A short one shot originallly written for the Help Haiti auction on lj...
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Letting Go
Dr. Camille Saroyan was not a porcelain doll. Her eyes were privy to Washington's most gruesome and newsworthy murder scenes. Hands, ones she thought years ago were made to love and nurture, prodded and poked around corpses. Bodies that once housed human souls were now lifeless casings of tissue, dead organs, and rotting flesh. Fear not a luxury accessible to Camille. Yet when the phone buzzed and she heard his name, Seeley…Booth. The feeling that registered deep within her soul was something vaguely similar – panic – terror – fright – dread.
There were constants in her life. A stiff drink preferably in the form of a vintage full bodied red. Shoes that made her legs appear inches longer than they actually were. The feeling of accomplishment that settled around her when she found a clue that everyone else overlooked. Then there was Seeley. All false bravado and crooked smile; he was unwavering in his friendship and support. He knew when to be silent as well as the appropriate time to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her to him as he took in the scent of her hair and leveled a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
Don't call me Camille…
Don't call me Seeley…
Furiously Camille brushed away the tears absently gliding down her cheek. Admitting there was a reason to cry would sentence Booth to death. In his short span of years he'd seen more than the average person. He'd played father figure to his younger brother when his old man was too drunk to remember he had kids. He'd married, become a father, and suffered the loss of family yet again. His eyes had seen the trials of war. His body battered by bruises and riddled with scars a testament to the meaning of in the line of duty.
Just for a while Seeley Booth had belonged to Camille Saroyan. Long before she'd become jaded about love's promise and years prior to the formation of the wall around his heart. They were innocent and wide – eyed ready to the face the world and all of its dangers together. Hand in hand. Young and in love. The thought made her laugh. She was crying again. This time it was steeped in happiness and not feelings of loss. Maybe these images and stories were food for thought. Potential themes for the heartfelt speech she'd deliver at his funeral. She shut her eyes again willing the tears to end. The horns of the vehicles on the road a warning that her car veered from its lane she focused to regain composure of her tumultuous emotions.
Don't call me Camille…
Don't call me Seeley…
When Camille accepted the position at the Jeffersonian she cited prior unsanitary work conditions as the contributing factor for the change in locale. Brutal truth, laying eyes on Seeley that night at the scene of that multi – victim accident forced her into a vacuum of latent desires and unresolved feelings. Images of what might have been if the two had managed to reconcile who they were with who they had become. Some things just weren't meant to be. An urgent call like tonight's ended the closeness rekindled between the two and the speculation of what they would be to one another in the future. He couldn't deal – Seeley Booth – wouldn't be able to bear if he lost her. Now she faced the same possibility.
Camille zoned back to the here and now. The halogen headlights before her were reminiscent of candlelight's glow on a night not so long ago.
She'd sped – pushed the pedal to the floor while her car darted in and out of traffic an attempt to beat her record time home. With only seconds to spare, she showered and removed the lingering traces of chemicals and death before the door opened and he stepped in. The mask dropped and he allowed the wear and tear of the day to become visible. The job made it difficult to smile effortlessly. Optimism flew out the window with every body discovered. For a moment he would allow the hopelessness to fill him and despair would closely follow. It was like watching Superman succumb to kryptonite. Then the tide would turn and his arms would grip her. His hope consuming her as his heart absorbed her disbelief. They were shared conduits; each cycling their ever-changing emotions through the other as they fed off of the strength and determination lying dormant. Making love was an extension of that cycle. It was proof that they weren't damaged and incapable of enjoying life's simple pleasures.
Don't call me Camille…
Don't call me Seeley…
When the red letters outlined in white came into view, Camille's breathing slowed. Her pulse unsteady and the irregular beats of her heart pounding in her ears. Could she face what awaited her? Parker what would he do without Seeley? Jared who would pick up the pieces of his shattered life?
Bones…
Could she live day to day with what remained unspoken between them?
And Camille Saroyan was she finally ready to let him go?