Work Text:
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting to get a different outcome.
So why was she doing this? Why was she ending up in his arms again, the rain coming down on them, the voice that was her own replaying in her head, the wrenching of the car’s tires on the soaked road long behind them, already, as Booth shielded her in his arms.
Three days for the world to go right side up again; three days of what ? Three days of not sleeping- her head spun from that one, and if she were ever to experience the love of her partner once again, maybe she would be able to gauge the truthfulness of this weight in her bones that told her his arms were a perfect spot to rest in. She was so heavy, and her eyes couldn’t keep themselves open long enough to look at the worry on his face, and maybe… maybe he would excuse it if she just decided to lean into him. It was cold, too, and she figured- he must have been warm, because she could feel it from where she stood. She reached out for his sleeve, and he flinched. Twitched , more like it.
“What are you doing?”
And he must have misunderstood her, because he opened his mouth and she knew that he was going to talk about how he just saved her life, and how she should be more grateful for his stalker -esque nature.
And she didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable, and so she took a step, or three, backwards, and nearly collapsed without his arms still around her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have cared, because she didn’t know if it was the cold mixed with the rain, but her legs were shaking similarly to how a leaf would in this weather.
“What am I doing? I— I-I’m following you into a bad part of time and saving your life , Bones, that’s what I’m doing. What are you doing?”
Did people save people that they didn’t care about? Because Temperance twitched, too, now, from the cold, and she worried. She worried at her lip, and she wished, somewhere inside of her, that he would do something to stop her from damaging her own body. Even if he just chastised her, God , she missed it being so obvious that he worried about her. He had killed for her, and risked his career and life for her, but all of that was in the past, now, wasn’t it? He wasn’t… she bit harder to stop herself from crying in front of him. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, and instead, he left her behind, with that stupid word at the tip of her tongue.
She had dreamt of him in Maluku.
What did that count for?
“The- the victim— Lauren. Lauren came to Woodland to beg the family of a brain dead boy to give his heart to Sam Dworsky.”
“ Oh .” And he sounded like he just realized how easy it all was. She didn’t know what ‘it’ was. “What? So they’re the ones who killed her?”
“No… no, Booth. When Lauren was really disappointed, or upset, it's like Sweets said. She couldn't handle the intense emotion, so she'd do something dangerous.”
And wasn’t that what she was doing, now? Wasn’t that… wasn’t that what Booth had done when he’d left for Afghanistan eight or nine months ago? Was that her fault?
“Right. Like coming here in the middle of the night.” She tensed up. Maybe he was incapable of understanding anymore. Temperance couldn’t see; not through her hair, soaked with the rain, not through the tears that she was hoping he couldn’t see, but knew he could. She looked at him, and looked at his face, and tried to look into his eyes without clearing her own of the water. And what was that that she had relayed to herself through the voice of this other woman?... That eyes weren’t capable of expressing true emotion? It gave her enough hope as to why she didn’t see anything resembling concern in this man that she loved’s eyes. Or maybe she was only covering it up that she was doomed loving him.
She nearly laughed, too. “I am not her. We’re not the same person at all.”
Then why was she explaining herself to her team when they accused the victim of being a drug addict? Why was she afraid when they found the heroin in the tree? Why was she currently heeding advice from a dead person while looking into the eyes of her partner?
“It's just the universe turned upside down for three days.”
Booth didn’t believe her. She could see it… not in his eyes, but in the furrow of his brow, the tilt of his head, the locked position of his jaw. Maybe it hurt her to see it. Maybe that’s why she tilted her head, too, trying to look past him.
It was no use.
“What happened to her?”
“She bought the heroin for the danger of it- to feel something.” Maybe somebody on the corner or in the alley would do her some good, now, too. Maybe telling him something real would be a better alternative for the same outcome. “She put it in her pocket,” Or not. “She got hit by a car… just like I almost did.” Maybe .
She loved him, now, and it was too late. She was different than him; she couldn’t just close her eyes or go to another country or continent, or fight in a war and forget about it . She had known he was in love with her before, when she had been going on dates with his boss, or somebody that she used to know, when she was younger. The dates who wanted nothing to do with her logic, too. Anything he threw at her must have been fair, now, for all of that.
“The impact explains the defensive wounds. She struck her head over there.”
“So it was the driver that buried her in the park.”
“I can’t prove any of this.”
She can’t prove love, either. She’s tried; tried to explain to herself why somebody would want it, why somebody would want to devote their life to another person. She had tried to rationalize why she would dream of him every day, dream of them being together, having some kind of life with each other, back when she was in Maluku, with Daisy Wick. Tried to confide in somebody- she had even written what she thought was a comprehensible letter to him for when she got back… she’d burned it a day and two nights later. She had planned to tell him, but then he was in love with somebody else, and she was nicer than Temperance thought herself to be.
And what was all of that for? Why would love be the irrefutable answer to all things human and lively when it brought nothing but inevitable pain, in one way or another?
“ I know .” Did that mean anything?
“But you still believe me?” It must have.
Booth smiled. Temperance couldn’t bring herself to return one.
“Yeah… of course I do. Alright? Let me take you home.”
She didn’t want to go home; she was too tired to fight it, though, and let him wrap one arm around her, and lead her back to his car.
It was warmer in his car; warmer than the temperature she was sure was required to keep her eyes open. They were heavy, and from the minute she got in, and he was taking his jacket off and putting it in the backseat— and she had taken it from his hand without thinking about it, their eyes meeting in the darkness, a small smile rising on his face, letting her take it to drape it over her lap to stop her from shivering so much —she had felt herself falling into sleep.
Even when he spoke and startled her awake again, his voice sounded like the opposite of a tone used to keep somebody awake long enough to get to their own house, and into their own bed. She didn’t think about the moment when she would have to leave him- she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to think about her empty, silent apartment.
“Maybe you just need a couple days off.” She had had her hand wrapped around the softness of the jacket, holding it as close to her as she could for safety (not warmth, certainly she had enough of that already), when he spoke with an almost questionable tone. Was he concerned? Was he worried about her, for once, was he worried about them ?
“I’m all right now.”
She didn’t even believe that herself, and so she laughed. Not aggressively- just enough to be able to tell him that. Tell him that she needed somebody, now, that she was letting her self-help attitude go for just one night. Letting him know that she was being vulnerable; that she felt vulnerable, sitting here, alone, with him, in his car, in the silence. It was still raining, but the car quieted it enough that she would consider it silence .
“Except I--” She looked at him again. He looked at her. “I made a mistake.”
“No- I-I told you my opinion. I mean, you got it right.”
“Not everything.”
She swallowed thickly, and felt like she was choking on something. The weight, maybe, or the smell of his jacket on her lap. She wanted to keep it. Maybe he’d let her… maybe he would pretend he never wore it, if Hannah questioned him.
He looked like he understood it, now.
“She died with regrets.”
“Come on, Bones, everybody has regrets.”
And God, with the way he was looking at her, she must have looked sick. Sick in her head, sick in the mind, brain blown to pieces inside of her skull. “I heard her, you know… Micah says-- that all we get are these— dim, staticky messages from the universe.”
“Who’s this Micah guy?”
“The night watchman. But he attends a lot of lectures. Anyway- the point is… she never… gave him a chance. The helicopter pilot. He offered himself to her, but she never gave him a chance. That was her regret.”
Was there hope in this? She breathed a bit slower, now, trying to shake the tears from her eyes. Her hands were shaking, clutching the jacket. Maybe she would take it anyway; not give him enough time to call after her about it. She would rather fight with him the next time they saw each other rather than be without him, in some way, or another.
“I got the signal, Booth. I don’t want to have any regrets.”
Maybe he felt the same about the wanting to cry part, too. His eyes glistened a bit more when they passed the brighter lights outside of the car. She couldn’t rip her eyes away from his, even if he wasn’t looking at her.
“I’m with someone, Bones…”
They were both quieter, now. When had it gotten harder to breathe? She looked away from him, and she wanted to be allowed to be herself. To be aggressive, and boarded up, again. Instead, she let him understand, and she let him in , and she let her hands bring the jacket closer to her, slipping it under her arms, in a spot where he wouldn’t be able to take it from her. It’s all she could have left.
“And Hannah… she’s not a consolation prize. I love her.”
She can’t remember a time that she cried in front of any member of her team. The tears that fell immediately after his words were hotter than the rain that had splashed onto her face and her cheeks. It hurt her. And it hurt her to think that she had hurt him like this, nine months ago, or that eight months ago she had left him the same way she did their first case together, and had hurt him again. And she was so stupid to think that it hadn’t hurt so bad, that just because he hadn’t cried, that it hadn’t hurt this fucking much.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but those are the facts.”
She could feel his eyes on her. She used his jacket, still wrapped around her in a way that he wouldn’t be able to untangle, to wrap her arms around herself, as if to protect her heart-- and maybe it hurt her more that he didn’t want to break her heart like she had his.
Just as he had, she took a breath to keep herself from bursting back into tears, and she looked at the road, and she wished that he still loved her; wished that he would reach over to wipe the tears from her eyes and her cheeks, or offered anything, anything to stop her heart from tearing itself apart, as if she hadn’t been so cruel to him.
“I understand… I missed my chance.”
And maybe she should stop talking before she ruins this any further.
“My whole world… turned upside down,” ( And you were there to fix it, maybe ). “I can adjust.”
“I did.”
One more sob racked through her body before she could catch it, and her breath. She had always been selfish, but never had she wanted to be when she was with him- not in such a moment where she could step wrong once and lose him forever.
“You did.”
She managed to smile; barely, and he wasn’t looking at her to catch the sincerity, and that it was an apology.
“Do you want me to, uh- to call someone to be with you or-”
She wanted him to be with her. She smoothed her palm out across the fabric, and looked down at it, and promised to herself that she would be gentle with it. Gentle with him. She opened her mouth, and then shut it again, her teeth nearly clacking.
“I’m fine alone.” She took another breath. “Thanks.”
And she still wanted to fall asleep, even more exhausted than she was before, now, but she would be damned if she took her eye off of the jacket for the rest of the ride back to her apartment. Her heart ached and she needed it, now, wrapped around her arms and her chest, and she wanted to ask him if she could keep it, but she was afraid, and so she didn’t. She just took it, and watched as he watched her take it, and wondered what he would say if she wore it into work, one day.
She decided that she was too afraid to lose it to do that, and then decided that it was better not to, anyway.