victoriapyrrhi: (Beers)
[personal profile] victoriapyrrhi
Second installment of stuff I've written for [ profile] bitesize_bones.

Also now with more editing!

Are We in High School
Originally found HERE

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on between Booth and Dr. Brennan, and Cam was more observative than most. It took her a matter of moments to determine that Seeley was falling and falling fast. 'Line, my ass.' It was the looks that were the most obvious, though. Booth's gaze would do things like linger tenderly on her head as she bent to her work. Cam would roll her eyes as far back into her head as she could. Every so often she could see Dr. Brennan's eyes rake over Booth's body, and it took absolutely every ounce of willpower that she possessed to not clear her throat and watch the guilty looks that would inevitably follow.

What were they? In high school? Jesus.

They were in the Founding Fathers after work when Cam slid into the seat next to Booth. She didn't see Dr. Brennan in the immediate vicinity, which was nothing short of amazing.

"Cam," he nodded, sipping his beer.

"Seeley," she returned, eyebrow quirked. He scowled.

"What now, Camille?" She ordered with a quick smile.

"How long are you two going to keep this up, Booth?" She leveled a stare at him. "You're about a day away from turning into Sweets. And if I have to hear one more mooning sigh from either of you, I'm banning you from the lab. Got it?" He bristled at the threat and remembered that this was why they didn't work out as a couple, pretty amazing sex non withstanding. He quashed the voice in the back of his head that said that Bones was just as forceful, but he didn't mind when she bossed him around.

"What do you want from me, Cam? There's a goddamn line. I should know, I fucking drew it." Cam scoffed.

"Bullshit there's still a line. Maybe once. Not after all this time." Booth frowned and motioned for a refill. "Not after what you've been through together."

"She's not ready." It's almost mumbled into this glass, sounding exactly like the excuse it was. Cam's glance caught Dr. Brennan's form darting through the crowd, her eyes fixed on her partner. Cam stood and patted Booth on the shoulder.

"My advice to you?" She leaned down. "Sack. Up." With a final, forceful pat, Can took her drink. "Dr. Brennan," she nodded, raising her glass. "He's all yours."

Hold On
Originally found HERE

They were all tired, beaten, and despite an eventual win, there was a general sense of being defeated. They drove home together, the silence staggering. He didn't object when she followed him upstairs, or when she used his bathroom to wash up. It had been a long time since she'd felt as though she'd never be clean again.

When she came out, hair pulled back and face scrubbed, eyes sad but mostly clear, she could just make out his shape in the half dark room. He'd poured her a scotch, and he was leaning against the window, staring out into the dusky city with a bottle of Jack in one hand. He'd stripped off his shirt and tie, and the white wifebeater only seemed to highlight the way his shoulders slumped.

She thought that his heart might be breaking, but she was unfamiliar with the signs. She thought that the bent back of the strongest man she'd ever known might mean that her heart was breaking too. The scotch was disregarded on the coffee table, and her arms had crept around his waist before she had the time to think about what she was doing, before she could talk herself out of it. Her heels were a complete loss, and she'd come home in a spare pair of Angela's flats, which put her head much lower than she was used to.

She felt his back stiffen as her cheek rested between his shoulder blades, and she feared irrationally that she'd overstepped her bounds, that she'd done this horribly wrong because she wasn't the one who comforted people. After a moment, when she was almost certain that she'd really fucked it up, his free hand came up and covered hers, still clutched with desperate strength around his waist. It tightened, and if she'd let go, then they'd be holding hands, but she didn't dare, because this was as much for her as it was for him.

Even so, his hand dwarfed both of hers. She wasn't sure how long they stood like that--how long her face was buried in his back, how long she felt his stomach muscles tremble beneath her hands, or the warmth of him, but it was well into the dark and her scotch was more water than anything else before he truly began to relax, and she smiled for what felt like the first time in days.
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August 2011

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