He walked her to her car, made an excuse, using exhaustion to get away from her. He saw in her eyes that she sa3w through his flimsy lie, but she just accepted it, got into her car and drove away. He knew that it was her way of coping just as he knew that he could not drive home in his current state of mind.
He sighed; I guess I should go inside…looks like Sweets' car is gone so it should be fine.
Sweets was the last person that he wanted to talk to right now. Sighing again, and wondering why he kept sighing, he climbed the steps and headed into the dark FBI headquarters. Even though the lights were off and it was completely dark outside, Booth make no move to turn on the lights. He moved through the building swiftly and silently, like only a trained sniper could. He knew this building like the back of his hand. He was doing fine…that is until he ran into someone.
As they collided, Booth steadied himself and reached out toward the other person who was falling backward. With practiced ease he grabbed the other man's arm and twisted it, pulling it to an uncomfortable position behind the man's back, and pinned him to the wall. It felt good to let the anger out, maybe a little too good. Booth felt a little guilty. The person might, after all, have a legitimate reason for being here. All guilt he might have been feeling vanished the moment words came out of the man's mouth.
"What are you…ommmf…?" Booth pushed him harder into the wall.
Sweets! Booth pushed off him and grudgingly released him. Aloud he said, "Sweets."
"B-I mean Agent Booth…What are you doing?" Sweets voice was laced with surprise, relief, and a bit of underlying fear.
Shit! Booth thought. "Ummm…I-I was…I mean I was just getting a, uhhh, a f-file…for B-Bones…she asked for a file and…" He trailed off, not sure where he was going with that lie or why her name left such a bitter taste in his mouth. Dang, dang, dang…
Booth hardened his eyes, daring Sweets to call him on his lie, daring him to broach the subject. Either Sweets was oblivious, the lack light hindered his observation skills, or Sweets had a death wish because broach the subject he did.
"And what file is that, Agent Booth?" Sweets asked. "You did not have a case today, nor any this week. Is that not why you were in my office all day today?"
What do I say to that? I'm about out of excuses…
Booth just mumbled "Lot of good that did anyone…"
Internally admitting defeat, Booth turned to leave. Something in his posture tipped Sweets off that something was wrong.
Sweets called out to him, "Booth, what do you mean?"
Booth stopped in his tracks; shoulders hunched, head down, and looked Sweets directly in the eye and said, "I'm never gambling again."
Booth turned and walked away from Sweets, his posture looked defeated even to a non educated observer. As Sweets watched him go, he pondered what Booth could've possible meant. Then it struck him. Booth had gambled. And he had lost.