Another installment of the fictitious musing of a shameless Bones Lover. I do not own any of these characters, FOX Broadcasting does. Enjoy.
Chapter 25. The First Night in Booth’s Bed
She had come into Booth’s bedroom in the very early hours of the morning, seeking comfort for the death of her favorite squintern, Vincent Nigel-Murray. Though they had yet to share a bed, and were still officially only partners with a mutual and powerful romantic interest and a lot of history, she didn’t let that stop her from asking to sleep with him that night.
Once Brennan was in his arms, and lying against his warm chest, she could feel his heart beating and hear his every breath. The only thing separating their bodies was Booth’s tee shirt and the sweatshirt he had lent Brennan to sleep in. Finally in a safe harbor and encircled by his strong arms, Brennan released the pain she’d been keeping at bay since Vincent Nigel-Murray’s final breath. Booth held her as a torrent of tears and sobs shook her body. Pained by the death himself, Booth allowed several tears to run down his face and into his ears. More torturous, however, were the gut-wrenching noises being made by the woman clutching at his tee shirt. In the six years they’d been together, only once before had he seen her in the grip of such intense anguish. The first time, Booth had been the cause of her tears, something he promised he would never, ever do again.
He had wanted to protect her from the pain, from the loss of a friend’s life, but he knew there was no way he could. She had to feel it, to release it physically from her body through tears and cries, in order to begin to heal from the loss. He held her to himself and was surrounded by the scent of her hair, her skin, her sweat, and her tears, mixed with the faint perfume of fabric softener reawakened by her body warming the clean sweatshirt he had lent her to sleep in.
“Sh, sh, sh,” he whispered into her hair as he rocked her side to side. He attempted to pull her tear and sweat-drenched hair out of her face with his right hand, and with his left he rubbed her arm and held her even closer to his body. “Shhh, shhhhh, shhhhh.” There were simply no words for a moment like this. What was there to do? Just to be there.
For a moment Booth was lost in thought, images of the many times they had saved each other’s lives, proven their commitment to each other, defended each other, argued with each other, supported each other’s professional and emotional growth, watched themselves become more together than either of them had been individually … all of these images played silently on the screen of his memory while the sound of her crying in his arms drifted from his awareness.
Being with her like this, holding her in his arms, felt good and right. Their relationship had been slowly moving in this direction for a very long time, despite the occasional distractions.
More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, at this moment he desperately wanted to wipe away her pain. He felt compelled, by their relationship, his love for her, and nature itself, to run the palm of his hand over the bare skin of her belly, moving on to caress the tender skin of her bare back before burying his face in her neck and leaving a trail of wet kisses from her collar bone to behind her ear, to her sensual lips. He was hungry to be one with her, to give himself to her and to experience the joy of her returned passion.
If he were any other man, Booth would have taken this opportunity as a sign from God that the timing was right. But he wasn’t any other man. And Bones wasn’t any other woman. This was too big of a move to make just because the opportunity presented itself. He could see in her eyes that she was hungry too, but her hunger was mixed with situational pain and loss. And though he knew she never did anything she didn’t want to do, and though she might not understand his reasoning, he was clear about this one thing – when he made love to Temperance Brennan for the first time, it would be a private and deliberate celebration, not as a result of a tragedy. And not without both of them knowing that this was for good, this was for real, this was for keeps.
Becoming aware that Brennan was no longer crying, Booth softly said her name. “Bones,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered and moved her head up onto his shoulder so she could look in his eyes. Her face was red and puffy from crying, and her lashes were wet with her salty tears. Her eyes … her eyes were clear and beautiful and he could see his future reflected in them.
“We’ll get through this,” is all he said, holding her close and putting his lips to her forehead for a long moment before releasing her, sitting up, and pulling her gently out of the bed. He could tell she was confused. Then he pulled back the sheets and motioned her to climb under them. Relieved, she crawled in and over to the other side of the bed where she lay on her side facing away from him. He climbed into bed behind her. She felt him lean away from her toward the bedside table to turn off the light. In the darkness, he lay on his side of the bed facing the back of her, scooted closer, and put his arm loosely around her, and whispered once again into her hair, “We’ll get through this, Bones.” She pulled his hand up the her chest where she wrapped her fingers around his. Spent from the highly emotional and tragic day, yet somewhat relaxed after an intense outpouring of tears and emotion, they both fell into a deep, restorative sleep.
A Flag at Half Mast
At the Jeffersonian Institute the morning after the assassination of Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray, the halls were empty. All the department heads had followed the example set by Dr. Camille Saroyan and declared a bereavement break. The doors would remain locked until noon. The only personnel present this somber morning were the two security guards and Dr. Saroyan herself.
Assembled on the plaza at daybreak, Dr. Saroyan oversaw the raising of the American Flag at half mast. As the security guards solemnly and silently raised the flag, Dr. Saroyan said a silent prayer – for the peaceful repose of the soul of Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray, for the capture and conviction of his killer, and for the healing from this blow for her colleagues at the Jeffersonian, most especially, her squints … and those at the FBI who had come to know this fallen soul.
After a ten minute pause during which all three of them remained motionless and silent, facing the flag at half mast, Dr. Saroyan let the one hundredth tear slide unimpeded down her smooth caramel cheek. “He was dearly loved,” she said. “And he will be missed.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
With a deep breath that filled her lungs, followed by a lengthy breath out, emptying them again, Dr. Saroyan turned on her heal to return to her car. As she turned, she noticed movement from behind her. Stopping in her tracks, she watched as Dr. Jack Hodgins, Angela Montenegro, Dr. Lance Sweets, Mr. Wendell Bray, Dr. Clark Edison, Daisy Wick, Arastoo Vaziri, Colin Fisher, Professor Bunsen Jude, Dr. Daniel Goodman, Special Agent Payton Perotta, Andrew, and members of several departments at the Jeffersonian who had become good friends with Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray Micah, and Max Keenan slowly advanced toward her and laid flowers at the foot of the flag pole. Not a word was said.
Slowly, after each friend, associate, or colleague of Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray paid their respects and slowly departed, all that were left were Dr. Saroyan, Dr. Sweets, the forensics lab team, and Micah the night security guard.
“Dr Saroyan, if I may?” interrupted Micah humbly approaching the others. “I once had a conversation with Mr. Nigel-Murray in which he told me that the death that we humans fear is not a death at all, but a repurposing of the 123 unique categories of particles which make up our physical bodies. Each individual particle, made better by having participated in a human life, continues on to effect positive change in the world.” He paused. “Ipso Facto Colombo Oreo, I like to believe that we are surrounded by the living essence of all that was good in those we love.”
Dr. Saroyan smiled her beautiful smile of appreciation and nodded her head once toward Micah, “That was beautiful. Thank you, Micah.”
“Also,” continued Micah, “Dr. Brennan was here at the Jeffersonian until well past midnight last night sitting with Mr. Nigel-Murray. Special Agent Booth waited with her. She said she knew that he was dead and no longer there, and that it was … irrational, but she wanted to be near his remains as long as she could.” Micah paused for a moment, looking down at his shoes, then continued, “Dr. Brennan said she was memorizing the shape of his cranium. She said he had an exceptionally symmetrical cranium – and some other stuff that went right over my head.”
“Before she and Agent Booth left, she asked me to tell you that she would not be here this morning as she didn’t expect she would sleep very well and she had to be rested to assist Agent Booth in the capture of Mr. Broadsky today. That, she said was how she choose to honor Mr. Nigel-Murray today rather than standing around in the cold looing at a piece of fabric flapping in the wind.”
“Thank you, Micah,” said Angela warmly, hugging Micah. With that they all turned and headed to the diner for an early breakfast.