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Booth is on his second date with a perfectly nice woman at a perfectly nice restaurant and it's going perfectly well. He kissed her on the cheek last time. Tonight, he thinks he'll get a real kiss, on the mouth, the first one he's had, since, well, the night he tries not to think about.
That was a couple of months ago. He blew it with Katherine, of course, talked too much about work and Bones, and at the end of their second date, she gave him one of those looks women have, kissed him on the cheek, and said good night and good bye. Since then, he's stuck to women who wouldn't know Bones and wouldn't ask in the first place - at least Katherine was interested at first in what it was like to work with the famous Temperance Brennan, what with her reputation, and it wasn't just him running off at the mouth about another woman.
He and Bones go on the same as always, except they only go through a beer each the nights they get Chinese takeout at his place instead of three each, remembering tequila. That's it. Everything else is the same. He still walks her out when they're at work late, her arm through his, getting moody off the scent of her shampoo.
But that's not what he's thinking about now. He's thinking about this woman who's sitting across the table from him, flirting with him as she sips her drink. He's thinking about sealing the deal, so to speak, in a gentlemanly way, but he's got needs like anybody else. The kiss is just like the signature on the contract - yeah, we'll try this out. He smiles at her and she smiles back. He likes her. Maybe he can make this work.
"You wanna look at the dessert menu?" he asks her, dropping her half a wink as he takes the last piece of bruschetta off the appetizer plate.
"We haven't even ordered our entrees yet," she says. Jennifer is her name, Jenny, and she's bright and beautiful and feisty and all the things he likes in a woman, or at least as many as he'll ever find again.
"I like to plan ahead," he says.
"In that case," she says, making a show of opening her menu to the back and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Yeah, Booth thinks, this could go somewhere. At least, it could get to the point where he'll see if it's going anywhere. Good thing he's still got it. He opens his menu. His phone buzzes. It's the Jeffersonian, Brennan's office number.
"I'm sorry, Jenny, it's work. I've got to get this."
"That's okay," she says, shrugging her shoulders a little bit, which he has to admit does great things for her cleavage. "You've got an important job."
He smiles at her and gets up, walking a few steps away. "Booth," he says.
"I was wrong," Brennan says, and hangs up.
Booth stands stock-still for a moment, phone still at his ear. Then he goes back to the table. "I'm sorry. Family emergency."
"I thought it was work?" she says, frowning.
"I have to go," he says. "Don't worry about dinner. I'll pay for everything. Order whatever you want. I'm sorry. You've been great."
On his way out, he stops and gives the maitre d' his credit card information. He's being an asshole, sure, but he's not that big an asshole, to leave Jenny with the bill from a dinner he's ruined. He'll never date in this town again. But that's all right - he's pretty sure he won't have to.
He's out the door at a sprint before he can even think about it, doesn't even care where he parked his car. It's not that far from this place to her place. He's not wearing shoes for running, but his heart's dragging him along, so his feet don't matter. He loosens his tie, nearly falling as he rounds a corner, but then he's at her building. He leans on the buzzer, willing her to answer, but there's nothing. He paces back and forth. Someone comes out after a few minutes and he bolts through the door and up to her floor, too impatient for the elevator. He lets himself in with his key, but the place is dark, and her keys aren't on their hook.
Booth swears and fumbles out his phone, bringing up the call list and hitting the button for her office. No answer there.
"Holy Mary mother of God!" he says, and it's half a curse and half a prayer. He locks her door carefully behind him and catches a cab back to his place - his feet have suffered enough. He flings himself into the seat, loosening his tie. His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding. Oh God, he didn't just abandon a woman at a restaurant for nothing, did he? He can't just be chasing ghosts of hope. He's not hallucinating anymore. He checks the phone again. He didn't imagine the call - it's in the memory on his phone - but if she's not at her place, and not at work, then where the hell is she?
He opens his front door and she's sitting on the couch. She stands up like she's got a guilty conscience. She has a cup of tea in her hands, and she sets it on the table with that deliberate grace.
"I have a key," she says.
"I know, I gave it to you," he says, as if his heart is still beating like it's supposed to, instead of frozen, waiting for her to say the words he's dying to hear.
"Booth..." she starts and then lets her voice trail off. She stands there for a minute with a tiny little smile on her face and shrugs. "I was wrong."
There's too much space between them. He crosses the room to stand in front of her, staring straight into her eyes. "That doesn't sound like you."
"No," she says, "it's me. I was wrong."
"I'll mark it on the calendar," he says. He's not sure where the words are coming from, since he's pretty sure his brain stopped working half an hour ago, but it's good to know his mouth can go on without the rest of him. "What were you wrong about?"
"About us," she says. "Not about you having an open heart - I think your willingness to interact with other women socially is evidence of that - but I think...I think I can change. I think I have changed. I feel happy when I'm around our friends and coworkers. I have these feelings of, of comfort, and of warmth, that I don't remember having in a long time. I experience feelings of jealousy when I see you with other women. When you flirt with them in an attempt to initiate sexual contact, I feel like I should compete with them in the social arena. I make unfavorable comparisons about them with respect to myself. These things didn't matter to me before. I was a scientist. I was objective. Now I'm...not. And it's okay. I realize that developing intimate connections with the people around me is a natural desire, especially as I'm growing older and will become unable to retain my dominance. And I think that desiring you is natural. For me. I think that the bond we've made is more than a professional partnership. I think I may have inadvertently pair-bonded with you. And I think that maybe I'm okay with that. I think I want us to acknowledge that our connection goes beyond a mere intellectual or sexual attraction. I think I want to us to be...us, in the sense of a socially and sexually committed couple." She stops talking and looks at him, almost shy. He just looks back and watches her eyes brighten, wondering what she sees in his open-book face - she may not be able to read most people, but boy does she know him.
"I think I'm going to kiss you," he whispers, but just like always, she's two steps ahead of him, and he says the last word against her lips.
When the kiss ends, he's cupping her face in his hands, and she has her arms around him. He looks at her, her face lit up like Christmas morning. She's trembling. It's so quiet in his apartment he can hardly believe it. There should be music playing or at least the sound of all the walls they've built crashing to the ground.
"The dam breaks," he says.
"Yes," she says. "It does. While I don't believe that psychology is a solid science, it appears that Doctor Sweets was right."
"Third time's the charm," Booth says. "Nevermind, it's just a superstitious saying. Anyway, I knew all along. I didn't need Sweets to tell me. He's what, fifteen. I know when I'm in love."
"I just wanted to be rigorous," Brennan says.
"Hey, baby, if that's what you want," Booth says, pulling her as close as he can. He kisses her neck.
"No, I mean that I wanted to test my hypothesis that I was in love with you by measuring my affection for you against my attraction to other men," Brennan says, all serious, just like he likes her. "But I found them less satisfying than the concept of you. You have a lot to live up to."
"I'll try to satisfy," Booth says, nuzzling at her ear until she giggles.
"I have no doubt of your capacity to do so," she says, sounding fond of him.
"God, I love you," he says. He's stunned by how much he means it. It feels like confession, like his soul is coming out of his mouth as words.
"Well, don't sound so surprised," she teases. "I'm quite the catch."
"Yeah, you are, and I caught you."
"We caught each other," she corrects him.
"You're not gonna offer constructive criticism on my techniques in bed, are you?" he asks, running his hands up and down her back.
"Not unless you perform at a substandard level." There's a twinkle in her eye, and he laughs.
"As long as you don't compare me to Hacker. That would just be weird."
She purses her lips. "I didn't have intercourse with Andrew."
"You didn't?" Booth's voice almost squeaks, he's so relieved.
Brennan shakes her head. "I considered the idea. He implied on several occasions that he was an expert at giving pleasure."
"He would," Booth says with mild disgust.
"But I didn't do it," Brennan says. "I can't explain why not. It wasn't rational. I wanted to have sex with you. Even though Andrew is an attractive and charming and intelligent man, he wasn't you. That was when I realized that I was in love with you, and tonight, I found the idea that you were with another woman very distasteful. It didn't make sense, but I wanted you to be with me, and not with her."
"That's all I ever needed to hear," Booth says.
"I must love you a lot," she says thoughtfully.
"It's good that I get to look forward to a lifetime of logical pillow talk," Booth quips. "I mean that."
"Is my intimate conversation so different from the other women you've been in relationships with?" she asks, like she genuinely doesn't know, and sweet lord Jesus, he does love this woman.
"It's music to my ears," he says.
"Ah," she says, "a figure of speech."
"See there?" he asks. "And you thought you couldn't change."
"I was wrong," she says, grinning.
"Like I said, mark it on the calendar." He kisses her. Her body is warm and lithe and willing against him and it's high time he did something about that. "Temperance Brennan, with your consent, I'm taking you to bed now, so that we can engage in some vigorous, loving, mutually satisfying sexual intercourse. Do you accept?"
"I do," she says softly.
"Then let's kick the next thirty, forty, fifty years off with a bang," he says. "So to speak. 'Banging' being slang in the common parlance for sexual intercourse."
"I love you, Booth."
"I love you too, Bones," he says. "Let me prove it to you. Then we'll order Chinese from that all-night place down the block, and then I'll prove it to you again."
"You're ridiculous," she says, giggling again, which is funny on her, but charming too.
"I never joke about Chinese food," he says.
"What about that time...?" she begins, but he stops her mouth with a kiss, and she kisses him back, and for a while, they don't need any words at all.