I do not own Booth or Brennan or the television show Bones. I do enjoy it and I hope you all enjoy my attempt at following Booth's mental chatter.
"My dad drank."
It took a lot to say those words to her.
He sat, on his birthday, in a bus stop outside the bar. He said three simple words. And he was well aware, through her blank face and complex thought process, she bled for him.
If she were capable, if she were able to simply let the tears flow, they would be.
He said he needed time. She asked if he needed space as well. Then she offered him cake.
That was enough.
Those three simple words held within them an entire lifetime. A lifetime from before he knew her; before he even laid eyes on "his" squint.
He meant what he'd said to Jared. His little brother had to stop. He had to stop. Or maybe, one day, Parker would be saying those three words about him.
He'd learned, violently, it's a cycle. Not always, but often, what happened to you continued.
It took a lot. When he realized that he and Rebecca couldn't be together, when he folded his last hand… The first time he looked at his son while holding a bottle of scotch.
Parker would never, ever, say those three words about him.
And that would be enough for him.
Yet his little brother downed his drink and walked back into the bar. Something in Seeley was disappointed. Not surprised, but still upset, that Jared had thrown that ultimatum in his face. It might take another car wrapped around a tree before Jared realized that Seeley might be right. Unfortunately it might also take a life.
So with Brennan sitting beside him, sharing chocolate cake, the time was possible, but the space wasn't needed. He occasionally wondered what his life would be like without her, and then shied away; he didn't want to know.
She was there, and that was enough.
She'd never hug him with anything but awkwardness, but she'd share her cake. He understood that. He'd stopped wondering if they'd ever have anything other than the relationship they already had.
It often amused him that people thought they were together. Yes, she meant more to him than anyone in his life, other than his son. Yes, he was willing to admit he loved her, genuinely, with his whole heart.
And, even if she didn't recognize it as such, she loved him. It was proven, in many ways. Most recently, in the fact that she trusted him to help her set her father free. That she knew he'd help her keep what was left of her family intact. She'd hugged him in front of the courthouse, but he'd stepped in and offered, because he knew she needed it. She accepted it, and that was enough proof for him. She loved him.
But she would never belong to him. He was her Booth. She was his Bones.
That was enough, he smiled, for both of them.
So they sat there, on the bus bench, eating cake, being quiet. Being together, because he needed the time, and she didn't need to give him space.
She didn't offer advice. She didn't offer her shoulder, which was smart considering the gunshot wound, but it was implied. It was in her eyes.
They always gave her away; at least to him they did. Temperance was a rational creature, who exuded all emotion from her eyes. Direct and forthright, not many people could meet her eyes, but he did regularly.
Light shone from her eyes. Truth could not be hidden from her gaze.
So it took a lot, but less than he thought, to tell her those three simple words and all they implied. He knew, she knew, what they meant. And he knew, she knew, that no more would be said.
And that would be enough, more than enough, for both of them.