Title: My Heart Told My Head, "This Time Yes."
Characters: Temperance Brennan, Seeley Booth
Rating: K+ or PG
Spoilers: Through 5x11: The X in the File
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A brief tag for 5x11: The X in the File.
A/N: Snowflakes is a series of Bones oneshots. I have a 50scenes prompt table I claimed a gazillion years ago. Writing time is always at a premium these days, and on the random occasions when I have it (read: when my daughter naps), I'm finding it hard to find or create much inspiration. Too much pressure, maybe. Regardless, perhaps these will help.
My Heart Told My Head, "This Time Yes."
The headlights of their rental car cut a narrow swath ahead of them. Above them hovers only sky, an onyx swatch dotted with brilliant chips of quartz that illuminate the slash of Booth's jaw and transform the summits and valleys of his face into something vaguely mysterious and sublime in its unfamiliarity.
Yet their banter rolls over her with the unconscious ease of respiration. Inhale: he thrusts. Exhale: she parries. The windshield at her back carries the desert night's chill through the insulation of her jacket; she is not cold. Booth's body rests inches from hers -- warm, though they aren't touching, and just present, and Brennan permits herself the luxury of wondering, "What if...?"
What if she crossed into his space, breaching the infinite distance between her desire and their reality? Her mouth forms a sigh as she imagines kissing him, there, with nothing but the desert night and its secrets as witness, and the moment it changes from motion to sound, he instantly turns toward her.
"What?" He cocks an eyebrow.
"Nothing," she replies, with a small smile and a shrug, though she is certain he realizes it's a lie. She has never been one to compromise. But compromise, she's learning, forms the footholds of a relationship. Using her hands, she pushes herself closer to Booth. Her left hand slides through the curve of his right arm, like thread through a waxed needle. Slowly, so slowly, she brings her head to his shoulder. "This is...nice." Staring straight ahead into the darkness, she berates herself for the banality of her word choice.
Then Booth stirs, his chin brushing her head, stilling her self-doubt. "Yeah, it is." Simple words. But he is there; she is there; she peers at sky rather than sifting through soil. That means something, doesn't it?