Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Yes, yes, I know... I ought to be working on Truisms. I'm sorry! *ducks flying tomatoes* Last week's episode gave me the idea for this ficlet, though, and who was I to question the muse? No one, that's who. So I present to you this short post-ep for 6x14.
Valentine's Day sucks.
It really, really sucks.
Even at the best of times, it's a stupid holiday. When you love someone – really love them – you should show them how much you love them every day. But Valentine's Day? It tells people that it's OK to take their loved ones for granted so long as they make a half-assed effort once a year. Stupid.
Right now isn't the best of times for Seeley Booth.
Everyone that Booth knows is happily established in a relationship… except for him. (And maybe Bones. What was up with all of those phone calls she kept getting from potential dates, anyway?) He's happy for his paired-off friends, but that doesn't mean he wants to hear all the details of their happiness. Some people just don't get that, though. Take Sweets, for example. For a psychologist, he's not very good about heeding social cues and just, y'know, letting sleeping dogs lie every now and then. Angela's another one of those: an incurable (if well-meaning) meddler.
He doesn't need to hear the details of their love and sex lives, and he sure as hell doesn't need them prying into his.
No, he doesn't want to talk about Hannah. Guys don't talk about breakups, OK? Not real guys, anyway; and let's face it: 12-year-olds and squinterns don't count.
He's fine, he's coping in his own way; why don't they get that?
Then there's this case. Yet another prime example of why, in Bones' words, love is an idiot. A wife cheating on a husband who gave up everything for her; a husband who finally snapped and killed his cheating wife. It's cases like this one that make him wonder whether a long-lasting, happy relationship is just a fantasy.
It's certainly a fantasy for him. First Rebecca, then Bones, now Hannah…
Yeah, maybe he's feeling a little bit bitter.
Why does he always, always have to fall for women who don't want what he has to offer?
(Why is he never enough?)
Shooting at targets helps, though. And when Bones shows up with those guns, he feels the wound on his heart start to scar over a little bit.
Fuck his newly re-drawn line. He needs this (her) right now, so to hell with the consequences.
They fire away at the symbols of Valentine's Day in unison, and the world seems to reverberate with the guns' discharges. Suddenly they aren't Booth and Brennan anymore; they're the gangster versions of Mr. B. and Bren. It's incredibly freeing to exchange quips and grins like the old days.
And as he glances at Bones, her eyes bright, her smile full of childish enthusiasm, something shifts within him.
Two plus two equals four.
When they go to the diner afterwards, he puts sugar in his coffee, and it tastes sweet.
And the next morning, after a night of sleep, he finds that the sun has risen in the east.
It's a new day, and his faith in humanity (in love) isn't entirely shattered after all.