Title: This Perpetual Engine of Grief (1/1)
Character: Temperance Brennan, unnamed male character
Spoilers: Through 6x4.
Summary: "We've got to find other ways to make it alone, keep a straight face..." Brennan-centric.
Notes: Title comes from Hemant Mohapatra's poem "how it adds up." Summary comes from Paramore's "The Only Exception."
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: I'm not arguing that this is what's going to happen - just that it could.
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This Perpetual Engine of Grief
Moving on from something that never truly existed except in her own mind proves unexpectedly difficult, but Brennan is a determined woman.
"Do you want to get out of here?" His lips, more generous than Booth's, cant upward in a half-smile, and she briefly considers throwing her drink at him. She doesn't answer, just swipes her fingers over the condensation on her glass and then stands, swaying at the unaccustomed height of the high-heeled shoes imprisoning her feet. "Fuck-me shoes," Angela would call them.
It would be a shame to waste the shoes.
His thumb presses against her clitoris; she wants to smack his hand away. This isn't breaking the laws of physics. It's just--
Back arched, she summons a moan of pretense and forces herself to clench around him. He seems mollified, though, wiping his forehead with a huffed laugh as she lets her hair swing forward to hide her face.
"I need to clean up." She escapes to the bathroom. The sink's porcelain chills her already-cold fingers, and her stomach roils in protest.
"Hey, are you OK?"
Brennan ignores the insistent knock on her bathroom door, standing hunched over the sink until his footsteps move away, eventually followed by the muffled open-and-shut of her front door.
When she uncurls, her eyes are dry, but she purposefully avoids her own gaze in the mirror.
Booth isn't the only one who can move on.