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Death should be familiar to her, by all means and definitions. She has studied countless bones, recovered countless remains, and solved countless murders, most of which were gruesome. Death is her life. Death is part of her.
She always said that death was inevitable, that people should start embracing death more and shying away from it less. To her, it never made sense to avoid an inevitability, though she understood that it was part of human nature to postpone death as long as possible. She did it herself on more than one occasion.
Temperance has studied cultures where death was celebrated, where death was gruesome, she is the world’s leading expert on death, and when Booth died…
When Booth died, she couldn’t face it.
She hates to fall victim to emotions, particularly grief, but this time, as soon as she stumbled back into her apartment, she cried. She wept. Usually, she could turn to Booth, to talk through this with him, but he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t be.
And she knew that if – when – she went to his funeral, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from feeling emotions, from staring at that coffin and remembering what it was like when he was alive: his smile, the way his eyes always twinkled around her, casual touches, his fierce protectiveness over her and Parker. She won’t be able to stop herself from taking a step towards that casket, pressing one hand to the cool oak, and thinking about how life would be different if she had slept with Booth on their first case together, or if she treated him better. She knows she will glance over her shoulder and press a kiss to the wood, no matter how irrational, and hope that Booth knows how much she cares about him. It should be past tense. It won’t be.
It doesn’t take much for Angela to convince her to come. Temperance wanted to stay away, wanted to keep her mind away from Booth – how he clutched her hand with all the strength he had left, how his eyes only left hers once they closed, how he had taken a bullet intended for her, because he’s good, he’s so much better than she ever could be. Angela wouldn’t let her do that, and Sweets would say that burying herself in her work would eventually destroy her.
They wanted her to give the eulogy, but she couldn’t. She sat down, her pencil hovering above a notepad, and all that came from it were tear stains. Instead, Caroline decided to speak while Parker stood in front of Temperance, holding his chin high because his father would want him to be brave. Temperance finds herself wiping away his tears with her thumb.
Two soldiers fold a flag and walk up to Parker, who is all of four feet and seven inches, and one of them kneels in front of him. Temperance squeezes his shoulders, and Parker sniffles, but he tries to stay brave. Booth would want him to be brave. It just kills Temperance that Parker believes that being brave means not crying. Maybe she isn’t being brave, either.
When the commotion from the twenty-one gun salute begins, Temperance finds herself pulling Parker close to her, shielding his body with her own. He clings to her. Once the soldier who initiated the fight pops up, Temperance stumbles backwards, temporarily forgetting about Parker.
That fucking bastard.
The man Booth went after slugs him, forcing Booth back to the ground, and Booth groans. Hodgins steps into the middle of the fight, rips the mannequin’s arm free, and swings it at the criminal. Angela tugs Parker away from Temperance and pulls him tight, turning his face away from the fight.
The criminal goes down.
Booth groans and props himself up on his elbows. “Nice shot, Hodgins! Where’d you learn to swing like that?”
Hodgins shakes his head and tosses the mannequin arm to the ground. “Boredom, mostly.” He jerks his head to Temperance. “I think Dr. B needs to have some words with you.”
Booth winces and struggles to get to his feet. “What, why?”
Temperance takes a step forward. “Because I didn’t know you were alive, Booth!” Tears sting her eyes, but she’s tired of crying, she’s cried too much for him already. “I didn’t– I didn’t know you were alive.”
His brow creases. “That’s odd, I had you on the list of people that should be told that I wasn’t actually dead.” He clears his throat and reaches to straighten the tie that isn’t there. “Are- are you mad at me?”
She starts with one slow step towards him, but her speed increases, and Booth’s eyes widen as she makes her way over to him more quickly. Part of her wants to slug him, but there’s a much stronger part of her that doesn’t want to, and she thinks she’ll take Sweets’ advice and let herself feel for one day.
Once she’s standing in front of him, however, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. The part of her brain that’s always so rational, that’s rational even to a fault, is screaming at her that what she intends to do is a mistake. But when she looks into Booth’s eyes, eyes that are so brown they look like Bambi’s, she stops trying to be rational. Her hands slide up his shoulders and cup the back of his neck, and she breathes him in. He smells like grass and cologne and dry cleaner’s.
He tilts his head to see her more clearly, lifting one hand to brush her hair behind her ear. He remembers that there are people here, people who came to mourn him, but the only person he can see is Bones. She’s here, right in front of him, and every part of him screams to make the first move, but he is so frozen by fear that he cannot.
She tilts her head to capture his lips in her own, and his eyelids flutter closed, pulling her body closer to him. One of her hands continues to cup the back of his neck, but the other slides down to rest on his chest. Her lips are feather light upon his, giving him the choice to back away if he so wishes, but he doesn’t want to back away from his. He’s been running from her for far too long. It’s time for him to come back home.
Temperance had hoped that a kiss, even a short one, would be enough to let Booth know everything she is too scared to put into words, but that was a lie to herself. A short kiss wouldn’t put together four years of complicated emotions, of memories long since past, of late nights working through case after case. She wants him to know everything: how thankful she is for their friendship, how much she worries about him, how much she knew she was going to miss him, how much she loves him. She’s not ready to put all of those – or any of those – into words yet.
She brushes her tongue against his bottom lip, and Booth’s mouth parts in turn. She’s used to taking control from here, but she doesn’t want to control the kiss like she would with any other guy. This is Booth. He deserves more.
She runs her tongue behind the top row of his teeth, and Booth moans softly into the kiss, pressing his lips more firmly to hers. Where she says, “I love you,” he says, “I know, and I love you just as much.” He itches to pick her up in his arms, bridal style, and continue to kiss her as long as she will allow.
Caroline clears her throat. “While I’m as happy as a mosquito at a blood drive to see you two reconciling, I must remind you that your son is here, Seeley Booth, and he is watching you make out with your partner.”
Temperance pulls away from Booth, and a shaky sigh blows past his lips. Even though he has kissed many women before, he doesn’t open his eyes immediately after the kiss. After swallowing once, he opens his eyes again and smiles at Bones.
“Are you happy that I’m alive?” he asks her, a teasing smile on his mouth.
She rolls her eyes and squeezes his hand. “Happy, grateful, ecstatic.” Temperance licks her lips and lets out a sigh of her own, though this one is less due to the kiss itself. “I’m all of those things.”
Booth takes a step forward, but instead of pressing his lips to hers once more, he kisses her cheek. “Do you think I was actually dead?”
She shoves him, and he laughs. “Booth! You know I did!”
His eyes twinkle, and there’s something new in the way he looks at her, something that was more difficult to find three weeks ago. I love you, his eyes say, and I won’t ever stop.