this kid would have a chance. Apparently it’s very important that she survives and grows up.”

She grabs her bag again and gets the back door open this time before he catches her arm again. “What is it, tell me what she’s...what our daughter is supposed to do?”

He’s playing her and she knows it, emphasizing the emotions and attachments that were over long before they even started.

"Tell me, Elle. She's going to have powers, too?"

"Absolutely," she says. "And if you think I'm going to tell you what they are, you're insane. But then, I suppose we covered the insanity part already."

"She's important, then. What is she going to do?"

She pulls her arm away, looking straight up at him as she answers. “She’s going to kill you, you son of a bitch. How’s that for payback?”

And with that she lets loose with both hands, crashing him back towards the corridor, a stunned look on his face as a bookcase crumples on top of him.

“It’s the only reason I’m leaving you in one piece. She deserves a chance at least, for her life to have a purpose. She deserves more that what I got.”

Coughing, he stands shakily, surprised at the modest flames she’s lit among the wreckage of the furniture.

“You’re stronger than you were,” he says, a conclusion and not a question.

“You’d better believe it,” she answers, meeting his gaze once more even as she fires again. With one last blast she draws the ceiling down on top of him.

She knows it won’t stop him; she knows nothing she can do right now will stop Sylar, and although she has made a strange peace with this truth, she can’t speak for the child she’s carrying.

The house is in flames by the time she reaches the end of the alley, and the door of the van that slides open waiting for her. Bennett and Nakamura are ready, once again, and so is she.

* * * * *

v.

Bishop’s daughter plays only a few yards away from him, as he watches from the rear window. It’s started now, though she hasn’t realized it.

She thinks the mild static is a curiosity; she watches her hair stand on end as she stands in front of the mirror and it makes her laugh. She hasn’t figured out why he hasn’t registered her for swimming lessons like all the other five-year-olds she plays with, or that her teddy bear wasn’t lost so much as charred to ashes after she woke up from a nightmare.

She doesn’t know. Not yet.

But the Company does know, and that’s a problem.

He could make it so that she never has to. He could give her a normal life, or as close as anyone could get to it without their parents, because her safety will be marginal at best if she stays with him once they find out what he’s about to do.

His fingers rest on the cabinet, just above the drawer that holds exactly what he needs. They don’t know that he has it – at least not yet – and if all goes as planned they never will. The syringe holds the first true sample of something no one in the Company would admit to. Why would they want to? It’s hard enough to strategize as it is without this thing, the thing that could take it all away and turn their fascinations into dormant humanity.

Time is running out.

He moves onto the back porch, calling to her from the steps.

“Come here, Elle,” he says. And she does.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 16)

Wed, 07 May 2008 02:38:28 GMT

Title: Intimate Intention (Part 16)
Pairings: Booth/Brennan, Angela/Hodgins implied
Summary: See Part 1 for full author's notes.

* * * * *

{16}

* * * * *

Booth returned home early one afternoon to find Brennan stretched out on the sofa, her papers scattered across the coffee table and her laptop sitting idle. She’d let her eyes fall shut, one hand draped across her belly.

Although he’d been trying to log as many hours as possible before taking a bit of time off when the baby arrived, he’d started to scale back when he could. Angela had been right – as much as he hated to admit it – and things had been a bit better in the last month. They were talking again, more like the way they had in the beginning, when dinners would drag on for an hour and then another hour, before their work dragged them off again. The baby’s room was taking shape. Their apartment felt more like a home now, enough that Parker’s room felt more lived in and not a holding area until Booth’s weeks with him came up on the calendar.

Brennan had scaled back a little, too, at least in theory. She spent only her mornings at the lab, leaving the afternoons free to write. He knew she was trying to finish a manuscript, the deadline looming ever closer just as her due date was.

Dropping his keys in his coat pocket, then the coat over the arm of a chair, Booth approached the couch. He reached down and lifted her feet as he sat, resting them in his lap.

Her eyes blinked open. “Hi,” she said, a lazy smile forming on her lips.

“Hi back.”

“That feels good,” she said with a sigh, responding to the way his hands were rubbing one of her feet.

“Long hard day?”

She shrugged. “Not so long. Some of it hard. There’s this case that is causing a great deal of disorientation.”

“The hiker? I though you guys finished that one last week.”

“We thought so too. But Cam’s DNA tests were incongruous with our findings, and everyone went...back to the drawing board.” She let out a sigh.

“Aha. So you’re preoccupied with that then.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Actually, no.”

“No?”

“I’m supposed to be nesting.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s what the books are all saying. I’m supposed to be nesting right now, cooking and cleaning and making everything ready. But all I can think about is the book.”

It was his turn to let out a sigh. “You know, your editor did say you could take the time off, you don’t need to rush it.”

“I know.” She was thinking.

“There’s plenty of other things you can be preoccupied with.”

“Last month my editor asked me if my books were going to start paralleling my own life.”

“Starting?” He was grinning now. “Okay, so you’re saying that Dr. Reichs’ FBI boyfriend in the first books had nothing to do with reality until now—hey!” Brennan shifted her foot, jabbing him in the stomach.

“So what my editor asked me,” she continued, barely resisting laughter, “was whether Dr. Reichs would be having children, too.”

Booth’s smile faded just a little, and he let his hands settle at her feet, waiting for her to continue. “And?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. I don’t know how my character feels about having children.” She shook her head. “I can’t answer that question, and I should be able to.”

He sat up a bit straighter, noticing her expression had grown more serious, too. He kept listening.

“I don’t want to answer for her, I don’t want to assume she would have the same answers as me. Maybe she doesn’t.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe I don’t even have all the answers for myself.”

Booth reached for her, one hand closing over hers. “You okay?” His voice was gentle. “Are we okay? I thought...I mean, we’ve been doing good, for a while. I thought...”

“I know,” she said, reassuring enough. “We’re okay, I know we are. I’ve been fine with everything until now...at least I think I have been, and I know the baby’s been doing fine too, I just...” She swallowed. “It’s all getting so close now.”

One at a time she pulled her feet off his lap, letting them swing to the floor. Booth knew what she was saying. He grasped both her hands, helping her to sit forward. “I know it is, but trust me, it’ll all be--”

“I want to get it right, Seeley. I’m scared I won’t get it right and I’ll end up regretting everything, and I’m even more scared my child will grow up regretting as much as I did with my parents.”

He pulled her into his arms. “You’re not your parents, Tempe. You’re not. You’ve got parts of them in you but you’re not going to be the same kind of parents they were.”

“Rationally, I know that,” she said.

“And anyway, you turned out pretty well.”

This made her laugh again, if only briefly. She pulled away, leaning next to him now. “Some days I need more convincing.”

“We’re going to do fine.”

“You seem very certain of that fact.”

“I have my moments.”

She leaned back into his arms, wrapping her own arms around herself. “Normally I would tell myself fear is irrational.”

“This is parenthood, Bones, there is no normal.”

“Sure, now you tell me.”

“Better late than never.”

* * * * *

In the end, their arguments over where the birth would happen didn’t matter much. Brennan’s due date came and went, and two days after her second bout of false labour she woke up in the middle of the night when her water broke, and by midday she was already pushing. They’d had just about enough time to call the midwife and figure out how to track the contractions.

It all happened fast enough that she almost didn’t have time to be scared, either, in between stopwatch clicks and more arguments and Booth never stepping more than a few feet away from her even when she insisted on moving around. And then the moment came when a contraction made her knees buckle, and then another one just like it, and Booth was already there holding her before she had thought to reach for him. He was helping her to their bed and the midwife was two steps ahead of them, ready.

Sometime just after that she could feel the fear washing over her, deeply and without warning or explanation; she felt herself shaking her head against it even as she knew her body had long since taken over. Irrationally she was asking herself if it this really was the wrong decision after all, and wondering how would she ever be able to do this now that the nine months were over, and how would she manage to forgive herself if she had to leave. Through her haze she wished she’d remembered to call Angela in time because even Angela would never let her be scared of something like this. Then Booth was there next to her again, or behind her – somewhere – letting her squeeze his hands as she screamed.

Then everything seemed to happen at once, and she gave in to it, let it all happen because she had no choice now. Brennan pushed, gasping, and kept on pushing until suddenly it was over and the midwife was placing a small, wailing bundle into her arms. She fell back against Booth, still catching her breath and trying to grasp everything she was feeling. The pain she had felt was suddenly diminished, and she was left with an unexpected flood of emotion.

The midwife was saying something to Booth, something about scores and minutes and breathing, and their voices seemed distant. She reached out and put one hand on his arm, as if making sure he was still there. She couldn’t take her eyes away from this tiny new person that had just been handed to her.

“Nine, she got a nine – that’s good, right?” Booth was looking between her and the midwife, although Brennan still hadn’t looked up.

“Good, it’s very good,” she repeated without thinking, now realizing for the first time that it was indeed a she that she was holding. Then Booth’s arms folded around her, gently, and together they were touching their daughter.

“She’s here,” she was saying, as if needing to confirm this out loud in order for it to be real. Next to her, Booth was kissing her, pressing kisses to her cheek and saying something that she wasn’t quite hearing because her emotions all seemed to flood over her at once.

She was smiling and crying at the same time, and she didn’t understand why.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 15)

Wed, 07 May 2008 02:30:48 GMT

I'm still alive - I swear it. And I also swear that I didn't intend for two months to go by without posting on this fic. It's been a pretty stressful couple of months for me (in RL turmoil known as "finishing the PhD" - just about done that though not quite), and I've had all kinds of psychological timesucks. I've had so little left to finish on this fic and I'm happy to get back to it.

Thank you all for your patience, and especially if you are still reading. It has been a pleasure to write and I hope it has been enjoyable to read.

Title: Intimate Intention (Part 15)
Pairings: Booth/Brennan, Angela/Hodgins implied
Summary: See Part 1 for full author's notes.

* * * * *

{15}

* * * * *

“Agent Booth, do you have anything to contribute to this discussion? Dr. Brennan has explained her perspective, I had thought you would be eager to do the same.”

Booth flickered his glance over towards Dr. Sweets, then to Brennan who sat next to him, his impatience lessened only by his annoyance at how enthusiastic the young psychiatrist was to give them advice about their personal relationship issues.

Mostly, he couldn’t believe they were sitting in this office again, talking about this, of all things.

“Don’t you think this discussion is a little personal?”

“Personal is what I do, Agent Booth. It’s clear that this is a point of contention between the two of you, and if I can help to mediate a—”

“There’s nothing to mediate! Babies are born in hospitals, end of story.”

Brennan stiffened in the chair next to him, ready to resume the same argument they’d been having for weeks. “It is not the end of the story, Booth knows that very well,” she addressed her complaint to Dr. Sweets. “My preference is for a midwife, who can look after everything for us at home with very little disruption and minimal additional stress.” She produced a card from her shoulder bag, which Sweets took with interest.

He read and nodded. “I know this woman,” he began to explain.

“Girlfriend of yours?” Booth’s sarcasm was matching his annoyance.

Sweets refrained from rolling his eyes. “She’s an associate of one of the medical groups that services the clinic next door. Very professional, ten years as a certified midwife. She’s delivered babies for two of the women in this building. Also very charming.” He handed the card back to Brennan, whose expression was now more smug.

“See?” She looked to Booth for some acknowledgement. “This is done more often than you think. It’s perfectly safe.”

Booth’s rational mind knew Brennan was absolutely right. Still, there were thoughts he couldn’t shake from the back of his mind. He remembered the night Parker had been born, how Rebecca had been in labour for hours before being rushed into an emergency C-Section. Just thinking about it still made him feel numb, and the idea of putting Brennan in danger made his blood run cold from of fear.

“No, no way,” he said again, shaking his head. “Not when there are some of the best hospitals in four States within minutes of us, no way.”

“Booth, I’ve been seeing this midwife for all my appointments over the last two months, you’ve been there for one of them—”

“—That’s different, that doesn’t mean we have to do all of this at home. There are hospitals, and birthing centres, and places with doctors, and machines, and drugs—”

“—All of which are unnecessary in most birth cases. Besides, you know midwives are capable of delivering babies at home. Even today in the United States, it’s very common for women to--”

“--Sure, okay, maybe for some people it’s the best thing ever, but we never discussed that as an option for us.”

“All right, then we’re discussing it now.” She folded her arms, defensive but calm.

“All right, fine.”

A moment’s pause lingered in silence before Dr. Sweets cleared his throat.

“Agent Booth?”

“What?”

“If we’re going to make any progress on this, it would be helpful if you—”

“Bones can’t just keep making these kinds of decisions without me,” he interrupted, hoping he sounded more forceful than petty.

Brennan paused, too. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him, long and carefully now as if genuinely paying attention to him for the first time in this conversation.

Booth sighed. He knew, deep down, that he would give in. He knew it in the same way he knew she’d solved a case when he saw that same expression of calm come over her face after she’d pulled off her gloves and lab coat. But he needed to know she would let him in.

Her hand shifted from her lap, sliding across the couch until her fingertips were just touching his. She waited until he looked over at her again.

“We are doing this together, Booth. That’s why we’re sitting here right now.”

There was a pause as Booth considered how to respond, and Sweets cleared his throat. “I think what Dr. Brennan is suggesting is that—”

“What I am suggesting,” interrupted Brennan this time, “is that I know I can’t control everything. I’m not trying to. If we need to go to a hospital, we can.” But this is how I want to do this, when the time comes.

Booth sighed again, this time a little easier. His hand shifted closer, giving hers a gentle squeeze as she responded in kind.

“Fine,” he said, attempting a moment of affection with her only to fire a brief glare at Sweets next. “Show me the card again.”

For the first time since they’d walked into Sweet’s office, Brennan smiled.

* * * * *

Booth strode leisurely through the doors to the Jeffersonian, a fresh case file in his hand. He was sure it was one Brennan would get some scientific satisfaction from – a body had found washed up after the late fall rains, and preliminary investigations were estimating more than one type of weapon had been involved in the victim’s death. He’d gotten the call early that morning and had promised to find Brennan later in the day.

He rounded the edge of the platform, almost steps away from her office, when Angela stepped in.

“Hold up a second, G-man.” She held up her hands and backed him up several paces.

“What? What is it, something wrong?” He glanced past her into Brennan’s office but couldn’t tell that anything was the matter, although it did look like she has having an energetic conversation with Zack. He frowned.

“It’s Brennan. She’s been like this for days...Well, longer than that, really, it’s just that somehow she’s managed to keep a lid on the crazy up until now.”

“Angela, come on,” he said, almost chuckling. Sure, a few mood swings came with the territory Brennan had entered, but she’d been managing them as best she could. Or, at least, so he thought.

The last month in particular had been busy for him. What time they spent together in the field or on a case was sporadic and limited, as usual, to the cases the FBI decided to assign to the Jeffersonian. There were evenings they were both too tired to do much more than catch up with half an hour of conversation, and the focused time they spent preparing for the baby’s arrival had been good, for both of them.

He thumbed the edge of his case folder, more for his own reassurance than anything else. He cleared his throat, leaned in closer towards Angela.

“So when you say ‘crazy’, you don’t mean like, ‘crazy’ crazy, right?”

Angela sighed. “She’s hormonal. And I’m sure on some rational level she knows this and understands it, but that doesn’t really change anything.”

Booth looked over to Brennan’s office again, where she was now dialing a number on her phone, and Zack was standing patiently at the ready with files open for reference.

“Doesn’t change what, exactly?”

“She can’t do her job the way she used to, and it’s frustrating for her. She doesn’t move as fast, she can’t go out in the field anymore—”

“—Wait, she signed off on field duty last week, she said she was okay with that.”

“Maybe she’s okay with it on a rational level, but the rest of her hasn’t quite caught up yet. I’m sure it doesn’t help that Zack and Hodgins are out there with you and all the other FBI guys at all the crime scenes, and all she gets to do is hear about it afterwards.”

“She’s working the cases! I talk to her about them all the time, I make sure my office sends her all the updates, and she sure as hell doesn’t stop thinking about the work just because she’s seven months pregnant, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed. All of us have.”

“She does her job, I do mine, that’s the way it is. Believe it or not, we both actually like doing our jobs.”

“Booth, the woman needs to relax. She needs to get used to the idea that she’s going to have to take time off, starting pretty darned soon.”

“Are you the one who wants to tell her to relax and take time off? Because I can tell you every time I try to start that conversation it doesn’t go very far.”

“So don’t just talk about it, show her.”

“Show her what?”

“What it’s like to stop and not work for a few hours.” She let out a sigh, as though exasperated to have to explain this to him. “Take her home early. Cook her favourite dinner. Rub her back.” She clasped one hand on his shoulder. “Have sex with her. Something.”

“Hey now!” He shifted, brushing Angela away. “Easy with that.” He fixed his tie.

“I’m just saying, she has to get used to the idea that this job isn’t going to be her whole world any more.” She folded her arms, flickering a thoughtful glance at Booth. “You too, for that matter.”

“Me?”

“Have you even finished setting up the baby’s room yet?”

“You want to give me decorating tips, too?” He shifted the folder in his hand, suddenly feeling a combination of frustration and concern. Sure, there were one or two things they still had to do, but there was still plenty of time...

His thoughts were interrupted as Zack exited Brennan’s office, greeting Angela and Booth as he passed by on the way back to his station.

“Hey, Zack,” Booth greeted. He stepped a bit closer. “Listen, thanks for, you know, being patient with Bones and everything. Angela said...”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” Zack was matter-of-fact. “I anticipated it would be difficult for Dr. Brennan to begin to alter her usual duties.”

“No kidding.”

Zack shrugged. “I have five older sisters and nine nieces and nephews.”

Booth raised his eyebrows, turning back to Angela as Zack retreated to his work station. “Fine,” he said. “But if Zack tries to give me diaper-changing advice, I’ll kneecap him.”

Angela laughed.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 14/?)

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 14:26:17 GMT

My apologies in not responding to the last few comments, I've had a tiring few days! But I am glad to post the next part of the story - I hope you enjoy.

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, Hodgins/Angela understood
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.

Full Author's Notes in Part 1
As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

* * * * *

{14}

* * * * *

Brennan had managed to convince Booth they should attempt to keep the news to themselves for a short while. Even aside from the advice she had gleaned from her reading on the subject, she found herself suddenly enjoying having this piece of news to share only with Booth for the time being. It had been a long time since something had happened that had felt so deeply private, that she wanted to hang onto it before the rest of the world intruded.

All the same, the morning eventually came when her nausea got the better of her, and Brennan found herself barely managing to finish a preliminary investigation over a sterile lab table before rushing for the ladies’ room. Scents that had never bothered her for years were fine one day and now suddenly troublesome the next. She emerged from one of the stalls a few moments later, and leaned over the sink to splash some water on her face.

There was a creak as Cam pushed open the door, peeking in and then stepping over to where her colleague stood. Brennan noticed and felt awkward, hoped she looked more composed than she felt.

“Are you all right, Dr. Brennan?”

“Cam- yes, of course I am. I’ll be back out in just a moment.”

Instead of turning around and closing the door behind her, Cam stepped farther into the room. “I told Zack to go ahead and delegate the rest of the tests, you can take all the time you want.”

“Thank you. That’s not necessary, but I appreciate it all the same. I’ll be fine.”

“Come on, Brennan, I think you can give me a little bit credit. You’ve been that shade of green for a couple of weeks, now, there’s no way it’s just a stomach bug.” She pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser and handed them over. Brennan took them gratefully, but didn’t say anything else just yet. “Also, Angela seems to know something’s up, judging from her behaviour around you lately.”

“Angela?” Brennan was slightly startled. “I haven’t told her yet, at least I was trying not to.” She let out a sigh. “I sometimes forget how perceptive she is.”

“So, are congratulations in order? You can tell me, if you want. I’m just guessing here, based on the fact that you’ve been practically falling asleep at your desk all month, and that Booth’s over-protective instincts are becoming particularly well-honed, even for him.”

“Booth worries too much,” Brennan said. “I keep telling him my work is completely safe but that hasn’t stopped him yet.”

“He’s just being himself.” Cam was smiling a little.

“I know. But I keep telling him I’m fine, all the same.” She let out a breath. “I’m sure he won’t want me in the field either, but I’m not going to give that up until I have to.”

“So, you are pregnant, then?”

Brennan straightened as she tossed the paper towels in the trash, nodding. “It seems I’m not as good at discretion as I thought.”

“Well, I’m guessing that would have become a moot point before too long,” Cam noted dryly. Still, she smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Brennan felt an unexpected sense of relief, officially telling the news to someone. A moment passed where she felt awkward, wondering if this was a moment to exchange an embrace, or further words of reassurance. She thought then that she’d seen a flicker of something like regret pass over Cam’s face, but then she smiled again and it was gone.

“I’ll let you tell the others yourself,” Cam said as she moved towards the door. “As if the boys needed another reason to be protective of you.”

Despite herself, Brennan laughed.

* * * * *

“Zack, make sure you bring the spare batteries as well as the digital camera,” Brennan called to him as they both exited the vehicle.

“Yes, Dr. Brennan. I always do.”

“I just don’t want to have to come back to the car again, it’s supposed to rain later and that will compromise the crime scene.” She stepped into her boots before reaching to zip up her field suit. Regretfully she noted the fit was less comfortable now, especially around her waistline. She’d known this would happen, of course, particularly now that she’d reached her second trimester, but somehow the weeks had started to pass by more quickly than ever. She hadn’t anticipated having to make adjustments in her work quite just yet. Tomorrow she would arrange for new gear.

Zack came around from the other side of the vehicle, gear slung over his shoulder. “It’s only partly cloudy right now. The weather report this morning didn’t call for rain until mid-afternoon, so we should still have several hours before it becomes an issue."

He handed her the clipboard which contained the crime scene information, though she’d long since committed the information to memory. She slung her own field bag over her shoulder as they walked. The body had been discovered at the edge of a creek, and the only access was along a dirt path a few minutes’ walk from the road. Glancing ahead, she could see a few uniformed figures in the distance.

“Will Agent Booth be joining us?” Zack asked. It was a reasonable question, and one which didn’t have an automatic answer these days. Booth’s assignments had recently broadened to include more high-profile assignments outside of DC, as his reputation for success on missing persons cases had grown. There were some weeks now when Brennan saw him only rarely, except in the evenings.

“It’s possible,” she answered. “He expressed an interest in the resemblance between this case and a similar murder which occurred last fall. If he doesn’t join us in the field then he’ll come by the lab later on.”

“On the last case the FBI field office sent Agent Wheeler. I’m not sure she was fully prepared for a visit to such a recent crime scene, judging by the way she—” Zack paused, noticing as Brennan had slowed in her stride. “Are you all right, Dr. Brennan?”

She paused, blinking as she tried to focus her attention.

“Do you feel nauseous? Because I can go ahead and begin the photographs, if you need to—”

“That won’t be necessary, Zack.” She relaxed a little further. “I feel fine. I just...” she paused again, confirming something for herself. “I think I felt something move.”

Zack’s expression became lighter. “You felt your baby move?”

Brennan nodded, now certain. “Yes. Only slightly, but...it was definitely movement. I haven’t felt it before now.”

Zack smiled back. “You should tell Agent Booth. Whenever my sisters have had children, they always inform their husbands right away when something like this happens.”

“Right away?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

Brennan shifted her bag, moving forward once more. “There will be plenty of time for that later,” she said, although the thought of talking to Booth did hold a certain appeal. She decided to wait, see if it happened again.

They both continued walking for a moment before Brennan spoke again. “Tell me again, Zack, how many sisters do you have?”

“Five.”

“Do all of them have children?”

He shook his head. “Four of them do.”

Brennan nodded, looking ahead on the path. They still had a few minutes to walk. She glanced back at Zack. “Tell me more about them.”

* * * * *

It was now the third weekend in a row Booth and Brennan had looked at apartments, with as many real estate agents. She still didn’t see why they couldn’t just both move in to her apartment or Booth’s, but since he’d kept talking about things like baby-proofing and closet room and proximity to green space and public transit, she’d been willing to defer to his experience regarding this decision. This time they were examining an expansive second-floor loft in Cleveland Park. She was just starting to admire the windows and high ceilings when the agent began speaking again.

“And as you can see there are three bedrooms in addition to the living room, dining room and kitchen area, with the possibility of partitioning the large front room into two separate recreational spaces. If there’s a problem with availability I can make inquiries with a similar building two blocks away, I happen to know the landlord there quite well. When were you hoping to move in, Mr. and Mrs...Booth?” She checked her forms, looking for the right names to address them by.

Inwardly, Brennan cringed. This was the part when she interrupted the person making false assumptions, and prepared for the pointed glances at her and Booth’s ringless fingers and her now visibly round stomach. She wasn’t sure how much longer her patience would last with this.

But then, just as Brennan turned to speak it was Booth who stepped in this time. “Next month. And actually, we’re not married,” he told the real estate agent. His expression was charismatic, and Brennan watched as the agent smiled and commented apologetically, glancing briefly between the two of them. She kept moving through the apartment, reciting from a list of fixtures and appliances.

“You know, it’s getting to be kind of fun watching people react when we tell them that.” Booth leaned in towards her and winked as he said this, as if this was their shared conspiracy. This afforded her mild surprise, but also some satisfaction. It made her feel a less alone, somehow – and just as quickly she told herself how irrational this was, reminding herself that what they were now doing together was certainly a unifying experience.

“Hey, did you check out these windows?” he carried on. “Southern exposure, too. I bet this place gets great light.”

She straightened a little as she continued walking next to him. She brushed a hand over the curve of her belly and decided not to mind any more about what other people might think.

* * * * *

A/N: I don't actually know if Zack has 5 sisters or not, that was my own piece of fanon detail.

Intimate Intention (Part 13/?)

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 17:44:53 GMT

I usually wait until Sunday to post the next part, but...aw, heck. I'm feeling generous today ;)
Enjoy!

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, Hodgins/Angela understood
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.

Full Author's Notes in Part 1
As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

* * * * *

{13}

* * * * *

Even by the next morning their conversation was still as rapid as it had been the night before. They were in Booth’s car, on the way to Brennan’s doctor’s office to hear the results of the test she’d managed to book the day before.

“It didn’t occur to you to tell me this a little sooner?”

“I did tell you, Booth.”

“Sure, after I’d blabbered on for ages and—”

“You were not blabbering. And as I’ve explained several times now, our conversation last night was a necessary step, to help us understand how we feel about this relationship—”

“--and all those times I tried phoning you during your conference, you never—”

“I was in a completely different time zone! You couldn’t have expected me to be in constant communication.”

“Well obviously you had something on your mind that involved me, enough for you to rush back and get a pregnancy test.”

“I did not rush back, the meetings ended earlier than planned and I was feeling tired, so it made sense to—”

“Tired? See, you were having all these symptoms and you didn’t say a word—”

“Fatigue alone does not indicate pregnancy, Booth, even you should know that.”

“But you said there was more, that you were feeling nauseous, you were...that your…” he cleared his throat. “You were late...”

“And all of these things in combination led me to suspect pregnancy, which is why I tried to schedule this appointment as soon as possible.”

“Suspect? No, no, ‘suspect’ is not the word you used last night, Bones, you said you were certain.”

“I did not say ‘certain’, I said ‘fairly certain.’”

“Coming from you, that might as well be proof positive.”

Their words had been almost as fast as the pace of Booth’s driving, and now that they had pulled up into the parking lot, Brennan finally paused long enough to look at him. “You’re nervous.”

“What?”

“About hearing the test results. Now that we’re about to find out for sure if this is going to happen or not...This is making you nervous.” Irrationally, she was smiling as she said this. Perhaps it relieved her to recognize this in him, as she had certainly experienced a full range of emotions over the situation, albeit largely before now. She shrugged, reaching for the car door handle and exiting the car just as Booth did.

“Of course I’m nervous,” he defended himself, “I would have figured that much was a given.” He was straightening his tie, although what that was supposed to accomplish at this particular moment, she wasn’t quite sure.

Brennan walked around to his side of the car, falling into stride next to him.

“If it helps,” she said, “I’m glad you’re with me, for this part.” She let her hand slip around his arm as she leaned next to him.

He let out a breath. “Me too, Bones. Me too.”

* * * * *

The drive back from her doctor’s office was oddly quiet at first. They were still both absorbing the news. Booth figured even Brennan had to be at a little bit in shock, even if she’d been anticipating it. All of those reactions had already faded for him, though, and he was starting to feel excited – nervous, and a little tense, sure, but definitely excited. Still, every time he glanced over towards Brennan he couldn’t get a handle on her expression. She seemed lost in thought, and it made him uncertain.

“Bones?”

“Hm?” She blinked, glanced back at him.

“Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“How so?”

“How so?” he repeated, suddenly incredulous. “About you and me, how we feel about this. We know now that you’re pregnant, doesn’t that make you feel...” he searched for the right word. “Happy? Excited? Scared?”

“Yes, of course it does.”

“Let me in a little farther here, Bones, which one is it?”

“I would have to say that...I’m feeling all of those things.”

Booth knew what she meant, and the beginning of a smile that was forming on her lips was a relief to him. He reached over and touched her arm, running his hand along it until he found her hand, squeezing it briefly. The stoplight ahead of them turned red and he paused for a moment, withdrawing his hand and moving them into the left lane as he flicked the turn signal.

“I’m not going to take up knitting.” Her tone was completely serious.

He was glad the car wasn’t moving just then, as he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“What?” He managed to say. The very idea was a distraction.

“I'm just saying, I can be a perfectly capable mother without learning how to knit. I never felt the need to knit before and I don’t intend to start now,” she explained, stubbornly ignoring his laughter. “People assume certain things about women once they become pregnant, Booth, and I don’t plan on giving in to those assumptions just because other women do.”

Booth cleared his throat. “Trust me Bones, I would never have expected you to.”

“Thank you.” She let out a brief sigh, clearly more relaxed, now.

The light changed. Just as he was easing the car out of the left turn, a thought occurred to him. “Wait, you’re not expecting me to take up knitting, are you?” His vision of a shared family life with Brennan in the 21st century was suddenly veering off into uncharted territory.

He met her gaze, just as an incredulous expression crossed her face. It was her turn to start laughing then, a low chuckle that gathered steam and kept on going, until she found herself wiping at one eye.

Booth reached over again, putting his hand all the way around hers and holding on tightly. She squeezed his hand right back, her cheeks now blooming with excitement.

“Yeah,” he said with confidence, “we’re going to do fine.”

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 12/?)

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 14:08:33 GMT

Intimate Intention (Part 11/?)

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 13:26:42 GMT

Intimate Intention (Part 10/?)

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 13:40:18 GMT

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, Hodgins/Angela understood
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.

Full Author's Notes in Part 1
As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

* * * * *

{10}

* * * * *

Angela found Brennan in the diner, a cold cup of tea and a half-eaten sandwich in front of her on the table.

“C’mon, Bren, you can tell me.”

Brennan turned her head, shifting her gaze from the window to where Angela was now joining her. “What?”

“Something’s up, I can tell. You’ve been all...nervous lately.”

“Angela, I have not.”

“This is me you’re talking to, here.” She slid into the seat next to Brennan. “You’re acting distracted – a lot more than usual, anyway, Booth keeps pulling you off for little private conversations – also a lot more than usual, and I haven’t seen you drink anything alcoholic in ages. If you were someone else I would think you were pregnant.”

Brennan stiffened, and her expression was enough to surprise Angela even further.

“You’re not.”

“No, no, I’m not. At least, not yet.” Brennan let out a breath.

Angela gasped. “Oh my God.” She hadn’t actually expected her guess to be true. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious. Nothing’s happened yet, but Booth and I have been talking about it, and...”

“Oh my God,” Angela repeated. She brought a hand over her mouth, not knowing quite how to react. Then suddenly, she didn’t care how skittish Brennan was. She put her arms around her and squeezed. “Oh sweetie, I’m so happy for you.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone yet,” Brennan explained as her friend released her. “A lot of the books say you’re supposed to wait until you know something for sure, and--”

“The books,” Angela repeated, pushing away a chuckle. Of course she was reading all the books. She probably had all of them. “No, of course, of course they tell you that...”

“Also…I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable about this, Ange. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

Angela felt her smile fade just a little. “What did you think was going to happen? It’s not like you’ll be able to hide it for very long, once it happens.” She spoke gently.

“I know, I just...If you’d asked me not too long ago I honestly would have said that you would be probably be in this situation and not me. And I’m sorry that it can’t be that way.”

Angela was shaking her head. “It’s okay, sweetie, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Because I know that you can’t have children, at least not on your own, and I didn’t know how to tell you about this and not make you feel...”

“It’s okay.” Angela leaned forward. “Really.” She reached out one of her hands to hers. “I’m happy for you, sweetie, really I am. For you and Booth.”

Brennan paused finally, taking a breath before speaking again. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

They both smiled again. Angela let out a sigh of relief, at once happy for her friend and excited to have been let in on something important in her life. “So come on, spill. When are you two going to shack up for good, now?”

Suddenly Brennan let out a chuckle, although out of nervousness or genuine humour, Angela couldn’t be sure. “When we figure that out, I’ll let you know.”

* * * * *

“Bones.” He’d been trying to get her attention.

“Mm...” She didn’t look up, still focused on her work spread out across her dining room table. It was a Sunday, and the day had been quiet so far.

“Tempe,” he tried again, coming around next to her.

“I just need to finish this, there’s a deadline...” she trailed off, scribbling a few notes on the page. A stack of grading from her graduate seminar stood next to her.

He stepped closer, reaching out his arm and holding out a small box in front of her. She paused in her writing and looked up, from the box to him and then back again.

“What’s this?” She was curious, though a smile toyed at her lips.

He shrugged. “I think you should open it and find out.”

She acquiesced, setting down her pen and taking the gift from him. Leaning back in her chair, she contemplated the box itself before opening it, and he wondered if she was deliberately trying to test his patience. When she finally did open it the diamond solitaire gleamed back, and he couldn’t hold back his smile any longer.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, as though it wasn’t a question that had been on his brain for months on end.

He’d anticipated a certain amount of surprise, on her end, but he hadn’t expected her to be startled. She looked at the ring in her hands and then back at him, her eyes wide and an expression of confusion spreading across her face.

“But, Booth...Why?”

“Why?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Because I love you,” he answered easily. “And you love me, and I thought…I mean, we’re going to have a family together, and this is the right thing to do…” he gestured to the little box in her hands.

Brennan looked down at the contents of the box. She was quiet for a moment and he was having trouble reading her expression. “Booth…This is a beautiful ring.”

He was pleased at this. It had taken him a couple of days to find the right one, and visits to four different jewelers. “It’ll look even more beautiful on your hand,” he said warmly. “Here, let me…” He took her left hand in his, reached for the box with the other but was stopped by Brennan. She closed the box, stiffening as she pulled her hand away.

“What is it?” He was concerned, now.

“This is beautiful, Booth, and I’m pleased that you wanted to give me this.” She handed the box back to him. “But I can’t wear it, not the way you want me to.”

For a moment, he was speechless. He straightened from the slightly crouched position he’d been in, ready to kneel in front of her, and took a seat in the chair facing her. “But...We’ve talked about this. About having a family together, we’re-”

She interrupted him. “We’ve talked about a baby, yes, but I never said anything about getting married.”

“But I thought that...Bones, that’s what this is, if we’re going to be a family, then marriage goes with family. I thought that was obvious.”

Brennan shook her head. “Not for me, it isn’t.” He was surprised at how calmly she was telling him all of this. Thus far he had made no move to take the ring back from her, and so she set the box down on the table between them. Right now, he couldn’t figure out what he was feeling – surprise, frustration, even some anger was starting to rise in him.

“Booth, we’ve talked about this before,” she repeated. “I don’t want to get married, that’s not...It’s not something I need, I didn’t-”

“What about what I want, then?” he countered. “Hm? Children deserve to have parents, Bones, two parents that stay together.”

“I know that,” she said gently. Her voice had started to sound a little shaky, and though he regretted the tone his own words had started to take, he wasn’t able to back away. “I never said I didn’t want that,” she added, and with regret he realized he had been forgetting about her own family past. She knew full well the significance of having two parents around.

“Then show me that this is what you want,” he said, almost imploring now. He picked up the velvet box. “Because it's what I want. I want to show everyone, I want to put this ring on your finger and know that it means we’ll be together.”

She was thinking. “Is this about Rebecca?”

He stiffened, shocked at her question. “What?”

“Rebecca. You have a child with her, too, out of wedlock. And you wanted to marry her when you knew you were going to have Parker but then you didn’t. I just...have to wonder if you’re trying this with me because you want some second chance to do it all over again.”

“Second chance? What? Wait a minute, no, I was ready to do the right thing with Rebecca, but she didn’t want me then, and yeah, that probably worked out for the best, but...this is different.” He stood now, hands at his waist. “I mean, I know that you and I have had problems in the past, but we’re together now and we have been for a long time. And you changed your mind about having kids, so I just assumed...”

“You assumed I’d changed my mind about everything else, too,” she finished for him.

“No, not everything, just-”

“It’s not what I believe in, Booth, you know that, you’ve always known that.”

“But we decided to have a baby together, that’s not something that you used to believe in either-”

She stood, too, facing him and matching his words with more of her own. “I never said I didn’t believe in having children, it just wasn’t something I wanted. But I do want this now, with you, I’ve felt that way all these months since we’ve been trying to get pregnant. I never said I didn’t want to be together with you--”

“Then why won’t you take this?” He asked, his hand reaching for the velvet box. “I love you, I want this for us--”

“I love you too,” she said just as forcefully, “I keep saying that and you keep acting like you don’t believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, what kind of a thing is that to say--”

“Then I don’t understand why this is so hard for you to accept. I don’t believe in marriage, I never have. It’s an unnecessary institution and historically it has served the interests of men far more than women. And you know I’ve never needed to be connected to the church, so why should our relationship--”

“Right, I keep forgetting, you don’t believe in God, either. I should have realized my mistake sooner--”

“Whether or not I believe in God and what I think about religion are two separate things, you know that--”

“But you don’t believe in God or religion, Bones,” he countered, his voice rising, “why should they be two separate things? And anyway we don’t have to be in a church to get married, I thought you of all people would remember that.”

“That doesn’t change anything. I don’t believe that signing a piece of paper and wearing a ring on one finger is the only thing that proves our commitment to each other. It serves no purpose, it makes the commitment real for everyone else, but not for us. I don’t need that kind of ritual to show how I feel about you.”

“Commitment, yeah. That’s it exactly, isn’t it? You know, it’s pretty interesting to me that you decided to throw Rebecca in my face--”

“--That’s not at all what I was doing-”

“--But then you conveniently forget to mention Sully in all of this.”

She took a step back, visibly surprised by this last remark. “Sully? He has nothing to do with this conversation, this is about you and me.”

“You weren’t able to commit to him, either. Isn’t that the real reason you didn’t stick it out with him? Sail off into the sunset? Didn’t have anything to do with your compatibility, or whatever you might have felt for me, it was all your commitment insecurities stepping in the way.”

The more he kept talking the more he could tell how angry she was now, which was appropriate given the temper that he was starting to feel rising inside him, too.

“I am not backing away from my commitment to you, I never ever suggested that.” The corners of her eyes glinted and for a moment he quailed inwardly, realizing how much this conversation was hurting her. But he knew exactly how much it was hurting him, too.

“Maybe you don’t really love me as much as you think you do.” He glanced around the apartment – her apartment. “This isn’t even our place, really, is it? It’s yours, not mine.”

Her hands were shaking. “Booth, I wouldn’t be here, sharing my life with you, trying to get pregnant with you, if I didn’t love you. If that’s not enough to show you that I’m committed to staying with you, that I...that I want to share my life with you, then I don’t know what else I can say-”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t stay together, since we obviously still don’t believe in the same things,” he countered, and as the words left his mouth he stood still, paused into silence by the shocked expression on her face.

“What?”

He took a breath. The words had been said; he couldn’t take them back now. What surprised him the most was how much he actually believed them.

“Maybe we shouldn’t stay together, after all,” he said. His voice had grown softer, but not enough to cover his disappointment. “Maybe you were right, maybe this really is like Rebecca all over again. Maybe this” – he gestured between them, around at her apartment that he had all but taken up permanent residence in for months – “isn’t enough, not if we don’t want the same things.”

“But...” she was trying to figure out what to say next. “This can’t be it, between us, there has to be some other way. I don’t want to give up after everything we’ve done...”

His shoulders stiffened as he leaned down and picked up the little box.

“Booth, wait...” she approached him, put one hand out to touch him. He didn’t turn to look at her, couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t say anything, either, not without saying something he knew he would most definitely regret.

He moved away from her, picked up his jacket that was slung over the edge of the couch and dropped the box in one pocket. He looked over one shoulder, still not fully meeting her gaze. “I need to think about this. And I think you do too.”

Her mouth was moving, trying to form words and finding none. He turned and left, then, the apartment door closing soundly behind him as he went.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 9/?)

Sun, 10 Feb 2008 13:21:51 GMT

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, Hodgins/Angela understood
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.

Full Author's Notes in Part 1
As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

* * * * *

{9}

* * * * *

“Booth wants children.”

Across from her in his office, Dr. Sweets gave a mild cough as he swallowed his sip of water. “Okay. And...this is an issue because...?”

She blinked, mildly incredulous. “Booth and I are still together. We’ve reached a stage in our relationship when certain parameters need to be defined, and...Booth wants children.”

“He’s told you that he wants more children if your relationship is going to continue?”

“Not exactly. But the implication is—”

“Has he given you an ultimatum?”

“Well, no. But I know it’s what he wants, it’s always been a part of who he is.”

“But not for you.”

“No.” She hesitated slightly. “At least, it didn’t used to be.”

“You’re reconsidering what you want from this relationship?”

Brennan paused before speaking again. “I never wanted to have children with anyone. It wasn’t something I needed. My whole life, that hasn’t changed.”

“All right.”

“And a woman is still a valuable person if she doesn’t have children, I disagree with cultural assumptions that assign value only to--

“Dr. Brennan,” Sweets interrupted, “It sounds as though you’re trying to rationalize this. Perhaps you’re trying to clarify your justification for not becoming a parent.”

“Of course I am. Children are an enormous imposition. The more rational decision would be not to have any; it would be much a simpler existence and my life would remain relatively unaltered.”

“Children aren’t the only thing that can change a person’s life.”

She shrugged. “Certainly, that’s true. But this is to such a degree that—”

“Do you think Booth thinks of his son as an imposition?”

“Of course not. He loves Parker.”

“And what about you?”

“I like spending time with Parker. In many ways he resembles Booth, they have similar—”

“No, no, I meant, what about you and your parents, do you believe they thought of you as an imposition?”

Brennan paused again, although not because she didn’t have an answer. She knew the answer was an unequivocal ‘no.’ Still, they had turned out to be entirely different people than she’d thought they were.

Sweets leaned forward in his seat, his hands resting in front of him. “It sounds to me as though you’re trying to explain why you’re holding onto this resistance, while at the same time reconsidering how you feel about having children.”

“How can you possibly tell that about me?”

“Because you’re sitting here with me, telling me all of this. And while you haven’t asked the question directly, I feel as though you’re asking for some kind of advice on this. The trouble is, there is no easy answer here.”

Brennan sat back in her chair, thinking. “I don’t know if I would be a good parent or not. It...it scares me a little that I can’t predict that, and yet here I am wondering what it would be like to have a child.” She shook her head. “I never used to think about it.”

“Fear is a natural part of our lives, Dr. Brennan.”

“Of course it is. Anthropologically speaking, I-”

“I don’t mean in grand cultural-historical context – true though that may be. We’re talking about you, right now.”

“So, you think I’m having trouble with this decision because of fear.”

“You’re trying to make a decision, then?”

Brennan let out a sigh, pausing again. She wasn’t accustomed to having difficulty putting her thoughts into words. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she admitted. “I never planned to have children, never assumed that I would have a family of my own.” She shrugged. “But I also never assumed that I would be with someone like this, the way I am with Booth.”

“I don’t have to tell you that families come in different forms, Dr. Brennan. I’m sure Agent Booth would agree, as a parent who shares custody.”

“I know that. I’m comfortable with that, with Parker, too.”

“And yet, there is clearly something holding you back from committing to this.”

“Yes. I know that too, I just can’t seem to figure out what that is.”

“And that’s why you’re here talking to me now?”

She nodded. “Yes. I thought the subject was clear.”

Dr. Sweets rested back in his chair, one hand grasping his notepad. “Well, that certainly points us in a specific direction.”

She paused expectantly. “So...what advice do you have for this kind of situation?”

He sighed, less out of exasperation than sympathy. “Unfortunately there is no easy advice for this, no one-size-fits all solution.”

“I didn’t think there was.”

“You’re struggling with the choice over whether or not to become a parent with Booth. And you’ve had some conversation about this with him already, which means that the lines of communication are already open.”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Do you have any doubts about his capabilities as a father? About his commitment and support in your relationship?”

Brennan was surprised at the suggestion. “No, that’s never been in question. I know the way he cares about Parker; I’ve seen his commitment as a father. Booth is not a factor here.”

“Then if that’s the case, I think this is a decision you can only make for yourself. Given your family history I would guess that it’s likely you have concerns about living up to an idealized image of your mother – or perhaps the opposite, that you fear you’ll become everything that you dislike about your own parents.”

She scoffed, though only slightly. “I don’t plan to take up criminal activities, if that’s what you mean.”

“Dr. Brennan, in my experience, the best parents are those who choose to have children in their lives. In many ways you have already made that choice and accepted it, by sharing your life with a man with a child of his own.”

This made her pause. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

He smiled, gently. “The question here is how you would feel about your life with a child of your own – and if it would be a better life than if you kept things the way they are now.”

He had given her precisely the question she had been avoiding. Hearing it now gave her a comforting sense of focus. When she left a short while later she was still pondering the answer to her question. Still, she found herself more willing to consider that answer than ever before, and was starting to sort through the thoughts in her mind.

* * * * *

To his credit, she admitted to herself, Booth never asked her about the subject after that dinner conversation. Still, the conversation stuck, along with her discussion with Sweets, and she couldn’t bring up the subject again until she was closer to some kind of answer. In her mind there were pros and cons lists and a litany of fears and unknowns. But the more she thought about it the more all of the words began to settle in her thoughts, and she started imagining their reality. The possibilities became more intriguing to her than the alternative.

It was months later on a Tuesday, and she was running a brush through her hair before bed. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long moment before setting the brush down. She’d come to a decision, finally, and now that she’d made it she didn’t want to wait any longer to talk about it.

She slipped into bed next to him. “Booth.”

“Hm?” He’d been reading the newspaper from that morning, trying not to get behind before the week had even started. The back page was folded to the crossword puzzle, and he had a pen in his hand.

“I think I’m curious, too.”

“Curious?” He shifted slightly but didn’t look up. With a brief start he brought the pen to the paper and filled in a few boxes. “Feline,” he narrated as he wrote.

“Booth,” she insisted, “did you hear what I said?”

The newspaper fell to his lap as he turned to look at her. “You’re curious?” He set the pen down, too. “But we closed up that jury case this afternoon, I thought you guys packed everything away already--”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said. A brief chuckle escaped her. “I mean, about what we were talking about a while ago. About what that...new person might be like. Our new person.”

Recognition dawned on him. He shifted again, facing her directly and putting a hand out to hers. “Really? You’re serious, now...”

“Yes,” she said, a smile breaking through her calm demeanor. “I think I want this, too. With you,” she added, as though there might have been a question.

“Wait-- you think?” he repeated. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve given this a lot of thought, Booth.”

“Yeah? I mean, seriously, now.”

“Yes.” She nodded again.

He started to smile then, too, a comfortable, loving smile that made her forget what she had thought she was going to say next. So, instead, she leaned in towards him, pressing her lips to his. They parted again after a moment, but still, he only looked back at her, saying nothing.

“Booth, you’re not talking.”

He blinked. “Right. Sorry.”

“Isn’t this the part where you start...” she was trying to remember the colloquial expression for this, “trying to get me knocked up?”

A look of surprise and something like exhilaration crossed his face, and he obliged by wrapping his arms around her and leaning her back beneath the covers. “That, I think I can handle,” he said, and kissed her deeply enough that it left her breathless.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 8/?)

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 17:35:59 GMT

Intimate Intention (Part 7/?)

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 16:30:18 GMT

Intimate Intention (Part 6/?)

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 18:27:51 GMT

Intimate Intention (Part 5/?)

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 14:55:09 GMT

Intimate Intention (Part 4/?)

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 13:16:34 GMT

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, Hodgins/Angela understood
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.

Full Author's Notes in Part 1

As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

Enjoy!

* * * * *

{4}

* * * * *

They’d lasted a month – longer than she’d expected. In truth she’d almost lost track of the days; The time had all had seemed to blend together in a strangely logical extension of what their relationship had been before.

“In your books,” Booth asked her one night, “what happens after Kathy Reichs gets the strong, gorgeous police detective?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Do they ride off into the sunset together? Live happily ever after.”

“They have sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know that, Bones. I have read what you’ve sold so far.”

“Then what exactly are you asking?” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was late and she had been close to falling asleep. He was still awake, the day’s newspaper was still in his hand.

“What happens next? I know you’ve got the next manuscript in review.”

“My editor would say I’m not supposed to tell people.”

“Do I look like your editor?”

“Not particularly.”

“Come on, just tell me if they stay together.”

It took her a moment to trace her thoughts back to what he was asking. She shook her head. “No. He asks her to move in with him and she refuses.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why doesn’t she want to stay with him?”

“She does want to be with him. She just doesn’t want to move in together. He was trying to take their relationship faster than what she wanted, and that’s why she didn’t accept.”

“And where does that leave them?”

Brennan shook her head. “I don’t know yet. I have to wait and see what my editor says.”

“Huh.”

Brennan sat up a little, now, more awake than she was before. “Why do you want to know?”

But Booth was already withdrawing from the conversation, turning away from her and discarding the paper in his hand. He turned out the light next to the bed. “No reason, Bones. Just curious.”

Fully awake now, she lay quiet, listening to the sound of breathing next to her and let his questions turn over in her mind.

* * * * *

Another month passed, and still another, and gradually she became aware of a routine that was developing between them. They still met regularly to work on cases together, and spent more evenings together than apart. She found herself suddenly cataloguing the amount of time their new relationship had taken up, and recognizing how little experience she now had in this particular territory. Despite her comfort with Booth, and how close she had been to him before becoming involved with him romantically, a great deal was still unknown.

They lay in bed together, one lazy Sunday morning after a late Saturday night before that – after so many weeks and months together she was starting to understand Booth’s need to mark these minor anniversary events through extended social encounters.

He made some casual comment about the two of them – perhaps he’d been joking, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes - and said something about the idea of them getting married and what it would be like to have weekends like this, together, all the time.

She stiffened, sat up and looked at him with confusion. “But I don’t want to get married,” she’d said, and his expression couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I don’t believe in marriage. I thought you knew that about me.”

“Not even a little bit?” He’d asked, as if hoping for a different answer this time. “What if…Even if we had kids?”

This had made her want to recoil even further, forced into the conversation she’d managed not to have with Sully. “But I’ve never planned to have children, either,” she’d told him. “I thought you knew that, too.” She’d turned, reached for her robe and slipped out of bed as though it had been any other morning and any other man in her bed. He’d pulled on his boxers and come around to stop her, put his hands out to her.

“Hey, hey, this isn’t the State of the Union or anything, we don’t have to get into a big deal over this.”

“I just...I don’t want to make you think things about me that aren’t true. These are things I can’t offer you, Booth, things I’ve never planned for.”

“Okay, yeah, I...I think I’m getting that now.”

His voice had sounded hurt, if only for a moment. She’d had a hard time saying the rest. “If these things make you rethink your wanting to be with me, then you should probably say so, before-”

“No. No, that’s not it at all.” He had been unhesitating, reassuring her and pulling her into his arms.

He’d been disappointed with her, though, of that much she was certain. She had known that then and had still felt it in the days afterwards. It had truly thrown him, hearing her say these things, and yet she saw no purpose in being dishonest with him.

“I want to be with you, Booth.” She was trying to find a way to diffuse the situation and didn’t know how other than through honesty. “There are just...Some things I just don’t need, that’s all.”

“And I want to be with you too, so at least we agree on that part, right?” He looked down at her, waiting for her to return his gaze. “We’ll figure the rest of it out as we go. Lots of people do that.”

She nodded back, and let him kiss her cheek and press her against him in embrace. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if she belonged in that group of ‘lots of people’, or whether she was leading Booth down a path he would inevitably be unable to follow.

* * * * *

It was another couple of months later while Booth was away, consulting on a case in Denver, when she found herself locked in her apartment bathroom, held hostage by the contents of a small cardboard box. He’d been gone for a few days and wouldn’t be back for at least another week more. Before he left she’d stayed at his place, and although the concern had been in the back of her mind then too, she hadn’t said anything. At the time she’d brushed it off, but a few more days passed and she still needed to know.

The kit had been acquired in the middle of the night, at a twenty-four hour drugstore. She’d grabbed a package of paper towels and three bottles of shampoo as well, put them all on the cashier’s counter as though none of this was anything out of the ordinary. Against all rationality, against all the thoughts in her mind that told her she should have called someone or talked to Booth or made a doctor’s appointment first, she drove home with the kit and opened it up right then and there in her apartment bathroom with the door closed, even though she was the only one there.

A few very long minutes later, she found a negative answer staring back at her, and sighed with relief as she sat down again, the testing stick in one hand. She was glad now that she hadn’t brought this up with Booth before his trip, it would have just led to unnecessary discussion.

In her head she was remembering that conversation she’d had with him before – the ‘not-State-of-the-Union conversation’ now made all the more ironic as she was currently holding a pregnancy test result in her hand. She looked down at her hands, at the negative result she had received. The first feeling she registered was relief, realizing that she wouldn’t need to bring this up with Booth, that there was no news to tell and that her days could carry on as usual.

But she knew that if he were standing next to her right now, he would be disappointed. He would have hoped for a different result. For a moment she imagined what his reaction would have been like if a ‘plus’ sign had stared back at her, instead of the opposite. She couldn’t begin to describe what it would have felt like for her, but Booth...He would have been elated.

In the smallest glimmer in her mind’s eye she started to picture what that would be like, to make a child with him and become parents, together. She followed that train of thought, long enough to wonder what that child would look like and kind of life he or she might lead. In that moment she became curious, as her mind began to linger on questions she’d never thought to ask before.

It didn’t take long for her to return to memories of her own family, the family that had barely had the chance to raise her and leave her with a host of lies and unanswered questions. She shivered, recoiling against the idea of putting a new, innocent person in the path of that history, and brushing away all other thoughts. She cleared her mind of it, dropped the test and the wrappings in the trash can, reminding herself she would never need to take that risk.

* * * * *

“I’m not sure this is working.”

Brennan stood in his apartment a few days after his return from Denver, her jacket still buttoned and her bag slung across her shoulder. She’d waited until he had closed the door behind her before speaking.

“Not working. I’m going to need a little more detail here, Bones, because if it’s a case...”

“The two of us. We’re not working.”

“Since when? What the hell are you talking about?”

She let out a breath. She hadn’t anticipated this would be easy, but she also hadn’t realized it would be this hard to explain herself.

“The two of us, Booth. This isn’t going to work, not in the long run. Things can’t last very long between us, and the sooner we both recognize that, the better off it will be for both of us.

“You want to break up.” He was incredulous.

“Yes.”

His confusion had combined with anger, now, she could tell.

“And you’re just...deciding this. Now, without me. I don’t get any say in this? We’ve only been together for about five minutes--”

“—Months, is more like it—”

“---And that’s enough for you to decide we don’t belong together?”

“We want different things, Booth. We’ve always known that.”

“What different things?”

Her hair had fallen forward and she pushed a few strands away from her face. She wished this could be faster, easier. Simpler.

“It’s like when you were asking me about my books,” she began, hoping this would help her explanation. “Dr. Reichs and the police detective, they don’t stay together. They don’t...ride off into the sunset together like other couples are supposed to. They have a better professional relationship without adding personal complications.”

“Sure, and I’ll bet that sells a lot of copies.”

“I’m not trying to sell more copies, I’m trying to be realistic. You and I are the same way.”

“Realistic? When did I ever say we needed to get more realistic? If you ask me there’s too much logic going on here in the first place.”

“That’s exactly my point, Booth, we’re from different worlds, you’re the one who always said that. As professionals, as partners, we work together, but as more than that--”

“Aren’t you the one who said there was only one world? The one we’re both living in?”

She paused now, thrown for a moment. “Wouldn’t you rather be realistic about this now and spare us some hardship later on? The chances of any couple staying together are slim, let alone the two of us.”

He was looking at her now, long and hard, just a few feet away from where she stood. “You’re afraid of this. Of what it would be like to stay.”

“What? You think this is about fear?”

“You don’t? You’re afraid of what it might be like if we stick it out, the idea of changing anything about what you think is going to happen, or the challenges that it involves...”

She took a step back. “You’ll see that I’m right about this. It will be hard, but you will. We don’t deserve any more complications, and neither do the people we work with, and if we let this go on longer it will just get even worse when it ends.”

“Oh believe me, this will do just fine.”

When she finally left there was no ease in her departure, or in the way he closed the door hard behind her when she went. It didn’t matter that there was some truth in his words. Her only consolation was that the anger he felt would at least match her sense of defeat.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 3/?)

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 18:00:15 GMT

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, Hodgins/Angela understood
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.

Full Author's Notes in Part 1

As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

* * * * *

{3}

* * * * *

“Sweetie.”

“Yes, Angela?”

“I think you and I need to do some talking.”

“Have you finished the skull reconstruction on the bomb victim from yesterday? There are two other skulls waiting after that one.”

“No, Bren. Not that kind of talking.”

“I’m in the middle of a very busy morning, Angela. If it’s not work-related it’ll have to wait until later.” She paused in her typing, one hand traveling to help her scan through a stack of files. She pulled out the one she needed.

Angela advanced closer to Brennan’s desk. “I know you’re busy. Do you know how I know? Because you weren’t here yesterday. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re never not here.”

“Booth was released from the hospital.”

“That was two days ago. I’m talking about yesterday.”

“What about yesterday?”

“Sweetie,” Angela pressed, putting a hand out to Brennan’s arm and meeting her gaze. “I mean about Booth. You went to see him the day before that and didn’t come back again until this morning. What gives?”

She paused, letting out a breath. “Ange--”

“Something happened, right? Please tell me that something happened, Bren, you two have been--”

“He could have died, Angela,” interrupted Brennan. She realized her voice must have sounded sharp and serious, but she couldn’t help it.

Angela paused. “I know.” She brought her hand to squeeze her friend’s.

“He was shot. If that bullet had been just a little bit higher…”

“But it wasn’t, Bren. It wasn’t. He’s fine.”

“I know. I know that, now. I had to…” she exhaled, still finding her thoughts. “I had to see him and make sure he was all right.”

“But you knew that already, you were there at the hospital.”

This was true. Brennan swallowed, trying to verbalize what she’d remembered feeling then. “When I was there, leaving was harder than it was to go in the first place.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

“I didn’t want to leave him this time. I couldn’t.”

A smile started to flicker across Angela’s face once again, as she noted the faintest tint of pink start to appear on her friend’s cheek. “Something happened with you two. You’re...are you two…?”

“I don’t know. We’re...something. Something closer than what we were before.”

Angela suddenly found herself speechless, in disbelief that this had finally happened for the two of them, and at the same time at a loss for what to say next. But there was just one question that was important.

“Are you happy?”

Brennan began to smile this time, a true and expressive smile that broadened across her expression until her eyes sparkled.

* * * * *

Entering the Jeffersonian for the first time since his injury, Booth’s feelings were torn between embarrassment and aggravation over having to walk with a cane, relief over being back on the job, excitement about seeing Brennan again...And then, of course, there were the squints. Always the squints.

He fumbled with his ID card to get up to the platform, and found Hodgins and Zack waiting for him when he did.

“All right squints, talk to me.”

“Hey man, nice cane.” Hodgins looked almost as though he was going to hug him, and Booth chose that moment to push his case file at him. Dutifully, Hodgins took it and began rifling through. A few pictures from the scene were inside, along with a copy of the FBI field report and a few other details. “Nice to have you back on the job, man. This place wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“It’s true,” Zack added. You have a certain impatience with solving cases that accelerates our workload.”

Booth decided he was going to take that as a compliment. “Thanks, Zack. I missed you guys too,” he commented, making sure to add the right amount of sarcasm.

“Aw, come on, Booth, you know we couldn’t get by without you around here.” Hodgins passed the file to Zack.

“Yeah, I’m really just glad to get back to work. We can do coffee and doughnuts and catch up later if you don’t mind.”

“Hey man, you’d miss us too, just admit it,” Hodgins smirked. Booth felt himself stiffening in annoyance and was readying a challenging retort as Zack returned their attention to the case evidence.

“At the moment, we have determined there was a fatal gunshot wound to the front of the head.” He indicated the marks left on the skull.

Booth nodded, glancing around the lab. “Bones around?”

Hodgins gave him an appraising glance. “Was. Will be later, she’s up at Georgetown this morning.”

“Georgetown?”

“The gunshot to the skull was followed by three more scattered below the sternum and above the pelvis. Most likely a .38 caliber, but we’re in the process of confirming that.” Zack gestured to the scarred ribcage on the table.

“Yeah, she’s been offered a guest lectureship for the year. Advanced-level graduate seminar and back-to-back undergraduate research courses.”

“Huh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Surprised? No, no. She just didn’t mention anything about it when...before, she…” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t realize she was starting that this week, is all.”

“Oh, that won’t be until the fall. Not many courses run over the summer.” Hodgins paused. “So, you two have been...talking? Outside of cases? I mean, you weren’t on duty for a couple of weeks, I can only assume--”

Booth stiffened. “Of course we talk. And thanks to me getting shot at by some lame-ass drug dealer, Dr. Sweets decides that means extra sessions. And there are old files to wrap up...” He cleared his throat again. “So, Zack, .38 caliber?”

“Yes,” Zack responded with interest. “Certainly the fatal wound came from a .38. What we’re still determining is whether all four gunshots originated from the same weapon.”

“Well, just as long as you’re happy. And Dr. Brennan too. We’re very protective of her, you know.”

“Who are you, Bones’ father?” Booth was not having this from Hodgins of all people.

“Not that she needs anyone’s protection of course, but she probably—”

“Hodgins, you have five seconds to put this conversation back to the case, or I’m going to introduce this handy new cane of mine to your kneecaps.”

This had been sufficiently awkward, though apparently not nearly awkward enough for the squints as compared to himself. Booth gripped his cane and made his way past Hodgins as briskly as possible, though Zack attempted some resolution to the case discussion.

“Agent Booth, the ballistics report will be available any—”

He was already waving Zack off. “That’s great there, Z-man, why don’t you just report all of this to Cam like the great geek squad you are, and I’ll check in later.”

Hodgins was grinning. “Should we tell Dr. Brennan you were here?”

Booth decided to ignore that last one. He could hear the retreating sounds of Zack asking Hodgins something, and decided against adding any more fuel to that conversation. At least that’s over with. How quickly does news travel around here, anyway?

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, checking the time. By the time he was moving down in the elevator he was estimating how long meetings with Georgetown professors were likely to take, and how long the drive would be in the late morning traffic.

* * * * *

“People are starting to ask questions.”

“I’ve noticed.” Fleetingly, it occurred to Booth that he was coming off a little too over-confident. He decided not to mind. Brennan had moved on, anyhow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, your squint squad seems to know everything around here.”

“They’re not my squint squad, Booth.”

“Sure they are. You should have heard them the other day, ready to jump in all protective.”

This made her chuckle. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“Believe me. Anyway, who’s asking you questions?”

“Angela. This is...more her area than mine.”

“What? Smoking out the new boyfriend and making him feel awkward?’

“No, she’s just very perceptive when it comes to...” She stopped for a moment, stiffening next to him. “Boyfriend?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“No.” She sounded less sure. “I just...I wasn’t sure we were at that point yet.”

“Says the half-naked woman.”

This earned him a mild shove. “Speak for yourself.”

Booth reached over, grasping her hand before she pulled it away. He drew her as close as he could under the covers. “I’m all for losing the other ‘half’, don’t get me wrong. I think we can generate quite enough heat on our own to make up for it.”

She was turning in his arms, her hands planted at his sides as she leaned over him. “You don’t have to play games with me, Booth.” She dipped lower, settling and resting her body against his. “I’m here with you because I want to be, not because of what anyone else thinks.”

In truth, he was too busy taking in the sight of her, the sensation of her, above him and in front of him, to let his thoughts travel as far as other people’s opinions. His gaze drifted across her cheek, her bare neck, and her shoulders, where the straps of her bra still tugged along her skin.

Her breasts grazed his chest as she spoke. The heat that was gathering between them had all but silenced whatever else he had been thinking a moment ago. “Believe me,” he said, “I’ve done plenty of thinking about this already.” His hands traveled along the sides of her body, coming to rest over the curve of her hips.

This made her smile, a mild but genuine smile that made the corners of her mouth curl and her eyelashes descend. Her knees settled on either side of him and her hands drifted to his shoulders. She lowered herself further, placed her lips on his and kissed him as his lips pulled back at hers. Her tongue was running along his lower lip, his teeth brushed against hers as they drew each other closer.

For the briefest moment he thought he felt gooseflesh ripple her skin as he ran his hands down her body, vigorously this time as they pulled at the remaining scraps of clothing separating them. He wondered if his own anticipation was just as evident, or if somehow this and other warning signs had passed him by, signaling their turn down a path they would never be able to reverse.

They were turning again, shifting as she guided him into her and he felt his body responding beneath hers as her fingers gripped and dug at his shoulders. Then they were moving together, as slowly as either of them could manage, until the pace built and he couldn’t keep track of where his kisses landing. One of her hands moved along his skin, skimming the beads of sweat and lighting on his chest. He kissed her mouth again as he felt her gasps begin, deep and breathless in her throat.

A few moments later they lay again next to each other again, and all he could think to himself was warning signs be damned. In a few more moments she’d turn again, starting the dance all over again with a few words or a gesture that would bait him irretrievably. She was a risk worth taking.

* * * * *

Intimate Intention (Part 2/?)

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 17:26:54 GMT

New Bones Fic: Intimate Intention (Part 1/?)

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 16:01:00 GMT

Title: Intimate Intention
Rating: Mild R, for sexuality
Pairing: Brennan/Booth, some Brennan/Sullivan and Hodgins/Angela
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of events through Season 2, but departs from the canonical timeline after that.
Feedback: is gratefully appreciated. If criticism, please be constructive.
Thank You: To my very, very, very excellent beta-readers hannasus, sillyzilly2k who have been generous and critical with their feedback starting with very early versions of this fic, and also lostakasha and mga1999 who looked at early drafts.

Author’s Notes: This is a Booth/Brennan relationship fic. It's long, and mostly finished, so I will be posting it in parts with a new post every couple of days. I feel honesty is beneficial, so I'll give you fair warning and advise you that this fic does become Babyfic. In fact, it is the main reason why I started to write this. My peeps, I just don't know what happened. I'd never expect this to happen on screen, but somewhere along the line I got tired of reading Bones Babyfics that didn't ring true for me and I wanted to challenge myself to write it in a way that did. Whether or not I've succeeded remains to be seen, but I've surely had some fun in the attempt.

As with all of my new fic, I am mirroring this post on my |Insane Journal|.

* * * * *

{1}

* * * * *

Sully always talked about her eyes. It was where his kisses always started, at the corners where her lashes curled, and then across the curve of her cheek. Once, when the morning was still early and they lay half-entwined beneath the covers, she asked him why he did that.

“Because you’re in there, somewhere. Down deep.” He spoke as though she’d already asked him about this. “I love your eyes.” He leaned over her, lifted one of her hands and brushed his lips across the knuckles. “How’d they get to be that colour, anyway?”

Brennan met his gaze, her mouth curving into the beginning of a smile. “The short answer is genetics,” she answered, knowing full well that this was the teasing kind of response he was expecting. “The longer answer would require a flow chart and several felt-tip pens.”

He laughed, a low and mild sound deep in his throat. He bent closer, kissing her mouth, then her neck. “You shouldn’t joke about these things, you know. People would probably kill for your genes. Some day you’ll pass them on and the rest of us poor schmucks will be even more outnumbered.”

The comments were lighthearted, she knew – or at least, she thought they were supposed to be. But her expression became still, and she was suddenly relieved that he wasn’t looking at her then. He kept kissing her, his mouth trailing an affectionate path across her shoulder and between her breasts.

He swept his hand across her abdomen, pressed his lips there, and the worries in the back of her mind crept farther forward. She felt numb all of a sudden, wondering how serious he was, and she silently began cataloguing how much she had told him of her life’s intentions. There were limits.

She swallowed fearfully, bringing her hands to rest against him, concentrating on what it felt like to touch him, feeling the muscle and skin beneath her hands. She didn’t know what to say next. Not yet.

He kept moving, dipped his head lower until she her eyes closed and her body arched back. She gasped as she trembled suddenly, letting the sensation take over.

* * * * *

Somehow, it was easier to say no to him a few days later, when he offered her his choice. Or, perhaps not easier, but simpler. A solution existed in her refusal, fueled by doubt and uncertainty.

She didn’t want to watch him go. She couldn’t let him stay, either.

* * * * *

After Sully it was awkward for a little while, especially with Booth, and while she could accept the good British doctor’s words about professionalism and purposelessness and what she could and couldn’t do at this stage of her socio-psychological development, she remained somehow content to drift along by herself and let the routine of her work carry her. She never lacked for occupation.

She liked coming home by herself; There were times when Booth dropped her off and then came back a half hour later with fortune cookies and hot and sour soup, and she didn’t mind those, either. She noticed Hodgins and Angela, stealing moments in dark corners and touching each other’s hands when they thought no one was watching.

Alone in her quiet apartment at the end of the day, she would always lock the door and turned off the lights by herself. When she slept alone she felt this was enough, this was all that she needed.

* * * * *

“Come on, Bones, we’ve got a crime scene waiting. You’ll love this one, it’s extra oozy...” Booth sidled up to Brennan’s office door.

“The degree of ooziness is not a deciding factor, Booth, just as long as the skeletal remains are sufficient for identification.” She looked up from her desk, a half-eaten sandwich forgotten next to her inbox, surrounded by the case files and manuscript notes that littered every surface. Her hair was pulled back but a few stray waves had fallen forward. He wondered how long she’d been sitting there. “Anyway, don’t you usually call first?”

She was getting that dazed workaholic expression on her face and so he knew her question wasn’t meant to be antagonistic. He let it pass, snapping a finger against his notepad. “Not just ooze, Bones, ooze from last winter. Remember those two hikers that went missing up in Sugarloaf Park right before Thanksgiving?”

Brennan shook her head. Of course she wouldn’t have remembered, there hadn’t been any remains found at the time, so it wouldn’t have had any bearing on her case load. He continued. “Turns out they’ve been resting not so comfortably under a pile of mulch in a ditch just off the 108. Trouble is we can’t tell if they got killed up there back at Thanksgiving or if something else happened in between, what with all the--”

“--the ooziness. Right.” Now there was some interest. She stood, pulling her jacket off the back of her chair as she walked past Booth. “I’ll just update Zack on a couple of things on the way out. And Hodgins will want to meet us there, too. And I’ll need my boots.” She turned on her heel then, breezing back towards her office as Booth was exiting. “Oh and my--”

“--field bag.” He was already handing it to her. “Who’s got your back, Bones?” Before he could wait for her to follow her expression of vague curiosity and confusion with further comment on that remark, he steered them back out towards the exit. “I’ll drive, you can put your gumboots on in the car.”

“You know I always do.”

“I know, Bones. Come on, if we hurry we’ll beat the lunch hour traffic.” He let his hand fall around her shoulders as they walked.

* * * * *

“You hear from Sully at all?” Booth asked once over dinner. The waitress had just deposited slices of pie in front of them. Brennan paused just slightly, her fork poised just above her plate.

“Sure,” she said. “Sometimes. He sends postcards from different towns.” She took a bite of the pie. She didn’t add that the writing on the flip side had gradually decreased, along with the frequency of the cards.

“Do you hear from him?”

Booth shrugged. “Once in a while. He emails.”

Brennan nodded. She took another bite. Her fork hovered above her plate, pushing around the crust crumbs. It seemed odd, talking about this with Booth.

“You want more coffee?” he asked a moment later, and she realized then that they had grown quiet. She blinked, noticing the cold cup next to her plate. “We’ll get some more coffee,” he said, flagging down the waitress.

She put out a hand suddenly, covering her mug and making him pause. “It’s all right, Booth. You can talk about Sully around me if you want. I’m fine, really.”

“I wasn’t--” He relaxed back in his seat, letting the waitress pass by. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She nodded. Next to her hand her Blackberry chimed, and she glanced down to read the message. Then she was reaching for her bag and straightening her jacket.

“Besides,” Brennan added then, “I don’t need more coffee, I need a case.” She stood. “Come on, Hodgins is waiting for us. Apparently your FBI guys found something for us this morning.”

“Well now,” Booth said as he rose to join her, “now you’re speaking my language.”

“I do what I can.”

“You do more than that, Bones.” He was smiling again as they left.

* * * * *

Things were comfortable between them, for a while. Some weeks the cases piled up so much that they were together most days, and it didn’t occur to her to find it strange to spend so much of her evenings with him either.

Eventually, the night came when Booth stopped by late, stayed until it was even later, and then didn’t bother going home afterwards. She heard herself saying, “why don’t you just take the couch,” and watched him nod back blearily and easily, as though this was something that always happened.

The next morning he was awake before her, pouring her a cup of coffee as she entered the kitchen. Her sweater hung crookedly across her shoulders and her hair was still damp from the shower. He hadn’t put his tie back on yet. His hand touched hers when he handed her the coffee, and he smiled as he said “good morning.”

Then he was talking about the phone call he’d had a few minutes ago and the new case that would probably come from it. She suspected that having this level of comfort with each other at this time of day, with no one else but the two of them together, should be more complicated. Doubts began to surface in her mind, and questions about what all of this should mean. But she reminded herself how she felt at ease with him, and decided not to question it just then. It made her wonder what it might be like to have more mornings like this.

She wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee, and smiled as she sat down to join him.

* * * * *

Carry on to Part 2.

Fic: "Observations" (1/1)

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 20:05:55 GMT

Title: Observations
Pairing: Camille/Zack (Bones)
Rating: PG
Author’s Notes: This is written post-'The Santa In the Slush'; Vague spoilers are implied. This is unbetaed this time. Any mistakes are my own.
Feedback: is greatly appreciated. It's my first time trying these two out in fic form.

* * * * *

She’s never been terribly fond of egg nog. On the other hand, she has always been fond of bourbon. So really, let’s call it even. Her heels are clickity-clacking an authoritative echo down the metal staircase as she makes her way back to her office. Not so far that she can’t still hear the chattering sounds of her staff; not so close that she loses all sense of propriety.

The presents have been exchanged; At the time she chose them she remembered thinking long and hard about each of them, but now they’ve left her hands and she’s forgotten again. They’ve been replaced by other things, though, now tucked under her arm and spilling out as she reaches her sofa. A silk scarf from Angela, engraved fountain pen from Brennan. Hodgins found her a nicely bound anthology of Trinidadian poetry which surprised her – When did I mention that to him? One time? A year ago?

There’s also an unopened box with Booth’s name on it, and she’d prefer not to contemplate that too deeply just now. She’d like to know just what exactly happened to make him blush like that while scurrying out of Brennan’s office the day before, but that’ll keep until the New Year. Maybe.

From the corner the radio is still twittering on low volume, and as she slumps back she discerns the familiar strains of the latest teen sensations going on about ‘all I want for Christmas is you...’ She feels the weight of the glass mug in her hands and considers how satisfying it would sound against the radio dial – there’s a good twelve feet of distance – and decides against it.

Which is just as well - lest she have shattered a few perceptions as well as the glass – as Zack chooses that moment to step through her door. She swallows the last few drops and stands again.

“Dr. Addy. Zack. Zackaroni…Did I tell you that is a fantastic sweater you have on?” And it truly is. There is no restraint allowed around that sweater, she’d even caught Brennan puzzling over the little red reindeer dancing across the yoked shoulders. And that shade of bright green. Well.

“Thank you.” He’s pleased, receives it as a proud compliment. “Your dress is very pretty,” he reciprocates.

Her fingers touch the brilliant red flower over her shoulder and she chuckles. “Ah, well. ‘Tis the season, and so on. Time for a bit of plumage.”

“Plumage. Yes.” He clears his throat, and in the pause she wonders what birds he’s thinking of now. She always liked ibises.

His smile is so damned honest around her, she’s noticed lately. Of course, everything about him is honest. Camille’s not certain why she finds this so odd, but then, it’s hard to tell what exactly counts for odd around here, these days.

“When are you leaving for Michigan?”

“Tonight. I booked the midnight flight to Detroit so I’ll be there in time for Christmas morning. My dad always wants me there for the tree decorating but I keep explaining that later flights are easier to book in advance.”

“Actually, I hear Christmas Day has the fewest air travellers than any other day of the year.” She’s not quite sure why she’s suddenly quoting statistics, but she’s willing to go with it.

In any case, he seems comforted by this. “I’ve heard that too.”

There’s a pause, and a few glances around the room. She clicks forward a few steps towards him. “I hope you have a nice time. Tell your family hello for me. We’re glad to have you back at the Jeffersonian, I hope they know that.”

“They do. I’ll tell them,” he adds quickly. Then he reaches into his pocket, hastily retrieving a small box. “I forgot to give you your Christmas present, upstairs.” He stretches out both hands to her, inviting her to take it.

She gave him a tie. “Zack, you didn’t need to give me anything.”

“Of course I did. I would have given it to you upstairs but I’d left it in one of my drawers by mistake.”

She takes the box from him, pulls off the paper as carefully as she can manage, and opens it to discover a small lapel pin inside; a tiny circlet of garnets in a gold setting. It gleams slightly even in the dimness of her office.

“It’s beautiful, Zack.” It is. She smiles as she runs her fingertips over it. She’s picturing the jackets that line her closet, knows she’ll fasten it to one of them when she’s home again.

“I’m glad.” And he is. “Garnets are very versatile gemstones. I’ve observed you don’t wear a great deal of jewelery, and most of your wardrobe is very simple. You usually favour refined colour palettes.”

Actually, she favours plumage. But her Jeffersonian attire provides no evidence of this, so observations aren’t wrong; Zack’s never wrong, she thinks.

This fact alone isn’t what makes her turn towards him abruptly just then, planting a kiss on his lips and lingering there far longer than is reasonable for a holiday kiss between co-workers; But it’s strangely comforting to think that he knows her this well, in the minutiae of her life that would only amount to discarded details, for anyone else she’s about to spend the next four days of her holiday with.

She pulls away, comfortable where she stands. His expression is slightly stunned – not disappointed, but perhaps slightly confused.

There’s a bit of lipstick at the edge of his bottom lip and she reaches out, brushing it away with her thumb as she has for other men. He’s not a child, you can’t excuse this away. But he stops her, reaching for her hand with both of his and lifting it gingerly away, all three hands lingering in the space between them.

There’s a spot of pink in his cheeks now, and the faintest hint of a smile although he’s still speechless.

“Thank you for the brooch, Zack, I like it very much.” She can’t help but fill the silences, now, she almost never gets to do that any more.

He clears his throat. “You’re very welcome. Camille.” She wonders at the effort it must take for him discard professional proprieties, and suddenly wonders if she could, would she take back the entire last few minutes; She can’t possibly send him home to Michigan like this. I’d never be 'Cam' for him.

“See you next year.” Cam offers another smile, briskly this time as she straightens in front of him. He’s relaxed again, breathing easier and registering what’s happened.

“Yes, next year. You too.” Zack squeezes her hand slightly as he lets it go. “Happy New Year, Camille. I hope you have a good holiday. On your family cruise.”

She lets out a breath then, hands lingering now at her sides. “You never know. There’s a first time for everything.”

When he turns to leave it is just as quietly and purposefully as when he came. He stops for a moment and faces her briefly. “It always feels like home when I come back here.”

In the darkness a moment later she pulls on her coat, takes the gifts in her arms. “Me too.”

Fic: "Not Quite Ordinary" (Bones, 1/1)

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 18:32:27 GMT

Title: Not Quite Ordinary
Pairing: Camille/Hodgins (Bones)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 2.
Thanks: To hannasus for beta-reading and support
Author’s Notes: This is written in a set of a few brief scenes, based on the prompts 'cemetery, paper clip, and laughter,' and is my entry in the bones_alt_ships Bones Unconventional 'Ships Ficathon.

* * * * *

“Hey, we’ve got a new corpse, did you hear?”

Camille looks up from her desk, a tall stack of waiting files next to her and a too-short pile of signed documents at her other side. Hodgins is zipping up his field suit, his kit already slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Booth filled me in. Keep me posted if there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

“Hey now, out of the ordinary is where we live.” He’s about to leave and then pauses. “You’re not coming? It’s high profile,” he says, his tone of voice shifting and trying to entice her. Camille wonders fleetingly if he’s lonelier these days than he used to be. “Just off the cemetery up at Arlington. They’re saying it might be that legal aide that went missing a couple of months ago.”

She remembers, now that he’s brought it up. A young woman, early twenties. The case she’d assisted on was a headline-inducing civil rights trial. The attorney she’d worked for had been under heavy suspicion, particularly after evidence of sexual harassment had surfaced, but without any crime scene there had been very little for law enforcement to go on. She sits up a bit straighter, offers him a brief but well-meaning smile.

“No, you go on.” She could easily blame the paperwork. “I don’t do cemeteries.”

He nods, his manner settling a little. He doesn’t push her.

“It hasn’t rained in three weeks,” he adds as he leaves. “I bet we’ll get trace evidence from here ‘til Tuesday.”

For the first time, she’s grateful for the dry summer.

* * * * *

It’s odd without Zack around. Dozens of offers from crime labs and private research agencies and international human rights organizations, and sure, he chooses the specialty office across the corridor, with the promise of more field consulting and travel to the four corners. Turns out he has a knack for children’s cases, and a justice streak that it took Iraq to open up for him.

“Do you know how many casualties of war are children?” Zack asked him after he’d returned.

“Actually, I do,” he said, not wishing to compete in this particular category of statistical knowledge. In Iraq alone the numbers were in the hundreds of thousands. Worldwide, it was millions. He also knew how many of those deaths are from preventable causes. A few clean wells and a living parent or two didn’t seem like too much to ask. “It’s too many.”

“Yes, it is.”

At the time he was surprised that Zack didn’t press the point further. It was a few days later that Zack announced his change of employment, his chest filled with pride. Hodgins slapped him on the shoulder and warned him not to get a swelled head and turn the pool house into Prestige Party Central now that he’s living the grownup life.

His part of the office had grown quieter.

He notices Cam more often, these days, passing by his station. He wonders if she feels the absences, too, if she’d gotten used to the buffers in the loop she’d tried painstakingly to create in the beginning.

She plucks a paperclip from the jar on his desk, pointedly closing it over the set of photos he’d copied for her that morning. “Try to remember these things, Jack, I don’t want court evidence ending up scattered in mud puddles when Booth trips and drops his files.”

Hodgins doesn’t add that he’s conveniently forgotten the paperclip more often than this once, just for the excuse of conversations like this. He takes the opportunity to point out some anomalies in the fungal spores they recovered from the latest skeletal remains, and he likes to think she’s not just humouring with the several minutes’ worth of attention she’s paying him.

She’s on her way out again with a “just keep me posted,” and then pauses. “Listen, Jack, I know it’s harder without Zack around. And I know how you must be feeling with Angela gone, too-”

“You don’t,” he says in interruption, standing to change the slide on the microscope. “You don’t, actually, know how I feel about that.”

He can tell without looking that she’s nodding, before turning on her heel. The fabric of her trousers rustles gently as she moves.

* * * * *

She’s nearly finished with the saw, easing the blade through several layers of tissue and bone before the arm is fully removed. Hodgins stands waiting while she sets it down on a separate table. It’s the rest of it he’s most interested in, anyhow, and she’s pretty sure he’s impatient at having to wait this long. He’d barely had the remains long enough to determine cursory levels of insect activity before she removed it back to the pathology lab.

“You can have the rest, now.” She removes her goggles. “You can have the arm back, as well, I’ll be done with it in an hour, maybe less.”

“You’re the boss.” He wheels it out towards the platform. She watches as he is joined by the other staff and admires the way he delegates. Brennan will want the first look at the skeleton as soon as the bones have been cleaned, of course, once she gets back from the field. Brennan has a new assistant, now, too and Camille’s surprised she hasn’t seen him scurrying around Hodgins’ station, yet, asking more questions than necessary.

Camille notices the way Hodgins’ shoulders stiffen just a little whenever he talks to their new artist-in-residence. She wonders whether Booth’s shoulders ever did that when he thought about her. She wonders, too, whether Angela’s scars run just as deep.

She turns again and sets to work examining the scar tissue on the arm, noticing the autopsy table has a few more scratches than it did a year ago. Later that day she’ll make a note of it to the maintenance crew.

* * * * *

It has been a long time since he’s laughed this way – or laughed at all, one might even say. She’s doing the same, and the faint laugh lines deepen at the corner of her eyes. In a moment he’ll bend his head and press his mouth there, feel the lines soften beneath his lips and wish it was her making the gesture towards him.

She turns to lie facing him, running a hand gently along his arm and settling back against the pillows. He notes to himself that, at the very least, she hasn’t made a move to ditch him yet. Despite the fact that he’s not actually sure how he feels about the prospect of this being something more than a series of one-night encounters, it is comforting to think he’s not the only one keeping them a little longer in this bed.

She’s quiet for a moment. Suddenly his mouth opens, filling the silence with anything that might not smack of doubt or self-pity.

“I’m not here looking for a quick fix, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Her lips twist in the near beginning of another fit of laughter. “Oh, please, Jack. I dearly hope that’s not what you think I’m thinking.”

He shrugs a little, leans back next to her as his gaze traces a path to the ceiling. “Thought it was worth mentioning, is all.”

When she turns against him he can feel her hair brushing his shoulder. “I don’t do fix-its, Jack.”

When he bends towards her this time, he kisses her mouth instead.

* * * * *

"Within Reach" (1/1 - Camille/Hodgins, Bones)

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 21:11:16 GMT

Title: Within Reach
Pairing: Camille/Hodgins (Bones)
Rating: PG-13 (ish)
Notes: Just a one-off, a brief amuse-bouche as I take this pairing out for a first spin and gear up to write for bones_alt_ships. Any mistakes are my own.
Feedback: Is gratefully appreciated.

He’s alone when he wakes, blinking and reorienting himself in the darkness. This is unusual only for the fact that, just hours ago, he was very much not alone in own bed. For a split second when he’d woken, he’d expected (hoped, perhaps) to be able to simply reach out beside him and find her there, waiting. The sensation of her smooth skin is still etched on his fingertips.

But Camille, he is learning, is not a creature of leisure. (He wonders just now whether he is, either).

The clock blinks 4:24am at him, and before he can process how much more sleep he should still be able to earn himself before admitting that the day is about to begin, he’s shifting the sheets away and stepping out of bed. He slips on the pajama pants as he goes, rubs a hand briskly over his face as he makes his way down the corridor.

There’s light in the kitchen, but when he arrives there he finds only the lingering scent of fresh coffee (espresso, actually – a recently-used grinder stands next to the sink, and a familiar blend label gleams on an open black bag next to the machine). No waiting cup for him, he remarks to himself. He scratches at the corner of his jaw.

He keeps moving, neglecting to turn on any more lamps and following his nose instead.

It’s in the library that he finds her, slim fingers clasped around a china mug, legs peeking out from underneath a rumpled shirt. (Not the shirt he was wearing last night, but still one of his). She’s looking around at the shelves and doesn’t turn when he comes in.

“It’s a little early for breakfast,” he says, hands settling on his waist as he steps forward.

“Who said anything about breakfast?” She sips from her cup and doesn’t break her gaze, lifting her head up to take in the height of the shelves.

He’s about to mention that the coffee machines do in fact work for two, when she wordlessly hands him the mug she’s holding. After the briefest pause he takes it from her, takes a (very bracing) sip and keeps watching her.

“Fuck, Jack. This is a lot of books.”

He’d like to dispute that (it’s about the right amount, he’d like to point out, particularly given how many family members contributed to this collection), but some part of his brain is setting up roadblocks. The same part of his brain which, right now, is following the path of shadows along the folds of the shirt she’s wearing, and wondering if she even bothered to fasten any buttons before wrapping it around herself. Her feet move another step along the bookshelves and he watches every piece of her body shift in the dim light.

He looks up, suddenly, finds that she is looking back at him and he realizes she’s asked him something.

“Hm?”

She blinks slowly, a breath away from rolling her eyes at him. “How many of these have you read?”

He sets the cup down on the edge of the shelf next to him. “Enough. Long-term project, you might say.” He nods towards the shelf she’s leaning against (no dust under her fingers) and smiles a half-smile. “Go ahead.”

She straightens.

“Try me,” he adds, closing more of the gap between them.

She lets out the briefest of sighs, before reaching a hand up to the shelf just at eye-level, trailing her fingers along the spines without turning to follow with her gaze. Hodgins watches as she does. His smile doesn’t break; Hers appears with a great deal of reluctance.

She breaks their gaze long enough to flicker a glance at the volume she’s chosen. “The Red and the Black,” she reads. “Stendhal.”

“A classic, of course. Le Rouge et Le Noir. There’s a second edition on the top shelf behind you,” he nods in indication. “Mid-nineteenth century printing. Tracking down an 1830 original is as fruitless as finding journalistic depth on CNN.”

He reaches for the coffee again and takes another sip. It’s cooled just a little and the taste is stronger. Her lips twist just a little bit and he leaves the next move entirely to her. (There are other second editions. Lots of firsts, too. He debates whether this would change any of her opinions.)

She flicks open the front cover, holds the book in front of her and flips to the first chapter. “Sounds terribly dramatic,” she says, and as she starts to walk towards him he decides that the buttons are indeed unfastened. She hands the book to him and trades him for the coffee. Faintly, he can smell the remnants of her last night’s perfume as she brushes past him.

“No shortage of drama around here, baby.”

He fixes the book in his hand and follows her, his free hand already reaching for her hip, swallowing to clear his throat as he prepares his voice to read aloud.

* * * * *

Fic: "Men's Work" (Bones - 1/1)

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 12:37:43 GMT

Title: Men's Work
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen, implied Angela/Hodgins
Spoilers: None
Notes: This is just a short fic for fun. Angela takes up knitting and much discussion ensues.
Feedback: Is always appreciated.

“What are you doing?” Brennan approached the upstairs lounge, a takeaway carton in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

Angela was sitting slightly hunched, struggling with two straight pointy sticks and a ball of red wool yarn. “I am trying,” she began, looping the yarn over one needle and pulling it through another loop with considerable concentration, “to knit a sweater.”

Brennan sat down next to her. “Why?” She opened the bottle of water, took a swig from it and set it down on the table in front of them.

“Because…” Angela wrapped the yarn again and pulled it through another loop, again, “Hodgins and I are having a baby.”

Her brow furrowed. “I know that, Angela, but what does that have to do with learning to knit?”

“Because it’s what you do, that’s why. Babies and knitting, they go together. I thought I’d start with booties, but apparently…” she paused, working the final stitch on the row and holding it up to look at with satisfaction. “Apparently booties are slightly advanced level. I’m supposed to start with a basic baby sweater instead.”

“Who told you that?”

“The woman at the yarn store.” She considered this for a moment. “Although, come to think of it, she did seem a little know-it-all-y.”

Her friend shook her head. “Did Hodgins tell you you were supposed to do this?”

“No.” Angela reversed the needles, preparing to start the next row. “I just thought I’d try it.”

Brennan opened the takeaway container, and speared a few bites of chicken before responding. “You know, historically speaking, knitting has only recently come to be stereotypically associated with women and domesticity.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. There is evidence that male members of nomadic tribes across Arabia as well as many parts of Europe practiced knitting as a way of creating their own stockings and foot coverings, and that it considerably pre-dates the Common Era. Men have been knitters for at least as long as women, most likely longer in fact.”

“Really.” Angela paused in her work, now more intrigued.

“In fact, it is only since the 19th Century mechanization of knitting after the advent of industrialization that hand-knitting became the occupation of women. Men then produced knitted fabric and garments with the use of machines.”

“Oh, well that’s just fantastic. Women get stuck doing it by hand while the guys hide in the factories?” She scoffed.

Brennan took another bite of her salad, clearly settling in for a lengthier discussion. “Now, spinning and weaving, on the other hand…”

They were interrupted by Hodgins, breezing in with a few files under his arm and making a beeline for the coffee maker. “Hey folks. Just waiting on some tests but have I got a doozy of a slimy residue on this guy. Judging from how long he was submerged and then washed up in that marsh, I’d say…” He paused in the middle of stirring sugar into his coffee mug, looking back at the silent expressions that faced him.

“What?”

Angela looked at him with a pensive expression. Brennan glanced between her and Hodgins.

“We were talking about knitting,” Brennan decided to add, since clearly Angela was still considering what to say next.

“Oh yeah?” Hodgins contemplated his coffee. “I had an aunt who used to knit all the time. I think I still have some of her sweaters. Of course, I’ve out-grown them all by now, but...

Angela rose from her seat, gathering up the needles and yarn. “Here,” she said, approaching Hodgins and shoving the works into his arms. “You can do the booties. Or…sweaters, or whatever.” She smiled. “Turns out it’s actually men’s work after all.”

“Ah, uh...” Hodgins looked at the tangled red lump of wool and needles now in his possession, and then back at Angela’s retreating form.

“Let me know if you need help with the purl stitch,” she said on her way out. “I have a skull that needs marking up.”

Zack passed her on his way into the lounge. He observed the room and likewise made his way to the coffee machine.

“Are you taking up knitting?” he asked, noticing Hodgins. “Because if you are, I should warn you about the twisted stitches. It is very important not to twist your stitches.” He poured his own mug of coffee.

“You knit, too?” Brennan asked, curious.

“I used to. In my final undergraduate year I made four sweaters and seven pairs of socks.”

Hodgins looked vaguely exasperated. “Dude, we have got to get you out to bars more often.”

“Actually, I found it was a very effective method of attracting women,” he reasoned. “And helpful in relieving stress.”

“So why did you stop?” Brennan asked.

“Oh, I had to,” Zack said, readying his mug of coffee and grabbing a cookie from one of the tins. “It was far too addictive.” He took a bite of the cookie and then made his way out again. “I’ll have the ballistics confirmed within the hour, Dr. Brennan…” he added with his mouth full, before disappearing.

“Right.” Hodgins still stood with his armload of files and yarn and his untouched cup of coffee. After a moment he came and sat down next to Brennan on the sofa.

“It looks like you just took up knitting,” she observed.

“Looks like it.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“Would you like to hear about the anthropological history of how male knitters have existed for several millennia?”

Hodgins nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Brennan took another sip of water, and began the discussion again.

* * * * *

"Eventuality" (1/1) - 'Bones', Booth/Brennan

Wed, 02 May 2007 14:49:40 GMT

Title: Eventuality
Rating: A hard R. Not for wee eyes.
Pairing: Booth/Brennan (‘Bones’)
Spoilers: None specific. This happens whenever you want it to.
Author’s Note: This is a short bit of somethin’ somethin. There is no plot anywhere near this fic. Any mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, nor am I profiting from them.
Feedback: Is cherished. If criticism, please make it constructive.

* * * * *

"I’m not sure what this means," she manages to say, her words resonating against the corner of his mouth. "And I’m fairly certain I don’t care." She gets out this last part just before her lips come down over his for the third time, and he’s trying to focus on what to respond to first.

There’s still a hint of red wine on her tongue, from dinner. It was the second glass that was unusual for one of their working dinners, the first thing that made him sit up just a little and pay attention just a little more closely. When he followed her up to her apartment a short while later she didn’t ask why and he didn’t offer. He waited out the sixty seconds it took for her to walk to the kitchen and come back with drinks in her hands – a beer for him - and instead of letting her do the casually social hand-off that they’ve done a thousand times by now, he took the whole works from her and set them down not so gently on the table and wrapped his arms around her instead.

When he pulled her against him – she was already halfway there anyway, very efficient, he thought – there was no more hesitation left. He might have been the one who made the first move – this time, he would remind himself later – but it was a line that quickly became grey once their lips touched.

And now they’re kissing as though they have to get it all in before someone walks in and interrupts them, and it’s just occurring to him now to wonder if they locked her apartment door behind them and whether that would matter, when she leans into him just a little more eagerly than she’s been doing already and sends his feet shuffling back. When he encounters a wall he shifts abruptly, turning and pressing her back against it. He revels for a moment in the shallow gasp of pleasure this elicits from her as their kiss breaks. He lifts one hand and runs it through her hair, grazing the pad of his thumb along her cheek, and stops to look at her for a long glorious moment.

She’s grasping at him, too, letting her hands slide beneath his clothes – he realizes now that somehow she’s managed to pry open at least four of the buttons on his shirt, and as if in retaliation he shifts both of his hands lower. He runs them along her body, feeling absolutely every inch of her curves – beneath her jacket and over the blouse that wasn’t really warm enough for a late DC spring anyway – until he reaches her belt.

But she knows exactly what he’s doing – and exactly what she’s doing, too, he’s quite sure. She kisses him again, hard, nearly wrestling away whatever semblance of control they’ve been passing back and forth. He finally slips one hand beneath her clothes and slides fingers all the way down against her, into her, just starting to move his thumb and figure out if somewhere there’s an itch she can’t scratch, when her mouth tenses and she bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to startle him off track.

He looks at her again, as she rests back against the wall, and even in the dim half-light he knows she’s gorgeous – he always knew that, just can’t quite believe this collision is happening, and so he quickly pushes away any thoughts that might tend towards rationality or explanation. He’s just starting to enjoy the expression on her face when her hands slide across his chest, grasping his lapels and kissing him hard. She’s steering him again, letting him know in no uncertain terms that there is only so much she is willing to wait for, now that they’ve started down this path. This is just fine with him, and he restrains himself from sweeping her quite literally off her feet and carrying her as far as the bedroom.

In the short work of a minute the jackets and shoes are gone, discarded who knows where, and both pairs of hands are working quickly. It’s a small victory in her court that she managed to get his shirt off first – although she did have a head start on that – and soon he’s just pulling, lifting away layers of silk and then lace as she briefly and accommodatingly raises her arms for him. He runs his hands down the span of her body as he returns to the task at hand.

He can feel her hands against him once more, pulling her to him and drawing his mouth to hers. She’s working on his belt, too, letting one hand make the same attempts as he did only moments ago. She’s moving fast – or he is, or they are – and he wonders if this is just Temperance Brennan speed, that her body moves just as quickly as her mind. Just as she manages to start grasping him and feeling the length of him beneath his trousers, he lets out a gruff noise that starts somewhere in the back of his throat.

He moves them to the bed, pulling her down as he finally lets his mouth roam farther, along the shadows of her neck and shoulders, and farther over the curves of her breasts. She falls back and he feels a split second of gratitude for this moment of exploration. His teeth nip gently at the pale skin beneath her breasts, and then his tongue and lips follow. He can feel her pulse quickening as he dips his head again and kisses a path along her breastbone, then trailing along her body as his hands pull at the last layers of clothing around her hips. The edge of her fingernails hardens a little more against his skin, and so he continues. He pulls away her slacks in stages, running one hand along her skin with each stage.

A few moments later and she’s done the same for him – albeit much more briskly – and kissing his mouth and jaw and neck, and running her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. She’s pressing back against him, shifting them until he’s the one falling back. She runs one hand along his torso, letting her fingers pause briefly and explore the muscles there. A smile begins to curl on her face, and he can’t help but mirror her expression as she straddles him.

He doesn’t care if this is something that they’re supposed to explain, if it’s supposed to mean something or if they were supposed to have reasons. They made their reasons a long time ago, each time they stepped towards each other when they should have walked away, each time they argued when they should have been patient.

She lets one hand drift between his legs, clasping his length as he brings his hands around her waist. Her eyes are turned towards his as she lowers herself onto him, and it’s no surprise to him that they’re both very ready for this. She tenses around him, stiffening slightly before beginning to move and find their rhythm.

He reaches up for her, sliding his hands farther around her waist and up her back, as she leans above him and brings her lips back to him. He rolls them over until she’s beneath him – wonders briefly how many feints and parries will happen like this now that this is the road they’re traveling down – and the angle is deeper now as he thrusts into her. After a few moments he’s bending, too, pressing his arms beside her and letting her grasp his shoulders. Her breath is coming in hot gasps against his chest, pulsing as his is against her shoulder, until one after the other their bodies tense and shudder.

He lifts his face to hers, presses his mouth over her lips and revels in the little gasps she’s making against his mouth as she catches her breath. By the time he realizes he’s doing the same thing he’s shifting again, as she leans over him and kisses the corner of his mouth, then his cheek.

A while later after they’ve tried this dance with each other at least one more time and he wakes, alone in the darkness, he’ll sit up startled for a few seconds until he sees the dim shaft of light glowing in from the other room, and hears the noises she’s trying not to make as she moves around. He’ll hesitate then, but only for a moment, forgetting to remind himself that he’s supposed to be wondering what this all means. Instead he’ll rise and fumble around just long enough to find his boxers crumpled between the bedside table and the armchair, and emerge from the room quietly enough that she won’t notice him until she turns and finds him already halfway to where she’s standing. Maybe she’ll smile at him just a little conspiratorially, underneath the robe or whatever she’s hastily thrown on – perhaps even his own shirt, he flatters himself to think.

And perhaps he’ll find her skin still just a little bit flushed beneath that cool fabric, and he’ll edge closer to her, wondering whether to take the opportunity as it comes and pull her towards him with the sash of her robe. Or maybe he’ll come to stand opposite her, leaning his elbows on the smooth marble of the kitchen island as she forages for supplies. She’ll return to stand across from him with simple things that matter deeply and yet not at all – some crusty bread that tears satisfyingly in her hands, olives dripping with oil that he won’t be able to resist tasting on her fingers – and they will face each other like this, still with hours left before dawn.

She’ll lean towards him then, this time kissing him first as though he’d been waiting for this sign, some seal of her approval. They’ll part gently, leisurely, and he’ll brush his fingers underneath her chin and say, "this means something," because by now he knows this is worth the risk.

And maybe when she leans in again, with her hand on his cheek and her lips close enough for him to feel her breath on his skin, she’ll tell him, "I know it does," as though all of this was only a matter of playing a fantastic waiting game. He’s not sure which one of them had to catch up with the other, but he’s not about to stop trying to find out.

Just then he might take another risk and ask her to tell him what, exactly, all of this means, just to hear her explain it in words she inhabits in the way only she can. And he’ll let the words come, and then add some of his own. She’ll laugh and hand him an olive, and he’ll taste it before kissing her again.

Bones fic - "And Then" (1/1)

Tue, 27 Mar 2007 02:33:00 GMT

Title: And Then
Characters/Pairing: Brennan, Booth/Brennan understood
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None specific – this happens in a post-series setting.
Author’s Note: This fic grew from a small kernel of an idea that’s been turning over in my head for a while now. I hope to have done it justice.
Any mistakes are my own.
Feedback: Is cherished.

And Then
* * * * *

Most days she kept herself at work until well into the evening, and when she came back – came home – she didn’t have the energy for anything else. She also wasn’t supposed to be unpacking the apartment by herself, she knew, and yet here she was nonetheless.

Brennan had been in the new apartment almost two months now, but still hadn’t moved in. Not really. She’d done enough organizing to get by for the moment – the main bedroom was habitable, and an office was gradually forming in the second. The third…the third was still undecided. Bookshelves lined the walls in the large front room, and she’d meant to start filling them. A television sat in one corner, gathering dust – she didn’t have much use for it. The stereo was there, her CDs had begun to clutter small surfaces around it. She used the dining room table once in a while.

Today had been a slow Saturday at the lab, and she’d left shortly after lunch to run some necessary errands. Now she found herself once again alone at home, watching the late afternoon sun stream in deeper and deeper hues through the windows.

She contemplated the boxes around her. Enough is enough, she told herself. It’s your place now, this shouldn’t be so difficult. Make it your own.

But it was difficult, and she still didn’t know how to make it her own. She would have known how, once.

* * * * * *

The knock at the door came as a surprise. Brennan rarely received unexpected visitors.

She turned on lights as she made her way through the corridor and front room. It was getting dark now that fall was setting in. When she pulled the door open she experienced a mild amount of surprise at who stood on the other side.

“Parker. Hi...”

He shrugged briefly, nodded his greeting. A well-worn knapsack was slung over his shoulder, and she recognized it as the one he carried to school with him. It had been a while since Brennan had seen him – not since the funeral, she realized. And before that…weeks at least. She and Booth had been so busy, she recalled. Booth had had to switch around some weekends with him.

She blinked, swung the door wider. “Would you like to come in?” Of course he must. Why else would he be here? She didn’t have an answer to that particular question, at least not yet.

He shuffled inside, his twelve-year-old feet still loose in what looked like new shoes. She watched him pause in the foyer, looking around the place.

“It’s a lot different from when you saw it, before,” she said, recalling. After she and Booth had made the offer, he’d made an appointment with the realtor and shown Parker around the empty space. Showed him on the maps where the closest transit routes were through Cleveland Park, he was old enough to learn how to get around by himself, Booth had said. There was even a third bedroom they’d talked about being ‘his’. Brennan hadn’t thought about these things in a long while.

Parker nodded again. “It’s nice.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic, but he wasn’t sullen either.

“I’ll show you the rest of it,” she said. He followed. “I can order pizza,” she offered. He nodded. He still wore his jacket, his bag still slung over one shoulder. She didn’t offer to take them from him, she’d never done that. She’d always felt it was an intrusion, somehow.

* * * * *

She showed him the rooms, explaining their actual and intended purposes.

“You haven’t put everything away, yet,” he commented. They’d returned to the front room and she contemplated the empty shelves and stacked boxes. He shed his belongings, then, putting his jacket over the back of a chair and toeing off his shoes.

“No,” she agreed. “I’ve been very busy.” This wasn’t a lie.

Brennan wasn’t sure what to offer next. It had been a long time since she’d entertained him by himself. There was a television in the corner, and a video game apparatus still in its box. She didn’t know how to set it up but she was fairly certain it was technology Parker was familiar with. She pointed it out, asked if he wanted to give it a try.

He shook his head, shrugging.

“Did you bring your books with you?” she asked, nodding towards his bag. He shrugged again, but didn’t shake his head this time. She interpreted this as an affirmative response. “Do you have homework? I can look at it with you, if you want.” This was something she knew how to do.

Parker considered this, and then reached for his bag again. He moved into the room, started pulling out books and putting them on the coffee table. She came and sat next to him, put her own stack of reading down next to his.

* * * *

Eventually the pizza arrived, and she took it into the kitchen with them. She set the box on the table and watched as Parker approached the cupboards, opening one at a time and looking for the one that held her dishes. It occurred to her, had they been in her or Booth’s old place, that it was what he would have done then. After the third try she corrected him.

“Plates are on the far left,” she said, then thought about it and added, “and the utensils are in the drawer underneath.” She reached into the fridge, relieved to find a half-empty case of root beer. She pulled out two cans, didn’t bother with glasses. Booth wouldn’t approve of soda, she thought.

For a few moments they simply ate quietly. She asked him more about the classes he was taking at school, what his friends were interested in. She couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, but it relieved her a little to hear him speak about these things. She was glad that he had friends.

There were things she wasn’t asking him, things she knew he must be thinking about. She knew that was something she would have to do sooner or later, but timing would be a significant factor.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called to say hello, Parker.” She wiped her hands on a paper serviette, pushing away her plate with two bare crusts. Important conversation always seemed easier after the meal was over. “I know things must be hard for you right now.”

He nodded, shifting his gaze down to his plate. He’d left only crumbs behind. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s okay.”

She wanted to ask him if there was anyone she should call, if his mother even knew where he’d gone. She remembered what it had been like for her when she was younger, started wondering if he was feeling any of the same things. But then, he still had one of his parents – two, counting his stepfather. She didn’t know how much of a difference that made.

Just then he brushed a hand across his cheek. He blinked a few times hard, shifted his gaze farther.

Brennan put out a hand towards him, resting it at his shoulder, unsure what to say. He didn’t shrink away from her, and she felt relieved at that, too. He lifted the same hand again, brushed at his eyes.

She shifted her chair so that she was sitting next to him and reached out both arms towards him. She felt him bend his head towards her, wrap his small arms around her waist.

“It’s okay,” she heard herself saying. “It’s all right.” And she believed herself as she said it.

* * * * *

Later they came out into the front room again, the lamps were brighter now that the evening light had settled in.

“You haven’t put everything away yet,” he said again. He stood next to the bookshelves, put his hand on one. He lifted it away and there was dust on his fingers.

“You’re right, I haven’t.” She looked around, mentally cataloguing the contents of the boxes in one corner.

“Are those the books?” He pointed where she was looking, as if adding up the empty shelves and the presence of the stacked boxes and concluding that they were waiting to be matched up.

“Yes, most of them are books.” She pulled one of the boxes over to the shelves, then another. He’d started opening the first one by the time she dragged over the third. “These are the ones I don’t use as much,” she explained. Most of the titles were non-fiction, although not all of them were.

“Have you read all of these?” he asked, brushing at the cover of one he’d pulled out. It was an early edition by Margaret Mead, one she’d hadn’t looked at in years.

“Yes, most of them.” She stepped into the kitchen, briefly, and emerged with a dusting cloth for the shelves.

She’d had most of these same volumes lining the walls of her previous apartment, of course, perhaps Parker wouldn’t have noticed them as much. It occurred to her that Booth probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to them, either.

Brennan started dusting the shelves, thinking. Parker opened the second box, pulled out a few more books.

* * * * *

“Do you miss him?” he asked her a little while later. They were on the last box of books, most of the shelves had been filled now. His question wasn’t completely out of curiosity, she knew. He wasn’t crying this time, but there was sadness in his voice.

The question made her pause, although it was such a simple one. She held the answer in her mind for a moment before answering.

“Yes,” she said. “Very much.”

His mouth twisted a little bit, as if he was thinking about what to say next. He nodded. “I do, too.”

The book she’d picked up a few seconds ago felt heavy in her hands, now. She reached up and put it on its shelf, dusted off her hands. Parker held onto the few he’d picked up, traced the dust jackets with one finger.

“Your mother and stepfather love you very much, Parker. Just like your dad did.”

He watched him nod again. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” He handed her the books, reached over to the waiting box and picked out a few more. Shuffled them so that they were in the right order. “It’s not the same, though.”

Brennan let out a shallow sigh, nodding this time. She couldn’t disagree with that. “Yeah,” she repeated. “I think I understand about that.” She took the books from him, continued arranging them with the ones now on the shelf.

* * * * *

The second knock at the door came a short while later. Brennan opened the door and felt an immediate pang of regret. She knew then what she should have done, before, and wondered to herself if things would have gone differently if she had done things as she should have.

“Rebecca, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I should have called you.” She had the number, it was still in her address book, no reason to cross it out.

Rebecca’s expression was strained. “Is my son here?” she asked, as though only now reassuring herself that it was a reasonable question to ask.

Brennan nodded, stepping aside and gesturing for her to come inside. She noticed the gentle bulge underneath Rebecca’s coat, and registered this for herself. The pregnancy hadn’t been visible at the funeral – the last time Brennan had seen either Rebecca or Parker. She wondered what Parker thought of this, why he hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

She shut the door and turned back, saw that Parker was already gathering his things, slipping on his shoes and jacket. It was as though he’d expected this was how the visit would end eventually, although it was clear Rebecca had not shared this perspective. Brennan saw her free hand was shaking slightly. Her other gripped the edge of her handbag firmly.

“He’s had some dinner,” Brennan said, and Rebecca looked back at her, as if momentarily confused at the information. “Pizza. And, he did some of his homework.” Booth would have said these things, she thought to herself. Passing on information, a catalogue of minor events.

“Fine,” Rebecca answered. “Yes. Good...” She cleared her throat. “It’s...” she paused, as if choosing from amongst her thoughts. “He’s getting around so much on his own now, it’s just been very different, since...Well.” She swallowed.

“He misses his father,” Brennan said. Honesty seemed the best attempt.

“Yes. It’s been a couple of months, and I had thought that…Well,” she repeated. “I’m not sure what I thought. She waited as Parker finished. “Let’s go, Parker. It’s getting very late.” She put her arm around his shoulder and they walked towards the door. “Say goodnight to Dr. Brennan.”

They paused. Parker’s shuffle and shrug had returned again. He said what he was asked.

Brennan accepted the farewell, and told him the same. “Thank you for coming to visit me, Parker,” she added. It seemed the thing to say. She shared a few glances with both of them, unsure how else to proceed. Mother and son turned to leave.

“Rebecca-” Brennan said, stepping out after them when they’d reached the corridor. They both paused and looked back. “I’m very sorry I didn’t call. I will, next time,” she added without thinking.

Parker looked back at Brennan and then at his mother, watching this exchange.

Rebecca opened her mouth, then paused, as if re-thinking something. “Yes, next time...” She looked at Parker. “Yes, all right.”

Brennan smiled a little. She watched them leaved, gave a brief wave when Parker looked back.

* * * * *

Then, she was alone again, as she had thought she would have been that evening.

She hadn’t cleaned up before, after dinner. The rest of the pizza had gone stale and she took it down to the garbage chute. The dishes didn’t take long.

She took a moment to lock up, began turning off lights. Before she reached the last one near the sofa, she noticed a piece of paper had slipped under the coffee table. One of Parker’s note pages, she saw. A set of math problems, written in pencil. She put this next to her shoulder bag, she’d try to return it somehow tomorrow. He might need it again.

There wasn’t anything else, but she found herself checking each room, just in case.

She turned off the last light in the front room, sat down on the sofa after doing so. Only then did she bend and cover her eyes with her hands.

* * * * *

Mirror (1/1) - 'Bones', Camille-centric

Wed, 07 Feb 2007 03:18:31 GMT

Title: Mirror
Rating: A very mild R
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor am I profiting from them. Just enjoying the writing.
Spoilers: Through "The Man in the Cell."
Summary/Notes: It would be easier if there were scars.
A brief post-ep piece, Camille-centric, some Camille/Booth.
Any mistakes are my own.
Feedback: Is appreciated

* * * * *

It would be easier if there were scars. Some physical, visual remnant of what Epps did to her. Here, this is where it hurts. The force of the bomb blast will leave Zack with bruises and scrapes for days, maybe weeks, and for the first time she finds herself genuinely envying him. He has these things that can be marked and measured. Footprints of change.

Camille looks at herself in the mirror, a long gaze that seems to go on forever, as though a different world exists on the other side of the glass. Or perhaps some answers, at the very least.

She lifts a hand and pulls at the collar of her dressing gown, lifts the other and trails it along her shoulder, her neck. There’s nothing new, there, although she still can’t quite put a name to what it is she’s looking for.

Even Booth didn’t leave traces behind. But then, he always was careful about that. She’s the one who always insisted.

He came by the apartment the day after she was released. He brought flowers. He’d never done that before, and that was the first sign, she knew, that things were going to be different when he walked out of her doors again. She didn’t ask for the speech that she knew was coming, and imagined that he was relieved not to have to give it.

None of it stopped her – stopped them, she thinks. She can’t call it the last time, she stopped doing that a long while ago. Two last times ago. She pulled him to her, pressed a hand against his bare chest and felt the rhythm beneath. He slid into her, slid against her, put his lips on her skin and was impossibly gentle. He wasn’t supposed to be gentle, not with her. She arched against him, and resisted words. Here, this is where it hurts.

She asked him to take the flowers with him when he left. The scent was too strong, she said. He whisked them up in his hands and moved stiffly as he went.

She looks at herself in the mirror, now, waiting for something to change. The sash falls open and the dressing gown slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet. She feels the rush of cool air, revels as the gooseflesh pimples her skin. She brings her arms around her body, brushing her hands against her shoulders in a near-embrace, and swallows down the knot in her throat.

* * * * *