"I know it hurts," Booth whispered as he fell back to the pillows, tucking Brennan against his chest, feeling the sobs shaking her slender frame as her tears soaked his shirt. "I know, baby. I know." He pressed small kisses against her forehead, his heart shattering from the weight of her pain, blinking back the moisture that clouded his own vision. The soothing whispers continued; later, neither could remember exactly what he'd said. Brennan felt more than heard the words rumbling up from his chest, the vibration of his deep voice and the feel of his hands stroking her back and smoothing her hair comforting her in a way she hadn't realized she needed.
Finally, her tears subsided, the wrenching sobs fading. Booth stretched out one arm to the bedside table, opening the drawer to remove a small package of tissue. His arms tightened around her as he brought his hands together and pulled one free, handing it to Brennan.
"Thank you." She spoke in a husky, raw whisper. His answer was wordless, a simple hardening of his hold on her and the touch of his lips to her brow.
"I'm afraid," she confessed in that same raw whisper. "I'm afraid, Booth."
"Of what?" He kept his own voice pitched low, one hand still idly caressing her back.
"Tomorrow. Broadsky. You. It was so random, Booth. Why Vincent? What if you had handed the phone to me?" She gasped slightly as his arms flexed painfully around her. "What if you had answered that call? What if it had been your blood. . . ." Unable to finish that thought, she turned her face fully into his chest, breathing deeply to ward off a fresh bout of tears. Swallowing, she looked up, capturing his gaze. "What if I'd lost you, Booth?"
He stared down at her, at the red-rimmed eyes, the splotchy nose and the tear-stained cheeks and his heart contracted. The last time he'd seen this face had been the last time she'd broken his heart again, sitting beside him, rain-soaked and practically begging him for a second chance for them, together. When he'd been sitting beside her, listening to her cry, when he'd broken her heart by telling her she was too late.
And here she was, crying again at the thought of being too late, only this time . . she was in his arms and she wasn't too late.
"You are never going to lose me, Bones."
"Booth . . . "
Years later, when he wanted to needle her and watch her sputter, he'd say that she kissed him first, that she made the first move of what would become their life together. But the truth was that they moved together. The truth was they'd been moving toward this moment from the very first time they'd been in the same room, struggling with each other and with themselves.
The truth was that there are moments when you realize how much you have to lose, and in those moments you realize some things aren't worth losing.
And the truth is that sometimes, it takes losing something important to find what's essential.